“The witch is here again.” A woman from the pub whispered to her friend, but to cut through the clanks and the cheers and shuffling around her, there was nothing quiet about it. “Did you know she started selling potions?”

“Blatantly?” Her friend whispered back, staggered. She pulled her drink a little closer to herself. 

“Mm.” The woman tucked the fallen strands of her light hair behind her ear before she took a sip. “She won't get away with it for long. The guardsmen will be knocking on her little shop soon enough.”

Myra couldn't help but roll her eyes as she focused her ears elsewhere. She wasn't one for gossiping. Not about herself, at least.

Myra was here for the same reason as everyone else: relaxing after a long week. She sipped her drink, sweet and boozy, a slice of lemon clipped onto her glass. That surprised her. This pub was usually cheap and was very cheeky with their portions.

The pub was full, lively and loud. A man strummed his wooden lute on the small stage sectioned off in the corner, playing for tips and the smiles of the crowd. Friends gathered around scuffed tables and joked at the bar which glistened with the sticky spills of ale and juice.

Myra never was a fan of the smell, an old beer smell mixed with the natural scent of hard-worked, worn out people. But it was a smell she could strain her nose for.

She sat, solitude, at a table by the back window. The night sky provided no extra light into the yellow-lit bar but it was slightly colder there and she appreciated that.

A rosy, white hand landed gently on the other end of her small table, large and square. The man connected could be described similarly. Myra sat back to look at him, but she didn't move her arms or her drink from the table.

“Having a good evening?” The man asked, his voice low but loud over the clatter.

Myra was confused, she looked him up and down, not being shy about her action. He grinned. “Who are you?” She asked, raising her eyebrows to match her dubiety. 

The man laughed. “Sorry for my forwardness, of course you'd want to know who I am! I already know who you are. The name’s Dacien. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, you know who I am?” Myra sat straighter, her defences building.

“Of course. It's hard not to know you.”

“So you probably think I'm a witch? That I struck a deal with the devil and now I'm damned to live a life of constant peril? I don't think you know me.” 

“I…” Dacien struggled, he took a brief glance over his shoulder, his green eyes searching for someone in the crowd. 

Myra took her cup to her berry lips, her own gaze painting over the window. She was used to the townsfolk treating her differently. It didn't bother her anymore.

“Then let me get to know you.” Dacien made his comeback, inviting himself into the chair opposite.

“Why?” Myra replied quizzically.

Dacien shrugged, his golden curled hair bounced ever so slightly. “Why not? You're interesting.”

Myra eyed him, unease settling on the surface. She had believed people like this before and it never ended well. “Are you trying to court me?” Was all she could manage to ask.

Dacien looked slightly taken aback but he recovered quickly. “Perhaps. Would you consider a date?”

“No. I don't date.”

“Why not? Are you…into people more similar to your own– body?” He clenched his jaw but Myra cared not to read him any further.

“It wouldn't matter if I was! How dare you ask a question like that. I said no.” She swung a leg over the other, tucking herself further away from him. “Go away. I was enjoying my time alone.” 

She didn't care to read him, but she still felt the shift in Dacien’s emotions. “There aren't many men around here who'd give a girl like you a chance. I'm interested, you shouldn't pass this up.”

“Oh no,” she stopped herself from gasping, “I was hoping no men would give me a chance. Thank you, truly, for letting me know I should work harder.” She placed a hand almost on this creep of man’s.

Dacien gave a dry, condescending laugh, his eyes narrowed and his brows thread tight. “You're not funny.”

“I think I'm hilarious. Now go away.” She picked her hand back up to shoo him with.

He stayed silent for a minute more, a long sigh leaving him. Then he stood up. “I'm not giving up on you. You still have this chance, but I'll wait for you to take it.”

“That's rad, have a good evening.” She smiled at him, happy that he was finally walking away.

Despite whatever that was, Myra continued enjoying her night. She felt the energy of the pub and enjoyed the cheery music. When it was her time to retreat home she left the musician a tip, a token of her enjoyment.

Her walk home was quiet, almost eerily so after the loudness of the pub. But it was nice. Sobering. And it was away from weird guys and their manifest destiny-esk mindsets.