Chapter Text
“Mira, are you seriously eating more of those onion rings?”
Isa looks positively horrified at the sight of Mira raising a ketchup-soaked onion ring to her lips.
The three of you are sharing drinks at a small tavern on the outskirts of Feuillue, celebrating the procurement of your third Orb for the second night in a row. You’d initially planned to leave town this morning, but heavy rain and thunder have made travel too dangerous to risk, leaving the adults in your group with nothing better to do than stay inside and drink (or, in Odile’s case, enjoy some quiet reading time at the inn while recovering from last night’s hangover).
The tavern specializes in various flavors of cider, and you and Isa both ordered flights of four. Your drinks aren’t labeled, and you can’t remember which cider is which, but they’re all pretty tasty — you’re especially fond of the second one from the right.
But as good as the drinks here are, they’re not good enough to cancel out the poor excuse for onion rings sitting menacingly in the middle of your table.
You’ve only eaten onion rings a few times prior to this evening, but you’re fairly certain they’re not supposed to be the same shade as an eggplant. You’re also fairly certain they’re not supposed to be crumbly enough to break in half like a cracker.
Mira winces as she chases her mouthful of charcoal with a sip of her vodka cranberry (which you’re pretty sure is roughly 99% cranberry juice and 1% vodka).
“I don’t like to waste food.” She smiles weakly.
“Neither do I,” says Isa, “but I’m pretty sure those things can’t legally be classified as food. All the nutritional value’s been burnt out of ’em.”
“They are pretty burnt,” Mira solemnly agrees. “But still! Someone put the effort into making them. It would probably hurt their feelings if they just got thrown out.”
Isa scrunches up his face the way he tends to do while thinking.
“All right,” he eventually declares, slamming his fists together. “You’ve convinced me. I’ll fight this battle with you. Mind passing me the ketchup?”
“Isabeau!” Mira’s eyes sparkle as she slides the bottle of ketchup across the table. “Thank you so much! Conquering these onion rings will definitely be much easier if we work together.”
You wait for Isa to finish up with the ketchup and then grab some for yourself.
Mira beams.
“You too, Siffrin?”
“What can I say?” You grin. “Your burning passion won me over.”
Mira groans, and you’re pretty sure Isa’s about to fire back with a pun of his own once he finishes laughing at yours. But before he has the chance to do that, your server walks up to your table and places a tall glass of cider in front of you.
“This is from the gentleperson in the polka-dot dress,” they announce with a big smile, gesturing to a patron a few tables over from yours.
The aforementioned stranger waves when they see they’ve been noticed, and you halfheartedly wave back.
“Oh. Thanks.”
You slide down a little lower in your seat. If your face were burning any hotter right now, you’re pretty sure your skin would be the same texture as the onion rings.
This has happened a few times over the course of your travels, and it always leaves you feeling awkward and confused. Free drinks are nice and all, but you don’t love other people spending money on you when you never asked them to — especially when they probably want something from you in return.
Based on the high-pitched noises the two other people at your table are making, they seem to be considerably more excited about this development.
“Ooh, look at you, Mx. Popular!” Mira coos, clapping her hands in front of her.
You’re not really sure how to respond to that, so you elect to take a sip of your newly acquired drink instead. This cider is a different flavor from any of the four in your flight. It’s not bad, but you don’t like it as much as the drinks you bought for yourself.
“Sooo?” Mira asks. “Are you gonna go talk to them?”
“I don’t know.” You shrug. “Should I?”
“Well, are they your type?” Isa inquires.
You try to remember what the drink-buyer looked like when you glanced at them before. You don’t want to look directly at them again, but…they were pretty enough, you think?
“I’m not sure.” You shrug again. “It’s not like I know anything about them; they’re a complete stranger.”
You pick at a stray bit of wood peeling off of the table below you. You know you should probably look at Isa while you answer his question — Vaugardians tend to prefer that — but you’re not particularly in the mood for eye contact right now.
“And besides” you continue, “maybe they didn’t even mean anything by the drink. Maybe they were just being nice. Like a ‘pay it forward’ kind of thing.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Mira bring a finger to her chin.
“Is that a thing people do at bars?”
Isa chuckles.
“Sif, I’m pretty sure they were asking you out, buddy.”
You force yourself to look up at him.
