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seikilosTitle: Survivor: Desian Mithmas Party Edition (Or, The Ultimate Showdown of Drunken Destiny)
Fandom: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Crack
Rating: PG
Words: 2729
Disclaimer: I don't own Tales of Symphonia.
Summary: Every year for the last two hundred, Forcystus has drunk Magnius under the table at the annual Desian Mithmas party. This year, Magnius vows it will be different.
Spoilers? Roughly, to the second time at Mount Fooji, but only if you're paying close attention. Otherwise, to the Tower of Salvation, first time.
Author's Notes: I started writing this June 2, 2006, according to the creation date of the file. It's been a long time in coming, but I'm hoping it's worthwhile, as this is one of the only crackfics I've written in two years.
Don't take this seriously; you'll never get out alive.
‘Twas the night before Mithmas, and all through the ranch, not a creature was stirring, not even a. . . .
Well, that wasn’t quite accurate. It was the night before Mithmas, but there were an awful lot of creatures stirring. It was the evening of the annual Desian Mithmas Party, and everywhere, soldiers were putting the finishing touches on preparations. Punch was being mixed (and spiked), mistletoe was being hung, snacks were being laid out, and the inferior beings were being given one last whipping—but not too hard. It was Mithmas, after all.
Magnius, the host of this year’s party, surveyed the arrangements, occasionally bellowing out an order or two. As he supervised, he sipped at a glass of water, not wanting to get a start on the drinks too soon.
This year, he had a goal. This was going to be the year he drank Forcystus under the table. Every year for the last two hundred, Magnius had always been the one ending up absolutely plastered while Forcystus was the one remaining vertical with almost nary a slur or stagger. But this year, it was going to be different. Magnius had practised increasing his tolerance bit by bit throughout the year, and he was certain that tonight it was going to pay off.
“Thinking hard, Magnius? My, that is a surprise,” came the amused tones of the leader of the Grand Cardinals.
Magnius turned rather abruptly, nearly spilling his water on her. “Lady Pronyma! When did you get here?”
“Two minutes ago. I used Derris-Kharlan’s transporter.” Pronyma took a look at the party set-up. “Not bad.”
“Huh.” Magnius set down his water. “It’s definitely better than last year’s.”
Pronyma gave a short laugh, remembering. “Rodyle was the host. What did you expect?”
“I had been expecting something more than stale sandwiches. There wasn’t any decent booze to be had in the entire ranch!”
“You’ve certainly remedied that, haven’t you?” Pronyma raised an eyebrow as she gazed around at the rows of prominently displayed bottles. “Forcystus will be pleased. Although are you sure it’s a good idea to have so much?” she asked, noticing a few Desian soldiers already well on their way to getting drunk. “You won’t have a soldier well enough to go on duty come tomorrow morning.”
Magnius shrugged, as if to say it was no concern of his, although it was more that he hadn’t thought that far ahead. Well, what happened, happened. He wasn’t too concerned. He’d figure out how to deal with it tomorrow—provided he wasn’t too hungover himself, that was.
Gradually, the room designated for the party filled up with soldiers of all rankings, from the lowliest foot soldier all the way up to the rest of the Grand Cardinals. Four of the Desian leaders were mingling with the troops rather well, albeit with some awkwardness on the end of their subordinates; the soldiers weren’t quite so sure how to address their superiors in such a casual setting. (This problem would be solved by the end of the party, when the average drunken soldier would be hailing their leaders like long-lost best friends. Many demotions would be made this eve.)
The most notable exception to the general mingling and cheer would be Rodyle. Had the Desians any inkling of who Scrooge was, the generally very odd Grand Cardinal would have earned the label faster than Forcystus getting on the outside of his first drink of the night. Magnius noted rather uneasily that Rodyle seemed to be plotting at them all from his position off in a corner with a glass of punch. It did cheer him somewhat to realise that Rodyle, while he was aware that the punch was spiked, did not, in fact, know it was spiked with pure, unadulterated vodka. Magnius resolved to keep an eye on Rodyle for some light entertainment later on—provided he was still only seeing double.
Right now, Magnius’ concern was finding Forcystus. Finally, after much searching, he spotted Forcystus at the far end of the room. Locking onto his target, Magnius ploughed through the room, scattering Desians in his wake.
