The whole thing had begun the mont they first arrived. Their presence alone had drawn the attention of every patron in the establishnt, and for a few long seconds, the bar had fallen utterly silent.
Not a clink of glass, not a single breath out of place.
Seeing this reaction, Lugh already knew—nothing good would co of this. He urged them to leave, quietly.
But the girls hadn’t listened. In fact, he strongly suspected they were itching for a fight.
Resigned, Lugh had picked a table at random, seating himself alongside both sisters. Slowly, the atmosphere resud.
Conversations resud. The music returned. Normal operations picked up again, flowing like nothing had happened. And for a brief, fleeting mont, Lugh actually believed that nothing would happen.
That was—until the first drink arrived.
Sent from a man seated two tables away.
Sela downed it imdiately, without even the courtesy of a sniff, sighing with evident satisfaction.
Seeing how enthusiastic the new arrivals were, the n around them seed to take it as a signal. Their table was soon flooded—cups of beer and high-quality liquor began piling up like offerings.
It was painfully obvious that these n, with their leering eyes and nefarious intentions, were attempting to get them drunk.
Mirelle herself had pointed this out. Clearly, soone still had so sense.
And yet... they kept drinking.
Incomprehensible as it was to Lugh, apparently their plan was to only appear drunk.
They wanted to give off the impression of intoxication while staying alert. That had been the plan.
But who would’ve expected them to actually get drunk?
What happened after that was little more than a chaotic blur.
From the group of n who’d asked—loudly—to join their table, to the one fool who made the mistake of groping Sela, only to have his fingers snapped backward in a sickening crunch.
Lugh’s mory of the exact sequence was hazy.
All he could clearly recall was the sharp sting of his spilled orange juice, bottles flying through the air, and the mont he looked down to see himself standing over a bloodied patron, one hand clutching a splintered, broken piece of wood—origin unknown.
The fight had lasted ten full minutes. A brutal ss of fists, curses, and furniture.
Not many were left standing by the end of it.
Once the worst had passed, Lugh guided both intoxicated ladies out of the bar.
But not before slipping the pouch of coins that Sela had given him in advance, into the trembling hands of the bar owner, who now looked paler than a corpse.
...
The sound of retching filled the narrow alleyway.
Mirelle was hunched over, one hand braced against the wall as she emptied her stomach with convulsive heaves. Sela, anwhile, was slumped against a wall, legs splayed, muttering nonsense under her breath.
Lugh dragged his hand down his face, sighing deeply.
"How on earth are we supposed to get ho now?"
"What?!"
"I said—how—"
"I can’t hear you!"
Lugh was rendered speechless.
After a long pause, he finally said,
"Let’s get out of here."
He yanked Sela upright—who tottered unsteadily on her feet—and, with deliberate prodding, began guiding both of them down the darkened streets.
Their drunken shambles was nothing short of exhausting. Lugh had to keep his nerves taut and his eyes peeled.
These weren’t just any girls—they were noble ladies of the main Von Heim family. Anything could happen, and he needed to be ready for all of it.
In the end, however, nothing happened.
None of his preparations had been necessary.
After several long minutes, they finally approached the edge of a raised ledge.
Before them, the artificial water channel roared below, its gushing currents winding past under the glow of scattered lamplight.
Lugh had morized its position earlier—during their brief flight through the city skies.
Though the structure was artificial, the wind it churned was very real. Cold, biting, and constant.
Surely, it would help sober them up—if only a little.
Mirelle, left unsupported, collapsed instantly into a pathetic heap, letting out a soft groan.
Sela followed soon after, though she landed sitting up, blinking dully at nothing.
Lugh sat cross-legged nearby, silently watching them. He recalled the copious amounts of alcohol they had consud and knew, without a shadow of doubt, that this outing was now more than officially over.
Still...
Perhaps their drunken state wasn’t entirely a bad thing?
In fact, it might be useful.
They might answer questions now, personal ones—without the usual layers of misdirections. No ntal gas, no sches, just drunk honesty.
Lugh narrowed his eyes.
It was worth a try.
"Hey, Sela,"
He asked.
"Hmmmmmmmmm?"
A slurred hum. Impressive.
Chasing the opportunity, he asked again,
"Why did you choose to let co with you this ti?"
Silence.
The wind blew. Mirelle groaned softly. Sela blinked, then—
"Who are you?"
Lugh’s eyebrow twitched.
"It’s . Lugh."
"Lugh?! Where is he? What’s he doing here?"
"No, no,"
He said slowly, patiently.
"I. Am. Lugh."
"And I am Sela."
...Dammit.
This was going to be harder than he thought.
He took a deep breath, then adjusted his approach.
"Sela,"
He called again.
"Hmm?"
"Why did you have Lugh follow you to the city?"
"I need him."
...
"...For what?"
"I need him to help escape! Are you daft? Pay attention!"
Lugh’s brows twitched again. His fists clenched.
Another sigh escaped him.
"Is that the only reason?"
No reply.
Only the soft, unmistakable sound of light snoring.
He stood, walked toward her.
Briefly, he considered slapping her awake.
But he dismissed the thought.
Instead, he grabbed her shoulders and shook her violently.
"What?! Who’s there?! What do you want from ?!"
Lugh’s voice was calm and deliberate.
"Why did you bring Lugh with you today?"
"Who is Lugh?"
"Lugh is Lugh."
"...Ah. I see. That makes sense."
He honestly didn’t know which was worse—the fact that he was speaking ’drunk’ or the fact that she sohow understood.
Still, her answer ca soon after.
"I want to know more about Lugh."
Expression flat, he asked,
"Why now? Why not before?"
"Because..."
"Because?"
"Because... ugh—!"
Lugh leapt backward just in ti, narrowly avoiding the fresh wave of vomit that splattered where he had been standing.
"Bloody hell. This has to end now."
...
Back in the Von Heim manor, cloaked in black from head to toe, the still figure of Sela suddenly moved.
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