Chapter Text
Last Light had never been this busy.
Like a pack of smokes, patrons packed the place, shoulder to shoulder, snug and sealed. Their lit cigarettes and cindering cigars created a communal cloud of smoke which coalesced onto the ceiling, in a mimicry of Reithwin’s perpetual fog.
Aylin Silverblood cut through both crowd and smokestack alike with relative ease.
“Firewine Sangria for two.” With an audible thud, Aylin placed the pitcher between two Dwarven Harpers. The wine within sloshed about, just short of spilling out the rim, yet neither of them looked up from their cups to protest. A reasonable non-reaction, considering the day’s dreadful news.
“Apologies.” She forced out a polite smile all the same.
Focus, Silverblood. It has only been two hours since Happy Hour started. You still have the rest of the night to get through.
Aylin bowed to bid them goodbye, then she swiftly speedwalked back towards her oaken countertop where several mugs awaited her, prepped for pouring.
One by one, Aylin filled each stein to the brim with icy, frothing cold Frostkiss. She handed them along the countertop and each customer – regular and less familiar face alike – passed the drinks down in silent solidarity.
The mugs joined an ale spread consisting of a Highbourne Highball, several Selûnite Sidecars (Sharran variation not served on the premises), and a glass of Old Fashioned, which was downed in a single shot by its owner.
“Barkeep!” Fist J’ehlar slammed her whiskey glass onto a golden coaster. “Another round!”
Aylin raised her brow, but J’ehlar waved it away.
“Lay off with the eyes, will you? I'm drinking for Art tonight – it’s what he would've wanted,” J’ehlar said. She spoke of Art Cullagh often; that man would have definitely downed a dozen droughts to drown out the horrors of midday’s happenings: Ketheric Thorm had declared his intent for re-election to Reithwin’s council, and he was running unopposed.
“One last drink.” Aylin’s eyes narrowed at J’ehlar, who nodded in agreement.
Aylin turned towards her coworker and thumbed at J’ehlar to signal a stoppage on the woman’s drinks for the night: Three was plenty, considering the night had just begun.
As Aylin grabbed the bottles to craft her cocktail, the background chatter of the bar assaulted her ears with talk of Thorm, Thorm, Thorm. She strangled their necks tight and bit back her reemerging agitation.
Mere mentions of Ketheric always set Aylin on edge, but the news of his resurgence filled her with fury to the point that she’d smashed several supply crates stored in their storage room to alleviate that anger before the bar’s opening.
Do not let talk of that snake distract you. You have a job to do. Focus…
Aylin tried to fixate on her fingers, which still stung from the splinters she had to remove, but the pain was a mere annoyance compared to the weight of failure upon her chest: Aylin could have stopped this all long ago, when both she and Ketheric were still worthy enough to call themselves Selûnites.
Placing the bottle of whiskey onto the countertop, Aylin squeezed the silver pennant pinned to her chest. The brooch, presented only to chosen daughters of Selûne, brought her immense pride once upon a time. Today, its weight was burdensome; the symbol served as a mocking reminder of her inability to uphold the late Melodia Thorm’s legacy.
Because of her, Reithwin was dark, decrepit, and disappointingly desolate – a sharp contrast from the sweetened, clear and citrussy concoction she poured into her mixing glass.
If only you didn’t fail back then, this town would’ve fared better…
Aylin took a deep, shaky breath to still her mind and tried to shunt out the nagging voice at the back of her brain that always insisted on pinning the weight of this entire ordeal on her. If only she’d been more persistent in personally getting to know the man instead of the portrayed politician, perhaps things would have turned out for the better. If only her wits had been sharper, her insight more scrutinising, she could have stopped Thorm from becoming the monster he was today. If only.
With a sharp thud, Aylin carved a chunk of ice into two. J’ehlar shot up from her slump at the sound, which shook Aylin’s concentration.
The knife shifted off its target, barely missing her fingers. Aylin pulled back in shock and stared at her hand. You are fine – no blood, but that cut seems to have shaved some skin. If the angle of your strike had been different, things would have been much worse.
Enough dwelling in the past. Aylin gingerly placed half of the ice into her mixing glass.
He’s not going to win again. Tightening her grip on the knife handle, Aylin resumed her duties and took the remaining piece into her hand.
Not if I have anything to do about it. The blade bit into the board over and over as she shaped and shaved the ice into a perfect cube before placing it into the whiskey glass.
Aylin poured the bourbon in and began to stir; its foam formed a ghostly pale white atop the liqueur. One. Two. Three. Like clockwork, she counted each swirl, like she always did, as her thoughts were set adrift. It baffled her that the person who'd singlehandedly poisoned Reithwin’s clouds to the point that they felled shadows upon the townscape had the audacity to run for office once more.
