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There was a bunch of other crap that had reared its head. Netillian deep cover Kommissariat agents seeking revenge, and some silver haired slag that thought she owned Magnus and wanted to win a series of duels for his heart. None of that would get in the way of the now, though, where you were pausing a motorcycle drive to have some tea at a rural teahouse with lofty claims to its brews.
This teahouse was also being crashed by at least a couple bikers from a gang called the Sleeves, who could be trouble, but again, they would not stand in your way today.
So, to Magnus’s request for a second opinion, you’d stated as much. It claimed to be the best “country tea” in the region. Maybe it was the best in the country, maybe the continent. Were some punk bikers going to stand in the way of you two? No, of course not.
He’d agreed without hesitation. With relief, even.
“Tell me what we’re in for,” you prompted Magnus as you made for the teahouse, as though the bikes in front of it had vanished. “Country tea?”
“Proper tea’s price is variable, depending on how far the trip to Zhantao is, from what waters. Yet nobody simply wants to <span class="mu-i">stop</span> because of that. Herbal tisanes, berry and mint infusions, spice teas, all of those are considered country teas. Remember Midland Stingers? They’re the same principle.”
A <span class="mu-i">Midland Stinger</span> was a simple wake-up concoction made with black pepper and ginger. Netillian as could be expected, it made the mouth and throat tingle with the overindulgence of mild yet prickly spice.
“I don’t think they’ll have enough pepper for your taste,” you said, making fun. “They’ll freak out if you take the shaker t’ their tea I bet.”
Magnus snorted at that. “Hah. I’ve sometimes considered asking for rye bread at a patisserie, just to see the look on the baker’s face. I wouldn’t gamble the chance on getting it here though, in case whoever here likes to play into a joke I don’t want to taste the punch of.” He looked you up and down, and you didn’t let that pass.
“Lose your train of thought?” You smirked at him.
“I was just reminded,” Magnus said, putting a finger on his chin, “You made provocative modifications to your uniform over in Netilland as well. I didn’t think you were a tailor. Even if some people would consider what you did to those clothes to be butchery.”
“Memorable tho’, huh?”
“Now that I think about it,” Magnus rubbed his chin and stopped in his tracks, “That was before…Blumsburgh. Tell me, were you trying to get my attention then? Or was that choice in fashion just your usual expression?”
