To Fly the Soaring Tides

“Just sayin’, I think you made the wrong choice, Miss.” Peaches set a couple glasses down and ran back to the kitchen.

There was a table in the center of the tavern, and everybody stood around it with drinks in their hands watching the spectacle. In Milty’s Tavern, when there was a heated drinking bout it always turned into an event. The mood in the room had changed from drastic the moment Cira accepted. Now everybody cheered and the band had switched to upbeat songs about ale and women.

“Let’s get started,” Milty turned to the aggressor, “What’s your terms, Don?”

“Easy.” Flecks fell out of his beard as his face twisted into a deranged smile, “I win, this girl and her friend join my crew.”

“And who even are you?” She turned to Cira.

“The one and only Cirina Dreadheart!” She raised one foot up to a nearby chair and pointed since she couldn’t draw her saber. After a few drunken ‘yeah!’s from the surroundings, she removed her foot, “When I win, I’m taking everything on his person from boots to hat.”

With an eyebrow raised, Milty nodded, mildly impressed, “You won’t even leave the man his chonies?”

“They will burn for my amusement.”

Don opened his mouth to retort but was cut off by the cheering crowd.

“Cocky brat,” he spat on the floor, “Nobody’s ever beat me at drinkin’. You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

Don started chugging his first drink and Cira picked her own up in no particular hurry, “I could say the same.”

As the crowd shouted words of slurred encouragement to the combatants, one glass hit the table, then another. The first round was actually Cira’s fifth, but she had a trick up her sleeve.

“Cira…” Delilah quietly spoke from her side, “Are you okay? You’ve already had a lot.”

“Not to worry, my dear Lorelai.” As she slurred her words, she shoved a hand into her coat to hide the flash of holy light before bartering with the great one, Extra Minor Cure Poison! She didn’t want to stop having a good time, just play it safe. Cira picked another off the table and pounded it, already reaching for another, “A little slow there, Don.”

Peaches constantly shuttled overflowing mugs of ale to the table. It was clearly wearing her out, but she kept going. It reminded Cira of the water girls from Heron Village.

“Shut, up wench, we’ll see how you feel in ten minutes.” He finished his second and grabbed for another. It had turned into a speed round. For some reason James and his crew were in her corner with Delilah, apart from the crowd.

“Cirina! Cirina!” Jimbo swung his glass around and started a chant. With the help of their crew, the whole tavern joined in.

Don’s face grew increasingly red as Cira slammed her fifth cup of the competition onto the table stained by years of alcohol abuse. The onlookers were unphased when he splashed the residual beer from the bottom of his empty mug on them. “All yous shutup! Yer only cheerin’ her on ‘cause yer jealous she’s mine!”

He wasn’t handling it half as well as Cira. His words melted together and held no weight. One hand had a firm grip on the table, but he still swayed like a tethered kite. Cira didn’t waste the chance to loudly poke fun at him, “Don’t be ashamed there, Donny. You wouldn’t be the first to think he could best me! I’ll give you one last chance to walk away if you’d like.” She feigned concern and gestured to the door.

“Gah!” He was breathing heavily after the last glass. Sweat started to bead on his forehead and the color had left his face. With the countenance of a dying man, he tried to psych himself up with a belligerent war cry and started on his next. Bringing it down a few seconds later, still holding the handle, he hunched over grunting. By the time he looked up, Cira was already slamming another down.

“You’re still behind.” Cira continued unwavering. How many have I even had tonight? With a satisfied exhale, she handed another empty to Peaches.

She had gone from worried to amazed to scared. Her wide eyes paused for a moment as she took the glass. As Don tried reaching for another, Cira kept taunting him, “How many will that make? Six? For someone who’s never lost a drinking fight, you sure can’t drink very much.”

She received a resounding cheer from everyone else, but Peaches looked at her like some kind of monster. These mugs she brought weren’t small and each contestant had well-cleared a gallon by this point. Most folk couldn’t even drink water this fast. While Cira wasn’t experiencing the same level of inebriation, she couldn’t escape the bloating. Her tummy was less than satisfied with its treatment tonight.

Milty was having fun, but the bemused look on her face was closer to that of watching children squabble. Don had had enough of the ridicule and one more guttural cry brought yet another drink to his mouth. He took his time to guzzle it down while Cira watched patiently.

“Hahhh!” It hit the table and he shouted the bitterness from his throat. “Yuh damn wench…” his breath was strained, “Yer… Yer mine, ya’ hear me?”

