A human makes an alcohol substitute that has the property that, no matter who drinks it, the person starts to laugh. That's all it does. Tastes good, but it's called giggle juice for a reason. -- Anon Guest
Dagoburt Gluv had a great love. As an innkeeper, he saw a lot of people, and knew a lot of things by pure osmosis. He also knew, and wished to keep Samara Oatbeard as both friend and wife.
Samara came by once a week with loaves of ginger cake and pickled herrings for his patrons. She would always order the small beer[1] and something Dagoburt had cooked himself. She had to have noticed he was giving her the fancier pastries, or a little extra serving of her favourite vegetables. Just as he had noticed that she was putting a little extra effort into the ginger cakes. Or a few extra spices into the herring brine.
It was a slow and nervous courtship. Spectated of course by the Inn's regulars. Dagoburt often considered charging them extra on Odinsdays.
One particular Odinsday, as their hands 'accidentally' brushed during a basket handover, Dagoburt asked, "You never order a pint or a glass. Is the stuff I serve not to yer favour?"
Samara said, "Oh I can't ever have alcohol. It makes me wicked sick. The last time I had a sip of proper beer, I was laid up for a month and could barely eat. Nor barely keep anything down." She sighed, "Much as I'd love to get silly on the drink, I can't never ever do it."
When the Roving Library next came through, Dagoburt Gluv borrowed every book on alchemy and potions that he could get. Everything from the basics to the most advanced treatise that had been released to general public view[2].
The gawkers at his Inn soon learned to dread "taste testing" Dagoburt's experimental tipples. On the other hand, they could not avoid being fascinated by his back shed.
It wasn't just the still for the House Brew any more. It was a growing tangle of pipes, vessels, and devices. Some arcane, others mundane.
Of course he tried his experiments on rats first, then himself, then his patrons.
Samara didn't know about it until he got it right.
"Beer without the alcohol," said Dagoburt, offering half a tankard. "Same effect, and none of the downsides. I tried to make it taste of my rose-honey mead since you tole me it smelled nice."
"You made this for me?" she said, colour rising to her cheeks. "It won't lay me low?"
"I tried it on everyone else," he said. "I hope it don't. And if it do, I'll... I'll do everything I can to see you right again."
Samara sniffed, and took a cautious little sip. She counted in a whisper to one hundred. She took a mouthful and swallowed.
"Ooh... I feel so giddy."
"Might want to take it careful, like," he cautioned.
On the second mouthful, she found laughter so easily. She felt inclined to sing and dance. Even to dancing with Dagoburt, much to his cheek-flushing joy.
"I was thinkin' of callin' it Samara's Singsong," he told her once she returned to sobriety. Then he said, "If'n you want it that way, would ye mind stayin'? With me? And me Inn?"
She answered with a kiss to his lips and, "I would be delighted."
[1] A brewed beverage with minimal to no actual alcohol content. Usually given to children. Root beer and ginger ale are contemporary examples of small beers.
[2] Anyone who knows anything about either alchemy or potions knows that the greater public should only ever read about the brews they can't possibly fuck up.
[Photo by James Coleman on Unsplash]
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