Sheer adrenaline initially kept me warm for the first five minutes after we arrived, but now that it's gone, I'm so screwed.
A cold shiver snakes down my spine as I follow Fyr along an unending, sloped road that winds up the side of the mountain. My jacket isn't made for this cold, and it does me no good; this nighttime temperature chills my nose, mouth, and ears, and every breath I take pierces my throat and seems to freeze me from the inside out. I feel like it'd have been a lot worse if not for the alcohol I have in my system still.
To top it off, the higher we get on the mountain, the deeper the snow. As hard as I try to step where Fyr has already stepped, I'm becoming exhausted; his footsteps are way too far apart for my human legs to manage. Plus, the amount of snow in my boots right now is absurd.
"Shuffle your feet more so I can walk in your tracks," I grumble in a tired breath, and my words are visible in the form of wintry puffs in front of my face as I speak.
I'm joking, but to my surprise, he glances back at me and down at my feet, and then actually does clear the snow better for me as he walks. I pause in my steps when he does, and I can't hide the restrained smile that shoves itself onto my face. I was kidding, but I'm not going to make him stop. This is so much better. More work for him, and less for me. And he doesn't seem to mind it at all.
We shuffle our way higher and higher until we finally reach the plateau. I can see that the path before us leads directly into a pair of massive stone archways, from which there escapes a warm, hot glow. It's like a fire castle. I want to voice that observation aloud, but I'm not as drunk anymore, and I keep it to myself. I smell smoke in the cold, still air, and I can feel the heat coming from the doors. We're a good hundred yards away from the inner entrance, but it's already warmer, and that makes me feel better about where we are going. Fyr lets me walk beside him now that I don't have to literally follow in his footsteps.
"Ah, the distinct stench of sweat and hard labor," Fyr sighs.
"I haven't had a chance to shower or bathe since I got here," I defend myself, a little sensitive after his comment from this morning. He'd told me I reek of arcane, whatever that means.
"No, the city," he corrects in humor. "The smoke, it... Nevermind."
I want to say something like, 'I knew that,' but I don't. I wish I did, but instead, I blurt, "Well, you stink, too," before I'm able to stop myself, and then I pretend he doesn't exist so I don't get embarrassed. He doesn't stink. He smells good, like pine trees. But I'm not going to say that; it'd either creep him out or inflate his ego.
I notice that he reacts to that comment of mine with a silent laugh through his nose, and he's still subtly smiling when we walk inside.
There's a long entrance with tall stone statues and a golden-red glow coming from behind a huge statue of a stocky bearded fellow. The ceilings stretch high, high above us, and I become entranced by them, staring upward while I walk.
This is a mistake, because my boot hits something hard, and I trip forward into a short flight of stone stairs leading upward. My knees hit first, and then my arms, and I swear sharply under my breath at the sudden pain that shoots into my broken arm thanks to the impact.
Laughter erupts from the top of the stairs, and I whip my head toward its source.
"Ought to watch yer step, Lassie," a gruff, growly voice chuckles. It came from a very stout, short man with a red beard that reaches past his belly. Beside him is another equal in height, only this guy has pitch black, wiry hair and greyish skin. They can't be more than four feet tall, I'll bet. The first one reminds me of that dwarf from the Lord of the Rings movies, the grumpy one with the axe. He actually does have an axe. Both of them do. They're dressed in matching armor, like guards or something.
I stand slowly and nurse my arm in its sling. It's throbbing like hell right now, and with every throb the pain grows stronger. I want another one of those healing cordials, but I don't want to ask for one right now, because Mister High-And-Mighty here will scold me for not paying attention. But if I wait long enough, he won't relate it to the fall. Probably.
Fyr has already scaled the stairs and is digging through his backpack for something. I'm silent as I return to his side, and he glances sideways at me and then shoves something into my good hand. It's my purse.
"You've had this with you the whole time?" I gush, feeling relief and a sense of familiar comfort rushing through me as I open it up with one-handed difficulty and see all of my belongings still inside. I thought I'd forgotten it back with that ginger-headed linguist magician.
"Thought you knew," he continues rifling through his bag. "Produce your identification. We'll need it to enter the city and to travel between major hubs." I see him find what he's looking for and give it to the short guards. It looks like a small paper scroll, which he stores in a worn leather casing. He looks at me again for half a second. "Your arm hurting? Looked as if you struck it fairly hard with that fall."
I freeze, weighing my options on how to respond, and decide that if there's any chance he'll give me a cordial, I'll sacrifice my pride.
"Yes, I landed on it."
"I'll give you a potion once we're inside." Then he points at my purse impatiently, "Identification, Ava." And he actually snaps his finger once. I want to bite it off.
