Could’ve just said no.
Wasn’t hard. I’ve done it before.
If I did, if I just stood my ground right there and then, I wouldn’t be standing on the other side of that ground right here and now—behind another counter, all types of utensils and ingredients within reach of my fingertips just as it’d be if I were still on the clock.
What happened? Where did my ’no’s go? Am I gonna go throw myself off a bridge for the next person that bats their eyes at me and says please? No, ’course I wouldn’t. I don’t know how to dive from up a bridge and not also die from it so why would I, right?
So why did I agree to this? I didn’t know how to make a cocktail either—probably less so than swan-diving off the coast. In a world where you’d get taken out back for making a bad drink, I would have a significantly better chance at living plunging into oceans everyday.
Sera watched, just watched, kept watching. I didn’t like that at all. How was I supposed to deliver anything presentable under such high pressure? Even with the server-dude coaching my every move with step-by-step instructions muttered into my ear, her silent observings made it feel as if I was always a single milliliter over or under from poisoning her.
Unlikely? Maybe. But you tell me how many unlikely things have happened to me so far, then please come back to me with a doctor in tow and possibly a casket too if you can manage it in case she decides to take me down with her.
A squeeze of lime later, and I was done playing bartender. I dipped a straw through the mint leaves and blocky ices, sliding over the finished product to Sera: a pale-greenish concoction brewed from a place of pure earnestness with a touch of some mild exasperation. Magnifique, as they say in Paris, I think.
After thanking the Remy to my Linguini that had been squeaking in my ear behind me, I quickly swerved over to the guest’s side of the table before somebody else could mistake me for an actual professional. I had the guy make something for Ash and I, and before long, I was walking away with Sera, carefully balancing brimming glasses by their awfully thin stems.
Sera hadn’t taken a sip of her drink yet, doing instead as she’s always done and just watching; nearly smudging the glass with the tip of her nose, trying to focus on all the tiny little bubbles fizzling up to the surface inside.
"Take a sip," I said, nudging her for her appraisal. "Just a sip, though. You don’t want to chug down a mouthful, trust me."
As a way of encouragement, I took a little sip of my own drink. The taste hit me in an instant. And if I had to guess by how tight I felt my face scrunch and my eyes squint, I probably did look like I got punched square in the face indeed.
"Yum," I heaved out, feeling the air of Antarctica leave my nostrils. "Now you try."
Slowly, Sera lowered the round rim of her glass to the slowly fluttering hem of her mouth veil. She lifted a sleeve and after an awkward tussle with cloth-covered fingers, she tucked the straw beneath the veil and took her first sip.
I expected many things to happen. A series of outcomes ranging from really bad to total extinction universe heat death bad. So imagine my utter shock to discover the world still spinning and existing in the moments after.
The amount she had in her glass had receded ever so slightly. It had to have gone somewhere and there was only one place that could be.
That said, drinking something and liking something wasn’t always a synonymous pairing. Could be that her taste buds needed time to comprehend what was happening.
I was just about to say something when something bizarre stopped me dead. The volume of liquid in her glass was rapidly sinking to the bottom like a drain sucking water out of a tub.
Sera had taken a second sip, one that had stacked her cubes of ice into a haphazard tower and beached the mint leaves in a shallow pool of what precious little remained. The straw dropped from her veil and landed with a soft clink against the edge of the glass, and from whence it came there too emerged a sound, a soft squeak... kinda like a mouse.
For humans, I think we call that one a burp.
Against all odds, Sera seemed to like it. Like, really like it. Much to that extent that I couldn’t help but wonder if that was actually a good thing or if I had just accidentally inducted her into a dark world of late, late nights, toppled empty bottles, and behind closed doors interventions of the melodramatic kind.
Then, as if trying to stoke the thought, Sera raised her empty glass up to my face; through the ice-filled looking glass was a kind of eagerness present in the skewed, magnified view of her golden eyes.
"What, another one?" I asked. She nodded. I sighed. "You just devoured this one in like three seconds. Not generally recommended. You wait a while now."
But nothing from what I’ve just said seemed to register to her apart from the general sense that I was denying her request, and she made sure to let me know her thoughts about that with a low rumbling emerging from somewhere in the darkness of her cloak.
