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Erik knew that the calm wasn't going to last.

You didn't spend most of your life on the water without knowing that the flat calm was only as sure as the next cloud on the horizon. Storms came and went, ebbed and flowed. There were some you could watch approach, others that turned a clear blue sky to the dark grey of impending doom. He wouldn't trade a moment of it.

For now, though, he was going to enjoy the stars overhead, the sound of water against the hull, and the memories of watching a MacDuff put the crown on Bruce's head. Between that and reuniting Chief with his bride? It hadn't been a bad month. It wouldn't always be like this and there wouldn't always be victories. They'd started a dangerous campaign and would be fighting major and minor battles along with the overall war to clear the damned English from their lands.

Erik MacSorley knew how to take advantage of every opportunity, even when the opportunity was for nothing at all to happen.

Chuckling to himself, he decided celebrations might just be in order. Meg, he knew, would welcome him and the rest of his crew with open arms...and possibly open legs. Cheered by that, he roused himself from the deck and went towards the hatch to let the lads know of his plan. His clansmen were always more likely to step lively when they knew what the payoff was.

He wasn't two steps below decks when he realized something had happened, something even Campbell couldn't see.

He was in a castle of some sort. It had to be that because no keep was as appointed as this. The floor felt strange under his boots, the air had lost the scent of the sea, and everything about where he stood fairly screamed out wrong.

Deftly, he pulled his sword from his sheath and kept his eyes out for whatever had caused this magic.

OOC: Erik is dressed like this but with Matt Barr's face.

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"Scotch whisky," she clarifies. "And don't worry, I'll make sure not to order anything made in Ireland," she adds, turning to the bartender to raise her fingers and order two glasses. She might not enjoy the pungent taste of peat, but she'll sip at it. "It's a Scottish drink. In fact, it's rather renowned," she says proudly. "I think you'll like it. Or maybe not, it is a bit aggressive."

Erik picked up the glass dubiously and sniffed at it, not at all sure what concoction she'd ordered them this time. Then the scent of it his his nostrils and he gasped. Once sip and he tossed the rest down after it. "U*isge beatha*," he repeated, almost on a soft whisper. "I've heard others talk about monks brewin something that was earthier than or and ale. A few lucky sods had even tasted th'brew and took t'callin it the water of life, but I've never had chance to s'much as sniff a barrel cork. Now I know those I'd heard it mentioned from weren't having me on fer a jest."

Simmons watches him curiously, anticipating him trying it as she holds her breath. She can almost distract herself from thinking about Fitz right now, if she does this, and it's a hell of a wonderful thing, letting herself have this break. "I take it you like it, then?"

"Aye, and most likely too much," Erik responded, lifting the glass to smell the remainder of the liquid in the glass. "Too much of this and I'll end up a useless sod, ramblin on about m'war days and barely able t'lift m'sword."

"Well, it's hardly as if you'll be the first person in history to do that," she points out. "Still, when you're trying to figure out aspects of the future, it might be best if you weren't completely and utterly drunk, so maybe we ought to place some limits and say you can only have the one."

Erik looked from her to the glass. "With this wee amount and yer only allowin me one? That's just cruel, lass. It'd take more than this t'turn me sodden, I assure you. but I think I can muster up enough restraint on m'own t'not need such limits. Especially on days I find I've been tossed forward into a future that confuses me t'the point of madness." He added a wink at the end, because future or not, he was who he was.

"Well, I'd like to think that I allowed you to be sober," she explains. "I'd hardly want you to think that I didn't give you a fair chance in the future because I'd gotten you good and plenty drunk the instant you got here," she feels inclined to point out. "Maybe after the tour, we'll come back for another." She's hoping it's both incentive to explore and cause to go willingly.

"I can get used t'the wine for meals and save the Scotch for special occasions," Erik reasoned. "After all, ye've got t'drink somethin with meals, right? Given some of the dry meat I've had in m'life, somethin's got t'help it wash down."

"Well, I'd advise that you don't drink this at all hours of the day," Simmons feels compelled to do her due diligence and point out, seeing as it's hardly something that should be done in general. "You might end up with a reputation for being a bit of a drinker, is all I'm saying."

