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“I’m good for the first bottles, but then you’re on your own, Croft.”
“I just saved your life,” She gave him an exasperated look. “I think that puts us on a first-name basis.”
Oleander rolled his eyes. “Why not skip straight to cutesy nicknames? How about Nessel? Nessie? Or just Ness?”
“Ness isn’t terrible,” Brennessel conceded with a laugh. “But… can I ask a question?”
Oleander released an irritated snort. “Is it not enough that I’m buying you food and wine?”
She raised an eyebrow but proceeded with asking anyway. “Whatever happened to that demon Amiran you were dating?”
He stared at her for a moment, incredulous that she would bring up such a sensitive subject. “I think the answer to that should be obvious.”
“That you’re an ass?” Aello offered, suddenly appearing to drop off two glasses and a bottle of shimmering rose pixie wine.
Oleander quickly poured both himself and Brennessel a glass, before emptying his and pouring himself another.
“Alright, sorry. We don’t need to talk about old flames.” Brennessel sipped hers slowly, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “So… how did you get stuck under a hundred Conceit Crawler vines?”
He shot her a withering glare. “I was in a hurry and needed to harvest the perilla blooms quickly… and well—”
Brennessel slapped the table, pointing excitedly at him. “I’m sorry… Are you telling me you tried to bargain with perilla?”
Oleander hid his embarrassment behind his drink. “Perhaps.”
“You absolute bellend!” Brennessel grinned wickedly as she gloated. “Never, never, never bargain with a perrilla! The most you can do is gently persuade it—but even then… that herb is strong-willed and deadly.”
Oleander gave her an annoyed look but chose to drink his wine in lieu of responding.
“What was your hurry, anyway?”
“I… uh… I saw the Lady of the Lake.”
“No!” Brennessel gasped. “Really?”
“I’ve never seen her before, and it… well, it scared the piss out of me. I wanted to leave as fast as possible.”
“You know she only eats demonesses,” Brennessel said, laughing at him again.
“Well I’m sorry that I don’t believe she takes the construct of gender as seriously as the rest of us,” he countered, feeling more than a little peeved at her mockery. “Besides, I’m very lovely so she might have gotten confused.”
“Very true!” Brennessel grinned so delighted that he felt his mouth pull to mirror hers. “Anyway,” she pivoted briskly. “Wasn’t there some old legend of the Devil and the Lady of the Lake making a deal with each other—back before she went by that name?”
“With that fool?” A chill passed through Oleander. He didn’t know what to say so he scoffed, “Never.”
“I know I’ve read it somewhere. And they called her…” Brennessel sipped her wine, pausing. “Oh, what was it?”
“Horrific?”
“Well, that goes without saying. But no, I think she’s related to the Goddess maybe?”
“Who knows? I’ve never cared for ancient history.” Oleander offered, wanting very much to talk about anything else but this.
“Maybe the Goddess was her grandmother?”
“Sure.” He very much did not care about the Goddess or the Lady of the Lake. “None of it actually matters though. Why do you care about those old legends?”
“Because they shape the world we live in!”
