To Bittercup’s experienced eyes, one fact was immediately clear: Aya’s tail was going to be a problem.

Living in Shinki Itten had exposed the elf to the panoply of kobold non-verbal cues, from the ear perk to the teeth clack to the ever-popular head tilt. Further still, her natural talents and immersion in the city's culture had intuned her to the subtle nuances of those gestures. What does a small snort mean, combined with a tension in the shoulders and alert ears? Is that a smile, or a bearing of teeth? Is that kobold who’s holding a stare slightly too long infuriated, or do they just want a bite of my food?

Bittercup suspected there was an entire additional layer of smell-based nuance she was missing out on, but even so she’d learn this truth: Everyone talks with more than just their words, and that is doubly true in Shinki Itten

So when she saw the waitress, crowded at the bar by a pair of boisterous, too-friendly Players, and saw her tail, held low and wriggling in a tight little wag? Bittercup knew that, despite Aya’s best efforts at maintaining an air of professional courtesy, the Players were making the waitress uncomfortable and anxious.

The Players simply saw a wagging tail, however, and either didn’t know or didn’t care that that didn’t automatically mean ‘Happy Dog’.

“Sorry, um,” the waitress tried to explain, “I’ve never heard of a…what was it again?”

“Long Island Iced Tea,” the spectacled Player repeated. “I bet you could make a mean one, couldn’t you?”

Aya couldn’t resist tilting her head, a gesture the Players clearly found charming. “Iced tea? You want me to get you some watered-down tea?”

“It’s not actually tea,” the Player clarified. “It’s booze. It’s good!”

“Pshh, like you’ve ever even had one,” the other Player cut in, shaggy hair dangling in front of his teasing eyes. “You just heard someone order that on TV or some shit.” He pitched his voice high, waggling his hands in the air. “Oh I don’t wanna look lame in front of this cute waitress; lemme scrabble up the first cocktail I can think of! That’ll impress her!”

“Shut up. Shut up forever.” The first Player pushed up his glasses, attempting to maintain an air of dignity. “I’d bet anything they’re a drink in-game, just with some dumb Magica name slapped on.” Glasses waved a hand, as if he might conjure the correct moniker out of thin air. “Like, maybe a Tall Cliffs Iced Tea. That’s probably a thing, right?”

“Did I hear someone order a Tall Cliffs Iced Tea?” The two Players’ attention shifted from Aya to Bittercup as the elf slid effortlessly into their conversation, as brazen as if she’d been included from the start. “I thought I was the only one around here who liked those!”

Shaggy’s incredulous laugh tumbled into a snort. “Wait, that’s actually what they’re called?”

“See?” Glasses puffed himself up in pride. “You were a fool to doubt me.”

“Clearly!” Bittercup leaned over the bar, flashing the two men her fourth most ingratiating smile. “You sure know your stuff, Mister…?”

Bittercup’s weaponized aura of casual confidence masked the whirling mechanisms of her well-honed skills of observation, the small fraction of focus needed to maintain pleasant conversation with the two Players the only part of her not dedicated to absorbing and analyzing any and all potentially relevant information she could scratch up.

The Mark? These two Players. The Goal? Discovering whatever information they held that was vital to Shinki Itten’s interests. The Difficulty?

Well. Both of their eyes kept darting down to her chest, and they seemed to think they were being subtle about it. So, let’s just put the Difficulty at a generous Three.

Unaware of the intense scrutiny he was under, Glasses pushed a thumb into his chest. “I’m Prosporo, and my very incorrect friend here is BossJon.”

“I can’t believe you guessed it,” Shaggy exclaimed, shaking his head. “And that it’s so dumb.”

“That’s how they do it in Magica,” Glasses proffered, practically radiating erudite wisdom. “They always just do some dumb name swap.” The aura of sagacity deflated somewhat as Glasses flushed, a flinch crossing his face as he realized he’d almost missed an opening. “Oh, um, what’s your name?”

