”I’ll keep that in mind,” the bard said lightly, not bothering to hide his grin. Some people just weren’t readers – okay, most people he’d met didn’t read unless they had to. He always hoped to be pleasantly surprised on that count, but he wasn’t disappointed when Edy didn’t share his interest. They were very different people, with very different preferences, but he respected the power she’d shown him.
And besides, keeping the local bartender on his side was always high on his list of priorities.
”The spiciest,” he reiterated serenely, grinning down at the girl when she seemed uncertain. ”And ‘friend,’ too. At least tentatively. You gave me booze and I gave you a gourd. That’s how people here make friends, right?” His teasing this time was far more gentle, almost more of an encouragement than a joke. He spared her one more smile before turning his attention to his concoction on the stove, watching it bubble with satisfaction, even if the memories it evoked were bittersweet.
Edy’s guess was indeed wide of its mark, Yohgel being as far from Jigano’s romantic interests as it was possible to be, but he’d had platonic affection for the little arsonist. Even if she did have a disconcerting habit of snacking on eyeballs. She had still saved his life, as he had hers, on so many occasions.
But that was the past now. The distant past – and that was for the best. Edy had some similarities to his old friend, but it was wiser – safer – not to dwell on those as he focused on their project. He chuckled at her bow and found himself humming softly to himself as he cooked in silence for a few moments before the young minx returned, booze in hand. ”That’s where you come in,” he agreed with her happy pronouncement. ”Just need to let this cool and then we can make the magic happen. We’re going to need shot glasses – think you can borrow us some from the bar?” He winked as he moved the happily-boiling and now-smooth brew off the fire to cool. ”I’ll see if I can’t find some cloth to strain this with. We want the flavor of the gourds, not their guts in our drinks!” He chuckled, wiping his hands on a nearby dishcloth as he glanced over his preparations. So far, so good. And soon, hopefully, better.
”What was your favorite drink back home?” he asked curiously, wondering at his unpredictable companion’s tastes and looking to find a pleasant way to spend the time until the syrup could be separated from the squash.
And besides, keeping the local bartender on his side was always high on his list of priorities.
”The spiciest,” he reiterated serenely, grinning down at the girl when she seemed uncertain. ”And ‘friend,’ too. At least tentatively. You gave me booze and I gave you a gourd. That’s how people here make friends, right?” His teasing this time was far more gentle, almost more of an encouragement than a joke. He spared her one more smile before turning his attention to his concoction on the stove, watching it bubble with satisfaction, even if the memories it evoked were bittersweet.
Edy’s guess was indeed wide of its mark, Yohgel being as far from Jigano’s romantic interests as it was possible to be, but he’d had platonic affection for the little arsonist. Even if she did have a disconcerting habit of snacking on eyeballs. She had still saved his life, as he had hers, on so many occasions.
But that was the past now. The distant past – and that was for the best. Edy had some similarities to his old friend, but it was wiser – safer – not to dwell on those as he focused on their project. He chuckled at her bow and found himself humming softly to himself as he cooked in silence for a few moments before the young minx returned, booze in hand. ”That’s where you come in,” he agreed with her happy pronouncement. ”Just need to let this cool and then we can make the magic happen. We’re going to need shot glasses – think you can borrow us some from the bar?” He winked as he moved the happily-boiling and now-smooth brew off the fire to cool. ”I’ll see if I can’t find some cloth to strain this with. We want the flavor of the gourds, not their guts in our drinks!” He chuckled, wiping his hands on a nearby dishcloth as he glanced over his preparations. So far, so good. And soon, hopefully, better.
”What was your favorite drink back home?” he asked curiously, wondering at his unpredictable companion’s tastes and looking to find a pleasant way to spend the time until the syrup could be separated from the squash.
