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It's a very busy place, crowded even, alive with energy and the scent of a thousand and one cheap perfumes, depending on when you choose to come and go. There are evenings when it is more crowded than the deepest hours of the night, and there are nights that feel like effervescent dreams.
The displayed glass bottles hold intoxication bubbles that shatter the bodies's sobriety, they shimmer in the light and clink together at insistent demands.
Regulars and fresh faces cross the entryway, voices intertwine in a cacophony that makes eardrums bleed, though a melodic voice might occasionally echo from the back, trying its luck.
When Juniper is in Arboria, she complains about the din that sometimes carries to the shore, acting as if the coastal waters themselves quiver at the sounds of merry drunks and drooling, whiny cocktail-fueled wailing. As if she didn't drop by herself now and then to drink with other dragon riders until their cheeks turned rosy.
AJ pretends to listen to everything with both ears wide open, but to be honest, she doesn't catch a single word of your complaints.
She already has Drift's voice, insistent and clinging to the walls of her brain like honey to flesh, reminding her to stop by to pick up supplies—reminding her all week long, even though it’s been the same place and time for years and Pyro is punctilious to a fault.
That's why he usually prefers Drift to go, besides the fact that they can catch up, both now occupied in villages so far apart.
“And don’t forget the supplies, AJ, I'm serious. The pouch is there, the gems are right counted, and—” Flick is perched on the open window sill across from her, watching her list her the very same things for an uninterested AJ, who has been hearing them for what feels like an year, when in truth has been only for three months.
With a hand wave, she reassures her: “Relax, Princess, I won’t forget a thing.”
And Drift stares at her, her pen going slack between her fingers, pouring into her a torrent of emotion from those eyes—street-caramel that sticks to the teeth and a churning sea of liquid gold crashing against rocks—all of it brimming with a worry that burns her skin, that screams and weeps and shakes her by the shoulders.
It sounds more like a heartfelt request, a plea as soft as Flick’s feathers, escaping her lips: “Don’t forget.”
An unspoken 'not again' hangs at the end of the sentence. They’ve already had a fight about this and are trying to communicate better, but AJ hates this hovering—the way Drift worries about her as if she were the child of the house. Which, guess what, that's not her!
“I won’t.” She gives her word, seals it as if it were a sacred promise with a kiss that steals both of their breath away.
“Can you promise me?” Drift whispers in mid-kiss, her eyes obscured with a haze of deeply in love and terribly scared, “If you feel or think you don't remember anything, can you guarantee to me that you'll come back home?”
“Oh come on, it's not so bad, Open Book,” AJ tries to joke, but the woman in front of her is a perfect portrait of blue pain from head to toe. So, she does what she does best. “Yeah. Of course, I'll come back, Drift.”
She guarantees things without any guarantee whatsoever, because old habits die hard, no matter how much you grow, age, and decay. They are like those weeds in the garden, those pests, those plagues, that no matter how many you manage to get rid of with pesticides, others always come back, they never really go away.
She slipped up once, it won’t happen again, AJ makes a promise to herself she cannot truly keep.
She relies on lies through her speech because that is what she does best, even if she does it less these days. Her memory has improved and stabilized to the point where she no longer needs the notebooks kept on the nightstand, the notes tied to Flick’s paw, or the little slips tucked into her pockets.
When she left on Nico, Drift was busy early that morning, still in her pajamas, hunched over their desk, reviewing the ledger and scribbling down a budget that would be a nightmare to decipher later. AJ couldn't make heads or tails of half those notes; Drift’s handwriting only became that wildly ornate under pressure—like when balancing the monthly books—which was understandable.
Despite struggling with accounting and numbers, Drift was usually the one who handled these things, sorting bills and jotting down figures while rubbing her temples to soothe a splitting headache — and that's usually the moment she’d give up and head to bed, leaving the work half-done.
"I can't. Not today, I'm too tired." She would say, with weary voice and heavy limbs.
For someone who had never dealt with money before—and had even been swindled in a stupid scam—Drift was getting better and better at managing the speakeasy's finances as the years went by. They had strict pricing policies enforced by the earth mage, not that AJ objected, after all, she also ends up dealing with the revenue in the end.
