A Pleasant Day

Marcelo finally returned to the counter where Carla, the Summoners' Guild attendant, was waiting. Maybe it was the light, maybe the angle, maybe the post-mission fatigue lowering his defenses. His eyes settled on her, and suddenly, he noticed.

Has she always been this beautiful? Marcelo thought.

Carla was blonde, but not just any blonde. Her hair was the color of fresh honey, with golden highlights that captured the soft light from the crystal lanterns hanging above the dark oak counter. It fell in loose waves to her shoulders, framing a face with fine, delicate features. Her eyes now revealed themselves as a translucent ice-blue, deep and intelligent, fixed on the bundle of herbs he placed on the polished wood.

He noticed the natural elegance of her posture: slender, upright, but without stiffness. She wore the Guild's standard tunic in a deep royal blue, embroidered with silver threads forming the emblem of a claw—the Guild's symbol. The fabric draped well over her shoulders and waist, suggesting a graceful figure beneath the functional attire. Her movements were precise and fluid: her long, slender fingers, with short, clean nails, slid over the bundle of herbs harvested from Spring Mountain with professional care. He watched, mesmerized, as she unwrapped the linen bundle, checked the vitality of the shiny leaves and silvery flowers, and meticulously noted it in the large Registry Book, bound in aged leather. The quill pen moved deftly across the parchment.

The Guild hall buzzed with its usual commotion—adventurers' laughter, the clinking of crystals, the sharp smell of potions mixed with the sweet scent of magic candles. But for Marcelo, in that instant, the world seemed to have turned down the volume. Everything focused on that woman behind the counter, on the gentle curve of her neck as she leaned over the book, on the light dancing in her honeyed strands, on the unexpected intensity of that blue gaze that finally lifted to meet his when she finished the entry.

"Mission accomplished, Marcelo," she said, and her voice, which he had heard countless times giving instructions or noting requests, now sounded clear, melodious, and surprisingly warm. A genuine smile, small but luminous, curved her naturally rosy lips—an angelic beauty.

Marcelo smiled back. Carla opened a small drawer built into the counter and took out a worn velvet pouch. With quick gestures, she counted out ten lesser mana crystals, each the size of a fingernail, with a dull, uneven glow in pale turquoise-blue hues. "Your reward," she announced, placing the stones in Marcelo's outstretched palm. He felt the rough coldness of the crystals against his skin, a contrast to the sudden warmth rising to his face. He closed his fingers around them, the soft clinking almost lost in the Guild's noise. "Thank you, Carla," he replied, his voice a little huskier than he intended. The crystals weighed little, but that moment, the simple touch of their hands during the exchange, seemed to carry something far more substantial.

*****

The afternoon air was pleasant, people moved through the streets, creating a lively atmosphere.

Marcelo felt a light tug on his right shoulder. It was Lydia, his little furry dragon; if it weren't for the bat-like membranous wings folded against her back, Marcelo might truly question whether she was a dragon. Her large, liquid amber eyes stared at him intently, while her slender, sinuous tail tapped rhythmically against his back.

"Ah, a promise, huh?" murmured Marcelo, stroking between her ears.

"Yes, let's eat!" Lydia replied excitedly. "There's so much new stuff here!"

The Market Square buzzed with the energy of late afternoon. The smell was a tempting symphony: the sharp smokiness of grilled meat vied for space with the heavy sweetness of caramelized sauces and the salty crunch of fried pastries. Marcelo followed Lydia's nose, as she already stretched her neck, quivering nostrils fervently sniffing the air.

They stopped in front of a skewer stall. Generous chunks of pork, marinated in herbs from Sun Mountain and coated in a golden crust of spices, rotated slowly over red-hot coals. The aroma was hypnotic, rich, and spicy. Beside them, on a hot griddle, golden little balls of crispy dough – "Honey Crisps" – were deftly flipped, releasing a sweet steam of honey and cinnamon.

"Two skewers and three honey crisps, please," Marcelo asked the vendor, a dwarf in a greasy apron.

