Perfectly Imperfect

Chapter One

By the end of the night, Felix was exhausted. The evening rush hadn't been as bad as he anticipated, but the gossip bouncing around from customer to customer and then back again gave him a headache. 

"Did you hear about that guard?"

"Oh yes, the one that was hung?"

"No, I heard he was decapitated."

"My cousin's sister-in-law was there, and she said..."

Felix hid his face in his hands. Sometimes I wish the world would just shut up. Luckily, the night's almost over. A few hours more, and he would be asleep. 

Cordelia wiped out a tankard. "You heard about that man, right?"

Felix groaned. She knew how much he hated gossip, so why did she insist on doing this every night? "I've been hearing about the man. Does that count?"

"Don't be daft. None of these morons know what they're talking about," she scoffed, not bothering to lower her voice. A few of the men glared at her, but looked away quickly when Felix caught their eye. 

He knew there was something unsettling about the color of his eyes; they were too light to be considered truly grey, but too dark to be unnatural and magical. When that gaze hardened in anger and fell upon someone that had ever seen him kicking out unruly customers, it was as though the gods themselves had sewn their lips shut. No one was dumb enough to provoke him.

"Anyway," Cordelia continued, oblivious, "It was one of Lady Le Fay's guards, Phillip. A few days ago, he was found guilty of sodomy."

"Hm," Felix responded, uninterested. Lady Le Fay's guards' lives were their own, as were their decisions. If they chose to participate in sodomy, that was their mistake and Felix couldn't reasonably be expected to care overmuch about it.

"I know. And he was drawn and quartered in the square this morning." She tutted, pouring another drink. "Terrible."

"I suppose." He was more worried about the mess that would be on the cobblestone streets in the morning-- it was bad for business.

"Hey," Cordelia tapped him on the shoulder to get his full attention. She pointed across the bar. "New customer in your section."

He groaned and brushed his hair out of his face. "At this time of night?"

But when he looked, it was true. A small figure sat at one of the tables in a ratty pied cloak with his hood pulled up. Felix sighed and walked over. "Getcha something?"

The man-- boy, really; he was probably a little younger than Felix himself --looked up just enough for Felix to catch a glimpse of a grin. "What do you recommend?"

"The ale's popular," Felix drawled. 

The stranger tilted his head slightly. "I asked what you liked, not what these drunkards like."

Felix was a little taken aback, but realized that he was right; the regulars would've drunk cat urine if he distilled it right. He almost grinned. "I like the mead."

"Two of those then."

"Right." Felix walked back to the bar to get him the drinks. Must be new in town, he thought as he filled two tankards. Felix's apple mead was applauded in every tavern in the region, but it was much more expensive than average because he brewed it himself rather than buying bulk from the distillery. Tourists would drink a half a barrel before asking what their tab was, then pay up and leave angrily, never to be seen again. Because off this, most people stuck with the ale and he'd ended up basically hoarding it into a private collection.