Journey

Traveling, Damien reflected, was a lot easier before he got mate-sick. Now, just walking for a few hours rendered him an absolute wreck. He was so tired all the time, all he wanted to do was lay down and sleep. The scent in the clothes that Dezzy had brought back was fading fast, and with it, Damien's ability to function. 

Dezzy did all that she could to support him. She even offered to carry Damien, but there were limits to what help Damien would accept and that was CERTAINLY one of them. Instead, he told Dezzy to stop harassing him, because every time they argued it wasted valuable breath he could be using to walk faster. 

She didn't argue after that, but he could tell she was both surprised and disappointed by how long it took for them to reach the nearest town. Normally, Damien and Dezzy could get to the town in time for the early market and be home before sunset. This time, they didn't reach the town until nearly sunset. 

"We should probably find a place to stay the night," Dezzy said, glancing at Damien to see if he agreed.

As much as Damien wanted to say that he could walk through the night just fine (as this was likely what Dezzy had done on her route to the vampire castle), the truth was that he needed to lay down and get some rest. His whole body ached, and weariness felt like it was weighing heavy in his bones. Every breath felt insufficient, and the lingering scent wrapped around his nose was barely giving him the strength to put one foot in front of the other. "Good idea," he said.

"How about the Lucky Bear?" Dezzy gestured in the direction of one of the cheaper local establishments. The owner was always kind and friendly to both Dezzy and Damien, which could be a rare thing given their less-than-human ancestry. One reason for this was due to the fact that the owner's wife was a half-giant who visited mother's shop on occasion when she needed magical ailments cured. The other reason was because Barry, the owner, was one of the most gregarious and easygoing humans Dezzy and Damien had ever met. He was friend to all, and generous with his friends. It made the tavern a lively and welcoming place, no matter what your background. Damien had missed visiting the place since he'd fallen ill, and was genuinely pleased by the suggestion.

"Sure," he agreed.

The two of them ambled in the direction of the tavern at a slow pace, Dezzy catching Damien's elbow to steady him after his knees threatened to buckle not once, but twice.

"Come on, Damie," she urged. "Almost there."

"I know," Damien growled, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at Dezzy. He knew she was trying to help, but the hovering was growing intolerable already. Who knew how many more days on the road it would take to make it to the castle? And he didn't even want to think about what he'd have to put up with once he actually got there. 

He didn't want to think about anything, actually. He just wanted to sleep.

By the time they reached the tavern door, Damien had given up the pretense of walking on his own and was leaning heavily against Dezzy, who was for all intents and purposes carrying him, despite the vehemence of Damien's earlier protests. Dezzy kicked the door in with enough force that a typical evening crowd would have expected an ensuing bar brawl. In the Lucky Bear, however, this sort of behavior was rather the norm.

Once they had passed through the door, a gleeful shout went up from around the room. Regular patrons raised their mugs in greeting. Behind the bar, Barry was wiping down a handful of mugs with a suspiciously-stained rag, which he raised in their direction. 

"Desdemona," he called, the friendly grin he wore on his features widening at the sight of them. "Damien. Good to see you!"

"Good to see you, too, Barrold," Dezzy shot back, a half-smirk on her face. 

Damien sighed at the antics. For whatever reason, Barry insisted on calling Dezzy by her full name, which had prompted Dezzy to call Barry by his 'full name'. Except that Barry's full name actually was Barry. So she had invented a full name for him, and had settled on Barrold, for whatever reason. 

"What can I get you two?" Barry asked, then frowned as Dezzy and Damien crossed the room, and Damien's predicament became more obvious. "Damien? What's wrong?"

"Oh, you know," Damien said, "I get tired easily these days. These old bones."

Barry frowned thoughtfully, likely assuming (wrongfully) that it had something to do with Damien's lunar affliction. Which, technically, it did. But not in the way the man probably assumed. "I've got just the thing for you," he said, setting down the mugs and slapping the rag onto the bar in front of him. "Care to try it?"

Damien grimaced. "So long as it's not another 'new flavor' of beer," he said, shuddering. Barry had a proclivity for making beer with all manner of odd additions - some of the most potent and horrible had been ham-hock beer, potato beer, and a truly horrifying blend he called Barry's Brew, which had actually used berries that he had foraged in the forest - except the berries he'd harvested could barely be called edible before he'd added them to his admittedly marginal brew. 

"No, no, Angie's talked me out of that," Barry assured Damien, referencing his half-giant wife with a soft, doting look in his eye. "But she's got me trying my hand at tonics," he continued, "And I've got this ginger-and-licorice brew that's as sweet and spicy as anything you've ever tasted."

Damien wasn't sure he could quite imagine the flavor of ginger and licorice in a tonic. He also was fairly certain he didn't want to taste the real deal. "I think tonight I'll stick to the usual," he said. 

"All right," Barry agreed good-naturedly. "But think about it."

"I'll try it!" Dezzy immediately volunteered. 

Damien considered this yet more evidence of her self-destructive tendencies coming to the surface. "Dezzy," he said, but she waved him off.

"It sounds interesting," she insisted, and helped Damien settle at one of the bar stools before hopping onto one beside him. "Can we get something to eat, too?"

