Let's Play a Drinking Game

Artisan. At least now Artorias had a name to go along with the face. That was progress, he supposed. Artisan threw his horseshoe and missed, but he was getting closer, now actually playing the game as well. Artorias took an uneasy step up to the mark—and then paused. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and when he reopened them he moved back to grab the open bottle from Artisan and swiftly put it down with a few healthy glugs. He was already feeling tipsy and he'd be feeling the effects of that soon enough for sure, but he needed it for what he wanted to say next. "Look, I'm sorry, Artisan. I didn't intend for things to get this fucked up and out of paw." Artorias had had plenty of time to reflect on the raid and think about the aftermath, of what he'd learned and what he'd do differently. "I mean, yeah, I wanted to capture a pirate, and that happened to be you. I meant to do that. But I thought Sparrow would just come back in the morning or the next day to ask for you back. I really, really didn't think it'd be like this or take this long. So I'm sorry. I escalated the fight, and maybe I was wrong for that, but I just couldn't..."

Artorias' words trailed off then, fiery amber eyes clouding with painful memories as he looked down and away. He couldn't let the Hallows be attacked the same way it had been when Resin died. He didn't say the words out loud; it wasn't any of Artisan's business, nor did he think the pirate really cared for his side of things. Artorias' shoulders slumped and he shook his head, turning back to the game. "I'm sorry," he mumbled one last time before picking up a horseshoe and throwing it absentmindedly. The ringing of metal on metal that followed shocked the wolf. Eyes snapped up in time to watch the horseshoe finish spinning around the metal stake. Holy shit, he'd actually done it!

Sauntering back over to the table, Artorias grabbed a bottle of dark rum he'd acquired from Fenmyre when Chimera began purging the island of unwanted things. Artisan's grumbled comment about them taking turns sticking things in each other caused Artorias' tail to flick and ears to fall to his head as another flush of heat hit his cheeks. He didn't know why Artisan had an ability to embarrass him like that, but he'd had a knack for it from the innuendos he'd made on the battlefield to his moody retort now. "Y'know, as tempting as you make that sound, I don't think my girlfriend would really approve of me bedding anyone else, no matter how attractive you are," Artorias quipped back, opening the bottle of rum and pushing it across the table towards Artisan. And now he could ask his question. "Why did you wanna be a pirate?" It was an innocuous enough question to start with. "You really don't strike me as a violent wolf. You're more of a lover than a fighter, right? So why the raiding pack?"

"Artorias Carpathius" | "Carpathian" | "Corbin" | "Argent"