Yarrow shook her head and spun on her stool until she rested against the bar with both elbows. She scanned the room almost lazily. "No. I reminded Xavier of how much he owes me. Nothing amazing about that...likely I could have gotten the rooms free without causing a scene, or throwing about threats. Now," she added, deciding it was safe enough to close her eyes for a moment, "now what you did, Healer Ghia...standing up like that to a complete stranger, in a town where you don't know anyone, and have no sword to protect yourself...that was impressive." She turned and opened her eyes, regarding the girl. "I've misjudged you, for which I apologise."
Ghia shrugged. "Accepted. It happens -- just part of being human." Her face clouded then. With what, Yarrow didn't know.
Wishing to pick the conversation back up, she nodded in the direction of the stairs. "I hope you don't mind bunking down with me tonight. It seemed the best arrangement."
Ghia waved her hand. "Not a problem. I'm sure Jules will be happy to have his bed to himself tonight," she added unthinkingly; then clapped a hand over her mouth and blushed deeply.
"Oh?" Yarrow said, arching an eyebrow, and wondering anew just how close the two healers were.
"Uh, well, what I meant was, um...." Ghia blustered, wringing her hands together. At that moment Jules returned from upstairs, and Ghia blushed even deeper, if possible. "Jules!" she said, latching onto the distraction he provided. "Perfect! I'm going to go now and, um, check that our bags are...okay. Yes. Okay. Um. Bye!" She fled up the stairs, red hair bouncing over a redder face.
Jules frowned at the healer's retreating back, and then looked at Yarrow perplexedly. "What was that about?" he asked as he sat down to his ale.
"Oh, I gather she feels she said too much." Yarrow said mildly, and paused. "About you two sleeping together," she added nonchalantly, taking a sip of her ale and watching Jules carefully.
Jules choked on his ale and started coughing, a flush similar to the one Ghia'd had building on his face. Yarrow patted him on the back and resisted laughing, for she didn't wish to have ale shoot out her nose. It burned, she knew.
When he'd finished his coughing fit, he sat back and replied. "It's...not what you think. She had trouble sleeping, so...."
"...so she crawled into your bed?" Yarrow asked dryly.
Jules cleared his throat and took a sip of ale. "Yes. Well. I offered to sing her a lullaby, and I guess it made more sense than both of us walking all the way back to the healers' barracks."
The fact that he'd slept in the regiment's barracks did not escape her, but Yarrow could only focus on one thing at that moment. "You sang her a lullaby."
He coughed again. "Yes," he said into his ale.
This was just too much. "You had Ghia -- a gorgeous, young, buxom girl -- crawl into your bed because she couldn't sleep, and you sang her a lullaby? Juno, Jules, what did you do to piss off Desirelle?" she said, and then she couldn't keep the laughter back anymore. She started guffawing loudly.
"I wondered the same myself," he said, so quietly she almost didn't hear him, and then he put all his attention on his ale.
Calming down from her laughing fit, Yarrow finished her ale and then, still convulsed with the occasional giggle, climbed the stairs to her room and a much-needed bath.
A lullaby. She shook her head.
Ghia
Once she was sure the rest of the party was otherwise occupied (mainly with bathing, she figured), Ghia took her card and her purse and stole downstairs to the bar.
For some reason, she felt weird about having her first birthday drink in front of the rest of them. She'd not told anyone it was her birthday and doubted anyone here knew. Not many people outside the hospitalis did know when her birthday was. She certainly did not want her introduction to drinking to have an audience of more experienced drinkers -- all of them officers in the military.
Besides, it might prompt Yarrow and Jules to another drinking contest and, despite the bellica's obvious influence with the innkeeper, Ghia doubted he'd appreciate what the officers were capable of while drunk. It'd be harder to smooth things over with him than it was with her aunt.
Xavier was behind the bar again, and Ghia steeled herself to face him. Curmudgeon, Yarrow'd said. She had nothing to fear from a grumpy old man.
The man regarded her sourly and she gave him a look to remind him whom she escorted. He sighed and said wearily, "What do you want, girl?"
