Day-Lynx (EDITING)

Seven is Not A Lucky Number

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When the man behind the counter reveals himself in a clearer light, a blurry fog clouds Rozell's mind. His face isn't that unfamiliar to him; maybe he is from Mountkirk Village? Lots of villagers grow thin stubble as he does. And almost every man cuts their hair to the point it nearly gets bald.

But he doesn't bring any weapons with him, which Mountkirk's men are best known for. And he also doesn't reek with the smell of Borealm; from the snow, the musty dirt, to the fragrant trees. Which means that this man isn't a hunter.

"D-Do you mean that?" The lean, slightly older man looks to both sides and lowers his voice into a shaky whisper. Rozell steps back with his heart crackling in rapid beats. A few streaks of blood stain the man's fingers, but he doesn't wipe them away. "Because there is someone—or rather, something—I would like to dispose of. And it troubles me a lot, you see."

Rozell tries to calm down by breathing deeply for a few counts, ignoring the man's unfocused brownish-green eyes. The sound of crinkling glass almost makes Rozell dart back to his table and tug Mielle out of this man's sight, but a part of him wants to know more about his curious question.

Is he under the influence of dark power? Or did he drink something from 'Harmful Fizzles'? But he doesn't smell anything like them either.

Rozell shouldn't have said those silly words; was he out of his mind? Why did he sound like an awkward gecko?

"Uh, I'm just here to get some beer," Rozell stammers, grabbing his satchel for additional support. He glances at the rack before continuing, "A cup of beer, please."

Wait, what did I just say?

Rozell's cheeks heat up with embarrassment. The furious dragonflies in his stomach tempt him to bury himself under the frozen lake, but an amused chuckle snaps him out of his daze.

The man loses the crazy darkness in his eyes as he softly slaps the counter while he chuckles. Once his gaze lands on Rozell, he gives the latter a small smile. "Sorry for earlier. It's been one challenging day." He picks a clean towel and slings it over his shoulder while heading to the 'Harmful Fizzles' rack. The other bottles clink like music once he grabs a transparent one, which smells as lulling as the snow in the dusk. "Since you just steer my day in a better direction, you don't have to pay for these."

Rozell gawks until the insides of his cheeks hurt once the bartender slides a circular tray onto the counter. Six little glasses stand on it like kingdom soldiers. "What do you mean? How much are these—twenty coins?"

The bartender snickers. "You're not a local, eh?" He pours into each glass gracefully. "It's so hot at our trading partner's town. Maybe you've heard of Archadel before? And if you look closely, you'll see how tons of exotic fruits are lying around this place." His abrupt chugging into the nearly emptied bottle sends Rozell off-guard. He almost bolts back to where Mielle is, but it's like his boots are being tied with unseen roots. "Beer also keeps pouring in. The whole town might as well get drunk with it, yet there'll still be enough to fill the entire lake."

"Um, yeah, I don't know much about how those work. And thanks." Rozell gently lifts a glass and sips the warm, transparent liquid. He always cringes whenever the strong bitterness seeps into his tongue, but still, he craves for the small amount of sweetness in it. "For these common drinks."

The man's smile stretches wider before he lowers himself back to the floor. "Don't mention. As I said, it's been a brighter day since your silly remark came up."

Rozell catches a tinge of sadness in the man's gaze before he turns away. "I'm sorry you've had a bad day."

Just how bad is it that the word 'kill' could even trigger him? Is it far worse than nearly getting pinned down by some deadly weapons?