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The tavern was much more quiet, cozier despite the rough first day here. The bloodstains that once painted the countertops and floors were nowhere to be seen, the Greatsword hung back up high. With tighter screws. It had been a week since their first meeting, from then on, the days were spent doing basic chores as the group mostly lounged and got to know each other.
Tonight was one like any other, firelight smeared the scene with beautiful oranges and blurry golds, air reeking of ale.
Max sat at the bar, a plethora of empty cups in front of him as he burped after down his… 11th? 12th? Hes lost count. He wanted to drown the world away, to bask in the warm fuzz of being blackout drunk and waking up in the morning with a busting headache he’ll probably just magic away in mere seconds. Then, after, he would laugh at the poor souls who tried to match his drinking prowess yet can’t heal their migraines away.
Unfortunately, it was not enough to drown out the voice of some bearded, scheming, confusing and albeit charming wizard.
“Ohohoho! Why yes! I do remember a stocky giant by the name of Sally Sasquatch!” He laughed, boisterous and warm as the ale from his cup spilled. “Why, she reminded me of a golem I had encountered in the Forest of Elzenborough–”
Max scoffed, rolling his eyes as he sipped his drink. Much to his chagrin, he sat beside the Wizard himself, never failing to notice every crinkle in his eyes as he no doubt makes up another fantastical and interesting story of his adventures.
It ticked him off.
Something was off about this guy. The way he walked, flailing like he was a bag in the wind, the way he talked, like he was forcing some dingy accent that covered up a sweet sweet honey-coated voice.
It was maddening. Poor Max.
“And there I was,” Mister Wizard boomed, hands spread wide, “standing atop the Glass Dunes of Al’Sharif, the sun setting just so—”
“Oh please,” Max cut in, waving his mug dismissively. “There are no Glass Dunes in Al’Sharif, its just some silly little fairytale halflings tell their spawn.”
Ruby snorted into her drink. “And what would you know?”
“I just do.” Max flipped his hair. “I’m that great. You should be thankful,” He hummed, glancing to Zachary, who was now curiously watching him. It made his chest tighten, oddly enough. “Without me, you'd be swindled clean of your gold, a heap of some shoddy crystals in their place.”
Mister Wizard only laughed, warm and unbothered. “Speaking of! You just reminded me dear comrade, my wares have been collecting quite the layer of dust!” He motions outside where his caravan is parked, just barely in view from the window. “My crystals would love to give you some luck, wealth, and whatever else you may need!”
Max scowls at the sheer thought of it. “I am not so witless as to be fooled by your tricks even when drunk, Adam.” He taps his coin pouch, gold loudly clinking. He barely notices the shine in the Imp’s eyes with every jingle of coin. “All this? All mine. Get your own.”
“Oh c’mon man!” Bro interjects, “I’m sure Mr. Wizard here means well,”
Anthony does a respectful nod towards Bro. “Thank you, Bro.”
“Why can't you give him a little, er, benefit of the doubt? A little trust? Maybe?”
“I dunno,” Max shrugs, feigning indifference. “It's just awfully hard to trust some F-Grade wizard who can't even tell us his real name.” He takes a sip of his ale, the sound awfully loud as he glares at Caden from the rim of his cup.
He ignores the way the imp rolls her eyes, the same way he pretends to not hear the awkward coughing from the dwarf.
“W-what? Ohoho!” Amos splutters, “Oh but my dear, dear bladder! My dear comrade! Surely you realize that Mr. Wizard is my true name! Since birth! Given to me by my parents, oh bless their hearts.”
This only seems to anger Max even more, his eye twitching before he slams his mug down. “It’s Bladder, you hillbilly!”
“Ah, yes of course! Plumber! Yes, yes. My apologies.” The Wizard nods apologetically, blinking those stupidly bright green eyes and caressing that stupidly-fake beard with his stupidly soft-looking hands. He probably hasn’t worked manual labor in his life! And unlike Max’s hands– which are callused and sturdy from all the hours spent with an instrument or some pole to swing from– they looked more nimble, probably gentle as they touched a trinket, something more specific than reverence when he collected some niche new crystal.
