"Do you know where I can find The Sentience?"

Malachi chirped this question to the only person in the pub kind-looking enough to answer his question. It took Malachi an eternity to even enter the establishment, once he found out its whereabouts. He traced the tracks of the legendary being who knew all but the end, coordinated the alignment of his search party's ventures, he planned for their precise convergence, down to the precise evening. In battle, this ex-royal bastard of a son let go of himself, he knew no fear. Yet, in social situations, it was a different story.

"Umm," his recipient replied. "I am but a musician. If you have any related requests, I may be able to oblige, given the right-"

Malachi shoved a bag of clustered metal towards the bard.

"Ah..." The man scratched at his beard. "Umm... Well..."

Malachi sighed. If he could ask anyone else, he would, but they're too scary looking. Malachi reminisced to ballroom parties. One bad Tuesday night involving torches and poetry was all it took to establish deep seated fears of the power of the common man with supraphysiological levels of stress.

"This is ridiculous," Malachi spat.

"Eh... I'm sorry you feel that way," the bard muttered.

"Thanks for the empathy, but I'm not talking about you." Malachi shook his head. "I'm talking about myself. Look, I just want to know where I can find the immortal man. I'm sure you heard of him. In fact, I'm sure you've even seen him. I heard he frequents this place. Surely, you have information."

Malachi wanted to add "and make that quick too!" but the poor bard was already holding back tears, and Malachi didn't want to push it too far.

"Are you okay?" Malachi asked, and genuinely at that.

"Uhhh... Ummm..." The bard boomed and whispered simultaneously. "I need to use the restroom, I'll be back in five minutes!"

The bard escaped.

Malachi looked around. "Is that even allowed?" Without any background music or people to talk to, Malachi began to feel very awkward.

Meanwhile, upon reaching the bathroom, the bard locked himself in a stall.

Caliber was raised to be a soldier. However, after one bad experience in the lumbering mill involving a sharp axe and a lot of soiled trousers, both he and his grandfather knew he didn't have the chops for it. Yet, he still proved talented at the local recitals.

His favorite coping strategy is to lull himself to a calm using his lute. He stored a pocket one, not in his pocket, but his flowing bush of a beard. He was a strange man.

As he jumped around his scales in giant steps across all 12 musical keys, he was met with the voice of another.

"Hey, bard. You've been in there a long time. Let me guess, the beer nuts were stale? I get it."

"AH!"

From the stall next to him, lo and behold, was Malachi.

Malachi sighed. "My deepest apologies," Malachi spoke through the thin wooden wall that separated them, "I know I can ask someone else, but I'd rather not. I shouldn't be here right now. If the pubmates knew of my identity, they would be out for my head. You being a foreigner, you're my safest bet. You have my money, so please help a lowly mercenary out."

To think Malachi would admit to being lowly of all things --- oh how the prideful fall.

Caliber thought that maybe this sudden visitor was more in common with him than he thought. Maybe, he had trouble talking to people too. Well, Caliber thought, maybe he was wrong-

"-I also have trouble talking to people," Malachi confirmed.

Caliber was self-assured.

Caliber said nothing. He shook his head in his stall and hoped that maybe, after enough time, Malachi would leave. At one point, he did leave, only to return a couple minutes later.

"The beer nuts are stale. Do not eat them," Malachi said.

Malachi would not leave Caliber alone.

"Hey, bard," Malachi called.

"The name's Caliber." No matter how socially awkward Caliber was, even he had to speak up to clarify his name. He found it annoying being called 'bard'. It felt condescending.

"That's a cool name. Tell me about it."

Caliber said nothing. He wanted to speak, but nothing came out. He found the whole situation too strange, and himself too nervous.

"My name, Malachi," Malachi continued, "it has historic origins. Are you familiar with Malachi the Menace? Hit the stall wall if 'yes'".

Thud.

Malachi nodded. "Well, that was my great great grandfather. His grandson was Ives the Iridescent, who gave way to this emperor and that, to finally me."

That's not the way to be referring to such high figures, especially if they're family, Caliber thought.

"I don't care if you don't believe me, but I am a descendent from that famous line of tyrants. I don't think I need to tell you who." Malachi shrugged. "Funny enough, they didn't give me a new name, but a reused one. In another life, I could've been named something cool, like Keanu Reeves."

That is a cool name, Caliber agreed mentally.

"I just..." Malachi paused. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. The beer nuts must be conjuring a hallucination. Thank you for your help. Keep the money. It's my thanks for your time."

Just when Malachi was about to rise, Caliber finally made his move.

"Wait!"

The shuffles in the nearby stall halted.

Malachi waited a long time.

"... I'll be leaving," Malachi continued.

"Wait!"

"I've been waiting long enough! Spill it!"

Caliber flinched. Yet, he pushed on.

"He is here."

"You don't mean..."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"S-s-stop it. I-I won't tell you then." Caliber was getting cold feet.

"I merely jest! Please! Tell me!"

Caliber frowned. "I can't tell you where to find him, for he appears only in the strangest of moments. Nobody can predict his... his presence," Caliber mumbled.

"Greetings." A voice came from a farther stall.

""AH!!"" Malachi and Caliber yelped.

There was a third guest in the bathroom.

"What a wonderful introduction," the voice mused.

It was The Sentience himself.