The woman, skin far darker than the more common ebony of my world, leant back in the chair opposite me. She was taken aback that I’d admit to conning my way in here so easily, something that could very easily land me in a very dangerous bit of hot water. I looked mournfully down at my drink, the last of it already within my stomach, the afterglow of the taste still warming my mouth fantastically.

“And how would you have done that?” She asked, her voice exact and decisive. She idly pushed back an intruding section of her densely curled hair from her face, letting her piercing dark eyes lay into me.

“Oh, just some eluding to being from the darker parts of this little society, then a quick made-up story of how I’m required to meet someone within the Brightspark.” She eyed me suspiciously, though curiousness won out. Thankfully, we were fairly isolated from the rest of the room’s inhabitants, and no-one had good enough hearing to actually pull the words from our mouths or lipread.

“You posed as a criminal?” I nodded

“An assassin, most probably.” The suspicion grew another notch, dampening the natural curiousness lingering in her chest, “Though, I would be a terrible assassin if I needed to convince the doorman to get into a building.” I hummed thoughtfully before standing and walking over to the bar, walking behind it, and scanning my eyes across the various liquors and wide array of ingredients. Of course, I knew basically nothing about the alcohol here, and even less about the standard drinks. I’m not even sure if I’d easily be able to recreate the mainstay cocktails from Earth.

Regardless, I let my eyes wander over to the girl that still sat at my table and grinned, taking the brunt of her suspicion on my chin. I leant on the exceedingly clean bar top, pointing towards it with a raised eyebrow.

“Want anything?” I called, and the girl’s suspicion only rose further. Granted, it wasn’t like I was actively trying to reassure her that I wasn’t an assassin. The more questioning she did about who I was, the more she thought about me at all, meaning I won no matter what. After a tense moment of internal struggle, she nodded, and I smiled.

Crouching behind the bar, I looked at the dazzling array of liquids and sighed.

“Ehra, you’re going to have to do me a solid here. Favours for favours.” I whispered to thin air, but I received a light response. It was hesitant, most likely because the God had used a fair deal of his own power to make contact with even me, despite my requisite Demigodhood. I rolled my eyes at the tentativeness of the God.

“If you don’t, I’ll go tell Oldest Brother.” There was an immediate chatter of responses from my link to the Hearth, a large amount of the Gods who seemed to have nothing better to do were probably doing the equivalent to laughing at Erha. ‘Oldest Brother’ in this situation was Gallar, and I can’t imagine that being tattled on to the Lord God of your Court was much different than tattling to a parent.

With as close to a begrudging sigh as could be expressed, Erha flooded me with a moment of inspiration. All of a sudden, I knew the names, heritages, histories, and even the parings for all these alcohols. It was by that inspiration and pure instinct that I pulled bottles and ingredients off of the low shelves, placing them all onto the table in a clear, sequenced order.

Within only moments I had two drinks sitting in front of me, the intense understanding leaving me just after I had completed them. The Soothing Soul could mean many things as a God, with the possibility to be part of almost any given Court depending on how that concept materialised. In the case of Erha, it was food and drink, the moment of pure bliss as you ate something that spoke to you on another level, separate from the material altogether.

I lifted the glasses the way I remembered to from Ehra’s inspiration and walked myself back to the table. The entire room was surprised or intrigued. Most of them knew a thing or two about preparing alcohol, and many of them were good enough, or knowledgeable enough, that it the little show I’d put on had been impressive. It was close to the skill level of the bartender that they knew and were comfortable with, but that bartender was just a bartender in their eyes.

“Two drinks; one for the lady and one for myself.” I smiled gently as I placed a smaller glass in front of her, a murky white colour close to the visual appearance of lemonade. It sparkled gently, roiling with what almost seemed like glitter on its inside as the various liquids inside interacted with each other. The drink, despite still being a cocktail, had almost no alcohol in it whatsoever.

My own drink was a darker, almost velvety colour, very reminiscent of cola with a more prominent red hue to it.