"Patience, asshole, I'm one-handed," I grumble under my breath, knowing he'll hear me, and pull my driver's license out of my wallet. I pass it down to the redheaded man. It's nothing like what Fyr gave them, but maybe it will work.
It doesn't work.
"What in Muradin's beard did ye' just hand me?" the dwarf peers at it, squinting and scrunching up his already somewhat-scrunched face, and then he turns it over. "Wha's this made of?" He tries to bend the plastic a little too far, and I cringe.
The other guy, interested, leans in and tilts his head. Then he looks at me, and back at it. "That's her face on it clear as day, but tinier than me' thumbnail. An' this lettering here? Never seen a thing like it."
Even Fyr appears interested, as his eyes linger on it for a few seconds, but he doesn't say anything or make any other move to look at it closer.
The first dwarf shoves it back at me. "Fancy as it is, this ain't valid for identification, Lass. Yer real passport papers, please?"
"I don't have any papers," I say slowly and take the ID back. "And I don't have a passport on me."
Fyr swipes the ID from my hand and inspects it curiously, and he looks at me with disbelief. "You're from Elwynn. You must have traveled into the city at some point. You should know how this works."
"Hold on, I'm not from Elwynn," I retort quickly with a panicked look. That's what he thinks?
"You told me you were," his expression begins to mirror mine, but with less panic and more confusion and frustration.
"I never said that! I've told you countless times that I'm from Earth, but you wouldn't fucking listen to me!"
Fyr's hand clenches tightly around my ID. I think he forgot he has it in his hand. When he talks, his voice is low, slow and restrained. "I asked if you were from a place with only humans," he pauses for effect, staring at me, "which is Elwynn, and you said yes."
"Not to the Elwynn part, you never said that!" My voice rises. "I'm not from your world, Fyr! I am not from..." I take a moment to remember what he'd called this place last night, "From Azeroth! I thought you understood!"
His eyes widen. Something in his brain finally clicked, and his stare darts between my eyes in surprise.
The darker-complected guard interrupts us. "Listen, if ye' want to sort out yer dilemma and get a temporary passport, I'll escort you to the bureau. Elsewise, I'll only ask once for ye' both to take this racket outside. Ye' can cool yer heads off in the snow." That last part was grumbled, and I'm pretty sure I saw an eye-roll.
"Just take us to the office," Fyr holds up his hand. "Either way, we have to at least enter the city."
The guard nods and turns around. "Follow me."
In the split second before he starts after the guard, Fyr clenches his jaw and look down at me again. That momentary look on his face was one of uneasiness, and that makes me uneasy, too. He was taking me to the wrong place. He doesn't know how to take me home, does he?
So, this 'bureau' we're in is seriously nothing more than a poorly-lit, dusty room packed with people that reminds me of a DMV or a courthouse. We even have to take a number and sit in a cramped space for what has to be an hour, surrounded by all sorts of people and creatures I never want to see again. Fyr and I don't talk, and for the most part, I keep my eyes on my lap. The less I see here, the saner I'll stay. I'm pretty sure there's a werewolf or something sitting next to me, but I don't allow myself to confirm.
When we are finally called to the front desk, Fyr tells the blonde dwarf woman there what we need, and she says that they require at least one form of identification for a temp passport.
This upsets Fyr, who explains to her that I have literally nothing. But she says something to the equivalent of 'tough luck' and says that I need to head back to my home city and get a copy of the archived census and ID papers in order to get a passport.
Which puts us right back to square one.
Seriously, for a fantasy-like world half-filled with Tolkien impersonations and fairy tales, this place still has its share of familiar bullshit office policies. At least it's helping me feel more at-home. People are people, everywhere you go.
Fyr, though, gets legitimately upset. He looks like he did the night I met him, all heated and frowning, with that glint of anger in his eye.
"If you turn us out, she has no way of getting home," he accuses, and leans one big fist against the counter in front of us. "You're telling me that we cannot enter this city just because you can't write up a shitty little piece of paper in what would probably take two minutes?" His voice has risen now from when he was speaking earlier, and a few people around us stare in our direction. I guess an angry, gigantic purple man interests anyone, not just outlanders like myself.
"I can'nae give ye' a passport just because ye' talk louder," she snorts and waves him aside. "And I ne'er said that you couldn't enter the city, just yer lass, until she's armed with the proper identification, understand? In the meantime, we have an inn here dedicated to transient travelers where she can stay until you figure something out. Now move aside and let me continue on with my work."
Fyr doesn't budge, just glares.