“Lord Forcystus!” he shouted as he came to a halt, nearly sending one soldier headfirst into the drinks table.
Forcystus looked up from his drink, which was already half gone. “Drop the formalities, Magnius. We are at a party, after all.”
“Right, right.” Magnius, without looking, grabbed the first drink that came to hand and gulped it. Then he grimaced. He hated champagne. Stupid girly drink.
Forcystus looked amused. “I never knew you were so fond of light drinks, Magnius.”
“Never mind that!” Magnius raised his glass. “I challenge you, Forcystus! This year, you will be the one who passes out drunk first!”
“I’ve heard you say that every year for the last two hundred, Magnius.” Forcystus made a show of examining his nails. “What makes you think this year will be any different?”
“I’ll tell you after I win.” Magnius forced down some more champagne. “The same rules as always?”
“Of course. You’ll be giving me the same prize as always?” Forcystus asked, smirking.
“Let’s raise the stakes. The loser manages the ranch of the winner for an entire week. And—vacation time, provided Lord Yggdrasill agrees.”
“Provided Lord Yggdrasill agrees to what?” a smooth voice asked, right in Magnius’ ear.
Magnius nearly drowned Forcystus in the remaining champagne. “Lord Yggdrasill! You’re coming to the party?” He really had to stop doing that.
“I asked you a question, Magnius.” Yggdrasill waited as the two Grand Cardinals bowed deeply.
“Lord Forcystus and I are making a little wager,” Magnius explained. “We were hoping you would donate a week’s vacation time to the winner.”
Yggdrasill thought for a moment. “No. I do not wish to encourage idle bets among the Desians.”
“What about three days, on the condition we don’t tell the reason for the vacation to the other Desians?” Forcystus asked, making his tone as respectful as possible.
“Oh, very well.” Yggdrasill looked annoyed. “See that I do not hear about it after this.”
“Yes, Lord Yggdrasill,” the two murmured.
Yggdrasill then drifted away—literally. Magnius wondered briefly if his lord had walked at all in the last thousand years before turning his attention back to Forcystus.
“So, the contest has begun and so far we are tied.” Magnius waved his empty glass. “One glass each, so far.”
“Not quite. One glass for me, half a glass for you. The other half glass is on the floor.” Forcystus grinned. “Looks like you’ll have to force down another half glass of champagne.”
Magnius growled in frustration. Forcystus had a point, and there was no getting out of it. Grabbing another glass of champagne, he guzzled half of it as quickly as possible before dumping the rest on the floor. Then he and Forcystus each set one glass on a small table Magnius had set up for that purpose.
He had made a ranch-wide announcement earlier—any Desian caught placing her or his glasses on that table would be docked three weeks’ pay. The thought of losing that much money was enough to stick in the head of even the most drunken soldier. Or so most of them were hoping.
Magnius made certain to select a more appropriate (and manly) drink for his next. Doing so, he caught sight of another poor mingler. “Hey, Forcystus. What’s Lord Kratos doing here?”
Forcystus looked up from his drink. “Ignoring everyone, looks like.”
“Huh.” Magnius watched Kratos for a few moments. The seraph was leaning against the wall, arms folded and wearing an even sourer look than usual. “He’s even worse than Rodyle at this.”
The other Grand Cardinal eyed him critically. “He needs some punch.”
Magnius snorted. “There isn’t enough vodka’d punch in the ranch to make him loosen up.”
“You’ve got a point, there.” Forcystus set down his second glass and picked up a third. He smirked at Magnius, who was only halfway through his second. “You’re falling behind.”
Magnius took a gulp of his drink and tried not to choke. “It’s a contest of quantity, not speed!” he protested when he was able.
“Right, sure.” Forcystus wandered off.
Magnius looked around for someone to play host to and spotted Lord Yuan. He had been chatting with a colonel moments before, but the woman had headed off, leaving him alone.
Moving through the crowd with his usual lack of care, he arrived in front of Lord Yuan and bowed.
“Don’t bother. This is supposed to be a party, although it’s looking more like happy hour than anything else.” A lift of a blue eyebrow accompanied his statement.
“Right. Sorry, Lord Yuan.” Magnius refrained from bowing again. “Having a good time, are you?”
“As much as can be expected.” He glanced down at his watch. “I have something I need to attend to now.”
