On his first day at the bar, Fanmuir wasn't immediately tasked with serving customers. Delfina, mindful of the etiquette and professionalism required, wasn't about to let a newcomer risk the bar's reputation.
Instead, she gave him simpler duties: wiping down tables, washing glasses and dishes, and helping with other routine tasks. She also encouraged him to watch and learn how other staff interacted with customers, pick up on their tone and mannerisms, and memorize the menu during quieter moments.
But Fanmuir, ever extraordinary, turned even the most ordinary responsibilities into mesmerizing performances.
With a simple flick of his wrist, glasses and bottles aligned perfectly on the tray as if by magic. A tablecloth, with just a light shake, folded itself into a pristine square, flowing like gentle waves. Every movement was so precise and graceful that it felt like watching a magician at work. Patrons couldn't help but applaud, some even cheering for an encore.
Carolyne, observing from the cash register, was equally captivated. Her eyes sparkled with pride as she joined in the applause, her heart swelling with admiration for the young man who had not only won her daughter's heart but was now charming her customers as well.
Fanmuir had it all: fluency in multiple languages, impeccable manners, and an almost otherworldly air of elegance. Now, his seemingly magical touch with everyday tasks left everyone in awe. Delfina, in particular, was stunned. "Who is this kid?" she thought. "He must be some aristocrat slumming it for the experience." Little did she know, Fanmuir was no ordinary aristocrat but the ancient patriarch of the Hershville family, one of Europe's most illustrious bloodlines.
"You've never worked in a bar before?" Delfina finally asked, her disbelief evident.
"Not once," Fanmuir replied, his honest expression leaving no room for doubt.
"Then how do you manage to do all this so flawlessly?"
Fanmuir smiled modestly. "I spent some time at the library reading about bars and cocktails before I started."
Delfina could only shake her head in astonishment. "Monster," she muttered under her breath.
To the staff and patrons, Fanmuir was indeed extraordinary. Immune to the charms of beautiful women, effortlessly performing magic-like tricks, switching between languages with ease, and carrying himself with the poise of a gentleman—he was nothing short of a marvel.
Even in something as simple as arranging fruit platters, Fanmuir's talent outshone Barrett, who had years of experience. Embarrassed and humbled, Barrett could only hang his head in shame.
Fanmuir's artistry came naturally. As a prince of the bloodline Apollo, he had spent centuries honing his understanding of the natural world. He could sense the life force in plants and fruits, knowing intuitively when they were at their most vibrant and beautiful. His connection to nature allowed him to arrange fruit in a way that felt both effortless and divine.
Every platter he created was a masterpiece. The colors were vivid, the arrangement flawless, and the overall effect so enchanting that customers couldn't resist snapping photos before indulging.
For Delfina and the others, it was a revelation. They had never seen anything like it—something as mundane as a fruit platter elevated into a work of art.
Every piece of fruit seemed to be placed along its natural path, highlighting its freshest state and unique fragrance. The combinations were so harmonious that it felt as though the fruits were destined to be together. This was the essence of life, the secret of the divine, and the wondrous power of nature brought to life.
As the night deepened and the DJ's electrifying voice filled the air, the bar came alive with energy. Hearts raced, and excitement surged as dancers on stage stoked the fire in every night owl's soul. The atmosphere grew chaotic, a stark contrast to the quiet harmony of nature. Even the allure of Fanmuir's exquisite fruit platters seemed to fade amidst the rising frenzy.
Fanmuir's outstanding performance had already won over the bar staff. Even Arvis, the charismatic and confident bartender, no longer dismissed the mysterious young newcomer.
In the world of nightlife, bartenders are often the stars—symbols of allure, elegance, and intrigue.
Fanmuir, ever curious, had already delved into the art of bartending. He was fascinated by how different spirits could be blended to craft unique flavors, each cocktail capable of conveying a distinct mood. Learning that Arvis was the bar's star bartender only heightened his interest.
Arvis's flair bartending was a spectacle to behold. Shakers danced like butterflies in his hands, soaring over his head and spinning behind his back in a dazzling display of skill. With every rhythmic rise and fall, he conjured cocktails layered with vibrant colors, earning thunderous applause from the crowd. Women in the audience were particularly enchanted, their gazes fixed on him with a mix of admiration and desire.
For Fanmuir, however, Arvis's performance was little more than an entertaining display. To someone capable of bending the forces of nature, such tricks were child's play. But Fanmuir appreciated the artistry of Arvis's craft, particularly the intricate process of blending spirits to create unique cocktails. His fascination stemmed not from the theatrics but from his genuine interest in the flavors and techniques of mixology.
