The sorcerers receptioni.., p.15
The Sorcerer’s Receptionist: Volume 3, page 15
“Leave something to be desired”! What a rude thing to say about other people. He is, however, a customer at our bar tonight, so I can’t tell him off.
I focus on the older man who’s sitting in front of me asking all sorts of inappropriate questions. He’s not wasted, but his eyes are drooping a bit as he smokes a cigarette. He’s munching on a snack as he chats with me, his unsteady hand lifting the food to his mouth.
“Yeah? That right? I ain’t got a girlfriend—”
“Sir, here’s your water.”
“Miss Nana, sure would be nice if you were my girlfriend...”
“Hahaha! What a funny joke, sir.”
I’ve learned over the course of several nights spent with various drunken men that the best thing to do when they talk like this is to humor them, taking nothing they say very seriously.
“You’ve ever had a lover, Miss Nana?”
“No, I have not.”
“Whaaaat?! A pretty girl like you’s never had a man? I can’t believe it...”
“Haha! ‘Pretty girl’! You are quite a jokester, sir.”
Not once in my life has anyone ever confessed their love for me, nor have I ever fallen in love with a man. As a full grown woman, I’m not particularly embarrassed about that, but I must admit that when it comes to conversations like this, I’m decidedly lacking in any interesting stories to tell.
Whenever the topic of romance comes up, then, I just listen, laugh it off, and change the subject. I can’t help but smile, though, at this old man going on about “love.” Really doesn’t matter if you’re a man or a woman—everyone enjoys a good love story, don’t they? I’m reminded of why I’m working here tonight. Sure hope Benjamine and Satanás get back together soon.
The night goes on. Benjamine’s made another trip to the ladies’ room, and is now back serving customers. A while ago, she’d come up and whispered in my ear, asking, “Is Satanás here yet?” to which I’d just shaken my head. I’ve not caught so much as a glimpse of him all night long.
As promised, I’m staying here with her until we get to the bottom of this business of Satanás going out with another woman—but I’d certainly felt like fleeing the room when she’d turned around, noticed Rockmann sitting there, and whirled back to me, all flustered, saying, “ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!”
Good grief, Benjamine. If he had figured out who I am because of your impossibly obvious question...it would have been the Disgrace of the Century.
Just having him see me in this getup is disgraceful enough, but as long as he doesn’t realize it’s me, I will, somehow, make it through tonight.
Nikeh seems to be struggling with a similar problem. She’s avoiding the tables where the Knights are sitting, and Benjamine and Cambell are taking care of practically all of them. Perhaps that’s for the best. From time to time, however, a Knight flirts with her in passing, commenting on her figure—completely ignorant of the fact that they are hitting on a colleague. She can’t let her guard down while they’re here.
On the other hand, I think, blushing at the impropriety of the idea, it would be funny to see how they reacted if I told them that’s Nikeh. Nikeh’s a charmingly beautiful woman even in normal clothes, but tonight she’s distinctively lovely in that server girl’s uniform Cambell made for her. You know, I put one hand on my chin, musing, I don’t think she’s ever told me about a crush she’s had. What’s up with that?
I don’t have time to ponder further on the subject. The older man who wanted me to “pour his drinks” for him earlier wants more food. I hustle back inside the kitchens, grab his order, and carry it out to the counter. He dives right into another topic as I serve him.
“Hey, Miss Nana...d’you believe in fate?”
“Fate, sir?”
I’m now stuck in this conversation, standing across the counter from him. Next to the wine casks, I see Nikeh and Benjamine casting worried glances in my direction. As I finish pouring his drinks, he takes my hand in his own, holding me there.
“Yeah, fate. Something that’s decided before you’re born, something you absolutely cannot escape from.” He winks at me. “The reason I met you tonight wasn’t destiny—it was fate.”
“Fate, huh?”
Aaaaaand here we go again. Sir, you are drunk. Please go home. Who wants to start talking about “fate” and “destiny” after their fifth beer, anyway?