His words were hardly comprehendible at this point. Each exhale sounded like he was grunting in pain and his shirt was drenched in sweat, clinging to his body. Cira almost started to feel bad for him, “This is not a good look for you, Don.” His eyes glazed over as she watched her polish off another. She was unstoppable.

“The score is Nine-seven in Cirina’s favor,” Milty called out, “I don’t see you winning this one, Don. You should throw in the towel before you embarrass yourself.”

“Wha?!” His jowls flopped as he snapped his head up in disbelief, “You—you think I’m gonna give up? She’s mine, dammit!”

“BOOOOOO!” The crowd grew increasingly upset.

“Don’t worry,” Cira crossed her arms and spoke with a jibing tone, “I’ll wait for you to catch up.”

Picking up another glass, Don choked as it approached his face and almost lost his grip. The man was in a world of his own, letting out careful, labored breaths. He would sway to and fro, and each time looked like he would follow through straight to the floor. Finally, after working himself up, he made an attempt. Nearly gagging after barely making any headway, he had to pull away.

What followed was a brief moment of dry-heaving while the entire tavern held their breaths with rapt attention. His retching echoed through the hall like a yak in heat, reflected on the increasingly revolted faces of the onlookers, Cira, and Peaches alike. After groaning against the table for a moment his eyes snapped up toward Cira with fury and he brought the ale in for one last push.

Peaches frowned and started walking away. Cira looked to see a mop at the end of her path and agreed that his fate was sealed. Apparently, it had been since the moment he walked in the door. This was just the type of destiny that awaited men like Captain Don.

He’d managed the miraculous feat of drinking half of his seventh mug before an explosive gurgling sent ale and bile arching through the air. This was just another test of agility for Cira, and she dodged out of the way. James and an unfortunate group of spectators found themselves right in the splash zone and were far too impaired to do anything about it.

As the crowd devolved Cira watched on reviled as he threw the glass to the ground, spilling ale scattering broken glass before washing it away with more vomit.

“And, that’s game! Cirina Dreadheart is the winner!” Milty brought the battle to a close and had to shout over the excitement. Even the men lathered in Don’s effort were jumping and applauding. The band started up with a victorious fanfare and Jimbo circled Cira with a tippy tapping jig. Milty yelled just a little louder, “Peaches, get the—”

“I got it…” the ever-diligent barmaiden walked up disheartened with a hazardous looking mop. If I weren’t a pirate right now, I’d clean it up for you… Sorry again, Peaches.

She started wiping away, but paused when Don made a repeat contribution. Then he wiped his mouth and looked at Cira who activated one hundred percent of her brain to interpret his words, “You ain’t won yet, wench… If I ain’t take you then I’ll…hic…just take this girl!” He grabbed peaches by the hair and made to drag her off. As if coordinated, his three lackeys pulled their blades and turned to the approaching doorman.

While he looked ready to plow through them, Cira was livid. She reproached herself for being so slow as to let him touch her, only just realizing the folly of drinking copious amounts of alcohol in a serious situation. The sorcerer had let her guard down, and she would reflect on it not later, but tomorrow.

Shing!

Tide Quencher’s blade pressed against his neck and drew a drop of blood as the deep blue fake glyphs bathed Don in the overbearing pressure of Aquon’s mana. Watery tentacles like that of an octopus grew from the hilt reaching for his neck, “Release her if you value your life—”

Cira heard a thump and looked down.

“Nobody messes with peaches!” Jimbo had his leg-knife embedded in Don’s ribs, and he released the damsel who crumpled to the ground.

Tchk. “You dare lay a hand on my daughter?!” At the end of Milty’s hand was a kitchen knife and only half the blade was visible.

Cira’s eyes went wide, and she was dead in her tracks when a massive hand closed around Don’s neck from behind. It was the doorman. Behind him were three men pathetically splayed on the ground with twisted legs and blood soaking their clothes. “You’re comin’ with me.” He lifted his arm as if he were holding a small glass of ale and turned around to walk out the door.

“Yeahhh!!!!” The ruckus of the crowd exploded, and the mob swarmed the three lackeys to remove them as well.

Cira stood there frozen. Aquon’s tentacles sheepishly receded, and she awkwardly put her blade away. “Are you alright, Peaches? Er, Pirate Heal…” A shining liquid like the gods’ own finest ale appeared above the young girl and spilled over her head.

“Hey what the hell?” She tried wiping it off, but started to glow as the liquid evaporated into golden light. “What… was that?”

“Pirate magic.”

“Peaches!” Her mother approached hastily, shoving a bloodied knife into the hands of a random frightened patron, “Are you okay?!” The glow was still dissipating, “Is that magic…?”

