Firewater || Jonathan & Theodore
“Truly the islands finest, now tell me why are you a smith and not a brewer?” If nothing had changed, which it truly hadn’t, the sarcasm and bitter smirk lingered stronger than ever. Theodore sniffed the new bottle but poured it into the mug he’d abandoned before his song, even as he was the siren like some form of grace or elegance. Not that either could truly be found at the bottom of the murky mix he was drinking. “You’re welcome,” was all he uttered with a slight shake of his head and another long sip from his drink.
Theodore narrowed his eyes lifting his chin as if trying to recall the evening that strung clear as yesterday, “yes, well not my finest moment but if I recall that poor sailor was being offered my newly acquired prizes,” there was a smugness to his grin as if it were something to be proud of.
“We drank,” to emphasis his point the siren sampled another sip of his delightful drink, “and from there it gets a little hazy. Although I do recall coconuts, and you partaking in a wonderful dance it was quite something but not sure I’d like you to do it again”. Theodore leaned back letting go of his mug for a moment, “but no doubt you recall the evening differently,” after every early evening spent in the tavern Jonathan seemed to come out with an entirely different story than himself.
He was quite certain that his own stories were far more exhilarating but perhaps a little less truthful, sometimes but not all the time. “And you know if I didn’t like your works of art I wouldn’t be sat here,” Theodore gave the other a nod of satisfaction as if that was actually the reason.
“I'm a blacksmith because sometimes when I see your face, I just need to hit things really, really hard. It's a good excuse to be productive.” Jonathan flashed Theodore a bright grin and inhaled a deep breath through his nose. His fingers steadied himself against the counter as he swayed softly thanks to the intoxication mixed with sleeplessness. “Besides, who am I to run our lovely tavern out of business with brew of my own?” The blacksmith shrugged his shoulders idly, scratching absently at his nape in thought.
Novak shook his head with a brief laughter. “To say it wasn't your finest moment is a bit of an understatement. You tormented the poor lad. He didn't know what was happening.”
Jonathan nodded along with Theodore's retelling of the tale. It was accurate, for the most part. There were a few misrememberings, either on his behalf or on Theodore's. But it was mostly on point. “We drank, I danced, you sang – a lot of things happened.” Novak pondered for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip in contemplation. “... What did coconuts have to do with anything? Were you throwing coconuts at the indigenous wildlife, Theo?” Jonathan said, wagging a finger at the siren with a faux frown.
“You're on point, for most of it. You neglected one small particular detail though, Theo.” Jonathan tapped a finger against his head. “You neglected to mention who you stole-... borrowed the drinks from.” With a brief pause and a scoff hidden behind the bottle, he took a healthy swig from the poison in hand. “Who saved your sorry arse from those silly little brigands, Theo? Huh?”
