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Chapter I: Gallus
Tough to Be A God
Sometimes, Claire thought being a kid was cheap.
While the rest of Ordo Favonius was preparing for a banquet honoring the Cavalry Captain and his men, she was stuck in the kitchens with a bookworm and a drunkard. Bard, she reminded herself as fast as her papa would reprimand if she’d said it aloud. Although the number of tankards building upon the table was not a sign of confidence in her being wrong. She huffed a breath and leant back on her hands, legs dangling over the edge of the back counter as she slumped back against the kitchen’s warm wooden walls. Peeking out the small window over the sink, she sighed.
Sunlight illuminated brilliant green trees in the courtyard, flowers sprouting from thick bushes decorating them in bright colors that the occasional butterfly drifted by. It was a perfect day. Not too cold, not too hot, but because of the festivities - she wasn’t allowed to run about the garrison. Especially considering that her papa caught her with another greatsword and wasn’t too happy when she’d almost cut her hand off —
His words, not her own.
But she wiggled her fingers and looked at them guilty.
“Now, why are you looking so down, little miss?” Her head bobbed up as a cheery voice called out to her, the green-clad bard pulling himself up on the counter beside her. A sweet smell, like dandelions, but with something sharp rolled off him and she huffed when he swayed a little. Her daddy said to call him ‘Uncle Venti’ but uncles tended to be a little older-looking and more…
He swayed again then hiccuped, cheeks flushed calla lily pink and smile lazy as he canted forward, resting his cheek against a bent knee.
… Reliable.
Her gaze drifted to the table, eyes widening at the sight of two uncorked bottles of dandelion wine. “Did you already drink through all the bottles Papa gave you to watch us?” It was already strange that her Papa paid him in drinks rather than mora, but he was pleased as a hilichurl cornering a boar when he herded them off with his gains.
“That I..” a soft hiccup interrupted him, and Claire’s nose wrinkled as she sputtered a laugh at his confused expression. “Ahem, did.”
She didn’t really understand how anyone could drink all of that stupid juice but he seemed to enjoy it, guzzling like water. Curious, she’d asked once if she could try it but both her fathers glanced at one another then refused in unison. One of the rare moments when they were of one mind and conspiring against her of all people!
Claire huffed again, surprised when she felt something poke the tip of her nose, belatedly realizing Uncle Venti’s hand falling away with a giggly ‘Ehe~!’. How weird. He laughed and smiled so giddily, almost like a little kid.
“How come you don’t look so old?” Claire asked, flopping her arms in her lap.
“Wow, rude,” Elias called from behind a tome that looked older than both of them and bigger than his hands could hold. She could barely see the top of his head or the maroon ribbon in his hair no matter how she craned her head. And thus, she could pretend she didn’t hear him at all, turning her attention back to the bard taking his choice of fruit from the bowl Miss Noelle put out that morning before she was swept away to her duties.
A shiny, red apple bounced in his palm as he tossed it in the air and caught it. Eyes glimmering like fresh dew atop a leaf as he flicked a finger in her direction. “Well, you see Miss Claire,” he spun the apple on the tip of his finger. “I’m actually a god.”
Claire blinked.
A loud thump shifted her attention to Elias whose face was now visible as his tome fell to the tabletop, hands frozen as if he couldn’t believe he’d dropped it himself. Together, they looked toward the empty tankards and wine bottles then back to one another. Her daddy did say when someone drank too much they could start telling stories. Elias must have thought the same because he lost interest rather quickly, rolling his eyes then dragging his book closer.
“What’s with the lackluster reaction?” Venti huffed, and Claire could have sworn he would be pouting if not for the apple sticking out of his mouth like a roasted boar. After a few bites that quickly reduced it to its core, he wiped off his mouth then stuck a finger in the air. “It isn’t everyday you meet a god, you know.”
At that, Claire tipped her head to one side. “The god of what? Drinking…?”
“Singing?” Elias added, and Claire shot him a grin.
“Skipping the tab?”
Venti coughed into his fist, interrupting their hushed giggling. “I will have you both know that drinking, singing, and yes, Miss Claire — skipping the tab, are all part of freedom.”
She eyed him suspiciously, sitting up. “... Freedom. Like.. Barbatos?”
The window’s curtains billowed with a sudden breeze, glass rattling and the pages of Elias’ book flapped raucously as a strong gust swept throughout the kitchen slamming cupboards and rapping across tables. Even the larders groaned as the winds died down.
Claire stared wide-eyed, picking her blue hair ribbon from her where it fell into the sink. Her papa’s meticulous brushing and combing to tame her dark ruby red mane all for naught. Frazzled, Elias had jumped back from his book through the chaos and they locked eyes after assessing the damage. In lieu of the howling winds, there was only the bard’s cackling.
“You should see your faces,” Venti laughed, pressing a finger to his lips. “But do take care with speaking the name of an archon, Miss Claire. You never know if they’re listening.”
Her mouth ran dry as a small tunnel of wind surrounded the apple core at the tip of his finger.
The adults could have their celebrations, this was priceless.