Casual Heroing

Do you ever think about what went through the mind of that British madman who wrote about a ring and a bunch of clearly sexually confused Elves? What is up with that? Like, man, listen, I respect your craft, but you are telling me that you took these centuries-old stereotypes—heck, probably millennia old - and they are no more than stinky little monsters that bite your toes when you spill your afternoon tea or something like that - and you make that into this immortal refined, posh, and wigless version of British lawyers? Ridiculous. Also, they speak a language only the worst of the worst and their kin can understand. How do you come up with that?

Why am I telling you this?

I don’t know. I’m looking at Sabina, the woman that gave me potions, through the window. Hell, she swears like a sailor after dropping an expensive ingredient on the ground. Or a bottle of liquor. Alchemy is not in my chords. But why did we represent Elves as the mean, gay friends of the top-dog cheerleader in high school? What’s up with that? Like, ‘mh, yeah, I might help you, but I don’t know, maybe I’ll just be a soulless monster ruminating about how people wear rags, and I wear these fantastic outfits.’

“Do you think there’s a specific reason people would want to stay around toxic waste all the time? Like, is there a particular benefit in being an [Alchemist]? Do they produce make-up?”

“Make-up? Cough, cough!” Marcellus almost chokes on the cigar that I gave him.

I gently bite on mine before taking a puff and almost choking on it myself. If another person tells me ‘not to inhale,’ I’ll bash their heads in using Marcellus as a bat, I swear.

Right, we should have started from there.

…

“So, this place sells cigars?” I ask Marcellus while looking at a dodgy place called ‘The Secret Leaf.’

“The best ones in the city! And they are expensive!” Marcellus nods wisely. “Surely, that shan’t be a problem for a large friend of mine such as yourself!”

Large? Does he mean rich? Can you use the term ‘large’ for someone rich? I take a better look at the Elf kid and deduct that neither of us knows, actually.

“Let’s go, Sir Bedevere.”

“What?”

“Nothing, let’s go,” I sigh.

I enter the place and almost faint on the spot. There’s such a fragrance in the environment that even a long-time cigar lover would find it a bit overwhelming. Plus, not all that I’m smelling feels legal.

I sniff multiple times while I approach an unmanned counter.

Hell, someone has smoked the Devil’s grass recently.

What?

No, I don’t smoke. I have done it a couple of times, but it’s not how I roll. Probably because I’m not paying tuition to attend Gender Studies at Columbia – I guess that’s how they select who can smoke weed.

“Kind sir!” Marcellus all but shrieks in my goddamn ear.

“Jesus Christ,” I look at the guy, wincing.

“Oh, is that the name of the owner?”

“What?” I ask.

“Jesus Christ, is that what the owner likes to be called?” Marcellus asks while batting his eyes innocently.

“Nah, Jesus is a friend of mine, Marcy. I just call upon his name when I feel upset. It’s an inside joke. Don’t mind me.”

Marcellus nods wisely, frowning a little.

“It does sound quite apt as a name,” the kid says.

“For what?”

“Swearing.”

Man, I wish my mother could hear that.

A slick Elf comes out from the back with a thin cigarette in his mouth and smoke tumbling and pirouetting around his massive mustache. The man looks like some Broadway version of Pinocchio’s Mangiafuoco. But without a beard. Just mustache.

“You are new,” the Elf says with a smile. “Never smoked?”

“Not frequently. But I recently tried a cigar from a friend, and I wanted to get more into it.”

I mean, if I can actually cure cancer, why not?

“Oh, and who might this friend be?”

“Breakstone?”

Suddenly, the Elf frowns and changes his attitude.

“That bastard has still an open, unpaid tab, and he goes sharing his—”

“I mean, I barely know the guy,” I raise my hands defensively, “I didn’t even know he shopped here.”

“What gentleman lets others call him Breakstone?” Marcellus mutters under his breath.

“So, you are not one of his acquaintances,” the owner of The Secret Leaf looks at me from head to toe, trying to get an image of me in the regular clothes the illusion was showing.

“Me? Nope. I’m just here to buy cigars. With good coin, buddy.”

“How good?” suddenly, the Elf seems more interested and amicable.

“I’ll take the best you have for the two of us,” I say, putting a hand over Marcellus’s shoulder.

“Oh, you want the strong ones?”

“What? No! I meant quality-wise. Give me normal cigars. No weird effects. Just stuff that has good taste? Or that gets a good taste over time?”

“Mh,” the man seems disappointed, but he still fishes for a wooden box with a weird rune.

“Is that a preservation enchantment?” I ask while he’s looking at the wooden box with a contemplative stare.

“This? This is a freshness enchantment. The box stays closed until someone is willing to buy enough cigars at once. There are fifteen in here. But they are expensive. Three silvers each.”

“Freshness?”

I have never heard of such a thing.

