Preferring to Sleep

You unpack your things. Mitten gauntlets that are difficult to pull off drop to your knapsack by the foot of your chair. A harness and longsword lean on the table's edge beside it, shy of the corner where a pale elbow perches.

The winged woman's thumb presses her chin up, teeth tugging her index finger's skin. Blue irises, suspended in wide sclera, finally averts as she looks at Lucien, speaking in their other language. Before you pull away from their conversation, you hear some burrowed words. The adventurers' guild. 

Lucien shakes his head, "She won't come tonight, I only invited him."

"Oh," says the winged woman. Rāvokh talks to Lucien after her.

Lucien glances at you and replies to him, "I left him a letter."

"Why?" says Rāvokh, dumfounded.

"Because he's the only person unaffected by the ward, I was worried." He smiles. "Milarch, thank you for not sneaking around in my store, but the ward is Rāvokh's gift to me. He's a generous person. Rāvokh, it's an opportunity for you as well."

You clear your throat. "I wasn't going to break in," you say, but he laughs at that. You meet Rāvokh's eyes with annoyance.

He asks, "Can you help me determine why the ward doesn't work on you?"

"I'm sorry, I do not owe you the favour."

"Oh, yes, how blatant of me." He chuckles. "Isn't that asking for you to shoot yourself in the foot? How about this, are you contracted with the adventurers' guild? I'll write it towards your merit."

"You can do that?"

"My work is one of the adventurers' guild's priorities," he says with a nod. "If you contribute to my work, it'll be meritorious service." 

You inhale a deep breath and sigh, "I am neither contracted or have accumulated merits with the adventurers' guild. It's an enticing offer, but I'll be considering a career with the guild for it."

Lucien nods his head. Rāvokh also sighs, "If not then I'll find equal compensation, however, you should consider it sooner rather than later, in case I find someone else for this job. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

Velmarie leaning on her backrest says, "Enough with the wards. You've been bitching about it since lunch. Scruffy said it's too weak so make it stronger, what else?" She looks at you and says, "Teach us how to beat it so this guy can shut up for once."

"Velmarie!" He shouts before you can say anything, and the two enter a verbal bout. One upright on his seat and fuming, the other slouched with a tusky grin. Velmarie effortlessly strings rude sounding sentences, while Rāvokh interjects with jabs, quips or something, you have no clue what they're saying.

Their commotion recedes to the background of your thoughts. Wards. They were so weak you doubt that they're related to the eight wards you found in the old home. You don't recall seeing Rāvokh that far into the continent's interior anyway. A guess might be that it's a commonly derived magic in the New World.

At the very least, you're certain he's aligned himself with the adventurers' guild's benefits. He's a dumbass. It's regretful though. Regardless of his ward's priority, you can tell that the adventurers' guild is investing in him to attract people from the New World, who'll be willing to exchange relic after relic for worthless clout and merit.

You observe everyone else during the ongoing verbal bout. The winged woman follows Velmarie's every sentence with laughter, together with the wolfish eared man's nod and grin, in whoever's favour you're unsure. The other women, snake and feline, are indifferent. Velmarie's eyes snap to the cooks walking out the door with steaming pots and pans. She says, "Shut it," and Rāvokh relents with a sneer.

The first cook places a scoop of rice at the centre of each platter with a flourish as the others follow behind. Thick, lentil soup, yellow with turmeric pours from a ladle. A spoon tips out earthy, spiced chickpeas. Consecutively, bowls fill with sautéed leafy mash, smoky eggplant slices, fish coconut curry, mango pickle, thick yogurt flecked with cumin, and the like. Soon, your platters glisten with colour, every ingredient you identify imported from the Old World.

"So pungent!" Velmarie says with excitement, eating with her hands without apology, tasting each dish with the lick of her finger, and mixing the rice however she pleases.

Lucien is unfamiliar but methodical and tells Nìxié the winged woman next to him to eat the vegetables first. "Hm." She nibbles slowly, savouring each bite, eyes fluttering at each unexpected flavour.

The wolfish eared man murmurs every time he inhales a bowl in his hands, sometimes conversing with the snake and feline women who share their thoughts. Rāvokh observes the table and eventually meets your eyes.