Bittercup winked, and Glasses flushed a little harder. “Well, Prosporo, my name is in High Sylvan. So if you’re planning on drinking High Cliffs Iced Teas tonight, maybe you’d better just call me Lolo.”

Glasses grinned, attempting to collect himself and almost succeeding. “Right, um, so these must be pretty strong then?”

“Mm,” Bittercup hummed. “I always heard the name was because drinking them is like jumping off a high cliff: Fun while you’re doing it, less fun when you get to the end.”

The two Players nodded along, giving every indication they’d heard the same saying. Which was bullshit, of course; Bittercup knew exactly what a Long Island Iced Tea was, and ‘High Cliffs Iced Tea’ was some hot nonsense even by the extremely lax standards of the world they lived in. But in Bittercup’s experience men tended not to question their correctness when she agreed with them, and the idea that either of these two might go somewhere else and try to order a High Cliffs Iced Tea was hilarious.

“So you know how to make them?” Aya chimed in. “Could you show me how?”

“Oh sure!” Bittercup began to tick off the recipe on her fingers, keeping an imperceptible eye on the expressions of the two Players. “It’s vodka, white rum, gin, triple sec..”

Whether they were aware of it or not, Glasses and Shaggy blanched as Bittercup outlined a significantly boozier drink than they’d been expecting. Right, so these two didn’t drink much. Or probably at all. If Bittercup had to guess, she’d suggest they were barely old enough in the Player World to drink at all.

Good. Dropping that Difficulty down to a still-generous Two.

As she finished outlining a drink that the two Players clearly had no interest in trying, Bittercup offered Aya a pretty frown. “Though I don’t think we have all of that, do we?” She clapped a regretful hand to her cheek, pursing her lips at Glasses. “Maybe I could offer you something else, Prosporo?”

“Oh, yeah, sure!” the Player quickly agreed. “Whatever you think is best!”

Bittercup clapped her hands together. “Great!” She turned to Aya. “Aya darling, could you fetch a few things from the kitchen? Some ploms, oranges, limes, maybe a few of those leaves you wrap the shrimp cakes in? Oh, and sugar cubes, please!”

As the kobold slipped back into the kitchen, Bittercup shot the two Players a measuring grin. “Now, I can cut some corners here if budget is a concern, so–”

Shaggy cut her off. “Oh no, we’re top shelf all the way. I’ll tell you a secret.” He wiggled his fingers to invite Bittercup closer, and the woman gamely obliged. “This guy,”– he slapped Glasses on the back–”Is loaded.”

“Why BossJon,” Bittercup gasped, plastering on an expression of playful affront, “What a thing to say about your good friend Prosporo! People will get ideas. I will get ideas.”

“It’s true,” Glasses admitted, critically failing at his attempt to sound casual. “I’ve, uh, got a lot of gold lately.”

“Well then,” Bittercup gravely intoned. “I guess that means I’ll have to pull out the best sake,”–She produced a bottle of mid rate rice wine–”And the finest plom wine,” –She paired it with a bottle of exceptionally average fruit spirits–”And do my best to impress, then!”

“I guess so, yeah,” Glasses agreed, watching her start to measure out liquor. “Don’t worry though; we won’t be too rough on you.”

“Now Prosporo,” Bittercup admonished, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. I can already tell you’ve got a refined palate, even an expertise in this sort of thing. Are you an alchemist, maybe?”

Glasses raised his eyebrows as Shaggy snort-laughed again. “Uh, yeah? How’d you know?”

Light green stains on the fingernails. Smudge on the label that’s clearly Imp Bile. Alchemist Guild’s badge on your travel bag. “It’s the way you watch my movements,” Bittercup explained, swirling the cup of liquid in front of her chest. “You’re studying me so closely; it feels like you have the eyes of a true expert, you know?”

“Um, yes.” Glasses latched onto the extended explanation. “That’s exactly why I’m watching. It’s studying. For alchemy.”

