“So, yeah, hate to break it to you, my dudes.” Out of habit, Seymour snapped off a couple quick bows to greet Dathon and Rucktizzeran. “But my birthday isn’t actually until tomorrow.”
“As if we are not aware,” Dathon chuckled, lugging a huge sack over shoulder like he was filling in for Santa Claus. “We are giving you a surprise party. On Earth, do not your people partake in such celebrations?”
“I mean sure, but we’d usually hold them on the person’s actual birthday.”
Rucktizzeran sizzled with excited energy. “Then that must surely mean that you are surprised to an even greater degree, as our festive ambush lands upon you a day earlier than you could possibly have predicted!”
Seymour couldn’t help but laugh. Rucktizzeran floated toward him in his wizard robes and Dathon waddled, struggling with the weight of the ridiculously oversized sack slung over his shoulder.
“Well don’t just stand there,” the tentacle-chinned alien demanded, “do please escort us to your room at once. Owing to Rucktizzeran’s conveniently selective incorporeality, I am left to bear the burden of these decorations on my own, and they are heavier than streamers and spheres of living illumination have any business being.”
“As we have repeatedly explained: we are not entirely incorporeal. We are merely not corporeal enough to help carry objects of such enormous size and terrible weight.”
Just then, Eusebio came up alongside Seymour to welcome the pair of wayward aliens:
“Hello again, glad to see you two made it down to the depot.”
Seymour turned to him. “You knew about this?”
“Indeed. The request for overnight accommodations was approved some days ago.”
“And with the delivery of these revelers, my work here is done.” Ermin bowed and shot Seymour a wink. “Enjoy yourselves, but do not do that which I would not do.”
“Indeed again,” Eusebio added before heading into the shop, “if you find yourselves wondering if your party-related debauchery might be a bridge too far for such an esteemed establishment as Dragon Dan’s Adventure Depot, ask yourself first, ‘what would Ermin do?’ And then follow that guidance.”
“Alright then,” Seymour said, shaking his head at all the ridiculous people who cared about him, “follow me, fellas.”
As he led the aliens inside through the swinging saloon doors, the other salespeople who were still stuck wrapping up the day’s last transactions shot each other knowing looks and nods. There had already been plenty of whispers of favoritism when Seymour began living on-site, and the fact that he was now having guests sleep over wasn’t likely to diminish that sentiment among his coworkers any time soon.
But right at that moment, he didn’t much care what any of them thought, because it suddenly struck Seymour that none of his friends back on Earth had ever thrown him a surprise party. These two relative strangers—aliens from distant universes—evidently cared about him more than the people he’d grown up with. They cared about him more than any girl he’d ever dated. Crossing the showroom, he squeezed his eyes shut briefly and shoved the melancholy thought out of his mind.
“Here we are.” He paused before opening the door to his semi-private quarters. “But I gotta warn you, boys, there’s not much room in here. And only one cot, which—as the birthday boy—I obviously have dibs on, so you’re probably gonna have to cuddle up together on the floor or something. Assuming we get any sleep, what with all the wild partying we’re about to get down on.”
“Do not fret,” Rucktizzeran chimed in cheerfully as Seymour drew the door open. “Eusebio Duartez has assured us that he will provide cots enough for three more.”
“Three?”
Sure enough, as he stepped inside his room Seymour saw three new cots, folded up and stood against the far wall.
And reclining in the chair over at the workbench there sat a third guest:
“Happy birthday, Seymour.” Penny Amberwine climbed to her feet, holding a crystal goblet filled with deep purple wine. “Hope you gentlemen do not mind too terribly that I have started without you.”
Dathon’s big ass sack came loaded up with goodies.
“Chester Hedwick sends his warmest regards,” he said while unpacking a mini-keg of the innkeeper’s special brew. “And his coldest beer. Or at least it was cold when we boarded Mr. Troudt’s shuttle.”
“So, there’s four of us and we’ve got a baby keg and five bottles of this velvetberry wine?” Seymour held up a bottle to read its label by the light of his touch candle. “You guys think that’ll be enough?”
