My Servant Is An Elf Knight From Another World



Clubbing was… truly an experience. 

It was the least Michael could say should he be so coerced to provide a personal opinion. 

He wasn't a complete stranger to the concept, having heard passing mentions of it in his wanderings through town, as well as having strolled past the occasional neon-lit signs late in the evening. Music and dance, he's done his fair share of festivities before. 

Yet, that being said, in spite of adequate knowledge and grasp of the whole thing, a stranger he did still remain. 

To the pounding rhythmic beat, to the putrid stench of smoke, and to the weave and sway of dozens of sweaty bodies - quickly and disorientingly, Michael utmost attempted to adapt. 

The rest of his group had splintered off from each other the deeper they wandered into the premises, and Michael found himself escaping the crowd, stumbling into an empty table somewhere in one of the many corners, collapsing onto a long velvet sofa, and taking a seat at its outer edges in order to observe his newfound surroundings proper. 

It took him a while, but one by one, Michael spotted them amidst the dizzying crowd, each trapped within their own little circle of uproarious chaos. 

He remembered Rudy shouting something vaguely along the lines of beverages or refreshments, and indeed he could be seen bouncing to the beat, his lanky figure basking in the harsh blue lights of a nearby buvette. 

Charles had found some kindred spirits gathered at a roundtable of bright green with a scattered deck of playing cards and the clatter of chips constantly shuffling about from each end. He found an empty spot, procuring his own set of chips and cards, and huddled down with unwavering focus.

Meanwhile, Matt just danced. Here, there, gliding across the rainbow-rippling platform. 

Apparently, the old man was quite the dancer as well as being the most avid drinker. Michael had a heavy suspicion that eventually sooner or later, he'll get to witness the best of both - or perhaps the worst - depending on one's perspective.

For some time, Michael just sat alone in his little corner, secluded from the frenetic mood in the air, yet not entirely unswayed by its influence. He wasn't normally one for high merriment, and even less so being battered senseless with loud noises. 

But for some reason, this felt different from his usual grievings. From the moment he stepped foot within, it was as if reality was whisked away from underneath him, and a new one had swooped over to break his fall. 

A new, euphoric reality of blinding lights and thrilling sounds. One where he could not think, could not focus on anything else but the moment at hand. Every thought, every concern in mind just seemed to slip past him, drowned out by the illustrious spectacle of song and dance as bright twinkling rims of spinning colors shone from high above. 

And indeed, it felt quite nice. 

"You know, I noticed you always just sit around all the time. Can't think of anything else to be doing?" 

Michael's gaze flicked over to the right, watching Rudy's toothy smile fall at eye level as sat in place across from him, sliding over a tall drink of something blue and potent over at his end. 

"Blue Lagoon," Rudy said, raising a glass of his own in cheer before taking a sip. "Favourite of mine. Fingers crossed we got that in common." 

Michael took the blue drink, returned the gesture, and promptly answered. "I like to sit." 

"Yeah, but, like - come on, man," the young man snickered, face briefly scrunched from the flavor. "Can't be the only thing you like doing. You come to work, you go home, rinse, repeat - gonna need something to do in the in-between every once in a while, right?" 

"I have my wife." 

"That's an obligation. A given! I'm talking about different, you know? Something different." Rudy swung his arm broadly around the place. "Something fun!" 

"My wife is fun." 

"Yeah… 'kay, sure, but… she can't be your only interest in life." 

"She is enough." 

Rudy scoffed into his drink, taking another sip. "Must be one hell of a woman, then." 

"Yes, she is," Michael said, before drinking along, delightfully surprised at the pleasantly sour taste washing over his palate. 

"But for real, Michael," Rudy stared at him, his expression a perfect blend of amusement and disbelief. "Not gonna dance? Make friends? Or like, have any kind of fun in general? It's sorta the whole point we're even here in case you forgot."

"I am having fun." Michael then slowly drifted off again into the scenery, his focus lost in the sea of seemingly unending bliss and fervor, and feeling himself coming slightly at ease, took another sip of his drink. "This is a nice place to be." 

Rudy just shook his head, sipping right alongside him. "If you say so, dude." 

Eventually, both Charles and Matt found their way into Michael's little corner, squeezing deeper inside the cramped space and bringing with them their own glasses, brimming with conversations that they flung back and forth to one another. 

