QuiteTheSlacker
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Chapter 33: Mary's Tavern
🕑 Added 2024-04-25 05:00:31 +0000 UTC“For as long as I can remember, I have always loved flowers. Such pretty little things they are. Colorful, vibrant, and when you caress the soft petals, a story springs to life from the trails of your touch. You see the pigments transform, shifting that way and this way in rippling waves of ecstasy, yet it does not stop there—no, no, no. The leaves begin to quake, they cry out and sing a haunting song of pain and agony. Unbeknownst to the human ear, they are dying. All because of your touch. All because of your desire to revere their majesty with your filthy hands. Flowers are pure, and thus it is their fate to wilt before our sins… but must it truly be that way? No. I will not allow it. Their purity will blossom without end, for I am their savior. I alone will preserve humanity’s bloom for all of eternity.”
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———
The Knight
“Right, here we are!” Annalay exclaims as the two arrive at a cozy building of red brick and mortar. A swinging wooden door lies in front of them, and a never-ending stream of intoxicated patrons flow in and out as the sound of laughter fills the ale-ridden air. There, above the entrance, is a sign carved with the words, “Mary’s Tavern”.
“Mm, I missed this smell,” she says, taking in a deep gulp of air. “Drunkards, beer, and a whole lot of rough housin’. Ain’t no better place to drown your sorrows.”
“Hehe, you seem quite excited,” the Knight chuckles.
“Course. I haven’t been here in a long while.” Annalay looks up and stares at the signboard for a spell. A flood of melancholy appears to wash over her, and memories of bygone days soon display themselves within the subtle sway of her head. She drifts, back and forth, as if the phantom of her youth is right there—laughing in a time without responsibility. “… You know, we used to come here every week during our academy days. You, me, and Celia: We’d stop in after a rough night of training and get ourselves piss-faced. I’d groan about the instructors, Celia would nag us for drinking too much, and you’d be downing every bit of alcohol in the bar. Stars, how you managed to drink so much of that garbage, I don’t know. Sure did impress those foreman geezers, though.”
“Oh really now? Looks like I have quite the image to uphold,” it teases with a playful jab to her shoulder. “Do you think I can still hold my liquor?”
“Only one way to find out.” Her voice is instilled with a competitive spirit, but unfortunately her loss has already been determined. The Knight is not a foe she can defeat.
Hm? What is that sound? A sudden yell erupts from within the establishment. Then, a scuffle. A thud, a crunch, and an ear-piercing shriek—It does not take long before the door swings wide open and a battered body is sent flying out into the street by a strong-armed woman. Her hair is red as flame, and an apron with the words, “Welcome to Paradise!” are emblazoned in bold, striking letters.
“And don’t come back ya dirty little maggot!” she roars to the stumbling patron; rather, former patron. “I’ll rip yer manhood clean off and feed it to your mother if I ever see you again!”
She spits on him and watches with a wide smile of satisfaction as he runs away into the crowd with a pathetic whimper. The Knight can hear the faint sound of a snicker beside its ears, and with a clap of her hand, Annalay steps forth in front of the smug woman.
“You’re one hells of a fighter as usual, Mary,” the Throne says, opening her arms wide as the woman stumbles back in shock. “Glad to see some things never change.”
“Ooh? Well I’ll be… is that a right fine madam I spy over there?” Mary squeals as she jumps right into Annalay’s embrace. “You’re one naughty girl, you know that Annalay? To think you’ve left this poor maiden all by her lonesome for a year straight.”
“Sorry lass, I’ve been a bit busy,” she says, swinging her around as the two share a giggling fit. “But I’m here now. Did you miss me?”
“Ya already know the answer to that, lovely. Why don’t I show you just how much?”
“Heh, that’s tempting, but not right now. I’ve brought an old friend along.”
“Hohoh? You talkin’ about this cloak wearing fella?” Mary turns her head, pouts her lips, and then lowers her brow as she stares at the Knight with a curious, yet whimsical, expression. “Now let me think here… who in the whole wide world would Annalay call a friend? I bet I can count them all on my fingertips.”
“Gah, you really gotta do me like that, Mary?” Annalay yelps with mock tears.
“You’re a shy ol’ soul, darling. And you know it. Now, judging by that height and chiseled frame, you’ve gotta be… ahah!”
