Chương 44: Chapter 21: Finally, a Traditional Fantasy Tavern Experience

"Ugh. My steak is wildly overcooked."

"Really? Mine is practically raw!" I looked over at hers. It was cooked to the exact same doneness as mine. Both were just a hair short of well done. The barest hint of color was sandwiched between two heavy layers of gray. A small dribble of juice came from that little pink slit in the center. Sometimes that's enticing. Not here, though. The outside had a nice char, but that was the only thing it had going for it. The rest of the steak was tough, dry, and unseasoned. This was the kind of cut that deserved ketchup.

"Look at this! I swear, it's as though they're trying to make us sick! Can you believe it's not thoroughly cooked through?" Wynnie was aghast. So far, she'd cut around the edges, careful to eat only the most torched sections.

"I wonder if Mel put them up to this. Or if the cooks here have lost their touch." I pushed a bit of meat around on my plate with my fork. The texture was like leather, and the flavor was just a step above. I was having a hard time swallowing the stuff, and not just because it was so dry.

"Back in my world, this would be considered nearly inedible."

"Good to know some standards are universal."

"Not quite. Actually, we tend to prefer steaks with a lot more pink than this. Red, if we can get it." She gasped.

"Really?"

"There's a lot more flavor in the steak that way. And it's so juicy, too."

"Well, who needs juice when you've got wine?" Finally, something I could agree with. She raised her half-empty glass to her lips and took a healthy sip. I followed suit after taking a small bite, using the liquid to help it go down. No sense in choking to death before I got to see what the fuss was about here when the place livened up. The rest of our meal wasn't much to write home about either. The potatoes were baked in butter with salt and pepper, but nothing special.

My carrots were boiled and soggy, covered in a gravy I knew better than to ask about. The place felt stuffy, too. So far, fire mages were severely over-hyped. There wasn't a hint of green vegetable anywhere to be seen. That was probably typical, I figured. Still, I'd been trying to eat healthier. In fact, I'd even grown to love salads once I realized that lettuce didn't have to be the main ingredient. A pop of color from seared spinach or braised kale could really liven up my entree.

Of all the things I missed back on Earth, I never thought collard greens would be one of them. By the time we finished dessert, Wynnie had ordered a second bottle of wine. At that point, I didn't care that the spice in the spice cake was mostly just cinnamon—and enough of it to make my mouth feel sandpaper-dry. Mel came to check on us toward the end.

"You two really packed it away!" She leaned down, addressing only me. Two buttons of her black shirt were conspicuously undone, providing a tease of pale skin.

"Are you the reason why our little Wynnie here has been filling out so nicely? Where has she been hiding you these last couple of years?" Again, Wynnie shrank, blushing furiously. She kept clamming up in these situations. Not that I'd expect her to begin shouting and make a scene, but I hoped she could stand up for herself at some point. Well, if she couldn't, then I would.

"Actually, I'm new in town. And whatever Wynnie's been doing, I hope she keeps doing it. She looks radiant." Mel's look of surprise quickly morphed into one of mischief. She leaned in conspiratorially.

"Is this a date?"

"We're just friends," Wynnie explained, sounding shy and small. I thought I could read a hint of jealousy in Mel's voice, however. It seemed an opportunity to rub it in her face.

"Wynnie's just being modest. It's definitely a date."

"It is?" Wynnie looked at me with sudden surprise, beginning to smile.

"Oh, I mean, it is. Yes."

"It is!?" Mel didn't seem to believe it either.

"And to celebrate, we'd like a couple glasses of dessert wine. Maybe some port or a sherry, if you have it?"

"I'll see what I can find." Mel scurried off again to get us what we wanted. Wynnie glanced up at me, looking a little confused.

"This isn't really a date, is it? You just said that to get Mel off my back." Slow and steady. Embrace the adventure. But do it right.

"I mean, we got all dressed up. We're out for dinner. It's not not a date." She gave me a wan smile.