"It's Ghia. And I'd like a drink, please," she said nicely, deciding courtesy would be better than hostility.
He gave her a glance that told her he didn't believe her legal. "You got your card?"
She held up her card and placed it, very deliberately, on the counter. He picked it up and silently mouthed the words on front, and then flipped it over. He shrugged. "Looks official. But I'll need to see that the prints match."
"Fine," said Ghia, unperturbed. Her thumbprint hadn't changed in the past day and a half.
He placed a clean piece of parchment in front of her and an inkpad. Ghia pressed her right thumb to the pad and then to the parchment, leaving an intricate design -- her own unique signature. Xavier took the parchment and spent an interminable time comparing the two pieces of paper. Ghia tried not to fidget.
Finally he shrugged again and wrote her name and birthdate on top of the parchment and filed it, and gave her card back to her. "Thank you," she said, for all that it was standard procedure.
"So what do you want?" he said, looking at her impatiently.
Ghia stopped, suddenly unsure. What did she want? Not ale -- if it tasted the same as it smelled, she was sure she'd retch. Shandygaff? No, that wasn't much better. Sweet Althea, I should have thought of this sooner. "What would you suggest?" she asked coolly.
"First time drinking? Sangria and fruit wine are popular."
She'd heard of them both, and knew they were both very sweet in comparison to other drinks. "Which one's sweeter?"
"Fruit wine, I hear." It was obvious from his demeanour that he thought little of those who liked sweet drinks.
Well, how lucky for me that I don't. "I'll have a Sangria, then."
He poured the drink and gave it to her, but when she moved to pay he waved his hand. "You kidding? Yarrow'd kill me."
She shrugged and flipped a coin into the tip jar, which he didn't protest. It probably went to the serving wenches anyway. Ghia put her purse away, grabbed her drink, and chose an out-of-the-way table. She could see the whole room from that vantage point and, although not hidden from view, not easily seen, either. Seated, she regarded her drink warily. It was a deep, red colour -- like blood, which would explain the name -- and smelled...not sweet, but not sour either. She couldn't place it. Here goes nothing, she thought, and took a cautious sip.
Goddess, that was good. Not so sweet as she'd been led to believe, which she was grateful for, but a medley of flavours ranging from bitter to sour to sweet. There was a definite kick to the taste, proving its alcohol content, but it was not strong. Very light, with a hint of oranges in the summer sun. Liquid summer.
As she sat back to enjoy her birthday drink, she wondered how long it would take for her to get buzzed. For what was one's twentieth birthday without a splitting headache in the morning?
~
Four glasses of Sangria later, Ghia still felt nothing. She could taste the alcohol, feel it warm her belly, but beyond that...nothing. No fuzzy thinking, no lassitude of the limbs, no urge to sing loudly and off-key, no belief in her amazing dancing ability, no nausea -- nothing! No symptoms at all of heavy drinking.
She sat and fumed in her corner. What was wrong with her? She should at least be tipsy by now! She'd never had anything to drink before in her life, so she'd expected to get drunk incredibly quickly. She'd watched enough of-age birthday parties at her aunt's tavern to know what to expect.
Maybe it was the sangria. Maybe I should try something stronger. Brandy? Ugh, no -- all she could think of was Aro's breath the other day. Oh, wait -- rum. She'd heard good things about ru
m. Apparently the spiced one wasn't too sour.
When the serving wench came to collect her glass Ghia ordered a spiced rum cider. The girl gave her a look that Ghia knew very well, having given it to patrons herself, but the healer ignored it. She couldn't care less about the woman's opinion of her.
Her rum arrived shortly. She grabbed it and took a gulp so quickly that she didn't notice Jules enter the taproom and stride angrily over to her table.
"Ghia!" he hissed, and she nearly choked on her rum, which had given her mouth a strange numb feeling. "Ghia, what are you doing?"
She looked at him levelly. "I'm drinking, Jules."
He sat beside her and gripped her elbow. "I can see that. I can also see you're underage -- or did you think leaving Atherton would change that?"