While waiting, Lydia grew restless. She climbed up Marcelo's collar to his left shoulder for a better view. Her membranous little wings partially opened, fluttering with excitement like those of an impatient hummingbird. A soft purring, deeper than a common cat's and with a hint of metallic vibration, began to echo from her tiny chest. Her amber eyes never left the rotating skewers.

"Easy there, great and mighty draconic beast," laughed Marcelo, holding the worn velvet pouch with the crystals.

When the vendor handed over the two skewers, Marcelo sat on a nearby stone bench. Lydia jumped from his shoulder onto the bench, standing on her hind legs, resting her front paws on Marcelo's thigh. Her snout frantically sniffed the air, a tiny thread of silvery saliva dripping from the corner of her mouth.

Marcelo pulled a juicy piece of meat off one skewer.

"Here, as promised!" Marcelo then handed it to Lydia, who began chewing voraciously.

Before he could bring his own to his mouth, Lydia emitted an insistent – "Preeet!" – raising her front paws like a pleading squirrel. Her tail wagged like a little flag.

"Already finished and want mine too? Alright, greedy guts," Marcelo conceded with a smile, quickly removing the piece of meat from the skewer.

Lydia didn't need asking twice. She bit into it with surprising care for her eagerness, avoiding nipping Marcelo's fingers. She chewed fast, her eyes closing with pleasure – "Mmmrrrrm" – the purr swelling into a satisfied buzz. A nearly imperceptible wisp of smoke, warm and smelling of burnt caramel, escaped her nostrils – an uncontrollable reaction to excellent food.

"Liked it? Let's buy more then, I want to try too," said Marcelo, licking the smoky, spicy sauce off his finger before picking up a Honey Crisp. "Here, next up," Marcelo said, and promptly handed it over, with Lydia immediately taking a bite. The pastry was perfect: golden and crispy crust on the outside, soft and soaked in warm honey-cinnamon syrup inside. As she bit into it, the intense, comforting sweetness filled her mouth.

Marcelo watched her eat.

Where does it all go? he thought. They weren't huge portions, but compared to Lydia, they far exceeded her size.

After finishing, Lydia gently tugged the sleeve of Marcelo's jerkin with a tiny retractable claw. Marcelo gave her the rest. Lydia first licked the honey off the piece with a pink, rough tongue like a kitten's, before devouring the dough with an audible – "Crunch!" She meticulously cleaned each claw afterward.

As soon as she finished, Lydia stared at Marcelo, who immediately understood her intentions, and he went back to buy more. Luckily for him, the food wasn't expensive. For ordinary people, there was a common coin in circulation that, in equivalence, was worth one hundredth of a lesser crystal. Marcelo had ten crystals, which gave him a tidy sum.

A mission, even one considered easy, paid well.

While Marcelo also ate, appreciating the mix of smoky and sweet flavors, Lydia, after stuffing herself, climbed back onto his shoulder. She curled up with her little head resting on his neck, her amber eyes half-closed with happiness, the vibrant purr now a constant little motor of satisfaction against his skin.

"Hey, Marcelo, when can we do another mission?" Lydia said.

"Did you like the adventure that much?" Marcelo asked.

"Oh, yes! The adventure is cool, but the reward is the best," said Lydia enthusiastically.

*****

The afternoon sun began to slant, tinting the paving stones with golden hues. Marcelo walked unhurriedly down the busy street, the comforting, purring weight of Lydia still on his shoulder. The city's bustle – the calls of vendors, the laughter of children running between adults' legs, the distant clang of a blacksmith – formed a vibrant soundtrack. The smell of fried foods and sweets from the square was gradually giving way to subtler aromas: the scent of wildflowers sold in baskets by an old woman, the earthy smell of fresh roots displayed at a stall, the faint odor of metal and oil coming from the magical artifacts workshop ahead.

"Honey and smoked meat... the best combination in the world," declared Lydia, stretching like a cat on his shoulder, her membranous little wings spreading in a satisfied stretch. A tiny burp, followed by a wisp of caramel smoke, escaped her. "Oops."

Marcelo laughed – "Indeed, I noticed when someone ate the equivalent of three times their own size."

