The Boozy Lady
1070 Words
He considered himself fortunate to have found the culprit before his sisters did.
At the end of their conversation, Barbara turned her attention to Damian with a peculiar question.
Barbara: "Damian, do you drink?"
Damian: "?"
The question seemed so odd that Damian had to ponder Barbara's intentions. To be honest, he did drink, but rarely. Ashley disliked the scent of alcohol and detested listening to her brother's incoherent drunken ramblings. Even though he was at the academy, Ashley was under the care of their kind neighbor, Mrs. Maggie. Damian felt he could not indulge recklessly in her absence.
Carrying a strong sense of responsibility towards his sister, Damian responded earnestly, "Rest assured, I would never drink at the academy or let alcohol interfere with my work."
Barbara was taken aback by Damian's seriousness; she had merely hoped to find a drinking buddy, but clearly, she'd failed. She was about to respond when Damian added, "Besides, people who let alcohol get in the way of work are the worst," mimicking Ashley's tone.
Barbara: "..."
Barbara's green eyes misted slightly with amusement as she swayed, holding back laughter as Ivy stifled her own giggles behind her.
After a moment, Barbara regained her composure and replied, "You're absolutely right, Damian! I also can't stand people who reek of alcohol—working with them is a nightmare!"
She was essentially scolding herself, oblivious to the shadow slowly engulfing Carson in the corner of her eye.
---
That evening, Carson arrived at the Tasty Dragon Tavern to bid farewell to Charlie.
"I won't be drinking anymore," Carson declared, pushing away the mug of ale that Charlie passed to him. "And I won't be coming here again."
Charlie listened in confusion as Carson's words unfolded, finally understanding after a few questions.
"You're stopped drinking because your teacher disapproves? Do you really need to go that far for her?"
Carson wore an expression of firm resolve, prompting Charlie to abandon the effort to argue.
Carson then shifted the conversation to the magic wolf incident.
"They're dead," Carson stated.
Charlie understood he was referring to the two magic wolves he had previously mentioned having been seen at the academy's gates.
"Was it you?" Charlie asked.
Carson's expression froze as he shook his head, perplexed by why Charlie would think that.
"Did you possibly forget?" Charlie continued. "You sometimes lose your memory when you’re... not yourself."
Charlie’s reminder struck a chord with Carson, bringing to light the possibility.
In the past, during such 'moments,' he'd attacked others and later completely forgotten, until the injured party's family confronted him with harsh accusations.
"What did they say? 'You're a disgrace to your family, turning yourself into a monster!'"
Carson bowed his head, imagining blood on his hands.
His voice wavered, haunted with guilt, "You might be right. Maybe... it was me."
He envisioned himself ruthlessly killing the wolves, extracting their hearts, and hypocritically healing the injured later, falsely considering himself a hero.
Before the crushing weight of his self-blame could consume him, Charlie, realizing his words had spiraled, clumsily attempted comfort. "Maybe someone else did it, Carson!"
But Carson couldn't let a simple assurance sway him. "How could it be anyone else?" Carson knew the strength of magic wolves, acknowledging none of the mages present that day were capable of overcoming them.
Charlie then said, "Remember, magic wolves and beasts have an excellent sense of smell, just like us."
Carson’s torment wavered at this, as the logic in Charlie's argument held. People in Carson’s homeland tracked friends or prey through scent. That was how he’d found Barbara in the greenhouse.
If the wolves had come from his homeland, they'd have smelled him.
Charlie, spotting an opening, continued, "Carson, within a hundred yards, anyone who catches your scent avoids you, and those wolves, if aware of you, would flee rather than give you a chance."
Carson: "What if their sense of smell was impaired?"
Charlie: "Granted, but you mentioned two wolves. The odds both had lost their sense of smell are minuscule."
With this reasoning, Carson found slight comfort, readying to leave.
Charlie tried stopping him, "Stay a bit longer?"
Carson: "Why?"
Charlie: "Because we're friends?"
Carson responded with a smile of refusal, determined to distance himself from Barbara's disdain for alcohol, firmly resolved not to linger a moment longer.
Charlie knew Carson's stubborn streak well, yet losing this patron hurt. The tavern would miss not just a patron but many—particularly female—patrons drawn by Carson.
While mired in thoughts over this loss, Charlie noticed Carson's gaze fix on a young woman at the tavern.
Amusingly, this was unprecedented, tempting Charlie to tease. "Finally taking an interest in women, eh?"
Carson didn't hear him, engrossed, "I know that person..."
Charlie peered over the bar to see her face, letting out a knowing "Oh."
"She’s a regular. Often buys ale, a whole keg at a time—heaven knows how she manages."
Carson fell silent, recollecting his sisters' request and their case description.
"Carson, this is a vile act!" the eldest sister had exclaimed. "Someone—an outsider!—trespassed into the undercity on a closed day, even reached our house and, on my clothes... left such filth! Unforgivable!"
The eldest sister's fervent words ringing in Carson's ears, he thought their grievance exaggerated. The so-called filth was nothing but drunken vomit.
But not to his sisters. With a witness on their side, the issue spiraled.
The undercity witness described the perpetrator as cloaked and hooded, gender female, a White Stone Magic Academy insignia peeping from beneath her hood.
His sisters, seizing their light, decided against alerting the Magical Creature Protection Society, intending to resolve the matter privately—dismemberment was the third time he considered that grim word.
Yet, in luck, he thought he'd uncovered the culprit before his sisters could.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t expected Ivy Ierh to be the offender.
---
Ivy Ierh paid for her ale, heading out.
Evening winds tousled her hair as she glared skyward, inwardly cursing a certain lady.
Damn Barbara. Ma'am.
Even in cursing, Ivy Ierh adhered to formalities, though burning anger still simmered beneath.
"Tasty Dragon Tavern’s ale is superb, but too far. I prefer the Belch Tavern, and I know the landlady there well."
"So, Ivy Ierh, buy some for me, just like before.”
Recalling those words, tote in hand, Ivy Ierh melancholically made her way back to the academy.
- Writer