She had turned to Cira for an answer, still looking distraught, “Pirate magic.”

“She healed me, Mom… I’m okay.” She still rubbed her head like it hurt.

“You… are you a wi—”

“Cirina Dreadheart is a pirate. Down to the bones.” Cira tapped a fist to her head for a nice knock.

She wasn’t convinced but didn’t press, “…right. Well thank you for jumping in so fast… Some blade you got, but I won’t ask. I can’t believe that bastard would try…,” She shook her head.

“Don’t thank me, this is practically my fault anyway. I’m sorry for the trouble.” She didn’t think she deserved gratitude by any stretch of the imagination. By then the door man had returned and stood attentively behind Peaches looking intimidating.

“Can’t say you’re wrong there…” Milty had a weak laugh, “but in the end it’s that idiot Don’s fault. He had this comin’, it was only a matter of time. You just got caught up in it.”

“You’re crazy but Mom’s right. I saw the whole thing…” Peaches looked up at her like she was trying to hold something unpleasant down, “Thanks for saving me… And you too, Jimbo.”

“Anytime, little miss.” He snapped and shot her finger guns, “that’s why they call me Jimbo Sticks.”

After the ejection of fools, the atmosphere had grown sullen. If there was one thing that could move the pirates of Uru, it was seeing tears in Peaches’ eyes. There was only one way to save the day, “Milty. How about I buy a round for the house?” She held out a closed hand and Milty suspiciously placed her palm beneath it. Milty felt a cold round object drop and brought it in close before opening her hand just a little to take a quick glance. Her eyes shot open, and she shoved her fist into the pocket of her apron.

She blinked a couple times and coughed to clear her throat, “You… are you serious?”

It was just a doubloon… “Cirina Dreadheart is always serious. I think everyone here has earned it. Just buy Peaches something nice while you’re at it.”

She sputtered, “S-something nice?!”

“What is it, Mom?” The girl innocently asked.

“Just a doubloon.” Cira answered. She felt a hand on her arm and looked over to see a very worried Delilah.

“Are you alright… Cirina?”

“Just peachy.” She grinned. “Sorry to worry you.”

Milty ceremoniously announced Cirina’s gift for the people and they all cheered, crowding the girls. Cira felt her feet lift off the ground, “Hey—what are you doing?! Put me down!”

They threw her up and caught her, only to repeat the process, chanting, “Cirina! Cirina!” the whole time. Her words didn’t reach them, but once the door man set down the first keg, she was finally set down next to Delilah who found endless amusement watching Cira get thrown around.

“Come with me, Cirina. You too Jimbo.” Milty called them out, “I got somethin’ special for you two to drink. Least I could do.”

James and his other three friends looked defeated. Being the first ones to approach the new girls and buy all those drinks, only to be forgotten about and left behind for Jimbo Sticks. This always happens! He lamented, Damn you, Jimbo!

Milty made the two heroes and Delilah wait at the bar while she went in the back. When she came back there were three swirling glasses that looked, well, like the god’s own finest ale. Cira took one sip and savored it, setting down her drink to let it stew. One taste was all she needed to know that this wasn’t meant to be drank quickly. Besides, she had information to seek while Milty was still around.

She spoke in a low voice to make sure she wasn’t overheard, “Hey Milty, you see and hear a lot of things around here, I bet.”

“…sure…” She squinted suspiciously, “What are you driving at? Don’t beat around the bush.”

Jimbo too, looked at her curiously, so she continued, “Right. You see, I’ve come to Uru looking for a very particular treasure… It’s likely not known by name, but it’s nothing so easy to find as royal prima.”

“Tch.” Jimbo clicked his tongue, “Yer somethin’ else, Cirina.”

Milty had a hand on her chin, thinking deep. “Hmmm… I’d call that beating around the bush, but there ain’t much here aside from salt. Jimbo, didn’t you say you heard Don talking about some hidden bounty up above? Seemed really secretive about it.”

Jimbo’s face fell and his expression went tight, “Cirina… You don’t want Don’s treasure. Believe me.”

“Don’s treasure?” Of course a degenerate like him would be involved somehow.

“Well, it’s Don’s now. Said some islanders had him smuggling something new out, but that was the last he spoke of it. Probably took ‘em out and claimed it for himself. Talk around town says the treasure’s cursed. Lotta his men ended up in the plague ward.”

The answer was under my nose the entire time… Some of those jerks I healed know exactly where the deritium is. Somehow I doubt they know what it is though.

“Sounds like that’s my treasure, Jimbo.” She enjoyed another sip of her golden ale. “I’ll pay you well if you help me find it.”