Michael mostly listened, every brief topic, every straying tangent, Matt bickering, Rudy laughing, and Charles ever so occasionally returning with another round of drinks. 

As time stretched deeper into the night, the conversation began to shift and as well as slur into the realm of far-fetched aspirations, with Matt proclaiming aloud to no one in particular: 

"A million, billion bucks!" he shouted. "Give me that kind of money and I'll solve all the world's problems, easy. I promise you."

"Yeah?" Rudy challenged, his chin clumsily falling off his elbow that he had perched. "What's the grand plan, old man?" 

"More clubs, more drinks," Matt said, stretching his wrinkles out with a stupid smile. "Can't cause the world any problems if you're too fucking hammered." 

Rudy burped in complete agreement. "Brilliant." 

"Your turn, kid," Matt nudged his drink at Rudy, spilling a significant portion onto the table as he did. "Let's see if you're actually wiser beyond your years. All that money, what do you do?"

"Million, billion…" Rudy pondered for a moment, staring down at the small blue ripples in his cocktail. "Don't really need that much, honestly." 

"Fine, size it down to your proportion - kid-sized the fucking thing. However much you want, it's yours." 

"In that case, just enough to keep my uncle's shop up and running for years and years to come." 

"Jamie?" Matt scoffed. "Trust me, kid, you got way better things to invest your money in than that shithole."

"I'm allowed to be grateful in this scenario, right? In that case, taking me in after all my screw-ups warrant some payback, don't you think?" 

"So long as you learned your lesson, keep yourself on the straight and narrow… you ask me, I think that's all the gratitude Jamie could ask for from you." 

Rudy sighed, and briefly, a hint of somberness broke through his glazed expression. "Yeah, but… if I could do more, I'd like to… as much as I could. I owe him that much."

"Whatever, you're boring me now. Charles, you?" Matt said, turning his groggy eyes to the man beside him. "Million, billion… what's your plan?" 

But Charles was fast asleep already, head slumped against the table and snoring away in bliss. 

"Nevermind. Michael," Matt swerved the other way, with Rudy turning right along, both their gazes blurring in and out of focus. "Got the whole world in the palm of your hands, what do you plan to do with it?" 

Michael felt the small lump in his pocket, the envelope tucked safely within. He remembered the sensation of holding it in his hands, the strange emptiness, the hollow dissatisfaction, and gave his answer.

"Don't need the world," He muttered. "Just enough." 

"And what's enough?" Rudy asked, smirking daftly. "Enough for your wife?"

"Enough to be happy," Michael said, finishing his glass. "That's all I need." 

A fleeting silence swept over their table for a few seconds, then from the overhead speakers, a catchy beat began to rouse the ditzy and the fatigue, which included Matt, perking right up and snapping out of his stupor. 

"Queen," He said, beaming, before promptly shooting up from his seat, giving Rudy a parting pat on the shoulder as he staggered on forward. "I'm taking this dance, be back in a jiff."

Barely a moment later and Rudy was rising from his chair, his face glowing a hot red. 

"And I'm heading to the toilet for a bit," he said, scurrying off in haste. "All those rounds unfortunately decided to hit me all at once here. Oh boy…" 

Once again, exempting Charles who was admittedly far out of reach in slumber, Michael was left all alone in his little corner, still watching, still just observing… and having all the fun that he could derive from the joy of it. 

Another moment of silence that too didn't last for long. 

Suddenly, Michael caught a figure approaching in the corner of his vision, and slowly, he turned his attention again. 

Another smile met his eyes, a badly, bruised and swollen lip aligning with his stare as the figure took the now empty seat opposite his. A man, young, handsome, and smartly dressed matched his gaze with an amicable confidence about him, a charming gentleness only betrayed by the crooked shape his lips took. 

The man noticed the direction of Michael's stare, placing gloved fingers on the injured side of his mouth, acknowledging it with the slightest shake of the head. 

"Dissatisfied clients," The strange man said, his voice reverberating deep yet echoing so friendly. "Every once in a while, especially after one too many, not unusual for one to experience brief lapses in judgment." 

Then the man snorted, sharp, unblinking eyes rifling through the scattered glasses across the table.

"But I suspect you can handle yourself just fine." 

"What do you want?" Michael asked.

"Just thought I'd like to make an interesting friend tonight, is all," the man replied, extending a hand, his bloodied lip shaping back to that same crooked smile. "And all my friends call me Dave."