Annika sat at the dining hall table with her face pressed into her hands, trying to make sense of what she had just witnessed.

Sir Raymond Barso, ex-squadron leader of the Troivackian military, known for fighting entire battles with nothing but a club and still coming out victorious…

Had Finlay Ashowan’s arms wrapped around him, showing him how to slice… a peach.

Clara slowly stepped closer to her mistress, her face composed and cool. She looked her normal self... Only someone with an eye for subtleties would be able to see the occasional flutter of her throat, indicating that she was trying desperately not to burst out laughing.

Yet Annika didn’t even have to look to know that was exactly what was happening.

“Clara, please ask Mr. Ash- Wit. Mr. Wit, if he has any coffee with him.”

The maid didn’t dare speak, only let out a strangled high pitched noise before sweeping back to the kitchen.

Annika gradually began to readjust her mental focus to her day plans. She had to search the city for where the Troivackian attackers had come from, and she had to try and find where they were hiding. Then she had to find out how the interrogations were going…

The sound of clay plateware hitting the wood of the table made her finally raise her eyes to see Fin standing to her right, setting down the miracle brew she had requested while giving her a small smile.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked quietly as the staff that had been spectators to Raymond’s cooking lesson filed by at the end of the dining hall to return to their duties.

The dining hall was actually a good deal smaller than most of the estate’s owned by the upper nobility. However, the four large peaked windows that ran along the end of the room giving a spectacular view of the sea, made it feel airy regardless of its size.

“I slept great,” Annika replied softly as Fin laid out a plate of eggs with perfectly sliced peaches in front of her, and a piece of toast slathered in butter and jam.

With a contented sigh at the scrumptious looking meal, Fin set down his own plate and drew up a seat beside her. Admittedly the meal looked infinitely more appetizing than what poor Raymond would grub up each day- then again, the soldier didn’t really have any formal training as a cook…

“Will you be heading into town today?” she asked while picking up her utensils and laying a napkin on her lap.

“I will. I have things to investigate, though it sounded yesterday as though you will be doing a search of your own,” he answered before shoveling the food into his mouth without a hint of aristocratic manners. It caught Annika off guard, having been more familiar with his more cultured education and insight. Then again, it wouldn’t make sense for him to be educated on table manners or noble graces…

‘In time, I’ll teach him,’ she thought to herself while shaking her head with a smile.

Fin paused his inhalation of food to glance up at her, and enjoy the morning glow in her cheeks. She looked happy, and that was all that mattered. He could put up with awkward maids and unqualified cooks if it meant he got to see her looking somehow… whole.

The two passed the rest of the meal sharing pleasantries and idle thoughts, both relishing their first unharried morning together.

*

Fin sat wearily in the pub and stretched his legs out lazily. His hand wrapped around a tankard, he surveyed the room while feigning more drunkenness than he felt. He had asked a few inconspicuous questions around with local inns and shop keepers about any suspicious activity or people that could have been coming or going. Yet none of them knew--or were willing to say anything. After resolving to search abandoned buildings and seedy taverns on his own, Fin’s quest had led him to his current location.

‘The Wet Whistle’ was well equipped as a dodgy locale for underhanded business. With its sticky floors, musty smell, and shady clientele, it didn’t take much imagination to assume that there could be dangerous people lurking in one of its darkened corners.

Making sure he was in the centre of the entire room, under the brightly lit chandelier, Fin aligned himself to be an open target to be pick pocketed or…

“Oyy, pretty boy there!” Fin was in the process of lifting his cup to his lips when he heard the call he had been waiting nearly an hour for. He smiled into the rim and took a sip.

“You! Didn’ you hear ‘im the firs’ time!” Slowly lowering his ale, the redhead did his best to school his expression before gazing up at the group of three men that had approached him. The one standing in the middle had a large gut hanging over a worn leather belt, and both a double chin and face that were unshaven. The last one who had spoken was a young man, perhaps twenty at most with a blonde mustache, and bloodshot eyes.

