Elves Are Sleeping Beauties

You consider Lucien's attitude and look at Rāvokh, committing the man with horns to memory. With a sigh, you pull off your mitten gauntlets resting them on your knapsack that's on the floor. Your longsword leans on the table's edge beside it, shy of the corner where the winged woman's elbow perches.

Her thumb presses up her chin, teeth tugging her index finger's skin. Pale blue irises, suspended in wide sclera, contract, dilating her pupils each passing second. She averts her eyes and 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, looking back at your face once more, your eyes unreadable, but your ears are attentive to Lucien's invitation.

Rāvokh, listening to their conversation as well, speaks up with his head held high.

Lucien replies, "I left him a letter."

"Why?" says Rāvokh, dumfounded.

"Because he's the only person unaffected by the ward you put in place, I had to take necessary measures for my store." He smiles at you. "Milarch, thank you for not sneaking around in my store, but the ward is Rāvokh's gift to me. He's generous. 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. Stop laughing, bastard. You meet Rāvokh's eyes with an annoyed look.

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

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

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

"You can do that?", your voice as monotone as you can make it.

"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, at least, for bringing this to my attention."

His last smirk annoys you. 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 with a tusky grin. "Teach us how to beat it so this guy can shut up for once."

"Fuck off!" He shouts an explicative you can understand. In awe, you watch as the two enter a verbal bout, one upright and fuming, the other slouched with a grin. Velmarie effortlessly strings rude sounding sentences, while Rāvokh interjects with jabs, quips or something, you have no clue what they're saying.

Their voices fade 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, and you don't recall seeing Rāvokh, or anyone else, that deep in the continent's interior anyway. It must be a commonly derived magic in the New World, like how alchemy is in the Old World.

At the very least, you're certain he's aligned himself with the adventurers' guild's benefits. He's an idiot piece of shit. 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 status 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 outside with steaming pots and pans. She says, "Shut up," 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 dish.

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. It's likely a habit of his people in order to keep their 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 with its most resentful voice. Vilmarie perks up from her platter and laughs at your grave expression. "Have your fill already." You keep your head down, not wanting to see Lucien's smirk, and eat.

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 makes a wry smile. "It's my pleasure. Thank you for your presence here."

"Haha, I suggested today's cuisine," Velmarie speaks up, though Rāvokh ignores her slouching and sarcastic figure. Instead, he looks at you with a neutral expression.

He says, "Please consider my offer Milarch," and leaves the group. Good. It's better that he doesn't hear about your business. You look at Lucien, who's already looking at you.

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

"It was delicious."

"Excellent, can we discuss our business here?"

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

"Oh," his spectacles gleam in the incandescent light. With a nod, he lists his various publications. "A newspaper with two editions, a few adventurers' journals and New World maps. We're also working on some projects, if you're interested in that."

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

Lucien sighs. "It's unlucky, it's difficult to penetrate the continent's interior, and there's not enough coal to circumvent the continent either, and there's little to no wind on our shores. Are you looking to purchase?" Lucien asks, glancing at your journal with a doubtful look. You turn to the page in your journal where you copied the map, though only section of the coastal inlet, observing Lucien's reaction. He exclaims, as does Nìxié beside him, and examines your sketches closely. "It's well drawn. Are you looking to publish your maps?" he asks.

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

"I can't recall, but this can continue in private. You're really an impressive person, Milarch," says Lucien, still eyeing the journal on the table with tentative fingers. 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. You'll always be our bookstore's guest. We'll welcome your intrusion."

Your eye twitches, but you accept the insignia and fiddle with it, feeling nothing once more before pocketing it. "I wasn't breaking in." He laughs and you sigh, saying, "I appreciate it, Lucien, I'll be sure to visit your store before I leave."

"Oh, of course, of course. Do your business at the city first, it must have been a long journey." You smile and stand to leave, wearing your mitten gauntlets and longsword scabbard.

You say, "Everyone, thank you for accommodating me in this dinner."

The feline woman and wolfish eared man say, "You're welcome." The snake woman nods her head, as does Nìxié though absentmindedly.

Velmarie gives you a tusky grin. "Train with us in the outskirts! Teach us how to beat that guy's ward," she says, joining her thumb and index finger into a circle.

"No thank you," you say and leave them after retrieving your journal and knapsack.

You leave the city, walking through the outskirts. You're not leaving yet. You'll replenish another year's worth of stationery and necessities for the old home. You're just more accustomed to sleeping by yourself then sleeping in a city full of people.

"Damned adventurers' guild," you mutter, soothing your throat with a gulp of water. You'd like to have inquired about the relics then, since their kind might've traded with the old home's owner. However, you're already on edge with Rāvokh. At this moment, you'd rather that they have nothing to do with the owner's people.

You stop, hearing a strong gust of wind behind you before the heavy beating of wings descend before you. Weeds rippling where she lands, wearing a spotless white apron, breathing hard with troubled, pale blue eyes in the dark moonlight.

"Nìxié." You groan. "Whatever business you have, can't it wait until morning? I'm exhausted."