The dwarf glares back at him, her lips forming a flat line. "Now ye' listen here, ye' bloody oaf. Ye' can't intimidate me just with yer posture. No identification, no passport. I won't risk me job for a ramshackle pair of shifty travelers."
He leans harder against the counter, now putting most of his weight onto his elbow, and he takes a different, less-imposing approach. "Look, I waited an hour. Give me two minutes. Write the damn passport. Make an exception." He glances at me and nods his head toward me. "I mean, look at her. She's harmless."
I narrow my eyes, but I'm smart enough not to argue with him, even though I am pretty sure I should feel a little insulted by the way he said it.
She shrugs. "I need identif-"
I butt into the conversation. "What kinds of identification do you accept?"
"Official Alliance papers only."
"Do you take bribes?" I grumble under my breath.
"Ye' got anything I want?" she responds, to my surprise. She's quieted her voice. She's serious.
Hopeful, I give her an anticipatory look, and speak quietly as well. "I mean, maybe. I don't have money on me, but I have some stuff." I pull out my purse.
"Unless you've a pair of fancy fur boots in there with therapeutic soles, save yer time," she shakes her head. "Gold? That, I'll consider."
I look to Fyr. He takes a second, and then realizes we've both turned to him and are waiting on him to say something. He shakes his head hard.
"No," he refuses sharply. He says the word loudly enough that again, a few people stare our way. One of them is hooded, seated, and steals my attention for a good three seconds (which is a lot longer than one might think), and then I snap back to the stubborn elf beside me.
"What other choice do we have?" I plead.
Fyr sends the dwarf a snide sneer. "How about you write up that identification, or I'll report you for attempting bribes from customers?"
I groan inwardly as all my hard work swirls down the drain, and the dwarf's expression flips to an extreme cold.
"I've had enough of you, now, elf. You've missed yer chance; now, get the hell out."
"Wait, please," I plead. "I'm begging you. And I don't beg, so please know this is a big deal."
Toward me, she's not quite so angry, but still resigned. "I'm sorry, lassie, but-" she pauses, a thoughtful, intrigued look crossing over her features. "Wait a moment. I may be able to help ye' out. It's a bit of a round-about way, and you may hate it, but it's an option. Official licenses, both professional and marital, are accepted as proof of self. If you can supply any of those, I can make you a temporary identification paper. And with that, I can give ye' a passport."
"I don't have either of those types of licenses," I say slowly.
"But I can give ye' the latter. We do provide marriage licenses here. Ye' supply me with a couple gold, I'll disregard any need for a witness and you can have yer license. What do you say, you two ready to take the next step?"
I give her a look of pure confusion at the same time as Fyr interrupts.
"No. Nope, no. No. I don't care how badly we need a passport, that's not happening."
"Wait, what?" I blink a few times, and now it's my turn to raise my volume, garnering more attention. I see the hooded guy hasn't stopped staring. "You mean if I want identification, I need to marry him? What kind of fucked up-"
"It's not happening, so it doesn't matter," Fyr plants his gigantic hand on my shoulder, and he yanks me away from the counter before the woman can even try to explain her case any further. He drags me to the other end of the room, so we have some space.
He runs his big hand through his thick hair in rampant thought.
"I'm, uh, going to head into the city and try to find us a shady mage, one who'll port and won't ask questions. Just...wait here. There's an inn attached to this place, like she said. Shouldn't cost more than half a silver to rent a bed, if it gets late, but just in case-" He withdraws two silver coins, and puts them in my good hand. "Extras for food. I'll be back within twenty-four hours, regardless of whether I find a mage or not."
I'm flustered that he's leaving me alone here in a place full of creatures and unfamiliar faces for an entire day, but I grit my teeth and nod curtly, not letting my nervousness surface. I can handle myself. Just treat it like someplace at home. Easy.
Still, though, his eyes dart between mine like he's reading me, and then somewhat awkwardly, he reaches out and pats my shoulder. "Everything is going to be okay. Stay put."
Then he turns and leaves in a matter of seconds, parting the room as he walks through due to his size. Grimacing, I slump down into a bench beside me, sliding as far into it as I can and trying to appear smaller and unnoticeable by the people around me.
I'm not very good at it, because the hooded man, the one who had stared at us when Fyr and I were at the counter, approaches me directly, plants himself into the seat beside me, and drops his hood to his shoulders. Out pops a full head of rich, shaggy curls, black in this light but nowhere near as black as my own hair, which run wildly around his face and almost to his shoulders. He has a youthful, tanned face, and large hazel green eyes surrounded by dark, thick lashes. My stomach flip-flops, and my eyes widen. God, he's hot. Plus, he's human.
