Chương 18: Hail, and Well Met!

My rendition of a Corn 'n Oil met continuously middling success. It was almost there… And almost a total disaster. The flavors kept fighting each other. The moonshine was too hot and one-dimensional, sort of like an Instagram model. Yet the corn juice, even though it went great with lime, couldn't stand up to the bitters. The whole thing was flat and out of balance. Not that it stopped me from trying. I was on day two. Wynnie had started refreshing the rooms in the inn, and she was about halfway through.

It was small stuff, not an overhaul. New pillows, linens that didn't smell like stale driftwood. Everything still looked like something you'd rather forget, but at least it felt different. Each time she finished a room, she came out to the porch where I was experimenting in the sun. A line of sad, half-finished cocktails balanced precariously on the warped wooden railing in front of me. Sunlight sparkled inside the cloudy interior liquid.

"Any winners in the bunch?" She emerged from the front door behind me. The breeze ruffled her hair, and she shielded her eyes from the sun's summer glare.

"Any losers we need to put out of their misery?" God, I loved that energy. How had the world seen fit to deal her such a rough hand?

"Want to do a blind taste test?" I indicated the six drinks lined up.

"Or do you just want the highlights?"

"Oh, sugarplums. I can't decide. Let's just go down the line and see where that gets us."

"After you." I flourished with a bow. She curtsied dramatically and stepped up to the railing. Her fingers curled around the first glass. The giant cube of ice within had melted somewhat. With any luck, it would mellow the harsh bite of the moonshine. She brought it to her lips.

"Why do I get the feeling one drink might quickly turn into six?"

"Uh, because I made six drinks?"

"Okay, smarty pants. What I meant was, is it a good idea to start drinking now? It's early afternoon." It was indeed. A warm wind sent leaves racing down the dirt road, and a group of small songbirds flitted from a tree to a nearby rooftop. A perfect day like this had never stopped us from indulging early before, but that sounded like exactly her point. We'd been hitting things a little hard over the last week and change.

Our recipes were dialed in, and the inn was borderline respectable, but I could feel that drinking was becoming a habit again. Only the steep hills of Seaport and the lack of cars was keeping my love handles from getting any bigger. I ran through a checklist of our gotta-dos for the day to make sure we weren't being irresponsible.

"Dinner's prepped?"

"Stew tonight. Already simmering on the side of the hob."

"Rooms turned down?"

"I still don't know what that means, but they're clean and ready for renting. I even added a new layer of wool batting on the old mattresses!"

"Nice!" I gave her a high five, which she now returned, even though she thought they were weird.

"Too bad you don't have memory foam here."

"Please stop saying weird things. You're supposed to be Reborn, not… redonkulous." I taught her that word shortly after teaching her how to high five. Her usage of it still needed work.

"We should be all ready for service then. One taste test couldn't hurt." I could just hear myself playing devil's advocate. I couldn't stop myself. That was the roughly three drinks in my bloodstream talking.

"Besides, service doesn't start until early evening. Unless we need to check some guests in at the inn, that is." She giggled and rolled her eyes.

"Right. Without a boat scheduled to come through? What are the chances of that happening?" Heavy footsteps echoed from down the dusty road. I had no idea how they echoed, since it was open air, but echo they did. The ground tremored underneath my feet like thunder. I squinted against the glare to see an intimidating group covering ground swiftly. They were heading straight towards us.

"Oh, fuck," I mumbled.

"I think the chances are like, a hundred percent." Wynnie looked where I pointed.

"You think they want to stay at my rinky old inn?"

"I mean, they're walking this way, right? Why wouldn't they? Are they… are they Black Ship Raiders?" I hissed the last part under my breath, as though merely speaking the words would conjure them from the salty sea air. Invoking their name usually brought suspicion and fear into any conversation. Seeing the six closing the distance, I could suddenly see why.

"Oh, those aren't raiders. They look too…" Wynnie paused, searching for the word.

"Honestly? Kind." I furrowed my brow and took a closer look. Kind wasn't exactly the term I would use, but I had to admit that they didn't look murderous. Or at least, not wantonly so. It wasn't really a question of whether they'd killed before, but maybe murder wasn't the best description of how it went down. A genial, red-haired dwarf raised a friendly hand in greeting and boomed a sonorous, "Hail! And well met!" Now that didn't sound like a pirate greeting to me. I waved back.

"Hi-ho, weary travelers!" Wynnie nudged me in the ribs.

"Ow! Why did you do that?"

"Why did I do that? Why did you say that!? Hi-ho? Weary travelers? What the dickens are you doing, sounding all old-timey like that?"

"Uh." I hadn't the slightest clue. And my voice had come out all weird, too.

"I guess I thought their greeting was odd, and I wanted to match their energy?" Wynnie rolled her eyes and stepped forward as they reached the porch. A tall, lavender-skinned orc —at least, I was pretty sure she was an orc—marched past Wynnie and stood in front of me, besting my height by about an inch. A lopsided smile revealed two tiny tusks, and her hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense pony. She stuck out a brawny paw.

"Did you just say hi-ho?"

"Yeah," I confessed, chagrined.