Angrily she extricated her arm from his grip. "No, Jules," she said clearly, removing her card and handing it to him. "I figured my birthday would."
She hadn't really wanted anyone to know, and cursed her inattentiveness. Now they'll probably spend all night trying to get the "alcohol virgin" drunk. Not that she didn't want to get drunk -- she did. Just...on my own terms.
Jules studied her card for a moment, then looked up at her. "Happy Birthday, wench. Why didn't you tell anyone?"
She shrugged, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. "Didn't seem important," she mumbled, taking a sip of her drink.
He snorted with laughter. "Selfless Ghia, forever thinking of others," he teased, and she glared at him over the edge of her cup. "So what do you want?" he said, unrepentant.
She groaned and fell back in her chair. "I want to get drunk. Or at least buzzed."
He quirked his lips in a half-smile at her, and she couldn't help but think how attractive he was when he did that. "Give it time. Takes more than one drink."
"This is my fifth, Jules."
"Your fifth rum?" he said, eyes boggling. "And you're not drunk?"
She blushed. "I had four sangrias before this. But I'm not even buzzed. It's not fair." She was whining but didn't care. It wasn't fair.
"Maybe you just have a high tolerance," he said, chuckling.
She glared at him again. "How? I've never had anything to drink before today."
"You're virtuous," he said, eyebrows raised. "But some people just naturally have higher tolerances than others -- no matter how used they are to drinking." He shrugged, but Ghia felt a bit better. Maybe it would just take a few more drinks. "Anyway, aside from inebriation, which I'm sure you'll achieve eventually, at the rate you're going, what would you like for your birthday, Healer Ghia?" His eyes focused on her intently and Ghia felt her breath catch in her throat.
You mean aside from you? She couldn't stop herself from thinking it, and she wanted to kick herself. Just. Friends. "Um," she said, hesitating. She'd not given it any thought. What do I want? "I don't know. Something...something incredibly practical and amazingly beautiful."
"Ah, the impossible gift. I should have known you'd ask for that," he said dryly.
"No, Jules," she protested, really not wanting him to spend his hard-earned money on her. "I was answering your question. I wasn't asking for it."
He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "You're still going to get it. I know exactly what you want now."
"Jules," she said, quite serious now, and his eyebrow quirked up in response. "I don't expect you to get me anything. Really."
He looked at her and grinned lazily. "Good. Then you'll be pleasantly surprised."
"Jules!" she protested, again, but he didn't respond -- just leaned back and closed his eyes.
Exasperated, Ghia finished her rum and ordered another. "Whatever you do, Medic," she muttered at him, knowing she was fighting a losing battle, "don't spend too much."
"I'll try not to," he said, but Ghia knew he was only humouring her, and she felt like kicking him. Maybe I'll just kick everything in sight.
Instead she sat back and waited for her drink. Getting drunk seemed a good alternative to violence.
And that I will do.
~
Nightfall found Ghia in the tavern still, on her twenty-first drink. She was still stone-cold sober. The only changes she'd noticed had been a slight numbing of her mouth and tongue from so much alcohol, and several trips to the privy.
At this rate I'll die from cirrhosis before I get buzzed at all, she thought angrily.
She was thoroughly pissed off with her body. How dare it stay sober on her birthday! Where did it get off, giving her these cramps again? Surreptitiously she grabbed her abdomen as the pain came and went. This is really too much. First I can't get drunk, and now this stupid cramping thing happens again. If you're not careful, body, I shall have to trade you in for a new one. Right along with my conscience, she threatened, but both parties seemed unperturbed.
Jules had left a while ago, claiming business in town, with a saucy wink at her. She knew what he meant -- he was in search of a gift. Curious, she wouldn't snoop around. The anticipation of an unknown was sometimes better than the anticipation of a known. Part of her hoped that he would give up at some point and they'd forget the whole silly mess, as she didn't want him to spend his gold, and yet another part of her was incredibly pleased the Jules cared so much for her. She tried to shut up that part of her, the silly part that flipped her hair and giggled too much. She really hated that side of herself. She much preferred sensible, calm, sometimes passionate, sometimes playful Ghia. Silly-tomboy Ghia seemed to take centre stage when Jules was around, which vexed her terribly.
