RFC-Mini Arc 4: Night Life-14 (Patreon)

“Howie!” I shout as I throw open the doors to the bar with the sign of a mushroom hanging over its entrance. Showing off a bit? Perhaps. I am the organizer of today’s events. Injecting a little energy into our adventure is my responsibility, I think.

Not that anyone’s impressed. The half-elf half-goblin bartender looks up with a droll expression, a clay mug in one hand and a rag in the other. He looks a little tired, with a sagging expression and heavy, unkempt stubble. The droopy ears sticking out from his mangy hair and his wrinkled brown apron don’t help with the impression.

His single barmaid, who I’m pretty sure is also the ‘muscle’, is seated at one of the tables, doing the opposite of work. Her face is a study in indifference when she looks up at the noise. She glances at my group for a moment before turning her gaze back to the table with a huff.

And, as usual, the strange customer at the end of the bar is in his usual place, a mug in front of him, his appearance swaddled in a large black cloak.

I sigh as we make our way to the counter, quickly filling up the stools. Howie sets down the mug he was cleaning, glancing at the new arrivals. “If you keep bringing me customers, I might have to pay you,” he says with a chuckle.

“Oh? Does that mean I get a discount?”

“You been drinking too many shrooms?”

“Stingy goblin.”

“Arrogant brat.”

We grin at each other. Someone clears their throat. I look down the counter to see Miss Alyssa giving me a pointed look. Ah. “Howie, let me introduce you to a new regular. The lovely redhead there is Lady Alyssa Filagree, an instructor at the Grand Hall. She’s taking a liking to your Herbanacle. Don’t get on me about the name, we both know it’s better.”

He sighs. “Damn merchants.” He turns his attention to Miss Alyssa. “If you water it down, I’m not selling to you.”

I don’t think the instructor could look more offended if he smacked her. “The only thing I’ve ever watered down is my grandmother’s cold cure. It cured your coughs by knocking you out for a week.” She smiles. “I’ll let that go in the face of your talent. What about the rest of those bottles? This stupid zone makes them look like decorations.”

Howie scoffs. “Decorations. Everything above the third shelf will make you lose your mind in a myriad of ways—”

“Was that a joke?” I interrupt. “If it was, you should be arrested.”

“And everything under the bar will kill you.” He shoots me a glare. “Unless you’re this annoying girl. I have my doubts on whether or not she’s human.”

“Keep those doubts to yourself. Cheh, mannerless gremlin, didn’t anyone teach you not to slander a lady’s reputation.” Seriously, keep that very accurate insight to yourself!

“I do try to keep my wife alive,” Kierra says airily. “I’d be happy to do the same for you, Ally.”

“Isn’t it just poison at that point?” Miss Alyssa grumbles.

I suck in a sharp breath. Even Alana gives the redhead a look. “You did not just say that,” I say.

“She said it,” Kierra says with a chuckle. Alana just shakes her head.

“What dammit? Stop giving me those looks. He just said his drinks can kill someone. I’m pretty sure by any definition, that’s poison.”

“I don’t make poisons,” Howie says with a snarl. “It’s not my fault that you humans have weak stomachs.”

“Ah, whatever.” Miss Alyssa takes a healthy drink from her mug, letting out a deep sigh of satisfaction. “You’re more prissy than a Rosentheim noble, saints. Still want to buy your booze. Unless my little comment hurt your feelings?”

“My feelings are fine.”

“Yeah? Your ears are drooping.”

“They’re always drooping!” He mutters curses as he goes about grabbing more mugs and pulling bottles. It’s becoming tradition to start with the Herbanacle before we move onto the stronger concoctions. Don’t know how far the others can keep up but looking forward to their efforts. I’m not too worried about Cloud, who is gingerly nursing her drink, but Alana really doesn’t know when to quit.

“Excuse me. Howie, is it?” Cynthia flags Howie down once he’s finished the first round of refills. “May I ask where you’re from?”

“Don’t the ears give it away?” he says with a scoff. He jerks his head in my direction. “Surprised you didn’t get all the details from both of them.”

“Hey! Unlike you, I do have manners. I wouldn’t spill a gentleman’s secrets.” I ask with a grin, downing the contents of my mug.

“Heh. If you’re a lady, I’m a nooner.”

I glance to Kierra. “He’s referring to the High Noon province. They are the opposite of the twilighters, preferring pure elven bloodlines. They think half-children are blasphemous as elves were the ones the Great Spirit recognized. Some are a little fanatic.”

“Hah! A little fanatic she says. Those treehuggers pick a fight with the clans at least once a decade to make the ‘blood heretics show remorse before the elven god’. They’re nuts. I even prefer the crazy duskies to them.”

Kierra raises her mug in salute to the compliment.

“Ooo, how fascinating! Are we talking about elves?” If she was leaning forward before, Lady Oriole is practically climbing over the counter now. “There’s an old journal I’ve read, written by an old alchemist. In it, he says he met a man with skin the color of a plume and long ears like those of a jackal. He says that man came from a land where the plants his people considered weeds were worth a hundred times their weight in gold to any alchemist. You wouldn’t happen to have any idea about that?”

“Girl, something wrong with your eyes?” He fingered one of his ears. “Does these look like sharp ears to you?”

“Oh my.” The alchemist titters behind a palm. “It’s been a while since anyone’s called me girl.”

“Cheh. I’ve been alive longer than your grandfather, girl. If you’re so curious, why don’t you go find out for yourself? No one’s stopping you from taking a hike.”

“My feet aren’t made for blisters, thank you. Of course, it’d be a different story if a dependable, dashing man was to escort me.”

I glance over at a sharp intake of breath to see Louise suddenly paying us some attention. Or more specifically, paying Lady Oriole some attention.

I’m not the only one who notices. Miss Alyssa turns with frightening speed, as if she could feel the animosity coming off the barmaid. They lock gazes, the redhead calmly sipping from her mug. Then they mutually turn away, immediately taking each other’s measure.

Saints, I wish all my conflicts ended so easily.