skittering | IC INBOX for asgard.

❰ the sweater-hand falls to his knee, and as hyper-aware as lalli usually is of any little bit of touch, it doesn't get so much as a passing thought. as if it's as fundamental a part of his reality as his own arm, or an extension of it that has never not been there.

then the weight of emil's head leans into the hand that adjusted his hair, and lalli stills, looking almost contemplative - adjusting to the reality in which that, too, is an extension of his arm. he props his elbow on the back of the couch, carefully (or as carefully as he can, at the moment), to make the act of holding the weight of emil's head a bit more sustainable.

to the thanks, he shakes his head a little. this isn't a 'thanks' kind of thing, is it? it might be. it doesn't feel like it, though. 'thanks' is when something is one-sided, when someone does someone else a favor, and he may have fixed emil's hair but emil did declare that he's getting him sweaters.

thinking back quite that far (to a whole minute ago, what a feat) sends his head spinning worse than it already was, and finally breaks his stare to close his eyes, letting his breath out slow through his nose. this part, the spinning, it's not great. it wasn't so bad when he was more distracted with the birthday talk, but now it's all he can think about. ❱

( Thankfully, neither points of contact are taken from him. The fact that they could have been aren't in the mind of Emil, drunkenly oblivious to the idea, but he is certainly pleased that they remain. The hand that's cupping his head is his favourite of the two by far, and from there Lalli can feel him slightly shifting, moving as he sighs with as much lung capacity as he can muster. )

I'm glad. ( That's the status update for his current mental status, as much as he doesn't know how else to continue that statement. Most of his happiness is very shallow right now. He doesn't remember the last time he was touched reassuringly like this.

Oh, no, it just snapped into focus for him. They held hands quite some time ago, and Emil is glad for that too.

The problem is that his mind is slowly slogging through a lot of different thoughts, not very conjoined. A lot of things have happened this evening, and it's all blending together. Emil laughs lightly before he closes his own eyes, and the light he can see behind his eyelids is mesmerizing for a moment while also being a little disorienting.

Quickly, he clamps onto the last stray thought that rattled through his mind in order to keep his iris' from spinning as he opens his eyes again. ) Have you had chocolate before? I can't -- your cake. It should be chocolate.

❰ it does the trick. the question, in all its absurdity, has lalli's eyes opening in something a bit too confused to be a scowl. ❱

'Course I've had chocolate, ❰ he says, as if asked if he's ever drank water or seen a tree. ❱ Keuruu. One of the other scouts had some. Stole a piece when he wasn't looking. ❰ so what emil probably took as 'yes, of course chocolate is a semi-regular part of my life' was actually really 'yes, of course i tasted chocolate one single time in the entirety of my life'. ❱

Chocolate cake, ❰ he muses almost inaudibly a few seconds later, rolling the idea around in his head. trying to picture if that would be good or not. he assumes it would be, but emil also doesn't seem to have any real problem with mustard, so it's anyone's guess. ❱

( Sometimes in his assumptions about how underprivileged and sheltered Finns are, Emil hits a bullseye. He doesn't have much reason to feels smug about it anymore, but right now he's got that stupid smile still plastered against his face. )

Put fruit on it, too. Three layers. Maybe five. ( The hand that had been thus far clamped onto Lalli's sweater finally rescinds itself, wavering in the air slightly as he guesstimates a height for said cake monstrosity. Wow, what a tall cake -- why not just go for a cake as tall as they are? Twenty layers, one for each year, even, so his hand just raises even further. Emil laughs again, imagining the absurdity of it. ) Have him cover it in cream too, you deserve it.

I - ❰ - deserve it? he nearly echoes it back in its own absurdity. what lalli deserves has never really been a topic of personal thought, since he gets what he gets regardless, but emil seems to have put some thought of his own into it and this is what he's come out with. how he specifically deserves a five-layer chocolate cake filled with fruit and covered in cream (by now it's beyond his mortal comprehension, honestly) is lost on him.

that sentence very nearly dangles in the air indefinitely, but he (likely by accident) finishes it with the semi-related thought: ❱ Should get water. ❰ he's shifting a little, legs unfolding, though he still can't move until emil takes his head back. ❱

( The thought he's put into it is a very tenuous mix of what one might actually find on a cake, just dialled up to his brain's current level of indulgence. Doesn't make the part about deserving it any more true, and he'd say that drunk or sober.

There are a myriad of said indulgences that he's thinking about now, mind oozing down that trail of thought now for lack of anything else to think of. It only suddenly snaps to attention when Lalli makes mention of getting water. It's a noble cause, and he is thirsty -- though not enough to move for the flask again -- but getting water involves getting up, and that's a very risky thing to let happen. What would he do if he doesn't come back?

