Before the party is over

Oh. Uh. Another drink? That's... "Thanks," the courier murmured, managing a weak smile as a fresh glass arrived. This was how people became allergic to orange juice, he was pretty sure, but it would be rude not to at least sip it while they talked... right?

"...Oh. Yeah, I guess not knowin' th'Voice..." Tal trailed off, chewing his lip as he found his perception shifting a bit under the weight of trying to look at the world from the eyes of someone who'd been asleep for a long hecking while. Pale eyes turned a little glassy, and whether the alcohol helped or hurt with this particular mental exercise was anyone's guess.

He blinked back into the present moment as Danta's confidence sauntered into the conversation, commanding his attention and filling his stomach with a decidedly sinking sensation on top of all the booze already in there. "Oh," Tal managed weakly. "Well, uh, if she's not answerin' someone's prayers... would y'mind if someone put up a shrine to th'other gods? In case they've got more, uh, time on their hands?"

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

"Sounds like I'm better off not knowing who she was, to be honest," Danta continues, finishing off his first drink and already feeling better for it, i.e. ready to indulge in whatever else the evening might bring. "I know a lot of the newer Ancients used to be, uh... Arrested? Assisted?" Way to butcher the name of a race, Danta. "Anyway - they all seem a lot happier now." Which is true, actually, and he's only just realised it himself.

Trying to sit cross-legged on his barstool to be more comfortable - a feat that's decidedly adventurous given his long legs, Danta snorts at Tal's question. "If she's not answering their prayers they should focus on being the sort of person she will answer," he says plainly, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't care if people want to put whatever shrines in their own regions, but.... well, the Grounds only had a shrine to Dygra after the war. And that means something, I think."

It means she's better than everyone else. Duh.

Dantalion

Given how Tal had butchered other names in the past, he couldn't really complain about anyone else doing the same, so he just nodded emphatically in agreement at Danta being better off not knowing the specifics on the Voice.

Besides, if you looked at it sideways and squinted, the Ascended were kind of 'Arrested' for three hundred years in the prison of the Barrier.

A sideways glance showed Danta shifting and wriggling a little like a long-legged spider, and Tal wrinkled his nose at the reminder of the Voidweavers he'd run into recently. The advice the Maverick dispensed wasn't really what he wanted to hear either, but it was pretty clear that the lanky ruler wasn't exactly a secret fanboy of the Big Three or their heralds. "What kinda person is that?" the courier asked curiously anyways, pushing his glass back and forth on the bar between his hands as he tried to focus on something other than the slow creep of disappointment making its way through his cushion of alcohol.

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

Luckily, perhaps for them both, Danta is eventually successful in perching on his barstool as he likes, though when he tries to stand again he'll almost definitely topple off. Maybe if Tal is still there he'll catch him - or he'll go down with him. They'll just have to wait and see. As for the kind of person Dygra would want to answer, well, he's nothing but steadfast in his faith to the dark lady, and it's with an easy smile that he glances to the courier.

"Someone who upholds her beliefs," he says with an open and easy shrug. "Dygra is everything that Caido isn't, but that doesn't make her bad or Caido good. It's all about balance - she's chaos, entropy, destruction. The shadow Caido casts." He even sounds a little dreamlike as he speaks about her. "She's what keeps things interesting, if you want my honest opinion."

Dantalion

Tal would probably try to catch Danta, out of reflex if nothing else. The problem with reflexes was that after three screwdrivers - or was it four now? Damn, he was losing count - they tended to be a tad less than optimal. All of which was to say that they'd be going down together, because that's what friends were for, right Danta?

In the meantime, though, Tal was getting a valuable lesson in the local theology that had him tilting his head like a dog presented with a conundrum. "...Huh. Guess I c'n see that," the courier admitted slowly, trying to wrap his inebriated brainmeats around the concepts. "I mean, some order is good. Keeps things peaceful an' shit. But too much an' it gets borin'." He took a gulp of his new drink to try and cool the fans in his brain that were starting to overheat. "But doesn't that mean that 'er followers shouldn't... y'know. Fix things or build or... or create new stuff? Innit that like disrespectin' what she stands for?" At least the entropy and destruction aspects that the Maverick had mentioned!

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

Gesturing as if to tell him see? exactly as Tal admits an agreement, however hesitant or reluctant it might be, Danta turns victoriously back to his drink and draws a few patterns on the condensation of his glass. And he drawls an "Oh, come on now," as the courier continues, flashing an amused and fanged smile his way as if he's arguing a point that Danta has long come to terms with.

"Even chaos needs a roof over its head," he points out. "For me at least, there's no point splitting hairs over things all people need, especially if you can satisfy Dygra in other ways." He doesn't think his lady goddess would begrudge a few souls their creature comforts in their pursuit of serving her higher purpose, anyway. "But I'm sure some people do feel the way you've mentioned. You probably don't want to run into them on a dark night."

Dantalion

It wasn't that Tal was reluctant or hesitant to agree; he had no beef with Dygra, and he respected her in a confused, distant way as someone several of his friends revered. But the alcohol that greased some of the cogs in his earnest little brain also caused others to slip a few teeth as he tried to follow the unexpectedly deep and educational conversation, and it was taking some time for things to sink in past the comforting cushion of booze between him and the world.

"So y'don't need to uphold everythin' then, long as y'do some o' what she stands for?" he asked cautiously, though it wasn't clear if he was talking about Dygra specifically or religion more generally. There was a dawning light of hope trying to push through the storm clouds of his disappointment, but it didn't seem to be quite fully formed yet and the courier clearly wasn't used to wrestling with such weighty abstract considerations.

But he was finding himself in some desperate need of a theological lesson or two all of a sudden, and he was lucky enough that Professor Danta was feeling benevolent enough to provide.

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

"Fuck did you just say?" Danta drawls, as if the other man's accent has finally crashed into the brick wall of his own inebriation. Knocking back his drink as if that will help (it will not), he lets out a deep sigh and passes his fingers back through his fair hair. "I'm no priest," he says, though he thinks he'd make a good one - and gods help the Grounds then, "but I think shit like this is a pretty personal thing, don't you?"

Tapping the bar for another, though it's likely to be his last before he finds someone's thighs to bury his face between (or some office work if he's feeling spicy, he supposes), Danta regards Tal with the soft amusement of the quietly entertained. "If you want to find out how best to serve Dygra, go and ask her yourself. She'll gladly accept another Ancient into our family."

Dantalion

It wasn't like the drinks were helping Tal's accent any, and he just squinted back at Danta with his nose wrinkled up in consternation, because he didn't think he had one. An accent, that was. He knew he had a drink. It was right in front of him and someone had been stealing sips of it since it was already half empty and he didn't remember taking any - or, well, many - swallows of it so far.

"Um. Is it?" the courier asked in response to the possibly-rhetorical question on religious privacy. Most people he'd asked about matters of religion had been pretty willing to chat, but was Danta...

Was Danta trying to change the subject?

Ooooooooooh.

Tal nodded to show that he could eventually, with some percussive assistance take a social hint. "Gotcha," he agreed, having some more juice as a reward for his perspicacity. "Go an' ask 'er myself." With a firm nod he started to stand up, intending to go do just that--

But the floor was shifting and the courier sat back down into his seat with a plop and a rapid blinking. "Uh... but not right now," he decided after a moment of long consideration about the distance between his chair and the door. "Mebbe once th'room stops sloshin'..."

~fin~