Chopsticks to Get in the Inn

The Flopping Fowl was nothing short of a typical fantasy inn in a world created by an author with little to no imagination ripping off settings from more innovative writers. It had the standard polished wood floors that creaked when newcomers entered, round tables littered with drunk and loud patrons, and a bartender in a white colored shirt and black vest polishing a glass.

Polly and Raybit were newcomers, so when they pushed open the oak doors and stepped in, the floor creaked loud enough to put a pause to all activity right on cue. A room full of stares, some of the cross-eyed, fixed themselves on the foreigners. Polly threw up a peace sign, her first layer of defense against judging eyes.

A glance was more than enough to satisfy most of the customers, though, and after a quick look at the brightly dressed visitors, they resumed throwing back their mugs of ale and talking about the latest news going around town. Polly could catch snippets including how the price of cheese was soaring disgustingly high, how the cost of electricity was lower than ever before, and how the mayor of the neighboring city was garbage because he favored string-of-pearls over string of dolphins.

“How could he even think about decorating the city hall with string-of-pearls instead of string of dolphins? They’re just green balls on a string!” snorted a blue-bearded patron who looked one mug away from needing to be carried home.

“Out of all the trailing plants…” tsk-ed another patron, aggressively chugging her choice of alcohol.

However, a mere look wasn’t enough for the bartender. He put down the glass he was shining and approached the two at the entrance.

“First timers,” he said coolly, his golden eyes traveling up and down as he appraised them. “You know the rules?”

“What game?” replied Raybit, tilting his chin up.

“Chopsticks.”

“Here and now?”

“Here and now.”

“Go easy on me sir,” chuckled Raybit.

The bartender smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “If you can’t even get past me you have bigger problems.”

Raybit shrugged. “Ready whenever you are then. You can go first.” He stuck out both hands with all fingers tucked in except his index fingers and flashed a cocky grin at the bartender who raised an electric yellow eyebrow. Minus the gray hair, hunched back, and facial wrinkles, Raybit would have looked like the picture of a confident young man.

With bright yellow hair, a smooth face, and perfect posture, the bartender looked much younger than his opponent and every bit as confident. He followed suit in placing his hands out, palms down and inside fingers sticking out and aligned them so they were directly opposite of Raybit’s.

Polly could feel the electricity crackling in the air. Why her ponytail was even starting to rise.

Though he looked relaxed as he tapped Raybit’s left index finger, Polly could see the intense concentration in the bartender’s eyes. Raybit, on the other hand, looked as lax as one could be as he popped his left middle finger up. With a foxy grin he tapped his index fingers together, put down his left middle finger and brought up his right middle finger.

There were a few more exchanges with the bartender tapping Raybit’s fingers and Raybit moving his fingers around. Polly watched with the eyes of a hawk for she knew she’d be up next. With bated breath she watched as Raybit gained four fingers on one hand and three on another. Five fingers on one hand meant that hand was out, and both hands out meant the game would be over. Fortunately though, he had taken out one of the bartender’s hands, meaning the match was his.

“That went by faster than I anticipated,” commented Fethar.

Raybit delivered the finishing blow mercilessly. Without an ounce of hesitation or a trace of pity, he brought down his four fingers upon the bartender’s two remaining fingers.

“Very well, you pass,” said the bartender in a condescending tone that absolutely did not reflect the humiliating loss he had just suffered.

“Now for you young miss.” He turned his bright eyes toward Polly who gulped. A game that could be prolonged indefinitely as long as one knew what they were doing was not her forte.

“Right,” said Polly, putting her hands forward.

“I’ll go first,” declared the bartender.

He tapped Polly’s right finger, and Polly, in the spirit of ‘if it ain’t broke don’t fix it,’ mimicked Raybit’s trick of switching fingers. The bartender seemed to be of the exact same mindset, for he continued on just like he had in the game he’d just lost. Not that Polly was complaining of course. Her memory was far from photographic, but it was good enough to remember what happened less than 5 minutes ago, and she was going to use that to her advantage.

In a minute it was game over, and the bartender had returned to his post at the bar, leaving Raybit and Polly at the entrance and free to enter.

“I suppose it is within reason that outmaneuvering the bartender was not an exceptional challenge for this is an information hub and a place for travellers to rest,” remarked Fether. “Their business would not do well if not a person were able to enter.”

“Why make people play to get in then? It’s not like winning a game of chopsticks makes you automatically not shady. Or does it?”

“That is simply how this island works. It is something you ought to get used to.”

“We didn’t have to play a game to get inside the information place we were at earlier though.”

“I would like to point out how that building looked significantly less traditional than the one we are entering at the moment.”

Raybit took the lead and strided through the door and orderly row of tables toward the bartender who was now busying himself pouring a drink for a cherry cheeked guest. The bartender slid the mug toward the customer and offered another stiff smile to the two.

“How can I help the two of you?” he asked.

“A drink,” replied Raybit. He stuck a hand into one of his cargo shorts’s many pockets and whipped out a card not unlike the one Polly had been puzzling over. “I’ll have whatever’s cheapest.”

“And you?” said the bartender turning to Polly.

“What’s the legal age for drinking here,” thought Polly to Fethar.

“You’re underage.”

“I’ll have an apple juice, please and thank you,” said Polly to the bartender. If she couldn’t get herself a beer, she’d at least get herself a drink of a similar color. Just as Raybit had done, she took out her card and passed it to the bartender, though she wasn’t sure what exactly she was doing.

As the bartender poured their drinks, Polly felt her attention drawn to a particular table in the back corner of the tavern. A circle of four dressed in crisp gray suits watched with eyes the size of eggs as a man, also in a crisp gray suit, dropped a round yellow chip into a board with seven columns and six rows of circles.

Perhaps it was how quiet they were compared to their more rambunctious counterparts clamoring away in the tavern or perhaps it was their grim faces, as if this game was a matter of life or death. Whatever it was about them, Polly was interested.