Elliott woke up, and decided he didn’t like it. His eyes were gummy and stuck together; he actually had to reach up and pry the left one open. His head was pounding. He rolled over and froze.
Shavian was lying next to him on her side, her auburn locks splayed out behind her except for a single strand that was curled over her forehead; one hand, which looked very very small suddenly, was resting on his shoulder. Her light pink fingernail polish was chipping, and one of them looked a little chewed on. Elliott could hear the light snoring and restless sleep sounds of the rest of his friends but he had eyes only for Shavian. It was easy to forget how young she was, and he was overwhelmed by the need to protect her that had caused him to gas her in the first place…a thought which gave him pause, because for the first time he realized how completely fucked up that sounded. At the time he’d only been doing what he thought to be the best but from her perspective…Well, he suddenly thought he might owe her an apology.
He didn’t want to move and disturb Shavian, so he simply lay there, staring at her. He heard a little snicker from across the room and when he lifted his head to look, he saw Junie and Fipps with their heads together, smiling at him.
“Why, they’re downright precious,” Fipps commented.
“Just darling,” Junie agreed dreamily.
Elliott paled a little when he met Higgins’ gaze: the older man’s eyes were hard and he was reloading his service pistol, unnecessarily slowly and pointedly, never looking away from Elliott. Higgins glanced at Shavian and raised his eyebrows at Elliott, slamming the magazine into the gun. The message was clear, and Elliott swallowed hard.
Shavian jumped awake when there was a knock at the door. Elliott looked around, baffled. Shavian, muddled from sleep, scrubbed at her eyes and smiled at Elliott before she apparently remembered she didn’t like him and glowered. His shoulder stayed warm where her hand had been resting.
Fipps stood up from the couch and crossed the hotel room, his long limbs making it easy to step over the sleeping bodies in the room. He answered the door and there was a young woman standing there. Elliott recognized her from the day before, the girl from whom Roger had asked for directions at the festival. She smiled dazzlingly, her big blue eyes kind and friendly, though they turned a little more rapacious when she noticed Roger in the room, standing and stretching his way through a hangover.
“Good morning,” she said brightly. “I’m Aubrey. The Brewmaster asked me to come and invite you to breakfast.”
Fipps chuckled. “Who’s the Brewmaster and why is he having breakfast at quarter to noon?” Elliott glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand; had they really slept that late? Confirmed: it was 11:45 a.m.
“In answer to your first question, he’s not having breakfast at quarter to noon,” Aubrey replied. “Breakfast won’t be until after he wakes up, which is usually around two in the afternoon. In answer to your second question, because he is the Brewmaster. He’ll be in the Grand Ballroom.” She grinned again, winked at Roger and turned to leave.
Fipps shook his head bemusedly and muttered something about a looking glass.
No one seemed disinclined to accept the Brewmaster’s invitation, though no one could quite express why that might be. They had no idea who he was or what he wanted with them. They all took showers and dressed again in their old clothes.
“Later on can we please find a mall to loot?” Shavian asked. “I need some clean clothes.”
Once everyone was ready to go they trooped downstairs and to the Grand Ballroom. It was a little after two by that time; showers for six people took some time.
The doors of the ballroom were thrown open and people were gathered inside. Most of them already had coffee and some food. There was a large table set up at the back with six empty chairs waiting for them.
As they approached, they couldn’t help noticing that everyone was seated on one side of the table with their backs to the wall, which seemed odd. A man with long brown hair and a white robe was seated right in the middle.
Roger leaned over to Elliott. “Are you seeing-“
“Yeah, that’s weird,” Elliott said.
At that moment a short little man emerged from behind the long haired man and whisked the robe off; it wasn’t a robe at all, but a barber’s smock. He’d been getting a trim.
“Is it weird that that doesn’t seem less weird than the other thing we were thinking?” Elliott asked Roger quietly.
“My idea of weird is pretty messed up, my boy,” Roger said.
When he saw them, the man in the middle stood and held out his arms, smiling warmly. He had a beer mug in each hand. Aubrey was seated a few chairs down from him.
“Welcome!” he bellowed merrily. “I am Brewmaster Tedd. Please join me for a bite, some brew, and hopefully some wisdom!”