Pog Mahone's Irish Pub, Baltimore, Saturday Afternoon

[not_every_mage]

This was still the tackiest Irish-themed pub in America, just as it had been for Anders' and Edward's first visit the fall before. Almost everything that could be faded, scratched or dingy was, and the badly outdated St. Patrick's Day posters curled off the walls at their edges. But the beers were cheap, the bartenders were lax about carding, and Anders knew from past experience that the nachos were thick with melted cheese and gloppy guacamole.

It was, in other words, the perfect place to introduce Thorin to earth culture.

"They added a new type of nachos!" Anders exclaimed with some delight, as he squinted at the menu. "Irish. With ... potato slices, cheese and bacon. We have to try those, don't we?"

[OOC: For those named. NFB due to distance.]

Comments

[doesnotkneel]

Edward leaned over conspiratorially. "I could volunteer an amount of coin," he said, "But that seems like it sits well outside the spirit of this wager."

[dwarvenswagger]

"And what is the spirit?"

[doesnotkneel]

"Anders is going to fall over at any moment," Edward announced, even if he didn't actually know that with any level of certainty. "I say whoever loses this bet must do something equally ridiculous."

As being Anders while falling over.

[dwarvenswagger]

Rude. But accurate.

"And what is as ridiculous as a man falling over?" Thorin asked, rolling his eyes. "Other than another man falling over."

[doesnotkneel]

"Excellent suggestion," Edward said cheerfully. "Whoever loses the bet has to go lay down on the floor next to him."

Even if he hadn't fallen over. Logic.

[dwarvenswagger]

"Anders!" Thorin called. "Your friend wishes to lay on the floor with you."

Because Thorin here was a dwarf and not a man. Booyah.

[not_every_mage]

"I'm not lying on the floor!" Anders shouted back, and then waved his hands in the air over his head. He'd found "Dancing Queen" on the jukebox, which necessitated ... well. Dancing. Even someone who wasn't from this world knew that.

He twirled, hit a wet spot,and landed on his ass.

"Ow," he said, thoughtfully.

He didn't seem terribly inclined to stand up.

[doesnotkneel]

"Do your people even know what wagers ar--"

The words didn't make it all the way out of Edward's mouth.

"Ha! You go lay down with him, Thorin!"

[dwarvenswagger]

"Not a man, a dwarf," Thorin shot back, looking smug.

[doesnotkneel]

Edward eyed him. "Who said anything about men or dwarves?" he said. "I just said the loser of the bet had to lay down with him. And aye, I do believe you've lost."

[not_every_mage]

"Dwarves are still men," Anders offered. It was easier to participate in these conversations from the floor when all of their volume controls were broken. Not that he was sure what they were arguing about, but that seldom stopped him. "They aren't human, but they're men. 'sa gen- gen- general term."

[dwarvenswagger]

"We are not. Just as elves are not men. Nor are hobbins--halflings." Because that's what they needed. Drunk arguing of a bet while Anders was still on the floor.

[doesnotkneel]

"Men's a term meaning someone who's got tackle," said Edward sagely. "You've tackle, right?"

He leaned a little bit in his seat and pointed at Anders. "And you are out of the drinking, mate."

[not_every_mage]

"No, ladies can be men too," Anders argued. The floor was very comfortable; he didn't know why more people didn't rest on it. "If a commander asks for a hundred men, he's not going to care what their bits and bobs look like or how pointy their ears are or how short they are, so long as they can fight."

This was what came of growing up with Dragon Age gender politics.

[dwarvenswagger]

"No, men's your race," Thorin insisted, shamelessly stealing Anders' food now that he was staying on the floor. "All tall and stretched out looking. Not even a proper beard on your ladies."

[doesnotkneel]

Edward continued this piratical raid on Anders' things by snagging the remains of Anders' drink. "You two are mad," he decided. "Utterly mad. Thorin, you lost the wager, stop trying to weasel your way out of it. Dwarfeasel?"

[not_every_mage]

"No, human is the race, men just means ... dunno, really. Something that can talk and is more or less us-shaped," Anders said, and reached up plaintively. "Oi, if you're after stealing my food, at least hand me part of that quesa-thingie. That was good."

A pause: "Why would you want a bearded woman?"

[dwarvenswagger]

"That isn't a word," Thorin informed Edward imperiously. But he kindly tried to figure out which plate Anders was talking about. Failing at that, he gave Anders the jalapeno poppers instead.

Oops?

"Dwarves have beards." Duh. "That includes ladies."

[doesnotkneel]

Edward sighed and shook his head. He was rapidly losing interest in this particular argument, so he leaned over and...

Ordered more rum. Like a sane, sensible person who was utterly set on having the world's most epic hangover.

[not_every_mage]

Anders took the popper, bit into it, and realized his mouth was on fire.

So of course he did the sensible thing, which was clambering back onto his barstool with some difficulty and emptying whatever glass was nearest straight down his throat.

Then, to Thorin: "Never knew female dwarves had beards, too. Maybe the surface ones at home shave."

[dwarvenswagger]

"...are they in mourning?" Look, he was prince of the Longbeards. It was right in the name.

"He's back up, no need to lay down to join him."

[doesnotkneel]

"I'm not talking to you no more," Edward said, as the bartender put down more rum, studied them both, and seemed to come to some kind of conclusion about the state of their drunkenness. "Shouldn't have walked out of a wager scared."

[not_every_mage]

"But you have to talk to us," Anders said, wounded. "If you don't, we'll have to talk to the bartender here. To" -- he studied the man's nametag for several seconds before the letters quit swimming -- "Alex."

Alex did not seem as though he wanted to be friends.

[dwarvenswagger]

"Master Alex would be a superior companion," Thorin added, causing the bartender to make a quick exit as far from them as possible.

[doesnotkneel]

"Master Alex hates you," Edward said with a snicker.