“What are you doing, little one? You’ve barely touched your glass.” Elizabetha was already red from the wine before even noticing me waiting for the appetisers. The sun was finally setting, which would mean I hadn’t eaten for half a day, even more if I was unconscious for multiple days or not.

“I don’t like drinking wine on an empty stomach.” She laughed at me for saying that.

“Come on! That’s the fastest way to get drunk, and it’s no fun for me when I’m doing it alone, little one!” She had reached her hands out towards me, but couldn’t reach me and collapsed on the table instead, spilling her wine glass by nudging it with her shoulder. “Oops.” That smile still radiated off of her face.

“It’s Mariel to you. I’m still not drinking the wine. I hate how it tastes anyway.” She got up immediately, pushing her chair right into the railguard of the balcony.

“What?! Are you stupid? Drink it and I’ll guide you on how to enjoy it.” I raised my eyebrow and picked up the cup after my mark started itching. “Swirl it.” I swirled it. “Now, right as you drink it, smell the wine.” I struggled to do both, but smelling it beforehand had the same effect, probably, maybe. “How does it taste?”

“Mhm, yea, that’s definitely dirt with a hint of grapes. Tastes like medicine to me.” She scoffed, grabbing the cup from my hand and drinking it all in one go.

“This is no medicine! Have you no taste pallet? No appreciation of the only joys of the world? Other than pretty faces of course.” I rolled my eyes at her comment, and almost jumped from joy as I smelled fresh bread, and heard footsteps. “Well, you got your wish anyway. Eat up before I pour you another glass.” She barely managed to sit back down. We had barely cleared one bottle and she was already acting like this. How were we supposed to go through ten bottles?

The waiter walked up to our table, where his hand wobbled just the slightest bit from holding that much bread with the awkward posture of his hand. The basket of bread he dropped off was still steaming, which certainly would be a good sign, if I wasn’t certain they used magic to create this much steam. It was practically an unending wall… wait, that’s probably part of the experience.

“So, Mariel,” She grabbed her staff, tapped the ground, and a hole opened up in the wall of steam just so she could see my face. “I want to know more about you. I wouldn’t want to be too narcissistic by only talking about myself.” Shit. How do I make my life sound as uninteresting as possible? I probably could’ve done it if I had the ego to ramble on and on about the slightest details of my life like grand achievements, but I didn’t have enough time to think of a way to imitate that style of talking.

“Well, I just had a normal life. I grew up here, I lived here, I got a shit job–”

“No you didn’t.” How did she know that? That mark must’ve had something to do with it.

“I did get a shitty job.” My mark burned as she rolled her eyes.

“I need details my dear Mariel, details.” I can’t let her know my real job, but I also can’t lie. Half truths probably wouldn’t get past the mark’s filter, or would be too vague to feed her curiosity. Dammit, I’ll have to bite the bullet on this one.

“I was a diplomat, the worst job a man can have.” Her eyes opened, and her sloppy movements disappeared in an instant. The edges of her smile softened, and it was clear she was expecting more. “I didn’t do much out of the ordinary, other than organise a deal between two pre-magic nations for them to unite. I wasn’t one for politics, but the current administration really wanted it to be done, so I had to do it.” Moldova and Romania probably would’ve united later even without the massive lengths I went to just so that I wouldn’t get fired for not getting the deal done before election season, but still.

“And here I thought you were some peasant angry at nobility. I’m sure they paid you handsomely for such a deal.” They sure did.

“I was rewarded with not being fired.” She nearly spit out her drink.

“How… why? Was it a democracy?” Of course that was her first question. Democracy was a disruption to the hierarchy she thought was so indestructible, so it was her boogieman. She didn’t care about me being ‘robbed’ of extra money, she only cared because I should’ve been rewarded with a spot higher up on the hierarchy.

“Yea, obviously. The deal was about to go through anyway, I only managed to speed it up by creating problems for the people after me. Giving me money that could’ve been spent on more useful things would’ve been a terrible idea.” She poured herself another glass before I took one of the steaming buns. It was just as hot as I expected, but adventurers are meant to be resilient. I took a bite, and felt the pressure of the ever increasing amount of gas filling my mouth. It only stopped when I gulped, but by then I already looked ridiculous with all the steam coming out my nose. I also felt my throat moisten up, and the need to cough extremely badly, which I held in.