“On Mithmas?” Magnius asked.
“Yes, on Mithmas,” Yuan replied, sounding impatient. “The worlds don't stop simply because Lord Yggdrasill is having his birthday.”
“Right.” Magnius shook his head at Yuan’s retreating back. Lord Yuan was almost worse than Lord Kratos in his own way.
He shrugged, and went to get another drink.
Time passed. More drinks were consumed. Then more. And then, even more. The evening turned into something of a blur for Magnius as he fought to stay sober. There were a few things that stood out, like Rodyle drinking one glass too many of the spiked punch, getting up on a table and singing a dirty song (something about wizards’ staves, he thought—though with the way Rodyle sang, it was hard to tell), and then passing out and falling off the table with a crash.
Then there was watching Pronyma getting pinker and pinker and drunker and drunker until she and Forcystus went off somewhere. Magnius would have followed for blackmail purposes if he hadn’t tripped over his own feet and nearly smashed a table full of empty glasses. It was a while before he could coordinate the movements of all four limbs (seemed more like eight or ten at this point) enough to rise again.
Because Magnius is rapidly becoming far too drunk to properly take in the events of this evening, let us shift focus to someone far more sober. Someone so sober, in fact, that despite it being hours into the party, he is still on his first drink of the night.
Kratos eyed the catastrophe-in-the-making with distaste. He was less than fond of these affairs and for the most part, he remained in Derris-Kharlan, working, while the other members of Cruxis and the Desians engaged in their revelry. (Kratos was the favoured challenger for Rodyle’s Scrooge title.) The sole reason he had attended this year was because Yuan, in a rare fit of malice, had pointed out to Mithos that it had been decades since Kratos had last attended a Mithmas party, and wasn’t it high time he did so? After all, if the troops did not see their leaders at least once in a year, morale might suffer and, by extension, so would productivity.
Speaking of which. . . .
Yuan, who had been popping in and out of the party at a surprising rate, had just leaned up against the wall next to Kratos, drink in hand. He looked harried as he took a sip.
“Yuan.”
“Yes?” Yuan snapped as he looked up at his taller fellow seraph.
Kratos raised an eyebrow. “Magnius is not serving martinis at his party.”
Yuan looked down at the drink in his hand, swore, and disappeared in a teleport.
Shortly thereafter, something else caught his attention—in the midst of a chorus for mixed voices (drunk and drunker), Kratos heard a childish voice screeching along with the best of them. His palm met his face; Yggdrasill had forgotten that the effects of the alcohol in his system would be magnified if he changed into his child form.
Crossing the room, Kratos found his former student in the midst of a crowd of laughing Desians.
“Mithos, you have had quite enough.” He reached to remove the glass of vodka-spiked punch from his hand.
Mithos jerked it away, soaking a Desian sergeant in the process. “No! Kratos, why do you always spoil my fun?”
Kratos sighed. “At least take on your second form so you will not be quite as drunk.”
“Don’t want to.”
There was little he could do or say in response to that. If he provoked Mithos further, the unstable boy could well respond with magic. After all, Mithos rarely listened to him while sober. All he could do was hope he passed out before he could do more damage.
Resigned, Kratos began searching for the Grand Cardinals.
Rodyle was roughly in the same area where he had passed out. Some considerate soul had rolled him under the table where he would not be stepped on and then had proceeded to forget him. Kratos picked him up and teleported to the infirmary, leaving him in a bed to sleep things off.
It took him a while to find Forcystus, but eventually he did. However, since finding Forcystus entailed tracing him to a closet from which was issuing certain unmistakable noises, Kratos decided to leave him—and Pronyma, judging from the sound of things—be.
Kvar, Kratos found passed out in a corner, another victim of the over-spiked punch. He ignored the half-elf, taking a certain quiet pleasure in his state and in imagining the size of his hangover come the next morning.
That left him with Magnius. It did not take much longer for Kratos to discover him, out cold next to the table full of empty glasses. A quick glance told Kratos that Magnius had once again lost his yearly wager with Forcystus, by two glasses. Sighing again, he also took Magnius to the infirmary.