"I like your energy! I'm Bar'b!" She shook my hand hard, making my arm flop loosely like a battle rope. That checked out. She was built like a crossfit competitor. While my teeth got shaken loose, the others crowded around Wynnie near the base of the steps. I heard snippets of conversation, mostly centered around relief that they wouldn't have to walk anymore. Some comments, however, were complaints.

"This doesn't look like Rayne's Forest Cafe."

"I bet coconut shrimp doesn't even exist in this realm." A scary human with a duster over his armor and a huge sword strapped to his back just… growled. Almost constantly. Wynnie wrapped up a short conversation with another of the group. He was a burly, fridge-width man bedecked in a chaos of animal pelts and furs. A greatsword hung diagonally across his mighty back. He waved at me disarmingly. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. I waved back.

"Want a cocktail?"

"What's a cocktail?" asked the dwarf, his eyes twinkling. He looked to be some sort of blacksmith, or at least a man who was no stranger to an honest day's work. I immediately liked him.

"I don't know, but if you say it 24 more times, it's yours," said the fur-pelted man. Upon seeing my confused reaction, he explained, "You own any word after you say it 25 times." That barely helped, but I could see the logic. Using a word fluently took a bit of repetitive use. Then again, if he thought he'd found a loophole for free drinks, he was sorely mistaken. Those cost a few copper every time, whether you owned the word or not.

"Come on in. I'd be happy to show you what a cocktail is." Then, because cocktail might sound inappropriate and none of them owned the word yet, I added, "It's a type of alcoholic beverage." From behind me, leaning casually against the door, came a deep voice from below.

"Sounds cool." The short, dark man with a tastefully popped collar had somehow snuck behind me without my noticing, like a silent shadow. Unlike the others, he held no weapons, but his fists were chapped and stony from use. A red demonkin with filed-off horns had been hanging back and assessing the inn. He held a notebook to his chest and surveyed the area through some intense-looking goggles. When he spoke, he seemed to choose his words carefully.

"Are you the purveyor of this establishment?" I smiled, "I'm just the humble bartender. This is Wynnie's place, really." Almost as if on cue, Wynnie hiked up the stairs next to me.

"Are y'all looking for a place to stay?"

The motley crew paid for their rooms, got situated, and soon meandered out into the main room. They carried themselves with an easy confidence. Nobody else in Seaport moved with the same casual grace, as though they could, at a moment's notice, do a backflip. Not even Lady Talia exuded that kind of capability. The demonkin played cards with a well-built human. He held his cocktail just by his lips using what looked like a spectral hand in a bloody surgical glove.

The muscular human's expression was getting progressively more sour, as he was clearly getting beat. He played a hand, rolled his eyes when his partner trumped it, and shot a quick glance my way, as though daring me to comment.

"Another round. This one's on me, I guess." He rose from the table with a flourish of his duster, clanking over to the bar for more drinks. I'd gathered his name was Victor. Odd, considering he'd lost every hand so far. He reminded me of a fighter in my TTRPG. His card partner was some kind of scholarly caster, perhaps a wizard, though it wouldn't surprise me if he were a warlock. The two big ones were more like barbarians.

I was pretty sure the crew was rounded out by some kind of cleric and, well, I guessed the little guy was like a shadow monk instead of a rogue. The only thing that gave me that impression was the distinct lack of daggers. Or the fact that he didn't look like an untrustworthy scoundrel. Also, he kept jump-scaring me from the shadows. Then smirking. The purple orc had posted up at the bar in front of me. She and the other barbarian—Todd—were going round for round in a drinking contest.

Both kept slamming their cocktails in a single swig. It took them less time to chug an elixir than it took me to garnish them. In fact, I'd been calling the group Bonus Action in my head, thanks to the speed with which they drank and reordered. A heavy thunk came from the direction of the kitchen, and Wynnie's plump bottom backed through the door. She turned, beaming at the small crowd of guests.

She held a tray piled high with dinner rolls, and the aromatic steam of hearty stew billowed out from the room behind her.

"Dinner's ready!" A small cheer erupted from the adventurers—the orc so enthusiastic she slipped off her stool and landed with a comical "oomph!"—and they all cleared places in front of them. I jumped to help Wynnie pass out plates, bowls, dinnerware, and napkins. A few grumbles and giggles later about the lack of coconut shrimp, and they settled into dinner like a pack of hungry wolves. Wynnie and I rested together behind the bar, watching them tuck in with abandon.

"So…not Raiders, then. Though, these guys look like they could handle themselves in a fight," I murmured.

"Oh, definitely. Seaport's a little out of the way for most folk, but sometimes a real adventuring party comes through. We're the scenic route between the kingdom's biggest southern port and its capital." Wynnie sipped a Greyhound I'd made for her, then carefully placed the glass right back on the condensation ring.

"Usually, they're just looking for a place to rest for the night. But sometimes…"

"Sometimes they're on an epic quest to hunt a monster or fight pirates?" Wynnie giggled.

