My shoulders relaxed. The hardest part of my work had ended, the most intensive part of the evening finished, at least for me. Whoever she chose for the quest would have a whole surprise coming their way. But for Clara Thorne, there were no more surprises in store.
“Have something to drink!” Sylvie appeared out of the crowd, thrusting a flagon of mead into my hand, its sloshing contents barely missing my too-long sleeves. She donned a small flower crown made of buttercups and dandelions, and her cheeks were flushed with drink already. “How’s your head?!” she screamed.
“Fine!”
“You took quite the hit. Good thing they got you before you were passed out in horse shite for too long!” A few people around us turned their heads at that but became quickly distracted by other festivities.
“Speaking of that”—I began to shout as noise levels rose—“who brought me to you?”
“Who was huh?”
“Who saved me?” I put air quotes around the wordsaved.
“I did!” Her words were slurring into one another. She started to leave, but I grabbed her hand.
“No, not you. The person in the corner?” I spoke slowly, emphasizing every word like talking to a child.
“I’m always in your corner, darling!” She pulled my head down to meet her short frame and placed a slobbery kiss right on my forehead. “Get into some trouble for me!”
“Sylvie, wait!” But she faded into the crowd before I could stop her.
Well, if I couldn’t beat them, I might as well join them.
I took a long swig of mead, savoring the honey-sweet flavor coating my tongue. The effects were almost immediate, my senses becoming dulled and alive all at once. I finished the whole thing in the next gulp, relishing the prickles it sent all over my body.
The music started sounding like magic, and my body moved in rhythm. A few wily pixies surrounded me as we danced together, one of them shoving another drink into my hand. The drink, colored bright red, tasted like tart cherries. I downed it immediately. When I finished, I threw my hands into the air, giving a heartyWAHOOas I tossed my glass up high. The pixies caught it… I think. Or someone’s head met with my glass.
I began to dance harder, sweat dripping down the back of my neck, my feet aching from jumping up and down to the beat. A sharp pang of humiliation coursed through me as I remembered almost ruining Eldrene’s entrance, so I muted it with a greenish drink that could barely be considered a mouthful but had a strong effect—an Orc Shot, as Rosie sofondly called it. And the embarrassment effectively got shot down.
“Oh my Goddess, Clara, you’re right well plastered!” a voice squealed from behind me. Rosie spun me around, her face sweaty and flushed. She boasted two full pints of ale in one hand and an entire turkey leg in the other. Her delicate, frilly yellow dress and braided pigtails complete with red ribbons tying off the ends directly opposed her beefy muscles.
Then there weretwolovely Rosies. No,threelovely Rosies.
“Yes, I am that!” I screamed. The nowfourRosies converged back into one full Rosie.
There were lightweights, and then there was me: a featherweight. Rosie had witnessed me drink a singular glass of mead six years ago when my curiosity to see what all the fuss was about overrode my fear of vomiting up regrets. I woke up the next day covered in my own sick. Tonight would be different. I’d worked up a tiny tolerance—enough to survive the party, at least.
“Best night ever!” She cleaned her turkey leg in one bite, leaving nothing but a gleaming bone. “Do you want to survey the folk with me?” she screamed in between double fisting her ales, her tusks dripping with drink.
“Like a bird!” I squealed in excitement. But I couldn’t do so with my average human stature. “Rosie!” I tugged on her braid, and she leaned in close. “Can you do that shoulder thing?” I yelled far too loudly directly into her ear. She winced at the volume but nodded.
Downing both pints of ale quickly, she discarded the cups on the ground and then offered her palms to me. I used them as ladders until she could place me on her shoulders with ease.
My vision went between double and triple, but even still, I saw the tall tales unfolding nine feet up in the air.
“Unholy Goddesses, Rosie, do you see this?” I pointed to the back of the crowd.
“Holy Goddess, Fates, and Mother Earth herself. Is that…”
“Sylvie is HAVING HER WAY WITH REMI THE DWARF.” I bounced up and down on Rosie’s shoulders in elation.
“EWWWW,” Rosie and I said in unison.
“To your left!” I screamed.
Rosie turned.
“No to the other left,” I corrected.