“I’m sure he's changed – he’d certainly be better than any of Shar’s candidates,” one of the customers said, too loudly for her liking. His voice was an unfamiliar one. “Sure, he may have been bad as a Sharran, but as a Myrkulite…”
Aylin bit the side of her cheek, sucking in her teeth.
Do not look upon his face. Aylin kept her head down for the stranger's benefit. It was much easier to not be tempted to cave someone's nose in if you didn't know what they looked like.
You are on the clock. No need to cause a ruckus. This patron could be... Misinformed. Do not rush in – Innocent or ignorant until proven otherwise.
The former Selûnite-turned-Sharran was shameless in his whims and ways, and taking up the mantle of Myrkul would do nothing to change that.
Snakes shedding their skin came as second nature to them, after all.
“Changed? Ketheric fucking Thorm? Don’t be daft. Same man, different suit.” Fist Ulthred cut in and silenced the stranger’s spiel much to Aylin's satisfaction, “if anything, all this does is make us ask, ‘Why Myrkul?’.”
Why Myrkul, indeed… Ulthred’s right; the Myrkulites are small in size and structure, insignificant to the larger lobbyists and political powerhouses. Ketheric’s move means one of two things: even the Sharrans have grown sick of his scheming, or the Myrkulites have offered him a deal he couldn’t refuse. Perhaps each reason feeds into the other, like an ouroboros devouring itself towards its doom. Whichever triumphs over the other matters not – both the Sharrans and Myrkulites are just as venomous.
But now, who will Shar field after losing Ketheric Thorm? The rat, Lythindor is all they have left to offer. Gods… Reithwin deserves a third option. Aylin tapped the stirrer onto the rim of the glass to get the last bit of the liquid off its tip.
“Why not Myrkul?” the stranger replied nonchalantly. He stood up from his seat and handed Ulthred a parchment, which the Fist stared at, dumbfounded.
“What in the hells is this garbage?” Ulthred spat, crumpling the parchment into his fist.
A degree of ignorance, Aylin could understand, but disrupting another patron's evening – now of all nights – was unacceptable.
“You!” Aylin shouted across the bar and finally looked to see who was speaking. The man wore a grey cloak; its hood draped over his head.
Typical. A cowl to hide the coward's face.
“A word at the bar?” She ordered. “Now!”
“That’s fine, I was on my way out anyway,” the stranger chuckled as he sauntered towards the countertop with an infuriating sense of misplaced bravado, “but one last thing before I leave…”
He slapped a second parchment onto the table, then tossed two silver coins towards Aylin to pay for his tab. She caught them in midair, clenching her fist around Reithwin’s coinage.
Unfurled in front of her was the portrait of the same insufferable half-elven repackaged in a bone-grey suit.
“Vote Ketheric Thorm.” The stranger leaned closer to Aylin, his face begging to be popped in the kisser.
Aylin's nostrils flared.
Her muscles tensed against the confines of her herringbone shirt.
With her hand already prepared for a proper punching, Aylin cocked her arm back before reason restrained her.
No. Not at work. She slowly unballed her fist. This reeks of an intentional provocation… Perhaps we can revisit this if ever he instigates an interaction like this on the streets. Instead of slamming her hand into his face, Aylin slapped it onto Ketheric’s instead – its impact caused cocktails and ales alike to shake across the countertop – before she tore the paper to shreds.
“Thank you for your patronage, but I believe it best you do not step through my doors again,” she growled, staring the stranger down, dead in the eyes. “That is, unless you wish for your face to resemble this parchment. Leave. Now.”
The stranger’s smug smirk shattered and he swiftly scrambled away, with Last Light’s door chime tinkling as he sprinted out the door, trousers soaked.
What a bloody bother. The man threw my rhythm off, now the bourbon’s gone flat. Aylin chucked the watered-down whiskey into her wash basin. That’s three silvers on me.
Silence settled in amidst the stilled bar chatter, and Aylin started again. The stirrer circled her mixing glass as time ticked away in her mind. One. Two. Three… Before the bell rang out again to announce the arrival of a more welcome crowd.
“Welcome to Last Light!” she called out, her voice still tense from that exchange as the patrons returned to their own conversations.
“Did you see the toll gates? They’re still coming,” Lassandra said to her companions as they entered the bar.
Gods, there are more of them still? Without even a moment of respite to recover, Reithwin brought in yet again more talk of Thorm, Thorm, Thorm.
Karrow and Meygan nodded along, moving towards the booth the incontinent idiot had just cleared, then signalled Aylin for three draughts.
This makes no sense. How is it that he still has any support? After all he’s done?
Aylin took a deep breath, nodded politely at the three Harpers and tried to exhale the remnants of her pent-up frustration.
Collect yourself. You knew what this night would entail… A relentless downpour of Ketheric Thorm filling the cup of your patience up ‘til its brim and emptying it before it overflows.