"Should Angie be finding a room for you, too?" Barry asked, filling a mug with ale and plopping it in front of Damien before rummaging beneath the counter for a moment and standing up with a large glass bottle containing a suspiciously thick brown liquid. 

"If she wouldn't mind," Dezzy said, eyeing the brown ooze in Barry's glass bottle with obvious delight. "What'cha got in there besides the licorice and ginger?"

"Trade secret," Barry replied.

Dezzy shrugged. "Fair enough."

Barry poured a small amount of the syrupy brown liquid into a glass, pushing it across the bar to Dezzy. The smell was so strong that Damien could smell it from his seat, and it made his eyes sting. 

"I'll let Angie know you'll be staying the night," Barry said, and walked into the back, leaving Damien and Dezzy alone at the bar.

"Please don't drink that," Damien said, eyeing the probably-deadly brew.

"It smells amazing," Dezzy said, attempting to swish it around in the glass. It stuck to the edges like a thin honey, making the liquid's movement a tad too sluggish to accurately be described as swishing.

"Amazing in what way?" Damien asked, half-rhetorically.

Dezzy hummed under her breath, but did not answer. Instead, she tilted her head and tossed back the tonic. Or rather, she tried to toss it back, though the liquid slid out of the glass like a syrup, and not like a typical beverage. She swallowed it in one large gulp, then smacked her lips a few times before declaring, "Interesting."

"If you die tonight, I'm going to kill you," Damien told her. 

"I'll be fine," Dezzy said, poking Damien lightly in the shoulder. "Quit whining."

Huffing in annoyance, Damien picked up his ale and took a few swallows, belatedly hoping he'd be able to keep the drink down. It was getting to the point of his sickness where he wasn't feeling hungry anymore, so the vomiting would likely be following within the next few days. 

Barry bustled back in with two bowls of what looked to be Angie's specialty - a hearty milk-based potato chowder, with large chunks of onion, ham, carrots, and sometimes other vegetables when they were available in the market. Today, it looked like there had been a sale on green beans, because the potato chowder was chock full of them. It looked fantastic, and Damien hoped he'd be able to stomach at least a few bites of it.

"Well? What d'ya think?" Barry asked, setting a bowl down in front of each of them. He gazed expectantly at Dezzy.

Dezzy opened her mouth, and burped loudly. She closed her mouth again, and looked thoughtful, then tried again. "It's good," she said. "A little too sticky."

"Hard to swallow?" Barry asked. "That's what the others said."

"Traps the air on the way down," Dezzy said. "Like swallowing a big bubble."

"Huh," Barry said thoughtfully. "I guess I'll need to keep woking on it." 

"You do that," Dezzy said.

Barry seemed about to respond when he was flagged down by a table, and left the bar to take the orders of the seated customers. 

Dezzy watched him go for a moment, and then picked up the bowl of potato chowder. "Bottoms up!" she declared, and began drinking the potato chowder directly from the bowl.

Damien stared at her for a few seconds in mild disbelief, then sighed and picked up the spoon from the counter and began eating his own soup in a more socially acceptable manner. By the time Dezzy set her bowl down, Damien had managed about five bites, and wasn't sure he'd be able to stomach any more than that.

"Dezzy," he said, and then pushed the bowl in her direction. 

She picked it up and drank the rest of his soup in the same manner she had her own, setting his bowl down beside hers. "Ah," she said, patting her stomach appreciatively, "that's the good stuff."

"It was good," Damien agreed, placing the dirty spoon into the second empty bowl. He tried and failed to smother a yawn. 

"You ready to sleep already?" Dezzy asked. For her, the night probably felt young.

But Damien was ready to collapse. He nodded. 

"All right," Dezzy hopped off of her stool, turning around to spot Barry, who had apparently finished taking orders and was headed back to the bar. "Hey Barrold!" she called. "Those rooms ready yet?"

Barry looked surprised as he moved back behind the bar. "Sure are," he said. "But you're going to bed so soon?"

"Not me," Dezzy said. "Damie needs his beauty sleep, though."

"I see," Barry glanced sympathetically in Damien's direction. "It'll be the gable room at the end of the hall. Key's inside on the bedside table."

"Great," Dezzy said, and grabbed Damien's elbow. "Let's go."

"Okay," Damien agreed, too tired to complain about being manhandled. He let Dezzy tug him off the stool, and stumbled his way across the room and up the stairs. Once he reached the room, he tried to lay down immediately, but Dezzy made him take off his shoes, hang up his cloak, unbutton his waistcoat, and loosen his shirt collar. Finally, she let him lay down. 

"Sleep well," she said, tucking the vampire's shirt under Damien's nose once he was laying down. "I'll wake you when it's time to go tomorrow."

"Okay," Damien answered sleepily, inhaling deeply to catch the barest hint of scent on the vampire's clothes, hating himself a little bit for how easily it calmed him.

"Call me if you need anything," Dezzy said, pressing something small and smooth into Damien's hand before she left. He was too tired to bother lifting his arm to look at the object in his palm, so he just curled his fingers around it and closed his eyes.

He was asleep before she finished locking the door.