The festival danced in the streets, grinding the blood of yesterday into gleeful dust. The party wasn't supposed to end up this big, but the city itself deserved a feast after yesterday. Besides, the Duchess was in a spending mood.
In the corner of a corner, in the closest seat the twins could pin him to, was Jasson. A sullen shadow which, just barely, avoided curling into a ball.
Jasson was feeling better. Of course, that was because Clara had taken to giving him long, comforting hugs. He hadn't been hugged properly since he'd been reincarnated. There was something in him that was…well, not filled. But it had stopped growling so much after the comfort.
Now she was off, dancing with those that could, and feasting in between every twirl. The nature of the night was one of noise, pervading the stones themselves. And in the corner of a corner, Jasson managed his own silence. It was a silence of a finger on glass, swiping up. And up. And up.
Doo-doot!
1%
Jasson sighed and dug out the light crystal. He'd put it off again. It was easier to charge now, faster. He'd gotten lazy.
Jasson's hands nearly shook as he willed power into his phone. He could do another fifteen and-
It stopped charging. Jasson pressed harder and found nothing but dust in his hands. The light crystal had shattered, worthless grains gumming up his charging port.
A twirling skirt blew it away as a gaggle of giggling girls invaded his silence.
He could get a new one. The Duchess would have one. Or he could find a light mage. Didn't Grog say that he was good with the stuff?
Jasson watched his phone die and kept sitting there. The world seemed to grow…quiet.
"Alright," Scott's voice said, "That's enough. If you would pardon me, ladies. I need to talk with my friend."
Jasson sensed movement as Scott built a room around them, but he didn't look up. The girl's protests grew faint as the boards slipped together. Sealing them away.
Sealing Jasson and Scott together.
Scott stepped up to the bench, towering figure of perfect physique imposing. Jasson wasn't intimidated though, despite the relatively small amount of time which they'd spent together. It was just…Scott.
Scott sat on the bench, nudging Jasson as he said, "Do you think Harriett is in here with us? She can't slip through solid walls, right?"
Jasson shook his head.
"Right," Scott said, holding out a flagon, "That also means that no one will be enforcing underage drinking here."
Jasson took the flagon and sniffed halfheartedly. Expecting some paint stripping brew. Instead a fruity aura came off. Like…apples? And something else."
"It's strong stuff," Scott said, "I was going to drink it myself, but you look like you need it more."
Jasson just looked at the drink and took a sip, then coughed. It burned!
"Is there hot pepper in this?" Jasson said.
Scott grinned and said, "So you are a bit of a teetotaler. Never had alcohol before."
Jasson grimaced and forced another swig down. He'd always thought that beer would burn like…well like something different than hot pepper. It even set his tastebuds on fire, although the sweet apple soothed it. People drunk this for fun?
No, Jasson said to himself, they drink it to get drunk.
Jasson took a large gulp. Full. Forceful. Flaming. He swayed. Drunk people swayed, right? Just about when they started to feel better?
"Was it a friend?" Scott said, "The person who died?"
Jasson shook his head, the world swimming just a bit, "I don't want to talk about it."
"Have another sip," Scott said, and Jasson reflexively did so.
"You know," Scott said, "Many people, especially from my home town, call alcohol 'liquid courage'. It suppresses inhibitions and, if you're lucky, turns you into a happy drunk. You seem like a lucky guy."
Jasson nodded, his luck stat flashing across his memory. When had he last checked that? It had to be through the roof after yesterday.
"Dockson wasn't lucky," Jasson said, giggling a bit before frowning. He was sad, right? Why did he giggle? Yet it felt good to laugh. Like a dam releasing water.
"Dockson," Scott said, "He was a friend?"
Jasson shook his head and leaned against the wooden enclosure, "He was a &*%$ annoying cop. Kept writing things down and saying I was suspicious. But he helped me out. I'm only alive because- because he looked first…"
Jasson finished the tankard. When had that happened?
Scott pried it gently out of Jasson's slackening grip and said, "That's terrible. Did he deserve to live more than you?"
Jasson hesitated and said, "I don't know. He was strong. Probably had someone he was helping, in his strange way. He seemed like that kinda guy."
Jasson looked in his hand. There was another tankard. Magical stuff, this drink.
Scott leaned forward and said, "Probably. A mother, a sister. Was he old enough for a child?"
Jasson shook his head and said, "Around my age. They…probably miss him."
Pain lanced through Jasson as he recalled his own family. Their world changing grief which turned lost moments into leaden guts. Dockson had probably left someone like that.
"He might have been supporting them," Scott said, "You should find out who they are. Give them a bit of gold. I'm sure that he would appreciate that."
Jasson nodded, the idea slotting into one corner of his soul.
Jasson said, "I think that I'll-"
A knock sounded on the shed and Clara called out, "Scott? Are you in there with Jasson?"
"Yeah," Scott stood and, with a flurry of wood shavings, a door appeared. Scott opened the door and found Clara waiting there, pensive. A distant shout declared that Scott had emerged, and a gaggle of girls started sauntering like a pretend-disinterested wave of zombies. Scott scooted through the door and turned to flee.
"Careful," Scott said, patting Clara on the shoulder, "He's been hitting the apple juice."
"What do you mean be careful?" Clara said, peering inside.
"Oh sorry," Scott smirked, "I can make a lock on the door if you don't want to be."
"Wha-" Clara whirled but Scott was already running, "YOU WERE MORE POLITE THAN THAT IN SMILL!!"
Clara huffed, flushed, and turned back inside to Jasson. Who had promptly stretched out on the bench and was mumbling his way to sleep.
"Gosh," Clara said, stepping up and closing the door, "What did he give you?"
Then, instead of carrying Jasson back to his room in the castle, Clara fished in her locker. She brought out a blanket. After a moment, Clara slung the blanket over her shoulder and lifted Jasson gently from the bench. Then she sat down herself, arranging him beside her with inhuman strength. With a final flourish, Clara spread the blanket over them both.
Clara rearranged Jasson's head on her lap, then wrapped the blanket snug around them. Then Clara leaned back, combing Jasson's hair idly as the party raged on. The rhythm of celebration, muted by growing weariness.
Clara said, "You're checking out again. And just after I'd gotten you up and going."
"Sorry," Jasson muttered, and nuzzled into what, for all intents and purposes, felt like a rather stiff and springy pillow. Something in his survival instincts kept him from reaching up and plumping it.
After a few still moments, Jasson started to snore.
"You're a lucky guy," Clara said, the night growing colder as her breath puffed in the air, "I guess I'll count my blessings for now."