by T Shadow
“I got here two nights ago. Found the first bar that wasn’t a complete shithole, walked in, and asked for a job. The rest, as they say, is history.”
“History? Well, I can deal with history.” He wipes the bar in front of me and then leans on the draft pumps, clearly ready to engage in conversation.
“Well, when we all move here, we leave the past behind, don’t we?” His gaze settled on mine before quickly darting over to the four newcomers and then back again.
Thankfully, I caught his gaze, so I played the game as well as I could. Discussing history around new individuals who haven’t made themselves known? Absolute no-no. I wasn’t about to make Matthias air his dirty laundry all over the place.
“Yes, well, I left the past behind many many years ago.” Quickly taking a sip of my beer, purely to appear dainty, I took a look at Mika before turning back to Matthias. “So, where abouts are you staying? Have you found a place?”
He smiles at me, his answer was short and sweet,“I’ve found a house on the outskirts of the town. It’s not far from the rest of the homes if I’m honest, but far enough away to get some peace.” His eyes softened at the end of his statement, but only momentarily. “What about you?”
Not wanting to divulge too much information in front of the new visitors cough dragons cough. I looked to the side and then back again before answering him. “Oh you know, just outside the town also.” Thankfully, Matthius understood my look and nodded gently. We didn’t realise, however, that drunk Mika was making her way back to the bar, but we sure felt it when she practically pounced into the seat next to me. The shock made me lose my grip on my beer, which would have gone flying, if not for Matthius’ large hands and super-fast reflexes.
Giving Mika the side eye of the century, as well as a small sneer for added annoyance, I turned and smiled at Matthius as he hands my still-full drink back to me. “Thank you, Matthius.” He smiles back at me, winking, and it’s only then that I noticed his dimple. Dang it, he has a dimple. Fucking dimples.
It’s only then that Mika shoots off again, leaving a flurry of knocked over stools and disoriented customers in her wake. Matthius looks from Mika’s path of destruction back to me. The laughter shows through his eyes, sparkling at the off-balance, slightly-tipsy bestie. It’s only then that he turns around to resume his work duties, that he leaves me with my beer and the music for company. The soundtrack to my trainwreck of destructive thoughts.
Matthius has left me by myself at the bar. The space he was occupying now feels like a void. His comforting presence changed the feeling but whilst he’s gone, it’s just… cold. Like a dead body. Wait… what?
Rigor mortis is neither a good topic to think about or discuss in my opinion, but yet, here I am. I’m staring into my beer, hoping that maybe a maelstrom might appear and drag me down to its bitter, froth-ridden depths. Anything to escape these dark, lonely nights. Who am I kidding? I mean to escape these pesky dragons behind me. Oh yes, I haven’t forgotten the four beasts sitting in the dark booth. Those smoke breathing, fire spitting, scale ridden, fucking-
“Excuse me, can I get some drinks?”
I jump a little in my seat, my heart going a mile a minute. Thank fuck that expletive rant was in my head because I’m sure he would have heard me insulting myself from back here if it wasn’t. From my peripheral, I see that it’s not Finn, but it’s the blonde haired guy. I’ve never been good at describing people, but he looks like he’s fresh out of University and can definitely hang with the lads. Cocksure. He looks cocksure. His blonde hair is sculpted - short on the sides and styled on top. The smell in the air makes me think he has gel in his hair, but I bet it’s mousse. I try to sniff again without looking like the biggest idiot in Stonehold. It’s a more perfumed smell rather than a male one. Definitely mousse.
Matthius, thankfully, saves me from my ownsome lonesome. With Matthius here, the guy next to me seems smaller than he did a second ago. Now, a dragon should never feel smaller than a troll, but when in the same vicinity, a smaller, younger dragon may feel overwhelmed by a troll. Trolls are the brutes of the supernatural world and even I can feel slightly overwhelmed around them.
“What can I get you?” Matthias, ever the proper individual he apparently is, greets these newcomers with respect. For many people who are afraid, a short and curt response is acceptable. Matthias though? He’s pushing the boat out.