"Don't get a girl's hopes up too high, Drew. She might start thinking you're more than friends." That was better than accidentally putting us in the friend zone, long term. That was never my intention. I just didn't want to screw things up the way I always did on Earth.

"I don't want to dash your hopes, either. This was about taking things slow. Pausing. But not about stopping them altogether, remember?"

"Ugh. What a tease." She groaned and rolled her eyes, but at least she was still smiling.

"Well, at least it was nice seeing Mel squirm with jealousy. She obviously has the hots for you." I laughed.

"Good. That's what I was hoping for. Let's see if we can make her even more jealous soon." Around us, the atmosphere was shifting. Most of the other diners in the room had long since cleared out. The temperature inside the tavern had gone from warm and cozy to hot and stuffy. The ambient noise around us had risen as well, as more and more of the townspeople made their way into the building. Groups laughed as they greeted each other, and they swapped stories about their days.

Another server frantically made his way through the crowd. He carried beer mugs instead of wine glasses. The night had changed. We were about to see what we were really up against. Mel returned with two crystal flutes of wine. The liquid sloshed against the walls, thick and syrupy, clinging to the glass with buxom amber legs. Honeysuckle dominated the nose, with apricot and other floral notes behind.

"Holy blistering barnacles!" Wynnie exclaimed, followed by several other maritime oaths in quick succession after each tiny sip she took of the dessert wine.

"What is this nectar of the gods?"

"It's just wine with extra sugar in it. Actually, it reminds me a bit of a Sauternes."

"This is almost as good as your punch! Why don't people drink this for every meal?"

"Same problem as the punch. The sugar makes the hangover worse, as does the higher alcohol content. Oh, and if it's anything like Earth, this is probably really expensive. It's hard to grow grapes this way, and there's not much juice to work with after harvest." She eyed her small glass nervously and clutched it, knuckles going white.

"I shall savor every last drop," she whispered. A small stage lay in the corner of the room. It rose no more than a foot off the ground, with one small step leading up to it. Its length expanded into the room in a sort of oval-ish shape—or maybe it was a rectangle with a very rounded edge. A diminutive man waddled up the single step and stood on the wooden platform. His short, curly hair bounced as he walked. He wore a jovial set of linens covered by a tight vest that squeezed his extra pounds into new locations.

Signature bard wear if I'd ever seen it. I mentally prepared myself for either a charm spell or a bawdy tale. He looked out at the crowd, and a slow hush fell across the room. Clearing his throat, he announced, "Who wants to hear the one about the barmaid's trip to sea?" This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work. So, bawdy tale it was. A resounding roar of approval echoed through the bar. Continued cheers were punctuated only by calls for more beer.

Mel and the other server zipped through the crowd, taking empties, exchanging coin, and handing out new flagons.

"Is this when the party starts?" Wynnie nodded.

"It's been a while, but yeah. This feels familiar."

"Wonderful. I was hoping to get the full experience."

"Can't get the full experience without a flagon of ale in front of you." She hadn't even finished her dessert wine. As if I needed any more proof that Wynnie was a bad influence. Together, we'd have to work to enable each other less. Otherwise, we'd likely drink away all of our spoils as soon as we got them. That was a short way to never reach our goals. But we could do that tomorrow. Today, we were doing serious competitive research. We needed to drink more. For science, or whatever.

I waved my hand to flag Mel down. On Earth, that might be considered rude. Here, it was an absolute necessity.

"Two ales?" Her voice came out breathlessly. Sweat stuck her blonde hair to her brow.

"Yes, please," I confirmed.

"Knew it. Already got two poured. Be back in a minute." Well, at least she anticipated needs like a pro. Back on the stage, the short man was already partway into an explicit rhyme. There was something about mermaids and barmaids, and the minor differences in the anatomy of their lower halves. Half of the bar took part in some kind of call-and-response. Their voices blurred together into a drunken roar, all jovial and exciting. It made it nearly impossible for me to make out what was actually being said.

