“Over here, boss!”

Alyssa’s eyes moved through the restaurant, locking onto the grinning young man making a fool of himself in the subdued atmosphere. She stomped forward, ignoring the judgmental looks from those upset by the breach of manners, but glared at him as she took the empty seat at the table. “Haven’t I told you to quit yelling all the time? They’ll kick us out and I’m starving.”

“I’d cook for you?” He winked only to wince a moment later when his shin was kicked. “You can’t be too aggressive boss or you’ll never find a husband.”

“What do I need a husband for when you’ll be my lackey all your life?” she said, grinning at his grimace.

Beside the man, a woman giggled, hazel eyes shining with mirth. “I didn’t take you for having those kinds of interests, Lane,” she said with a honeyed voice. “Alyssa…I’m not surprised.”

“Fuck off,” the redhead said without heat, noticing a waiter approaching their table, fresh-faced young man in a finely tailored suit that made the Hall’s standard robes look like rags. He bowed before them with a hand over his chest, straightening up with a perfectly crafted smile. “Lady Filagree,” he said, meeting her eyes briefly before shifting his gaze beside her. “Sir Bruce. Mr. Macklemore. Lady Oriole. The Grand Dining Hall is honored to host you.”

Alyssa couldn’t help a huff of displeasure, especially when she noticed her assistant and the alchemist on the other side of the table lapping up the attention. As the only restaurant on the island sponsored by the Hall, she understood why the establishment made of show of welcoming their sponsors.

She had grown accustomed to the displays of respect her position as an instructor garnered, maybe even liked the deference a bit, but this was one of the times it was tedious. She came to the Dining Hall because she wanted a good meal, not to preen in competition with other members of staff to see who could make the waiters lick the most shit off their shoes.

“How can we serve you today?” the waiter asked once he was done with his spiel.

“My usual.”

“The same,” Bruce said.

“And a bottle of your best whiskey.” She looked to Brutus and the two combat instructors shared a nod. “Two glasses, no ice.”

“I’ll have the house special!” Lane said.

“Tonight’s special. For the wine, I’ll leave it in your capable hands,” the alchemist said, staring at the waiter with narrowed eyes. She grinned as the faintest flush dusted his cheeks. “As for dessert…what would you recommend?”

“The chef has created a new recipe for chocolate cake. I highly recommend it.”

“You seem to be a young man with good taste. I’ll look forward to your service.”

“The pleasure is mine.” There was a beat where he indulged her gaze but a moment is all his professionalism could allow. “I’ll be back with your drinks shortly.” He bowed to them again before walking off, moving faster than his measured steps would imply.

“Isn’t he a little young for you, Cynthia?” Alyssa said, making no effort to hide the accusation in her voice.

The alchemist raised a brow. “What are you saying? I’m forever a maiden of eighteen.”

“Ah.” Alyssa fought the juvenile urge to roll her eyes. Alchemy had uses in many fields, especially those related to warfare. From its myriad uses, one of the greatest prodigies of its art chose to focus her attention on the cosmetic value of the practice, pioneering potions and salves that kept the vain woman youthful. Something the fire caster didn’t have much room to judge as she was one of Cynthia’s customers. Nearly every woman of the Hall was. “It’s creepy.”

“Better than being a prude.”

“Taking offense to a woman seducing a boy a third of her age does not make me a prude.”

“Oh, come on. Here you are, a young, beautiful woman but instead of going out, you assemble this sad little group every Saintsday to drink away your frustrations.”

“You’re always here too,” the fire caster pointed out.

Cynthia looked at her pitifully. “That’s because I’m a good friend.” Then she brightened up. “And overindulgence isn’t good for the body. Supplements can only get a woman so far.”

“You’re a beast.”

“Thank you~” Cynthia leaned forward, putting her chin in her hand. “Really, you should let me take you out into the city. Or to the Ball! You’d love it there.”

“I hate balls.”

“It’s not that kind of—” Cynthia sighed and turned to Lane. “Lane, help me out. Why haven’t you already tamed this woman? Everyone knows you’re practically already her wife.”

“Oi, what does that mean? I’m not her wife!”

“You cook, you clean, you do her laundry—”

“All things a good disciple should do!” He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “Don’t joke like that, Miss Cynthia. You think I would survive that? Men have to treasure their lives.”

“I can hear you,” the redhead snapped.

“Sorry boss,” he said quickly, sitting straight with an unrepentant smile.

Alyssa shook her head. If the disrespectful little idiot wasn’t so useful, she’d have burned his face off already. Thankfully, the waiter arrived with their drinks, distracting her from her homicidal annoyance. He swiftly placed down a bottle filled with brown liquid and two small glasses. Then he turned his full attention to Cynthia, slowly popping the cork of the wine bottle and filling her glass, the two having a conversation through their heated gazes.

Alyssa ignored them as she poured a finger of whiskey, sipping it. Her lips immediately turned down.

“Something wrong?” Bruce asked.

“It’s…” She took another sip, grunted, and put the glass down.

The waiter, hearing a dissatisfied customer, snapped out of his game with the alchemist and turned to Alyssa with worried eyes. “Lady Filagree? Is there something wrong with your drink? I can have the bottle replaced.”

“No, it’s fine.” She scowled when he didn’t move. “Don’t you have other people to serve?”

“Of course, excuse me.” He hurried off, glancing over his shoulder at their table.

“You’ve done it now,” Cynthia sighed. “Please don’t tell me you plan on launching a complaint. The poor boy will be thrown off the side of the island before he can blink.”

“I already said it was fine,” she said quickly but she didn’t make a move to touch her glass.

“Want me to order you something else, boss? They’re juices are pretty good.”

“Do I look like I’m twelve? Since you people clearly don’t understand Common…” Alyssa pushed her glass with a finger and sighed. “I showed the elf the guilds yesterday.”

“Oh hoh?” Cynthia leaned forward, eyes alight. “Do share.”