08.01.3013: Round One, *Clink*
Summary: Victor promised Anabethe two things when she dropped her bomb. He delivers, in his own way.
Date: 01 August 2013
Related: Bombs Away
Victor Anabethe 

Vic's Apartments, Blackspyre, Volkan
The entrance opens into a sitting room centered around a wide, deep couch of soft, worn brown leather. A dark wood coffee table sits before the couch, with a humidor and an ash tray atop it. Beyond the coffee table is a sizeable vidscreen, dominating one wall of the sitting room. A desk is tucked into a corner of the room behind the couch, with a half-fridge sitting alongside it.

A hallway departs from alongside the desk, leading back to a small bathroom, a study that holds a rack for his armor and his axe, a scattering of trophies from drake kills, and a bench sparsely populated by computer and electronics gear, including leads connecting the terminal to the armor rack.

Beyond the study is a bedroom with a series of wide windows that look out over the southern quadrant of Volkan. The bed is plain, with ash-gray sheets, a comforter being rarely necessary in the center of the Crescent. A bedside table sits alongside the bed, holding a lamp, a datapad, and a music player. A bureau rests along one wall, alongside a closet that is only half full of clothes, mostly dark, ashen colors. The one spot of brilliant color in the room is a blaze-orange jersey from a famous Volkan Drakes striker from his childhood. It has been hung up in a glass case, where the black signature of the player in question stands out starkly across the numbers.

01 August 3013

With no outing to the cliffs alongside the Obsidian Falls today after all, Victor has stayed in. At the buzz at his door, he steps out of his study/workshop, clad in a black tanktop and loose gray exercise pants. "Vera, who's there?" The contralto voice of his AI informs him, "Young Lady Sir Anabethe Khournas." He grunts, wiping his hands off on the sides of his pants as he crosses to the desk and mini-fridge, ordering the AI, "Let her in." And so he's able to greet his cousin with a frosty bottle of beer in each hand, one of them held out to her.

Anabethe has a habit of being obnoxious with her knocks. She'll knock a pattern, make faces into the AI camera, that sort of thing. So it's notable that she actually uses the buzzer and waits patiently. Almost like an apology. "Hey," she says when she steps in, reaching out to take the beer with a faint flicker of a smile. "So. Yeah. That was all really awkward. I did punch Soleil. She should have a hell of a shiner this morning."

Victor pops the top of his beer, holds it out to clink with hers, then announces, "Round one." There's anger and annoyance in his gravelly voice, but perhaps less than might be expected. Maybe the relatively staid approach to requesting entrance to his apartments helped. Moving over to the couch, he drops heavily into one side, gesturing for her to have her own seat, "Can't say I didn't want to break her fucking snooty-ass nose. But what the fuck were you thinking, Bethe? Tellin' me, I get. Sittin' me and D — " again, there's that slight hesitation before he uses her full name, "Devon down and sayin' it, I get. But me and 'Trim and Devon, with that skinny Sauveur bitch right outside? What the fuck?"

"I take no responsibility for the Sauveur bitch," Anabethe shakes her head, pulling out to desk chair to drop into it. "That is a woman who is bound and determined to be miserable, even when no one else is trying to do it to her. I brought Nitrim because he was a part of it too. I did it then because there was so much awkward going on in that room, it seemed like it was going to fall right out of someone's mouth, and then it was going to be in front of Soleil, who would react…Well. Like you saw her."

Victor shakes his head as well, taking a pull from his beer and touching it against the left side of his jaw with a little wince. "Next time you've got somethin' to say about my marriage, Bethe, bring it right to me. Or to me an Devon. I don't much care who the fuck else is involved, just us." He grimaces broadly then, taking another swig of the beer, "If this marriage I got my ass dragged into is gonna have any chance of being anything but pain on a fucking stick, I gotta be able to deal with her straight, without someone like 'Trim tryin' to rag on me for how I'm gonna talk to my wife-to-be." Vic makes a disgusted noise at the back of his throat, "I swear to the gods, if he wasn't family I would have thrown him through that fucking window, the way he was talking."