I stay there, calmly hearing him out as he holds my hand all the while. Ms. Weira isn’t going to remain calm about the way he’s grabbing me, however—in the midst of her bustling hither and thither between the various dishes she’s cooking up, she sees what’s happening, comes over and slaps him hard on the forehead, indignant as can be. “For shame, sir! What do you think you’re doing, touching one of my girls like that?”
Ah. I wish I could be as strong as her. You’ve got to be that strong to be the Madam of a bar, I suppose.
“OWWWW!” The man groans, bowing his head low in pain.
That must’ve really hurt. “Sir, are you—”
“Oh, he’s fine,” Ms. Weira says, interrupting me before I can finish. “There’s someone else who needs your attention.” She’s got this mischievous look in her eyes, just like Cambell did earlier. Like mother, like daughter. But what could she be referring to? Did a friend of mine just walk in or something?
“Nana,” she says, nodding towards someone to my left, “take care of them, will you? They said they wanted you to pour their drinks.” She pats me on the shoulder and spins me towards them. I tilt my head to one side in confusion as I survey the full counter. She points her chin in a particular direction. “Those handsome young Knights sitting there.”
Really. Really?!
“Oh, no, I couldn’t, haha, funny joke—”
“No need to fret! How often do you get a chance to do something like this, anyway? I thought I’d help you escape from your ‘fated lover’ here.”
“Help me escape”? Ms. Weira, you have taken me out of the frying pan, only to toss me headlong into the fire. This is a total disaster!
“Come now,” she says. Before I can open my mouth in protest, she gently takes my arm and leads me over to where they sit, three seats down from the other man.
I refuse to make eye contact, steadfastly focusing on the fried bunny-bird skewers they’ve finished eating that are sitting on their plates. Ms. Weira mistakes my downcast gaze for embarrassment. “Oh, how cute! Forgive the shyness, Sir Knights, she’s a newbie.”
“Sorry,” I say, giving her a quick bow of apology. I am “working,” after all. Can’t be rude to customers like this. Even if it is him... Plus, if I ran away now, it would be like fleeing from an enemy. Despite how mortifying this whole situation may be, I must stand my ground!
I take the offensive, busting out a big bright smile and a high-pitched voice to match my disguise. “Um, well... I’ll pour your drinks now!” I do not know this man. I do not know him.
“She’s definitely a fine little lady, don’t you think, Captain?”
I take the glasses Ms. Weira has laid on the table and begin to fill them with wine. The male Knight next to him is snacking as he checks me out.
“Captain.” What an unpleasant word. I sure know who that is referring to... If I were to rank every word in the world in order of unpleasantness, I think “Captain” would come in at number two. Number one, is of course—
“Hmm, I’m not so sure.”
“Whaa—? You’re the one who asked for her, Captain...”
By “Captain,” the Knight is referring to none other than the man sitting next to him, Alois Rockmann. I don’t know how much Rockmann’s had to drink, but he looks sober. His eyes are clear and bright as always, at least. He’s also wearing glasses tonight, unusually enough.
I’ve seen him wear those before. Does he have bad eyesight, or something? No spell exists that can heal one’s vision, in the same manner that there is no spell that can conjure meat out of thin air. For those with poor vision, eyeglasses are all that can help.
Not that it matters to me whether or not he has bad eyesight. Couldn’t give a fig about it.
Wait. Rockmann asked for me, specifically? I slide my gaze over his face, making sure to not look the slightest bit curious. It’s not like I wanted him to ask for me—but why did he want me over here? I feel mildly annoyed at my inability to ask him straight out.
“Whew! ’S hot in here.” The flaxen-haired Knight is, unlike Rockmann, obviously drunk. Or at least that’s the only explanation I can think of when I see how red his face is and how droopy his eyes have gotten.
Suddenly, Rockmann calls out to me. “Hey, you there.” Ugh. Can’t avoid this any longer, can I? I do my best to refrain from grinding my teeth in frustration. He’s got me cornered.
“I heard you’re only here for tonight—that true?” He lifts his glass up to his lips, looking at me with upturned eyes.
His abrupt question takes me off guard for a moment—but it would be suspicious if I stay silent for too long—so I try my best to remain composed, keeping my eyes averted.