“Well I’m honored. Ah!” Bittercup smiled as Aya returned, her arms ladened with fruit. “You’ve got an alchemist’s kit, right Prosporo? Could I borrow your pestle?”

“Oh, sure!” The Player pulled up his travel bag. “One sec.”

“Don’t you use that to make potions though?” Shaggy inquired, pulling a face. “Won’t it have, like, bug residue on it and stuff?”

“I clean it, dude,” Glasses huffed. “Don’t worry.”

Bittercup tapped a finger on the bar in mock seriousness “Just bear it mind that, BossJon, that if Prosporo didn’t clean his pestle and you do turn into a frog, this establishment takes no liability. Drinker Beware, as they say.”

Shaggy snort-laughed again as Glasses produced his alchemist’s kit, Bittercup’s probing eyes soaking in the assortment of tools. Hm. No Hermetic Stone. So Glasses hadn’t been to Magica City yet for his first profession advancement. As far as the elf knew, the System practically bum rushed new Players to the capital as soon as they finished their starter areas.

Were these two fresh out of their Newbie Zones, perhaps?

Interesting.

Bittercup gratefully accepted the pestle, setting it aside as she turned to the fruit. She skillfully diced ploms and cut limes into wedges as she merrily chatted with the Players, her surface actions running on autopilot as her mind rumbled on deep below.

Don’t just assume, Lothnanae, her mother’s voice sniffed. Can you prove they’re from a starter zone? Or are your skills limited to shoving your chest in their faces?

She dropped the chopped fruit and citrusy leaves into a jug along with several sugar cubes, bringing the borrowed pestle to bear as she set about muddling the mixture together. Yes, she could prove it. Their clothes.

Show your work, her mother’s voice demanded. You don’t get points for guesses.

Well their outfits and gear were clearly designed as a single set, and they were too low level to be wearing a collection of Instance gear. So it stood to reason that they still hadn’t out-leveled their Newbie Zone greens. Points?

Something’s off, though, her mother’s voice pressed. Isn’t it?

Yes, Bittercup admitted, using her extremely limited magic to send a handful of ice cubes clattering into the jug before filling it with the sake and plom wine mixture. Something about that was off.

Tsk, her mother’s voice chided. What a dull thing you can be.

“Here we are!” the woman enthused, sliding a pair of pleasantly peach-colored cocktails towards her two targets. “What do you think, boys?”

Shaggy took a small sip, his eyebrows popping up in reaction. “Mm! It’s nice!”

“Yeah totally!” Glasses showily counted out a handful of coins before slapping them down on the counter. “We’ll take two pitchers of this, if you please!” He gave Bittercup a hopeful glance. “Maybe you could help us drink them?”

“That’s so sweet,” Bittercup replied, reaching out to brush her hand across the Player’s shoulder, “But we elves have very particular constitutions. The only spirit I can drink is pioiala, the essence of everberry that my people craft.” She cast a longing glance over at her old table, where her mostly full bottle of sake still sat. “But I already finished my bottle. And it’s very expensive.”

Glasses puffed out his chest. “Uh, you remember that I’m loaded, don’t you?”

Bittercup shook her head. “Oh no, Prosporo; I could never–”

“Now now,” the Player interrupted, already pulling out another fistful of gold. “I insist.”

“Oh, well!” Bittercup flashed the man a grin before dipping below the bar once more. “If you insist~!”

“What was it called?” Glasses leaned over the bar, surreptitiously stealing a glance at Bittercup’s backside. “Peo Ala? Can I try some?”

“Sure, if you like!” Bittercup resurfaced with a bottle of the rawest spirits Moots produced, silencing a noise of warning from Aya with a flick of her own kobold-like ears. “It’s not really meant for non-elven tongues, though.”

Glasses scoffed, pushing up his glasses. “Well that may be so, but I’m sure my palate is mmfh?!” The Player heaved as Bittercup popped the cork from the bottle and waved it before his nose, vapors so strong that they might as well have been shaped like little skulls wafting into his nostrils.