He looks me square in the face, and I barely even breathe when he smiles. His lips are thin and delicate and his mouth is wide, and when he grins, dimples form on his cheeks. He has good teeth, too. A lot of people I've seen in this world can't say the same.
I'm so overwhelmed by his appearance that I forget to keep my expression flat. I'm pretty sure my eyes are bugging, and I'm so disgruntled that my chin is receding into my neck as I stare at him sideways. Not an attractive look, obviously.
"Hey, Gorgeous. I overheard your predicament," he says in a voice equally as alluring, and I take a few beats to compose myself. He's sitting too closely.
"It's a small room. Not hard to do," I grumble and look forward, so he's only visible in my peripheral. He wants something.
"Give credit where it's due; your tall friend has quite an emphatic timbre," he laughs through his nose effortlessly, and he leans forward til his elbows rest on his knees, so that he can get a better look of my face (or maybe just to make me look at him again), and peers sideways at me. "Trying to reach Stormwind?"
"Not anymore. Apparently I'm stuck here." I stare ahead.
"So, what are you still doing here?"
"Waiting on my traveling partner."
"Why?"
"What do you mean, 'why'?" I look at him again. He has this impish look on his face that shows he's obviously trying to frustrate me. What the hell? I don't even know this guy. Do I just have one of those faces? I'm liking him less and less from when he sat down beside me.
"You said you're stuck, which means you aren't traveling. Doesn't this negate your need for a 'traveling partner'? Why not just leave?"
"What do you care?"
"Well," he tilts his head, eyes not wavering from mine. I'm pretty sure he hasn't blinked yet. It's kind of creepy. "Unless you plan on sitting on this bench for eternity, you'll need a place to stay, and in order to get one of those, you need money. You following?"
"I already have that taken care of." I show him the two silver coins in my hand that I've held a death grip on since they came into my possession.
He looks at them thoughtfully, and his green eyes dart back up to mine. "Fine, then. New proposition: I can get you what you want."
I wait for him to keep speaking. He takes the cue.
"If I help you secure your identification papers, will you do something for me in repayment?"
"How would you manage that?"
"Simple," he shrugs, "We marry."
I let out a sputtering laugh unintentionally. "Fuck off."
"I'm serious," he laughs, leaning closer to me as if about to reveal a secret. Fuck. He's even hotter up close. I can't catch a break. "Sure, your elf toy chickened out, but if you want it as badly as I think you do, you'll do it. I'll even put in enough money that our clerk won't afford to decline."
"No." I scoot away from him as well as I can, but I only have about an inch of room as it is. Our legs are still touching on the seat, and it's distracting.
"It'll only take as long as filling out the license," he coaxes.
"What kind of marriage doesn't use an ordained official?" I scoff.
"You know there are marriage rituals different than those of humans, right?" he snickers at me, like I just asked the stupidest question. "This is just something to help consolidate them to public records."
For the first time, I decide to genuinely think about it. I'm not even from here. What does it matter if I sign a stupid license or not, if I'll be leaving eventually? Clearly this guy only wants it for a trade. He's not being weird about it, at least. Am I desperate enough to marry this guy whose name I don't even know, just to get the privileges I need to travel?
Well, what if it's my only way of getting home, one way or another?
As if reading my mind, the handsome, somewhat irritating man folds his hands together and relaxes back in his seat. "I'm offering you a job. You're one of the only ones here who looks desperate enough to do it."
"What kind of job?" I can't believe I just asked him that. Did I just accept his weird proposal?
He leans in close to me again. "All I need is a distraction long enough for me to..." he hesitates. "Well, I don't need to delve into specifics. Distract the two clerks at the counter for me once we've gotten your identification and passport. That's all I want. Thirty seconds, even."
"Distract them? How?"
"Doesn't matter. Just keep their attention on you. Sixty seconds is all I ask. Do we have a deal?"
I stare at him, contemplating hard. This guy is trouble. I know he's trouble. I know he's probably a huge mistake. But what if he isn't? What if there's no other way? I help him, he helps me. Honestly, this isn't the worst or weirdest thing I've ever done.
"We have a deal," I give him my hand to shake.
I see clear excitement spark in his eyes, and a corner of his mouth tugs upward. "Perfect. The name's James Warden, by the way. I do not know your surname, Ava."
"Warner."
"Pleasure."
He stands, shakes my hand with his gloved one, and uses the handshake to pull me up as well. I note that he's about five inches taller than me, covered in fitted, dark clothing and leather armor.
We head to the dwarf lady from before, without taking a number or getting in line. Even though we do butt in front of someone else, the clerk doesn't care, and she looks at me with one raised brow.
