The bottom of a pewter mug clinked against the worn surface of the countertop, as Marcurio tilted his heavy head back in one, careless gulp. Squinting through the cracks between the floorboards above, he swallowed his last dregs, and the astringent burn of liquor gushed down his throat like a gout of fire. The blend of flin and sujamma was so potent that it almost tasted volatile. So much, that it might as well have been distilled alkahest. He welcomed the sting as it lingered on back of his tongue, and his breath forced its way up through his palate like a corrosive vapor. Damn, did it burn. But it was a pleasant burn, akin to the sensation of conjuring a blaze at his fingertips. How he missed the sensation. How many moons had gone by since he had last cast a spell a like that? Damn it, he needed a job.
If he wasn't losing himself in how the flavors in his breath grappled against each other into a forceful sense of harmony, he'd be more concerned. But for now, the only thing that mattered was how the deep, earthy notes of Firebrand wine blurred perfectly with the sickeningly sweet nostalgia of Cyrodillic brandy clouding his senses. Talen-Jei was a genius. That lizard was no mere bartender. He was an alchemist. And a good one, too.
"Talen, I'll take another of those… What do you call it?" He paused, trying to recall those unrelenting terrors of the ashlands that inspired his last drink. "Ah, the Cliff Racer."
"So soon after your last one?" Talen said calmly. "Might want to slow down a bit. Even the bravest of souls can barely handle a cup in one sitting."
"Then, send me to the front lines, my friend." Marcurio flashed wide grin, rocking the stool as far back as he could without falling. "I can take another one."
"If you insist," the Argonian returned a placid smile, gently placing his scaly hand over the empty mug. But, just as Talen swiftly turned to fill his order, he stopped in his tracks before he could take another step towards the back of the bar.
"Not so fast, you two," the innkeeper, Keerava, grated from behind the counter as she loudly set down a half-polished flagon. She narrowed her beady eyes at the offending freeloader before turning to her lover. "Talen, how do you know it's going to pay for its drink if it hasn't even paid for anything last week?"
"Patience, Keerava. The gold will come soon enough. Besides, the stress can't be good for that pretty face of yours," Marcurio gave her a charming look, or at least he attempted to. Keerava was a tough one to charm. How Talen did it was a mystery.
"Oh no, you can't talk your way out of this one. I've been patient for far too long. Listen, if you've got the coin, you're welcome here. Otherwise, hit the road."
"Come now, my dear. I just need a little more time, and I promise I'll pay you back two-fold what I owe," he reassured with a dismissive flick of his wrist. Then, he pointed at Talen as he shot the barkeep a knowing grin. "Three-fold, if you throw in that extra drink by tonight."
"Don't listen to him, Talen," Keerava snapped.
Talen looked like he knew better than to say another word. Marcurio just chuckled slightly, still floating in his own drunken haze. But, the next look Keerava shot him could sober up even the most wasted of Nords.
"Nice try, but it's not going to work this time. You got 'til the end of the week to pay up, or you're spending the night with the skeevers down at the Ratway!"
"End of the week?" He blinked twice. "It's Fredas."
Was she serious?
"Exactly."
She was.
"Now, off you go. I've got paying customers to take care of," Keerava said, turning away before he could make another retort.
Maybe if he hadn't drank away his better judgement in that moment, he would've come up with another option. But, he had nothing. Damn it.
"Oh, alright," he rolled his eyes, retreating back to his usual bench at the corner by the entrance. Maybe, if he got lucky—and that was a big 'if'—his next job would come walking right through that door.