“Have you been a bartender long?” She asked, declining to drink, holding a quiet suspicion that I’d poisoned it despite mixing it in front of her, and everyone else’s eyes.

“As long as I need to be. Drink from it, I swear you’ll like it.” I grinned as I took a swig from my own glass. From what I could remember of the inspiration, these were both commoner’s drinks, just made with better things. As I sipped from my own, even with my neutral stance towards alcohol, it felt distinctively home-y. The woman across from me did the same, in the end, unable to hold out without looking rude or breaking the atmosphere she wanted to hold. Although she was the picture of being in control, natural empathy cut away the mask easily, allowing me to see behind the curtains on almost everyone’s motives.

“Good, isn’t it?” I said as she sipped the drink, a refreshing drink that many sailors make when they’re coming to the last of their harder drink. She internally agreed with me, but the mask stayed on firmly.

“Refreshing,” she stated dully before moving on, “but if you’re here, you have goals. Whether that is the dirty business you pretended you were dealing, or something else entirely, I want to know. So tell me, man of mystery. Who are you?”

“Good question.” I teased, talking a long sip of my drink while I dangled the continuation of my sentence in front of her nose, “and who might you be, so I can choose who I am?” I let my eyes dance with mirth as the woman in front of me let just a small crease of frustration appear around her nose.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Valeri Ephars. Daughter of Jitah Ephars.” Of course, the names meant nothing to me.

“Helpful.” I intoned sarcastically as I gestured for her to go on. She scrunched her brow as I took another long sip.

“Powerful merchant.” She said finally, almost embarrassed to have to break it down that way. I snorted gently after swallowing my drink.

“And you believe me the criminal?” She gave me a scandalised look, but I rolled my eyes, “Don’t even try it, lady. You can bullshit yourselves and your friends into thinking your wealth is all squeaky clean.” She wasn’t an idiot, so she obviously knew, so she dropped the façade and rolled her own eyes.

“Doesn’t mean you have to say it like that.” I just grinned before taking another sip.

“You play a no-bullshit social game, young Valeri. It’d be good to be able to play the same game while someone else is your opponent.” I shrugged. This little social game was fun, though I doubt I could pull the same strategy with many in this room other than Valeri. The man in the corner, the same one that had been ready to sic his combat-handy friend on me, he probably wouldn’t take this conversation very well.

“You can’t call me young,” she said, a note of amusement in her voice, “I’m almost definitely older than you. At least by a few years.” She was right, I was twenty now. At least I think I was, seeing as I’m not sure on the exact days and months since I’ve been here, so my birthday passed by without me even really realising. Valeri was probably close to her mid-twenties, though I could be wrong.

“I’m basically a priest, I get to act older and wiser. It comes with the field.” A glimmer of interest managed to make it through her mask and into her eye.

“A religious man, hm? Is that how you got poor Fehlen to run out of the room like that?” I scoffed at her tone.

“Sure. He’s probably pretty happy about it, to be fair. New lease on life and all.” I swallowed another mouthful of the delicious drink, “But what interests you so much in faiths?” There was a small hesitation in her hand, a little undisguised quirk that she probably didn’t even realise that she had.

“Many think that faith is somewhat uncouth amongst the higher class of Crossroads.” It made sense, for churches to be built and funded, the rich had to be invested in the concept of it. If they weren’t, then it stayed as its own underground congregation of believers.

“You are of a different mind?” I asked casually, but the woman shrugged.

“My father is of the same mind as everyone else, but I can’t help but be allured by the concept.” She said guardedly. Interestingly, she was going out on a big emotional limb here. While I’m sure that she was telling the truth, that faith was frowned upon in Crossroads, there were many who had their own personal relationships with faith. Those that followed the Hearth were more clear to me, setting them apart from everyone else easily, but another that follows your specific fail might be hard.

