Chương 37: Any Press Is Good Press

"They'll be here any minute!"

"Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be. I can't believe I'm about to serve raw fish!" I chuckled.

"But you tried it yourself, right?" She nodded vigorously. She was standing over a plate of thinly sliced slivers of fish. They were arranged neatly on a platter. All different colors were represented, from a pale, ghostly white; to a rich, incandescent orange; to a brightly veined and gradient pink; to a deep, vibrant blood red. It looked like a rainbow of flesh laid out for the taking. Nearby, we'd whipped up a couple of alternatives to tamari.

A mignonette, a sweet and citrusy sauce, and a rich oil with flaked salt. The combination potential was tremendous. The ceviche we'd served to the pirates the day before looked boring in comparison.

"Do you really think we can convince other people to try it?"

"I don't see why not. People eat all sorts of strange things. If we can simply assure them that freezing the fish makes it safe in the same way that grilling it does, we should be in the clear."

"You still haven't convinced me." Convinced or not, she'd spent the morning slicing and saucing by my side. Working on a craft together—on something that would help us build a future—was giving me something tangible to hold onto. After killing a man the day before, I needed to throw myself into something. It was the only way forward. Fortunately, Wynnie was more than happy to support me. And it all came down to this. Service was about to start. If we got any customers.

She let out a long breath and straightened the skirt of her dress. With a quick nod to herself, she gripped either side of the serving platter and moved it within arm's reach of her prep area. From there, she could build whatever she needed to from it, taking pieces as needed and plating them onto smaller dishes for our customers. Meanwhile, I'd be out in the bar area, making cocktails and serving guests at their tables. It was such a familiar arrangement that it almost felt like being home on Earth again.

I'd handle the front of house while someone else held down the kitchen work in back. Despite everything that had happened since waking up in Solus-El, it felt like little had changed. I'd died, then continued bartending. And I still spend my best hours in the company of elves and adventurers. Other people might've felt like they wasted an opportunity to make big, sweeping changes in their lives. I didn't. If anything, I felt more fulfilled than if I'd tried to do something else altogether.

Before I died, I'd already been working on myself. Drinking less, exercising again, and trying to make meaningful relationships. Aside from being impulsive and overindulgent, I generally liked who I was. The isekai thing allowed me a fresh start—one with welcome, comfortable continuity. I'd already started making the changes I wanted to see. Reincarnating on a fantasy world merely allowed me to lock them in. I kissed Wynnie goodbye in the kitchen. I was only too happy to exit, though.

Usually, the stove kept the place warm and relaxing. Tonight, since she was working almost entirely with raw foods, she was chilling it to uncomfortably cold temperatures. Wynnie looked right at home back there. Little wisps of condensation curled with every exhale, and she moved through the cold kitchen air without so much as a shiver. Ice mage perks, I supposed. She could handle extremes I couldn't even approach. She waved goodbye with a faint wreath of glimmering blue around her fingers.

Out in the main room, the flicker of candle lanterns and the steady crackle of the hearth set the mood. It looked both upscale and homey at the same time. A place where people could relax, but could also trust they were in expert hands that knew how to craft fine delicacies. That last part was especially important, given we were bringing food from another world to them.

I was just fluffing up some garnishes—making sure my sprigs of mint looked fresh and that I had all of my citrus ready to peel or slice—when our first guests arrived. To my surprise, it was the same elderly man and woman from the night before. They looked around tentatively, inspecting the area as though something might jump out from behind a table.

"No pirates here today, I promise. I took care of them."

"So we heard," the man spoke.

"The whole town is talking about it," the woman added. I swallowed hard. It wasn't exactly the sort of thing I wanted to be known for. Outwitting pirates and driving them off, sure. Blowing into town on a breeze and then slicing a guy from nipple to nutsack with someone else's sword? Not so much. Still, it reminded me of an old adage from Earth: any press is good press. After showing the couple to a table, my fine dining instincts ran on autopilot.

I got them waters, presented the menu, and launched into my little practiced spiel about what we were offering.

