ROLEPLAY

Lyren wakes up, opens an eye. It's a blur. It must be night again. She rolls her head to the side and spits something out, blowing between her lips to unclog her pasty mouth. A roar echoes somewhere, perhaps in her head.

- Annn, Aaahhéé Eeeerr, Liiii...eeee... aaaèèèèèchhhhhh !!!

What, what, how? Lyren tries to readjust his pillow. No, it's much harder than a pillow. Since when did anyone replace their pillow with a plank of wood? He'll hear me Uzykos, another one of his tricks... Always annoying his big sister, that one. She bangs her head gently against the plank, and tries to open her eyes again.
Ah, something's moving near her. A figure? Ah. And that's what it is, a headache like a bodoc, ringing in the ears, and a smell... No, it's definitely not her bed. A table? Since when does she sleep on a table? Plank of wood, hangover. It rhymes.

Ah, the something moving next to her is a homin. Strangely, she doesn't feel threatened. Or maybe she's just in no condition to feel any danger. The homin makes another sound, and shakes her a little. She tries to articulate, but her lips stick together.

- What are you saying?
- I said no spitting on the floor, Lyren, ramèch...

The hominin flinches, straightens up, and frantically runs her hands over her head to check whether or not she has grown bodoc horns. Phew, nothing. She checks again a second later, just in case, but still nothing.

The hominin in question is Pecus, the bartender from Thesos. He plants himself in front of her and starts talking to her. Talking to her? Only a few words make it through the horn plug in her ears. Horns, de bodoc? Are they there? Lyren checks again, nervously turning her fingers in her ears. No, it's nothing. She just needs to throw up.

The few words she understands from Pecus are clear enough. Give in, give up, ah, no, don't give up, restore the retch straighten the blazon, and, again give in, no, actually, come to think of it, she doesn't understand it at all.

- Can you repeat, but slowly, she asked?
- Hmmmrffff, I don't have all day.
- Come on... Please...

Pecus took the homine firmly by the shoulders and straightened her in her chair.

- Okay, now you listen to me.

His tone was firmer and more fatherly. Lyren concentrated.

- You know, I didn't know the tyranchs... uh... who raised you. But I'll tell you, I knew your mother. And I knew your father, too. And Azazor, one of my best customers. And every legionnaire you've ever known, I've known better than you can imagine. And if there's one thing they could ALL have put into your little yubo head, it's that shooki isn't for mourning. You don't drink out of joy or sadness, or anything else. You just drink. The rest, the problems, the feelings, we deal with them, with an axe if need be. So let me get this straight: you've been coming here for three days, you've never had a drink in your life, and now you're chugging mugs faster than you can piss them, squealing that Azazor's gone, that there's no hope, that you don't know what to do. And you start all over again.

The homin's tone rose as he spoke.

-So yes, most of the legionnaires are old, some have left. Yes, two officers have been found dead, yes, Azazor has disappeared. But what can you do about it? Nothing, not a thing. So you know what you're going to do? I'll tell you what you're going to do, my little legionnaire, I'll tell you. You're going to go home, wash up, YES wash up. Don't let yourself go, understand? And you know what you're going to do next? You're going to clean the hall, yes. Tidy up. Are you a legionnaire or not? Then do it, and stop moaning. Then you're going to go to Pyr, and declare that you're taking over the legions in Azazor's absence. Do you understand? STOP SQUEALING AND DO IT. Who else can do it now? NOBODY? Then it's up to you.

Pecus was literally bellowing at the homine, and pounding his fist on the table to back up certain words.

- Then you're going to get up, EVERY MORNING, and do what a legionnaire has to do. ALONE OR NOT. This is what your parents would have done. This is what AZAZOR WOULD HAVE DONE. Alone or not. Even if you're the last one standing, the legions will stand. That's what counts, you understand? Can you imagine a young fyros seeing you here, now, do you think he'd want to join the legions seeing you like this? So, NOM D'UN BODOC, pull yourself together, straighten up, and wear that coat of arms like your father would have.

- You know... I never knew my father. And only my mother. But you're right. I'll do as you say. I'll give it a try.
- TRY? TRY?

Lyren tried to cover his ears, but the bartender non-violently grabbed his hands to stop him, but continued in a slightly more subdued tone.

- Do you want everyone to remember you as the renegade we trusted and failed?

*****

Still a little muddy, Lyren did just as Pecus had said, without thinking too hard. After all, following his advice couldn't make the situation any worse. Yes, wash up, clean the hall. She was already a little less slimy after that, to take charge of pyr and declare to pyr's guild officer that she would take the lead in her leader's place, in his absence.

- So you're the interim... And what do we do if he doesn't come back," he asked?
- If he doesn't come back... I'm going to slap the shit out of him and make him wish he were Fyros. And don't ask me where.
- The sharük isn't interested in the location of slaps. You deal with that internally.
- Well, do you still need my signature somewhere, or can I go? I still have work to do.
- It's fine. It's fine. Let me know if anything changes.
- I hope so... well, no: there's going to be some of that!