"Back fer more?" she asks curiously. I hear the guy we cut in front of complaining behind me, and I try to block him out.
"I uh," I clear my throat. "About that m-marriage thing?"
James smiles smoothly, a smile I can tell he's used to charm the pants off of anybody and everybody he wants. "Ava and I would like to fill out a license, followed by a substitute identification paper for her, and a passport."
"And who're you?" she asks him. She's not at all rude, though. I think she likes him. Obviously, with his face like that.
He dips his head and quietly slides a pair of shiny, golden coins across the counter, "A helping hand." He winks at her. He knows, just as well as she, that this is a scam. She was the one to come up with it in the first place, for goodness' sake. She doesn't actually care who he is.
Taking the coins, she gains a triumphant smile. "Give me one moment," she requests, leaving her seat and digging into a nearby filing drawer. She pulls out a small, off-white scroll of thick parchment and unrolls it before us. "This won't take long. All I need is yer names, dates of birth, date of marriage, and affiliations. I won't ask for yer papers or a witness, thanks to the money." Saying that last part quietly, she dips a quill and hands it to James.
He begins scrawling everything into the parchment, so much so that I realize he's filling literally everything out, including information on me that he can't possibly know. But, I realize, I don't care. I really don't care. As long as it lets me into the city, it could say I'm a disease-riddled cow.
"Sign here," James points to a line at the bottom left of the paper, finally. I sign it without question, and horribly so. I've never used a quill, and it takes me far too long to just get the ink to flow right. The signature is entirely illegible. James laughs at my struggle, signs his name perfectly, and hands it to the dwarf.
She takes it, reads it, and nods. "All right. Let me archive a permanent copy of this, and I'll be back with yer other papers shortly."
"It's that easy?" I glance at James. He's leaning an elbow on the counter nonchalantly, and he gives me a suave smile.
"It's that easy."
"Well, thanks," I blink a few times. "Hey, what all did you write on there about me?"
"Well, I said we are James and Ava Warden, you're twenty-three years old, and that we got married in late August on my uncle's farm."
I actually am twenty-three; I'm surprised he guessed right. I wonder how old he is.
"And how much of that holds any truth to it at all?"
"None of it." He sounds smug.
"Not even your last name?" I mean it to be a joke.
"Reid, actually."
"Of course," I roll my eyes. Married a guy and I didn't even know his name. My mother would be so ashamed.
The dwarf returns with my papers and has us fill out everything necessary. She plants a stamped seal on both, rolls them up, and places them in a brand new small container like the one Fyr had.
James takes it and stuffs it in my purse that I have looped over my broken arm, so that I won't have to worry about it.
"Ready to perform your half?" He leans in and whispers in my ear.
"Um, yeah, I can do this," I accidentally pep myself out loud. He smirks and pats me on the back.
"Yes, you can. Make it good, Love." He still whispers, and with that he walks over to the side of the room, pulls his hood over his head, and calmly waits for me to make my move.
I'm still standing in the way of the guy we cut off. He's been pestering us this entire time to move, and I turn my head sideways and glance at him in my peripheral. He's pretty average-looking. Human, mid-thirties, kind of short in height. He looks very impatient, and as he reaches a hand out to tap my arm for the fourth time in the past few minutes, I seize the opportunity.
I grab his hand before it touches me and start shouting my freaking head off.
"LOOK WHAT I FOUND IN MY POCKET!" I'm surprised at my own volume, but I keep going, not letting go of the guy's hand even though he tries to yank it away in shock.
"THIEF!" I screech, repeatedly. Everybody in the entire room is staring at me. At least I'm doing it right. In that split-second of pause, the figure I've been watching that is James somehow flickers completely out of sight. He vanishes. All I see is a quick, fleeting shadow of him, and then nothing. He can turn invisible?
"I didn't-" the poor guy argues frantically, but I cut him off once I shake myself of the shock at what I just saw.
"AND IN MY ASS POCKET, NO LESS! PERVERT! THIEF! GUARDS! POLICE!"
At least four people advance to my rescue, but I keep screaming my head off about how my offender must have thought that he could get away with it, but not with me, Buster, and how horrible he is to steal from an injured woman, and how I'm going to not only have him arrested but everyone who saw it happening that didn't intervene, and I then point straight at both clerks at the counter.
"And YOU!" I accuse, "You saw the whole thing happen and didn't warn me?"
"He was just makin' to scoot yeh aside because ye' cut in line-" the dwarf who'd given me my papers tries to explain.
"Oh, sure!" I shout back, still not having released the man's wrist, "So he could rob me!"
