Twilight of the Gods ✔️

Chapter 1: Someone Interrupts a Good Drink

She slammed her glass on the table, spilling puddles of moonshine. She wasn't used to the extra kick that one got from drinking bootleg liquor, but what else did she expect from the speakeasy? Aptly named the Pig's Ale for its front as a butcher's shop, Myranians gathered here to drink as much as they could as a collective "fuck you" to the Prohibition the king enacted. The fat monarch had claimed that he was trying to raise the moral quality of the nation, but most of the citizens knew he didn't have their best interests at heart. Rumor had it that it was his concubine, a sly whore by the name of Rosemary, who had convinced him to pass the act, although the truth behind it was much more complicated. Not that the Myranians put much stock in what the truth was, given their reputation as storytellers. The best bards came from Myrania, after all.

"Easy there," Martha said, pouring her another glass of moonshine. "There's a reason why I call this concoction 'Wit's End.' It ain't for the faint of heart."

"I can handle myself," she said. To prove it, she downed the whole glass in front of the bartender, not breaking eye contact with her for a single moment. Her eyes watered a bit, but she didn't dare to put the glass back on the counter until she finished, even though it felt like she was drinking lava from the volcanoes of the Myranian mountain range. She slammed the glass down again, wincing but quickly contorting her face into a smile at the satisfying clink of glass against the wood.

"If you say so," Martha said, resigned. "Just be careful, alright? I don't want any of these men taking advantage of you when you step foot out of my bar."

"You're a big 'ol softie, aren't you?" A smirk came to her lips, teasing the bartender. Martha's face took on its habitual scowl as she narrowed her eyes.

"I'm serious," Martha said, wiping the spilled alcohol off the counter. "I've nearly been caught by the guards several times for beating the crap out of some of these men."

"If you want me to drink something lighter, I'll oblige," she said, holding her glass out to Martha.

"I'm saying if you can't handle your alcohol, then it's better that you don't drink at all. I don't want the King's Hounds turning up at my door and busting my joint. I'm making too much coin from this."

"I'll take it easy," she promised. She dropped a few gold coins on the table. "Just one more glass."

Martha rolled her eyes. "No more Wit's End for you, young lady. I'll give you something that tastes better."

She shrugged, letting Martha pry the glass from her hands. She wasn't terribly picky about the alcohol she drank. Truthfully, she couldn't get drunk, not even if she had a hundred glasses of that moonshine. It was one of the perks of her new immortality.

The bartender returned with a strange pink liquid in the glass. Martha placed it before her, giving her an expectant look.

Her eyes darted between the glass and the bartender. "You're joking, right? A cocktail?"

"You haven't even tried it," Martha said, crossing her thick arms.

"This is a fruit punch," she said, sounding hurt. She had expected whiskey or hell, even rum. But a cocktail? She was offended.

"Try it," the bartender insisted. "I wouldn't put fruit punch in front of a loyal customer."

"Fine," she huffed. She brought the edge of the glass to her lips, taking a small sip. "Mhm," she said, pleasantly surprised. The drink was a mix of fruit flavors. In one sip, she tasted strawberries and in the other, she tasted mango. Best of all, the cocktail was more alcoholic than she anticipated.

"What did I tell you? It's not a fruit punch," Martha said, pleased by her reaction.

"Whatever it is, it's amazing," she replied. She was even starting to feel pleasantly dizzy, an effect she never experienced from a mortal drink.