Born in the Flame

Chapter Six

   
Coming out of the kitchen, it was as if my mother had predicted it, my father now sat at the bar. Two empty pints already sitting next to his near full one. Perfect. Sigurd definitely was good at getting people to drink. Whether that was a good or bad thing has yet to be determined.

    "Hey, Pa'." I said to my father, as I moved behind him to my own empty stool, "You been here long?"

    "For a bit. Ya' wouldn't happen to know why ya' brother is really fast gettin me drinks, would ya'?" Though his cheeks were flushed, he still seemed to read his children like open books.

    "Nope, no reason." I lied, giving a weak smile. Since I had grown accustomed to the firebrand spell being wielded by my father, I was a terrible liar.

    "Fine, ya' want to know so damn bad, meet me upstairs. Bring me another drink and some chips ya' brother's hidin' under the bar." He exclaimed, getting up from the stool. He carried his pint in his hand and stomped over to the stairs leading up to our family home.
    I could feel the lingering eyes of my brother as I watched my father go up the stairs.

    "What did you say?" I mouthed to Sigurd. In response, Sigurd's shoulders and hands went up.

    "I don't know!" He mouthed back.

    Without warning, I went under the bar and grabbed a bowl. Behind Sigurd's legs was a medium sized sack of chips, seasoned with special herbs only found on the Isles of Corys. I took a big scoop from the sack and felt a kick to my side.

    "Stop taking so much. I hid them from him for a reason." He hissed looking down at me as I crouched. I punched his leg in return.

    "You wanna find out what's going on? Deal with it." I hissed back.

    With a fresh pint in hand and a bowl of chips, I shuffled from behind the bar and headed up the stairs. Sigurd sent me a vulgar gesture as I walked up.

    When you first enter through the door, you are immediately greeted by the kitchen. Down the hallway, to the left, was the bathroom and my parent's room. Straight back from the kitchen was my room and Sigurd's room. Calling it a home was a little bit exaggerated. It was a small apartment built into a mountain. Our kitchen was the center of everything in our home. It was where we gathered, ate, and fought. It was where I first found out I had the lean to fire magic. A charred corner of the table was where I accidentally burnt it. On the opposite end, was where Sigurd found out he was a fire mage too. An odd set of coincidences led up to a heated argument between us where we found out at the same time we had the lean to fire; forever charring the table where we had both been gripping it.

    Sitting right next to my char mark was my father. In the amount of time it took me to scoop chips, pour ale, and walk up the stairs, he had already finished his pint. Ironic considering he told me he was better about drinking than I was.

    "Ya' got the chips?" He said, hazel eyes darting to me.

    "Of course. Sigurd wasn't happy about it." I grinned, "Have you been stealing his chips?"

    "If he loved me, he'd give me some." He said with a shrug. I chuckled, setting the bowl and pint next to him.

    "So, you'll finally unseal the vault for me?"

    "Yup. Ya' been wearin' me down all day. I also suppose ya' also talked to the dawn elf."

    "Yup." I responded, sitting down next to him. Feeling bold, I took a sip of his ale. I coughed at the taste of it. Mead, I can handle. Whatever piss flavor my father drinks is beyond my tastebuds to comprehend.