"I come from far-off lands. Farther off than the Far Shores. We'd like to present some of our delicacies to you. However, if it's not to your liking, we have some basic fare that may suit you." The man adjusted his glasses while inspecting the menu.

"What is… sashimi?" I smiled.

"It's a particular preparation and presentation of fish in its most natural state. Using a technique that only an ice mage can master, we make its raw flesh safe to eat, offering it in its most uncompromised and delicious state. With it, we provide a few curated dipping sauces to enhance the flavor. We encourage you to be adventurous." The usual beat passed as our guests considered the offer. I was expecting a different reaction than the one I got.

Both of them raised their eyebrows and nodded to each other as if they'd just read something interesting in their morning newspapers.

"We'll take one sashimi platter, please. Will that be enough to fill us up?"

"That depends on how hungry you are. I'd recommend enjoying it with a cucumber salad and our seasoned rice." They agreed to try it out. In fact, I thought I could detect a hint of an excited smile creasing the corners of their mouths. Their eyes sparkled as though they were recapturing a bit of their youth. Perhaps this idea wasn't so crazy after all. In a small fishing port in the middle of nowhere on the vast Silver Coast, novelty had to be a rare commodity. My presence alone in town was already a start.

My culinary influence would practically seal the deal.

"And would either of you like any cocktails?"

"Those are the alcoholic confections we've been hearing about, right?" the woman asked. I chuckled.

"That's a funny way to put it. Yeah, why not? We can call them confections. Were there any you heard about that you would like to try?"

"When we were in here before, I heard you speaking about one that kicks like a mule?"

"The Seaport Mule!" the man interjected. I nodded knowingly. If Seaport and this world were anything similar to Earth—and in many ways, they were—the mule would likely be an immediate hit.

"One for each of you, or would you like to try two different things and share them?" The man waved the question off.

"We'll have the same thing. We do everything together. And I'm sure we'll be back to sample everything on the menu at some point." If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. The woman smiled sweetly.

"There's no rush to try it all tonight." I excused myself to get their order started. First, I dipped into the kitchen to tell Wynnie what they'd asked for. It wasn't a sophisticated ticketing system like what I'd grown used to, but it gave me an opportunity to see her often. On hearing the order, she hopped up and down excitedly, nearly vibrating.

"I can't believe they're going right in! Who knew the people of this town were so brave?" I hooked an arm around her waist and brought her to me in an embrace.

"I did. Yesterday, you used your ice magic to incapacitate a pirate. Then, Lady Talia arrested the crew, even knowing what the consequences could be. The people here are brave."

"They have bravery in them, sure, but it's been hidden away for years. You're the one bringing it out."

"Hey, I'm just a humble bartender."

"Be careful how you say that. You might start to sound smug," she said, smirking. I kissed her one more time.

"I'm going to go whip up a couple of Seaport Mules for them. Let's see if they can resist ordering a second round."

"What? You're not afraid they won't like them?" I laughed.

"My drinks are so good that I defeated a band of pirates with them. I'm not sure a kindly old couple could resist what the strong young sailors couldn't."

"Smug, smug, smug." Wynnie's words echoed after me as I returned to the bar. Just as the kitchen door swung closed behind me, the front door opened and more guests arrived. They, too, looked around as if searching for hidden pirates.

"Don't worry. No pirates here. He chased them off," the older man said by way of greeting. The new guests relaxed, looking visibly relieved. I waved to them from behind the bar. Now was the moment of truth. It was time to decide whether we were going to be fine dining or merely upscale casual. Given our resource constraints, the decision was pretty much made for me.

"Please seat yourselves anywhere that looks comfortable. I'll be right with you after I finish making their drinks." As I did—and as they did—the door opened once more. Excitement bubbled up in my chest and energy coursed through my limbs. We were about to experience a rush. Despite battling a hangover for the ages, all of my years of training as a bartender kicked in. Focus flooded my veins like adrenaline, fueled by the anxiety of a high-pressure, low-stakes environment.

If you've ever worked in service, then you know. The evening was a blur. Somehow, word had gotten out around town. The Breakwater Inn had a new menu fit for adventurous eaters. Most people just came in for drinks, but those drinks lowered their inhibitions. Almost everyone stayed for another round. Many even tried our Japanese-inspired raw dishes. By the time evening turned to night, I was getting low on several key ingredients.