“A normal preservation rune does not account for taste or fragrance. It only prevents the food from actually going bad. If you want any fresh products, even alchemical ones, to keep their full potency, you have to keep them fresh. The box’s enchantment starts failing once you open it. But it will still help to keep the cigars fresh and fragrant for a longer time. If possible, try not to leave the wooden box open. And if you tinker with alchemy or strong smells, put it away. Not in a bag of holding, though. But that’s only if you buy an entire box. How many cigars would you like? Since you are the first customer, we can go down to two silvers and four coppers each.”

…

Talking about alchemy made me think about Sabina, the girl I know very little about. Robin’s report didn’t have anything on her yet. I have updated the list of names of interest. And yeah, I bought the entire box. Obviously. As Marcellus says, I’m large. I might as well treat myself.

Looking at the guy choking on his cigar, I realize I forgot how old he is.

“Yo, Marcy, how old are you again?”

I have it in his file, but God forbid I get a skill that helps my memory.

“Seventeen, why?” he coughs out.

I look at the cigar I had put in the hands of a minor and wonder if I should take it back. As if he understood something, he moves the tobacco thick-stick closer to his body.

“My age shan’t be a concern!”

I take another puff from the cigar, trying hard not to cough, and keep the smoke in my mouth for a second. This stuff honestly tastes nice. I’ve tried some cigars on Earth, and they were the most God-awful things you could ever put close to your mouth. But this one has a lovely tobacco-almondy flavor.

“Whatever. Let’s pick up Sabina before we go to the lesson. I have to thank her for what she did. It’s good that you remembered where she lives.”

Marcellus nods wisely with his eyes closed, clearly making a great effort not to cough again.

I knock on the door, and a surprised Sabina stares at us.

“What are you doing here?” she has a focused expression. She shifts her gaze from my eyes to my cigar with a disgusted face.

“Hi! I wanted to thank you again for the potions,” I say with a smile. “I’d also like to pay you back.”

“Me? Aurelia gave me the potions. Take it up with her. I just did a run for you, and I don’t need anything.”

She closes the door in our faces with a slam.

“Should we…” Marcellus points away from the door.

I raise a hand, shaking my head. Then, I knock again.

After several seconds, she opens again.

“I thought we could all walk together to class? You skipped the first lesson of Advanced Cantrips I, right? Why don’t we chat about that on the way; maybe I can give you a few pointers?”

I have shown what I’m capable of, so this should work perfectly—

She closes the door again. From behind it, I can hear: “Mind your own business! I’ll see you in class!”

I look at Marcellus, who’s still pointing away from the door, and shrug.

“Ok,” I say as I take another puff from the cigar. But as I’m turning my back, she suddenly opens the door.

“And why would you teach me anything? Aren’t you just a spoiled, rich child? What do you even know about magic? Do you think a simple trick of [Lights] makes you an expert?”

I turn to face her and find an intense glare penetrating my head. She has purplish eyes with green splinters, like emeralds on a purple evening gown crafted by a great [Seamstress]. Her hair, instead, is yellow. Not blonde. Not gray. Not golden. Yellow. A bit suffused, but pure yellow.

Weird-ass colors in this world, am I right?

I’m tempted to teach this woman a lesson, but the stuff I read on the files makes me reconsider. I shoot a glance at Marcellus and then think about the others. Life is never that easy, is it?

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I am proficient, but maybe I shouldn’t have bothered you here?” I don’t really know what I’m apologizing for. But, especially with women, it’s always a good starting point. Because then, they start—

“I lost an entire damn day because I thought you fainted and you were going to die! Hell, Amelia scared us to death before explaining what she had done! And she did that right before you woke up! How is that fair?! So much time wasted! I could have studied! I need to study, Gioeius! I need it! And you are supposed to be the leader of our group? What kind of a leader can barely take care of himself?! Youl house looks haunted.”

Wow.

Talk.

They start talking. That’s what women do when you are silent long enough. Or when you ask the right questions. But that’s beside the point.

I’m the most proficient [Mage] in a—

I take a deep breath.

Then another.

Then I try to see if she has anything else to add.

“All of you—” she bites her lip so strongly I fear she might bleed. “All of you—AH! Adrastus looks like the only one with some seed in him!”

I snort.

“Do you find me failing out of this rotten expensive school funny?!”

Hell, woman. What do you mean ‘with a bit of seed in him’? What? Am I expected not to laugh at that? What am I, an adult?

“No, I’m sorry. It’s just that the expression you used can be misconstrued in my culture. I think you are right. It’s better if we focus on our studies from now on. And I promise I’ll help as much as I can. When you go beyond the first impression of me, I can actually cast pretty good magic. My theory is not up to standard, but the rest is quite good, that I can guarantee.”

Sabina looks at me with narrowed eyes. See, kids, the trick is to avoid giving more bones to pick to a person looking for conflict. Sure, if they are unreasonable enough, they will always have something to complain about. But as a general rule, no one wants just to create problems indefinitely. As a general rule. Sadly, there are many exceptions.

“I’m going to grab some of the things I got for Aurelia, and we can go to class,” Sabina says, slamming the door behind her.

I take a slow puff from my cigar, happy that I started smoking this stuff. Too many women around to deal with without a good Elven Cuban.