Each patron’s voice rang louder in her head, despite her attempts to tune them all out. Yet while the sound of Ketheric’s name unsettled her skin, like salted lemons squeezed onto freshly reopened wounds, tonight, that sting was cathartic in its own way.
The bar talk that night shared the same bitter taste of bile upon their tongues whenever they said his wretched name. Words linked onto ‘Ketheric’ were preceded or followed, by a string of expletives.
“Cockroach Ketheric”
“Thorm the Terrible.”
“Ketheric Fucking Thorm.”
There was some strange sense of succour in the fact that the majority of the bar’s denizens tonight had, one way or another, been wronged by this undying leech of a man, just like she had.
While she strained ‘Art Cullagh’s’ glass for J’ehlar, the woman tapped her fingers against the counter, eager to return to her own table, where several Flaming Fists were sharing stories about a former colleague of theirs.
“Did you catch a glimpse of that traitorous pill the other day?” A Fist brought up, trying to control her laughter.
“Aye – Looked like a proper git when I saw him. Weasel couldn't even look me in the eye.” A dwarf took a drag from his cigar, then coughed out a chuckle. “Hard to believe the price of his balls was just some bloody black wings on a leather jacket. It didn’t even fit him proper.”
Along the countertop, one Harper asked his seatmate a not-so-hypothetical question, “So which forest do you think he's going to cut down to make that third tower?”
“All of them,” they replied with a sigh. “He didn’t care for the trees or the critters in them so long as his precious Moonrise kept growing. Why do you think he’d stop at three?”
These were Aylin’s people – her comrades in suffering. Some, friends, but allies, each and every one. None of them would have faulted Aylin for calling it in today so she could down her own drinks in the safety and comfort of her own home; that alone made her not regret coming in today to keep Last Light fully operational.
However, that would be running away. Cowardice. Weakness. Aylin had to keep going. She could not let him win.
Last Light's sign needed to stay alight for everyone’s spirit and sanity, herself included.
The bar stood as a solidified symbol of hope, here amidst Reithwin's bleakness; a place where people could come to recover from a weary day to both rest their souls and lift their spirits.
I’m glad to have you in my corner tonight. Aylin smiled towards Karlach Cliffgate, who raised three bottles of Fire Whiskey into the air to garner the attention of the more despondent drinkers. Keeping their hearts steady and set to hold out until a better tomorrow, I can do, but nobody can light a fire and rouse up a room like you can.
“You guys ready? Eyes on me,” Karlach shouted as she threw one bottle into the air after another and juggled them to the cheer of several patrons.
We’ve come a long way, haven’t we, friend?
Aylin left Karlach to her performance with a smile and returned to her own duty, expressing the oil of an orange twist over J’ehlar’s glass. Gods, I loathed you back then. Some days, I still cannot fathom what possessed me to bring you along in this endeavour of mine, but I am glad to have done so as the last three years wouldn’t have been bearable without you.
Aylin bristled at the bittersweet memories of her failed attempts to communicate with Selûne’s headquarters along the Sword Coast, which were barred at every turn. Every call she made out of the town was cut. The levies of letters she sent for aid returned to her, unrelieved. Her visits to Gerringothe’s toll roads were met with endless runarounds that led to nowhere until Aylin overheard one of the watchers state that Sharran stipulations were specific on not letting her leave.
Alone. Isolated. Abandoned, until Selûne happened to send you my way. Aylin hung the orange twist onto the rim of the glass – its tip still slightly alit – like a defiant flickering candle amidst the gloom.
“Alright, finale time!” Karlach boomed before she tossed the three bottles into the air with a force that one of them tapped onto the ceiling.
One. Two. Three. Karlach caught each bottle simultaneously – one with each of her hands and the third with her tail just before it hit the floor. Without skipping a beat, she promptly poured the whiskey out into several shot glasses, struck a match and set them all on fire.
Karlach revelled in her patrons’ cheers, bowing as she soaked in on the adulation; she was like a furnace, wielding a personality that burnt brightly; the bizarre brews she birthed were both brazen and bafflingly brilliant.
Aylin smirked, offering her a nod, to which Karlach responded with a smug winking. Then, she turned towards J’ehlar as the flickering flames died down and smoothly slid the glass over.
“Your last drink for the evening, J'ehlar.” Aylin bowed. “It has been a pleasure to serve you tonight. Now if you will excuse me, I have another order to see to.”
As Aylin moved towards the tap, she paid no more heed to the cheers: While the revelry and praise fuelled Karlach’s fire, Aylin found fulfilment elsewhere. Clockwork and laser-like, she prepared three pints for her patrons; precision personified through her practiced process. Whether she poured pilsners or crafted cocktail concoctions, Aylin took pride in her consistency.
Last Light was the perfect mixture of Aylin’s pursuit towards perfection and Karlach’s chaotically creative innovations.
