I GOT THE BOTTLE, YOU GOT THE CUP; COME ON EVERYBODY, LET'S GET FFFF-

[memeraptor]

THE DRINKING MEME!

1. CASUAL.

getting drunk isn't in your stars tonight - you just want a nice little buzz to take the edge off.

2. INEXPERIENCED.

you've never tried this before! it's time to experiment, or maybe ask a friend to be your booze-mentor.

3. FORBIDDEN.

whether due to being underage or something else, you shouldn't be drinking and yet you're doing it anyway.

4. WILD.

inhibitions? what inhibitions?

5. COMPETITION.

a drinking game is going down and you're involved somehow.

6. OTHER.

make up your own scenario!

→ time and place is up to participants to decide
→ gen or romantic/sexual scenarios are equally viable
→ writing starter tags is encouraged
→ have fun!

Comments

3, 5, 6. language warning.

[fatheroflions]

[At his age, it behooves him to be mindful of his bodily humors. He shouldn't agitate himself with excess drinking. Even if that weren't the case, it wouldn't please him to drink much. He's not indulgent in any sense of the word. That said, if it becomes common knowledge that he treats himself delicately, rumor will have him on his deathbed before sunrise. That's why he made certain that they were seen, not least by the cupbearer that he's now dismissed. That's why he makes certain, joylessly, to be incautious sometimes. He drains his cup to the dregs, then contemplatively sucks his teeth, wondering if the wine's bitter only to his taste, or actually so.]

That decrepit fool offered to send one of his daughters along with the Young Wolf's head. He's of the opinion that a tight cunt would improve my disposition.

It beggars belief, [or so he says, but there's no trace of surprise in his voice. Tywin understands the extent of Walder Frey's irreverence better than anyone, having exploited it. The ongoing correspondence has been an indignity, yet one he has no trouble shouldering. He reminds himself that associating with the Freys was not his mistake in the first place, but his father's. As for confirming or denying their bloody collaboration, there's no shortage of people to do both for him. He doesn't address it directly until someone else does. Victory by any means isn't a road boastfully taken.

He leans forward in his seat to refill Littlefinger's cup, then eases back to do the same for himself. That's hospitality. He could be prevailed upon to be competitive. Already he can't tell whether he's setting the pace, or just keeping up with it. He really ought to know, as the one pouring.]

[seem]

[ Though he has seen Lord Tywin take a glass of wine with his meals, to see him partake in spirits in this capacity (and to this degree) is something else entirely. Littlefinger cannot say he's particularly displeased with the circumstances — the more one imbibes, the looser one's tongue becomes, though he doesn't expect that this is an affair Tywin would undertake without considering and compensating for such a thing. He understands the need for it, at least; there are certain things expected of a lord, and one of them is a strong stomach. Not to the degree that the other man's late son by marriage had demonstrated, certainly, but still.

The news of Walder Frey's attempts at ingratiation earn a laugh — more a huff of breath than anything else, accompanied by a smile to properly convey his amusement. (The wine, as it happens, is bitter, but that does nothing to reduce its potency, and it's the least that Littlefinger can do to keep his complaints to himself when it is Tywin himself who pours the cups.) ]

And rightfully so, [ he agrees, nodding in thanks as he raises his glass back to his lips, ] when the same has done little to improve his.

[ It isn't anxiety that bites at him — as his ever-present humor is quick to demonstrate — but there's still an unease under his skin, the sort anyone might feel watching their two sigils pit against each other. Not that they are at odds (at least not presently), but it's always worth being wary when the other person in the room could have your head on a pike and not suffer any consequences for it. ]

Not an offer he continues to press, I hope?

[fatheroflions]

No, [he intones with an inarguable finality that lesser men have envied,] it is not.

[Tywin remains unamused as a rule, but that doesn't entirely remove the possibility of him being amusing. It's difficult to imagine that he made a more diplomatic answer than 'No,' to the offer itself, and some people might find that funny. Walder Frey does not continue to press the offer, nor is he likely to renew it in similar terms. As a younger man, Tywin felt keenly that his sister was wasted in an unbecoming Frey union. It finally served a purpose — he made it serve a purpose — only recently, but that is as close as their families need bind.]

If there's a Lady of Casterly Rock while I live, it will mean my acknowledgment of Cersei as such.

[This shouldn't be treated as an indication of his intent regarding inheritance. He is simply leaving clear the obvious path of retreat, if the Queen Regent (by some incredible feat of her own incompetence) renders her position in King's Landing untenable. That he has considered the possibility this far reveals less his affection and more his lack of faith. There was a time it went without saying, and it remains true that he would not say it himself, but nothing short of necessity would compel him to unseat Joanna's memory from her rightful place.]

Which exhausts my eligibility and leaves us to discuss yours.

[The best response to bitter wine (if his recalcitrant malformed son can be believed) is to continue drinking until the taste is beneath notice. Tywin is not, for his part, discomfited by the potential of this conversation. When he's present, he is intensely present, and drinking has done little to dull that. His attention is a forceful thing in itself when it isn't distributed in his responsibilities. Littlefinger has it undivided.]

You're satisfied, I imagine.

[He imagines no such thing in actuality, since that would involve thinking more of Littlefinger's forthcoming nuptials than he has. He's not overcurious. It wasn't even strictly a question, though it certainly sounds in want of some reply.]

[seem]

[ Littlefinger doesn't doubt that Tywin doesn't particularly care exactly what his response is — and besides, there's only one expected of him, which he offers up quickly enough. ]

As always, I am very grateful, [ he answers, in as ingratiating a tone as possible. Having been born into nothing, he has no room to express dissatisfaction even if he holds a much greater prize in his sights. Where anyone else is concerned, he is lucky to have anything more to his name at all. (It helps the facade, at least in part, that it does bring him one step closer to his ultimate goals. Lysa, he still finds insufferable, but there are sacrifices that must be made upon every road, and considering how besotted she has always been, there are worse obstacles that he could have had placed in his path.) ]

I had never thought to marry— [ a lie or a statement made simply in haste, it is unclear (he had asked after the Stark girl's hand, after all, though without any real hope in the appeal considering — as always — his lowly birth) ] —and now that I am to be wed, that my marriage should help the realm as well as offer me so much? [ He ducks his head, feigning a sort of modesty. ] I could not be more content with the arrangement.

[ Despite how eager he seems to profess his happiness, he keeps any mention of sentiment out of it. He has an inkling, of course, of the significance the memory of Joanna has for Tywin, but he doesn't care to overplay his hand in terms of gratitude. Tact is required in any conversation, and while sycophancy can be a useful tool, it isn't the sort of thing — along with sentiment, to a similar extent — he imagines Tywin to have much patience for. ]