My ginger beer was nearly depleted, my bitters were dangerously low, and somehow we'd finished one of the more basic, accessible bottles of rum left by the runners. Wynnie and I could barely keep up with everyone. Through the convivial atmosphere in the Breakwater Inn, she and I passed each other constantly. Our hands brushed against each other in passing, our eyes lingered when we approached, and when it was too loud to check in verbally, we did so merely with exaggerated expressions.

The busy, breakneck stress of a good shift only fueled our weary smiles. Nothing engenders camaraderie or fraternity quite like being in the shit alongside another harried server. The bonds born of battle are stronger than almost any other. Unless you work at one of those spiteful, clique-y, corporate chains. The Breakwater wasn't one of those, though. When the rush died down and only half of the bar was still populated, Wynnie emerged from the kitchen.

She wiped her hands on her apron and surveyed the place with a look of bewildered satisfaction. I finished shaking a cocktail and glanced over at her.

"I can't believe this is all real."

"I can. It's a Friday night, right?"

"Does that make a difference?" I burst out laughing.

"Absolutely, it does. Saturdays and Sundays are going to be really busy from here on out, assuming people enjoyed themselves."

"Did they? I was stuck in the kitchen except for when I ran out to deliver plates."

"Oh, they did. I had to cut a few people off. They wanted to keep drinking and stick around until we closed."

"Why didn't you let them?" I glanced at the door leading outside. The previous day's memories were still right at the forefront of my mind.

"Remember the pirates? It's a lot easier to get drunk on cocktails than on straight liquor or ale. It's my responsibility as a bartender to make sure people enjoy themselves responsibly. I don't want anyone to do anything anything they'll regret later."

"That's very noble. We might make a bit less coin, but it's probably better in the long run." A small group of adventurous thirty-somethings finished their second sashimi platter and leaned back in their chairs. Small piles of sides still cluttered their table. I'd recognize that dazed, vaguely impatient look anywhere. They wanted to settle their tab. Wynnie must've known it too. She excused herself and sauntered over. Out of instinct, she collected a stack of plates in her arms while she chatted with the group.

I was already looking forward to closing early. Yet there was no rest for the weary. The door opened again. A striking blonde woman with amber eyes and pearlescent skin entered. She wore a form-fitting, pale blue dress that accentuated an athletic body honed by years of rigorous training and stern, no-nonsense law enforcement. Her gaze roamed the room, searching for hidden dangers, just as everyone else had. Finally, she settled her focus on me and froze.

She chewed at her lip, unsure of what to do for several seconds. Then, finally, she approached the bar.

"Can I sit here?"

"Please."

"I thought I'd try the poison you used to incapacitate your enemies."

"A Seaport Mule? It's just ginger beer, lime, and a whole lot of moonshine, plus a splash of your chamomile mint boiled down into a potent tincture."

"Whatever it is, I need to know if it's safe for you to be serving this to the rest of the town." I smirked.

"Still don't trust me?"

"Maybe, maybe not. That was some potent brew you were dealing out." She eased into the tall barstool. She looked uncomfortable, either from the rickety wooden seat or her surprisingly tasteful dress.

"At the very least, I should see what my favorite tea tastes like when it's weaponized."

"Subtle, but it adds dimension." I was halfway through mixing her drink, my arms moving mechanically without thought. My eyes stayed on her.

"This first one's on the house. I think we owe you for supplying the herbs."

"Hm. Don't mention it. I'd say I owe you for saving my life."

"Call it even?"

"Fair. But you're back on my watch list if you try to get me blacked out and snoring in the street." I nodded.

"I wouldn't dream of it. I'd never intentionally over-serve. With the pirates, that was calculated self-defense for the town. Usually, I just want people to have a good time."