"Ah, Milarch, how should I eat this platter?" he asks.

You shake your head. "I've never been to the South continent," you say, and he looks away. While never lowering his head, he takes each spoon up to his face, keeping his horns out of other people's eyes on the dining table.

You salivate, in fact, you didn't eat at all yesterday in anticipation for today's lunch. It's dinner now, and your empty stomach grumbles worse than before.

Vilmarie looks at you from her platter and laughs, saying, "Have your fill already."

The table quietens as everyone focuses on their platters, finishing every dish within an hour. After a cup of tea, Rāvokh sits up from his seat, straightening his tucked shirt and cuffs.

"Thank you for dinner tonight, Lucien. I'll be sure to visit the South continent as well now."

Lucien smiles. "Thank you for your presence today."

"Haha, I suggested today's cuisine," Velmarie speaks up, though Rāvokh ignores her slouching figure. Instead, he looks at you with a hand patting on his belly.

He says, "Please consider my offer Milarch," and leaves the group. You look at Lucien, who's already watching you.

"I sincerely wish that dinner clears our misunderstanding, Milarch," he asks.

"Well, it was delicious."

"Excellent, can we start our business here?"

You consider the remaining people. "It's fine." You set aside your platter and take out your journal from your knapsack. With a thud, it hits the table, catching their attention. "What do you distribute Lucien?"

"Oh," his spectacles gleam and with a nod, he says, "Two editions of a newspaper, a few adventurers' journals and New World maps. We're also working on some projects, if you're willing to work with us."

Interesting. You admit. "Can you share how is the completion of the continent's map going?"

Lucien shakes his head. "It's unlucky, it's difficult to penetrate the continent's interior, and there's not enough coal to circumvent the continent either with little wind on our shores. Do you need a map?" Lucien asks, glancing at your journal. You turn to the page where you copied the map, though only a section of the coast. He exclaims, together with Nìxié, and examines your sketches closely. "Are you looking to publish your maps?"

You raise an eyebrow and ask, "Has no one come to this coast before?"

"I can't recall, though we can look through all the copies in the store," says Lucien. He produces a spare insignia and slides it to you on the table. "You don't need it, but please have our token for its symbolic meaning. Your intrusion is most welcome."

Your eye twitches, but you accept the insignia and fiddle with it, feeling nothing once more before pocketing it. "I appreciate the gesture, Lucien. I'll visit your store before I leave."

"Of course. Do your business at the city first, it must have been a long journey."

You wear your mitten gauntlets and stand to leave after retrieving your journal and knapsack, holding the longsword by its scabbard in one hand. "Everyone, I'll go off now."

Lucien stands up and shakes your hand.

Velmarie asks, "Teach us how to beat Rāvokh's ward."

You barely glance down. "I don't know how either, he's incompetent."

She laughs and you leave them shortly. Lucien watches you walk out of Promise Street, your figure turning the corner into the boulevard now sparse of people. He looks back at the table and asks, "Nìxié, do you recognise that coast?"

"It's, it's a dangerous place. I think we might've mentioned it once in passing, but I remember the guild wasn't interested."

Lucien nods. "That's fine, now we know there's a map of it."

You walk down the boulevard where most windows on the second storeys are still bright, the people indoors having dinner or getting ready to sleep. By the time you're outside the city, the night's sky has set over the outskirts with the last few oil lamps snuffing out one by one. You'll still go shopping tomorrow, but for tonight, you're more accustomed to sleeping in the wilderness alone.

"The adventurers' guild," you mutter, soothing your throat with a gulp of water. You're undecided in what to do with that group, considering that their people likely traded with the old home's owner. Rāvokh's attitude puts you off, and you'd rather all of them have nothing to do with the owner's people.

You stop, hearing the wind behind you comb through the field of grass. A bird? Wings descend with turbulent gusts, each beat flattening the grass beneath her feet. She wears a ruffling white apron and drawers, breathing hard with troubled, blue irises in the cold moonlight.

"Nìxié. It's bedtime."

She shakes her head and asks, "Before you leave, can I see your map?"

"What for?"

"I, I've come across it before."

"No, you haven't."