At the inn

"Where have you been?!" exclaimed Cleo as Orphen entered the apartments. Orphen raised an eyebrow as he looked around the room; shopping bags lay sprawled on the ground. No doubt, that this was Cleo's way of dealing with their earlier exchange. It was just a pity that Majic and Hartia got caught up in her mode of therapy. They also lay sprawled, but on their beds, exhausted and possibly traumatized by horrors they were exposed to that day.

"So many dresses, Master... so many shoes," Majic groaned, turning his head to show the fatigue in his eyes.

"Oh, please. That was nothing," Cleo said proudly. "You should see Maribell and I at the Totokanta markets. Completely unstoppable," her eyes shone with twisted pleasure and Majic shuddered at the thought.

She looked at Orphen and spoke once again, but in a more sullen tone, "What were you doing all day?"

If Orphen was correct, which he prided himself on being one-hundred percent of the time, he would say she had missed him. He suddenly felt guilt build inside him as he remembered his conversation with Serine.

"Uh, nothing much," he scratched the back of his head nervously. If Cleo wasn't here, he would probably be bragging to Majic and Hartia about his recent endeavours, but if he wanted to keep his head, he would not let any of that information fall upon Cleo's ears.

"You were out the entire day and you did 'nothing much'?" she threw him a scrutinizing gaze.

"Well, I went to the Tower of Grace, to get a head start, but they refused admittance. Some bull about the Headmaster not being available. So I went to the library," He said.

"Wow, Orphen, I'm surprised you didn't lose your head," declared Hartia.

Cleo sniggered, "Knowing him, he probably did and got his ass handed to him."

Orphen rolled his eyes, "Oh please, you should have seen these sorcerers. I wouldn't even break a sweat if they tried anything on me."

"Anyway, we've been invited by the woman at reception to have dinner downstairs tonight. Apparently, something about a celebration," Cleo said lazily and as she plonked down on the nearest bed.

Orphen's brow furrowed, remembering the Tower chain the woman had tried to conceal. "About the inn keeper, she's a sorcerer. She belongs to the Tower of Grace." Orphen said, taking a serious tone.

"We know she's a sorcerer, but she's not the inn keeper. She's the daughter of the inn keeper; he's been sick the past week and can't work," replied Cleo, having had a conversation with the woman earlier that day.

"Don't you think it's a little suspicious that the inn we're sent to has a Grace sorcerer taking our orders and keeping a track of what we're doing?" Orphen retorted.

"Seriously, Orpehn, you're being too paranoid. Majic is a sorcerer and he works in an inn! You're going to the dinner and that's the end of it," Cleo said in a no-nonsense tone.

Oprhen grumbled under his breath, but knew any further argument would only result in a headache.


It was mid evening and dinner was just being served. The smell of roast potato, garden stew, curried lamb and fresh bread wafted from the kitchen and suddenly the scraps of filler in front of them seemed small and unimportant. For the last hour or so Majic, Heartia and Orphen contented themselves on conversation with the other patrons of the inn; the thick, sweet meed even persuaded Orphen's tongue to engage in the jovial exchange.

"Where the hell is Cleo!?" Heartia exclaimed, inebriated and ready for a fourth tankard.

"I have no idea," replied Orphen, and he added with a smirk, "Probably still trying to figure out what dress she should wear."

They sniggered stupidly in agreement and then belted out in laughter when Majic sheepishly suggested that she might have decided to shave her legs.

The man to their left, known as Rowan piped in, "The way you speak about this woman, you would think she was a grizzly monster! No doubt she and my wife would get along!"

The laughter continued along the table, as contagious as it was moronic, and Cleo could not help but roll her eyes as she approached the trio from behind.

Orphen's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as the line of men in front of him looked up slack jawed: he turned to see the spectacle. His mouth tightened as his sight landed directly on a pair of breasts clothed in the fitted, but flowing material of a summer green dress; the print of an exotic continent adorning the surface in feather light layers of power blue and lime green. Golden hair sat in loose waves, cascading over her shoulders, framing the flesh that currently engaged his attention.

She put a finger under his chin and lifted his head to meet her intimidating stare, "No, I wasn't prancing around trying to choose a dress or," and flashed a glare at Majic, "spending all my time trying shaving my legs."

Heartia moved over, as a mock expression of wisdom came across his face; he nodded his head like an idiot and secretly thanked his Luck that Cleo was not present during their earlier conversation... or he would surely be dead.