Still, I got the gist, and it appeared Wynnie did, too, given the bright red hue blooming across her cheeks. We finished our dessert wines just in time for the ales to arrive. I took a sip. Pure satisfaction. At least this world could get one thing right. Their liquor may have sucked, their wine was nothing special, and the food was borderline inedible, but the beer was damn good. It was a rich, almost sweet brown ale.

Served at room temperature with barely any carbonation, it reminded me of a barley wine, or a barrel-aged brown. But the depth of flavor was incredible, complex, and nuanced. I could also taste the sharp bite of alcohol on the back of my tongue. This stuff was trouble.

"What do you think of the beer?" Wynnie asked me, grimacing just slightly.

"I love it. This is the best thing they sell, for sure."

"Do you think we should sell this beer? Or maybe something like it? They cart it in from Northridge." I thought about it and scratched my growing beard. It would be a crowd-pleaser for sure. Yet folks in town already knew they could come to The Good Inn for this beer. Simply offering the same product wouldn't bring people in our doors. And without the atmosphere to back it? They'd choose The Good Inn every time. We needed to set ourselves apart.

People needed to pick us for what we did differently, not what we approximated. After a few seconds, I shook my head.

"No."

"Oh, thank goodness. The brewer is a lecherous old weirdo. Plus, I'm not strong enough to carry around kegs." I chuckled.

"Honestly, I don't know if I could carry a keg, either. Those things are heavy, and I'm not getting any younger." I took another look through the throng of people.

"The good news is that I have an idea for how we can compete with this tavern, though. When they zig, we'll zag."

"What?"

"When they veer, we'll... voor?" She shook her head hopelessly.

"I'm sorry. I think I've had too much. I'm not following you at all." I was just about to tell her that veer and voor didn't really make sense anyway, when something else intruded on our conversation. Or rather, someone else intruded. A corduroyed bottom approached at high speed. We were at risk of getting sat on by an accidental butt attack.

"Whoa, watch it!" I exclaimed. He did not watch it. A stout dwarf crashed into our table. In his scramble to catch his balance, he knocked Wynnie's glass out of her hands. It shattered, splashing beer across the floor. Astonished defeat darkened her features. The dwarf hiccupped, burped, and then put his hands to his mouth.

"I'm so sorry. It's these damn tall folk. They can't see me when they're walking." While he apologized, he used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe up the liquid from our table. I rose and helped Wynnie clean herself off. Beer soaked into the fabric of her sleeve. I dabbed at it with a napkin, acutely aware of where I was touching her and how familiar it felt.

"I know it's that big oaf's fault over there, but I can't help but feel responsible for your empty beer." The dwarf was still grumbling. He appeared both frustrated and genuinely regretful.

"It's all right. Shit happens in a bar," I said. He barked out a gruff laugh.

"Shit happens! That's funny. I'm going to steal that from you, if you don't mind."

"Go for it. I'm pretty sure I stole it from an entire planet somewhere." The man snagged a towel off of the male server's platter as he walked by. He used it to continue cleaning our table, still stammering out heartfelt apologies. Finally, satisfied with his cleanup, he looked at us somberly.

"The least I can do is get you another round, since I ruined this one for you."

"Oh, it's no bother. You don't have to," Wynnie said.

"Nonsense! You two make a real cute couple. I can't be the reason why your date ends here," he said. Before we could protest further, he flagged down the server he had stolen the towel from and put in an order for two more ales, plus some bread and butter. He apologized again as he left.

"Sorry about that," I said.

"I hope it doesn't stain the dress." I daubed off a few last drops of spilled beer from Wynnie's exposed arm. It was a simple gesture, but it felt comfortable and intimate without the heady charge of lust. Yet her expression faltered as she watched the dwarf walk away. The whole encounter had shaken her up. I could see her begin to spiral, her mood almost completely deflated.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm just so big and in the way, he couldn't have avoided me if he tried."