The panic drops his hand out of the air, back onto Lalli's knee as he gives it a squeeze. If he wasn't so frozen in that dopey look, he might find it in himself to pout a little bit. ) Stay? ( The lazy way his voice is coming out makes it sound much more like a favor or request than the command he would want it to be, though still one with deniability. To have to move his head not only feels like a great undertaking physically, but Emil is so sure that if he's alone, half of the lightness he can still feel will vanish too. )

❰ but instead of taking his head back out of lalli's palm, the hand returns to his knee and emil's petitioning him to 'stay?' and as much as the entirety of his remaining rational thought tells him that water isn't really optional right now, he can't find any voice to put behind it.

in fact, he's settling back down into the couch, only halfway of his own volition. with a defeated sort of huff, he flops vaguely against the back of the couch, head dropping onto the arm still propping emil's head. how anyone says no to the swede is currently beyond him. ❱

( Lalli is free to blame him as much as he wants, twelve hours from now when they're feeling the consequences of their wild irresponsibility with full force.

It's almost incomprehensible to Emil at the moment that he could be more drunk than this. He's never had more than a few sips of light liquor, barring one full drink here and there. Just the one. Not the equivalent of four or five he's had tonight. The only reason he knows it's possible is because there is a small breadth of his mental capacity that is holding onto his pride, sanity and inhibition. And he knows this because the small grip he has on his friend's knee tightens, and if that small gap in inebriation wasn't there, he'd very likely give into the urge to pull him closer.

The largely impulsive and drunken part of his brain instead settles for his thumb rubbing back and forth for a moment, a gentle and motive reminder that the touch is still happening despite his numbed nerves. Those nerves find the strength to pull his loose smile closed, but barely have the power to keep his eyes open. Food is on the way, but he's so comfortable right now.

Some of that is the alcohol, some is the couch, but it's indeed obvious the largest part of it is the person he's sitting next to. It finally registers to him that he indeed got Lalli to stay put, and it's immediately funny enough that he got him to do as he wanted that he lets out an embarrassing giggle at the idea. That's certainly something he likes, that is nice. )

Good. Don't get up. ( The laugh that's paired with that is lighter, back to that lazy tone his voice is acquiring as the alcohol slows down his thought process. He'd already been asked to stay and obliged, but it's pertinent that Lalli stay put for as long as he'd like him to be there. )

❰ as if it wasn't bad enough already, lalli's compliance seems to have invited a follow-up demand. he mutters, ❱ Vaativa kokkare, ❰ with no actual malice, eyes lifting again to emil's face from where he's lying on his arm. to his eyes, then down to the curve at the corners of his mouth. so easy it seems, for emil. when lalli tries it, his lips twitch at the corners like he's asking too much of them - but maybe it's because he's doing it on his own, most people smile at something or even because of it.

his hand's already in the air between them before he even realizes he's moved, and then two light fingertips have found the very corner of emil's lips, as if that could possibly help him make sense of it.

speaking of things to make sense of - he abandons emil's smile to ghost those same fingertips over the planes of his upper cheek, expression thoughtful but otherwise inscrutable. finns, with tuuri as a rare exception, tend to have razor-sharp cheekbones. emil, however, has no such thing, and lalli realizes now that he's wondered for quite a while where his cheekbones actually lie. ❱

Edited 2019-10-01 08:56 (UTC)

( The Finnish plays in Emil's head on a loop, more bewildered by the rhythmic sound of the language while he's drunk. He has no idea what it means sober, let alone this intoxicated. Lalli could be asked tomorrow, granted Emil could remember it and repeat it well enough to get a translation.

Not that he needs one. Vaativa kokkare, vaativa kokkare, vaativa kokkare is good enough for now.

Lalli's thin fingers touch his face as he's repeating the words, a little shock to his system. They're barely there, but 'barely' isn't what counts. The small contact triggers him to swallow, eyes opening to study Lalli's face, as much as he's staring back at him. The upward movement causes a light laugh and goosebumps, not usually ticklish but surprised by the sensation it causes. Emil's smile widens, neck twisting slightly, which might make the goal of the exploration fruitful. )

What are you doing? ( The laugh is still present in his vocal tone. That's not a complaint, more a curiosity at how surreal the experience is starting to feel. If anything is forgotten because of the alcohol, he hopes this moment isn't one of them. )

[despite the fact he's going to be down alcohol because of all this, the moment he's made it back to the house and stumbled across his friends in the position they're in, the loss doesn't seem all that awful.

see, klaus could've been normal and come through a first-floor window, but levitating himself up to the one in his loft was a whole lot more fun. that, and from the platform, he can look down at the two of them, mirth curving his lips way too high. adjusting the straps of the bags on his shoulders, he silently moves over to the half-finished railing, props an elbow up and settles his chin in the palm, watching a moment longer than necessary.

after a few moments, whatever he deems long enough, he straightens, leans over the banister so he can see a bit better. meaning he hears, “what are you doing?” with very little effort and when he notices lalli's touching emil's face, he can't help himself.] Being extraordinarily soft for where I'm standing.

