“Well hell, looks like you made it out alright!” A voice called out from Bird’s left, not immediately rousing him from his thoughts. He looked over, transitioning further into reality when he saw the ginger hair, the scarred brow. The face clicked, but Bird had to hide the immediate panic of forgetting someone’s name. It was the guy that had helped him find the entrance exam last week.

“Ah, hello. Yes, I made it the exam well enough.” The formality felt strange on his tongue, but it was getting a little easier with a week of practice. “How have you been?”

“Livin’ the dream.” He laughed, some unseen bits of metal in his apron’s pocket jingling.

“Are you on your way to a workshop?”

“No, no, just got done actually. Finally got my golem’s arm to move the way I need to; gettin’ a ball-and-socket joint to work on those damn things is a pain.” He shook his head, looking half-ready to start cursing at an invisible proxy for his project. “Ah well, that’s what I get fer going with that design.”

Normally this was where Bird would find an excuse to leave. Needing to get some food, or needing to get to a lecture. Returning to his room, or some fake errand.

“Are golems your specialty?”

“More or less. I’ve got a knack for getting the physical bits of golems and constructs working, but not a lot of talent for most of the other disciplines. Luckily most people who want a golem made or customized can drive the things themselves; all I need to do is build it.” He adjusted the goggles on his head that were keeping the ginger bramble held back, almost like he was showing off a badge of honor. “Course, the work isn’t easy, but I still do pretty well in my workshop.”

That got Bird’s interest.

“You have your own workshop?”

“Yeah. Well, it ain’t all mine. I share it with a few folks, friendly with most of ‘em so it makes working a bit more pleasant.” A smile started to spread across his face, an idea gleaming behind his eyes. “Actually, have you been to the Tavern yet?”

“In Goldwind?” Bird knew which bars and taverns were decent in Lowmyre, but he hadn’t exactly explored Goldwind. There had been a few brief trips to get his robes and some basic sundries, but being alone in a bar just sounded like a bad idea.

“There’s one on the Academy grounds, actually. It’s got some rooms for guests of the Academy, but it’s mostly for students and members to sit and unwind. They’ll have different performers from time to time, and the food and drink are excellent if I do say so myself!” He smiled wide, “It’s usually a great time. I’m actually going to meet friends there now, unwind after a long day; one of em’ the one I mentioned when we met the other day, strange name like your’s. Wanna come along?”

This was definitely the point where Bird would say no and find his excuse. Something about going to a bar, getting drunk or too loose, and getting too close to people doing the same just seemed like a bad idea. A bad, terrible, fun idea that in no way created conflict between social needs and his need to not be discovered.

“Sure, why not?” Bird smiled while his mouths bit the fabric of his gloves from inside his pockets, keeping the panic silent.

“Awesome, follow me buddy!”

I’ll go in, have a drink, and then head out, Bird thought to himself, keeping up the small talk as they walked. Simplest thing in the world. A little social interaction and then I’m out.

The Tavern was much less boisterous than Bird expected; normally a bar in Lowmyre was only peaceful when patrons weren’t in it. It was well lit, with a few wooden chandeliers sporting small motes of light above a large room full of tables. Most of walls sported some kind of decoration, either in the form of portraits or bits of art or the visages of beasts.

That’s not to say it was empty or dour. A majority of the tables had several patrons, each nursing some drink or food while they tried to speak over the din of every other conversation. The noise was actually a bit much for Bird’s ears for a moment, who had reflexively tried to parse every conversation he could hear. They seemed happy enough, but Bird had to take a moment to actively tune out the din.

All in all, it was a welcoming place that tried to feel homey. There was still a certain air of presentation that suffused Goldwind, like the image of this place needed to be perfect, but notably less so than some of the other places he had seen in his ventures.

A few steps into the room, a voice rang out and caught the ear of Bird’s companion.

“Clyde! Over here!”

Bird fell into step behind the taller man, weaving between patrons and students. He didn’t get a good look at who had called out until they were standing in front of the table.

They were half glancing at him, but seemed more concerned with chastising Clyde for taking as long as he did and asking if the golem was finally working. For the briefest of moments Bird wondered if one of the two women was a Weird, or at the least from Lowmyre; her hair was a vibrant blue, clearly dyed and outside of the norm for Goldwind. It passed quickly. She had no markings and no Weirdness to her.

“So who are you?” The other woman drew his attention from the first. Her tone was a lot friendlier than her words, eased further by how relaxed she seemed. Clyde cut in before Bird could respond.

“This is that guy from the exams I told you about. Saw him wandering ‘round all lonely so I figured I’d bring him here and start getting him some friends.” Bird stumbled forward a step when Clyde clapped him on the back. Flushed, he realized he had to actually introduce himself now.