While Fanmuir was intently observing, a familiar scent interrupted his focus. Delfina had returned, her teasing demeanor intact. Perhaps she was determined to challenge his apparent indifference, or perhaps she was drawn by the enigmatic charm of his earlier performance.
Leaning in close, she whispered with a mischievous grin, "Arvis is incredible, isn't he? He's the pride of this bar. Many women come here just for him. And trust me, he hasn't even shown his best yet. His signature act? Juggling four shakers at once, mixing four different cocktails without dropping a single one. He's truly exceptional. With your flair for tricks, you might just make a great bartender someday."
Delfina's soft hair brushed against Fanmuir's cheek, and her warm breath sent shivers down his spine. A strange warmth began to rise within him, an unfamiliar sensation that he quickly subdued with his powers. Fanmuir silently cursed his body's reaction, wishing he could silence his senses or center his thoughts entirely.
For the first time in centuries, Fanmuir felt something he couldn't quite describe—a mix of stimulation and curiosity. His years of solitary cultivation had distanced him from such feelings, and yet here, amidst the vibrant energy of the bar, he found himself immersed in a different kind of challenge.
Though he had suppressed his strength, Fanmuir's aura of natural harmony couldn't be entirely concealed. Delfina, unknowingly affected by it, found herself increasingly drawn to him. What began as playful teasing was now tinged with an unspoken intrigue, as she became subtly captivated by the quiet but undeniable charisma exuding from him.
Bars are inherently lively, chaotic places, filled with dim lighting and loud chatter. No one noticed the subtle, almost intimate dynamic between the two staff members—except Carolyn. Having been keeping a watchful eye on Fanmuir, she couldn't help but feel a wave of inexplicable jealousy rise within her as she observed the scene.
"Who would've thought? You, of all people—a block of wood—actually know how to entertain. But let me tell you, in our bar, the real star is our boss. She's the true showstopper, a stunning beauty. Most of the patrons come here just for her," Delfina said with a teasing smile, casting a casual glance toward Carolyn. Even in the dim light, she could feel Carolyn's gaze fixed on them. Delfina quickly stepped away, putting some distance between herself and Fanmuir.
The sudden movement, though subtle, created an air of awkwardness. What was initially casual now felt charged with unspoken tension, leaving both of them flustered and unsure of what to say.
Fanmuir, however, was quick to regain his composure. Internally, he marveled at how intricate and nuanced human emotions could be. These small, fleeting interactions were proving invaluable for his cultivation journey. Experiencing the complexity of human relationships, he realized, was just as essential as studying modern science and culture. By immersing himself in the joys and challenges of mortal life, he could sharpen his mind and prepare for future trials.
Breaking the silence, Fanmuir asked, "So, who else here is talented?"
"Our resident singer, Austin Taylor, is a guitar prodigy," Delfina replied with a grin. "And then there's Rodriguez, a violist who comes in every Friday. His performances are incredible—an absolute must-see. Normally, he works in Vienna, but he's a friend of the boss. He comes by as a personal favor, even though bars in France and Italy have offered him exorbitant sums to play for them. Honestly, we're lucky to have him here, even just once a week."
Fanmuir was about to ask more questions when a sudden wave of cheers and excited screams erupted from the bar counter. Arvis, the bar's star bartender, had just begun his signature act.
With a dramatic flourish, Arvis clasped his hands together and exhaled, setting the stage for his performance. Bottles and shakers soared through the air, flipping and spinning in hypnotic arcs. At first, the movements were easy to follow, but soon the tools of his trade blurred into a mesmerizing display of precision and artistry. Under the dim lighting, Arvis appeared almost magical, as if he were a wizard conjuring potions with brilliant colors and rich aromas.
Arvis wasn't just a bartender; he was a performer. Every toss, every spin was executed to perfection, and his exaggerated gestures ignited the crowd's energy. Guests cheered, clapped, and danced in response, swept up in the excitement of the moment.
Despite the audience's enthusiasm, Fanmuir remained unimpressed. Arvis's performance, while flashy, was little more than a well-practiced routine—a series of showy tricks designed to captivate. To Fanmuir, it lacked true substance.
Instead of dwelling on the spectacle, Fanmuir made a mental note of the base spirits Arvis used in his cocktails. Once satisfied, he quietly returned to his duties, leaving the theatrics to others.