Doomed to Die in 3 Minutes

One Hell of a Drink

I take the hatchet, the gloves, and the coins and place them in my inventory. My little pocket dimension for things isn’t that big. I’ve met plenty who have massive storage space, like keeping an entire arsenal in them. One guy actually had a house in one and would retreat there for a break from the world. I’m quite envious of that man, wouldn’t it be great to just kick back and relax completely cut off from the world for a day or two? It’s rather tight, I usually keep it full of my makeup and costumes and at first, I have a bit of a problem fitting it in but I end up wrapping the hatchet with a black cloak to make the room. 

I get up and take a look at myself in the mirror. Huh, my face is pretty much back to normal. They are small scars around the top right eyebrow and the bottom left of my lip. Considering the sheer beating I took, I thought it’d be much worse. They must have really good healers. I walk down the stairs and the moment I get to the bottom I stop dead in my tracks.

There’s a familiar figure lying down at the foot of the stairs. Her hair is a scarlet mess and there’s a bottle of wine in her right hand. Her body is covered in bandages and I spot a few burn marks. I sigh again, she always makes me sigh and not in a good way. She really looks rather banged up. Elves are known to not get hurt if they can, they are perfectionists and do not want to damage their skin for vanity reasons. That’s why they favour archery, magic, and assassin like tactics. To attack without retaliation and leave themselves unblemished. 

It’s such an obsession that those who have scars, wounds, or darker shades of skin among them are discriminated against. Only a lowly and clumsy elf would be anything less than perfection. So she fought hard enough to get injured like this and accept the consequences. I almost cannot believe it. I guess that deserves some praise but man is she the worst to me. I eye the bottle. It’s rather tall and quite expensive looking. Well, I shouldn’t be surprised everyone is breaking out the good s**t.

I bend down, put the bottle out of her hands, place it on the ground, and then lift her up. I’m pretty weak physically but since she’s like this even I can move her with very little effort. I take her back up the stairs while she mumbles and grumbles and I roll my eyes. I place her on the bed I was just sleeping in and make sure she’s under the covers. Good, minimum obligation complete. Now, it’s my turn to get wasted and have fun. 

“Did I do good?” I can barely understand her but it’s enough. Dammit, why does this always happen to me? “You did fine. Alright? Now, just rest.” Hopefully, that ends the conversation quickly and I can just have some fun… “Praise me!” No, please, stop acting like a child. Ah, fine, whatever. I know elves almost never give compliments to each other and when they do it’s either passive-aggressive or something incredibly mild. Stuff like, “your performance today was acceptable” and “you did not disappoint upon this occasion.” I mean, if every parent was like elven parents then the world would be a very messed up place.

“Okay, okay. You did well, I’m proud of you. Thanks.” Alright, now I can finally… “Say it like you mean it!” Oh, gods. I clear my throat. Time for a bit of convincing acting, I turn on my Zelo voice and hope this will work. “You have pleased me, Olivia. The first steps to heroism have been taken and seeing you take them brings me such great joy. The marks you bear from the battles today are not scars of shame but precious badges of honour. Your heart has always told you to defy injustice. Continue to follow it. You will find your answers.” I hear her making satisfied giggles and I wait a few seconds to see if she has any response. None. Good. I can finally leave. 

I head back down and on my way out I see Vis sitting by a bar, holding up a large rectangular bottle with golden liquid within and two tumbler glasses. I have to question why the orphanage has a bar or if this is yet another talent the assassin holds but I shrug and take a seat. “I’m sure you want to go out and enjoy the festivities but I wanted to show my appreciation first. This is my special bottle for when I complete a mission. To be able to share this drink with a comrade, well, this is new and I want to make it special. Trust me, this drink is to die for.” He laughs. Well, the words to die for hold a lot more meaning… or less meaning… with him. Huh. A guy who gets no second chances but can give them to others. I guess I haven’t let that really set in yet.

He pours about from the golden bottle into both glasses, filling them both to about one third each and then drops a good quantity of ice in both. We clang the glasses together and a nice ring echoes through the air. We both take a swig and… holy s**t.

My emotions dance like wildfire. A sinking feeling, like despair at the brink of unavoidable death. Pitch black darkness and choking fear. My lowest point in history… followed by sheer and overwhelming happiness, as if I just had the best day ever. I start having flashes of memories of when I was at the greatest high points of my life. Tears begin to well up in my eyes and then I wail like a baby, letting out everything stored within me. An explosion of emotion. 

I wipe my tears when I am done and feel oddly at peace. As if I had expelled all my worries.

“Good, ain’t it?” I see him pour himself another drink, chug it down without hesitation and pour himself another, drink it with two gulps, and pour a fourth. This guy is insane. He drinks something that magically gives him an existential crisis coupled with a miniature breakdown, not just once but one after another without stopping. I wonder if he’s actually punishing himself or rewarding himself. I can’t tell. Still, I could see why people would want to have this from time to time. A small purge of everything you’re carrying… all in one glass.