“Perhaps not,” Rucktizzeran noted, “with the way Miss Amberwine seems intent on imbibing all the wine by herself.”
“I am intent on no such thing,” she shot back. “But I deserve my fair share for arranging these decorations all on my own.”
In addition to Hedwick’s keglet and a box of cigars and enough poker chips to fuel an all-nighter, Dathon’s goodie bag had also been stuffed full of party decorations; rolled-up crepe-paper streamers and ribbons and weightless, light-filled crystalline orbs which threatened to float up to the ceiling like helium balloons.
Penny dove into the decorations, characteristically hellbent on making everything perfect, hanging the streamers up with extreme care. To Seymour’s surprise, the streamers began to glow with shifting colors wherever they criss-crossed, painting the room with a constantly changing palette. Meanwhile, Dathon continued unpacking items from his sack, including a basic poker table with collapsible legs which he passed off to Rucktizzeran, who struggled to get it set up.
“Need a hand, Ruckus?” Seymour asked while pouring himself a beer in a ridiculous, gem-adorned goblet.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Please, Seymour Little, you should simply relax and allow us to erect this strange table.” The energy alien’s voice strained as he worked. “And I must remind you once more: that is not our name.”
“Fair enough, Tizzer.”
Dathon brought out a wicker basket filled with fruits and cheeses and a loaf of bread which he proudly announced he’d baked himself that morning in Chester Hedwick’s kitchen. And after a while, Rucktizzeran finally got the poker table sorted. But they were both on the periphery of Seymour’s attention. He simply couldn’t stop watching Penny Amberwine as she hung the decorations with her customary obsessiveness, like a sculptor crossed with a mad scientist.
Filling his goblet a second time, it occurred to him that she’d changed out of her typical workclothes. Instead, she now wore simple tan slacks and a loose-fitting, royal purple blouse with white accents. Her fiery red curls were somehow even bouncier than they’d been earlier in the day. And the only article that remained unchanged from what she’d been wearing all day during her shift was the jeweler’s loupe which always hung from her neck on a thin strap.
I guess this is Casual Penny. He took a seat at the poker table. Wonder how much of that wine she’s had now.
Eventually she wrapped up and became the fourth in their game. Over the following hours, she and Seymour took turns collecting pots. Dathon and Rucktizzzeran couldn’t win so much as a single hand between them, both completely helpless in the face of the humans’ poker faces.
“You still haven’t reined in those tentacles like I told you to.” Seymour leaned in to drag his winnings over to his side of the table.
“Victimized am I, by my own anatomy.” Dathon rose from his chair. “And speaking of, I must adjourn to the washroom once again to flush my cloaca—”
“Dude, enough with the cloaca-talk! Just go.”
As the clock crept closer to midnight, the foursome became straight up drunk. Rucktizzeran announced that he needed to retire to his crystal-adorned cot for a period of regeneration. His aura had shifted to become the same rich, amber color as Hedwick's brew. Dathon had already fallen asleep sitting up at the poker table. With each snore, his tendrils quivered. Seymour and Penny lifted him under his arms and dragged him off to flop onto his cot.
And then, it was just the two of them.
“I’m not tired,” Penny claimed, despite the obvious weight of her eyelids. “But I am quite hollowed out by my hunger.”
She took the blankets from her and Seymour’s cots and spread them all on the floor. Then she set up a charming little picnic spread consisting of Dathon’s bread and the remaining cheese and fruits. Another bottle of the velvetberry wine was uncorked and they shared it between them. Before long, Seymour had plopped down cross-legged while Penny sat on her knees across from him. The little globes of light that had been packed in Dathon’s sack—each about the size of a golf ball—now hovered in the air, moving slowly through the web of glowing streamers like lazy fireflies.
The romance of the moment couldn’t have been more obvious, and that was when she finally asked:
“So what exactly is the story with that weird fucking cactus of yours?”
Seymour snort-laughed into his goblet, momentarily taken off-guard by her suddenly foul mouth. “That’s Jerome. He’s my bloodpact buddy.”
“Truly?” She climbed unsteadily to her feet and went to the workbench to have a closer look. “And what does that mean, exactly?”
