[Open] A Dash of Youthfulness, a Splash of Naïveté

[Briarheart]

As Hyperion's briar-knit hand reached for the door, she hesitated.

Goodness, how long had it really been since she set foot in one of these places?

The gears of her memory clanked into motion as she desperately tried to remember. It had been roughly two months since she left the old Ranger fort deep in the heart of Concordia. Two months and a day since she burned the last of Madison's things. Two months and six days since she finally lost all hope. Two months and a week since she finally built up the courage to enter her basement laboratory, finding it untouched since her departure. A week shy of three months after she finally stopped wallowing in self-pity and what ifs? for a second time. Three months since she discovered her best friend's blood-stained journals, with page upon page of the hastily scrawled ramblings of a woman who had gone mad and sought to cure the world of her disease once and for all. Three months and a couple weeks since her chest finally stopped burning inexplicably. Four months after her imagination was consumed with the many Worst Possible Scenarios as to why she was still alone at the compound.

Which would make it... let's see, five months since Madison told Hype that she would be going to town on a big shopping trip? That sounded right to her. And they had lived in the fort for at least six months by then--

"Excuse me, miss--"

The sharp tones of someone trying to mask their annoyance with politeness snapped the briarheart back to reality. She reflexively withdrew her hand and stepped aside, turning to see the lumbering form of a man escorting his wife.

"So terribly sorry," Hype apologized to him. She had at least a dozen more ready to go, just in case the first one wasn't sufficient.

Instead, the couple pushed open the door to the tavern, their eyes lingering on her mythril face mask just a moment longer than necessary before entering. Not one to waste an opportunity, Hype slid in behind them.

It had been so long since she was last at a place like this--wait, she recalled, there was that one time with the little frost fae Fenn who stole Madison's cards, and Red was there, and Lye too, and after we left Madison had this harrowing look in her eyes...

Okay, so maybe it hadn't been so long; more like quite a while since Hyperion last set foot in a tavern. Regardless of her fluctuating sense of time, the sights and sounds were immediately recognizable (the smells not so much, on account of her busted-up senses that come with being a corpse gift-wrapped in plant matter and all).

Her heart swelled and her mood immediately improved as she took in the camaraderie that overflowed from all present. All of these people, with their family, their loved ones, their friends--

--and then the amber light of her eyes faded ever-so-slightly.

There she was, in the middle of all these people who were enjoying their night, telling their stories, sharing smiles and laughs. The only person in the world Hyperion was connected to on this kind of level was... well, she wasn't sure where she was, but she was certain that she'd never see her again.

A dull ache built up in her chest. She placed a hand lightly on her chest and began to move past a man playing the fiddle and through the crowd of patrons, hoping to leech just the slightest bit of cheer and warmth from them. The healer wound her way to the bar and pulled up a stool next to a wispy little thing with a pair of fuzzy cat ears poking out of a mop of black hair. Hype noted that she looked pretty lonely, if not alone...

Perhaps the little cat girl would like to be friends?

Assuming that her first instinct wasn't to push the briarheart off the stool, anyway. Hype was well aware that cats love to do that to potted plants.

Before she could introduce herself, the old man who ran the place slid across from her. "And what can I get you?"

The barkeep lingered just a little too long on that last word. Hyperion could see that he was making a concerned effort not to stare at her four amber eyes hiding behind the mask, but she was increasingly used to this sort of reaction.

"Meat, please."

He arched a bushy eyebrow. "Meat? Any, uh, particular kind?"

This is where she was lost. Madison always did the ordering. "Ummmm," she trailed off for a moment before taking a stab in the dark. "Red, I suppose?"

An uncomfortable pause. "We can get you a steak, if that'll do you."

Hype bounced excitedly on her stool. "Yes! Steak! Heavily seasoned, with a side of mashed potatoes!"

The old man smiled, glad to finally be back on a familiar conversation track. "And how would you like that cooked?"

"As rare as you're legally allowed to serve it," Hype replied, her eyes flickering with hunger. She'd prefer it not ran over the flame of the stove at all, but she quickly learned that there were these people called health inspectors that greatly frowned upon establishments serving hunks of meat that could still probably moo or cluck or whatever. If that's what she wanted, she'd have to consume it where nobody was watching.