❰ at first, it very much seems like emil's going to let this happen. like he's not going to raise a fuss or put lalli on the spot. like lalli might be able to continue his exploration unchecked - maybe emil's brow next, or the so-called 'bridge' of his stupidly straight nose.

but then - 'what are you doing? - emil has to go and break it. lalli's brow flickers into a scowl but doesn't quite have time to commit to the gesture before klaus's voice calls down from above. when did he get here? was he up there this whole time? and he shows up now of all times, being stupid and calling them soft.

the hand formerly on emil's face lifts to aim at the loft, four fingers curling in the gesture this very man showed him months ago and presenting klaus with his middle finger. in the meantime he's scooting back to his end of the couch, legs curling in, bent knees leaning against the couch's back. ❱

( The hand that had been tracing over the side of his face suddenly floats upward, and it’s then he registers a foreign voice just spoke. Not one he’s never heard before, but one unfamiliar within this drunken experience.

Despite the fact that he was messaging with Klaus off and on all evening, there’s a look on Emil’s face that showcases how blankly surprised he is to see the man who just told him he’d be there in a moment. Lalli might have retreated for whatever reason, but Emil remains just as sprawled out and dopey, twisting his neck to find the head where the voice came from so far above them. )

Oh, finally. ( Whatever Klaus said went right over his head, focus incapable of remaining on one thing too long. The distance unsettles him, knowing that if their friend brought them the promised food, it has to be up there in the loft. That’s not going to fly. ) Are we eating up there? Lalli can’t leave the couch.

( This is what he has decreed, not to mention his legs are both asleep and psychosomatically gelatinous. )

[an abrupt laugh pours out of klaus as soon as lalli presents him with the middle finger.] Yeah, alright, I get the hint. [but watch him lift his hand and fondly return the gesture anyhow.]

And no, you aren't eating up here, [he adds, lowering the arm afterward and planting both palms on the railing. pulling himself up onto it, the lanky idiot teeters momentarily, looking like he's about to fall straight on his face to the first-floor below, but at the last second, he leaps off like he's about to take flight— except, you know, he hasn't got any wings to fly with? so, that's a little worrisome initially, even though he isn't falling nearly as fast as a normal person would.

guess who's figured out he can levitate by using the telekinesis on himself? this ridiculous fool, of course.

he lands easily on his feet, closes most of the distance between himself and his two friends without hesitation, dragging one bag off his shoulder so he's able to dig through it while he approaches. the first two things he removes are water bottles, fresh from the tyrhaus fridge, and offers them each one.] Start with these, you rebellious little things.

❰ and lalli's sorely tempted to object to the declaration that he can't leave the couch (he can, he'll prove it), but it's thoroughly derailed as klaus climbs up to drop from the loft railing. lalli straightens, alarm slicing through the fog in his head, but only then does he realize klaus's descent is too slow to be natural.

guess he can lift more than rocks and household goods.

the water bottle is accepted gratefully, and he opens it and proceeds to drink a good portion of it. he's not terribly thirsty, he just knows that it's a crucial part of the process in his limited observation.

as soon as he's done drinking, though, he caps the bottle (clumsily, with quite a bit of trouble that he's not hiding as well as he thinks he is) and says: ❱ Emil said you had food. ❰ this isn't that. ❱

( Klaus levitating barely impresses Emil, though perhaps it might be commented on more outside of his drunken state. His mind is very bouncy, though it keeps bounding back to food more than anything. A few moments ago, he was dubious. Now it's become clear that his stomach is craving it.

Water be damned. Once its handed to him, he looks at it, then to Klaus. Unlike Lalli, he has next to no interest in drinking it. If his friend wants it as well, he's welcome to it. )

Yeah, you do, don't you? It wasn't some ruse? ( That would be so cruel...please don't play any pranks on him while he's in this altered state. )

[wow, the audacity of both these fools.

klaus rolls his eyes and sets the bag that'd had the water bottles in it aside, figuring he can go through the rest of its contents when he's not babysitting drunken teenagers (young adults now, technically). the other strap slides off his shoulder, he clutches it between both hands, shimmies it up into his arms to hold and opens the flap.]

Patience is a virtue, yanno? [removing two tupperware containers, he presents them each with one, waiting until they're taken before offering forks shortly after.] And wow, I'm almost a little hurt that you think I'd pull that mean of a prank on you guys. When I talk about food, I don't play.

