Drunkards

With a clatter of metal and the soft scrape of chairs, Argon and Brolan removed their intimidating helmets, revealing their faces to the dim light of the tavern.

"Why the corner?" Brolan asked, his eyes scanning the room as he absently traced the rim of his empty glass.

"Old habits," Argon replied nonchalantly, his gaze fixed on the swinging door of the kitchen. "I don't like having my back exposed."

Their conversation was interrupted by the return of the barmaid, balancing a large jug of Mountain Dew in her hands and a large wooden platter that creaks under the weight of the food. She carefully sets it down on their table with a smile.

There were two portions of crispy roasted chicken, its skin glazed a perfect golden brown and emitting an irresistible aroma that makes Argon's and Brolan's mouths water. The chicken has been expertly carved, revealing juicy white meat inside. Accompanying the chicken are generous helpings of roasted root vegetables - potatoes, carrots, and turnips, all cooked to a satisfying softness and seasoned with fragrant herbs and a sprinkling of coarse salt. There's also a side of freshly baked bread, warm and soft on the inside, with a crust that cracks when you tear into it.

A bowl of hearty stew sits at the centre of the platter, brimming with chunks of tender beef, peas, and diced potatoes, in a rich, thick broth that fills the air with the scent of aromatic spices and simmered meat.

"That'll be four silver," she stated, setting the jug down on the worn tabletop.

Having grown accustomed to the low prices of the slums, Argon found the cost of services in the merchant area noticeably steeper.

Argon reached into his pouch, pulling out a handful of coins. He picked out nine silver pieces and slid them across the table to her. "We'll be needing another jug later," he informed her, his voice steady. "Keep the rest."

His instructions relayed; Argon grabbed the jug and began to pour the wine into two glasses. The liquid was clear and shimmered under the low light, its strong, earthy aroma wafting up to fill the air.

"time to put some hair on your chest Brolan," Argon declared, raising his glass in a mock toast. With a swift tilt of his head, he downed the shot, a satisfied grunt escaping him as he placed the empty glass back onto the table. Brolan, observing his actions, followed suit, grimacing slightly at the strength of the drink but trying not to be outdone by the younger man.

As they begin to eat, the flavours of the meal explode on their tongues, every bite bringing a mix of textures and tastes - the succulent chicken, the hearty stew, the roasted vegetables, the soft bread, and the strong rice wine. It is a feast fit for kings, and they enjoy it immensely, their previous exhaustion from the day's events gradually replaced by the comforting satisfaction of a good meal.

As the sweet yet potent Mountain Dew flowed, the atmosphere around their table eased. Brolan seemed to be enjoying his first proper taste of the rice wine, his face showing hints of relaxation after the hard tasks they'd been through.

"So, what's next?" Brolan finally broke the silence; his eyes focused on Argon.

"Haven't thought that far ahead," Argon admitted, swirling the last bit of wine in his glass before downing it. "But I reckon we need to make a decision soon."

Brolan nodded, following Argon's lead and finishing his own glass. "Think we should go for another dangerous job? Or maybe something more... safe, as Charles suggests?" Brolan asked, his eyebrows raising slightly in intrigue.

Argon chuckled, running a hand through his dark hair. I think we're better off freelancing. It's risky, but it pays very well."

The conversation ebbed and flowed like that, both men discussing and debating their options. As most of the rice wine was consumed and the hum of the tavern around them grew louder with the night, they both seemed to come to a silent agreement.

"Come on, Argon," Brolan leaned in, his words slightly slurred from the rice wine. "Even you have to admit that Charles has a point. Being a freelancer, it's good money, but it's risky. We're dancing with death every time we go out. I want to fuck a few more girls before I go",

Argon grunted, swirling the remaining wine in his cup. "I do not fear death as you do," he stated firmly, though his gaze remained on the liquid in his cup.

"It's not about being afraid," Brolan countered. "It's about being smart. We've got our foot in the door, got some decent gear, and you have some good connections. Now use them."

"Still, a noble's lapdog?" Argon shot back with a sneer, looking up to meet Brolan's gaze.

Brolan shrugged, "More like a guard dog. Look, Argon, you could probably ask for proper sword training from the noble's sworn knights; we both know we could use some proper training. And who better to learn from than a Seric knight? Plus, it'd give us some stability. A chance to build up. Maybe even...you know, have a life that's not just fight or die."

Argon was silent for a moment; his gaze hardened. Then he let out a sigh, leaning back in his chair. "Fine," he finally conceded, "We'll do it."

Brolan grinned, raising his empty glass. "To becoming lackeys," he said, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Argon snorted but raised his own glass in response, "To becoming lackeys," he echoed, and the two clinked glasses, sealing their new course.

Argon looked over at Brolan with newfound respect. Sure, the man had always been good for a laugh and a reliable hand in a fight, but he never expected him to have such strategic foresight. His suggestion about working for a noble made perfect sense and would likely benefit them greatly.

"Huh," Argon grumbled, pouring another round of rice wine into their cups. "Never took you for the strategic type, Brolan."

Brolan smirked, raising his cup in a silent toast. "There's more to me than meets the eye, boss."

Laughing, Argon clinked his cup against Brolan's. "I'll drink to that." He may not have expected it, but Brolan's surprising insight was a welcome development. Working for a noble could indeed prove to be beneficial and safer than their current lifestyle.

The barmaid returned with a fresh jug of rice wine, setting it down.

Argon's eyes glinted with mischief. "Miss," he began, slurring his words slightly due to the alcohol, "Could you tell us where to find a good... establishment for entertainment?"

She blinked at him, her face blushing a deep red. "I beg your pardon?"

"You know," Argon said, grinning widely at Brolan, "A brothel. Somewhere to enjoy some female companionship."

"Oh!" she squeaked, looking a bit scandalized but also amused. "Well, there's the Velvet House, if you're looking for something high-end... Or The Rose Garden, it's a bit more affordable but still nice. And then there's... The Crimson Lantern. It's cheap, but... it's in a not so nice part of Merchant area."

"Rose Garden sounds good," Argon decided after a moment's thought, ignoring Brolan's smothered laughter. He nodded to the barmaid, "Thanks for the tip."

She just shook her head, laughing softly as she moved away to serve other customers. Argon and Brolan returned to their idle chatter and drinking, the second jug of rice wine steadily being emptied between them.