"He got pissier than anticipated," Bethe agrees with a grimace of her own, taking a drink. "She's a bad influence on him. Not sure what Dad was thinking, putting those two together. Honestly?" She drinks again, then sighs. "Honestly, I was hoping he'd set him up with Devon, who's got a much better head on her shoulders and knows how not to be a complete and utter self-centered pain in the ass bitch. But. Things happen." She leans back in her chair, still frowning to herself. "You know I just want you all to be happy, Vic. You don't want to go into these things with a bunch of secrets and lies. Gets ugly when they come out."

Victor snorts loudly, "No shit. She's got his balls in her handbag already." There's a moment, and then he admits, "Not that it wouldn't do him some good to be without his balls for a while. How many's she, by the way? Lady Ariana, Devon, Sir Viannea, and now the skinny Sauveur bitch? And that's just the nobles he was stupid enough to nail. Knight on a fucking crutch." And that inspires the shaven-headed knight to drain off the rest of his beer. "He's too young for her, anyhow. He'd need to grow up a whole lot more than he has already for her." Subsiding into silence a moment, he growls, "You know Dee said she wouldn't have ever told me." And there he slipped up with the diminutive for the Grantham nee Volen.

"Really?" Anabethe seems surprised by that, resting the bottle against her cheek before she shakes her head. "Sorry. I never want to cause trouble, Vic, but I can't just leave that sort of thing sitting around and festering. If I ever found out someone knew about Nic and never told me because they didn't want to hurt my feelings? I'd lose it. And the truth is, I care about all of you too much to keep secrets."

Victor nods his head slowly, not arguing the point that the information needed to be shared, "That's what pissed me off the most. And it's somethin' I could have dealt with, with her, without all the bullshit that'll probably end up with Dee havin' offer some bullshit formal apology to that skinny Sauveur bitch for hittin' her." Psychometrically, of course, but that totally still counts. "I'm not sayin' you shouldn't have told me, Bethe. I'm sayin' you should've come to me." And he taps his broad chest with two fingers, then relaxes back into the plush end of the couch, "Fuck, don't you wish someone had pulled just you aside and told you what was going down?"

"That's what I'm saying, Vic. I wish someone'd told me. If they'd known." Bethe drinks again quiet. "But if you're going to be fair, then you bring in all the people involved, so everyone can get their say at once. I didn't want it to turn into a whole big game of he said, she said. So I tell you, and then you go to Devon. Devon says one thing, and then you go to Nitrim, who says another. And it all gets chased around, and people get bitchy. Better to just get it all out where everyone can hear what's being said. Everyone who counts," she adds, snorting. "Soleil can go fuck herself. No one went in there to say that Nitrim should be marrying anyone else."

Victor drains off the last of his beer, pulling himself up and off the couch. "Well, the way you did it wasn't fair to me, and it wasn't fair to Dee. But, it's done now. I just wanted to let you know that it pissed me the fuck off." He crosses to the mini-fridge, pulls out two more of the label-less brown bottles, and offers one out to Anabethe, "Round two." Popping the top of his new beer, he kicks the fridge closed, then heads back to the sofa, "I'm sorry I didn't shut the fuck up when you told me to." He shakes his head, grimacing, "She just pissed me off so damned bad."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Vic. And I'm sorry that the time came up when Soleil was around to bleed drama all over it," Anabethe adds with a wrinkle of her nose. "But I'm not sorry that I said something, and I'm not sorry about who I did include. So we'll have to agree to disagree about that." She pauses to drain her first bottle before accepting the second, legs stretched out in front of herself. "No one was shutting up," she grumbles. "Should all just be glad I couldn't do what Devon did, 'cause I would've floored all of you. And probably set something on fire."

