“You, me, and alcohol. Looks like this always happens,” the holy knight declared in delight as he drew up alongside the woman and glanced down at her. He’d seen Mag earlier, of course, both of their worlds temporarily orbiting around Aspel for the afternoon. But whenever it was obviously and palpably Best Friend Time for the two women, then Rictor quietly detached himself and found other places to be. Not that it was too difficult.
“Seems life just wanted us to run into each other again. Did you lose my sister? What a fucking irresponsible babysitter you are.” Rictor was jolly, it seemed, and just as sloshed as the tankard he carried.
Mag snickered. “So terrible, my charge will have to be the one to come looking for me.” Her drink was smaller; she’d been doing half-pints all day, which only meant she’d had more drinks than everyone else around her. She thought at this point she had to be close to her goal of ordering one drink from every vendor at Bierfest—but damned if she remembered which ones she hadn’t ordered from yet. “I’ll just have to pass out somewhere visible so she can find me.” She raised her glass and clinked it against Rictor’s, much less elegantly than she’d intended, but she couldn’t find it in her to care. And as long as they didn’t literally smash their glasses apart in their hands, Rictor would be content.
“Well, to us running into each other while shamelessly drunk. Prosit.”
“Prost,” Ric answered, the grin surging up unbidden. “Do you know any other Kerwonian thanks to Aspel, or is that it?”
“Couple of words. The important stuff. Like I’ll have another beer and my friend’s paying for this.” She grinned back. “Need to know the basics.”
“You’re missing a few, Paget: where’s the nearest restroom and can I have your number.”
“Are the two related? Or only if you’re really lucky?”
He snorted, which turned into a laugh, which almost turned into spilling his drink on the dragoon. Rictor took another generous sip of the fine ale – only to lower the level of the liquid somewhat, of course. “I prefer my random, meaningless encounters a bit more cleanly, thanks.”
“Has the Lord Cassul never been young and horny, then?” She laughed; it was just teasing, of course—and she’d wanted to see if Rictor’s reaction to the use of such a title would elicit the same sort of reaction it did from Aspel. “Well, never you mind. I would be very disappointed if this night doesn’t end with half of Emillion sleeping it off on the streets, clinging to their tankards like teddy bears.”
“In Kerwon, they hand you a tankard in the bassinet once you’re born. Serves as both teddy bear and pacifier alike.” The man shrugged the title off as he drained the rest of his drink, seeming not to mind – or hardly even note – its use. A mere word was one thing, but being crammed into a suit and bodily dragged around stuffy parties was another.
Mag laughed. “I think I love your culture.” She downed the last of her beer and turned to locate the nearest vendor; she had to blink a few times to get everything back in focus after moving her head so suddenly. “Okay, next stop.” She pointed to a nearby stall and said to Rictor, “I’ll even buy your next drink, for being Kerwonian.”