TW: alcohol, talk of sex; does this count as mature? I’ll mark it just in case.

……………………….

Half an hour later, she was getting tipsy on the pint of vodka the waitress had delivered. Rosie mentally marked the side of the glass where she should stop, and she was almost there. Droya and Zete were drinking something that smelled like kerosene, and were getting comfortably buzzed alongside her.

“So, Zete,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to ask. What… um, what pronouns do you prefer?”

Zete’s wings beat slowly twice as he considered her question.

“Pronouns do not translate well from Hellish to English,” he said with a tinge of frustration. “But the closest would be ‘he.’ Although it’s not quite accurate.”

Rosie leaned in towards him. “What do you mean? What all pronouns are there in Hellish?”

Droya laughed. “There are eighty-one,” he said.

Rosie’s eyes went wide.

“Eighty-one?” she asked.

“Eighty-one,” Zete confirmed. “Chosii, kial, gotte, siani, becho, bechotte-“

“Eighty-one,” Droya cut him off, waving his hand.

“What do they mean?” Rosie asked, intrigued.

Zete snorted in frustration.

“They don’t translate well,” he repeated. “In Hellish I use kial. When I was a child I was siani. But things change.” He gave a tiny shrug. “I am born male, currently male, submissive in relationships, and my heart prefers males.”

Zete took a big sip from his tiny cup.

“Hellish pronouns are tied into identity in ways that English ones are not. Identity can change, so pronouns can change. It is part of introductions. To another Hellian, I would introduce myself as kial Zete Binnelle Thette.”

Droya nodded. “Becho Droya Kirnah Ataskielle Shomme,” he said.

“What does becho mean?” Rosie asked, taking a sip from her glass.

“Born male,” said Zete while Droya took a gulp of his drink. “Still male. Can be dominant or submissive in relationships. Interested in females primarily, but not solely.”

“Gosh,” Rosie said, sitting back. “It seems like… so… personal. I don’t know. What would mine be?”

Droya cocked his head at her, as did Zete.

“You would have to tell us more about you first,” Droya pointed out.

Rosie’s face reddened.

“Maybe it’s too personal,” she said, more embarrassed than she realized.

“Humans,” Droya said with a sigh and a shake of his head.

Rosie frowned at him. “Fine,” she said, feeling challenged. “Um… born female. Currently female.” Her face felt hot. “Usually… submissive, I guess. And I’ve only ever really been interested in guys.” She winced. “I feel like that sounds boring and vanilla, but I guess it’s me.”

“Chosii,” Zete said.

“Introduce yourself,” Droya demanded with a grin.

Rosie took a breath. “Okay, so… Chosii Rosemund Bristol Everley.”

The demon and the fairy stared at her.

“You did not say your name right,” Droya said. “It’s Rosie.”

She spluttered a laugh and covered her mouth with her hand.

“Rosie is short for Rosemund,” she said. “It’s easier.”

They seemed taken aback by this revelation, and Rosie laughed harder.

“You don’t have nicknames here?” she asked.

Droya shook his head and leaned back onto the pillows on one arm.

“Names are…” he looked at Zete and said something in Hellish.

Zete thought about it, and took a sip of his drink.

“Names are like a promise or a contract all on their own,” he explained, choosing his words carefully. “To give a false name is seen as dishonest, or rude at the least. At the most, a grave insult.”

Droya nodded in agreement.

Rosie bit her lip.

“I didn’t mean to lie,” she said. “It’s normal in America to have a nickname, usually a shorter version of your real name, but sometimes it’s completely different. Like, my mom’s name is Judith, but she goes by Judy, and when she played lacrosse in college her friends called her Cheetah. Cheetahs are really fast animals, and she was a fast runner.”

“Strange,” Droya said.

“Huh,” Zete said, staring into his cup.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel bad, I didn’t mean to be rude,” Rosie said, whining a little. She was feeling the vodka.

“Now, you are to be honest with us,” Droya teased. “Unless you are really rude and you are just being tricky.”

“You want honesty?” Rosie said, taking another sip of her drink. “I can do that. I’m good at that. But I don’t like to be rude. It makes me feel bad. So, I really am sorry.” She tapped her fingers on the table.

“But don’t you dare call me Rosemund,” she plead. “As far as honesty goes, I’d really prefer my name was Rosie. I know it goes against your culture, but please, please just call me Rosie.”

Droya’s lips twisted into a side smile and he finished off his own drink.

“Okay,” he said. “I will call you by your false name. But only in trade.”

Rosie flinched apprehensively.

“Be rude to me,” he said, leaning forward over the table at her, grinning his sharp-toothed smile. “Tell me something true but rude. I challenge you.”

Zete threw his empty, thimble-sized cup on the floor and stood up to walk around the table a bit.

Rosie sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Fine,” she said. “I hate your hat,” she said. “It looks stupid.”

Droya gasped, and Zete fell over laughing, a squeaky, tittering noise.

“I am a broken man,” Droya moaned. “I’ll never get over this.” He fell back onto the pile of pillows dramatically, his hand over his face.

Rosie giggled and took another sip.

“I can tell you feel terrible,” Droya said, grinning, lifting his head up to glare at her in mock anger.

