Give me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

[thelongcon]

The Truth Meme



Whether by spell, curse or chemical, your character is now compelled to speak honestly about everything. There's a little wiggle room: all that matters is that all they say are true.



1) Post with your character, (you know the drill) they're now stuck speaking the truth.

2) Others tag in.

Comments

roman godfrey ;; hemlock grove

[upier]

[gadje]

[ Mom's out of the trailer, Godfrey's got alcoholism... clearly it was time to break out the moonshine. There's two glasses and a mason jar full of peach-hazy liquid, coils of what looks like bark and unidentifiable chunks of something fleshy at the bottom. But when Peter unseals the top, just enough that the lid hisses from the release of pressure, there's the sharp scent of spice and something similar to apple. ]

Better get comfy - only place you'll go after a couple shots of this is face to the floor.

[ Pretty bold claim, he knows. Part of him is hoping to goad the other boy into proving him right, if only for the little chuckle it'll provoke before the real consequences. ]

No saying what's down there, either. We don't own a vacuum.

[upier]

[Roman considers it a good thing, the fact that he's thrown unnecessary things like caution away years ago, but his expression is nonetheless wary as he squints at the jar. He will never understand gypsies and their need to put trees in every damned thing. Snorting softly at Peter's claim.]

First of all; I think I'm insulted in your lack of faith. Second...

[He leans back from the smell, wiping his nose absently on his sleeve before pointing a long finger at the bottom of the jar.]

What the hell is that?

[The answer, apparently, didn't matter - he's pushing his glass forward, curiosity and his need for a drink overriding any concern that might have been there.]

I lol'd at the trees bit

[gadje]

[ Peter's brows twitch at the other boy, a gesture that's simultaneously mysterious and challenging in a way that's still teasing. He doesn't give a damn about Roman's assorted egos other than the fact they're so easy to prod... In truth, though, he does have faith in that liver. Lightweights could be fun to laugh at, but the real purpose of drinking with company was the enabling that became inherent in it.

His long nails click lightly on the metal lid as he draws it off and carefully pours about three fingers for each of them. ]

We'll get there. Why, you hungry?

[ Roman's glass is slid back across the table to him before Peter flops back into his own seat, swirling the liquid of his own drink to waft the aroma up thicker. It's probably going to taste like drinking an apple pie going down, he knows, but it comes right back to kick like a fucking mule.

There's a momentary pause wherein he considers his glass and Roman, back and forth. Should they... toast? He really wasn't good at this sort of thing.

Well, ok, he wasn't as much of a stranger to manners as he might have professed, but between what he'd be expected to observe in a pretentious fucking society and the traditional toasts of his own people... where did he and Roman fall? ]

[upier]

Not for whatever the hell that shit is, no. Any reason why you have bark in there? Or is it some sort of mysterious gypsy thing I'm not supposed to know about.

[Not like it actually mattered, but unlike his mother, he found the gypsy quirks to be endlessly fascinating and endearing, not to mention curious. Oh how she would have a coronary if she knew her precious son was sharing a drink and shooting the shit with 'that filth'. Allowing himself a slight smirk he plucks up his glass, taking a sniff of it. He knew of drinks like these, the ones that smell attractive and tasted sweet - oh, they were a dangerous mistress.

Roman does pause, however, shooting a glance to Peter. Apparently he was of the same mindset, normally he'd just knock back his drink and ask for another, no strings attached. However, this was a rare time where he wasn't just in the mood to drink to get drunk, no. This was, more or less, a social call. One that didn't involve fucking a hot girl in a short skirt. Chewing on his bottom lip for a moment, in thought, he gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulder, raising his glass, almost awkwardly.]

To... [A pause.] Our... health?

[What? He wasn't one for toasts, and it's something people usually toasted to, isn't it? Regardless, it seemed to suffice for him, as he's knocking his drink back.

Oh. ...Oh that was nice.]

[gadje]

[ Peter's brows slooowly inch up, giving all the impression he was judging the hell out of the other boy right now. Really, Roman? Really?

Not quite a second of that, though, and the expression breaks with a huff of laugh. After an easy little shrug, he lifts his glass, one edge of his lips pulled crooked with wry grin. ]

Yeah... To our fucking health.

[ Unlike Roman, he doesn't throw it all back. Instead, he takes half a mouthful and lets it sit sweetening on his tongue. Out of the corner of his eye, obscured by the rim of the glass, he takes note of how the upir responds. When Peter's mouth soon begins to burn with the true, underlying sear of the hooch, he swallows. Oh yeah, it was nice.

And it was deceptively sweet. Some of the best indulgences are just that simple. There are more jars stored under the sink, some of them that are as clear as water, and they shock the system as soon as they hit flesh. The pain of it doesn't make them any better than what they're currently sharing; both of them will burn stubborn molds off in record time, and both are worthy for at-home emergency medical care. This one tastes a fuck of a lot better, though, doesn't it?

Prince Godfrey, he brings you the gift of an intoxicant that tastes amazing and preserves your masculinity. Gypsie magic.

Really, though: ]

Hate to contradict the esteem you've got for us people, but moonshine's about as American as apple fucking pie. Family recipe, but a half-breed.

[ Kinda like him, right? ]

Helped make that with some cousins on our way here. Also, that bark's called cinnamon, dip-shit. You think it just shows up in powder form for your spice rack?

[ He smirks, shaking his head slightly before polishing off his glass. The edge of his foot nudges the jar toward the other boy, as if inviting, but in the very next moment, Peter's rolling forward and claiming it for himself. He doesn't quite wink at the other boy as pours another small serving for himself.

It's cruel and teasing, but all in all it's meant in good humor, if the way he holds his hand out for Roman's glass is any indication. ]

You ever made anything?

[upier]

[He let's the alcohol sit deep in his belly, warming him from his lips to his toes. It went down regrettably smooth (in his experience that meant it would fight like hell when leaving) and warmed him to his core. The taste of spices lingering on his tongue and he licked his lips idly. He will ignore all judging from Lassie over there, taking his time to enjoy the aftermath of that glass.

Roman scoffs softly at his words, yeah, he knew what moonshine was- he wasn't as dumb as some people assumed he was. He just figured, with some of the other stuff around here, that it was some specially made gypsy hooch. Which would have been far more interesting than the run of the mill stuff, if he was going to be quite honest with himself.

But the Godfrey was learning to keep his mouth shut, sort of. Some things didn't need to be said, but he does shoot a look of his own, one that clearly portrayed the 'it would have been better if this was special gypsy hooch' message he was currently feeling. He rolls his eyes, however, at that sass.]

Oh, really? It's cinnamon? Oh no, a silver spooned rich boy like me has never even gone close to a kitchen before, not even to look at the spices on the spice rack. Is it supposed to be that color? [Settling the werewolf with another look.] I know what cinnamon looks like, asshole. Just not emerged like that.

[Puffing out a breath at the light teasing, but he easily settles into a bit of a grin as he finally hands his glass over. He tilts his head slightly at the question.]

...Ever made what, booze?

[gadje]

[ He is just being a dick about the cinnamon, prodding at the other boy's naivete, so when he's called on it and has a look leveled at him, there's a telling little curl at one edge of his mouth. He doesn't think being rich has made Roman stupid at all - just too accustomed to having people care about his opinions.

The question he's asking, though, is more honest curiosity. Peter shrugs. ]

Anything. Booze, clothes, a fucking lego fortress, I dunno.

[ He hands the filled glass back before lounging back in his seat. ]

Something creative, outside of whatever they made you do in school. Pretty sure everyone half-asses those projects anyway.