“Drift!” she called out in a singsong voice as she headed outside to grab the first of the boxes. Call it a habit, AJ always calls her when she arrived with the semiannual supplies. It was routine, one she had learned not to mind so much. She hadn't done this for a few months, not since the last incident, so it's a small sigh of relief.
And she hurried down the steps. The silk pajamas and big messy hair (AJ courtesy, thank you, you're welcome) had been replaced by an almost flawless look, linen and well-behaved curls, and when her gaze lands on AJ, she radiates such palpable relief that it briefly makes the decay mage feel nauseous, a bitterness at the back of her throat that she chooses to ignore.
“There’s new stuff here,” she says, carefully inspecting the bottles, spinning them by the necks with her pretty fingertips and checking the labels. About six of them are new, and AJ is definitely going to snag one of each from their stock for personal use. "Is that why you took so long?"
"He wouldn't shut up, and Fairy and Michela were there too. It was almost a interesting talk," AJ confesses.
Drift nods and stares at a blue-green bottle, her thumbnail tapping against the glass. She has that look, one that means she’s about to have an idea. Furrowed brows, a crease, pressed lips, all very specific. "Do you think we should start reselling, with him?"
AJ pauses to think, feeling a wave of lethargy settle into her bones, she shrugs, while behind Flick squawks in answer, preening her feathers with her beak.
"Nah." And she goes grab another crate and starts stacking them.
Drift puts the matter aside for now. Not that she wanted to, but with AJ, she never knows if she’ll get a quick answer or one that takes months, that immediacy sense is quite uniquely hers.
So, she keeps herself busy, arranging the bottles as soon as they arrive. The liquor shelves are the stars of the place, giving due prominence to the main attractions displayed there.
The speakeasy opens in an hour or two, after as soon as the sun decides to retreat but while the moon is still too shy to show itself. Crystal glass that clinks as AJ stacks crates on top of each other and Drift separates them into wines and vodkas and rum and some others.
They store and put away the surplus, knowing too well that on a busy night, many of those displayed bottles could vanish in the blink of an eye—or shatter during a nasty bar fight, like the one last month.
“AJ, grab five of each bottle. Put it in the cabinet, please.” AJ glances at the surplus, does what she was asked, then heads back to Drift, where she is already behind the counter. “I mean, we both know you were already going to grab a few, right?”
“Yeah, totally.” She replies to her with a grin, going to begin to set up the chairs.
But there, while they chat, with Drift checking the counter and AJ with the tables, it's one of the few moments they have peace before the place opens and fills up, overflowing with music and clamor that will last nearly the night.
Then again, "peace" isn't quite the right word. No, no, no, peace is genuinely a very difficult state to achieve. Tranquility, perhaps, would be better. A moment when the winds blow in their favor rather than against them, not brewing an imminent storm destined to crash straight into them.
They, who are no strangers to the wind. They, who have been battling literal and figurative storms since the first day they entered each other's lives, are making good use of this excessive calm that has, uh, plagued them, for so to speak.
They all, all the dragon riders who did make it till now, make good use of the post-war. The Kingdom they once knew in tatters certainly does, with now safer streets where everyone can thrive after so much misfortune. Now, they have time to worry about the simple things. Taxes to pay and laundry to do, without fearing dying and not seeing the next sunset that awaits them or the friends they made along that tortuous path.
From upstairs, while putting away bill paperwork, she spots Graecie through the window, a bright speck in contrast to the streets bathed in the dusk orange shadow spilling from the skies. Drift waves, but it's only notice by the other rider only because the little one beside her who point her out.
"Graecie, Cellie, hey!"
Radiant as ever, clear white as freshly shorn wool and gentle as the first snow blanket from the northern, Graecie smiles cheerfully and waves back, the bells in her hands chiming like a songbird.
Affectionately, she tries to encourage the shy little one beside her, whose face is half-hidden in her skirts, to do the same. Celeste blinks their brown eyes, color lighter than hazel and the coffee AJ brew any time, and reluctantly offers an equally timid hand wave.