The third of them was the quietest and most reserved. He was also the tallest. He glared down at Fin, his black shoulder length hair easily managed to stay swept back off his forehead thanks to its lack of hygiene.

“Nnoo! Hi! How’re you!” Fin feigned his innocent expression best he could. Slurring his speech while he was at it to make himself seem an even easier target.

“Ye got coin?” The youngest of the men spit as he cackled in a deranged manner.

“Not much! Jus’ visitin’ my aunt! Wanna have a drink!” Fin cheered brightly.

“Well les’ see the coin then hey?” The older bellied man pressed as he rested his rough palms on the table’s surface.

“Pfft, I left it with my aunt! Jus’ gettin’ a pint before headin’ back.” Fin smiled blearily up at them. “Good thin’ too! Had a group of Troivackians try to rob me earlier, can yeah believe it?!” He exclaimed innocently while draining the last of the ale.

The trio of men fell silent then and exchanged glances before stepping back and whispering to each other. Fortunately for the redhead they’d just tried to rob, the youngest member was too inebriated to control the volume of his voice. However, given that it was a three way conversation, the man’s input was quite fragmented.

“... Again…. They keep… What do we…”

After several moments, the men turned their attention back to Fin who grinned up at them.

“Lad, mind takin’ us to where you saw these men?”

‘Son of a mage… that isn’t any good. Maybe if I drunkenly stumble around they’ll take me to where they last heard about them. Or…’

A new idea popped into his mind then as he stood with a stretch, making the men eye him even more suspiciously when they realized how tall he was.

“I’m actually quite tired from my travellin’, so I think I’ll head back to ‘me aunt's.” Fin began heading towards the doorway, when the man with the greasy black hair stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“Empty your pockets.”

Grateful that he hadn’t been lying about not having any more coin on him, the redhead obeyed.

With a snort, the heftier of the three men stepped forward. “You know what we do to people who don’t pay the admission fee?” His breath reeked of rotting teeth.

“Apologize for not letting them know there was an admission fee?” Fin’s mouth worked before he could stop it. The man’s breath was so potent that he had forgotten to slur his words as he leaned his face away from him.

… It then dawned on him that he had just goaded his mugger.

The man with greasy black hair grabbed Fin by the front of his tunic, yanking him down towards him. “What’s that you said?” His eyes glittered.

“Well ssir, how can I know 'bout a fee if I wasn’ told sooner?”

“Red, I don’ like ‘im. Somethin’s wrong here. You with the Knights or somethin’?” The black haired fellow jerked his chin towards his friend.

“Yer right. What do yeah think you’re playin’ at there?” The man named Red stepped forward and pulled out a dagger that glinted in the hazy light of the room. The low whispers that had been humming around the tavern since Fin arrived suddenly fell silent.

“Not with the Knights. Just visiting town.” After hastily assessing the situation, the redhead knew that the only way he could get out of the situation and not draw attention to himself was to take a few punches. He wasn’t looking forward to it, and tried to edge closer to the door just in case.

“Why you pretendin’ to be drunk?” The black haired man’s lip curled.

“Was hoping to enjoy a drink in peace. A drunkard isn’t the greatest of conversationalists.”

The trio frowned in unison.

“Why you usin’ big words? You sound like one of ‘em noble people.”

“I was educated.”

“Think you’re better than us, do yeah?!” The youngest one burst forward raising his fist high in the air.

Fin knew he should’ve taken the blow, but the lad’s movements were so clumsy his pride wouldn’t allow it. Easily leaning back out of the wide swing, the young man fell with his fist, crashing into an empty table.

Fin stood with the black haired gentleman and the one named Red. They watched the youth attempt and fail to get back up for a few moments in silence.

A small disappointed sigh escaped Red’s lips as the boy grabbed onto a chair, then somehow slipped and bounced his forehead off of the table, knocking himself unconscious.

“Your son?” Fin asked sympathetically.

“If I say no, don’t tell his mam,” he replied before realizing who had asked the question.

Turning to face the redhead, Fin shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, his cavalier attitude disarming them.