“But…why?”
“Uh, probably because you’re extremely good looking?” His face suddenly gets darker. “I–I promise I mean that in the most non-creepy way possible.”
Huh.
You’re flattered, but you don’t really get it. How are looks alone enough to develop an interest in someone? This person has never exchanged a single word with you — you could be a blinding serial killer for all they know!
…Then again, maybe your personality doesn’t matter to them. Maybe all they’re looking for is a more…physical connection.
If that’s the case, your answer is definitely no. You have zero interest in a one-night stand. You tried that once when you were younger, and it was…not the worst thing you’ve ever experienced, but certainly not enjoyable enough to be worth doing again. Your memory of the encounter is mercifully hazy, and you can’t recall many specific details, but you do remember feeling incredibly uncomfortable from start to finish.
Mira giggles, snapping you back to the present moment.
“You look so surprised to hear that,” she says. “Haven’t you ever looked in a mirror, Siffrin?”
…Oops. You took too long to respond to Isa’s comment, and now it must look like you’re fishing for compliments. You’d better fix that.
“O–of course I have. I mean, I don’t think I’m ugly or anything.”
Isa laughs again.
“‘Not ugly’ has gotta be the understatement of the century, bud.”
Mira takes a small sip of her drink.
“Maybe they just don’t get it because they’ve never seen themself smile,” she suggests.
You tilt your head.
“I’ve smiled in mirrors before, Mira.”
“Yeah, but have you ever seen yourself smile for real?” Isa leans a little closer to you, placing an elbow on the table and resting his cheek in his palm. “Like, the face you make when you’re about to make an amazing pun? Or when you’re eating something yummy? Or when Bonbon is being cute? Makes sense that someone who saw that face would be attracted to you.”
Oh.
That’s…really sweet of him to say.
Your cheeks feel even warmer now.
“You do have a very cute smile, Siffrin,” Mira agrees.
“Doesn’t he?”
Well, if there was any chance of your blushing going unnoticed before, that ship has certainly sailed now. You’re pretty sure the heat in your face is actually going to destroy you. Here lies Siffrin: killed by praise from two people who are way, way too nice.
Isa snorts.
“Uh-oh, I think we may have broken him, Mira.”
“Awww, sorry, Siffrin, we’re not trying to embarrass you.”
You take a big gulp of cider, hoping that a bit of liquid courage will prevent you from combusting.
“So, how should I handle this?” You notice your words are coming out a little slurred, but you’re not particularly bothered by it; you just want to keep this conversation moving. “What do you two do when strangers buy drinks for you?”
Mira’s eyebrows knit together.
“It’s only happened to me once before,” she says. “I kind of just…froze up. The drink they bought me was a little too strong, and I stopped drinking it after a few sips. I think they saw that I wasn’t touching it and got the message that I wasn’t interested.”
You wonder if your admirer will also take the hint if you stop drinking your cider. It’d be a shame to waste it, though…
“Can’t say I’ve ever been super direct about rejecting people either.” Isa laments. “Sorry, Sif, we’re probably the two worst people you could possibly ask for advice on this. Where’s M’dame when you need her?”
Your shoulders sink. Isa’s right; Odile probably would be much better equipped to help you assert yourself. Why did tonight have to be the one night she stayed in? You feel a groan escape your lips.
You decide you’ll need more alcohol to deal with this whole situation. You waste little time in finishing the multiple ciders in front of you, ignoring your tablemates’ looks of mild concern.
Between sips, you make sure to force down an onion ring or two. Bad food is a much easier enemy to face than awkward social interactions, and you like having a solidly achievable goal to focus on. Much to Mira and Isa’s delight, you demolish the whole basket in a matter of minutes, and you stand up to take a bow as they applaud you.
Why can’t making people happy always be this easy — having a clear and simple objective to complete and powering through it until it’s done?
You brave a glance in the direction of the person who bought you the drink.
Their table is empty now. They must have gotten tired of waiting for your answer and left the tavern. You feel a little bad about not being more direct with them, but you’re mostly just relieved that you won’t have to actually talk to them.
Your body feels a little lighter as you return your gaze to your own table.
“So, who’s up for a second round of onion rings?” you ask with a wink.
“CRAB NO!!!”
“Oh, Change, please don’t!”