At least, that’s what it was on normal nights.
While Aylin poured the ales for Lassandra and her companions, a tiefling on Karlach’s side waved a hand in hesitation to hail for a drink. “Karlach!” She called out, tilting her head in the woman’s direction.
“Sorry, be right with you!” Karlach shouted, while simmering down a saucepan of mulled wine.
Yes… Tonight’s rush would have been impossible with only one of us at the bar. You made the right call by coming in today.
“Karrow. Lassandra. Meygan. Three mugs of Moon Mountain ale,” Aylin mentioned each Harper by name and handed them their drinks before she bid them goodbye with a bow. “Thank you for your continued patronage.”
Across the room, Karlach handed Jaheira the glass of wine.
“Stop playing favourites and get a move on, Cliffgate!” Aylin called out when Karlach dove into another chat with Jaheira about her recent travels.
“Bit busy at the moment – would you mind taking her?” Karlach pleaded, her hands clasped together.
“Fine.” Aylin rolled her eyes. Karlach, your obsession with that woman will end up costing the bar her weight in gold if you keep exchanging alcohol for tales of her excursions. Then, she added, “But remember to charge her for the wine this time, else her tab will be coming from your till.”
“Come on! That hardly happens anymore! Besides, the friends she brings in more than make up for it, yeah?” Karlach’s defence was met by both protests and accusatory laughter amongst Jaheira and her cohorts.
A worthwhile point: Jaheira’s repeated returns alongside generously tipping companions more than balances out the scales. Still, the favouritism is a poor look, especially with new customers flooding in from Elturel.
Aylin waved towards the tiefling woman waiting to be served and beckoned her towards the countertop, “Ma’am, I shall see you served at the bar.”
When Aylin slid under the banister, Karlach had already managed to charm Jaheira’s crowd back to her side with her contagious energy.
It is a pity you cannot maintain that energetic positivity in perpetuity… I know all too well that your performance is proportional to your mood, from roaring furnace to flickering flame.
Almost breaking that bottle with your juggling earlier; the frequent glances towards the doorway; and Jaheira slowly sipping her drink instead of knocking it down and immediately ordering another… It is clear you are having an off day like me, but unlike myself, I know that this has nothing to do with Ketheric Thorm.
It’s because your ACTUAL favourite patron has yet to turn up today.
As the tiefling arrived at her countertop, Aylin took a quick glance at Karlach whose tail began to flail and fidget, hidden from view of anyone else but her. Best to deal with that now. “Apologies for the further delay,” Aylin said to her customer, “but I shall need another moment, if that is alright with you.”
“Of course.” The tiefling nodded. “Take your time.”
Striding straight towards Karlach, Aylin planted a strong hand atop her shoulder and moved in close.
“I am certain that Shadowheart will turn up, friend,” Aylin whispered.
“I know…” Karlach’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m just not used to her coming this late is all. A whole thing happened between us this morning and I... I’m just a bit on edge is all.”
An argument, perhaps? Or something more unsettlingly sinister? Perhaps a conversation for after work. Good to know that your worry wasn’t about her safety, at least: Reithwin isn’t exactly the safest of towns. “Shall we speak in the back for a second?”
“Sure. One second, folks. We’ll be right back.”
---
Pushing through the back door into their storage closet, Aylin let out a deep exhale as the tension in her neck and shoulders alleviated. Karlach followed shortly thereafter and pulled out a matchbox and a pack of cigarettes from her pocket.
“Do you want to take the rest of the night off and search for her?” Aylin cut to the chase.
“And leave you alone with that lot? With all the bloody Ketheric Thorm talk tonight?” Karlach frowned. “Not fucking likely, mate.” Karlach struck the match and lit up her cigarette. “How you holding up on that front, by the way?”
“It’s just another day.” Aylin deflected with a smile before she met her own weary eyes staring back at her within a mirror on the wall.
“Nah. That’s bullshit, Goldie.” Karlach blew out a puff of smoke. “I saw that pitcher drop earlier. And you were this close to popping that Myrkulite’s head clean off – kudos for keeping yourself together, by the way.”
“He would have deserved it!” She snapped and rubbed the sore spot where the blade had nearly cut her. “My obvious bias against his politics aside, the man was an unlikable pill.”
“I hear you... Total tool, that one. But if you’d have caved his face in, we’d be shut down for sure.” Karlach tapped the ash of her cigarette into an ashtray she held in her hand. “Hells, we’re both doing shit today, aren't we?”
“I admit my output has been less than pristine today. I owe our till three silver for the whiskey I wasted when I stopped stirring to silence that shill.” Aylin reached for a comb. “Barring the delay, I am still managing to deliver without much disruption or dilution to our patron’s experiences.” Then, she brushed a few stray hairs from her forehead. “You, on the other hand, look like a shaken spirit about to burst – that bottle you were juggling almost hit the floor. Are you sure you don’t want to clock out and search? I could join you if you'd like.”
