Eustace pushed the door open and allowed Anton to walk in ahead of him. The younger man had a sour look on his face and both were soaked from the rain and rather muddy. Anton turned to the half-elf author. “Bloody awful, did that cart driver not even see us?” he exclaimed, his face red beneath the smears of flecked mud he failed to wipe away.
Eustace gave a partial smile, “No matter, will give me something to write about today.”
Anton looked up at the older man with questioning doubt.
“Write? You would write about a miserable start of the day? That sounds like a lousy read if I must say so. Would it not be better to write about a good day to counter such events? That is what I feel like reading about right now. A nice warm day on the coast at one of the plantation guest houses.” Anton smiled, his attention lost for a moment in reflection.
Eustace studied him with a speculative gaze, wondering how the young man had experienced such a getaway. When Anton looked back and noticed he had given more information than he meant, he opened his mouth to give an excuse than simply shut his mouth and smiled in a dismissive plea. Eustace nodded and humored him.
“Good tales make for children’s songs and final chapters. No one keeps reading about someone who has it good. But someone seeking that good day? That turns pages as people wonder if it can be achieved. You want that nice retreat, but do you want to continually read and be envious of some character having it instead?” The half-elf author’s eyebrows arched with his question while the human thought it over.
“I would suppose not, but..being splashed with mud from a careless wagon? How is that noteworthy?” Anton said with contempt as he pulled free of his ruined riding gloves.
Eustace gave a long drawn sigh as he hung his soaked jacket on a hook beside his armchair.
“Oh, simple miseries are relatable. Writing about the chill of the water and the grittiness of the mud is something people can understand. Readers will turn the page just to see if the character ever manages to get dry. A bad day for me can just be made into a good story for another.”
Anton kicked off his expensive but soaked boots and socks, tossing them among the disheveled pile of lost footwear beside the door.
“I suppose so,” the young man looked around noting who else was in the room, which only included Elliot beyond the author and himself. The Barkeeper was oddly scarce, normally having already appeared to collect any orders. Today he apparently had reason to delay. Eustace tapped his desk twice in the upper corner, and a mug of hot tea appeared no sooner than his hand cleared the space. Anton saw the action and nodded.
“Mmm, I see there are benefits at being a more steady regular.”
Eustace blew gently on the steam as he lifted the mug towards his lips. The enchanted pen flicked to life as the book flipped open without physical touch. The magical writing device swept across the top of the page testing words for a worthy title. The half-elf nodded, “Aye, it lets me get right to it when I’m ready to let the words out.”
The younger man looked back to the table where he normally sat near Ortemyre and wondered where the assassin was tonight. He decided not to think too hard about it, and walked on cold bare feet to find a drink of his own.