By the time he had arrived back, Mithos had passed out as well. Relieved at not having to deal with him, Kratos strode through the crowd of Desians panicking at the sight (those who were still sober enough to do so, at any rate), picked him up, and teleported back to Derris-Kharlan. Yuan could look after the rest of the clean-up, a thought that brought him no small satisfaction.
And that was as far as Kratos Aurion, member of the Four Seraphim and one of the rulers of the two worlds, was willing to play nursemaid to a group of drunken half-elves.
*
The next morning was a day of many unhappy wake-ups. Forcystus and Pronyma awoke together in Forcystus' bed, with certain important items gone mysteriously missing—namely, all of their clothes. It would be fifty years before they communicated with each other outside a strictly official basis once more.
Kvar came to covered in various debris. When he attempted to lift his head, he found his hair stuck to the floor with excess alcohol. His resulting yells brought several soldiers stumbling his way; as uncharitable as he was feeling, Kvar only electrocuted one or two. After all, it didn't do to char everyone helping you.
Mithos awoke with an adult-sized hangover in a child-sized body. Fortunately for all in Derris-Kharlan, he quickly changed to his angelic form, thereby negating any pain he felt (though unfortunately not the distinct feeling of having been eating Magnius' socks all night long).
Speaking of the man . . . Magnius' return to the land of the conscious was perhaps the most unhappy in both worlds, least of all because he was occupying the bed next to Rodyle. Blearily, he opened his eyes and sat up very slowly, very carefully. When the pounding in his head settled down to merely excruciating, he positively tiptoed down to the site of the party.
Stepping over more than a few passed-out soldiers, he wove his way to the two drinks tables. In his delicate state, it took him three counts to get the numbers right. When he did, he let out a yell of frustration, then immediately clutched at his head.
Beaten again! Two hundred and one years of poisoning his liver at Mithmas parties, and he still hadn't beaten that—that vermin!
He shook his fist in what he guessed was the direction of Iselia Human Ranch. Next time, he'd win for sure.
Next time!
Fandom: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Crack
Rating: PG
Words: 2729
Disclaimer: I don't own Tales of Symphonia.
Summary: Every year for the last two hundred, Forcystus has drunk Magnius under the table at the annual Desian Mithmas party. This year, Magnius vows it will be different.
Spoilers? Roughly, to the second time at Mount Fooji, but only if you're paying close attention. Otherwise, to the Tower of Salvation, first time.
Author's Notes: I started writing this June 2, 2006, according to the creation date of the file. It's been a long time in coming, but I'm hoping it's worthwhile, as this is one of the only crackfics I've written in two years.
Don't take this seriously; you'll never get out alive.
‘Twas the night before Mithmas, and all through the ranch, not a creature was stirring, not even a. . . .
Well, that wasn’t quite accurate. It was the night before Mithmas, but there were an awful lot of creatures stirring. It was the evening of the annual Desian Mithmas Party, and everywhere, soldiers were putting the finishing touches on preparations. Punch was being mixed (and spiked), mistletoe was being hung, snacks were being laid out, and the inferior beings were being given one last whipping—but not too hard. It was Mithmas, after all.
Magnius, the host of this year’s party, surveyed the arrangements, occasionally bellowing out an order or two. As he supervised, he sipped at a glass of water, not wanting to get a start on the drinks too soon.
This year, he had a goal. This was going to be the year he drank Forcystus under the table. Every year for the last two hundred, Magnius had always been the one ending up absolutely plastered while Forcystus was the one remaining vertical with almost nary a slur or stagger. But this year, it was going to be different. Magnius had practised increasing his tolerance bit by bit throughout the year, and he was certain that tonight it was going to pay off.
“Thinking hard, Magnius? My, that is a surprise,” came the amused tones of the leader of the Grand Cardinals.
Magnius turned rather abruptly, nearly spilling his water on her. “Lady Pronyma! When did you get here?”
“Two minutes ago. I used Derris-Kharlan’s transporter.” Pronyma took a look at the party set-up. “Not bad.”
“Huh.” Magnius set down his water. “It’s definitely better than last year’s.”
Pronyma gave a short laugh, remembering. “Rodyle was the host. What did you expect?”
“I had been expecting something more than stale sandwiches. There wasn’t any decent booze to be had in the entire ranch!”
