Chapter Text
Let it be known that Easthies absolutely despises alcohol. It burns. It inhibits the mind. It turns the most reasonable people into bumbling dunderheads with the critical thinking of a carrot. It smells rancid, but that trait gets a pass because it helps him identify if people have been drinking based on their general stench. Too many crimes have been caused by alcohol, especially it’s addictive properties.
So why, in the name of Beldaruit the Unwise himself, is Easthies standing in the corner at a party?
There are flashing lights, courtesy of Olruggio, who’s tearing up the dance floor like nobody’s business, clearly drunk. How is he going to become a Watchful Eye if he can’t watch his drinks? And more importantly, is he the Watchful Eye of Qifrey’s atelier because Qifrey is missing an eye?
Said man is lamenting in the corner opposite Easthies’, facing the wall and banging his head on it occasionally. He’s not sure how searing eye pain can be fixed by head trauma, but go off. Olruggio’s going to have to double.
A more unexpected sight (hah) is Luluci sitting at the bar nursing her fourth cup of the night — yes, he was counting, he’s concerned for his fellow Knights — while the black-haired aspiring scientist man talks his head off to her. Through the blasting music, he can vaguely make out something like ‘Galga’ and ‘hot’ and wow what a nice wallpaper this party venue has, he never wants to hear that insinuation with one of his colleagues ever again. No matter that the man in question is also sitting at the bar, arm slung over the shoulder of the smaller black-haired man. Godspeed, Luluci. Just this once, he hopes the alcohol gets her.
He looks around for his other colleagues. A bunch of randoms are on the dance floor. More randoms litter the place around, because it’s not a party if it doesn’t look full. Strangers.
Familiar heads of green-white hair. Ekoh at Etlan, definitely too young to be in a party with alcohol, are… spiking the punch. Easthies is pretty sure that was already alcoholic, but fine. Sure. He’ll go with it. He isn’t on duty, and frankly, if he was, half of these people would already be in custody.
One such person wheedles up to Easthies, punch in tow.
“Want a sip?” Utowin offers, brandishing his obnoxiously pink drink.
“No,” Easthies declines bluntly, staring at the glass with disdain. “I hate alcohol.”
The ginger raises an eyebrow, leaning on the wall next to Easthies. “Why come to one of these, then? Drinking is all we tend to do ‘round here.”
Easthies wants to ask himself the same question.
Utowin takes a long swig. Even if Easthies wanted a drink, he would not take it from the same cup as this cretin. It’s unhygienic.
Someone else taking a long swig appears — Alaira, looking as unfettered as ever, but her cup of not-water is noticeably only half full. Never say Easthies isn’t an optimist.
“Easthies!” Alaira fake-whispers. “I found something out!”
“Did you now?” Easthies humours with fake enthusiasm. “What did you hear?”
Snickering, Alaira says, “I heard, from Involen, who heard from Jamames, who heard from—“
“I asked what you heard, not what anyone else did.”
“Fine, fine— I heard that a little birdie has a crush on another!” Alaira gushes, very obviously tipsy now. What time period is she in, pre-third-test days? Crushes are the most interesting thing she’s got?
“Which birds?” Easthies prods. He’s not curious, he’s just… practicing his investigation skills.
“You’ll never believe it,” she rushes, “Qifrey and Olruggio!”
Old news, Easthies wants to groan. She tells him this every single time she gets drunk at a party.
“Wow, great, what fun. Off you go now.” He shoos her off, and she happily wanders away back into the throes of the dance floor, which Olruggio is still tearing up.
“Gossip?” Utowin deadpans, “Really?”
“No,” Easthies lies. He seems to be doing that much more lately. He can blame it on the alcohol which he did not drink. “You should leave as well. I thought you were looking for, and I quote, ‘black-haired hotties to seduce’, how much progress have you made on that?”
He mustn’t be very successful, judging by the heavy sigh he lets out.
“Are you staying for much longer?” The ginger tries, instead of answering. He supposes the sigh was an answer in itself.
Easthies tilts his head, pondering whether to tell the truth or not. “Yes,” he decides. “I’ll stay until the end of the party.”
“Sounds good, dude.” Utowin raises a hand lamely, then he leaves. Good riddance. Easthies does not need anyone distracting him from his very important task of people-watching.
“So,” an elderly voice says from beside him, and Easthies almost shrieks and drops his glass.
Coughing and failing to regain his composure, Easthies starts, “Lady Vinanna, please don’t scare me like that. Also why are you at this party.”
She smirks proudly. “Involen’s invitation was addressed to ‘the entirety of the Knights Moralis— Yes, even Easthies.’ Surely that includes me too?”
Easthies nods. Can’t fault that logic. He’s usually the last person on the invitation list, Lady Vinanna is surely leagues ahead. But where Lady Vinanna goes, Lord Beldaruit is soon to follow…
“A-ha-ha, Olruggio, my boy! You must jive with all the passion you can muster!”
…There he is. Obnoxious voice and all.
The hooves of his seal-chair clack on the dance floor in time with the music, and his hands are outstretched to dance with Olruggio. Easthies didn’t think this party could get any worse.
“What drink have you got there?” Lady Vinanna asks, and it would be so embarrassing if he had to spill his alcohol preferences to his boss, but thankfully Easthies is sober-minded and normal. Haha. Right. “Water?”
“…No,” Easthies denies. For once, it really isn’t water.
She nods and claps, “Ah, vodka, then!”
“…Not vodka either. I can’t handle such strong alcohol.” There’s no shame in admitting weaknesses to his superiors. Lady Vinanna is someone he can trust to keep this secret to herself.
“Hm,” she ponders. “I can’t think of any other fitting drink.”
“Vinegar,” he blurts. “It’s vinegar.” Admitting that has him pressing a hand to his face.
He messed up. In what world does he ever say the real answer? Why is it this world that he does? He could’ve said something reasonable, like tea, or saltwater because that’s somehow different from water, or some soda that’s allegedly gone flat, but no! Now Lady Vinanna knows he’s a vinegar-drinking freak. Welp. There goes his reputation.
Surprisingly, the first thing that comes out of her mouth is not judgement.
Lady Vinanna hums contemplatively, “Where did you get vinegar? Beldaruit was looking for it earlier.”
Does he want to ask why Beldaruit wanted vinegar?
“Salad dressing station,” Easthies mumbles, pointing at the salad area right at the very back corner, the corner Qifrey is in. Who even eats salads, anyway? All it is are a bunch of uncomfortable leaves. Actually that suits Qifrey perfectly, Maybe Olruggio would like salads. Easthies, on the other hand, prefers to be the liquid that beats the leaves down but gives flavour. Hashtag complex character.
“I’ll be sure to tell him that,” Lady Vinanna nods. Tell who what? Did he say anything out loud? “Beldaruit likes vinegar as well, you see.”
Easthies has so many more questions now,
But first, he’s going to erode a coastline out of anger, because why does he have to share such a specific trait with his most loathsome not-enemy?