Ari stands nose to nose with Meg and holds her stare with a smile.
“Threats aren’t your thing, Meg. They don’t even count as enforcement, you know.”
Meg lowers her arm as her eyes narrow.
“Can you imagine that enforcement? When a lost soul thinks you’re torturing them purely for fun? No. You can’t. Why would you even try to? You never had your bees resisting because they think you’re a monster.”
“You think I enjoy running batches all day long? Reworking the recipe because Boss wants faster turnaround? I’m following the directive. Making it work. If there are edge cases–”
“Edge cases?” Meg cuts in.
“Twelve. Out of barely a hundred who took your green sludge. Twelve, and that’s just today. Couldn’t even tell me what they’ve ever done wrong.”
Ari takes a step back as his hands rise like he’s calming livestock.
“Side effects only show up if you ignore the instructions. It’s medicine, Meg, not magic. Follow the schedule and they’ll forget what they’re meant to forget. That’s the point.”
Meg sucks in a breath.
“Ari.” The name leaves her with a rasping sigh.
“I can’t hold anyone liable to an oath they don’t recall making. I won’t stand by and perform that theatre.”
She pushes her shoulders back.
“I keep the ledger. Exactly as I’m supposed to. And now what? I’m being handed pages that have already been torn out.”
Val arrives at the dartboard, thumps her helmet down on the nearest table, and loops an arm through Meg’s.
“Everyone’s wound tight and loud tonight.” Her brief raising of her glass at Ari, and Ron beside him, does the polite nodding for her.
Ari shrugs as he keeps his eyes on Meg.
“You want queues that don’t riot? This is the price. Boss’s orders. Nothing else keeps them manageable.”
Val lowers her voice and aims her gaze at the dartboard rather than the faces.
“I’ve been keeping the records on who’s ready for long enough to know the difference. Well, at least between the ones who chose the risk and those who didn’t know there was one. The boss issued the order for a reason. Queue violence was up forty percent before Ari’s protocols were expanded. We all saw the reports. It could be in our best interest to go with the fact that the boss knows what he’s doing.”
Her eyes find Meg’s for a brief moment.
“I don’t love it.” She pulls a face where a smile and a grimace battle for space.
“I know… I’m not saying it’s right, either. All I know is that the criteria stopped making sense.”
Ron dusts chalk from his fingers as he lifts his chin.
“I’ve seen Merx’s reports earlier. The poor souls wait all that time, and they’re already gone before they get to cross anywhere.”
He meets Ari’s gaze.
“That’s certainly something I don’t have a form for.”
Ari turns to Ron.
“Out of your lane, Ferryman. Everyone’s stretched thin. Two of the downstairs best got kicked off-script, so this is just interim cover. Don’t get precious.”
Ron’s brows give a sudden flick upwards. He casts a look towards Maz and Eli at the bar. His eyes are slow to shut, slower to reopen before landing back on Ari.
Ari takes a quick swig of his drink.
“How am I suddenly the villain in this?” He looks at Meg, then Ron.
“I’m the person who got the instruction. Like you. The formula works. I’ve tested it. The dosage is calibrated fine. If it’s being misapplied… that’s not the recipe’s fault.”
Meg folds her arms and lets her serpent cuff point in Ari’s way.
“So your medicine’s worth all this now?”
Val’s grin stretches flat.
“Easy, Ari.” She gives Meg a sideways glance.
“She’s been itching to hit something worthwhile.”
Ari raises his glass in a private toast.
“Then I hope none of you are short on memory.” He walks away from the dartboard towards the bar.
The jukebox stutters back to the same refrain.
‘You’re never ever really home–’
At the bar, Maz catches Ron’s look and follows his sightline to Ari.
How do all these people know Ari? Is everyone on Viper? No, surely not.
She watches him veer away from a table where a man with a lyre sits alone.
Probably not your problem, but… How many stories run under the counter in this place?
Eli turns his gaze from the dartboard to the bar. He drums his fingers on the mint tin’s outline over his pocket.
Right. Obviously, none of that was weird at all. Meg’s ‘again’ slip somehow makes more sense now, though. Everyone looks… too familiar. I’m also sure I’ve never met them before. We should’ve at least ordered a drink.
Deon leans on the bar while they observe the dartboard as if they’ve been given the performance of the week. They return their focus to the bar and reach beneath the counter.
They take out an unlabelled bottle with its cork stained almost black.
“Now this one’s on the house.” They slide it across to Maz with two fingers.
“Just in case you don’t remember what good wine should taste like.”
Maz pushes the bottle back to Deon a notch.
“Do you treat every new customer like this?”
Deon thumps a fresh goblet down and shoots her a look.
“New? That’s precious, Mazcal. You two have more history with this place than this bottle.”
Maz stares at them.
What did they call you? Or were they talking about the bottle? No. Probably. Well, now you have a nickname too.
Her hand wraps the bottle by its neck. The cold of the glass makes her sit straighter and shuffle back a little.
It’s just wine. Expensive wine. Nostalgic wine. Regretful wine. From someone who talks like they know your name before you’ve said it. You’re. Absolutely. Fine. Don’t make it a thing.
Deon turns to Eli and pours a bright blue liquid into a crystal glass. They place it in front of him.
“In case the weather finishes what the day began.”
Eli glances down at the drink, watching the ripple flatten out. His hand gives it a slight turn so its base aligns with a scratch on the bar.
Blue. Which is… What? I could ask and sound suspicious. Obviously won’t. Am I up for drinking this thing that smells like a… dare?
His fingertip goes across the scratch on the wood as he opens his mouth as if to speak.
I felt this bit before. Right. So. Have I sat here before?
Laughter flares from behind Deon. A man calls out from the card table on the other side of the bar.
“Deon, deal already. Before we turn into pot plants!”
Deon throws up their hands in dramatic surrender as they roll their eyes.
“Patience, petals.” They give the card table a smile over their shoulder.
“Stories ferment better when you let them breathe.”
They look at Maz, then Eli, before lowering their voice.
“If you see a door, take it, darlings. Some doors only open from the inside.” They dip into a shallow curtsy.
“Useful thing to know. Eventually.”
After a wink and a twirl, they turn back to the other side of the bar. Their sequins send back the pub’s light onto the glasses and bottles on the counter.
Maz turns the bottle in her hand. The sparkles bend through the glass where her reflection distorts. Her other hand wraps on top, looking for her own pulse. The hands slapping and drinks scraping on the bar for a heartbeat fill in for the absence.
She pours the wine into her goblet until it overfills. It spills a splash. Her hand reaches for a napkin from the side. It stains her skin as she wipes it away. She tries to rub it off. The colour bothers to come off after the cloth goes over it three more times.
Fine. You can count that as a count.
“This pub’s… a lot.”
“Yeah.” Eli runs his finger along the side of his glass before he takes a sip. His brows pull up in a subtle curve and hold there for a second when the candied taste of the drink sets in.
“I… I’m not entirely a fan of how much it seems to know us. Somehow.”
The jukebox attempts the same song again. The lyrics jump, skip, and change into a half-remembered dream at best.
‘You’re never – home–
–never – really gone–
–never – alone–’
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