“You’ve certainly remedied that, haven’t you?” Pronyma raised an eyebrow as she gazed around at the rows of prominently displayed bottles. “Forcystus will be pleased. Although are you sure it’s a good idea to have so much?” she asked, noticing a few Desian soldiers already well on their way to getting drunk. “You won’t have a soldier well enough to go on duty come tomorrow morning.”
Magnius shrugged, as if to say it was no concern of his, although it was more that he hadn’t thought that far ahead. Well, what happened, happened. He wasn’t too concerned. He’d figure out how to deal with it tomorrow—provided he wasn’t too hungover himself, that was.
Gradually, the room designated for the party filled up with soldiers of all rankings, from the lowliest foot soldier all the way up to the rest of the Grand Cardinals. Four of the Desian leaders were mingling with the troops rather well, albeit with some awkwardness on the end of their subordinates; the soldiers weren’t quite so sure how to address their superiors in such a casual setting. (This problem would be solved by the end of the party, when the average drunken soldier would be hailing their leaders like long-lost best friends. Many demotions would be made this eve.)
The most notable exception to the general mingling and cheer would be Rodyle. Had the Desians any inkling of who Scrooge was, the generally very odd Grand Cardinal would have earned the label faster than Forcystus getting on the outside of his first drink of the night. Magnius noted rather uneasily that Rodyle seemed to be plotting at them all from his position off in a corner with a glass of punch. It did cheer him somewhat to realise that Rodyle, while he was aware that the punch was spiked, did not, in fact, know it was spiked with pure, unadulterated vodka. Magnius resolved to keep an eye on Rodyle for some light entertainment later on—provided he was still only seeing double.
Right now, Magnius’ concern was finding Forcystus. Finally, after much searching, he spotted Forcystus at the far end of the room. Locking onto his target, Magnius ploughed through the room, scattering Desians in his wake.
“Lord Forcystus!” he shouted as he came to a halt, nearly sending one soldier headfirst into the drinks table.
Forcystus looked up from his drink, which was already half gone. “Drop the formalities, Magnius. We are at a party, after all.”
“Right, right.” Magnius, without looking, grabbed the first drink that came to hand and gulped it. Then he grimaced. He hated champagne. Stupid girly drink.
Forcystus looked amused. “I never knew you were so fond of light drinks, Magnius.”
“Never mind that!” Magnius raised his glass. “I challenge you, Forcystus! This year, you will be the one who passes out drunk first!”
“I’ve heard you say that every year for the last two hundred, Magnius.” Forcystus made a show of examining his nails. “What makes you think this year will be any different?”
“I’ll tell you after I win.” Magnius forced down some more champagne. “The same rules as always?”
“Of course. You’ll be giving me the same prize as always?” Forcystus asked, smirking.
“Let’s raise the stakes. The loser manages the ranch of the winner for an entire week. And—vacation time, provided Lord Yggdrasill agrees.”
“Provided Lord Yggdrasill agrees to what?” a smooth voice asked, right in Magnius’ ear.
Magnius nearly drowned Forcystus in the remaining champagne. “Lord Yggdrasill! You’re coming to the party?” He really had to stop doing that.
“I asked you a question, Magnius.” Yggdrasill waited as the two Grand Cardinals bowed deeply.
“Lord Forcystus and I are making a little wager,” Magnius explained. “We were hoping you would donate a week’s vacation time to the winner.”
Yggdrasill thought for a moment. “No. I do not wish to encourage idle bets among the Desians.”
“What about three days, on the condition we don’t tell the reason for the vacation to the other Desians?” Forcystus asked, making his tone as respectful as possible.
“Oh, very well.” Yggdrasill looked annoyed. “See that I do not hear about it after this.”
“Yes, Lord Yggdrasill,” the two murmured.
Yggdrasill then drifted away—literally. Magnius wondered briefly if his lord had walked at all in the last thousand years before turning his attention back to Forcystus.
“So, the contest has begun and so far we are tied.” Magnius waved his empty glass. “One glass each, so far.”
“Not quite. One glass for me, half a glass for you. The other half glass is on the floor.” Forcystus grinned. “Looks like you’ll have to force down another half glass of champagne.”
Magnius growled in frustration. Forcystus had a point, and there was no getting out of it. Grabbing another glass of champagne, he guzzled half of it as quickly as possible before dumping the rest on the floor. Then he and Forcystus each set one glass on a small table Magnius had set up for that purpose.
