[F29 - PP] On the House (2x Speed)

[Lessa 1]

The weight of the world dragged at Lessa's shoulders, and she worried she might collapse beneath the addition of Jomei's hands. Instead, she managed to draw in a long breath, and then she forced herself to meet his gaze. But the warmth she found there, and the pure, unadulterated compassion, nearly broke her. So she busied herself with counting the raindrops studding his eyelashes like tiny gemstones. When he smiled, she offered only a tight-lipped response, as if showing her teeth might be the final crack in the dam that held back... what, exactly? Tears? Grief? Longing? A colorful array of expletives, highlighting all the places the game designers could shove their little Lovecraftian horrors? Nothing good could come from breaking.

Yet as they unloaded the cargo in silence, the only sound between the uncomfortable squelching of waterlogged gear, she found herself ruminating. Jomei wasn't the first to give her this talk, encouraging her to lighten her load, and let someone else take over for a while. Hell, even before Aincrad, Alyssa had struggled with taking on more than her fair share. But Alyssa had never unloaded barrels of alcohol in a haunted bar, soaking wet, only hours after fighting waves of horrific monsters and a rabid bear. Alyssa had never been forced to raise a sword in defense of the ones she loved, and the life she left behind.

Alyssa had never met Jomei.

The window populating in front of her face tore Lessa back to the present. "Oh," she muttered dumbly, reading over the words before glancing toward the bar, then Jomei. "Uh, yeah, no, definitely not a good idea." 

Despite her words, some unseen force tugged her gently toward the battered bar-top, not unlike how she’d been drawn back to H.P.’s at the beginning of the quest. Her movement’s mirrored Jomei’s, her cold, damp fingers closing around the glass. There was dirt on the glass, but she noted the issue in the same way she felt the dentist’s drill while on nitrous oxide - it was concerning, but not especially urgent. Even thoughts of Jomei, which had buried themselves deep, fled as she lifted the rim to her lips. She caught the faintest whiff of cinnamon, then downed the entire thing.

Then loosed a loud, barking cough, slapping the glass down before pounding her own chest with a closed fist. “Jesus,” she drawled, shaking her head. “That was strong. Good, but strong.” She studied her empty cup for a beat, then added, “Tastes just like skiing with my family. My mom had these ski poles, and you could unscrew the handles, and fill them with alcohol. She always went with Fireball. That was whiskey, and this is definitely vodka, but the cinnamon is the same.” Lessa pursed her lips, then slanted Jomei a look. “And so is the kick.”

When she turned her attention back to the bar, surprise had her nearly toppling off her barstool. Amber liquid once more filled the glass, abnormally bright in the room’s dim lighting. “Speedy service,” she quipped, even as she found herself leaning slightly closer to her companion.

By the time she finished her second round of cinnamon vodka, her shoulder was pressed flush against his. “You know,” she began suddenly, “what you said earlier? About me taking a break, and cutting myself some slack? You are nooooooot the first person to tell me to do that.” Did she put unnecessary emphasis on the word ‘not?’ That was an odd choice. “But I think you might be the first person I actually listen to.”

243699 | CD: 11