“Your mother?” I guessed, and feeling the metaphorical dart hit the bullseye. She didn’t outwardly react but her gut twisted internally.

“Don’t you worry your pretty head. I won’t be telling anyone. We’ll call it a confessional and keep it private.” I winked at her over my glass, putting her at ease slightly.

“Are priests even allowed to drink?” She whipped back, tongue lashing with banter.

“I’d be a pretty sad excuse for a Hearth priest if I didn’t drink.” I responded with a grin, she scoffed but floated a searching question a moment later.

“What God?” A simple question that I don’t imagine she got to ask very often.

“The Hearth Court.”

“The whole Hearth Court?” She asked disbelievingly, and I just nodded as I enjoyed her reaction.

“The whole Hearth Court, yes.” With a flourish of the hand, I grinned spectacularly. “I’m just that good.”

“Surely they don’t respond to that…” she looked at the shit eating grin emerging on my face and cupped her eyes with her hands, “Oh my God, so many questions.”

I hummed thoughtfully as I looked around the lavish room, walls filled with paintings of wars and landscapes and anything in between. I’d certainly gone fishing in the right place, having caught this Valeri girl hook line and sinker, but now it was just a drag. Valeri was going to be touchy about her own personal faith and anything adjacent to it while here, under the pressure of anyone overhearing a personal conversation. She had a lot to lose inside this room, and I really didn’t.

I placed my cup down, the last of it having been consumed. In a flourish of movements, I had learned from Rethi’s manners training, I bowed pleasantly and offered my hand to the beautiful, dark skinned woman.

“Maybe you can ask me all the questions you want outside of this stuffy little room?” She rose an eyebrow, amusement mixed with suspicion as she flicked her gaze between my outstretched hand and my face.

“I don’t even know your name, mystery man.”

“Then that’s the first question you can ask me, right as we leave this droll little get-together.” I put on my best up-myself accent, somehow making the girl giggle despite herself. She rolled her eyes while she did a cost-benefit analysis within her head and came to the distinct conclusion that she didn’t give a shit what it said and grabbed my hand in a powerful grip.

In only moments we had walked out of the door, away from the gawking crowd. The surprise of the audience erupted into whispers as we exited smoothly, the woman next to me finding that her heart was beating hard as she pushed herself far outside her own comfort zone.

“Well,” I said jovially as we made our way down the stairs with quick steps, “that’ll certainly have them talking for a while.” Valerie made a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan.

“God, my father is going to kill me.” Though, if she were being honest with herself, her father would be unlikely to even care. I pushed away the sad set of emotions that brought up and continued the excited race towards the front door of the Brightspark.

We raced past pair of younger boys on the second floor who looked downright scandalized that someone of the higher floors would act in such a way, and as we burst out form the heavy wooden doors, we came face to face with a very nervous doorman.

“Good evening, sir!” He said, shaken by my sudden appearance, before his eyes fell on Valeri and widened further, “Ma’am!” I grinned pleasantly, and as I did, the man’s face went from shock into a violent blush as his eyes darted between us. I placed a hand on Valeri’s back, prompting her remarkably unfatigued form forwards into the labyrinthian streets of Crossroads.

It took a moment for the excitement to wear off and for both of our heads to clear, which is when I realised the conclusion that the doorman might have come to as I burst from the door with Valeri. I let out a bark of laughter with true, unadulterated mirth bubbling to the surface. Valeri’s eyes turned on me with a note of shock, her gaze filled with all the questions she clearly wanted to asked me, but were pushed back in the sudden moment.

“Fair warning. I didn’t specifically tell that doorman that I was an assassin, just doing some uncouth business, so you may or may not end up with a few rumours circling that you hired a male prostitute.” The shocked look widened into one of pure mortification unlike I’d ever seen.

“By the way, the name is Maximilian Avenforth, priest of the Hearth Court and newly titled male prosti–” That earned me a slap across the face with a much more powerful blow that I had expected from the girl. Fair enough.

It was totally worth it though.