"I was going to say sometimes they're looking for provisions or supplies for the road. Seaport usually lets them down." Great. So to real adventurers, Seaport wasn't even worthy of a side quest. If Dan were DMing them, he probably wouldn't have even prepared a name for the inn or its proprietors. We'd be improvised. Probably with funny voices. I got a sinking feeling.

"Are those really adventurers, though?"

"This group? Oh, definitely." Wynnie looked star-struck.

"I bet they've solved mysteries, fought indescribable beasts, or even disappeared into the fae lands!"

"A day from now, they won't even remember us," I observed darkly. Another giggle.

"Oh, certainly not." A wave of conflicting emotions washed over me. Somehow, I'd died and been reborn in a fantasy world filled with elves and magic. Rumors of pirates loomed over the town, and I'd become, what? A bartender again? Seeing the rowdy bunch finishing their bowls in front of me, I realized the truth. I was an NPC in someone else's grand adventure.

"I'd better go warm up the rest of our bread. This group looks hungry still." Wynnie excused herself. I noticed she took her cup of punch with her. Which, like, fine. Kitchen staff work hard and deserve every treat and cope. As she disappeared, the purple orc trotted back up to the bar. I couldn't help but notice that her swagger had a bit of a wobble. She might've been heroic and imposing, but not even she or her pals could withstand the might of my cocktails.

I could take down a whole party with booze if I had to.

"You two dating?" she asked.

"Uh, we're just friends," I said.

"Sure, buddy." She socked me playfully on the arm. Only a miracle would prevent a bruise.

"Can we get another round of that yummy juice??"

"Sure thing. Punches all around?" From the background, the group began chanting, "Cocktails! Cocktails! Cocktails!" I suspected Todd started it just so that he could own the word sooner. The orc grinned.

"Make them doubles. Pour one out for David, too. He's with us in spirit." She waved away my immediate look of concern.

"Oh, he's not dead. He's not even real. More like a guiding light in our hearts. Oh, and put the drinks on Victor's tab."

"Is he like, the party leader?"

"No. He's just a big softy underneath all those angry looks." She offered a small shrug.

"So… how long have you and sweet Wynnie been just friends?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief and no amount of subtlety. It was obvious. She shipped it. It seemed like everyone knew exactly what was going on but me. It would take too long to explain, I figured, so I decided to change the subject.

"You guys are real adventurers, huh?"

"We just commandeered a pirate ship and fought a kraken in it, so you tell me."

"I think that qualifies you, yeah." She pumped her fist.

"Yes! That's a relief. We get better contracts if we're qualified adventurers." Her credulous expression told me she wasn't joking. She jerked her thumb towards the fur-pelted barbarian.

"Those tentacles really did a number on Todd." I chuckled to myself.

"I can imagine it's not the same kind of excitement you'd get from hentai."

"What's that?"

"Oh. Um. A foreign word. It means, uh, forbidden, abnormal art." Close enough. She frowned.

"That sounds horrible."

"I'm assured it is."

"Anyway, are you an adventurer too?"

"I… not really? I'm a bartender."

"But you use foreign words, and your accent's not from around here."

"I'm from the, uh, far shores. But farther than that," I explained for what felt like the hundredth time. Somehow, I still hadn't gotten any better at it.

"Way, way farther."

"Oh, I know. We're from the far shores, too. Off in wild country. Still never heard an accent like yours." She leaned in, motioning for me to do the same.

"You know, all of life is an adventure. Even if you're not out slaying monsters and saving kingdoms." Sure. Rub it in. Then again, I was Reborn. She didn't know the half. Maybe I was still just a bartender, but now I was a bartender on a different world. They didn't even have proper showers here. She wasn't finished, though.

"Does it feel like an adventure? Being here, running an inn?"

"It does," I admitted.

"Good. And good that you have someone to shoulder the load." I smiled, thinking about how well Wynnie and I handled service together. We were still learning how the other worked. And yet, though we hadn't reached the fluid, almost mechanical efficiency of a veteran team, our operation was smooth. Just like how I could depend on Steven to toss a heal, or Zach to tank relentlessly, I could depend on Wynnie. Not just in the inn, I realized, but in life.

"I see that smile, friend." Bar'b winked knowingly.

"Don't let your dreams be dreams. If you guys like each other, there's no greater adventure than one of the heart. Friends don't let friends adventure alone." I arched a pointed brow. She looked politely puzzled.

"What?" I couldn't figure out what to make of her. But she did earnestly seem to be rooting for me to be happy. I found a smile for her.

"Nothin'."

"Anyway, about those doubles…"

"I'll have them right out," I assured her.

"Thanks! Service here's better than Rayne's Forest Cafe, I gotta say." She gave me a quick, goofy salute. Then she about-faced and returned to her table. As she walked, she muttered, "Town by the sea, and not a single coconut shrimp." The orc was at least partially right. Not about the shrimp, but the adventure. Things in Seaport might've been low stakes, but that didn't make them any less thrilling to me. And she was right about Wynnie, too. I trusted her during service. With my livelihood.

With making sure I had a roof over my head and a meal on the stove. I trusted her not to push the boundaries of friendship before I was ready to. I trusted that her feelings about me were genuine. I liked her. Really liked her. I just wasn't sure I trusted myself with that yet.