Page 64 of That Time I Got Drunk and Saved a Human
The king’s eldest was locked in discussion with Dante, but the discussion was full of political jargon I didn’t understand and sounded an awful lot like not my problem. It didn’t take long before I bailed on the conversation and followed Yala to the castle bar.
“Alright, next question,” Yala took a heavy swig of his beer and slammed the mug on the table. “You’re trapped in an abandoned castle for an entire night with either a basilisk or fifty pissed-off pixies. Which do you pick?”
“Oh that’s easy. I choose the basilisk,” Basil replied. The lamia, formally known as Boomslang, poured himself another shot of whiskey. His snake half was coiled neatly underneath him and I did my best not to stare. Or reach out and touch the bright green scales. His body was covered with bandages, and there was a spot on his tail that looked like someone or something had tried to take a bite out of him.
It made my heart sink to think about how long he had been stuck fighting in the coliseum. Yet instead of rage or tears, the first thing out of his mouth when he came to was “Where’s the bathroom?” Even the few remaining guards were met with bored nonchalance. Instead, the promise of following Yala on his quest for expensive whiskey far outweighed any thoughts of vengeance.
The orc gaped at the man as if he’d grown a second head. “You can’t be serious. You’d rather take on a basilisk– the giant snake creature known for spitting deadly venom– than a gaggle of pint-sized nuisances?”
Basil shrugged, “I also spit venom.”
Exasperated, the orc flattened his hands on the table like he needed something to tether him down. “That doesn’t mean you’re immune to basilisk venom!”
“Yeah, but pixies could sneak up on you. What if I’m trying to find a snack in the kitchen and one pops out of a cabinet and stabs me in the eye?”
“Why are you trying to find snacks? The name of the game is hiding. You’re only trapped in there for a night.”
“I get hangry. Food is always the number-one priority.”
“Hmm. He’s got a point there,” I said, sipping my beer. “Besides, I think I’d be more concerned about the possibility of torture. Like, I don’t know how vindictive pixies can be, so I’m not trying to find out.” Basil pointed at me in agreement.
“No!” Yala slammed a fist on the table. “You are both so wrong! You shouldn’t be getting snacks, you should be worried about ending up in the belly of a basilisk.”
“Alright but you can see a basilisk coming. I have no idea where those pixies are.”
I help up a hand. “Wait, are basilisks the ones where their stare kills you?”
Basil shook his head. “No, that’s a cockatrice. Completely different beast. Anyway, let’s say I’m in the treasure room trying on jewels, and boom! Caught in a pixie net. Now my tail is being turned into a hundred tiny lamia-skin boots.”
“Why are you looting when there’s danger afoot?!” Yala shouted.
“Waste not, want not,” Basil replied.
The chair beside me screeched and Dante slumped into the seat.The Big Book of Beastsdropped on the table with a loud thump as he leaned back.
Yala flashed him a wide grin and pounded his fist on the table. “Ah see, now there’s someone with a bit of sense.” His face grew serious as he leaned into the table, resting his chin on his hands. “Same question, which would you rather be trapped in an abandoned castle with at night: a basilisk or fifty pissed-off pixies?”
“You can’t ask him!” Basil hissed. The scales lining his lower body rose like a puff adder. “He’s an apex predator. You may as well ask me if I’d rather deal with mosquitoes or flies.”
“I’d choose the basilisk,” Dante said simply.
Basil’s scales lost their poof. “Oh, never mind. Ask away.”
“You too?” Yala threw up his hands in disbelief.
“The basilisk is the obvious choice,” Dante began. “Sure the bite hurts, but it is not going to kill me. But having to spend an entire night with fifty enraged pixies judging my every move? A flesh wound hurts far less than emotional manipulation.”
I shot him an incredulous look. “You’re picking the basilisk so your feelings don’t get hurt?”
“Pixies can be very cutting,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Images of a murder of crows harassing an eagle came to mind and I had to stifle a laugh.
The orc groaned in defeat. “Alright, fine. Basilisk it is then.”
“What did you bring this for?” I asked, nodding at the book.
The dragon-shifter reached across from me to grab the bottle of whiskey and poured himself a glass. “I figured you’d want to record Rebekah now that we know that she’s not a cat.”
My head perked up at the idea. “Oh, I didn’t even think of that!”