“Yes sir, only for tonight. Just helping out.”
“Just helping? Hm. Can you hold your liquor?”
“I’d like to think that I can, yes.”
“That so? Make sure you aren’t pressured into drinking too much. Women these days tend to let their guard down too often, so a kid like you really ought to be more careful in a place like this.”
“Thank you for your concern, but I am not so careless that I would let someone take advantage of me like that.”
“Hmm, if you say so. Say, you haven’t looked at me once this whole time we’ve been talking. Something wrong?”
“Hahaha! Goodness me, my shyness must be getting the better of me.”
“Really? You don’t look like the shy type...”
“Perhaps, dear sir, you have bad eyesight? You are wearing glasses, are you not?”
“I’m seeing better than I usually do right now.”
I grit my teeth, then force a smile on my face as I stare down at the counter. “Sure you don’t need to be prescribed something stronger?”
“...Stubborn as a child, aren’t you?” I can feel his gaze boring into me. He knows—or at least, he suspects. I’d spoken to him in perfectly dulcet tones, but my refusal to make eye contact must’ve made him suspicious. He’s too sharp for his own good, the bastard.
A true gentleman wouldn’t show his suspicion so openly. I don’t care whether Rockmann’s got the reputation of a village idiot or some social butterfly—this so-called “Knight” is as inconsiderate as they get, in my opinion.
“Captain, what’s your type of girl?” says the Knight sitting next to him.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you like talkative girls like this, or something? You don’t talk or smile this much with the girls over at Dolmott, that’s for sure.” The Knight’s resting his chin on one hand, watching our exchange with wide eyes. What happened to the Mr. Sleepy Face of five minutes ago?
“Girls like this.” That’s got to be referring to me, right? Maybe he’s got eyes just as bad as his eyes. We’ve barely spoken with each other, let alone smiled. Rockmann looks like he’s honestly angry at me over something—this other Knight must be pretty drunk to think that he’s enjoying our conversation.
“To tell the truth,” the drunken Knight says, “this kinda girl is actually just my type.” He takes off his thin leather gloves and stretches out one hand towards me. Okay, sure, he’s drunk—but what’s he trying to do with that hand of his? Even with all my experience serving people as a receptionist, I’m quite at a loss. As I’m gently pushing him away with my left hand, I lose my balance and pitch forward.
The drunken Knight stretches out another hand, grabbing again—but someone else grabs my right wrist. “It’s like I said,” I hear a low growl in my ear.
“Huh? Wha—” Something—someone?—yanks me forward.
I fall even further, to the point where the whole upper half of my body is sticking out over the counter. In response to all the grabbing and pulling, my carefully arranged hair is undone, falling straight down to rest on the big black-gloved hand gripping my wrist.
“This isn’t any kind of place for a kid to be working.” More growling. I slowly look up the arm to meet his—Rockmann’s—eyes. Contrary to the anger in his voice, he has a calm expression on his face. Still hasn’t let go of my arm, though.
What did he say just now? Did he just call me a “kid” again? What a bastard.
“I’ll have you know that I’m not a ‘kid.’” I’m the same age as you, dummy. I refrain from saying that latter bit aloud, and only allow a trace of discomfort to creep into my voice. He’s condescending to me, sure, but I’m not humiliated to the point where I’d reveal who I really am.
“You’re a kid. Your arms and wrists are pale and thin, your neck so weak it looks like it could break in a light breeze.” He slides his gloved hand up my arm, softly caressing each body part that he names as if to check the truth of his words. He’s sitting down, but because I’ve practically fallen down across the counter, it’s as though he’s looking down at me as he traces his fingers against my skin.
Ahhh! His face is close—too close! He draws nearer, and my long brown hair mingles with his hateful, shimmering gold locks.
“H-Hey, what do you—”
The heck is going on here? What’s he trying to pull? I always knew he was a womanizer who hit on practically every woman in sight, but is he trying to sweet talk me right now?
This must be how he seduces all the other women. They sure put up with quite a bit. It’s taking all I have not to fling my arm and send him flying through the air right now.