“Well, he’s a sapient cactus and whatnot, you know? And he drank some of my blood a couple times, so now we’re bros.”
“Some sort of vampire plant, then? You’ve allowed me to work in here each day alongside a vampire cactus, without giving me so much as a courtesy warning?”
That specific possibility hadn’t occurred to Seymour before Penny spoke it out loud, but no it seemed obvious. Jerome drank blood. He supposedly used it to fuel his magic, according to the information Seymour had received upon viewing his spiny little bud with Sanguine Sight. Those details really did seem extremely vampire-coded, didn’t they?
And sensing his epiphany, Jerome suddenly performed two quick kissy noises.
Penny shrank back from the cactus – but only for half a moment. She clearly found the whole thing intriguing:
“Do you think—” A hiccup interrupted her thought, but she forged ahead. “Do you think it would become drunk if it drank of our blood right now?”
Seymour had been wanting to talk to someone about Jerome and their bloodpact, but he hadn’t felt comfortable doing so until he had a belly full of wine and beer. And now he felt silly for having waited. Penny’s reaction made him think that becoming blood brothers with his pokey little pal simply wasn’t all that big of a deal. Her easy acceptance of him and Jerome’s bizarre relationship made it feel like maybe this kind of thing just happened all the time on Heschia. He suddenly knew that he should have brought it up with Eusebio. Or maybe Feshka, the weird little potion gremlin.
“Are you okay?” Penny came to sit beside him on her knees then. “You’re not one of those weepy drunks, are you? It feels like you might be. You’re radiating regret right now.”
“No.” He paused to reconsider. “Well, sometimes, when I was younger. But not right now, I don’t think.”
“Then what is the matter? Was it something I said?”
“No. Well, not really.”
“I know what it is.” She nodded proudly. “You feel protective of your poky little vampire, don’t you? And you worry that I will go through with feeding it some of my blood and that it may then become slightly tipsy, the same as I.”
“No, that’s definitely not it.”
“Oh!” She smacked her own forehead. Hard. “Of course not. You’re not worried about Jamal—
“—Jerome.” The cactus squeezed out a couple happy kissies as Seymour cut in to correct her.
“You’re not worried about Jerome becoming intoxicated. No, you’re worried that if he sampled my blood then he might bond with me, instead – and leave you behind.” She turned to look him dead in the eyes with her own bloodshot and narrowed. “You’re afraid your cactus will abandon you.”
And at that, the dam finally broke and Seymour did become one of those weepy drunks. His eyes became wet and his chest jerked with sobbing breaths. And he wasn’t sure why – he didn’t feel particularly sad. His body had simply decided it was time to have a good cry.
“Oh that is terribly unattractive.” Penny felt around for her goblet and then turned it up to gulp down a mouthful of the sweet wine. “Please stop to collect yourself. At once.”
But Seymour couldn’t stop. He fell onto his back as tears continued to stream down his cheeks. He spasmed and his legs kicked out, toppling the open bottle on its side. It spurted out purple wine like a severed artery and drenched the blankets they’d laid out for their boozy picnic.
Suddenly Seymour’s eyes rolled back and he began to tremble all over. Penny hurried to his side and helped steady him by sliding around until finally he was lying prone on his back with his head resting in the basket of her cross-legged lap, looking up at the ceiling.
She laughed. “You are truly such a fucking lightweight, Riftborn!”
And then Seymour chuckled, too. Who could have guessed that the girl had such a mouth on her! The chuckles trickled out of him just barely, at first, because he could scarcely breathe, but then as he came more and more back into his body he found himself overwhelmed with pleasure and giggling turned to uncontrollable laughter.
Penny suddenly sat up straighter, finally seeing through the haze of the wine to recognize exactly what was happening right in front of her.
“Seymour,” she nearly whispered, “it’s a sigil. The clock has struck midnight on your twenty-eighth birthday and you are manifesting a new sigil. But not like any of your others. Not like your blasphemous Greed or Envy or Pride. I believe this to be a true Virtue sigil.”
And just then, there came a tapping at the door.