Before blondie answers, he pulls out his phone and recites from a list on his screen. “Can I have... one beer- the strongest you’ve got, a glass of your most expensive whiskey on the rocks, one of your best ciders and…” He trails off for a minute, eyebrows knitting together before letting out a small snort, his distaste evident. “A Coke… please?”
I personally don’t see how buying a Coke is odd or peculiar. A Coke is a Coke. Matthius, however, takes this all in his stride, and with a nod, he goes to make them. This leaves me stranded alone at sea, on a boat without a paddle. I’m stuck next to this guy waiting for his array of drinks. I mean, I can’t exactly move away right now, that would be really awkward, and then he would know that something was up. Trying to actively avoid someone who is right next to you is particularly difficult.
As soon as I lift my pint to my lips to take a sip, so that I don’t look like a grecian statue in the middle of the bar, the blonde guy turns to me. Firstly, I don’t know if he’s just staring at me, taking in my features, or if he’s just being plain rude. Though I feel like this might turn into a conversation of sorts, I gently put the pint back down before turning to face this guy. I’m not overly surprised when the first thing out of my lips isn’t a greeting, but rather a grunt.
Looking taken aback, he shakes his head slightly before the edge of his lips curve up. It’s also the moment that he goes from a bored guy at a bar to a male in his prime. His hand shoots towards me quicker than a shot from a gun, and I jerk back on my stool.
Seeing my reaction, he retracts his hand back a little bit, slightly flustered but yet still cocky. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Landon.” I gently take a hold of his hand and begin to shake when he follows on with the worst question I’ve heard in my life. “So, age, sex and species?”
Honestly, I’ve never frowned harder in my life than before. What kind of question is that? Before I can come back with a witty retort, there’s a loud snort from behind Landon. Honestly, I’m afraid to see what she’s doing now if she overheard that.
Also, did I mention that Mika, timid as she is, is a huge feminist? She’s very vocal about it when intoxicated beyond measure. Demeaning statements like that rank high up on her “I’m-gonna-rip-you-a-new-one” radar. I see a visible gulp, and I look from Landon’s face to the visible space behind his shoulder, where I can see a partially-shifted Mika. Her ears above her head are downturned, showing the black spots on the back. Her eyes have changed into their golden feline splits, which clearly demonstrates that her tiger form is close to the surface. What makes Mika more frightening though, is that Mika’s jaw has elongated slightly, and her teeth are coming through more than normal?
I’m sure Landon may shit himself if he turns around to face a deadly half-shifted tiger, one who clearly is aware of the situation. As he turns to face Mika, he turns his back to me. As he turns to face her, I can probably guess that by now his eyes are as wide as saucers. Mika licks her lips and her canines with her spiked tongue while smiling like the feminist villain that she is.
Her voice is rough when it comes out, almost as if she’s been growling so much that her throat is sore. “Is that a normal way to start a conversation?” Her purr is territorial rather than comforting and the way that Landon backs up a step into me, says that he hears it too. Unfortunately, Mika’s tiger is on the prowl and only moves a step closer, effectively blocking in Landon between her and I.
Mika’s tiger is a predator. She uses it to her advantage and she currently has an advantage to make a man quite uncomfortable in this very moment. Landon’s back is pressed against my side, bordering o
n my front. Anymore and I’ll fall right off my stool. Mika is seconds from crawling up his torso. I’m also going to point out that her nails have elongated into razor-sharp, skin-splitting claws.
As Mika runs her claws up Landon’s torso, splitting the fabric with her claws and catching his shirt buttons - she pings them off slowly, not in a seductive way, but as an intimidation tactic. “Not hey, what’s your name” another button comes off “You look dashing tonight, may I buy you a drink” another button bites the dust. Her purr is still territorial, but it’s bordering on malice and murder. Considering that Mika isn’t associated with an ambush of tigers, rather a gathering of misfits, her tiger considers herself the female alpha.
I feel Landon squirm against me. He must feel uncomfortable with the half-shifted shifter. Funny enough, I feel uncomfortable with him against me. I pity the fool who tries to go against Mika and win. I also pity the fool who nearly ends up pissing himself. In order to relieve him of his unending embarrassment, I decide to offer this cocksure guy some useful advice.