"I don't see anything in your pockets!" the guy tries to pull his hand away again, failing.
"BECAUSE YOU PROBABLY STOLE EVERYTHING! SOMEONE ARREST HIM!" I screech, right as a hand nudges my shoulder. I glance over. It's James. He looks...happy, I guess. He's removed his hood. Apparently he got what he wanted.
"Now, Ava," James starts out in a tone so pretentiously patronizing that I have to bite the inside of my cheek not to laugh, "let the nice man go. He didn't mean any harm."
Everyone around us is staring.
"But he-!" I play into the act.
"I saw what happened. He wasn't stealing, Love. Come on, let's go somewhere we can calm down."
I release the bewildered man's hand, and he stumbles a good five feet away from us, holding his wrist. I pretend to be just as confused now, playing up the crazy act as James loops an arm around me and escorts me out of the room and into what I've been told is the adjacent inn. I'm sure everyone's viewing him as a saint right now, saving them from the psycho bitch. That strikes me funny, and I start giggling to myself.
The buzz of conversation picks up behind us as we leave, and I continue giggling after we head through two sets of heavy wooden doors and enter a very warm room with a roaring fire at one end.
James chuckles, turning toward me. "Well done, Ava!" his laugh is attractive, especially since he's praising me. "You're a better partner in crime than any can ask for."
"Oh, I'm a criminal now, am I?" I let him lead us to a small table near a stone wall by the hearth. The room has low wooden rafters and is lit only with gas lanterns on each table and the fire at the one wall. There's a bar on the other side, manned by one guy and occupied by three people. And at the end where we came in, there's a stairway leading upward, probably for overnight rentals.
James nods. "First you bribed a government officer, then you aided in stealing from one. I'd say you fit the persona well now."
"Stealing from one? What'd you steal?"
I guess my question is relaxed enough that he feels comfortable to answer. After all, what would I do, report us both?
"Warrant for my arrest," he says, then pauses as a dwarven serving girl appears at our table and offers tankards of dark, dry stout. James lifts his brows at me, asking wordlessly if I want any.
"If you're paying," I shrug, and he smirks and takes two steins, sliding one to me across the wooden table, where it spills a few drops but nothing significant. He places some copper coins on the girl's drink platter, and she saunters away.
"Thank you," I take the sturdy handle of my drink.
"Aye." James holds his up, "Cheers to teamwork."
I clank mine against his, and we both drink up. This stuff is strong, too, maybe even stronger than what I had earlier with Fyr in that first bar. It's definitely darker, velvety, and bittersweet. It's like burnt, smooth, bitter cocoa that packs a punch. It's good. Really good. I've never had anything this rich.
I set it down. "Wow, that's fucking amazing," I say mostly to myself. I drink more of it; it tastes good enough that I could drink the whole thing in one try, if I wanted to.
"Dwarven stout, in its birthplace. Nothing like it anywhere in the world."
I tilt my head and stare at him. "So, as you were saying, about an arrest warrant..."
James leans against the back of his seat, relaxing, and runs his long fingers through his curls. "Yeah. I've been doing this criminal thing a little longer than you."
"What's the warrant for? You didn't kill anyone, did you?" I'm surprised at my own lax attitude in the question.
"Nah, not my style. Forgeries, stealing, that's more me."
"What kind of forgeries?" I lean forward, nursing my drink as I stare at him. Part of me does have a problem with liars and criminals. But the other part of me, the aiding and abetting part, is fascinated and impressed at the skill that takes.
"Bank vouchers, coin production, identification papers and passports, the usual."
"You make counterfeit money?"
"Well, the warrant is out because I stole coin face molds. Then I got caught and jailed. That happened about a month ago. Of course, I escaped, or else I wouldn't be here now. But they took my name, and they sent warrants off to every Alliance bureau in the Eastern Kingdoms. I'm stealing and destroying the warrant copies now. They send out watchlist updates weekly; once I remove my name from the pool, I'll have it back to myself. Traveling under alias gets old."
"How many warrants have you taken back now?"
"With the one you just helped me steal, that brings me to a grand total of one."
"Oh, jeez," I roll my eyes. He tilts his head slightly at that, but doesn't say anything. I guess 'jeez' isn't a normal saying here.
"I did steal my original papers back from my captors last month, so they don't have that saved. Just the warrants they sent out. I already solved the hard part."
"Well, good for you," I smirk, and drink more. I'm trying to pace myself this time around, but I'm already finishing off my first drink. It tastes too damn good. I already got drunk once today; it could happen easier the second time around. This is so unlike me, to get drunk, but it's not beneath me.