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“Isn’t that a neat little bun? You’d never guess what else these people come up with. It’s like a roulette of ridiculousness.” My second hand embarrassment was off the charts from that sentence alone. “Anyway, you are entirely wrong yet again, and because of your humbleness too. You’re a man of many contradictions, Mariel. I like that. It’s like a puzzle, and you’re all mine to figure out.” This is the worst outcome, but it was unavoidable. I need to find another way to draw her attention off of me for enough time, as she’ll never find me boring at this rate. “So, what happened after that?”

“Well, I just continued doing my job. I couldn’t ask for much more than my wage, as I was already the youngest head diplomat of the continent, and could be replaced by someone with more ‘experience’ at the drop of a hat. I mean, the president did it anyway when they started losing popularity, but what can you do?” Her smile just kept dropping lower and lower until it was a scowl.

“See? This is what happens to you democratic people. Without a strong figure on top who can’t be removed, it all devolves into popularity contests and sporting events. The average person is far too dumb to make decisions on leadership.” I grabbed another steaming bun after eating my first one, and blew the steam into her direction to shut her up.

“Democracy is still better. People should choose who is in charge because they feel the effects of their decisions. The rich can just wait it out most of the time. Being born to the right parents is by no means a trial that makes you worthy of leadership.”

“And a vote is?” She completely just– No, why am I arguing with a monarchist.

“Yes, easily. Which is harder?” She genuinely stopped for a second. What the hell was she thinking about when the answer is this obvious.

“Still doesn’t mean it’s more rightful.”

“You didn’t answer my question. I want the words ‘a vote is harder than being born to the right people’ out of your mouth.” Her face scrunched up in what I presumed to be anger before my mark burned me hard enough that my head slammed into the table.

“Watch. Your. Words. I’m here to argue with you, not to get insulted. Is that understood, Mariel?” I used both of my arms to pull myself up, mumbling a ‘yeah’ that my mind didn’t fully comprehend until the burning stopped. She was back with that fake smile. “I like the arguments you and I have, but you sure do have a habit of trying to belittle me. Maybe a drink will make your pain go away faster?”

“I’m not drinking before I get a proper meal. These buns are too annoying to eat.” Her eyebrow rose and she cautiously took one. She performatively recoiled the first time she grabbed it, as to pretend heat could actually damage her. Upon taking a bite out of them, she started coughing repeatedly.

“What in the name of the Revifier is this abomination?! This is food unfit for even religious peasantry! This is literal torture food! How do you endure this?” Has she never had a bad throat?

“It isn’t that bad, stop being so dramatic. It’s more about the experience anyway.” She looked at me, confused. “What?”

“The experience? It is food. It’s just meant to taste good.” Were we just going to keep confusing each other over and over again now? “Experiences are something the rich who aren’t meant to be rich want. Life is a routine, a loop, unending and forever unaltered by all but the strongest of beings. Something that tries to break that routine is simply a momentary break.” That was utter bullshit and barely even has anything to do with what she said at first. Old money is the most likely to use their money on experiences. Nobility paid unending amounts of money just to be on the battlefield in mediaeval times because it was a break from constant feasts.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be humble.” Her mouth opened, as if on instinct, but she just looked at me with slightly squinted eyes. “Rich people normally, y’know, hate the hierarchy as much as the poorest people, because unless they’re at the top, they’re not in total control. That’s why you saw so much infighting before solidified royal dynasties, and even after that.” Her mouth closed. She chuckled, and kept chuckling for a long while.

“I guess I am humble then, thank you, Mariel. Are you trying to earn another compliment off of me with kind words?”

“Huh?” Compliments? From her? Does she think I’m stupid? Words are tools, especially to her, someone who she could not respect me because I’m lower than her on the hierarchy.

“What? Can’t a master love their slave?” She looked off at the last moments the sunlight had to show itself for today.

“No, objectively not.” Elizabetha looked right back at me with a singular, straight, intentional turn of the head. Wasn’t I obviously right? The power difference between the two would mean that genuine emotions would not matter. A murder doesn’t become good if the person who died wanted to be killed, same for–

“You’ve said a lot of stupid things before, Mariel. Care to explain this one?”