05-10-2017, 01:46 AM
(This post was last modified: 05-10-2017, 01:47 AM by Dr. McNinja.)
Mack was currently twiddling his thumbs in the remnants of his old bar, waiting for the new owner of the bar to arrive. There was an old dwarven phrase that friendship was best forged with beer - but Mack and Erik's friendship was poorly forged. It was McKovsson's bar, originally, and he let Mack turn it into his own bar, threatening every other day to snatch it away from him. It was not a very popular bar, with few customers and much, much fewer regulars. That all changed when McKovsson died - now it was some other milk-drinker's tub.
As Mack contemplated the unfairness of the ordeal, the door swung open, provoking a chime. A young woman walked in, the human woman from McKovsson's funeral.
"We're closed, lass," Mack sighed.
"Pardon?" the woman asked.
"I said, we're closed," Mack muttered bitterly, "Fer good."
"But I-I just received the lot from McKovsson-san's will."
"Yeah, well, tell whoever yer working fer-" Mack blinked. "Wait a wee momen, lass. Did you jus' say ol' Erik gave the bar..."
Mack pointed one grubby finger at the woman.
"To you?"
The woman smiled. "My name is Kushi. You must be the last owner."
Mack's jaw dropped, his beard dangling as he attempted to process the new information.
"Yer the brewer?" Mack stammered.
"Yes."
"A wee human lass like you?" the dwarf mourned, "I cannae believe this."
Kushi frowned. "I've been reliably told that my brew is very good."
"Wha'ever," Mack sighed. He had hoped to join the owner in the bar. It was his life, and he had nothing outside of this place. But he swore on his ancestors, he would not be working for this lass.
Kushi felt the rare spur of pride kick her chest. She promptly lifted a bottle of sake from the wagon behind her and poured it into a small clay cup. Uncharacteristically angry, she stuck the glass out.
"Try it," she said.
"Wha' am I supposed to do widdis wee shaw'glass, lassie? Gimme a real mug. Bruenor's beard, d'you e'en know how to run a tub like this-"
To Mack's shock and anger, the woman placed the cup under his mouth. To Mack's shock, it tasted pretty good. After a moment of uncharacteristic contemplation, Mack scratched his chin.
"C'n I have another one, lass?" he grumbled.
Kushi smiled and poured him another glass. When Mack drank from it, it felt like warmth was hugging him from the inside. It wasn't the stimulating jolts and sparks of regular dwarven ale, but the soothing milk of a mother from days long past, mixed with the reassuring embrace of a wife, mixed with an awareness of the world that Mack had never felt before.
"C'n..." Mack said, tears forming in his eyes, "C'n I have another one?"
Kushi had by now calmed down, her righteous (albeit petty) anger quenched with the look of pleasure on Mack's face. She calmly poured him another glass, one last drink to prove her point. Mack downed it again, his eyes distant, as if he felt every pleasant memory washing over him at once.
"How-" Mack's voice cracked, "How did ye make this?"
"I learned the technique from my mother," Kushi replied, putting the bottle aside, "and practiced all my life."
"Teach me," Mack said. Despite his rough tone and body language, it was clear to Kushi he was begging.
"It'll take years," Kushi warned.
"I'll spend decades," Mack promised.
Kushi pursed her lips. "I don't even know your name."
"My name is Mack McMicksson," the dwarf introduced himself, standing and bowing, "and I am at your service."
Kushi paused to think. "Well, I do need some helpers..."
And thus it began. There was an old dwarven phrase that friendship was best forged with beer - but sometimes, it appeared, it could be forged with sake.
As Mack contemplated the unfairness of the ordeal, the door swung open, provoking a chime. A young woman walked in, the human woman from McKovsson's funeral.
"We're closed, lass," Mack sighed.
"Pardon?" the woman asked.
"I said, we're closed," Mack muttered bitterly, "Fer good."
"But I-I just received the lot from McKovsson-san's will."
"Yeah, well, tell whoever yer working fer-" Mack blinked. "Wait a wee momen, lass. Did you jus' say ol' Erik gave the bar..."
Mack pointed one grubby finger at the woman.
"To you?"
The woman smiled. "My name is Kushi. You must be the last owner."
Mack's jaw dropped, his beard dangling as he attempted to process the new information.
"Yer the brewer?" Mack stammered.
"Yes."
"A wee human lass like you?" the dwarf mourned, "I cannae believe this."
Kushi frowned. "I've been reliably told that my brew is very good."
"Wha'ever," Mack sighed. He had hoped to join the owner in the bar. It was his life, and he had nothing outside of this place. But he swore on his ancestors, he would not be working for this lass.
Kushi felt the rare spur of pride kick her chest. She promptly lifted a bottle of sake from the wagon behind her and poured it into a small clay cup. Uncharacteristically angry, she stuck the glass out.
"Try it," she said.
"Wha' am I supposed to do widdis wee shaw'glass, lassie? Gimme a real mug. Bruenor's beard, d'you e'en know how to run a tub like this-"
To Mack's shock and anger, the woman placed the cup under his mouth. To Mack's shock, it tasted pretty good. After a moment of uncharacteristic contemplation, Mack scratched his chin.
"C'n I have another one, lass?" he grumbled.
Kushi smiled and poured him another glass. When Mack drank from it, it felt like warmth was hugging him from the inside. It wasn't the stimulating jolts and sparks of regular dwarven ale, but the soothing milk of a mother from days long past, mixed with the reassuring embrace of a wife, mixed with an awareness of the world that Mack had never felt before.
"C'n..." Mack said, tears forming in his eyes, "C'n I have another one?"
Kushi had by now calmed down, her righteous (albeit petty) anger quenched with the look of pleasure on Mack's face. She calmly poured him another glass, one last drink to prove her point. Mack downed it again, his eyes distant, as if he felt every pleasant memory washing over him at once.
"How-" Mack's voice cracked, "How did ye make this?"
"I learned the technique from my mother," Kushi replied, putting the bottle aside, "and practiced all my life."
"Teach me," Mack said. Despite his rough tone and body language, it was clear to Kushi he was begging.
"It'll take years," Kushi warned.
"I'll spend decades," Mack promised.
Kushi pursed her lips. "I don't even know your name."
"My name is Mack McMicksson," the dwarf introduced himself, standing and bowing, "and I am at your service."
Kushi paused to think. "Well, I do need some helpers..."
And thus it began. There was an old dwarven phrase that friendship was best forged with beer - but sometimes, it appeared, it could be forged with sake.