Ms. Weira would give him a whack and a good talking-to if she were here right now. My eyes dart over to where she’s standing—watching this all unfold—and all she’s doing is giving me a big thumbs up. “Oh, I wish I were you!” she seems to be saying with her face. Dammit. She’s taken in by his hatefully handsome face as well.
“Why, just look at your fingers, all small and dainty-like,” Rockmann continues. “You stay long in a place like this,” he says, taking my hand in both of his, eyes flickering like embers, “and someone’s gonna eat you right up.” Then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do, he slowly takes my middle finger, lifts it up to his parted lips—
“Could you NOTTT!!!”
Screw you, you disgraceful bastard! I’m gonna freakin’ BOOM you!!
I can endure no more. I wrench my arm out of his grip and hide my hands behind my back.
The Knight sitting next to him has his eyes wide, staring at me, but I pay him no mind. He went too far. Criminally far, in fact. I’d very much like to teach him a lesson right now.
“You try doing that again and you’ll be seeing me in COURT, you insolent Fire FOOL!”
“Oho...!”
“...Shoot!”
Rockmann slowly takes off his glasses and brushes back his disarrayed bangs...to reveal red eyes gleaming with a devilish sort of amusement.
“You said earlier you weren’t the careless type...but you really are, aren’t you?”
It would seem that I can indeed be careless, from time to time.
He raises his hand to get Ms. Weira’s attention. “Madam, mind if I borrow this girl for a bit?”
“Go right ahead! Don’t do anything she won’t like though, you hear?”
Whatever happened to her protective mother persona?? Ms. Weira’s shooing me away with her hand, urging me to follow Rockmann outside. No. Nononononono! Why did the night have to take such a vexing turn for the worse? I’ve no idea what he intends to say, but no doubt he’s going to make fun of me, or tell me I’m stupid or something. I let out a long sigh. Maybe, the instant we’re out of sight of everyone else, I’ll give him a swift kick to the head and knock him out. That sounds a good deal more fun than hearing him talk, that’s for sure. I resolve to resist going along with the flow of events. Sorry, Benjamine, I’ve got to bounce. This is just bad. I’ll slip out the back door, and never see him again.
Or, I would have told someone I was leaving—had my mouth not been spelled shut. This is a Silencing Spell. No matter how hard I try to open my mouth, my lips remain firmly stuck together, and all I can do is groan. From another person’s perspective, it probably looks like I’m chewing on a particularly tough piece of meat. Only he could have cast this on me, when I wasn’t paying attention. I give him a good, hard glare, but he ignores me like he would a passing gust of wind. With one hand on my back—my neck, actually—he guides—leads—pushes me outside.
Right before we pass through the doorway, I hear one of the Knights from the inner tables shout, “Look! The Captain’s taking a girl outside!” You call this being “taken outside”? It feels like I’m being arrested, to be perfectly honest.
With one last desperate look back, I silently plead for help from Nikeh and Benjamine—but they’re just over there, giggling in the corner. Ah! My heart breaks for our lost friendship. Despair, I feel, despair! The crushing, inescapable dread of a conversation with Rockmann weighs me down. I’m not so uncivilized that I’d start a fight indoors, so I do as he wants, and go outside without a struggle.
“So what’s this all about?” I ask him, but he doesn’t answer immediately.
We’re standing in a dim alleyway between Derahle and the neighboring establishment. The night is full of sounds. I hear the sugary sweet whispers of women soliciting business from the men passing by, I hear their lively, interested voices in response. I hear the breaking of glass, the flickering buzz of restaurant lights about to break. I hear the creak of the stairs outside a bar, the rusty squeal of a door opening, the ringing of a bell. I hear the faint rustle of scattered trash rolling down the sides of the street.
I can also smell the pungent odor of tobacco, I can feel that distinct smokiness in the air. Someone must’ve been smoking in this alleyway just moments ago.
Personally, I don’t feel very strongly about smoking tobacco, one way or another—I don’t smoke myself, but the ashy, acrid aroma suits the slightly dangerous vibe of this part of town.