James nods. "I may have also taken their stamps, since your distraction worked so well. And this," he holds up a small, palm-sized velvet cinched sack that jingles with coins.
"Wow, okay. You sure they won't come looking for you?"
"Why would they come after me? I'm their savior," he grins and winks.
I relent and laugh. I take a drink, but I'm not entirely sure I should let my guard down with this James. He's freely admitted he's a thief. I take my two silver and shove them deep in my pocket.
My drink is refreshed by the serving girl before it's totally gone. I want to give her a big tip, but all I have are silver coins and I think those are worth a lot more than copper.
James and I both take healthy drinks of our stout, reaching a point of silence. He studies me, his eyes stuck on mine, slightly narrowed.
"Where are you from?" he sets down his stein.
I can feel my first pint seeping into my nerves, making me feel relaxed. I give a wry laugh. "You want the full answer?"
"If it's the truth, then surely. Time is no issue here." He leans back, like he's settling in to listen.
So, I tell him. I tell him my whole story. From the bike to the lightning to the bandits, to the teleporting and the cows and aliens. The only thing I leave out is the creepy dream I had about Fyr.
By the end, James is leaning with both elbows on the table, his thick, symmetrical brows arched in intrigue. "So, you're telling me you've never heard of anything here? Nothing at all? No elves, magic, tauren, nothing?"
I nod my head, and take a deep gulp - or three - of stout to refresh the buzz I feel in my lips and fingertips.
"Amazing," he has a subtle smile taking root in the corners of his lips. He interrupts my staring by gulping down the rest of his drink and requesting another for both of us.
He returns his attention to me. "I've never heard of a thing like that. Your world must be so bland."
"It's not bland," I argue. "It's just consistent. And it's my home."
"Of course," he backs off. "I just can't imagine a world without everything that I call way-of-life. You say your technology there is more advanced, and it may be, but here we have magic. Sort of evens it out." He shrugs. "Comes down to preference."
"Mm," I hum and nod.
Another break in conversation hits then, where we're just sitting there looking at each other. He's too pretty for me to stare at; I'm entirely sure that if I look at him for too long, I'll feel inadequate.
I feel the urge to look at a smartphone to break the tension here, if only it worked. I feel uncomfortable, but he looks so at ease. It's unfair.
As soon as the new drinks arrive, I throw my caution to the wind and drink deeply, hoping it will calm my nerves.
When he sees me go to town on my drink, James tries to keep up, copying me and tilting the cup to his lips. He drinks as long as I do, and when I set mine down, he does. I've downed nearly the whole pint, and my stomach feels so full. I already feel the ties in my mind breaking, all of me becoming looser and open. This is much better. I can't feel my lips.
Now that I'm drunk, I can comfortably stare at him. And I do. And he stares back. He has such pretty, long eyelashes. They're so thick it looks like he's wearing eyeliner. And did I mention he's human? He's already winning in both of my worlds; I don't feel weird being so attracted to him.
"You're staring at me," he murmurs.
"You're easy to stare at," I shrug. "I might be crushing pretty hard."
"Indeed?" he smirks lopsidedly and points between us. "Wanna consummate this thing?"
I bust into snorting laughter, and he does too, the two of us melting into stupid giggles over our drinks.
"That is the most unique pick-up line I've ever received," I laugh.
"I've given weirder."
"They ever work?"
"Every time," he winks at me. His wink is slow, and it finishes as a regular blink. He's as drunk as I am. That makes me feel better.
"Slut," I grunt, and he just grins with no argument. I reach into my pocket and pull out the two silver coins. "I need to buy a room."
"One more before we call it a night?" James coaxes, referring to our drinks. "I haven't had an evening like this in some time. It's nice."
I think about it. I haven't either, to be honest. This really has been nice. After the stress of the past forty-eight hours, this feels like a vacation, thanks to the guy sitting in front of me. He has been so helpful.
Seems I just said literally all of those thoughts out loud, because he responds to them.
"Anything for a damsel in need," he smiles so charmingly that I want to smack him for being so pretty. He orders two half-pints, which arrive soon enough. We clink our glasses together without planning it and down them easily.
Now I feel so full that I know I couldn't drink more if I tried. I know I'm going to be hungover. I stand from my seat, and the room spins. Somehow I stay balanced, despite how lightheaded I feel. What I just consumed is going to hit me in about five minutes, and I am not going to remember anything from this point on. I need to buy a room, like, now.
James loops a hand around my unbroken arm to either steady me or himself, I'm not sure which, and we walk to the bar. He takes one of the silvers I've kept in my pocket and gives it to the guy there, who gives me an old-fashioned skeleton key.
