Reborn From the Cosmos

ARC 7-Cursed Fates-27

Howie is an excellent brewer but what makes him one is not the strength of his drinks but rather the strange effects they can induce. Effects that not even my particularly resilient constitution is immune to. Some of these effects can be beneficial, like the Shroom Sanity the guilds wanted to buy by the barrel. The drink somehow makes the drinker resistant to mana intrusion, a defense against the mental affinity.

Most of the effects are strange. I’ve had drinks that burn going down but freeze once they reach my stomach, making me feel as if there’s a black of ice in my gut. I’ve had drinks that do funky things to my vision outside of the Myriad Zone, distorting colors and twisting images. I’ve had drinks that taste like crap going down but makes everything that touches my tongue after that taste like sweet fruit drizzled in honey. There is no telling what that crazy man will do next with his magical mushrooms.

Of course, his drinks serve their primary purpose, which is getting people drunk.

His “bribes” are interesting. The barrel Kierra carried in on her left shoulder was filled with shroom juice, something different from the usual Herbanacle. I don’t recall the nonsensical name the half-elf came up with for it but it tastes like smoke and spice.

Drinking it sets me on fire, figuratively, and makes my skin prickle pleasantly. For Alana, someone with a significantly less resilient constitution, it makes her fingers twitch and her feet shake. It fills her with an undeniable urge to move. She usually channels that energy into spontaneous exercise. It always cracks me up when our quiet drinking in the bar is interrupted by Alana dropping to the door and busting out a couple dozen push-ups. A good choice. I’m hoping it’ll get people dancing. Be a shame not to take advantage of the house full of musicians I didn’t know I had.

I also don’t know the name of whatever’s in the second barrel, but it does funky things with perception. Whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing depends on the person. It makes someone more attentive to what’s in front of them. Makes it easier to be in the moment, appreciate the finer details.

However, the enhanced perception comes at the cost of a narrowed perspective. The drinker may focus on what’s in front of them more intently but it’s all they can focus on, quickly losing sight of their surroundings. Someone could be shouting their name into their ear and they wouldn’t notice a thing but they’d notice how many hairs were out of place on the person they were having a conversation with. Should be interesting.

The crate containing sixteen bottles all arranged in neat rows contain wine, Howie’s latest experiments with Kierra’s home-grown fruits. He assures me they have no strange side-effects, but I try them anyway. Not that I’m the best person for such a duty. My only critique for a poison that could kill a man three times over is how bitter it is. Still, it makes me feel like a responsible hostess. And I appreciated the excuse to start the festivities early.

After eighteen cups, Howie’s skills have managed to overcome my prime form. My body is warm, my skin is tingling, my nose is filled with the scents of lemon and pine, things keeps wiggling in the corners of my vision, the taste of sweet fruits lingers on my tongue, I swear I can feel my ears wiggling, and my attention is wholly focused on Alana who I’ve dragged into my good mood, twirling her around the welcoming room while Earl demonstrates his skills on a violin.

To my delight, Alana is fully embracing the celebratory mood, going as far as to dress up. There were plenty of options available, as Geneva apparently robbed half of Quest while following my orders to track down one of Howie’s kidnappers. Despite that, Alana’s style remains plain.

A pale blue dress with a white bow on the neckline and white frills on the end of its less than modest skirt. Her fluffy blonde hair, longer than it’s ever been, is pinned behind her head by a silver clip, a few strands curled using the strange methods Talia has been learning in her pursuit of fashion and left to frame her face.

Around her neck, she wears a round medallion that hangs from a silver chain. On its face is a wolf head embossed on a tower shield. The crest of the James family and a symbol of her authority as a noble. She rarely wears it but tonight is all about flaunting what we have.

She’s adorable. Normally, Alana’s sweet side is buried under hard work, staunch principles, and steel. It takes the promise of safety and privacy to lure her out of her spikey shell. But tonight, my sweet girl is right beneath the surface. There isn’t a hint of Victory’s endless war or martial madness to be found in her shyly averted eyes or her faintly painted lips pressed into a cute frown as she struggles to keep to the tempo. Saints, but she’s a terrible dancer.