Mary jumps out from Annalay’s hold and briskly strides forward until she is directly in front of the Knight. She raises her hand, opens up her palm, and then delivers a mighty slap to its rear.
“About damn time you showed up, Lorelai!” she says with an equally mighty hug. “Really, now, why did you hafta worry us all so much? Damn city’s been moping about for far too long, I say.”
The Knight is perplexed, especially as it has yet to remove its covering. “How did you know it was me?”
“Bah, I’d be a right failure of a proprietress if I didn’t have a keen set of eyes! Just like momma and my momma’s momma: Mary the first!” she laughs. “You can hide yourself in that cloak all ya want, there’s only a few people in this place with that height and presence.”
While her ability is impressive, there is a reason why it is hiding beneath the cloak. “Annalay, what about Ascalon’s request?”
“Hm? Ah, it’ll be fine,” she says, waving off its concern. “Mary’s as tight lipped as can be. You don’t have to worry about her spilling any secrets.”
“That’s right, I’m a trustworthy gal: Ain’t let anybody tell you otherwise!”
It is not her trustworthiness I am concerned about.
“Though, there is something strange I’m feelin’ here… ah bless the Stars, just what is it?”
“About that…” Annalay whisks Mary away to a corner for a moment and whispers into her ear. It is a very loud whisper, so loud that the Knight can hear every word, in fact. Eventually, they return and a newfound look of pity is spread across the tavern keeper’s face.
“You poor thing,” she sniffles. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head: I’ve got just the thing to help spruce up that memory of yours. Come on in!”
Mary excitedly grabs the Knight’s wrist and drags it inside the building. The interior is covered in a dark-brown oak - a warm, welcoming environment accompanied by a flickering fireplace off to the side - and the two quickly dart between a staggering mass of drunks and bar hands as they make way towards a large counter-top. Before it even has the chance to protest, she shoves it atop one of the stools and soon disappears beneath the display of liquors and ale.
Annalay joins it after a brief moment and lets her head thud onto the hard surface. A loud grumble of relief escapes her, and her tensions rapidly loosen as she begins to take off her armor and tosses it aside to some random corner of the establishment.
“This is nice,” she grunts. “Stars, I didn’t know how tense I was until we got here. Damn back of mine’s been aching ever since we left the Virtues.”
“Do you feel better?” it asks. “Old wounds are never easy to forget, but I think you did well. At least, you seem more at peace with yourself.”
“It’s complicated. I still don’t know exactly what it is I feel, but it’s not terrible. I don’t hate her any more than I did before. That’s enough for me.”
Mary pops her head up just as Annalay finishes speaking and slams two large mugs of drink on the counter. The knight can’t help but feel a bit apprehensive, for it has never seen a liquor actively bubble before, yet that is exactly what the thing in front of it is doing right now.
“What… is this?” it says while hesitantly reaching towards the handle. But before it can, Mary smacks its hand away and clicks her tongue in disapproval.
“Nope, not yet, darling,” she scolds. “I have to add my special touch first!”
“Special touch?”
“Yep! Just give me one sec. This beaut’s about to get potent.”
To the Knight’s surprise, Creation begins to stir around Mary, fluttering near with an excited sparkle as she stretches her hand over the drinks and gathers the divinity into the center of her palm. Then, as the force swirls into a misty ball, she cries out and beckons for the final deliverance of her spell.
“Double, trouble, toil and… mumble? Now that can’t be right. Ah, no use overthinkin’ it. mumble. Give this drink a hearty bubble!”
Despite the questionable chant, Mary succeeds, and she tosses the now-bubbling ball into their drinks. It dissolves in an instant; then a loud, crackling noise rises up as a frothy white foam forms at the liquid’s top. Bigger, larger, it expands until it is as if a miniature cloud is nestled softly within the mug. Suffice to say, the Knight is baffled.
Is this how Creation should be used? I wonder how Cosmos would react to such an odd request. Though, I suppose they wouldn’t care much: as long as it makes their children happy.
“This here’s a Mary’s Tavern speciality: The Bubblin’ Gut Puncher!” she declares with a smirk full of pride. “Ain’t anywhere else you can get this special ol’ thing.”
“It certainly is unique,” it says. “Did I drink like this often?”