He had made a ranch-wide announcement earlier—any Desian caught placing her or his glasses on that table would be docked three weeks’ pay. The thought of losing that much money was enough to stick in the head of even the most drunken soldier. Or so most of them were hoping.
Magnius made certain to select a more appropriate (and manly) drink for his next. Doing so, he caught sight of another poor mingler. “Hey, Forcystus. What’s Lord Kratos doing here?”
Forcystus looked up from his drink. “Ignoring everyone, looks like.”
“Huh.” Magnius watched Kratos for a few moments. The seraph was leaning against the wall, arms folded and wearing an even sourer look than usual. “He’s even worse than Rodyle at this.”
The other Grand Cardinal eyed him critically. “He needs some punch.”
Magnius snorted. “There isn’t enough vodka’d punch in the ranch to make him loosen up.”
“You’ve got a point, there.” Forcystus set down his second glass and picked up a third. He smirked at Magnius, who was only halfway through his second. “You’re falling behind.”
Magnius took a gulp of his drink and tried not to choke. “It’s a contest of quantity, not speed!” he protested when he was able.
“Right, sure.” Forcystus wandered off.
Magnius looked around for someone to play host to and spotted Lord Yuan. He had been chatting with a colonel moments before, but the woman had headed off, leaving him alone.
Moving through the crowd with his usual lack of care, he arrived in front of Lord Yuan and bowed.
“Don’t bother. This is supposed to be a party, although it’s looking more like happy hour than anything else.” A lift of a blue eyebrow accompanied his statement.
“Right. Sorry, Lord Yuan.” Magnius refrained from bowing again. “Having a good time, are you?”
“As much as can be expected.” He glanced down at his watch. “I have something I need to attend to now.”
“On Mithmas?” Magnius asked.
“Yes, on Mithmas,” Yuan replied, sounding impatient. “The worlds don't stop simply because Lord Yggdrasill is having his birthday.”
“Right.” Magnius shook his head at Yuan’s retreating back. Lord Yuan was almost worse than Lord Kratos in his own way.
He shrugged, and went to get another drink.
Time passed. More drinks were consumed. Then more. And then, even more. The evening turned into something of a blur for Magnius as he fought to stay sober. There were a few things that stood out, like Rodyle drinking one glass too many of the spiked punch, getting up on a table and singing a dirty song (something about wizards’ staves, he thought—though with the way Rodyle sang, it was hard to tell), and then passing out and falling off the table with a crash.
Then there was watching Pronyma getting pinker and pinker and drunker and drunker until she and Forcystus went off somewhere. Magnius would have followed for blackmail purposes if he hadn’t tripped over his own feet and nearly smashed a table full of empty glasses. It was a while before he could coordinate the movements of all four limbs (seemed more like eight or ten at this point) enough to rise again.
Because Magnius is rapidly becoming far too drunk to properly take in the events of this evening, let us shift focus to someone far more sober. Someone so sober, in fact, that despite it being hours into the party, he is still on his first drink of the night.
Kratos eyed the catastrophe-in-the-making with distaste. He was less than fond of these affairs and for the most part, he remained in Derris-Kharlan, working, while the other members of Cruxis and the Desians engaged in their revelry. (Kratos was the favoured challenger for Rodyle’s Scrooge title.) The sole reason he had attended this year was because Yuan, in a rare fit of malice, had pointed out to Mithos that it had been decades since Kratos had last attended a Mithmas party, and wasn’t it high time he did so? After all, if the troops did not see their leaders at least once in a year, morale might suffer and, by extension, so would productivity.
Speaking of which. . . .
Yuan, who had been popping in and out of the party at a surprising rate, had just leaned up against the wall next to Kratos, drink in hand. He looked harried as he took a sip.
“Yuan.”
“Yes?” Yuan snapped as he looked up at his taller fellow seraph.
Kratos raised an eyebrow. “Magnius is not serving martinis at his party.”
Yuan looked down at the drink in his hand, swore, and disappeared in a teleport.
Shortly thereafter, something else caught his attention—in the midst of a chorus for mixed voices (drunk and drunker), Kratos heard a childish voice screeching along with the best of them. His palm met his face; Yggdrasill had forgotten that the effects of the alcohol in his system would be magnified if he changed into his child form.