“We both know that it’d gum up the gears in that clockwork brain of yours if we close up shop early,” Karlach laughed. “She’ll show. I know she will.” Her eyes were hopeful for a moment, before a flicker of fear flashed behind them, “but just in case she doesn’t... Would it be alright if you joined me after work? I’m not sure if I can bear to search by myself. You could add it to my I-owe-yous?”
Forty-two. Half a year and you have already managed to accrue forty-two I-owe-yous, in great part from having to clock out before closing to ‘carry Shadowheart to safety’ after she makes claims of having a little bit too much wine to drink. Ha. Perhaps once or twice, that has rung true, but you are not fooling anyone in disguising that the true reason is so that you can partake in each other’s pleasures, Cliffgate. Still, this situation does seem serious this time around.
“If it comes to that, this one will be on the house, friend.” Aylin patted Karlach’s shoulder in consolation and left the likeliest outcome left unsaid: Too often had people gone missing, only for their bodies to be found big, bloated and washed up onto Chionthar’s riverside. If that was indeed Shadowheart's fate, Aylin didn’t want to have Karlach deal with that experience alone. “Break over?”
“Go on ahead.” Karlach took one last drag of her cigarette and plugged it into a nearby tray. “I’ll be right behind you; just gotta down some meds and I’ll be as chipper as ever.”
---
Returning to the bar proper, Aylin checked on J’ehlar’s progress – her cup had been drained and her old seat taken by the tiefling that waited for her at the countertop.
Where has she gone off to... Ah. There. Sat beside the dwarves was J’ehlar, making herself merry amongst them. Best keep an eye on her – she is likely going to try and partake in their pitcher.
After she took note of J’ehlar, Aylin turned towards the tiefling. “Thank you for your patience; how may I be of service?”
“No, it’s completely alright,” the tiefling stammered, her fingers fidgeting against themselves. “Could I order a Maiden's kiss?”
One glass or two? Aylin took a quick glance at the tiefling’s table. Another woman awaited her, preoccupied with a stringed instrument of sorts. Likely two, but best to confirm after gathering the bottles.
“It would be my pleasure, ma’am. I shall only be a moment.” Bowing, Aylin turned towards the racks behind her to collect the ingredients.
Aylin traced along the bottles racked against the wall until she happened upon the one Karlach had nearly dropped, then made a checklist of tasks for herself to do when the bar closed.
One. Check the bottle of Farkleberry Fizz if it has kept its integrity.
Two. Pay the silvers I owe the till.
Three. Assist in searching for Shadowheart if she doesn’t arrive by evening’s end.
Off to her side, a Karlach returned with a large smile, yet the roughshod means she scooped ice cubes from their cooling box while tensely twisting her tail around a concealed bottle’s neck and cork proved she was still struggling to alleviate her anxiety.
With a sigh, Aylin reluctantly added to the last note.
Three: Addendum. Talk to Karlach about her excess of familiarity with the customers.
I would prefer not to impose my practices of separating the personal from professional on you, but this night is proving my concerns to be warranted about not having them so closely intermingled.
Check the bottles. Pay her debt. Find Shadowheart and assist Karlach in understanding that she needed to stay sharp and control her emotions – base urges and all – at least until last call. That was Aylin Silverblood’s plan. At least, that’s what the plan was until she walked into Last Light.
Then, Aylin's unshakeable commitment to separate business from pleasure went out the door.
---
Aylin had her back towards the bar, gathering several spirits when the door swung open.
“Eyy! Welcome to Last Light!” The initial enthusiasm of Karlach’s voice boomed out, only for its gravitas to slightly stifle mid-shout.
Not Shadowheart. Karlach’s shift in tone had been clear about that. Or a regular. None of the other patrons had greeted the newcomer either.
A hush fell upon the bar. It wasn’t the same subtle silence that stayed in the air hours ago, as sullen customers nursed their drinks, steadfast in sorrowful solidarity. The source of this quiet was more tangible and its cause immediate. Aylin’s shoulders tensed. More of those damned Myrkulite drones pedalling Thorm’s nonsense?
Aylin glanced at the mirror that hung on the bar cabinet; its reflection revealed each table’s patrons huddled into themselves as whispers wafted into the air. While those who sat at the countertop kept their thoughts to themselves, the rest of Last Light’s regulars clearly had opinions on the person who had just walked in.
“Hold on. Is that –” a Harper from Jaheira’s troupe blurted out without thought before their companions promptly shushed them into silence.
Barring that outburst, Aylin tried to tune out the rest of the tavern’s curious whispers. She forced her eyes away from the pointed fingers and cupped lips spread across the corners of the room, honouring their preference of privacy by proximity in lieu of prompt service.
