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odorekijin[Manor—Bar Bennett]
Rutile: Did you take this wine without their permission? That’s not very honest, you know. You ought to pay for it.
Bradley: Honest my ass, ain’t ever seen a bandit payin’ fer what they stole. You bunch can have the bottle though.
The smoke from Shylock’s pipe delicately enveloped the emptied bottle tossed to him. He took a closer look at the label, adding:
Shylock: This date… This is, unmistakably, a bottle from this year’s cuvée.
This tells me that the harvest festival will take place as usual, but the fact that I have yet to receive Bacchus’ wine does not seem to be from a delay in production, nor any other trouble.
Nero: Maybe it slipped his mind by mistake?
Shylock: That is most unlikely. Bacchus has never fallen short, not once in all these years, to send me his production, and never has he missed an opportunity to seek my assessments.
Even when he fell incredibly ill and almost turned to stone, he still sent me a letter singing praises and confidence about that year’s cuvée.
Shylock couldn’t seem to figure out a possible answer to his dilemma—I started to rack my brain as well:
Akira: (Then why hasn’t he heard neither of him nor his wine...?)
Shylock: We won’t solve this riddle by sitting around and staring at empty bottles, will we?
Thus, I shall pay him a visit tomorrow. I have found myself much more vexed by this situation than I intended to be, especially since this long-established tradition of mine was so suddenly halted.
Murr: Then I’ll come too!
Murr sprang to his feet and leaped on a chair by the counter.
Murr: Bradley just said it, right? The harvest festival is about to start, and it’s near Bacchus’ lands, of all people!
Of course there’ll be wine at the festival, but think about the grape treats! We could also try out mashing grapes into wine and stuff!
Rutile: Well, I can’t really argue against the thrill of a harvesting festival…!
Akira: Is it… really all right with you, Shylock? I wouldn’t want to meddle in your personal business…
Shylock: By all means, you are more than welcome to join me. Rather than business, I am simply going to meet a friend of mine, after all.
A festival can only benefit from a larger crowd—as they say, the more the merrier. I am persuaded that you all would greatly enjoy your time there.
Rutile and I happily nodded in answer to his beckoning smile.
Akira: Thank you so much Shylock, really. I would love to accompany you to the festival…!
Rutile: Please allow me to join as well. Mister Faust, Mister Nero, won’t you come as well?
Faust: I would be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted, but attending a festival in Western Country sounds… boisterous, so to say.
Nero: ‘S not everyday you have a shot at tasting some o’ that Bacchus Wine though…
Faust & Nero: Hrmmm…
Akira: (They look pretty conflicted…)
Arthur: You mentioned being able to mash grapes at this festival, didn’t you? I remember reading something on this topic before—about treading upon grapes while singing, I believe…
Murr: Yes! I've done just that before: I forgot how the song went, but I do remember grinding and squashing a whole bunch!
Arthur: I would have been quite surprised if you were not familiar with this field. Do you also tread the grapes barefoot, as they say in the books?
Murr: Of course we do! That's why your feet become as red as wine, like you’re one with the grape itself!
Arthur: That sounds fantastic! I used to leave muddy footprints in my wake in the past, but I have yet to leave my mark with wine-prints.
Arthur: Master Oz, if you don't mind, could we also accompany them? It would make for a unique experience that we rarely have the opportunity for.
Oz: If you wish to do so, you are free to go on your–...
Shylock: That town is also home to Bacchus’ wine cellar, which stores a countless number of maturing bottles: you could peruse them at your leisure, and choose a bottle that piques your interest.
Arthur: Master Oz, um…
I know that I’m not old enough to drink yet, but I would be happy to have you choose a wine fit for when that time comes.
Oz: …
Fine, I’ll allow it.
Drawn by wine, the harvest festival, or coaxed into joining, our party slowly grew, one person after another.
Suddenly, Murr snapped his head back at Bradley, as if he remembered something.
Murr: Right, Brad! How was that Bacchus Wine, anyway?
Bradley: Like, its taste? Well...
Shylock: …Shh.
Shylock brought a finger to his own lips, as if sweetly reprimanding Bradley.
His own bewitching gaze, red as the moist pearls of a fresh-picked pomegranate, narrowed.
Shylock: I shall be the judge of that with my own tongue so, please, keep that answer to yourself for now.
Bradley: …
For an instant, their gazes intertwined. As Shylock slowly drew away his finger, a meaningful silence spanned between the two,as if holding with it a closely-guarded secret.
At this sight, Bradley’s lips stretched in a grin.
Bradley: Heh, you got me hooked. Aight, I’ll tag along tomorrow.
Lookin’ forward to what you’ll hafta say abou' that wine.
⁂
[Western Country—Rural Town]
The following day, after flying from the Western Tower for quite some time, we had finally arrived at our destination.
Akira: Wow… The whole town smells incredible.
Oz: It must be from the grapes.
The picturesque brick buildings, closely huddled together, made up the quaint rural town surrounded by vineyards.
The stores, lined along what I assumed to be the main street, were adorned from wall to rooftop in grapevines. The ambiance was modest and rustic, but just as delightful.
Akira: It's just like you said: everyone does wear matching clothes.
Shylock: Wearing such costumes for the harvest festival is an age-old tradition, which is why we have prepared these garments for everyone to join the festivities.
Rutile: Thank you, Mister Shylock. These vibrant colours are wonderful!
Murr: During the harvest festival, adults and kiddos alike wear these colours on purpose: if wine is spilled or grapes get tossed around, these costumes are basically stain-proof!
Nero: Wait, that’s the story behind it? Really?
Faust: Never mind that, what do you mean they toss grapes?
Bradley: There’s apparently some kinda tradition where the drunkards just up ‘n lob grapes at each other—‘least that’s what the locals told me yesterday.
They say that by chuckin’ around the remains of the macerated grapes, they hope to bring about another rich harvest the followin’ year or sumthin’.
But, welp, they’re all still drunkards t’ me. They’d smash those grapes atcha hammered with booze or not.
Arthur: Ahaha!
Rutile: That sounds like fun!
As Bradley had previously mentioned, the town was bustling with the preparations for the festival: all of its residents were hard at work, toting around bottles of wine with notes affixed to them.
Akira: (The town is brimming with life, just like what you’d expect of the rush before a huge event... That’s exciting to see.)
Just at that moment, a man appeared, carrying a hefty tray packed with glasses.
Before I could even ask if he needed some help, the man lost his balance and the tray threw itself askew.
Akira: Ah…!