"Christ, fine. If you say you’re fine, then fine," I relented. "Go then. Go run back there and get the dude to make you another—"
A louder growl.
"I’m not gonna go back to make you another one, I just did!" I stomped off, or tried to anyway. Managed only a single step forward before I was obstructed by a grumpy, violet blockade rattling an empty glass of ice and leaves. "Sera, y’see my hands are full, don’t you? I gotta give Ash her drink! And—"
Before I could even finish, Sera made a swap. All of a sudden one of the glasses in my hand was empty and the one in hers was full. I had only a single second to process that when it happened again. Now I had one free hand free, and she was balancing both drinks in mittens made of her sleeves.
There was a kind of smugness in the way she stared, waited, as if daring me to come up with even more excuses for her to dismantle. I had none, instead, I went ahead and finished the rest of what I was going to say.
"Why does it have to be me anyway?"
A stare, a silence, and nothing within both to interpret anything from.
If that’s her answer, then I ought to respond. Could say no, should say no. Following that line of what only made perfect sense, I said to her, "Wait here for me."
Welp... suppose I better start taking up some diving lessons soon.
Coming back to the same bloody table not even five minutes after leaving, while carrying an empty glass with an air of gloom over my head would probably necessitate a bit of context for some people. Not my server-dude, though. He took but a single glance at me, stepped aside, and allowed me space to make my art.
Probably could have him make the drink instead since Sera wasn’t here to see. To that I ask if it were truly wise to gamble with probabilities against a Death-encloaked Fey and the things she could and could not know?
Yeah, probably not.
I just can’t seem to turn her away for some reason. The moment she sics those eyes of hers against mine the battle’s already won; I’m a puppet to her every unworded demand.
Ash’s gonna turn into a needle in a haystack with all the new faces I’m beginning to see flood in from the foyer, then there’s the matter of finding the right room she’s wandered into. Oh well... needle as pretty and conspicuous surely she won’t be too hard to find. Just follow the long line turned heads.
Or I could just get Sera to locate her for me. That’s an idea too.
I finished making the drink, this time significantly faster than the first time, said my second and hopefully final goodbye to my new drink-buddy and promptly started on my third lap through the room to return to my favourite customer.
Except she wasn’t at the spot where I left her. A quick skim around the room bore no signs of her either. Does the word ’wait’ mean ’vanish’ in necro-speak? Seriously...
I stepped into the room after—the same expansive art gallery where Ash and I were prior—and fortunately, I spotted her there; that little splotch of dark purple lurking about in a secluded corner of the room, drinks slowly swiveling in outstretched arms like glowsticks in an idol concert.
Made it about halfway to her when I noticed she wasn’t just skulking about the place. She was staring up at something, a canvas, one that certainly drew enough of her interest to have her wandering away toward its gold emblazoned frame.
I followed the tilt of her hood to an almost lifelike painting of a bird, its feathers in a striking gradient hue of blue and violet. There, perched against a closed windowsill, it sat in a cage.
Rolling clouds and endless sky was the view presented beyond its narrow bars, and yet its beady black eyes were turned only downward... staring at the small key that sat inches away from the latch that kept it from doing any more than just watch.
In its eyes there was no resentment, no sadness, nothing really. There was just a silence... silence and a stare.
That’s what I saw at least.
"Sera," I called out to her. "Make sure to take your time this time."
Sera looked the same as ever when she turned around. Nothing changed when she drew closer, passing drinks in each other’s hands like an impromptu game of hot potato. And when she slipped the straw back beneath her veil, I heard something that wasn’t a grumble. Something softer, lighter.
A thanks, I think.
"You’re welcome," I replied.
It was only these small things that she could thank me for, because small things were the only things I could do for her. Nothing big. Never, ever. I suppose that’s why I can never say no to her. I already have, haven’t I?
And every passing day, every instance her gaze meets mine, it’s always that stare she has. Like a key beyond her reach. Yet there was no resentment, no sadness, nothing really.
Almost like acceptance.
Y’know, maybe I oughta text Ash where I can find her instead...