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Though it was dark outside, and cold enough to see one’s breath, the tavern was full of a warm sepia candleglow. Once upon a time, they had been unwelcome, bedraggled, eyed with caution and even hostility. Now, the Mighty Nein were the toast of the town. Beau noticed the feeling of a momentous occasion, a tingling scent of magic, then realized that they had brought that in with them like the mud on their boots.
“No, no,” Caleb was saying, his little globs of blue arcane light dancing around his hand as he was attempting to write something in his spellbook. “We can’t possibly accept--”
“I insist!” said the tavern keeper. “You don’t know the trouble you’ve saved us by killing those beasts. You must allow me to give you--”
“Ooh, free drinks?” Beau asked, sliding into the seat next to Caleb. “We’ll take them, thank you very much.”
The tavern keeper beamed at her, and within moments a mug of ale slid into her hands. This was going to be a great night, she thought with a grin, leaning back and putting her boots up on Caleb’s lap.
Music, dancing, laughter surrounded them, but Beau was content to just sit and let her ale warm her stomach. It felt good to be a hero. It felt good to be… good. She was absently rubbing Frumpkin’s head, letting the bodies of the townsfolk dance by in a blur of color, when she realized that the music had quieted and everyone had gathered into a loose circle around the table in the center.
“Well… if you insist,” a very familiar voice said happily, emerging from the babble. Jester leapt up onto the table.
Oh boy, Beau thought.
Jester had left her cloak, capelet, and haversack in a lump at Fjord’s feet, telling him to watch over it (Fjord was currently in the process of uncomfortably chatting with a group of flirtatious girls, definitely not watching over Jester’s stuff) leaving her freckled shoulders bare. Her long sleeves swept around her as she started to twirl, the embroidered beads on her skirt sparking in the light, her toned calves in their green stockings flashing as she leapt about. The group of musicians, apparently familiar with the song her boot heels tapped out on the resonant table, struck up a happy tune.
It was a strange phenomenon how Jester had managed to make friends with light and sound and gravity, but that was the only explanation for how all of these ostensibly cold and emotionless processes gathered round her and danced with her, adding a fluff and flounce to her skirt, a flash and jingle to her horn jewelry. Outside the window, the distant stars smiled on her. After everything Jester had been through, the deep sorrow and rage that Beau knew Jester to be capable of, the fact that she could still bring this pure joy and delight in on little blue wings and share it with a whole town was… sure something.
A pretty dwarven woman approached Beau, a tipsy blush on her cheeks, and Beau started flirting with her, only half paying attention. If she angled her head right, she could pretend to be looking at this new suitor and still see Jester’s dance. Multitasking.
The dwarven woman continued talking, and Beau had a flirty repartee ready for every comment. It was funny how she had never noticed how Jester would incorporate her tail into her dancing, not even for balance, but to give extra flourishes to her movements.
Gods. She had a tail. How cute was that? Wait, was it weird to think her tail was cute? Did tieflings suffer from fetishization relating to their tails?
The dwarven woman suddenly drew back, looking hurt. “My name isn’t Jester.”
“Shit,” said Beau in response. “Sorry.”
The woman slipped away, and Beau felt a guilty tension in her stomach. Maybe it wasn’t fair to be flirting away with other people when her mind and heart were so clearly fixed on one girl. Beau heard her voice from her conversation with Nott echoing in her head mockingly. It’s just a crush. Obviously. Obviously. Gods.
“Beau!” yelled Jester over the music and the stomping.
Beau turned her head to see a grinning Jester holding out her hand in invitation. Her heart jumped in her chest.
“I need another person for this part!” How could she ever say no to her?
“Alright,” said Beau easily, feigning indifference but flashing Jester a smile. She took Jesters hand, let herself be pulled up onto the tabletop.
“Uh,” said Beau, hands hovering, realizing she had no idea what to do.
“Don’t worry,” Jester laughed.
Beau felt her hand take Beau’s own, place it on her lovely narrow waist, grab Beau’s shoulder, and start spinning again.
It was easy to understand the steps once she had gone through it a couple times, her trained monk grace easily passing off mistakes as intent. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, and then Jester would twirl away from her, skirts rising round her like she was the center of a blossoming flower, then together again, one-two-three. Repeat.
The music became faster, the world spinning around them, and for the moment Jester had shared with her that privileged position of cosmic friendship. Then, as the music crescendoed to a clear end, Beau panicked and did the first thing that made sense: she dipped Jester so low her back was three feet from the tabletop.
The little gathered circle applauded. Jester’s face was inches from her own. She was flushed and grinning, panting with exertion, and Beau saw her sharp white teeth catching the light, every freckle, every eyelash distinguishable, her full lips, a slightly darker blue than her skin, the glowy light in her wide purple eyes, the complete trust in the way she let Beau hold her…
Her stomach fluttery and light, Beau hoisted Jester back up and gave her a dramatic bow. Jester curtsied.
Beau hopped off the table and took a gulp of her ale. “Thank you, thank you,” she heard Jester say behind her as she followed Beau, pride in her voice.
“I’m going to go get some water, Beau,” said Jester once the party had resumed.
“Cool, cool.”
Jester trotted off towards the place where the tavern keeper was leaning against a wall and chatting with someone who looked like his… son? Nephew? Cousin? Whatever. She still hadn’t put her capelet back on, and Beau wanted to kiss every little freckle on her shoulders.
It’s just a crush.
Shit.