Heat pooled into Max’s cheeks, and it wasn't from the ale this time. What are you thinking?
“ANOTHER!” Max screeched, having the entire group cringe back as Redmond hurriedly slid Max another round, which he proceeded to down in mere seconds. He hopped out of his seat, yanking the Wizard forward by the beard. It earned him a yelp from the mysteriously charismatic man, and a soft gasp–- that he tried to pay no heed to– as he put his face in close.
Close enough that their lips were just one mistake(?) away.
“O-oh! Oh my, you are quite close–”
“Lisssten, Bartholomew,” Max’s slurred words cut him off. “I want to play a game. If I win, you tell me your real name.” He wonders how it would feel slipping from his tongue.
Mister Wizard gulps. “A-and if I win?”
“You don’t.”
Max shoves him back, stumbling backwards as he starts to bounce on his heels. “If I make this backflip–”
“He’s not gonna make that backflip.”
“Aye.”
Max glares at the shortest members, their silhouettes doubling and fading out before he focuses back on those emerald eyes. Eyes much too young for the obviously fake beard, voice and getup he had going on.
Max Blunder was not a quitter. He will crack the code to this enigma of a wizard.
“As I was saying,” He fixes his collar. “If I make this backflip. I win.”
Mister Wizard clears his throat. “Ah, I don’t think that's a good idea dear Plunder–” He shakes his head quickly, realizing that Max was truly getting into a backflipping stance. Albeit clumsily.
“Just, hick, accept your defeat, Joseph!”
“Wait–”
The intoxicated Cleric crouches before promptly launching himself backwards, apparently forgetting the chair placed behind him. It goes as wonderful as you’d expect.
Barely halfway through the flip, he hits the stool. In a panic, he released his curled up position to maybe catch his fall before he made a fool of himself. Unfortunately for Max, not only is he a fool, he is a drunken fool, with an equally drunken, but pretty, fool in front of him. He launched himself forward, kicking the seat down in the process.
The world blurred into the cold shiver of panic then into warmer, larger robes.
His lips met hair first. Unpleasant. Annoying. But there was a warmth beneath it, emanating even through the now obviously probably-not-actually human hair. For a half a heartbeat, Max felt it sync with another.
Multiple gasps echoed throughout the silence as Max started to process the warmth of arms that had caught his fall, including the warmth of the lips that his were planted on.
“Oh my.”
“Didn’t know he swung that way. Good for him.”
“Oh my hels.”
Max jerked back, hands flailing as cups fell to the floor. “I– you– You! I–” His head spun, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the ale, or from the wizard’s cologne. “The– the– THE FLOOR!” Max shrieked.
Mr. Wizard stood there stunned, hands hovering uselessly where Max once stood. His eyes were wide, magic crackling from his scar. His fake voice cracked, just a bit.
“Did– Did I win?”
If Max was any good with spells, he would cast a fireball and send everyone in this tavern into several different directions at 90mph. “N-NO!” His face went nuclear. “It was the– the FLOOR! The floor is still uneven!” He stomped on the hardwood to emphasize his point. “THAT DOES NOT COUNT.”
Sapphire, Emerald, Ruby– whatever– was howling with laughter. It was an odd look on the usually calm, poker-faced imp, and certainly an unwelcome one. “He- he-” She giggled nonsensically as Bro Dude patted her back in support.
“I think this win belongs to the Wizard, lad.”
Max’s head snapped to Redmond, a soft, but cheeky smile on his smile. It was the most he’d smiled in the week they’d been loitering and lounging around his– technically– house.
Max huffed. Loud. “Goodnight.” He glared at the Wizard, who still sat there in shock– No, awe now.
Mr. Wizard watched with stars in his eyes as the cherub-faced half half-ling practically bolted up the stairs and presumably into his room. Fascinating.
His voice dropped into a low octave, barely above a whisper and far from the farce he put up.
“..Goodnight, Blunder.” He really did win that one.