The night creeped into the late hours, and the bar descended into silence. Ariela had long since gone to bed, locking the doors to her tavern. Illuminated by a single candle in the pub sat Syrenne, nursing a drink that Areila had prepared before retiring for the evening.
That was a long time ago, for Syrenne's standards.
The drunken woman was hardly intoxicated comparative to her typical levels, given the lack of alcohol she'd consumed in the past few hours. And the drink in her hand was near empty, only an inch left.
That made for a sad Syrenne.
Sighing, the swordswoman gulped the last of her beer. The foul liquid couldn't even be tasted on the worn taste buds of the experienced alcoholic. Setting the mug down, Syrenne pushed it away slowly. Her arm fell limp on the table, followed by the woman's entire body falling forward onto the wooden surface.
I need to stop doing this to myself, Syrenne mumbled in her mind. Even her thoughts were in drunk speech. Lovely.
It was a little known fact, but Syrenne hated sleeping. Normal sleeping, that is. The kind where you go and get tucked under the covers and drift off into the embrace of dreams.
No, Syrenne greatly preferred the drunken stupor as her method of sleep. That way, at least her mind was too fucked up to figure out what to dwell on.
It seemed though, that she stayed up too late this night. Without being dead drunk as usual, that haunting smirk squirmed into her mind.
Damn you, Lowell, she moved her mouth, but no words came out. Syrenne lacked the strength to do much of anything, except lay on that table.
Her mind wasted no time to assault her.
She saw Lowell and herself having a picnic in a field of lush grass. A goddamn picnic of all things! The sun shinned high, and it was a far warmer climate than Lazulis Island.
Clouds passed over, and the sun became obstructed. Syrenne blinked, and Lowell was gone. Replaced by Reptids, the scaly creatures swarmed her.
She jolted in her sleep-state. Blinking rapidly, Syrenne came to full consciousness. Tavern. Beer. Ariela.
The well-endowed woman let loose a shuddering breath. Her mind, now aware of what she'd just been seeing, taunted her.
He'll leave you! it said. Lowell can't make you happy!
Ireful, Syrenne flung her mug across the tavern. It clattered against the stone walls, no doubt waking someone up. But Syrenne couldn't care less.
Emotions. And people sometimes asked her why she drank. Syrenne allowed a weak grin. It was so much easier to just be angry and seductive than emotional. Anger, anger was easy. So were innuendos, and seduction through that matter.
But love? That was tricky.
In all actuality, it shouldn't be, Syrenne reasoned. It was merely an extent of friendship, albeit a fairly large extension.
Was Lowell her friend? Or did he want something more? Or would he just dump her at the first chance he got, like every other woman he'd been with?
Was commitment too much to ask for?
When it came to Lowell, yes.
The stairs creaked as someone began to walk down them in attempted silence. Time sat between each step, serving to tell Syrenne that the person was trying not to wake anyone.
As fate, luck, god or whatever-the-fuck would have it, Lowell was the one to step down from the stairs.
He said nothing, only taking a seat next to Syrenne. The pair waited for the other to break the quiet that had become characteristic of the tavern after closing.
In that perfect quiet, the two instinctually understood each other. Lowell swept his eyes across the various mugs that Ariela had never managed to collect. It wasn't hard to tell Syrenne was trying to drink herself into oblivion.
Syrenne could see the wear and tear on Lowell's face from his late nights. She knew he never fell asleep when he entered his room after escapades. Something kept him up, something prevented him from having a restful night.
In a fit of drunken decision making, Syrenne set her hand on Lowell's. It was a gesture of comfort for the both of them, each knowing full well the other didn't sleep well.
Lowell's eyebrows rose into his ruffled hair, but he made no move to resist. He relished the soft touch of Syrenne, even if it was in a semi-drunken haze.
"Let's go upstairs," he said. To his displeasure, Syrenne took her hand back. Lowell stood, and helped her up. Incapable of walking, Syrenne demanded he carry her. This of course, was done without breaking the silence Lowell had so callously disturbed.
Allowing himself a slight smile, Lowell almost decided he wouldn't let Syrenne live this down. But perhaps it'd be best to wait for that. For the day that they could be honest with each other, without hiding behind barriers of silence.
I'd drink to that day, Lowell mused, quietly opening the door to Syrenne's room. With well-practiced ease, the blonde tucked Syrenne in without disturbing Mirania.
He watched how peaceful she looked without her conscious barriers up. It were the times like these when Lowell hated how he acted. How did she see him with all his flirting? A scoundrel? Undoubtedly.
Returning to his room, Lowell got back into his bed. He lay awake for a time, muddling through his thoughts.
He'd do better, he swore. Someday, he'd be better.
Author Notes: Sadly, with the last Super Smash Bros DLC announcement over, I've had to finally let my hope for a tLS character in Smash die. I was hoping Zael could impossibly make a comeback, and through that spur a tLS sequel. No such luck, it seems.
With this story, I wanted to write something that didn't rely on dialogue like most of my other works. I limited myself to one spoken phrase, and I think it turned out quite well.