Crossing the room, Kratos found his former student in the midst of a crowd of laughing Desians.
“Mithos, you have had quite enough.” He reached to remove the glass of vodka-spiked punch from his hand.
Mithos jerked it away, soaking a Desian sergeant in the process. “No! Kratos, why do you always spoil my fun?”
Kratos sighed. “At least take on your second form so you will not be quite as drunk.”
“Don’t want to.”
There was little he could do or say in response to that. If he provoked Mithos further, the unstable boy could well respond with magic. After all, Mithos rarely listened to him while sober. All he could do was hope he passed out before he could do more damage.
Resigned, Kratos began searching for the Grand Cardinals.
Rodyle was roughly in the same area where he had passed out. Some considerate soul had rolled him under the table where he would not be stepped on and then had proceeded to forget him. Kratos picked him up and teleported to the infirmary, leaving him in a bed to sleep things off.
It took him a while to find Forcystus, but eventually he did. However, since finding Forcystus entailed tracing him to a closet from which was issuing certain unmistakable noises, Kratos decided to leave him—and Pronyma, judging from the sound of things—be.
Kvar, Kratos found passed out in a corner, another victim of the over-spiked punch. He ignored the half-elf, taking a certain quiet pleasure in his state and in imagining the size of his hangover come the next morning.
That left him with Magnius. It did not take much longer for Kratos to discover him, out cold next to the table full of empty glasses. A quick glance told Kratos that Magnius had once again lost his yearly wager with Forcystus, by two glasses. Sighing again, he also took Magnius to the infirmary.
By the time he had arrived back, Mithos had passed out as well. Relieved at not having to deal with him, Kratos strode through the crowd of Desians panicking at the sight (those who were still sober enough to do so, at any rate), picked him up, and teleported back to Derris-Kharlan. Yuan could look after the rest of the clean-up, a thought that brought him no small satisfaction.
And that was as far as Kratos Aurion, member of the Four Seraphim and one of the rulers of the two worlds, was willing to play nursemaid to a group of drunken half-elves.
*
The next morning was a day of many unhappy wake-ups. Forcystus and Pronyma awoke together in Forcystus' bed, with certain important items gone mysteriously missing—namely, all of their clothes. It would be fifty years before they communicated with each other outside a strictly official basis once more.
Kvar came to covered in various debris. When he attempted to lift his head, he found his hair stuck to the floor with excess alcohol. His resulting yells brought several soldiers stumbling his way; as uncharitable as he was feeling, Kvar only electrocuted one or two. After all, it didn't do to char everyone helping you.
Mithos awoke with an adult-sized hangover in a child-sized body. Fortunately for all in Derris-Kharlan, he quickly changed to his angelic form, thereby negating any pain he felt (though unfortunately not the distinct feeling of having been eating Magnius' socks all night long).
Speaking of the man . . . Magnius' return to the land of the conscious was perhaps the most unhappy in both worlds, least of all because he was occupying the bed next to Rodyle. Blearily, he opened his eyes and sat up very slowly, very carefully. When the pounding in his head settled down to merely excruciating, he positively tiptoed down to the site of the party.
Stepping over more than a few passed-out soldiers, he wove his way to the two drinks tables. In his delicate state, it took him three counts to get the numbers right. When he did, he let out a yell of frustration, then immediately clutched at his head.
Beaten again! Two hundred and one years of poisoning his liver at Mithmas parties, and he still hadn't beaten that—that vermin!
He shook his fist in what he guessed was the direction of Iselia Human Ranch. Next time, he'd win for sure.
Next time!
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Date: 2007-12-29 04:12 am (UTC)*SPORFLE*
Wow, this is...wow. And I mean that in the most awesome way possible. ♥
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Date: 2007-12-29 04:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-29 04:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-29 04:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-29 04:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-29 04:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-29 04:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-29 04:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-29 05:07 am (UTC)And kill each other the next day.
I still go for the fact Magni and Forcy had some Guy Love like Turk and JD in Scrubs.
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Date: 2007-12-29 05:52 pm (UTC)XD Maybe I should write an omake version where Forcystus and Magnius end up in the supply closet instead?
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Date: 2007-12-29 05:21 am (UTC)♥
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Date: 2007-12-29 05:51 pm (UTC)♥