Victor shrugs his shoulders at the last point, "Could probably still do that. There's good strong booze out in the Greatroom, and I got a new lighter after that black-out party up at Drakholt." He draws in a breath, then takes a swig of his bottle, "It had to be brought up. I'm not disagreeing. You gonna accept my apology, or should I keep groveling for a while?" A chuckle lifts to his lips from somewhere deep within his barrel chest.

"Oh, wait, there was groveling going on?" Anabethe smiles faintly, sitting up a little straighter. "Hold on, I missed that. Damn, and I don't have a recorder." She shakes her head, waving a hand. "No need to apologize, Vic. It was a weird situation all around. And I don't think it would've gone too poorly if Soleil hadn't invited herself in. Though, you know. I'd rather you talk to me than kick me out. Generally speaking."

Victor shakes his head, "Not yet, but I was willin' to go that far if I had to." He takes another swig of the beer, "Didn't figure there was much else to say to you on the subject, Bethe. You'd set off the charge. I just wanted to talk to Dee about it. Figured that was more pressing than us talking about how I'd rather you handle the situation." He reaches up to rub a hand back across his shorn scalp, "Sorry 'bout the glass and the carpet, by the way. I'd offer to pay for the damages, but it all comes from the boss-man's pocket in the end anyhow."

"Glass?" Anabethe quirks a brow. "Yeah, whatever. Wouldn't worry about it. Dad knows glasses and carpets aren't the important things. Staying close with friends and family is. Being happy is. So, you know. Long as you two are okay, it's all good." She pauses then, looking curiously at him as she takes a drink. "How's Devon holding up?"

Victor nods his head in the general direction of the drawing room, "The one Dee broke when she went all magic megaphone." The question that follows draws a chuckle to his lips, and he turns his head to the right to show off the faint bruise on his left jaw that he was holding the beer to earlier, "She's got a nasty little right cross." The bruise doesn't seem to bother him, however, and he chuckles again, "That was round three, but I don't figure we need another beer for that. Dee's kinda floating here, without a real job, but she was raised to be the wife to an Heir. I'd take it as a favor if you'd shove some of the boring day-to-day shit you hate anyhow over her way."

"You'd take it as a favor?" Bethe laughs, raising her bottle in salute. "Consider it done. I'm starting to go stir crazy lately with all the time I've been spending in the library. I know Dad wants to make sure I know what I'm doing, but gods, I'm tired of charts and logistics. Besides, I like Devon. If she's feeling out of place, I'll be glad to spend some time with her."

Victor returns the beery salute, taking another swig and grinning, "Figured you'd like it too. Hah! If the boss-man even likes her work, maybe you'll even get away with finding some knight with a tight ass to marry instead of some egghead to help run the House." Because friend that he is, there's no way that he's going to pass up a chance to rag her about having to marry again, especially since he's just been thrown under the crawler himself. "But yeah, I think it'd help a lot. Gonna have to get her something to do so she's not rattlin' around. Besides help us kick Hostie ass." He snorts, twisting his lips into an only-half-convincing smirk, "Besides, be good to get her outta my hair now and then." Yes, he knows he doesn't have any hair.

"Hey, smart guys are hot," Anabethe protests, drinking again. "Nothing wrong with dumb and pretty either, I guess. Though it's boring. I could get behind the dangerously smart sort, though." She trails off, apparently mulling that over, before clearing her throat. "Speaking of which. Until then, I've got piles of crap waiting for me to look at it. Thanks for clearing the air, Vic."

Victor sits up, "Speaking of which?" Laughter lifts to his lips, and he shakes his head, "You're a damned tease. Go on, get outta here." He pauses, sighs a bit, then nods to himself, "And thanks for blowin' shit up, Bethe. I woulda been pretty fuckin' pissed if I'd found out about this like… three years from now."

"S'what I figured," Anabethe nods as she stands, walking over to rub a hand over the top of his head. "Got you back, Vic. Got your back." A grin flashes as she heads for the door. "And not just because you've got the booze."

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