"Wynnie, you have to believe me. You're seriously not big."

"And then he thought we were on a date! You must be mortified to be seen in public with me!" She looked as though she was about to cry. This was one of those times where I was never quite sure what to say. I'd been around women who spiraled and had little breakdowns before, and I'd never handled it quite right. In fact, there was a part of me that wondered if there even was a right way to handle things. But of course there was.

I just had to stop thinking like a guy who needed to fix things, and start acting like a guy who needed to understand how she felt and reassure her. Her lip quivered below her rosy cheeks. Her body had shifted to turn slightly away from me. I knew that was because she was embarrassed, not because of anything I did. I put my hand on her shoulder softly.

"Wynnie." Nothing. I tried again.

"Wynnie?"

"Yes?" She looked up at me through her glasses with uncertain eyes.

"You're gorgeous. And whoever made you think otherwise was an idiot."

"Really?"

"Really. And for the record," I lowered my voice slightly, "I don't care if people think this is a date." She searched my face.

"You don't?"

"Like I said before, it's not not a date." I let that sit for a second.

"I just want to make sure that when I do this, I actually do it right. That's all." Her lips twisted into a small scowl.

"I'd be happy to never hear the words just friends again." She bit those words out as though she wanted to grind them into dust with her molars. As though they'd personally wronged her as a child, and she held the grudge until adulthood. Hell, I was just getting acquainted with the term, and I was starting to hate it too. The other server—the guy, not Mel—stopped by with the bread and butter. The bread steamed, hot from the oven. Butter melted in little pools on top of the slices.

I could smell a blend of wheat and rye, and some other grain that I couldn't quite make out. Even on a full stomach, my mouth watered. Just then, the room erupted into song. Cheers soon followed, and I realized that a small band was playing up on the stage now. They accompanied the halfling storyteller from before. The three of them danced, capered, and made merry. The rest of the crowd danced as well, and the floor shook with the raucous energy of the still-growing crowd.

By the time we finished our slices of bread, half of our ales were gone and almost the entire inn was on its feet, dancing the same jig together.

"Come on," I said. I motioned for Wynnie to stand with me.

"Let's cut a rug."

"What?" She had to shout to be heard over the din.

"Crap. Sorry. It means let's dance." She eyed me skeptically, but she fussed with her dress, tying it tighter. As she stood, I surveyed the crowd. They all danced in sync, following the same steps as though they'd been practicing it together for years. Which they probably had. I'd never really learned to dance. I certainly didn't know the steps. Yet I'd had enough to drink to honestly believe that it wouldn't matter.

"Are you seriously asking me to dance?"

"You don't have to if you're embarrassed to be seen with me," I said, turning it back on her.

"No, this will be fun watching you try." We pushed our way into the crowd, bodies pressing close on all sides. Humidity clung to our skin, and the music carried us forward. Two minutes in, and Wynnie's face was beet red. At least, as beet red as a face that tan could get. Little pinpricks of darkness revealed her freckles, and she had to push her fogging glasses back up her nose several times per minute. Her hair looked incredible, bouncing along with the tune.

Her bun was still as messy as ever, and stray locks flew every which way, clouding her vision. I kept forgetting to pay attention to the dance moves. All I had eyes for was her. The way she laughed when we went the wrong way. How we bumped against each other as we lost our footing. The two of us huffed and puffed, completely out of rhythm with the rest of the crowd, lost entirely in our own world. As the lull of one song transitioned to the next, an older-looking elf woman leaned over.

Over the pounding of my heart and heavy panting, she said, "You two look like you're having so much fun."

"We are," I wheezed.

"You make the cutest couple. Seeing young folks who care about each other the way you do fills my heart with such joy." I was about to correct her to say we weren't a couple, but something stopped me. It wasn't a correction I wanted to make. Wynnie also appeared mid-response. The older woman danced away a few seconds later before either of us said a thing.