“You know, if you offer your neck in submission, she’ll back down straight away.” He turns his head slightly, looking over his shoulder at me. Between getting disrobed by a fearsome feline and getting advice from a stranger, it seems as if the poor man is beyond confused. I shrug my other shoulder, rolling my eyes in response. “C’mon let her be the dominant in this situation.” I tilt my head towards his ear to drive my point home. “Back down or lose all your clothes and your dignity while you’re at it.”
I’m pretty sure I see Landon’s eyes widen more than possible and it’s at this moment that Mika decides she’s waited enough for an answer or an apology. I hear, rather than see her claws slice through the leather of Landon’s belt like it’s butter, seconds before I hear a belt buckle hit the hardwood floor with a clank. That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and in a show of submission, Landon stretches his neck out, while shamelessly holding onto his jeans so they don’t hit the deck like his buckle did. I’m surprised none of his friends, or ‘brothers’ as Finn described them, didn’t come to rescue him. In a town with a tight knit community though, they’ve really stirred up the dust.
Unsurprisingly though, Mika doesn’t let up, even with the submission. It seems as if it isn’t enough. In a strange turn of events, Mika and her demonic-like mouth lean up against Landon’s surprisingly lithe body, her clawed hands gripping onto his shoulders like a ledge at the edge of a cliff. I smell fear in the air and it’s coming straight from Landon.
Mika can smell the fear too and it’s obvious because Mika takes it upon herself to ruin this lad’s dignity. Her teeth latch onto his neck, squeezing tightly until her teeth started to puncture his bronzed skin.
“I thought you said,” he grunted out, “that if I submitted, she’d stop.” Poor lad looks in pain.
“Huh, I guess she wants an apology too then.” I attempt to shrug my shoulders, but only manage to successfully shrug one. Landon’s still being held captive between Mika and my other shoulder. Landon attempts to snort but it comes out strangled.
“She wants an apology?” I nod my head slightly and he sighs, “Alright.”
Landon clears his throat, his apology is expected while unexpected at the same time. “Milady, I apologise,” Wait, what the fuck? “I was merely procuring facts in order to make a fair judgement.”
Mika snarls at the sarcastic response. A couple of beads of blood trickle down from the places where Mika’s teeth have taken up a temporary residence.
The sputtering apology makes its grand comeback and Landon’s sweating from that pretty big head of his. “Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it, it was very…” His eyes look back at me for a second, before Mika’s teeth tighten. “Sexist of me.”
Now that apology seems to do the trick. It’s the ‘s’ word that finally gets Mika’s tigress to release, though she clearly feels the need to make sure that Landon knows his place in Stonehold. Fiercely protective of our home, Mika is a protector first and foremost.
The claws loosen their grip and move from Landon shoulders and move towards his face at a leisurely pace instead. Mika hooks one claw onto his lower lip and pulls gently, not drawing blood, but not being seductive either. “I hope you learn your place.” Her growl is heard throughout the bar and each of the people in attendance look around to see what all the fuss is about.
The sight that greets them is a slightly disheveled and disrobed Landon. In a hurry to get away from the retreating feline, one of his hands cling to his trousers to prevent them from falling while his other hand is pulling his shirt together in an attempt to be modest. As he’s hurrying away, he throws a mumbled ‘thanks’ over his shoulder, returning to his friends at the back of the room.
They’re all smirking or hiding their smiles behind their hands. Their friend just got schooled by a lesbian tiger-shifter on etiquette. Or modern manners. Or not how to be the world’s biggest douchebag. I’m not sure and, from the look on Mika’s face, I think she’s not sure either.
The tiger is no longer in control anymore and Mika’s standing there, her shoulders shuddering from the excess adrenaline, her hands wringing together nervously. I’m not surprised, honestly. Mika’s tiger just went up against a dragon simply because he has the manners of a human adolescent. Isn’t it a fact that males mature later than females?
Matthius chooses that moment to come back over with the dragon’s drinks; his eyebrows are knitted together, but not like he’s angry, like he’s trying to hold in a laugh. He probably watched the whole encounter from the other side of the bar, far from the impact zone.
