The Send Off, Part Two

Alex awoke to the sounds of war. He was laying down in the mud as arrows flew through the air and giant balls of fire crashed to the earth like meteors. As Alex stumbled to his feet he saw many men fighting all around him. He looked around and found he had no weapon to defend himself with. 

"A-Alex," Alex heard a familiar voice behind him. He turned around slowly to see Beret standing behind him, a grave wound in the center of his chest. "No… No, this isn't real! None of this is real." He closed his eyes and pinched himself, but when he opened them he was not greeted by the real world but by Beret. He felt a shiver down his back as Beret smiled. 

"Pain is real, my friend." Beret put a bloody hand on Alex's left eye. He tried to remove it, tried to run, but it seemed as if he was nailed in place. Alex winced as he felt a pain in his eye. Beret pulled off the patch and the pain grew worse, "Something is coming, and you will need your sight for when it appears. This will not help you." Beret dropped the patch in the mud and walked away leaving Alex in pain.

"W-Wait? Don't go, wait! What's coming?" Beret didn't stop to answer him and a black mass rose out of the mud and covered Alex, "Wait. WAIT" Alex rose out of bed gasping for breath. He looked around not knowing where he was and tried to calm down. He laid back down trying to understand what the dream meant. After recollecting himself he raised out of bed and studied the room. 

It was small, but large enough for a bed, a table and a drawer to be tucked in nicely. There was also a door at the end of the room. He got up from the bed and stepped on something. It was his patch. He picked it up and laid it on the table while he walked to the door in the back of the room.

Lights lit up a bathroom as he walked in. It was a simple bathroom holding only a small shower and a sink. Alex looked in the mirror. He still had bags under his eyes and he felt as bad as he looked. He raised a hand in front of his left eye. Nothing, as always. He sighed and began the shower. 

After drying off he found a set of clothes laying on the bed with a note. Someone must have come in while he was showering. He picked up the note and read it out loud. "After you get done with the shower put these on and head downstairs." He laid the note on the table and carefully strapped the patch back onto his face.

 It was a set of waiters attire. A white button up, black slacks, and black leather shoes. He sighed as he realized what he was about to do and reluctantly put the clothes on. The clothes felt stifling and tight. He refused to tuck the shirt in or button the top up.

He noticed his bag laid by the bed and reached in for his comb. He winced as he nicked his finger on something metal. He pulled his hand out and studied the scratch as it stiched itself back together. It left a small itchy brown scar. 

He shook his head and pulled out the object that had scratched him. It was a picture of him and Beret sitting on some rubble together overlooking a wheat field. Alex smiled at the memory. 

He and his company were stationed in a town somewhere in northern Alfronese where a man was showing off his new invention. He told them he was a Photographer and was documenting the war. He was taking pictures and Beret convinced Alex to take one with him. After a bright light the man gave him and Beret both a picture and a frame. He laid it down on the table, some memories were worth keeping. 

He reached back onto the bag and pulled out a white comb and slicked his hair back. It was long and annoying if he kept it in the front. After placing his comb back in his bag he walked out of his room. He ended up on the balcony with the smell of breakfast being prepared. He looked down to see Grace cooking and Flint talking with another man. 

Grace looked up and smiled, "You're awake, good. Breakfast is ready, you'll need it for today." Alex found that to be both friendly and menacing at the same time. He nodded and walked downstairs and sat at the bar where Grace laid a plate of food out for him. Sausages and eggs with a side of Toast. Grace smiled and laid a glass of milk in front of him.

"I don't believe we've been acquainted yet. Names Grace, owner of this fine establishment." "T-Thank you for the room, and I'm sorry about last night too." She shook her head, "Don't worry about that, you'll make it up." She smiled devilishly and Alex concentrated on his food.

Flint laughed, "Sorry kid, you said you were looking for a job and Grace doesn't let an opportunity slip. Besides, she's getting old. She doesn't need to be waiting at all those tables by herself." Grace gawked, "Oh, I'm not the only one with gray hair you know." Flint raised an eye, "I'm only fifty two, you wench." She raised a cooking knife to the old man's throat from across the bar, "If you're so young, then I better see those toilets as sparkly as a gem in five minutes." 