How much have you all drank, anyway?

❰ for lalli's part, basically everything being said is thoroughly ignored in favor of snatching the tupperware and cracking open a corner to peer inside.

he doesn't actually have a chance to process what's in it, though, before klaus says 'how much have you all drank, anyway?' ❱ Nothing, ❰ lalli's quick to say, narrowed eyes returning to klaus, but then his brow flickers in thought and he amends it to an equally gremliny, ❱ All of it.

❰ who's soft now? not him, and definitely not the swede whose pride was actually on the line here. ❱

( Emil's pride continues to be a joke, as he uses the rest of his imagined energy to lean forward and grab the Tupperware. His hand found itself free of anything to focus on after Lalli decided to scoot away for whatever reason, but now its found its purpose.

His other hand peels the top off, inspecting the not-meat that he was shown was inside. It has a strange smell to it, enough that it makes his stomach lurch -- and yet somehow doesn't put him off eating, entirely. )

Yeah, all of it. ( Where did the flask go? Lost to the couch cushion? It's mystery to Emil, who only agrees with Lalli out of solidarity. There's definitely still alcohol in it, but that's out of Emil's mind at the moment. He wouldn't even know how to adeptly respond to that question if he hadn't spoken up, eventually getting it right. The fork is lost on Emil, not paying attention to the additional gift in favor of poking at the not-meat with a wobbly finger. ) Told you we could. Maybe believe me next time.

[alright, well, nothing is a whole-ass lie. so, try again, lalli. he sighs unheatedly in return, gestures to his own eyes then aims his fingers at the finn, making sure he knows; he's watching, you little forest goblin.

even if he turns to address emil afterward,] Oh, and what'd you do with the flask? Melt it down and drink that, too? [his tone is somewhat accusatory since he's simply making the assumption that they've hidden it or have oh-so-conveniently ‘misplaced’ it so he won't find out it's not actually empty. no big deal, to be honest, he isn't all that worried. they're quite obviously drunker than they want to let on, but he's dealt with plenty of intoxicated people— himself included, which has been more than enough.]

It's not that I didn't believe you. I was just more worried about the— Emil, [he interjects, eyes narrowing in a halfhearted glare.] Please, use the damn fork. Unless you're really that drunk?

❰ whether or not klaus is addressing emil, emil is clearly the soft link in this chain and lalli interjects with a very matter-of-fact. ❱ You don't drink a flask. You eat a flask. ❰ obviously.

and now emil's being lectured, and as someone who is very much used to this same exact 'use your utensils' lecture, lalli makes a very deliberate point to look klaus in the eye as he leans over and takes a piece with his own fingers. ❱

( Despite Lalli's factual tone, Emil giggles softly like a joke has just been told. Eating a flask...ridiculous. More or less ridiculous than melting it down and drinking the remains? He'll have to take a vote up with his mental committee when it's not currently missing.

Another distraction arises, though not in the form of the offered fork -- which he was aware of, for Klaus' information. And yet it still isn't taken, as Emil eyes Lalli's impending hand that suddenly takes a piece of the mysterious meat substitute before withdrawing.

How very dare. ) You have your own? ( Except it's more good-natured than accusatory; a welcome excuse to bridge the distance Lalli created after his recoil. After some slight (albeit unnecessary) scooting, Emil's arm darts out to grab one of Lalli's own not-meat cubes, holding it up like a prize he's caught. It may not be unwarranted pride, as it's quite an adept feat for how drunk he is currently. ) Fair is fair.

( And he eats it before anything can be said or potentially stolen back from him; this is his gem to consume. It's chewed quickly, face wishy-washy on the final verdict before turning to Klaus again. )

It'll do.

[let's be honest, he's attempting to scold both of them for being ridiculous (when the fuck did he become an actual adult anyhow???), but it doesn't seem like it's phasing either. what's the point even trying if he's not being taken seriously? he oughta be used to that by now, one would think.] Drink it, eat it, whichever it is— [he points to his eyes, points to them,] —I eventually want it back.

[while his attention drifts slightly, he stops on lalli as soon as the finn plucks up a piece of tofu – because that's what it is, although he isn't sure either of his friends knows that – and intentionally holds eye-contact when doing so. klaus clutches the fork tighter, presses his lips into a thin line, withdraws the utensil and whips his head toward emil as soon as the swede does the same damn thing.

listen here, you little shits—

ugh, it's a good thing he can't stay angry too long, keeping their intoxicated states in mind. faulting them for doing stupid or antagonizing shit would just be hypocritical of him. he sighs, shakes his head then throws his hands into the air.] Whatever, I tried. [before he levels emil with a glare.] It better do, considering you didn't have to work for it.

IC INBOX for asgard.

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