“I have a younger sister a lot like him. She likes to take a swing at people.” Fin sighed.

“You let a woman throw knuckles?!” Red rounded on him, alarmed.

“You try tellin’ her no.” Shuddering to himself and leaning into the story, Fin casually crossed his arms. “A man pulled a knife on her once and she nearly clubbed him to death with a pan. Didn’t leave anythin’ for me to take care of.” He hung his head in pretend shame. He had adopted their style of speech as he spoke, hoping it wouldn’t make them any more wary of him. He did this while mixing as much truth to his tale as possible… He’d heard that it helped make lies more believable.

“She doin’ the dirty work for yeah? Can you even fight when you’re no bigger than a fishin’ rod?” Red chortled. The man with black hair continued watching Fin carefully.

“Used to get in a lot more before she grew up. Now I spend more time tryin’ to stop ‘em than start ‘em.” He sighed his head wearily.

Red and the black haired man shared a look, then turned at the same time, each delivering a blow to Fin’s middle.

“Can’t have that now lad.” Red patted him on the back before clocking a fist into Fin’s temple.

Still gasping for air, Fin could feel his subconscious reach for his magic, only to find nothing was there. A moment of panic flooded his mind as other people around the pub seemed to take up fights as though it were a game…

‘That’s it. It’s a game. They just like to fight.’ Fin managed to soothe his momentary floundering with the realization before straightening with a smile, picking up a chair and chucking it at the two men who stepped aside easily. Red’s son, however, had finally gotten his sea legs back and was promptly clobbered back to the floor by the missile.

The two men looked at each other, then to Fin who smiled and raised his fists. The pair ran at him with battle cries, and then the fight truly began.

*

Annika sat at the dining table awaiting Fin’s return while pouring over the reports she had received on the progress made with the Troivackians that had made the attack on her carriage. Most of the prisoners were characteristically stoic, but one of the men had used the phrase that ‘his group isn’t ever privy to confidential information’.

As she began to ponder this slip of the tongue and what it implied, Clara swept into the room with a frown.

“What is it?” Annika asked without looking up from her parchments.

“There was a strange occurrence at one of the most seedier pubs in Austice… My Lady, have you heard of The Wet Whistle?”

Annika straightened at that. Of the pubs in Austice, it was ranked as one of the highest crime ridden establishments. Fights and shady deals were discovered all the time. At any minute of any day, something nefarious was happening within its walls. Its patrons knew to keep their mouths shut so that no charges were ever laid, and the owner was as mysterious as any spy. No one knew his name, or what he looked like… but people knew that anyone who brought the Knights to the pub couldn’t expect to live long.

“What’s happened?” Annika wondered if it had something to do with the Troivackians she was looking for.

“Well… a fight broke out.”

“Yes?”

Clara’s large eyes fell to the floor, and Annika could’ve sworn she saw the woman’s throat tremble.

“After everyone settled down, apparently there was some kind of singing the entire pub took part in that drew the attention of the Knights who mistook it for a full blown battle. The Knights apparently joined in, and now…”

Annika waited, at a loss at what in the world was happening.

“There’s a street festival, mistress. The Wet Whistle is even giving out some of its food to the beggars on the streets.”

There was a beat of silence, during which Annika stood slowly.

“What… in the world… could have-”

Clara couldn’t hold back any longer, she burst out laughing, her normally effervescent pale complexion growing pink with delight.

“... I swear to the Gods, do you mean to tell me that Fin ended a fight and they all wound up… friends?!”

“Ended the fight?! My Lady, your beloved cook won the damn thing, then offered to cook for everyone- and yes! They all seem rather fond of him!” Clara was beyond caring about her language as peals of laughter wracked her body. Annika pressed her fingertips into the top of the table and stared blindly for a moment at its polished surface.

Clara had just calmed down, when it was Annika who burst out into hysterics of her own. Next thing the women knew, they were clutching their sides with tears running down their faces, unable to stop howling over the absurdity that always seemed to follow Finlay Ashowan.