The old man gulped, "R-Right away Honey!" As he hurried to the rest rooms the other man laughed, "Put him in his place Grace." She smiled and put the blade back on the table and set out preparing the morning menu items. The other man looked at Alex, "You holding in there kid. Saw you last night, hope you're feeling better." He held out his hand, "Names Turner."

Alex shook his hand, Turner seemed in his late thirties with well trimmed hair and a goatee. Alex noticed the man had a peg leg and a small medal hidden under his Jacket, "You served." The man nodded, "26th Infantry division, Major Turner, or Former Major." Alex didn't know why but the peg leg reminded him of something but he didn't know what. 

"I served during the Ellington Rebelion, lost my leg there too." Alex knew the conflict from his studies. The northern Rebellion was led by a man named Eliington, a mage from the northern noble houses. He managed to pick up support from many of the local lords and landowners and staged a rebellion against the king. They say the man was mad, but other sources say differently.

He was nicknamed the Mad Strategist for his success during the war. It has been said that he would have succeeded if he hadn't been betrayed. His betrayers have capitalized on his failure since the rebellion, many who rule over his land to this day. He wondered where exactly he served during the war, but was cut off by grace. 

"Theres no time for your war stories, Turner. The boys got a job to attend to." She took his half eaten plate, "Not going to eat." He shook his head, "I can't eat very much nowadays." "I see," she put the plate down, "Well you can add it into your supper." 

After that she gave a quick run down of the menu and seat placements. She had a system for serving food which was complicated. All the tables and booths had numbers so he would have to remember them when writing down orders. She also had a rather large menu for an Inn, honestly it reminded him more of a restaurant. Each dish had a number so that made it a little easier for him. 

The first few customers started to enter for breakfast and Alex was sent to work by grace with a back pat. At first it was hard writing down orders, for one the people usually didn't use numbers and had more specific orders like extra cheese or no pickles. He also found writing in general to be a challenge. 

He had horribly sloppy handwriting. The last time he wrote was nearly four years ago for a replacement program in the war. He also found his hands to be unbearably shaky and it only got worse if he tried carefully to write. Grace seemed to understand and chose not to yell at him for it, but be bet she found it annoying to make out his hieroglyphs. 

Turner stuck around all day for some reason and talked to him during a break. "That shakiness, it's your nerves. Your hands are so used to a sword there having trouble readjusting. Give it a couple weeks and you should be fine, just make sure to practice." Alex noticed that both his and Flints hands still shook slightly. 

During the afternoon thing's got much busier. He was taking orders left and right and trying to focus on writing was taking up more time than needed. After messing up an odor he had another episode of breathlessness followed by blurry vision. Grace too in the reins while he sat in the back catching his breath. 

Turner sat down in front of him, "You alright kid." Alex nodded and tried to breath slowly. It felt as if he were having a heart attack. "I'll be fine...Just give me a minute." Turner left him alone and Alex finally calmed down. As he got up he wondered if he was getting sick.

After a long day Alex sat in the back booth holding his head when Grace came up to him and laid a cup of water on the table, "Hey, hun, are you alright." He looked up and nodded, "Yeah… Just… need a little longer. I'll be back out on the floor in a second." She smiled, "I actually just locked up shop. Good job today. Here." She laid a bag of money on the table. 

Alex opened the content's and found it held a great sum of money.  "N-No, Grace this is too much for just one day." She sat down, and laid another smaller bag on the table, "Actually those are tips, this is your payment. Do you know how much business you brought in today? And I'm not sure how many times you've spent money, but that's a fair amount for your service." 

He was surprised to hear that. In truth he was thinking he was costing her money by sitting out and messing up orders, "Oh." Flint walked up, "Oh indeed. Tomorrow you're only working half a day." Alex looked over, "What, why. Don't you need me here." Grace held up a hand, "Its a restock day. Once a week I open up in the afternoon to take inventory in the morning." 

Flint smiled, "Yup, that gives you half a day to spend that money you made. And well go fishing." Alex looked at him, "Fishing?" Flint nodded, "I remember you telling me once you'd never been. Plus we can cook up whatever we catch. Two dragons, one stone." 

Alex found the idea of fishing comical. Alex sighed, "I don't have a fishing pole." Flint leaned down, "I have an extra."