Blood Moon's Tears

It’s been a few days since Eriena and Sama visited the Fading Rose. Lucky for Sama, today was an exceptionally slow day at the bar. A mischievous smirk curls upon his lips as he watches Kenji serve a customer, his back facing him. However, before Sama could fully indulge in scheming whatever plans he had concocted in his mind, Kenji broke the silence.

“Your aura is suffocating, Sama, and I don’t appreciate auras that make me feel suffocated,” Kenji remarked.

Sama’el was intrigued by the man before and with much curiosity replied, “Kenji, what else do you do for a living? I feel like ’Bartender’seems too plain a title for an intriguing man like yourself.”

Kenji paused, considering his response. “I’m an assassin,” he deadpanned.

Sama’el’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Seriously?” he asked, surprised.

A hint of amusement danced in Kenji’s eyes as he retorted, “No! Being a bartender is my sole occupation. But since I own this bar I guess you can call me an entrepreneur if you want a fancy title. Apologies for not leading an interesting life like yours, mister gamer. By the way, why didn’t you reveal your true profession to Eriena?” Kenji inquired, his voice tinged with a low growl when one of his patrons carelessly mishandled the newly installed door.

“Why would I do that? She would be afraid of me,” Sama’el replied matter-of-factly.

Kenji teased, “I thought you enjoyed instilling fear in people.”

Sama’el chuckled and replied, “Well, yeah, but not every woman would take kindly to the fact that I make a living by inflicting pain on others.”

“I suppose not,” Kenji conceded.

Kenji laughed at the notion that Sama’el didn’t want to frighten Eriena. The mere fact that he possessed a semblance of empathy intrigued and puzzled Kenji. As he observed Sama’el’s eyes light up upon seeing Eriena walk in, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the woman if she chose to reject the man she had come to meet tonight. In that moment, Kenji allowed his most uncomfortable memory of Sama’el to resurface, playing out in his mind, while his body operated on autopilot.

Roughly two years ago. A man with dark shoulder-length hair walked into the Fading Rose, his distressed eyes scanning the bar as he sauntered over to the bartender, who was currently in the midst of mixing a drink. He greeted the man behind the counter with a raspy, low voice that was laced with tiredness.

“I hope the night is treating you well,” A tank-like, light caramel-skinned man spoke. His dark shoulder-length hair was haphazardly slicked back into a mohawk.

“It’s the same ol’, same ol’, nothing interesting unless the new face cares to make this night worth my while,” Kenji proposed, making eye contact with the man before a customer interrupted with a few dollar notes.

I highly doubt it,” the man replied sceptically.

Kenji’s inner wolf growled in agreement. “I don’t like this guy, and you and I both know he’s going to cause trouble for us later on. Our abilities never lie,” Kenji’s inner thoughts echoed within his mind.

Indeed, Kenji possessed a unique gift that allowed him to discern the kind of drink a person needed simply by looking at them. It was a skill that bordered on the medical side, but he primarily utilized it behind the bar, opting for the path of mixology rather than medicine. However, this time was different. His ability suggested that he should serve this newcomer, who had just entered his bar, wolfsbane—a choice that puzzled Kenji. He couldn’t fathom why his gift would guide him towards something so corrupt.

“Well, alright, but you look kind of rough. Might I interest you in some Scotch?” Kenji offered as he watched the man pull at his well-trimmed beard and moustache. Clearly, He cared more about the hair on his face than the one on his head.

“Indeed, the day was rough. I could go against my better judgment and say that I want to drink past my limit tonight,” the man responded.

“Oh, you have a limit?” Kenji inquired.

“Yes, sir, indeed I do, and it’s a hell of a lot of alcohol,” the man asserted.

“Alright, it’s your liver, not mine. As long as you have the funds to pay for the amount you drink tonight,” Kenji remarked.

“Don’t worry, I do,” the man reassured him.

Kenji fulfilled the man’s drink requests one after another until he reached his limit. The man was now inebriated, on the verge of drooling and teetering on the edge of passing out. But whenever his head bobbed a little too hard, he would awaken momentarily and order yet another glass of whiskey. Kenji recognized a seasoned drunkard when he saw one and silently pondered.

“He’s not going to remember anything when he wakes up. It’s about time I get him to leave,” Kenji contemplated, yet, before he could intervene, he heard the man begin to cry. It was a soft weeping, almost imperceptible, but Kenji was close enough to see and hear it.

Kenji stared at the man for a moment, contemplating how to approach him. This newcomer was unpredictable in his drunken state, and his reactions could go either way. However, Kenji also recognized the opportunity to learn more about the man without much resistance, as his inhibitions were lowered. Suddenly, he noticed a pained expression cross the man’s face as if he were recalling something he shouldn’t.

“Are you alright there, buddy?” Kenji asked, breaking the man from his reverie and just like the times before the man asked for another drink.

“Yeah, just pass me another glass of Scotch,” The guy slurred.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Kenji offered.

The man obviously had something that was bothering him and usually preying into people’s business wasn’t Kenji’s style since everyone else just told him regardless if he wanted to know or not. But this time was different. This time he needed to know the reasoning behind his abilities suggestion of wolfsbane even though Kenji noticed that he suffered from insomnia.

“I said I’m fine, didn’t I? Now pass me another glass, damn it!” the male retorted, his frustration evident.

Kenji, genuinely curious about his new patron, informs him, “You know, as a bartender, I’m here to listen? That’s basically what I signed up for when I opened this place. I’m an unlicensed therapist. I don’t give advice but I can sure as hell listen. Sometimes people just need someone to listen. So if you’re having girl problems I assure you I can lend you an ear for that. I don’t get much action in my life so hearing other people talk about their problems makes me grateful that I’m still single.” His reply ended with a joke that held a bit of truth.

Kenji, with an empathetic gaze, leaned against the polished bar counter, ready to lend his ear to Sama’s troubles. The dimly lit atmosphere of the Fading Rose seemed to create a safe space for the words that the 26-year-old was about to share.

Sama’el hesitated, his face betraying a mixture of pain and exhaustion. He let out a sigh. “Before I start it’s only common courtesy for you to know the my name is Sama’el Seth, just call me Sama though.” He lets out another heavy breath. The weight of his memories seemed to press heavily on his mind. “Alright,” Sama began, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and vulnerability, “what I was thinking about was a damn memory I can’t seem to get out of my head.”

Kenji, genuinely interested in Sama’s story, asked with gentle concern, “Is it a bad memory?”

A bitter laugh escaped Sama’s lips, accompanied by a shadow that momentarily clouded his eyes. “How does my face look? Does it look like I’m happy for you?” His response carried an undercurrent of anguish, revealing the depths of pain that resided within him.

Kenji nods in understanding. “Got a point. Continue.”