“Hey, Drift! We're heading back from the coast!” she merrily explains. It's mainly where the kids are, where they gather to play now that their surroundings are safe plenty. In this city, people feel secure enough for letting their children play in the sand on the coast, guarded by the wider community. “You and AJ have come to visit us! To them, to play more, and for us, to talk! It's been so long. We can call Megii and Ambear too, they can bring Nini!”
Celeste's eyes widen, and she smiles at Graecie, already thrilled with this to come dinner. Drift wouldn't miss a chance to eat at Graecie and Zam's restaurant, never, and AJ does agree with her. An invitation from them is always welcomed. Even though they live so close to each other, these days it seems that they can't catch a break from their jobs.
“We should! Just pick a date, we'll appear by soon!”
It is watching Graecie and Zam's child walk away hand-in-hand with her Mom, listening to the sound of the bells fading, that Drift is suddenly reminded of the coast where the girl they, her and AJ, found amidst raging storms and the darkest of the forests was right now.
As the breeze brushes her face, carrying the scent of distant sea air and cinnamon, she bolts. AJ is busy stocking empty boxes, stacking them diligently, when she sees her rushing out the door, the sun’s final rays gleam behind the curls framing her face like a halo.
“Hey, what—?”
"She still on the coast, remember?!" And AJ definitely didn't remember, a heavy realization that makes her heart sink hard to the pit of her stomach.
Perched atop the bar sign, whose shape reflect her perfect form with an orchid sprig in its beak, Flick lets out a squawk, a reprimand, and all the mage does is nod at her with a deep sigh. She hopes Drift doesn't come back on this later.
Certainly, the winds have been in their favor for many years in many things, in many respects, though perhaps not in others.Very chilly and ever-continuous, blowing from the other far side of the sea where is reachable only by their dragons wings, shaking the linen of her blouse and its long sleeves and curls, making the crow feather in her right earring flutter as if taking flight, as she runs to the shore before full darkness falls, aiming to find the small group she knows she will find there.
She's late and she knows she will hear about it, after all, Drift is never, never, late when it comes to picking her up.
On the horizon, sun and sea meet like shameless lovers. The coastal streets are paved with old, worn pebbles and gravel, lit by oil lamps.
They're lined with a variety of night stalls, from still-open fishmongers charging triple for cleaned catch to small vendors selling meat-and-cheese skewers and others offering beads crafted from nature’s bounty.
Children carelessly play on the sand. They are all young, somewhere between four and eight, laughing loud together with sand between their fingers and toes, constantly watched over by those who would protect them above all else, secure in the knowledge that no harm will ever befall them here in Arboria, the Growth Mage's city, where at least five dragon riders have been established since long before they were even born.
Drift pauses halfway down the stone steps when she spots the small figure she has come to find.
Catching her breath, she makes her way down the steps, offering a mute thank you to the lady sitting on a wooden box, watching over them with eagle eyes, surely the mother of one of them, and sits down on the ground beside her.
With a pout, her face half-buried in her cuffs and the soft feathers beneath her eyes ruffled from running about, she murmurs, clearly annoyed, “You're late.”
“I know baby,” she laughs, her chest still aching from the lack of breath. “I got held up with some things at home, work stuff, and was helping Mom out, so I ran behind our schedule. Really sorry.”
“Hmm. Boring grown-up stuff?” She asks, her face scrunching up in distaste of the idea as she stares at her own tail twitching up and down around. It’s always those boring grown-up stuff that messes with her plans, always getting in the way of her little ambitions.
Drift smiles and nods. “Yeah, pretty boring grown-up stuff. I was doing math all morning, yuck.”
And Clover—petite, clever girl—grimaces in disgust, sticking out the tip of her tongue as if she’d just tasted a lemon, before standing up and puffing out her chest. There is an air about her that suggests she considers herself very lucky to get to play all morning and noon while her moms were forced to do work things.
The little girl gives a quick wave to the woman who had been keeping watch, then immediately grabs Drift’s hand. Hand in hand, they walk in silence, accompanied only by the sound of gravel crunching beneath their boot soles and vendors shouting out their prices.
She gives Drift's hand a gentle tug and offers a beam that catches the light of the moon and stars on her crooked, sharp teeth, "It's okay, Ma! No worries, I forgive you!"