"Hey!" protested Lydia, giving a playful little nip to his ear with tiny teeth. "A growing dragon needs fuel! Besides..." she let out a theatrical sigh, her purr dwindling to a sleepy hum, "...it was so good. Better than those crystals you give me sometimes."

"You're right," admitted Marcelo, dodging a group of apprentices carrying heavy boxes. His eyes, which seemed to perceive details that weren't so familiar before, scanned the shop facades, the people, the small magical signs painted on doors indicating specialized services. But his gaze was relaxed, without urgency – "But don't think this becomes routine. Mana crystals don't grow on trees, you know?"

"Ah, but you paid with those common coins, didn't you?" argued Lydia, cleverly lifting her head. Her amber eyes shone with a spark of draconic cunning. "Ten lesser crystals is a treasure! That buys a lot of food."

Marcelo shook his head, amused by his partner's financial logic.

"Common coins cost money too, Lydia. They come from the crystals, remember? Every job, every mission... everything converts. But yes," he agreed, seeing her enthusiasm, "we can include an extra like this once in a while. After successful missions. Of course, only if you perform your job as excellently as this time."

"I guarantee I'll be even more ruthless! Next time we'll hunt even more monsters and herbs!" she declared in a heroic tone, remembering when she set a bush on fire and defeated a small rabbit – "...I'm competent." She shrank back, feigning modesty, but her sinuous tail gave little excited taps against his back.

They passed through a smaller square where a street performer dressed in brightly patched clothes – blood-red, egg-yellow, and sky-blue – practiced his art. Balanced precariously on the tip of his nose, a thin vertical pole held a pyramid of five slowly spinning, colorful ceramic plates, reflecting the sunlight. Each plate was painted with different patterns: spiral stripes, star-like dots, stylized flowers.

The artist never stopped: while his nose supported the pole and plates, his agile hands juggled three emerald-green leather balls that rose and fell in perfect arcs, beating a hypnotic rhythm against his palms. His feet, clad in pointed, two-toned shoes, danced in a quick back-and-forth motion on an imaginary tightrope on the stone pavement, keeping his whole body in constant motion. A small circle of spectators, mainly wide-eyed children and a few smiling adults, followed every risky move, gasping when a plate threatened to fall and applauding when balance was restored with a flourish.

Lydia watched, fascinated, her head turning to follow every twist, every spin of the plates, every toss of the balls. Her little wings fluttered involuntarily on Marcelo's shoulder, as if she were unconsciously trying to mimic the balance.

"That's amazing!" Lydia whispered to Marcelo, her purr softened by concentration.

"Very entertaining, let's go give him some coins!" Marcelo replied, admiring the skill and wanting to encourage the street artist's work.

Moving closer to the lively circle of people, he spotted a small, worn felt hat on the ground, filled with common copper and bronze coins glinting faintly in the sun. Marcelo quickly pulled a few coins from his pocket – small copper discs stamped with the face of an ancient king – and with a precise gesture, tossed them one by one onto the other coins in the hat. *Clink-clink-clink!* The metallic sound momentarily caught the juggler-acrobat's attention. Without losing the rhythm of the balls or the balance of the plates, he tilted slightly in a quick, theatrical bow, winking one eye at Marcelo and Lydia.

Smiling, Marcelo and his little draconic companion watched, enchanted, as the performance reached its climax. In a fluid and seemingly impossible move, the performer tossed the three green balls slightly higher. As they soared, spinning through the air, he removed the pole from his nose with one hand, causing the pyramid of plates to cascade down like a colorful waterfall. His other hand deftly caught them one by one with a magician's skill, in a motion so fast the plates seemed to vanish. Before the balls could fall, he had already retrieved them, setting them spinning again around his fingers like obedient planets. The audience erupted in applause and shouts of admiration. Lydia reared up on Marcelo's shoulder, tapping her front paws together in enthusiastic miniature applause, a draconic "Mrraaak!" of approval escaping her throat.

"Bravo!" Marcelo shouted, adding his voice to the chorus, impressed by the skill. The fatigue from the mission seemed to have vanished completely, replaced by the pure joy of the impromptu spectacle under the open sky of the square. Lydia pressed her head against his cheek, her purr returning, now mingled with excitement.