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“I wouldn’t say that so loud,” Vrask whispers. “Beings here take a lot of pride in appearances. Wouldn’t want to go pissing off the wrong folk.”
I take another sip of my drink. The illusion is already ruined for me. The sweetness feels like a pretense.
A good mug of auralos isn’t filled with this fake nectar. There’s a subtlety to the taste. If I wanted to rot away my fangs, I’d stick my head in a sucoril bush.
“I’ve noticed,” I reply. “Not very good salesmen, though. I’ve been offered four trinkets just while I was sitting here. All junk.”
He nods as he taps on the counter, no doubt waiting to be served.
“And how has your luck been?”
I take a large sack of nodals and novas from out of my waistcoat pocket, jingling it for effect before I set it on the counter.
“See for yourself.”
The barkeep gasps, and I feel a sudden respect flowing from her. Good to know that I was no good to her as a demon, but having the proper currency changes everything.
She’s smart enough to know that the world spins because of currency.
“Why don’t you take my friend’s order?” I ask her, not hiding my ire. “And maybe try giving him something higher quality than this shit.”
She stiffens her lip but layers on the politeness, perhaps hoping for the bigger tip she’s not getting.
“Right away, sir,” she says, taking out a scrap of parchment and scribbling frantically.
I laugh as Vrask orders the worst drink in the realm. Cheap shit, filled with berries and herbs.
We’ll see what she does with that.
“Seems like you’re doing pretty well,” Vrask offers, looking at my waistcoat pocket where the bag of currency is prominently bulging.
“It’s all the tourists. They see a demon, and they can’t help thinking I’m exotic,” I reply. “They also don’t think I know what I have. I make sure to take advantage of that.”
The barkeep scowls at me, her stiff golden eyebrows hanging over her wary eyes. I just chuckle to myself as she slides a glass toward Vrask.
“Maybe don’t be so loud about your con,” Vrask whispers. “I’d hate to end your continued streak.”
I laugh aloud while taking another sip of my drink in spite of how much I hate it.
“I never said there was a con. All I said was I’m having good luck.”
Vrask shakes his head.
“My job as a businessman is to convince these fools what I’m selling has value. And I believe it does. So there’s no con.”
I pat my other waistcoat pocket. “And I’m getting plenty of good stuff to take home, too,” I add.
Vrask takes a sip of his drink. I’m surprised when he imbibes it with no reaction, not spitting it out across the bar like I would be. I look at my mug and resist the continued urge to shatter it on the floor.
“I still marvel at you sometimes,” Vrask confesses. “If you were just a hint more ‘you,’ we’d be kicked out of this tavern in minutes. But you toe the line so well.”
I lean into him, looking around the room.
“Oh, come on,” I say. “Tell me you didn’t haggle somebody on the way in here. Go ahead.”
Vrask shakes his head.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” he replies. “Even if I did take advantage of some poor xaphan, I’d still have the good sense not to say it out loud.”
