“Would you like a drink?” Verdandi voiced rang out in the empty theatre hall.
“Absolutely my dear. Perhaps a bit of Bourbon please. On the rock if you would,” Cheshire answered.
Nodding, Verdandi trotted down Cheshire’s order, “Any particular brand sir?”
“Woodford Reserve would you please. I feel like it will be a fairly long night.”
“And you dear guest?”
“Whiskey, straight.”
“Understood sir. Do you have any particular brand you would like?”
“I don’t,” the boy answered bluntly.
“May I make a recommendation then?” Cheshire chimed in.
“Sure,” he agreed.
“Verdandi, please serve our guest a McCallan M,” Cheshire instructed, his whiskers twitching.
“But…sir?” Verdandi exclaimed.
“It’s fine. I’ll allow it. It’s a special occasion after all,” he waived his hand signaling he would not entertain any further objection.
“Understood Sir. I’ll prepare it right away,” Verdandi replied as she promptly left the room.
Soon as Verdandi departed, Cheshire turned to face his guest, “Whiskey huh? Interesting order. Didn’t figure you for a whiskey connoisseur.”
“I just feel like trying it,” the boy replied.
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“I see. First time then?
“Yes.”
“Perhaps I should ask Verdandi to bring the bottle as well”, Cheshire pondered as he leaned his head to one side, resting it in the palm of his hand.
“Why is that?
“As a first-time drinker of a McCallan, you might not understand this but, amongst all the McCallan ever produce, the “M” is a bit special,” Cheshire explained. “It is made from the highest grade of whiskey that McCallan ever produce and not only that, but it’s also packaged in a crystal decanter allowing that amber liquid to truly shine.”
“It seems you really enjoy that bottle.”
“Yes. It’s reserved only for special occasions. It’s something to drink when celebrating a special event or mourning an unfortunate one.”
“I see. Thank you, Cheshire.”
“It’s not a problem. You are a special guest after all. This is how we show our utmost hospitality to all our guests. Speaking of hospitality, it seems she has returned with our order.”
When Cheshire finished speaking, Verdandi made her way into the room, two crystal glasses of liquor resting on her tray.
To Cheshire, she handed the bourbon that he ordered, chilled by an orb of ice that worked to highlight its golden color. To Cheshire’s guest, she handed the McCallan “M” in a crystal glass, without any additional garnishes. When her job was finished, Verdandi bow and left the room, closing the door behind her.
“Don’t drink too fast. Whiskey is meant to be drank slowly, in small sips. Savor it as the flavor spread through your mouth and the slight burning sensation travels down your throat,” Cheshire advised.
Following Cheshire’s advice, the boy brought the glass to his lips and took a small sip, lowering the glass into his lap, and closing his eyes as the flavor lingered on his tongue.
“How is it?” Cheshire asked.
“Smooth,” he replied, as a single drop of tears swelled up in his eyes.
“You should drink it slowly. Through all the reincarnations you went through, it would be inevitable that vestiges of humanity still remained.”
Taking another small sip, the boy turned toward Cheshire and said, “I don’t regret it.”
“I’m glad.”
“Do you blame me?”
“No…You might have set the stage, but it was their decisions.” Cheshire replied. “As you said, you are neither the playwright nor the actor. For now, you are simply the audience.”
“I see.”
“However,” Cheshire continued.
“Yes?”
“Now that the stage is set and the actors gathered, it is your responsibility to see it through, to bear witness to its ending come what may.”
“I understand.”
“The next act is about to begin. You should continue to enjoy your drink. It would be a shame to waste such an exquisite liquor.”
“Thank you again Cheshire.”
“Mention it no more. Let us proceed with the next Act of this play.”