The Puppet Master

The silence of the room was broken as a man in his thirties came through the door, a delicate creak sounding his arrival. He looked well off but fatigue wrapped around him like a shadow. 

"Welcome, do enjoy a seat on this lovely night" 

These words have already lost their meaning to Mark, the number of times he said such phrases beyond his counting. Yet he still says it with a smile on his face so he can keep people at ease when they enter. 

The intoxicating allure of alcohol is the main and at many times the only attraction the bar has to offer. Those looking for a place of consolation in this rotting world usually resort to drinking away their distress. Yet what determined the success of the bar had nothing to do with the tantalizing poison. The social aspect was equally important as having the proper atmosphere is what turned newcomers into repeat customers. 

Such was the bartender's job as Mark did his best to set the proper mood in the building while serving the drinks. Making sure that people would continue coming to him instead of his competitors in the city. 

Of course, he had a quality that set him apart from other people in his trade. 

He extended his mind outward and then brought forth a feeling of serenity in the man, the latter's expression relaxing as he walked toward Mark, pulled a stool, and sat down before him. 

"A margarita, please" 

"Aye, would you like anything to eat with that?"

The man shook his head as he slid a few notes over the counter.

'Oh well, I'll ask again when you're dead drunk'

Is it wrong to take advantage of people who can't think straight? Maybe, but these people did it to themselves, they can only blame their poor judgment. They chose to drink at his pub after all. It's when people are already tipsy that Mark can exert a bit more influence since his actions would be blamed on the alcohol. Doing so, he makes people go from having one drink, to another, and eventually, they end up wasted with a meal on the side. 

While preparing the cocktail, the fatigued man started some small talk with Mark, having judged the brown-haired bartender to be someone who could hold a decent conversation. 

Mark smiled and responded, his eyes fixed on his actions. His work was considerably challenging when trying to maintain professionalism. While he could wait until he was done making the drink to respond, or pause his actions, multitasking was the best way to appeal to a patron.

Paying attention to the conversation while focusing on precision in his movements made up for a demanding skill that took a great deal of time to master. That, and keeping his hold on the patron's emotions were three things he had to do simultaneously. 

He embellished the drink with a well-cut lime and slid it over to the man.

One thing Royce is reliable for is the freshness of the ingredients, the pickiness in how he chooses his ingredients would make one mistake him for the chef of a high-quality restaurant. 

'He probably could be one if he tried.' 

By the time the second customer entered, the fatigued man had already drunk three glasses. He was nearly drunk but could still think straight.

Mark continued to give him a false sense of ease and tranquility but had stopped prodding his mind to drink. 

The goal was to let the man have a good time at the bar and turn it into a decent memory. If he were to only remember becoming utterly drunk and having a hangover the following day, the chances of him becoming a returnee would plummet. Of course, Mark had already coerced him to eat a meal. Unlike the boss's experiments, the complete dishes were all enchanting delicacies. Not a single bit of food was left uneaten while a tantalizing aroma wafted through the room.

As the sunset ended and the moon began to shine, a handful of people were in the bar. A warm and cheery ambiance greatly contrasted with the chilling winds outside. Even though the bar wasn't full, it was nearing the limit of what Mark could handle alone. He was the only person who worked outside of the kitchen. The slowly deteriorating economy had left Royce without the proper income to hire another employee. 

Two people could only take so many patrons while maintaining an acceptable quality of service.

The silver lining is that he was able to relax on the psychological front. The patrons were currently conversing with each other and the mood in the room was creating itself without the need for Mark to exert much effort. 

A couple sat by a window while gazing into each other's eyes, three wasted men were trying to play a game of cards, and two people at the bar were ranting about the poor working conditions in their factories. All the sounds in the bar came together to form a chaotic euphony. 

Mark watched it all in his pale black eyes. While his face was neutral he felt inwardly ecstatic.

This is why he had chosen to become a bartender. And no, it wasn't because he liked to see other's happiness, he wasn't nearly so compassionate. 

Everything- the mood, the emotions of the patrons, the sight that he is currently beholding. It was the result of his precise efforts in constantly acting and kindling the feelings of others. 

This was his grand show. 

"Excuse me, sir?" 

Mark was pulled out of his thoughts by a waving hand in his face. He looked up from the glass he was wiping and put a brilliant smile on his face. 

"Ah, sorry, how may I-"

He froze, his mouth still slightly open, his hand wiping the glass now unmoving, the smile he had just conjured now slightly crooked. 

Before him stood a lady who appeared to be in her early twenties, just around his age. Caramel hair cascaded down her back, her peach-colored eyes glistened with gentleness, her unsuspecting face seemed to have been woven from the heavens, without a flaw to be seen. 

Mark quickly collected himself and readjusted his expression, simultaneously reaching out with his mind and drawing forth a blissful sense of elation in the stunning brunette.

 "Ahem, how may I be of service to this fine young lady?" 

A smile sprouted on her face as she seemed to restrain herself from chuckling. 

"A peach dame blanche would be great."

She hesitated for a moment

"Also... you can call me Claire"