Turbinio

Bilberry and White Willow

You woke up abruptly, panting and sweating. You swallowed hard, a horrible, bitter taste of aged whiskey in your mouth, snuggling into the blanket.

Blanket? You are fully awake now in a dark room, partially remembering last night. You knew you were in the saloon, then calmed down. Feeling dizzy, but relaxed. The consciousness of it fragmented into several distinct sensations: the roughness of the linen pillowcase; the stale odor of candles, mingled with the fainter smell of roast beef and beer and the even fainter vapor of perfume from the flowers wilting in the glass; the cool wood of the wall against your left foot, your head firmly on the hard pillow.

You rose plaintively, feeling every muscle in your body ache. The room had no mirrors, so you opened the door to sneak into the bathroom. Undertaking preferably the tortuous internal passage of corridors, you got lost in its endless turns, stopping in the center of the saloon.

Ahead, you were relieved when saw Johnny having a cup of tea and reading a little leaflet. Closer by an attendant behind the bar was drying last night's glasses. He was different from the grimy attendant who had greeted you. Shuddered slightly at the fragmented memories, then pushed the thought away, plunging back into contemplation of Johnny's figure, who now noticed you.

''Good morning, (Y/N).'' He said sweetly, sober just like last night.

''Good morning...'' You said, sluggish and exhausted even after having slept for a full night. A night that you didn't remember well.

You rubbed your eyes, stretching and sitting down across from Johnny. There were two more empty cups on the table and a pitcher of what you assumed was bilberry tea from the smell.

''I figured you and Gyro would be hungover, so I ordered this tea.'' He filled your cup without offering it. ''Drink it, it's bilberry tea, it will relieve the headache.''

''I know it will relieve the headache.'' You replied in a typical hangover tone. ''I'm a herbalist.''

''I've noticed that teas stimulate my nail growth.'' Johnny ignored your sourness and continued to make conversation. For a moment, you forgot he could shoot his nails. ''My nails grow in a few seconds when I drink a little. Mainly mint and chamomile.''

He showed his hand and you looked at his fingernails, perfectly almond-shaped. You looked up into his face, the hair hiding the sides of his face, but you could see it clearly. He looked much prettier up close, especially in the morning, with soft blue eyes and skin smooth and soft as a rose petal, yet delicately sunburnt. His gaze met yours in a kind of trance, so to keep the next few seconds from being unnecessarily awkward, you touched his fingers, getting a better look at the fingernails. Then picked up your cup of tea and drank it. The warmth of the drink spread from your throat to your fingertips, frozen to the cold floor. The tea also took away the bitter taste in your mouth.

''Mint, huh?'' You murmured. ''I have a lot of mint in my wagon... I had.''

''Lucy said she would ask her husband to get your wagon back, no need to worry about that.''

''I hope... But if they can, I'll check my stash. It might be useful for you to keep some herbs.''

''Oh... Thank you, (Y/N), that's very kind.''

''Don't thank me, you saved me from that disgusting man last night.''

''Actually, I think I saved him,'' Johnny joked. ''I'm sure you'd kill that guy.''

You couldn't help but chuckle, which slowly dissipated.

''Damn... Was I too ridiculous?''

''What do you mean?''