"Glad to hear it. Always nice when a Reborn uses their powers for good." Powers. What powers? Just a bit of cocktail knowledge. I wasn't like Wynnie with the blue swirls and ice crystals. Although, come to think of it, it wouldn't hurt to ask if magic could be learned… I handed Lady Talia her drink, making sure to garnish it extra pretty. She eyed it suspiciously and took a few sniffs before letting out a grumbling sigh. She raised her glass to her lips.

"Mmm." The glass was still raised to her lips, and she swallowed several times, drinking quickly. Her eyes widened in shock. Finally, she placed the glass in front of her and pushed it halfway across the bar top toward me as if to get herself far away from it.

"What is this sorcery?"

"Just a few basic ingredients. When we get a bit more money, I'll invest in some other things I think the folks in this world will really like."

"There's no magic involved in this? No charm spell?" I chuckled.

"You're not the first person to ask that. Back where I'm from, people called me an artist."

"You must have been very rich. I bet you commanded the respect of many people." I snorted.

"People respect my craft, but they don't respect my profession much. The pay is decent, but the hours are brutal, and it's a rough life. People treat bartenders like dirt." She balked.

"Even when you can make concoctions like this?"

"A lot of people can make concoctions like this." I shrugged, thinking about how every wide-eyed barback could handle making a mule by the end of their first shift.

"Maybe they wouldn't make it as well as me, but close enough. Honestly, I'm just glad to feel valued here in Seaport." Slowly, she reached back out for her glass and took it. After another timid sip, she let out a satisfied breath, closing her eyes. I knew that look. She was drifting away into a calm, blissful place. Likely, she knew the struggle of bad hours, little respect, and questionable pay as well.

If law enforcement was anything here as it was on Earth, she probably had to deal with people at their worst on a regular basis. If she was doing her job, it was because someone was being an asshole—and maybe a dangerous one. No wonder she was such an uncompromising hardass. For some reason, having Lady Talia in the bar, I felt safer. Like the town had my back. As if, by her mere presence, she signaled that I was truly welcome in Seaport.

I really, really wanted to tell her I was glad she was here, but I didn't want to sound corny.

"I'm glad you're here," she murmured.

"You like my cocktails that much?" I forced a laugh.

"No. I've been wanting to stand up to the Black Ship Raiders for four years. Nobody else in town has been brave enough to do it. I can't very well mount a one-woman campaign against an entire fleet, now can I?"

"I suppose not, but I don't think I'd bet against you." She cracked a smile.

"Thanks. Now that you're here, and now that things are already set in motion, we have no choice but to resist their tyranny." I leaned forward over the bar, resting my elbows on the top. The quiet murmuring sounds of the rest of the restaurant faded around us. All I could focus on was the look in her eye—urgent, feral, and alive. She was a wild animal, now cornered. This was when she was at her most dangerous, I was sure. The pirates would be in trouble.

"I've been thinking about how we could fight back," I said. A calculating smile crossed her lips.

"You have?"

"I'd never want to get Seaport in trouble without having a few ideas to get us right back out of it. This is my home now. I have every intention of making it a good one." She leaned back in her chair, so I straightened as well.

"Good. We'll have to talk on it soon. Tomorrow, why don't you swing by the jail? Buckshank, the hairy one, was demanding to speak with you."

"Really?" She nodded.

"He has quite the temper, and he doesn't seem as disciplined as Strider, whom you dispatched. Be careful around him." I wasn't sure how careful I would need to be, given he was behind bars and I had a sword-wielding dragonkin on my side. Still, I took note to heed her words. Out in the tabled main room, the youngsters were just leaving and bidding polite farewells. Wynnie sashayed over to me and planted a kiss on my cheek. Her eyes were half-lidded with sleepiness, but they burned with a sultry fire.

An unspoken promise lingered between the two of us. Her lips caressed my ear as she whispered sweetly, "The last of the guests are leaving. We're almost out of food. What say we close down early tonight and enjoy our own dinner?"

"That sounds perfect. Although it might take me a bit of time to unwind before I can go to sleep." She reacted with a coy smile.

"Oh, I don't think we'll get much sleep tonight." My pants tightened. Lady Talia cleared her throat uncomfortably.

"Should I go? I was going to ask for a second drink, but… maybe I should go."