Still, strange silences like these often meant one of two things: the person who walked through their doors was either trouble or drop-dead gorgeous.
With three bottles of liqueur on hand, Aylin turned towards the door to offer the new guest a customary greeting herself and to see which of the two probable causes for silence had struck her patrons.
Once she’d laid eyes upon the person at the door, she had her answer.
By Selûne, how the lady’s grey irises glistened like stars, shining bright amidst the cigarette smoke that intermingled with the Reithwin smog. Aylin’s grip on reality loosened. One of the bottles she held in her hand fell, the tips of her fingers barely catching it by the cork just as it hit the floor.
She didn’t bother to check if its bottom was broken. Or rather, Aylin couldn’t manage to make herself look away. The bar froze, with its patrons still and staring for the shortest of moments, as if time itself had paused to permit Aylin to bask in her resplendence.
Standing at the entrance, the lady looked around, taking in the tavern’s sights and sounds like a lost lass. While she certainly seemed like a dame, out of her depth in the dowdier parts of Reithwin, Aylin could tell that she was hardly a damsel. After coughing thrice to clear the black out of her throat from Reithwin’s accursed smog, the distress upon her face faded and fled.
That was when the lady smiled.
The sight was picturesque, like beams of moonlight cutting across the dark of midnight. Her smile held Aylin captive and encompassed the attention of her eyes, heart and mind into silent stillness. Then, the lady’s gaze arced upwards to the tavern’s sky and the oaken arches that bore it aloft, glowing with nostalgic wonder.
“Come on by! One of us will get you settled right up.” Karlach’s muted voice came from the faraway corner of the room. The lady nodded, her shoulders relaxing with each step she took towards the empty bar stool at the countertop's centre.
One step. Two steps. Three.
As the lady drew closer, Aylin’s heart beat in sync with her steps and hadn’t realised that she’d been staring, that she’d been holding her breath and that her own words of welcome meant for the lady had stayed still upon her lips.
“Welcome to Last Light,” Aylin choked out, out of breath. The words fell from her lips soft as a whisper. She shifted her collar to the side and loosened her tie. Has the room gotten hotter? Aylin tried to swallow; her mouth was dry. Dehydration from working all night, no doubt. After letting out a rough cough to clear the lump in her throat, she repeated her greeting with resounding clarity. “Welcome to Last Light.”
Taking her seat at the bar, the lady turned towards Aylin and responded to her welcome with a polite nod accompanied by – Aylin swore – the subtlest of smiles.
With a flush on her face and fingers tightening their grip on the bottles of booze in her hands, Aylin nodded at her in return.
What’re you doing? Stop staring.
Aylin scolded herself for the lapse in courtesy, but the strangeness in her behaviour went far beyond that. Had the cause been something as simple as shock at landing sights on someone seductive, it wouldn’t be this difficult for her to look away.
Why haven’t you averted your attention? This is beginning to border on the inappropriate.
Despite her protests, Aylin’s gaze lingered, then began to roam, taking in the lady’s form in her entirety.
Wearing a silver shawl atop her shoulders and a large, ribboned bow around her hip, the lady in silver looked eccentrically affluent, like she was dressed to the nines in the high fashion of yesteryear.
What a wonderful choice of wardrobe. Hardly anyone dresses like that anymore, how I miss it so…
Aylin’s heart began to race, yet she was confounded by the reason.
What is this that has you captivated? You’ve dealt with attractive patrons before. Whenever Last Light’s prettier, yet promiscuous patrons comment on the bulge of your biceps after their spirits are bolstered by liquid courage, you have no issues shrugging off their advances; so why are you getting so flustered at a mere meeting of eyes?
Did the lady’s outfit bring about a nostalgia of better days or was it something else entirely? Her brows furrowed in contemplation until she spotted a symbol upon the lady’s headband; strewn in with all the sparkles and pearls was a silver crescent moon.
Hold on. Could this lady be…? Aylin's eyes widened at the possibility. I could have sworn there were no more of my kind remaining in Reithwin… Ketheric made it unpalatable for anyone to even consider visiting. Yes! That’s what this fixation is. Aylin’s mind cleared, her shoulders uncoiling a tension she hadn’t realized was there as the lady took her seat atop a bar stool in between herself and Karlach. She’s likely a Selûnite such as I. There’s nothing more to it than that. This feeling’s simply akin to seeing an old friend you haven’t seen in ages. That’s what this is.
“Um, excuse me?” the tiefling’s curious call snapped Aylin out of her stupor, which caused the bartender’s eyes to track towards the patron sitting patiently in front of her.