“What do you think?” Bittercup innocently inquired. “Should I pour you a glass?”

“No!” Glasses cleared his throat officiously, trying to regain his composure and keep his face as far away from the bottle at the same time. “No, um, ahem, I’ll just stick to what I’ve got, thanks.”

“Mm, okay. I’ll just cut mine with a little water so the bouquet won’t be quite so powerful, okay?”

“Alright, great,” Glasses responded, sounding relieved. He gestured over his shoulder to a table in the back. “We’ll be back there; you’ll join us when the drinks are ready?”

The elf winked. “Just try keeping me away. Oh, and BossJon?”

“Eh?” The Player paused, awkwardly swallowing the mouthful he’d taken from his drink. “What?”

She gave the man a serious look. “If you start feeling like you might turn into a frog, do let us know? We won’t want you hopping out of here like that. That’s how a place gets rumors about it.”

The two men laughed as they made their way back to their table, animated with high spirits as they chattered amongst themselves. Well, she might have been rusty at this, but it seemed men still liked it when pretty women talked to them. So, like, eighty percent of this job was already done for her.

Bittercup felt a tug at her sleeve, glancing down into Aya’s concerned eyes. “Um, you’re not really going to drink that, are you?” the waitress asked, her ears folded in concern. “I mean, it’s technically not poison, but we don’t serve that to people, we use it to clean dried spills.”

“Oh, I know. That’s why we just do this. Watch.”

Bittercup took a drinking cup in hand. “First we fill a cup with water,” she hummed, “Then we add a peel of lime,” She dropped in an artfully twisted strip of citrus, “Then we lightly rim the bowl with the incredibly cheap booze,” She flicked her finger around the lip of the drinking bowl, leaving behind scarcely more than its scent, “And finally, we charge them ten gold for every bowl of this I drink. And that’s how you serve pioiala.”

“Ten gold?” Aya gasped. “Why that much?”

“Because, my young student,” Bittercup’s voice was low and thick with devilish intent, “It makes it easier to split the profits evenly between you and me after we spend all night letting them buy me water to drink.”

Aya’s ears folded even further, but Bittercup’s insightful eye knew it was not in anxiety. “Oh wow,” she mused, her tail wagging high and fast. “But what if someone else tries to order it?”

“Then you just give them the actual undiluted stuff. They won’t try to order it again.”

“That is evil and brilliant,” Aya declared. “Please teach me all of your ways.”

“Sure, sure,” Bittercup promised. “Keep helping me out tonight, and I’ll induct you into all of my dark mysteries. Deal?”

The waitress enthusiastically agreed, turning her attention to recreating the plom wine cocktail Bittercup had made for the two Players. And left alone as she was with her own thoughts, with no marks to charm and no student to school, Bittercup could no longer ignore the question that had been threatening to consume her from the inside-out this entire time.

What was she doing?

This was the exact sort of thing she did in Quercus. This was precisely the sort of task that she and her sisters had been honed and hardened for. She was using all the old tricks, all the reliable patter; she was even using the water cocktail scam her trainer claimed Glandem himself had invented.

Wasn’t she in Shinki Itten because she escaped all of that? This line of work had literally killed all of her friends and sisters, and here she was willingly throwing herself back into the gnashing teeth that had ripped them apart. Why? Why?

She knew why. She didn’t need to reactivate Silk-Draped Skullduggery to remember, but she did so anyway: the two Players still burst forth with light. They knew something vital to her home, and finding out what was her problem.

They say that when all you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. Well, all Bittercup had was years of high-stakes service experience, and this problem sure looked like a pair of suggestible customers.

There was nothing else to do but kick back a mouthful of the pure Moots liquor, slip on her mask of a smile, and join the two Players at their table. Wherever her sisters were now, if they happened to be looking on, Bittercup doubted that they approved.

But she knew they would understand.