C-BAD-035
Barista: Jericho Myerscough
Date: Jan-29-2020
Receipt: C-BAD-035
Subject: Omens
Turns out, the answer was sitting right under our damn noses. Like it always is. Like it always has been.
Two weeks chasing ghosts, rumors, nothing—and the key was sitting across from me the whole damn time.
The world’s different now. You can feel it, can’t you? The air tastes wrong. The stories we used to tell for fun? They’re breathing down our necks. ███ ██████████’█ ████, ███ ████ ██ ██ ███ █████ ███ ██. █████ ██ ███ ██. ████, █ ███ ██████ ████ ██ ████ ██████ █ █████ ███ █████ ██ █████████ ████ ████████ ██. But Eoin? He never doubted it. Not really. Maybe he didn’t fully believe, but deep down? He knew. Reckon he’s a damn part of it himself.
It was just a matter of getting him to say it out loud.
S.O.T.
[The Gross Wyrm was quiet. Late. The kind of late where only the stubborn and the sleepless remained. Jericho and Eoin sat at the bar, a bottle between them, half-drunk and half-forgotten. The air smelled of old wood and spilled stories.]
Jericho: It still doesn’t sit right with me. █ █████ █████ ██ █████████? Just lurking under our noses?
[Eoin swirled his glass, watching the liquid catch the dim light.]
Eoin: It didn’t.
[He took a slow sip, savoring the pause. Jericho raised an eyebrow, waiting.]
Eoin: Oh but it's been here before. In myths. In stories. Since the very start.
[Jericho huffed a laugh, shaking his head.]
Jericho: So what? We just—spoke it into being? Dreamed it so hard it became real?
[Eoin took a slow sip, considering.]
Eoin: Dreams. Fears. Promises. All the same, old son.
Jericho: That’s a terrifying thought.
Eoin: Only if you think too much.
[Jericho scoffed, tipping his glass toward Eoin.]
Jericho: Speaking of which—been meaning to ask you something. You’ve got your little… rules. Ways to keep yourself out of trouble with the Fae. █ ██████, ██ ████’██ ████ ███, let’s hear them.
[Eoin smirked, then as he spoke he counted on his fingers dramatically.]
Eoin: Never take the first offer, never. Never give your real name freely. Always pay your debts. And—
[He paused, letting the weight settle between them.]
Eoin: Always speak in even numbers.
[Jericho leaned forward, eyes sharp with interest.]
Jericho: Real name, huh? Alright, let’s play. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.
[Eoin didn’t blink. Didn’t hesitate.]
Eoin: No first offers. ‘Sides you’re drunk.
[Jericho groaned, slumping back in his seat.]
Jericho: Fine. Fine. No first offers. What about a second? No first names, just hints? A game?
[Eoin tilted his head, considering. Then, with a slow nod—]
Eoin: Agreed then.
[Jericho grinned and, with a deliberate flourish, pulled out █ ████████ ███ █████ ████ ███ ████. ██ ███ ██ ██ ███ ███, ███████ ███ ████ ███████ █████.
Eoin chuckled. Then laughed. He nodded once, understanding the pantomime.]
Eoin: Well played. ███ ██ █ ███████ ████ ███ ███ █████ ███████ ███████.
[Jericho smirked, pleased with himself. Then he noticed Eoin’s eyes flicking around the room—██████ ██ ███ ███, ███ ████ ██████ ████ ███ ███ ██████ ████ ███████, ███ ███████ ██████ ████ █████ ████ ██ ███ █████.
Jericho frowned.]
Jericho: What?
[Eoin just took another sip of his drink, letting it linger. He titled his head one way and then the other. And then, like a gear finally clicking into place—]
Jericho: Oh. Oh, you bastard.
[Eoin said nothing. Just smiled, flashing his teeth—one of them gold, catching the dim light just right.]
Jericho: █████ ████ ████—███ ███ ███ ███████ ██. ███ ██ ███.
[Eoin lifted his glass in a silent toast.
Jericho ran a hand through his hair, the booze finally connecting the dots—weeks of a chase, all leading back to this Inn.]
Jericho: Fuck me. You’re ███ █████, █████, █████, █████ ████████ ██ ███ █████ ███████. ███████ █████.
[Eoin simply smiled.
Jericho’s eyes flicked to the golden tooth. The missing piece. The key.]
Jericho: Well. Shit. I don’t reckon you’re going to like what we’ve got to do next. Drink up O’Dwyer—you’ll need it.
E.O.T.
Decaffeinate Receipt
“A True Name.”
Knowledge | Research | 2 Words