Pissed [Attn: Laurent]

[CorenYi]

The noise from the bar faded slowly as the alcohol burned its way down his throat. He didn't want to think about anything. He just wanted to forget everything; forget it and all its consequences. But it wasn't to be. With every drop of brandy his thoughts grew less clear, but nothing would push the thought of her from them.

 

His head swam as he ordered another drink, and when one failed to appear confusion filled his muddled head. The Tavernmaster's words were lost on him, and he barely felt the hands lifting him from his seat. Only one thought fully registered before he sank into the blackness: Why am I flying?

 

 

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Sound returned first. The soft scuff of leather boots on cobblestone filled his ears. His eyelids felt as though they were made of stone. The sound of laughter drifted through the air, derision made manifest, and he managed to force his eyes open just in time to wish that he hadn't. Before he could get a good look at the men staring down at him he was hit in the face by a stream of hot, foul smelling liquid. Opening his mouth in protest, he quickly discovered that it tasted worse. Two more streams followed the first, and Fior was left attempting to fumble his way upright beneath the torrent while his alcohol laden mind tried to drag him back down into unconsciousness.

 

His fingers slid along the stone wall behind him, seeking a crevice, a crack, anything big enough for him to push himself up. His feet slipped as he tried again to stand, and he sputtered against the liquid, fighting to keep it out of his mouth and eyes. As the streams tapered off, his hands found purchase and he pushed with all of his might. He felt his body fly up, propelled by his arms, and he realized he couldn't control his momentum. Seconds later laughter rang from both sides of him, and he found himself sprawled atop the body of his third harasser, baffled as to how he had gotten there.

 

His ears rang as muffled shouting echoed from beneath him and four strong arms dragged him to his feet. The alleyway lurched and his stomach exploded in pain as air rushed from his lungs. He struggled to control his breathing and focus onto his assailant, but no matter what he tried, the world would not stop spinning. Pain rocketed through his body as a second blow connected with his stomach and stars burst behind his eyes as a third landed on his jaw. His stomach heaved and, as the contents poured out over the four of them, a singular thought drifted slowly across his mind.

 

Cairma's going to kill me.

[Winter Mist]

~Laurent~

 

These free days the trainees were allowed weren’t half bad, Laurent decided as the sky faded from orange to purple.  They had a whole day in which to do whatever they liked to forget some of the rigours of their training, and then a whole night to experience the nightlife of Tar Valon itself.  He had mooched from tavern to tavern thus far and was just entering another one, the stars twinkling overhead like so many beams of illumination pointing down just to him.  He was beginning to enjoy the strain of his muscles every morning when he woke up.  It made him feel stronger, waking up with every single part of his body feeling like it was screaming.  Heroes had to be able to bear pain, didn’t they?

 

Most of the previous day’s aches were beginning to wear off.  He had spent the better part of the day walking around Tar Valon trying to get his bearings.  It wouldn’t be very heroic or wonderful if he got lost, now would it?  The place was full of amazing sculptured buildings, or sculptures, or a mixture of both.  And at night…  Well, the place came alive.  There was so much happening here, it was difficult to believe he had ever considered Mayene to be a cosmopolitan place.  The soles of his boots making no noise on the paved streets, he knew that having a drink in every tavern would be a bad idea.  He had limited himself to one or two, and was feeling a little light-headed from them.  It was a nice feeling though. 

 

Feeling too confident about an alleyway he was certain would be a shortcut back to the White Tower, Laurent stopped as he saw dark shapes attacking some helpless citizen of Tar Valon.  Instinct took over as he started forward, knowing that his training would be more than enough to help him out in a mere scuffle like this.  The poor man needed his help!

 

“All right you lot,” he called, keeping his voice as low as he could and still being heard “I’m going to give you a chance to run before I hit you.  Are you going to take it?”

 

A fist connected with his jaw in answer.  After thinking of the damage to his good looks, rage took over as he realised he could well end up with an unsightly scar, and he kicked someone viciously in the stomach.  The other man was starting to get up.

 

“Come on!”  He shouted.  “Let’s get these … meat-heads!”