WARNING: This chapter contains the consumption of Mulberry Ale, which as said before, does not have a positive effect on rabbits when too much is consumed at one time. Nothing drastic, but you've been warned.
"Quiet down!" Roared Captain Snake. Picket winced. "Let the girl speak!"
Flora held up a hand to ensure silence, and waited until the crowd hushed. Flora climbed on top of the nearest crate, pulling a shiny gold coin from her pocket. "Drinks are on us!" She bellowed. "No one goes thirsty tonight!"
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A tip to make your life easier: When being mobbed by joyous rabbits, be sure to keep your closest friends between yourself and them.
How grateful I was for Ophie, Blythe, Eliot, and Arrowhead's presence can't be put into words, but I'll say that they kept me from being completely swamped. We were carried to the nearest tavern, Sailor's Paradise Tavern And Bar, and I did my best to answer the questions being pitched at me from various directions. Blythe and Arrowhead left to buy the Ale I'd just promised, probably foolishly, to some two or three hundred people, Ophie slunk off to a corner where she began conversing quietly with Olson Adler, and Eliot sat me down at the centermost table, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and squeezing as people streamed through the tavern door, beelining for me, or the rounds of Mulberry Ale being set out on the counter.
"I'm not ready for this," I mumbled, but before Eliot could find an answer to this, a young doe, maybe ten years old, tugged my sleeve.
" 'Scuse me," She whispered. "Is it true that–that you and Eliot Sharpe killed seven've those beasts in two weeks?"
"Seven?" I scoffed, crouching down to her level and tapping her nose. "Of course not, lass. That's outrageous." I leaned a bit closer, and winked. "It was eight." The tiny doe's eyes widened, and she dashed away, giggling.
"Ya' seem like yer ready t'me," Eliot smiled.
"Kids are different. People my age, that's a whole other story."
"Yer alright with me, ain'tcha?"
"Yeah, but yer different, ya' Peanut Gallery!" I slapped him, and he smiled, leaning over and kissing my cheek before disappearing into a crowd of bucks his age, who were all wisely pretending like they'd seen nothing. "Idiot," I muttered under my breath, wishing my face wasn't so hot, and looked up to see Fay, crossing her arms and smirking.
"So, Eliot, huh?"
"What of him?" I scowled.
"Well, ya' like him, don'tcha?"
"Of course I like him, we're friends."
"So, do all yer friends kiss ya'?"
"It ain't none of yer business!" I barked a bit too loudly, and several people glanced at me before turning back to their previous conversations.
Fay held her hands up defensively. "Easy, Lass. Just havin' a bit a' fun, didn't mean anythin' by it."
"I'm sorry," I muttered, placing my head in my hands. "I'm stretched, is all it is."
"What ya' need ta' cure somethin' like that for a while is a drink," Fay shoved me playfully, handing me a flagon of Mulberry Ale from a passing barmaid's tray. "Apology accepted."
I took a deep draft from the mug of fizzing liquid, and swiped a hand across my mouth. "Can't argue there." I supposed maybe I'd just sit here with my friends for a while, and everyone would forget the reason they were getting free drinks in the first place. But alas, it wasn't so.
"Oi, Jenkins!" Warwick cried from his spot at the bar with a few more bucks and does around my age. "Come tell us how you killed that Sandskin!"
I shrugged. "Wasn' much to it."
"Aw, don't be so modest. Come over here and tell us yo' way!"
I sighed, sideling over in that direction. I guessed if I was going to be the Captain, I'd have to mingle with the hoards.
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Jo had definitely been around rambunctious people in his life. The tavern of which they were standing outside, looking in through the windows of was a much higher decibel. There were people sitting on top of and around tables, dancing circles in the tight spaces between them, making toasts to random sources, and singing shanties with the small folk band playing fiddles in the corner of the warmly lit room.
"Alright, then," Prince Smalls said. "How many of you would rather not go inside?"
Heather, Heyward, Cole, and a buck he'd never met before timidly raised hands. "Right. Jo, Emma, Lord Captain Helmer, Picket, and Heyna are coming with me. I think we'd better leave the swords behind."
Neither Picket nor Helmer looked very happy to oblige to this last addition, but they reluctantly dropped their swords onto the pile behind an empty Ale Keg. Jo noticed Helmer tucking a small dagger into the concealed front pocket of his jacket.
The scene inside of the Tavern was as confusing as it got, though the tables had been pushed back to make room for dancers now. The rabbits were a whirl of color, spinning circles in the empty space, while some others were sitting at the relocated tables and cradling flagons of Mulberry Ale. A majority of those sitting were singing heartily along with the fiddlers in the corner, verses punctuated by laughter and excited chatter. It was truly a heartwarming sight, to be honest. The Prince's party followed him to an empty table in the corner, and sat observing the Taverners for a time. After a while, a new shanty started up, and Jo found himself resisting the urge to sing along with the old tune, which the soldiers at Halfwind had taken up on many occasions.
Oh, what will we do with a drunken Sailor,
What will we do with a drunken Sailor,
What will we do with a drunken Sailor,
Early in the morn-ing!
Way, Hay, and up she rises,
Way, Hay, and up she rises,
Way, Hay, and up she rises,
Early in the morn-ing!
It had been a long time since he'd heard that song. It had been one of his father's favorites, and Jo had spent most of his childhood hearing it. It was still a favorite, even though it brought back sad memories. He smiled, and leaned across the table to where Picket was sitting next to Heyna, staring intently at the spinning crowd of dancers.
"You see her?" Jo followed Picket's gaze, but didn't see any trace of Flora Jenkins.
"Not yet," Picket replied. "But I intend to find her."