“Cheers Matthius,” the dam breaks and he lets out a snort and a small chuckle.
“Could’ve saved me from being trampled on by two shifters, but nooo, you didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire.” I tease.
“I couldn’t help it, Remi. There was no saving you in that situation. You were literally a PLP.”
That peaks my interest. “A PLP?”
“Yeah you know, a Personal Leaning Post?”
A faint little giggle sounds from beside me and I know its that pesky tiger shifter trying to prevent herself from laughing up a storm. Her hand is in front of her mouth trying to hold her laughter inside, but her eyes, gleaming full of mischief are betraying her.
Fighting a losing battle, I grab the beer from the quartet of drinks Matthius has put on the bartop next to us; the ones that are meant for the four newcomers. He narrowed his eyes at me in a warning. Being me, I ignore it and take the biggest mouthful of beer I can. With a pop of my lips, I groan a little and put the beer down on the bar. My smirk evident, a mischievous glint in my eyes, I offer a one word answer. “Refreshing.”
I don’t know how long it has been since I stole a beer that was pulled for one of the newcomers. Dragons, I’m just gonna call them dragons. My mind’s in various different states this evening. I’m sure that Mika and I came to the Wyvern’s Nest at about five o’clock, but I can’t remember for the life of me. Mika’s been flitting between myself and the dancefloor all night and, no matter how much alcohol I consume, I can’t seem to forget about the lurkers behind me.
Throughout the night, they’ve kept to themselves, especially after the Landon and Mika incident. Other patrons in the bar are still wary, but they don’t eye them with as much suspicion anymore. However, they’re paying more attention to them than me at the moment. So win-win for me.
I don’t know how long this night can carry on. I realise that it’s only Monday, but thankfully, this means I can have a day off tomorrow if I “accidentally” drink too much. Not that I like skipping out on work, that bookstore is as much of my home as my cottage is. The soft green of the trees and the fields and the gentle growth of fertile plants in the spring. The lake on the outer edge of the city where they pan for gold, its waters splash against the edges with a gentle grace and fluidity that ballerinas only hope to achieve. Simplicity is everywhere I look.
Small, f
amily-run shops litter the highstreet. We have a small supermarket, a little bakery, as well as a sweet shop, a bike shop, the local post office, and many others.. My favourite shop here is Mystic Maria’s Wonderful Emporium; it sells the scented soaps and homemade candles. It’s a culturally diverse group of individuals that bring together the most ethically-challenged town in England at the moment. Coexisting and thriving whilst we have the opportunity. This town is home to not only me, but it’s definitely not home to them.
I sink another beer and try to recall their descriptions without having to look at them. Landon is the most easy to categorise. American movies from the nineties stereotype teenage males who hoard too much testosterone and like to play sports as jocks. In England, we categorise popular males as lads. Landon looks like a mish-mash between the two; someone who could easily play sports, but drink enough to kill a horse. He has a smaller stature than the rest of the group, but his bulk is something to call home about; he’s ripped underneath his tight clothing. Add the large expanse of muscles to his boyish good looks - his blonde hair that falls down slightly in front of his navy blue eyes, and you’ve got a ‘chick magnet’.
Finn, however, is a completely different type of man in comparison. His fiery-red hair lights up the room like a beacon and his light blue eyes that could captivate even the most stubborn of creatures. But what enamoured me today in the bookshop was the kindness I saw behind those baby blues of his. He reminds me of a kindred soul - someone who you could find comfort and peace in knowing. Maybe that’s his gimmick - he gets close to the people to catch them unawares.
Next up is the oldest-looking of the group. I say the oldest because he looks like he’s in his thirties whereas the others look as if they’re just entering their twenties or coasting somewhere in the middle. This viking is definitely the leader of the ensemble. His emerald green eyes were scanning the bar on their way in, cutting through the revelry and not stopping over a single person. His hair is dark as night itself and it is a stark contrast between his tanned skin and jeweled eyes. The suit is tailored to fit his body like a hand in a glove, dressed in the finest fabric. Exuding money and royalty, the man literally parts waves of people with his presence alone. Ha. Kinda like Moses.