"What else would I be drinkin?" Erik asked. He was starting to think his head might just split open from the ache building behind his eyes.

"Well, there's water," Simmons feels compelled to point out. "And all sorts of juices and sodas," she explains, giving him an encouraging smile. "Lots of non-alcoholic beverages!"

"Water?" Erik said, aghast. "I've tasted the foul sludge that comes from inhabited areas and seen the madness that comes from drinkin of the sea. Unless you've got a Highland spring, I won't be goin near that. Wine's done me fine with meals m'whole life. I see no need t'be changin that now."

"What?" Simmons asks, shocked, then remembers that the sanitation systems have vastly improved over the last many years and she asks for two glasses of water from their server next, a look of disbelief on her face that she'd forgotten. "You have to at least try it. We distill and filter everything now. It's as good as from a spring!"

He raised an eyebrow at that and took the container from her, studying it. Another in the list of things he'd never seen before, but as he understood it, there would be too many to count here. Tentatively, he raised the liquid and sniffed. He had no idea what the words meant, but she seemed in earnest saying them. Trusting that she wasn't trying to kill him by liquifying his bowels, he took a drink. "I dunno what springs ye've been drinkin from, but none of 'em taste like this."

He set the glass aside and waited for the cramping to begin.

She's leaning forward on the edge of her seat, utterly swept up in this simple task, but simplicity is what she needs right now. It takes her away from the stress and the worry and lets her simply experience something new through someone else. "Do you like it, though?" she asks, a bit forward and insistent.

Erik looked from the glass to the woman and back again before daring a second attempt. He was most likely going to hate himself for this later, but he took another drink. Then, because he could see it meant something to the lass for reasons he couldn't fathom, he gave her a half-shrug and made his face as blank as he could get it. "Ach, I've tasted worse."

Hardly a ringing endorsement, but she supposes that it's not the worst thing in the world to hear. "I see you're really just going to praise the Scotch," she accuses, but in a playful way. "I suppose I can't stop that, but if you do decide to drink to excess, I do hope you feel comfortable calling for aid. I'm really willing to help at any time. I'm here most of the time anyhow, these days."

"Ye seem very focused on how much I drink," Erik noted, confused, "is there a shortage of good drink?"

"No, it's not that, I think it has more to do with the fact that I'm having a hard time turning off the caretaking aspect of myself," Simmons confesses, flashing a brief and fretful smile. "I've been looking after a friend of mine, but he doesn't need me at all hours of the day. Except, I can't stop fretting and I think it's spilling over to other things."

"Well, ye make a fine one, but ye don't need t'be worryin about me. I've been lookin after m'self for nearly th'whole of m'life. But I appreciate th'effort on m'behalf."

He raised the water to her and sipped again.

She's unconvinced, but possibly because she wants to be. She wants to continue having a purpose and this seems the best way to continue with that. "Well, if you say so," she says. "Still, if you need anything, I hope you're never afraid to ask."

One eyebrow raised, but there wasn't any anger in his voice. It was all teasing. "I hope yer not suggestin that a Highland warrior would be afraid of askin a wee English lass anything. Because if ye were, I'd have t'take offense at that." He chuckled then and chucked her under the cheek. "Don't worry about me, Sassenach. I'll muddle through. And if I can't, I'll be sure t'fetch ye."

"I'm not wee," she protests with all the determination she can muster up, chin lifted upwards as if she can frighten him off with precisely that alone. "I can be very intimidating, you know. I can build weapons that could stun you in a second flat. That's very frightening," she insists.

"I've not found much yet that a good sword can't handle," Erik replied, jerking his head to the hilt of his sword just visible over his head, "but as I said, if I need more than that, I'll be sure t'get in touch with ye and let ye build me somethin that will take down an army."

She wants to dig out an ICER and show him exactly how much of a punch it can pack, but she thinks she'll have plenty of time to do that. "Well, then, we'll have to make a deal. Once you're good and settled, I'll show you some more advanced weaponry."

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highland_hawk - 2014-06-13 17:44 (UTC) - Expand

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