“Apologies,” Aylin replied with a slight shake of her head, jostling herself into focus. “I shall have your drink ready for you shortly.” With utmost urgency, Aylin set herself to work. She poured precise parts of Cherry Liqueur, Cointreau, Benedictine, Chartreuse and Mirabilis into her mixing glass. After adding the ice cubes, she stirred and strained the Maiden's Kiss to perfection and counted each beat like always: One. Two. Three. With the drink done, Aylin placed the drink atop a golden coaster and slid it across the counter towards the tiefling, who offered several silver pieces as payment.
“No charge.” Aylin slid the coins back to her, then added, “as compensation for the delay.”
“Thank you,” the tiefling said and departed for her table with a smile.
That’s another three silvers. You are up to six now. While wiping her mixing glass clean, Aylin turned towards Karlach, who was busy offering Jaheira and her fellow Harpers a second serving of mulled wine. Her eyes wandered towards the lady, waiting alone, unattended and keeping to herself in between them both.
Our countertop’s centre seat… Aylin’s hands hurried in gathering her supplies. Both Aylin and Karlach had equal claim to the service of that seat: It was communal ground since Last Light’s creation, after all – intentional to lighten both their loads during evening rushes. I must be the one to serve her…
Not for the small talk. That would both be unprofessional and out of the question.
Although, would it be wrong to want the quiet comfort of a bar interaction with a kindred spirit for a soothing of souls, now of all days? Yes… That would be acceptable. Aylin turned towards the bar rack, bottles in hand, to store them before returning with the intent to engage.
“Sorry to be a bother.” The tiefling’s bashful voice interrupted her just as she returned one of the bottles into its cubicle.
Aylin froze in place, then tilted her head towards the tiefling leaning against the counter.
With an awkward and embarrassed smile plastered across her face, the tiefling pointed towards the glowing gold cocktail in her hand. “Could I possibly get another one of these? I don't think I'm quite ready yet to ask my ahem... friend if she's ready to share.”
The tiefling motioned towards one of the tables at the back and smiled at a purple-skinned woman dressed in an odd harlequin-styled outfit. Travelling performer or another one from Elturel headed for Baldur’s Gate? Neither of them are locals; performers of this trade would not be able to make ends meet in Reithwin. Her companion waved at them while leaning her head against an outstretched palm, patiently anticipating her companion's return.
There are no outstanding tickets. The customer at the bar has yet to place an order, so you must cater to the one in front of you. Despite her protocols, Aylin's movement was hindered by hesitation. Although, the lady has been waiting for quite some time, and I did just service the tiefling. Would that be fair?
Aylin glanced towards Karlach – who was just about finished with her customers – towards the lady in the middle waiting to be served, then back at the tiefling before her.
No. This patron must be serviced first. The Maiden’s Kiss is a rare request, and with three of its ingredients stored at the top shelf, efficiency’s sake alone dictates I should do this before packing the liquor away. Still, Aylin shifted from impatience and agitation, both.
Besides, this delay is your doing. This could have all been avoided if you had just been more diligent in your duties earlier. A slip of your tired mind, perhaps? Based on the blush that ran red on her cheeks, you should have surmised she would have wanted a second glass, even if she only requested for one.
A serving of a Maiden’s Kiss was intended to be consumed by a pair, after all. While partners preferred to order a singular cordial to share, those concerned with public displays of affection or newly formed and would-be couples just testing the waters, ordered two glasses instead. Should have trusted my instincts earlier – or at least offered the option to her before crafting the cocktail. That would have saved the both of us several minutes.
“It would be my pleasure.” Aylin stifled a sigh in her throat as she retrieved the stored bottle. Returning to the tiefling, she re-measured each liquid, intent to give this serving the same amount of time and care as she did the previous one.
One by one, she poured them into the mixing glass. With each ingredient that filled her cup, Aylin’s gaze kept being tugged towards the centre of the bar. When she dropped the ice in, her eyes flickered, catching a glimpse of the lady at the bar and Karlach, who began another round of jovial banter with Jaheira and her companions.
That conversation will certainly take some time – One, two, three… Aylin exhaled and let her sights linger on the lady while stirring the liqueurs to bind them. The thought that she’d likely be the one to serve the Selûnite made her flash a smile.
A smile the lady just so happened to catch. And returned in kind.
Suddenly, a strange pressure piled onto her chest. The vest she wore atop her shirt grew uncomfortably tight, her heartbeat pounding at a pace where she struggled to breathe through her bindings. Drops of cold sweat poured from her forehead and her normally dexterous fingers that held onto her stirring rod fidgeted erratically, experiencing tremors.
Twice now, this lady made her feel like she’d never felt before; an impatient excitement to break routine and move on to serve the next drink instead of enjoying the process of crafting the one she was currently building.
It’s mere curiosity. The lady’s a potential Selûnite amidst a sea of Sharrans. It’s only natural to be curious. Aylin’s stirring rod finished its last swirl within the tiefling’s drink. All she needed to do was pour, serve and store.