Before we turn around, I remember something. I turn to the stocky bartender again. "Hey," I call out, and he comes back.
"Yes?"
"Can I leave a message with you for someone?"
He nods.
"This guy, big purple elf, his name's Fyr. He's coming back at some point tonight, or tomorrow morning, or something. If he comes here looking for me, tell him what room I'm staying in please? My name's Ava."
"Sure thing, Lassie. Now you two go find yourselves a bed and sleep yer drink off." He says all this while scribbling a note onto a rough piece of parchment, which he impales on the hook that'd held my key.
We walk away, and I can feel myself becoming so drunk that my brain is humming in a constant drone.
Somehow we make it up the uneven, steep stairs, and at that point, James starts laughing pretty hard.
"Ava, please, shut up."
"Mmm-I'm not-" I start to talk, and then I notice that I was humming out loud. It wasn't my brain. "Sorry."
He's still laughing when we find my door. He gives me the key.
"Think you can figure it out from here?" he asks, still laughing. I nod.
He pats me on the shoulder. "Good luck, Love. I had a lovely time. Hope you find your way home. I'd give suggestions, if I weren't so drunk."
Then he turns to go, as I'm trying to fit the key in the hole.
"Jam-," I start to say his name, and I realize I'm about to slur it, so I say it again. "James," I request, proud at how crisp it was the second time around.
"Yes," he turns. He hasn't made it more than two feet.
"You're a very attractive man."
"And you're a very attractive woman."
"And I would like to kiss you now, if you'll let me," I lean on my still-locked door, twirling the key in my fingers. I've given up on the lock.
"We're not going to remember it in the morning," he says as he steps in toward me.
I reach out and tug him in by his arm, until he's only a breath away. "We'll feel it now. That a yes or a no?"
He presses into me, and his smile melts against mine. I deepen the kiss and unintentionally bite his lower lip, but he does it back, and I give a hum of enjoyment. I pull away, reluctantly.
"Can you give a shot at the lock? I can't open it for the life of me."
"You've come to the right rogue," he takes the key from my hand and, after a few failed attempts, fits it properly and turns. The door gives way behind us, and because I'm leaning on it, I nearly fall backward on my ass, stumbling a few hard steps into the tiny, dark room. James erupts in a fit of laughter, and I join in, grabbing his shirt and yanking him in to join me.
Flip.
Flip.
Flip.
Every time I hear the sound of paper pages turning, I wake just a tiny bit more.
Flip.
Flip.
"Hmmph."
What?
Paper isn't a very alarming sound to wake up to. A man's voice, however, can be incredibly alarming when you're not used to waking to one.
My eyes fly open, and I look over my shoulder at the direction of the grunt. My vision is blurred and groggy, but I make out the general form: tall, lean, purple. Fyr. It looks like he's going through a collection of papers. Maybe they're my identification papers. Maybe they're James's.
"Fyr?" my own voice is is throaty and tired. I rub my eyes. "What are you-GAH!" I startle when the blankets beside me move, and I nearly jump out of bed entirely when I see there's a person beside me sleeping. Through my adrenaline, I feel that static-y feeling in my skin and in the blankets. It's the same feeling I got out in that storm yesterday.
I try to calm myself as I stare at the man beside me. It's the guy from yesterday. James. He's sleeping all blissful and sweet, his perfect face covered partially by his dark curls. Also he's shirtless.
I'm shirtless, too. I've got my bra on, but I'm so exposed. My broken arm is out of its sling, and it is killing me. It doesn't take an expert to know what happened.
"What in the fuck-?" I hiss, bewildered, trying to make sense of my surroundings as I yank the woolen blanket up over my chest and look at Fyr.
He glances at me from where he'd been poring over the papers. His glowing eyes seem calm, but the way he looks at me almost seems cold.
"Morning," he greets in his deep, smooth voice. "Eloquent as ever, Ava."
"Fyr, what're you-" I start to ask questions, but my voice wakes James, who inhales deeply and flutters his eyes open. He looks at me first, then at Fyr across the room, and squints his eyes, leaning up onto his elbows. His hair-lined stomach flexes attractively when he does it. The blanket rests conveniently just under his belly button, and I realize my number one question right now is whether or not he's wearing anything beneath it.
"Now, I unfortunately don't remember everything, but I do know you weren't here with us last night," he comments to Fyr in a joking manner. "Would've made for an entirely different experience."
"Hmm. James Reid. Nice to finally put a face to the name on this list," Fyr hums calmly, waving a set of papers that I'm assuming are James's identification. He leans against the frame of the closed door behind him, blocking it. "James, I'm bounty hunter Aerefyr Darkeye, and you're under arrest."