Alaric II - Drinking On Sulfuric Sands (Open)

Aegor "Alaric" Blackfyre, beside the Grimstone

“I wonder…” Jaime kneeled down next to the Brimstone and cupped some of the acidic water in his hand. It nearly burned to the touch, feeling about as warm as the grains of sand beneath his bare feet, and possessed a sickly coloring that resembled a faded yellow dye. He’d heard about the Brimstone, about its water so acidic that even the crazed Uller’s were hesitant to taste from its streams. He’d been meaning to visit it for years, but never seemed to give himself the time. Now that he was here he would hardly allow its reputation to hold him back...

Edric was awoken from his riverside rest by the sound of a gagging Martell. With a sigh, the bastard of Dalt rolled over to watch the eccentric Martell spitting out globs of piss-colored water and massaging his tongue.

“You didn’t actually drink it, did you?” Edric rolled his eyes, already knowing the answer.

“Of course!” Jaime merrily cried back between the gags as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “And now…” He fished out a wineskin and submerged it in the river's murky waters.

“Oh for fucks sake.” Edric got up and sat cross-legged by the river banks, “Don’t tell me you plan to take that home with you.”

“Of course not! Well, not raw, at least. I want to mix this with my wine, see if it gives that extra kick.”

Edric frowned.

“Don’t give me that look.” Jaime shot back. “It’s not my fault wine doesn’t do it for me anymore. Even Red is dull these days.”

“Maybe if you just drank a bit less it wouldn’t have dulled.”

Both Dornishmen turned to meet the familiar face of Aegor, though dressed to match his Alaric alter ego.

“About time you lost those drab vests.” Edric nodded approvingly. “The Valyrians had many things, but fashion was not one of them. Silks and sandals suit you much better than boots and cloth.”

“I agree with the killjoy.” Jaime said, nudging his head in Edric’s direction. “You look a proper Martell, and that look rings more honest than any other. Even your voice is back to normal. That painful screeching you call an Andal accent is poison to my ears. Mostly because of how damn bad it is. Just let your Dornish flow!”

Aegor’s sun-kissed cheeks turned redder than the Martell sun. He thought he had a perfectly fine Andal accent. To now learn that he had been cocking it up filled him with horror. “Well!” He stammered. “I! Well, I’d like to see you try!”

“I know better than to make an ass of myself,” Jaime smirked.

“Fine.” Aegor threw his arms up in frustration before planting himself beside the river. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter now anyway. I have a feeling our lives are about to get far more ‘interesting’ soon anyway. Might as well have a little bit of peace and quiet.”

“Certainly.” Edric nodded before laying back on the sands.

“Cheers to that.” Jaime grinned revealing two fresh wineskins, passing them amongst the group. The three each took a swig while relaxing beside the shore of the sulphuric river letting the sweet scent of wine and friendship drown out the boggy smell beside them.