After she transferred the golden liquid into a cordial glass, Aylin passed it to the tiefling and began to clean her tools. Another cursory glance to the side caused Aylin's stomach to plummet: Karlach’s conversation had somehow reached an abrupt end.
Impossible. How is Cliffgate done already? Aylin still had rinsing and storage to take care of, and already, Karlach was putting away her tools. Despite wanting to move, she stayed still with an uneasy foot tapping unrhythmically against the bar's hardwood floors. Cannot leave my station like this. Unwieldy. Unkempt. Imperfect. Cannot compromise a longstanding agreement with Karlach regarding the bar’s communal service seat, just so I could service a stranger.
Could I?
As she washed and wiped her mixing glass clean, her bruised fingers pushed hard against the glass and Aylin’s convictions continued to battle against her own curiosity. Perhaps I can still make it in time. Why are my hands moving so slowly? Are my mind and body out of sync? If only I hadn’t committed that error earlier. Several precious minutes wasted. Perhaps, I could –
No.
Aylin grit her teeth and ground that thought to a halt, forcing herself to look away the moment that leaving her workstation unsettled came to the table.
The section is still in disarray. Take the time to get it in order. If you didn’t, you’d forever taint that experience for the both of you. Besides, you wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place if it were not for your impatience. Perhaps when you are done, if the lady still hasn’t been served, you can make your approach.
The odds of that weren’t favourable, for Karlach was already making her way towards the mystery Selûnite.
“Perhaps if the lady returns,” Aylin wistfully consoled herself with the comfort of perhaps earning the privilege and pleasure to serve the Selûnite, should the stars align in the future. That thought’s prospects were as empty as the cup in her hands. Based on earlier experiences, customers preferred their firsts and never flipped to try a second server: They were both just that good.
That meant the Selûnite would be Karlach’s forever.
“Sorry about the wait, mate. I’m Karlach, how are you doing tonight?” Karlach greeted the lady with the same charisma and cheer that had even made the High Harper, Jaheira, come back for more.
Aylin’s fingers clenched at the cloth she used to dry her tools. It tautly tightened in her hands as she fixed her eyes across the room.
There, two tieflings clutched their cocktails, their arms interwoven as they partook of the Maiden’s kisses by pouring the drinks into each other’s lips. Aylin let out a sullen smile on their behalf – this sight was the reward for her dedication to duty.
Aylin turned away, leaving the tieflings to their moment and placed the bottles she’d used to make their drinks back onto the rack. With the liquor safely stored, she took in the tavern once more and savoured the brief respite to her otherwise relentless night’s service. At the centre of the countertop, Karlach continued to chat with the lady, laying on her impish charm as always.
When Karlach slipped the red-rimmed bar coaster forward, a grin grew on Aylin’s lips. The lady in silver has yet to be served…
Could I still...? Aylin swallowed, clearing a dry lump in her throat. If I walked up to them and simply asked, would Karlach oblige me? Perhaps, but the very task of asking would become unbecoming. Inappropriate. Selfish.
Despite it all, Aylin found her feet move towards their direction all the same.
What’re you doing? Stop. She took one step forward.
Stop. Two. Three.
Then, a fourth.
You need to –
“Aasimar…” The lady's silken voice brought Aylin’s stride to a halt. What other words the lady had spoken to Karlach, Aylin couldn’t distinguish amidst the rest of the bar's ambient buzz.
Do not listen in. That is a private conversation. Aylin turned away and attempted to make herself scarce.
She’d never intentionally listened in on patrons before, yet Aylin found her eyes flicker towards both Karlach and the lady, who playfully picked up the coaster and twirled it around her fingertips. “These coasters... How come they’re red on one side and gold on the other?”
The lady’s voice sounded like a song. It’s tone rich and resplendent.
“It’s Last Light’s way to track which bartender is serving whom.” Karlach paused to point at other patron’s coasters. “Red ones are mine, and Aylin’s got the ones flipped to gold.”
Her eyes widened. A strange mixture of exhilaration and anxiety hit Aylin.
She knows my name…
It was at that moment the lady caught her gaze.
Aylin’s cheeks ran warm as the lady matched her eyes, who then silently called Karlach forward with the crook of her finger.
Karlach leaned in. Still eyeing Aylin, she whispered into Karlach’s ear.
Karlach’s response was a slight chuckle alongside a nonchalant shrug. “I guess so, yeah.”
What could she have possibly asked...
Aylin’s heart skipped several beats as time stood still once more. Her skin prickled as the lady’s stare deepened, peering and piercing straight into her soul. A sparked surge of electricity shot up her spine and Aylin was left breathless as it coursed through her.
No... She didn’t.
The lady in silver once again offered her the subtlest of smiles and placed the coaster in her hand onto the table before she flipped it over onto gold.
She did.
Aylin Silverblood knew this lady was gorgeous when she walked in, but shame on her for thinking she wasn’t also trouble.