“Yes, ma’am! This here’s actually your favorite, wouldn’t you know. Used to order a mountain’s worth of this stuff every time ya dropped by. Trust me, even if your memories have gone woosh, there’s no foolin’ your body: I’m sure this’ll jog up that noggin’ in no time!”
As if to encourage it, Annalay picks up the mug and downs the entire contents straight into her stomach in one round—all-the-while a sound resembling that of boiling acid climbs up and assaults its ears with sharp snaps and pops. The Knight waits for Annalay to show a sign of affliction, yet all it is met with is a crass belch and a grunt of satisfaction. She has enjoyed it very much.
“Now that’s the stuff,” she murmurs, sinking into her seat as Mary produces another mug from seemingly out of thin air. “Keep them coming. I’m not leaving this place until the ceiling starts spinning.”
The Knight looks at its own drink and picks it up. It examines the gushing liquid, the color golden like an oat, and then it takes a small sip. The first thing it experiences is a burning sensation traveling down its fabricated throat; then comes an odd sense of bloat. The liquid expands out in the flesh cavity currently serving as a stomach, yet as quickly as it comes, it retreats back into a small - but persisting - sensation of grime. It is not an experience it cares much to redo, but it is also not entirely terrible either: There is some entertainment that can be derived from this act of self-harm, it supposes. A pity I am unable to be affected by its inebriating effects. Perhaps that would make the drink more tolerable.
“Well? How’re ya feelin’? Mary asks.
“Wonderful,” it lies straight through its teeth. “I could drink this all through the night.”
“Hehe, I’m glad to hear you say that,” Annalay says with a playful slap to its shoulder. “Because that’s exactly what we’re gonna do. Open wide, Lorelai!”
Just as it begins to lament its own fate, a new voice shouts from across the room: a familiar voice, one with a formal undertone unbefitting of the company around it.
“I do not think so, Madam Annalay.”
There, standing firm with his hands tightly crossed, is Dariel: frowning, and accompanied by an escort of knights. They quickly begin to flood the tavern, and soon, the two Thrones are surrounded on all sides. There is no escape.
“Really?” she says with an exasperated groan. “Can’t a knight have a nice drink once in a while? What did I even do, you brat?”
“The Virtues sent a complaint,” he replies. “Someone tore down their gate, after all. Furthermore, that same someone besieged the district with a large earthquake, causing civil unrest and damaging infrastructure in the process.”
“Ah, that.”
Dariel shakes his head. “You are hereby sentenced to serve an undetermined period within the castle gaol - again - as is decreed by the Court Chancellor Gadreel Cherubim. Will you comply?”
Annalay looks at Dariel; then she looks at the surrounding knights. She taps her foot in a rather ponderous manner, looking back and forth between them, before turning to Mary and gently kissing her hand.
“Sorry, love. It looks like we’ll have to push off our date for a few days. At least, until I break out again.”
“Don’t take too long now,” she giggles.
“And Lorelai…”
“Yes, Annalay?” it says.
“Go and have some fun. The night’s still young; don’t let my leaving here put an end to your evening. Drink, see the theatres, do whatever the hells you want. That’s the only way you’ll recover: Remember that.”
“Hehe, will do.”
“Good.” With a solemn nod, she turns around and raises her arms up high. “Alright, get it over with already.”
A pair of locks are clasped around her wrists, and she is quickly escorted out into the street illuminated in moonlight. The day has passed quickly, but there is still much it can yet do.
“Um,” Dariel mutters, approaching it with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry for ruining your reunion with Annalay. I know the two of you share a close bond.”
“Don’t be,” it reassures. “You are an officer. It is your duty to uphold the law.”
“Thank you for understanding. And, I know this might be a bit odd considering what just transpired, but… Annalay is right: There’s still some time before the district closes for the night. This was my last official order of the day, so I’m free if you’d like to, ehm, perhaps go on that tour I talked about before? If you’re ok with that of course! I don’t want to force you if you’re feeling too tired or—”
“That sounds lovely, Dariel. I’d be happy to.”
Dariel attempts to contain a bright grin from spreading across his face, but it is no use. He practically leaps up in joy as he rushes to take the knight’s hand, and soon, the two are darting out of the tavern and into the bustling crowd of people outside.