As Cleo seated herself next to Heartia, she had informed them, in a rather haughty tone, that she had taken the time to write to Azalie.

"Well it's not like you can send it," Orphen said, the drink making him foolish.

"Oh shut-up and give me that," Cleo leaned across her red headed neighbour and snatched the tankard from Orphen's hand. She looked at him sourly and re-seated herself, "I need this more than you." With that said she downed the drink in one go.

As the evening drew late the meed flowed heavily and seemed it would never end. Cleo sat near the end of the table surrounded by a group of men looking to please. By the eager and devoted expressions on their face, it seemed as though they were worshipping at an altar instead of engaging in conversation. Cleo, of course, took full pleasure in being the centre of attention and put on airs of feminine grace to please and manipulate her crowd. By the time each of the men had realised how futile his effort was, Cleo's tankard had been filled freely thrice over and the buzz in the back of her head spread into a satisfyingly numbing sensation that touched her lips and nose.

"Loe," she slurred, addressing an equally intoxicated individual from her now dwindling horde. "Fill me up," she winked and gave him a brilliant smile. The way the man jumped at the chance, one would think he had just been kingted

Wonders would never cease, thought Majic. Just a few hours ago, the subject of Cleo had been up of light ridicule and jest, and only within a short time of her arrival, she had formed what seemed like a cult devout on buying her alcohol.

"Told ya they'd get bored when they realise that she ain't going to put out," Orphen said eloquently as he lifted his drink to his lips and stared at the blond female. Even after drinking what seemed like his body weight in meed, the only thing that indicated Orphen's state of inebriation was a slight slur and the crudeness of his vocabulary.

Majic, slightly better of mind and almost outraged at his former Master's insinuation, was about to speak up, but, of course, was interrupted by a dribble of drunken intonation.

"Whooo says she's not? That man!" Heatria accused with a lethargic finger, pointing to a black haired individual buying yet another drink for the woman in question. "Shheee's been calling on him aaallll night. Laughing, touching his shoulder, with soft caresses and all the aaallcahaal," his words ran together until his face hit the table. For a moment it seemed that he was unconscious, but unfortunately for his companions, it wasn't so. "He haasprettyeyes andgreen!," he mumbled. "Liketherarest of emerals," and then it was lights out. He began to sore heavily.

Orphen looked down in disgust, "He never could handle his alcohol."

"You know you shouldn't speak like that about Cleo," Majic resumed his train of thought. Orphen's jealously was obvious and ever since Cleo's arrival, the night's conversation had been punctuated by his disagreement over her choice of companionship.

Orphen paused midway between a slip and put the drink down. "Listen Majic, she's a grown woman and has full authority to conduct herself in whichever way she pleases, but that doesn't mean I don't get to voice my utter disgust at her courting behaviour." Orphen's lips twisted into a frown, "Honestly, she's acting like a bar whore."

Majic's eyes widened in shock and his lips tightened into a straight line. He stood from his chair and looked down at his former Master, his fists clenched in indignation. "I'm leaving," he said in a low, serious voice. "This is getting stupid."

Orphen waved him off uncaringly and continued to watch as Cleo farewelled the rest of the men. No doubt they had wives in their hometowns and mistresses in others. Cleo's intentions were much too innocent for their tastes and she has wisely played her hand to get want she wanted: free drinks. All but one remained. The black haired man with the' pretty green eyes'. Orphen unconsciously glared as the man sat close to Cleo and handed her the drink.

A silent conversation was had between the two; their lips moving and spreading into slow, easy smiles. His hand came to rest on her thigh. Cleo Blushed and looked away shyly, and the man reached out to turn her face with a gentle hand.

The sound of straining leather reached Orphen's ears as he squeezed his hands into a tight fist. He stood, livid and shaking, the desire to reach into the raging sea of magic inside was almost unbearable. But instead of making a scene, he pushed his chair with the back of his leg, letting the scraping of its wooden legs go unchecked, and made for the exit.

Cleo, glancing the back of her companion as he left, excused herself from Loe's amorous and, frankly, unwanted attentions. She practically had to pull her hand from his; she almost laughed at her knack of getting herself into situations like these.

"Hey, where are you going?!" Cleo yelled, standing in the dappled, yellow light of the inn's street entrance.

If Orphen heard her, he gave no indication. His back remained rigged and turned, shrouded in the darkness of night. Then suddenly, bright light enveloped him and he was gone.