Zete hadn’t stopped laughing and was gasping for breath.

“I’m drunk,” Rosie declared.

“Is that what it is called?” Droya asked with a chuckle. “Drunk?”

“Yup,” Rosie said, then gasped. “Sorry, I mean that’s what it’s called. It’s going to take some practice to not just answer yes or no questions with a yes or no.” She took a tiny sip from her glass. She decided that was more than enough vodka, and put the cup down pointedly.

“I understand,” Droya said. “Changing your language is difficult. I struggle with English, it is not a… simple language. But I think I am doing all right for only a week.”

Rosie snorted. “You know a week is seven days, right? There’s no way you have only been studying English for a week. You mean like, a year?”

“No!” Droya said, affronted. “One week! That is when I was hired for this. They said to learn English.” He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked at Rosie, his long, lean body stretched out on the pillows between them. “You don’t believe me? I am very good with tongues.”

Rosie laughed nervously.

Droya sat up and leaned forward, his elbows on the table. His eyes were doing that strange thing again, the turquoise shrinking and the white showing on the edges.

“What is that?” Rosie asked, leaning in towards him. “The eye thing.”

“It’s embarrassing is what it is,” Zete hooted. “And inappropriate.” He made as if he were going to fly over and hit Droya on the head again, but he stumbled and sat down instead, waving a fist at Droya.

Droya had the decency to look a little bashful, leaning back and looking away from Rosie.

“Ah,” he said. “Well… it is a physical response to…” he finished his response in Hellish and looked at Zete.

“I’m not translating that,” Zete said.

Droya said a different word in Hellish.

“Not that either,” Zete said, shaking his head violently and crossing his arms.

Droya tried one more time.

Zete shook his head, then looked at Rosie. “He can’t pick a nice word for it, but he means that it happens when he is attracted to someone. When the white shows in the eyes it means someone is receptive to romantic, um…”

Zete threw his hands in the air. “It means he’s horny,” he said, giving up.

Rosie’s eyes flew open wide and her face went beet-red.

“Some demons are born with eyes that stay that way all the time,” Droya said, trying to talk over his embarrassment, still not looking at Rosie. “In old times, people thought they were… obsessed, with sex. They were forced into harems or brothels. Now, they mostly work in service jobs, because they are seen as extremely charming.”

Rosie touched her face.

“Oh jeez,” she said. “So all humans look like nymphos, is what you’re saying.”

Droya tilted his head at her, not sure of the word she used.

“Maybe,” Zete said.

Rosie put her hands over her eyes and groaned. She suddenly gasped and uncovered her eyes, staring accusingly at Droya.

“You’ve been giving me eye-boners all day!” she accused, and threw a pillow at his face.

“Soooo inappro-propriate,” Zete slurred.

Droya caught the pillow before it hit him and held it up as a shield as Rosie threw another pillow.

“I can’t help it!” Droya whined, his tail curled tightly around a blue and white striped pillow. He peeked over his shield pillow and pouted at Rosie. “You are so pretty,” he said. “And different.”

Rosie frowned at him. “Well, you’re pretty too, but I’m not looking for a hook-up.”

Zete giggled. “The human thinks you’re preetttttyyyy,” he crowed.

Droya’s eyes started to do the thing again, and Rosie launched another pillow at him.

“Are you sure?” Droya asked, an eyebrow raised, his forehead crinkling under his horns.

Rosie sighed.

“I’m not good with casual sex,” she said. “I get attached too easily. It isn’t fair for me or the other person. I know myself well enough at this point.”

Droya watched her with curiosity. She really did just say whatever she wanted. The vodka seemed to help with that as well.

Rosie waved her hand in the air in a vague, dismissive gesture.

“Even if you were interested in something real, I’m only here for a couple more days, and then I probably won’t ever be here again,” Rosie said. “Trust me, anyway, I’m a disaster in a relationship. My last serious thing was… bad. Really bad. I should just be alone forever.”

Droya hugged the pillow to his chest and narrowed his eyes at her.

“You may be honest, but you are wrong,” he said. “Shaya are very good judges of character. I can tell in only a moment if someone is a threat, or a liar, or hiding something. I can see you are a good person, Rosie. You should not be alone forever, you should be happy.”

Rosie stared at him.

“Dammit,” she said. “I’m at the part of drunk where I get weepy. I wish you hadn’t said that.” The tears were already coming.

Droya and Zete both shot to their feet in alarm.

“What is happening?” Zete said.

“Are you injured?” Droya asked.

“No, I’m just stupid and drunk,” Rosie wailed quietly, tears streaming down her face. “Can we go back to the hotel so I can get enough sleep to disappoint people tomorrow?”

Droya still seemed concerned, but he nodded and exited the curtain to get the check. Zete flew to Rosie in fits and spurts, wobbling through the air, and landed on her shoulder, grabbing her ear to steady himself.

“Droya’s right,” he told her. “You are pretty. And different. You will do better tomorrow than you think, trust me.” Then he passed out, fell over, and slid down Rosie’s chest. She caught him, careful not to crush his delicate wings. She cradled the pixie gently and tried to stop crying.

Yep, she was completely certain that if someone could die from embarrassment, she would already be dead.