Since his departure, the tavern had filled slowly but steadily, and now the room was full of people, all in various states of inebriation. Except Aro and myself, she thought, glancing across the room where the two majors sat, deep in conversation. Unless 'sober' lies somewhere on the scale of drunkenness.
It was so busy that when she finished her current drink, no servers noticed. Understanding what it was like to work in a taproom and not wanting to be a hassle, Ghia moved to stand by the bar, where she'd be more easily dealt with. When Xavier noticed her and she asked for another, he frowned.
"How many have you had, girl?"
Ignoring the diminutive this time, she shrugged. "A lot. I apparently have a very high tolerance," she added grumpily.
He shook his head in bewilderment. "This is your last one -- last thing I need in this tavern is you dying from too much."
She didn't respond. If this drink didn't do the trick, she gave up. There was no point in drinking Xavier into bankruptcy just to get a little buzzed. She could try again at her aunt's tavern.
Suddenly a large form jostled her and huge hands pawed at her clumsily. "Charity!" belched her attacker in her ear, and the sour smell of ale wafted over her. "Been a long time, girl," he slurred, and moved in to kiss her.
Ghia slipped out of his grasp and skirted just out of reach. "I think you have me confused with someone else," she said coldly.
"Now doan be like that, wench -- I know you missed me," he said, lumbering after her, and she backed up nervously.
Another man came up and grabbed the giant, stopping him, and looked at Ghia closely, squinting at her features. "Now, Trevor," he said placatingly to his friend, "this ain't Charity. She left for Atton what, over twenty years ago!" Trevor nodded blurrily, absorbing the information, and the second man looked at her again. "Sure do look like Charity though. 'Cept the hair," he added, and belched.
Ghia was looking for an escape route, as the men stood between her and the rest of the tavern, when Trevor lumbered towards her again. "Oo cares? She's a wench, ain't she? And if she looks like Charity maybe she's like Charity. C'mere, you, gimmee a kiss." This time his friend didn't stop him, and Ghia just narrowly escaped the bigger man's meandering paws.
She reached the other side of her corner table and realised belatedly she'd boxed herself in. "Leave me alone," she said savagely. "I'm not a wench."
"Sure you ain't," Trevor said, winking grotesquely. Ghia shuddered, and as the man lumbered around the
table she looked around desperately for a rescuer but, besides Trevor's friend, no one had noticed the small commotion in the corner of the room. After all, what was wenching in Mudflat? Very common.
She jumped onto the table and tried to scramble over, but Trevor grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. She fought against him desperately, but he pressed her against the wood with his body, and her strength was no match for his. "Leave me alone!" she yelled at him, pushing against his chest with both hands. He chuckled, sending more sour ale breath over her, and moved in closer, pursing his lips to kiss her.
Suddenly his arm disappeared as it twisted around behind him, and he grunted in pain.
"I believe the lady told you to leave her alone," said a voice laced with cold anger, and Ghia nearly cried in relief. Jules!
She kicked Trevor in the leg and scrambled out from underneath him to stand beside Jules. The CMO gave her a worried look, but had no chance to say anything else, because Trevor had regained his senses and freed himself from Jules' grasp, pushing the medic to the floor.
Ghia gasped and raced to Jules' side, but he waved her away and jumped to his feet from his back. Impressed, Ghia took a few steps back, for she could see the two males were squaring off for a fight and she had no wish to be in the middle of a dominance struggle.
"Push off, 'alf-pint! I saw 'er first; you can wait your turn."
Jules raised his eyebrows calmly as he rolled his sleeves up. "That's a dangerous policy -- how you know she's not already spoken for?" he asked, angling his body into what Ghia assumed was a fighting stance.
Trevor started laughing at Jules' suggestion, and Ghia felt offended. Not that I am spoken for, but still. Too bad I can't just fry this fecker.
"Wha, by you?" Trevor said, gesturing at Jules disbelievingly. "As if you've got wha it takes ta satisfy a woman." He laughed again.
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