And perhaps this is what her mother felt when Rynn was just a little child. This overwhelming feeling of heart melting at the sight of a cheeky beam. Perhaps it’s also because it reminds her so much of those heartfelt, honest beams AJ offers her, the ones gifted to her when the mage is truly comfortable, free from all the high strung stitched onto her very being.
And just maybe this is peace. Momentary as a chat, fickle as the summer season weather, yet these moments, these smiles brimming with joy and softness are, and always will be, her favorite type of peace.
“Thanks, Lovie.” They share a warm giggle and a squeeze of hands; a mutual, sweet gesture, same way as all the things in childhood ought to be.
She has no idea how such a tiny thing, one she once fiercely hated with her whole heart, can now fill her with such pure emotion with just a tiny smile and tiny little eyes that hold an entire goldenrod and buttercup field at open skies.
"Ah, Cellie found me a pebble today, Ma!" Lovie remarks with a bright smile, her hair and feathers stirring with her excitement as she reaches into her dress pocket and pulls out a funny, ugly dark pebble that clearly holds some meaning for her.
"Well, that’s one more for collection." She has a vision of the huge glass jar sitting on her bedroom windowsill. When sunlight hits just right it makes the colors of all the stones that those little hands have gathered since she was old enough to explore shimmer as gems.
She talks non-stop about where she found and how Celeste got that pebble for her, and Drift listens not as attentively as she would like—she knows she'll have to remember something very specific from that talk at another time—until they reach their place's front, where a line is already starting to form.
“About forty minutes and we’ll be open soon!” She shouts to them while opening the door to let Clove in first, hearing the cheerful responses, and hears the cheerful responses from the crowded clientele.
Inside, soft music fills the rooms, a calm entrance to an early hour that brings a still-civilized crowd to their establishment. AJ is coming down the stairs, likely having heard her, hair tied back in a ponytail and exuding the scent of soap and hot water on her skin, when she spots them.
And the little girl doesn't waste any time, she never does, and runs to her, who easily catches her in her arms and spins her in the air, making her burst into laughter that fills the place, "There's she, lil bird!"
"There's you, Mummy!"
“AJ, take her to bath while I open the place, please.”
“Yes ma’am!” Before there’s even time for a reply, she heads upstairs with the girl in her arms, both of them laughing loudly as they go. The creaking of the wood fades into the distance, and Drift prepares to give everything one last check.
She checks the glasses, which gleam too much bright, too much clean—with this she knows AJ must have spent a good amount of time stewing a thought if the glasses are too perfect—she checks for dust on the counter, tables, and chairs, checks the music and if there are enough tokens, as well as the small stage, and every other petty detail she might have missed in the morning, which is easy to do depending on her and AJ's heed, which wanders very swimmingly.
Upstairs, as she turns up the music, she can hear the lingering sounds of laughter and hurried footsteps.
She knows it’s AJ burning off that apparently boundless energy that comes standard with every child, running through the hallways and rooms, tickling her and making her laugh until her stomach aches, right up until that first yawn appears. And when that happens, well, then she'll easily fly off to Hypnos's land of dreams.
If everything goes according to, their little bird will sleep through the night as always, completely used to loud music and commotion downstairs, while they take turns checking on her. And she and AJ will stay open until… well, they know when closing time is, and so do their customers.
It’s going to be one of those nights when they have a late dinner and just sit on their bed rambling about whatever comes to mind. AJ will likely bring one of those bottles, and she feels this might be the best for today.
Drift doesn't plan to bring up whatever it is they have to deal with—which she’s aware there’s quite a lot of—at least, not tonight. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week or month. Perhaps when they get lucky again and Clovie is out somewhere else all day long just like today. She doesn't know, and she isn't much worried about this. Because they have time. Time to argue, to disagree, to make amends, to cry out over anger and sadness. To lose time over the silliest things, but they do.
And, for now, while a crowd is coming inside and taking places and ordering drinks. And AJ finally comes downstairs, smiling at those people she got to know and glancing at Drift with those eyes. For now, things are going to be fine.
Think about it! At least they're here, they're not dead...