“Uh, Hi.” Don’t fuck up your name, don’t fuck up your name, don’t fuck it up, “I’m Bird. I mean, dammit, my name is actually Felix but I...fuck it, call me Bird.”

At this point he had managed to mess up every single introduction. As it turned out, practicing for a few days didn’t override the reflex of almost a decade-and-a-half of introducing himself as Bird. He legitimately didn’t think he had called himself Felix in his own mind since he was about eight.

“He’s a little jumpy like that, don’t mind it.” Clyde laughed, eternally unphased. “The redhead is Grace, and our blue-haired friend here is Bead.”

Grace seemed amused by how flustered Bird seemed, but it didn’t seem particularly malicious. She just sipped at her drink, badly hiding the grin that curled beyond the rim.

Bead seemed a little more attentive now, her expression a little surprised but in a sort of pleased way. Bird watched her and Clyde exchange a look.

“How’d you get a name like that?” Bead’s voice was a little quiet, but the perk of Bird’s ears negated that.

“I uh, just wasn’t fond of Felix. I wanted something that fit me better.” She seemed pleased by the answer. “How about Bead? I like it but I don’t think I’ve met someone with a name like that.”

“Funny for a man named Bird to say that.” She laughed, and offered a shrug in response. “I just liked it better than the alternative.”

“Fair enough.” Bird understood that kind of logic, even if it wasn’t something he expected in Goldwind. When he didn’t pursue it further, he swore something relaxed in Bead’s expression, but it might have just been the light.

A beat passed.

“So are you going to sit, or do I have to watch this devolve into flirting while you’re standing?” Grace asked with a candor that brought some heat to Bird’s cheeks, but he was a little surprised to see Bead light up as well. “You been in here before?”

“No, I’ve been at the Academy for about a week but this is my first time in here. What’s good?” Bird took a seat at the round table across from Grace.

“Lightweight or can you handle your liquor?”

“Middling.”

“Honest man, I like that.” She called over her shoulder towards a passing barman, calling for two ales. She stuck other names onto them that he didn’t recognize, but ale was familiar enough.

For all he had worried, and continued to worry, the night was exactly what Bird needed. He still felt a bit stiff in conversation, and it didn’t help his anxieties to have Grace call him on such, but he felt quickly welcomed into the dynamic between the three of them.

The members of this little trio were relatively tenured students with different specialties, though Grace and Bead were some of the people Clyde shared his workshop with. Grace seemed to be a spellcrafter with an interest in protective magic, Bead was a potion-specialist that ranged from medicinal brews to cosmetics, and Clyde was a talented golemancer.

Grace and Bead didn’t quite match Clyde in being unconditionally welcoming, but they were good company. Bead in particular seemed happy to welcome him to the table and keep up small talk. The Weird had to wonder if it had to do with Grace and Clyde getting absorbed in a heated argument about magical or physical protective measures for golems; they got so deeply into it that they seemed to ignore the two of them all together. Every once in a while they would jump out to try and get Bird or Bead to take their side, only to jump back in before any kind of answer came.

It was nice to see them joke and prod at each other, but it felt almost artificial to be pulled in himself. Bird knew he didn’t belong. As much as he wanted to feel like a part of this, he just couldn’t quite help but feel like it was an act. After some time had passed, maybe an hour or so, Bird found an excuse and left. Maybe their farewells were genuine, but they just washed over him in the moment.

The seasons were starting to change, and he attributed the chill in the air absently to that. There was no reason for the evening air to be cold, but Bird didn’t care to wonder if it was in his mind.

He returned to his room and sat at his desk, sparing half a thought to how sober he felt before shrugging it off and pulling out his journals. The task of copying his notes was tedious, but it served a few purposes.

First, it turned his mind from the Tavern and wanting to return to it. It represented a surrogate for the Nightlight, and his desire to drink and flirt and sing and dance was a stubborn one. It was behavior that would make him stand out though, and he knew he couldn’t risk it. He felt weak for having the desire though, for having it weigh on him, and the mindlessness of copying took his mind from it.

Second, it simply helped him remember the material and draw a few more connections. A practical thing for a student to do, he assumed. Much of it was just starting to learn the academic names for practical things he knew, but there was already plenty of information that he had just never seen before.

Finally, it meant he could keep his notes. Bird finished transcribing and patted the second book, knowing there was already more formal knowledge of history and alchemy in the leatherbound journal than Lucy would have ever seen in Lowmyre.

There was a small pile of camping equipment beside his desk, and he slipped that journal into the pack there. When this weekend came, he planned to sneak back into Lowmyre and bring those notes to the Nightlight.