Not that I mind. I’m having plenty of fun turning her in messy, uncoordinated circles, mostly to our own rhythm.

A tugging on my pants leg snaps me out of my cheery mood. The world beyond my future saint comes back into focus and I bring us to a halt. A glance down reveals the intrusion to be Bell. She’s also dressed up for the night, an adorable gold ribbon tied around her neck in a neat bow. Four big red eyes stare up at me as she smiles, trilling out “Coo!” [Master Lou, the first wave of guests has arrived.]

I chuckle. “Finally got tired of standing by the side of the road?”

[Alyssa Filagree arrived and urged them to come forward. The others were reassured by her presence or they accurately read her likely intentions to incinerate their carriages if they dawdled any longer.]

Sounds like Alyssa. “Nomad is on greeting duty?” My ever-depressed servant is very much not in a party mood. I don’t think he can be anything other than gloomy. More than that, he doesn’t like excessively loud or bright things. It’s why he volunteered to be the night warden, spending night after night alone, wandering between the empty rooms of the estate as he waits for his mistresses to call upon him.

However, I don’t want to leave him out of the festivities entirely. The best compromise I could come up with was making him the greeter. His job is make sure no one gets in without an invitation or accompanying someone invited, pull carriages around the side, and deliver a short warning that I’m sure no one will listen to.

“Coo!” [He has taken to the duty with his usual lack of enthusiasm.]

“Good, good.” Everything is in place. Just like Rolly’s summoning, the three decorative tables arranged between the couches are divided by appetizers, desserts, and drinks. Small tidbits to give everyone a taste of Geneva’s cooking but they can order more from the kitchen.

A small stone platform with several chairs has been set up on the opposite side of the room is prepared for performances, of which Earl is the sole occupant. Tables have been set up in the garden, for those who want to take in its beauty while dining or to simply to a walk from Gajin’s guided tours. The schedule isn’t concrete, but we have two main events planned, one being a guided discussion tour of the gardens and the other being a show put on by Rolly. Should be enough to guarantee that everyone has a fun time.

Alana separates from me as the group steps into the house. Haha, what a fun mix. In the lead is Miss Alyssa. I recognize the woman right behind her as Cynthia Oriole, another instructor. Of alchemy, I believe. Our acquaintance was brief but pleasant. She joined me, Kierra, Alana, Maxine, and Cloud for a night out in the city.

A thoroughly pleasant woman to be around, despite her interest in making money off Kierra’s garden, plundering the unique plants for their alchemical worth. I don’t recognize the young man escorting her, but he looks at least a decade younger than her. Good for Cynthia, I suppose. Or maybe good for him.

From a few casual comments, I believe the alchemist is well into her forties but, thanks to her creams and lotions, she doesn’t look a day over thirty. I speak from experience when I say a little experience is a good thing.

There are two more vaguely familiar faces in the group. I’m sure the tall man with the muscular arms and broad shoulders was with Miss Alyssa and Aurelius when they escorted Kierra and I to Dunwayne’s office. And the young man hovering near Alyssa’s side is one of the idiots that stormed into our house after Kierra’s foreplay led to the destruction of our garden. Lark? No, no. Luke. Lake? Lorax? Leonidas? Oh, forget it. I don’t remember. The rest of the ensemble is a mystery.

So are most of the ones behind them, led by Arthur wearing a leather vest over a black shirt and black pants. The others are wearing a lot of black and brown as well. And leather. A whole lot of leather. Never seen it used so much as a fashion choice.

The last three I recognize easily. William, wearing a saints damned suit of all things and the brothers, Michael and Gabriel. The younger boy looks nervous as he enters but he is quickly captivated by the house, looking around with wide eyes. Gabriel’s attention is more focused on the food tables. The brothers definitely have the least amount of presence, wearing faded shirts and worn pants. They’re so out of their depth, just looking at them makes me smile.

“Welcome to my home, everyone.” I greet them with a jubilant voice and open arms. “Don’t be shy. Try the food, grab a drink, and take a seat. I want everyone to enjoy themselves.”