Present day...
The creaky tavern door opened. Two men emerged, shoving someone much smaller and shorter than themselves out onto the grass. Rather than tumbling down the steps gracelessly, he put a hand against the boards and flipped over, landing on his feet just outside the beaten path leading to the entrance. Putting his hands high on his hips, he frowned at them, looking more the picture of a pouting kid than an intimidating man, showing nothing near his true age. With a bright pink shirt and tan shorts, a dagger tucked in a sheath at his waist, and a chain that held a meteoric-looking rock at his neck, it was near laughable that he, someone bearing the image of a rowdy teenager, had come to a tavern so early in the morning.
It was almost as strange that nobody seemed to mistake him for a kid. The reason of his removal from the building was something else entirely.
"Come on!" he shouted. "Just one drink! One!"
To emphasize his words, he held up just one finger, eyes pleading.
A thin figure with a long gray beard emerged between the two large guardians of the tavern. They shook their head with a frown and gazed pointedly at a page they pulled from the apron tied at their waist. Unfolding the worn paper carefully, they turned it around to show a drawn depiction of a young man with bright pink hair, wide eyes, and a mischievous grin. It had the appearance of a wanted sign, and under the chin was a single written word. With merely six bold letters, it stated the individual was banned from the establishment.
Seeing the image on the page, the one standing on the grass scowled. It was like looking into a mirror.
"My great-grandfather declared you were to be forever banished from this place," the owner declared softly. "I'm simply heeding his wishes."
Standing between the guards, paper in hand, the current owner had long been warned of this day, told to protect his great-grandfather's legacy with pride and vigor. After all, the prized tavern had now spanned generations in their family.
"It was one window," he remarked. "One. And I built that door to replace the other!" The man on the grass pointed down at his feet, trying to take advantage of a loophole. "Can't I order and drink out here? I don't need to come in!"
His pleading fell on deaf ears. Though it was the first time as owner that he'd come across this man, he recalled seeing him nearly sixty years prior. Suddenly tired and weary of the time that hadn't changed the face of the one standing before him, not in his lifetime nor his great-grandfather's, he sighed and pulled a hammer and nail from the pouch at his waist. It was convenient he'd been hanging an old painting at this man's arrival. With ease, he nailed the page to the doorframe, giving the man one final statement.
"You're not allowed to be here."
"It was like 130 years ago," the man replied, his voice growing quieter as hope slipped away.
Shaking his head, the owner retreated back into his tavern, the two large guards of the place following him inside obediently.
Rather than fighting and forcing his way inside, the man on the ground kicked halfheartedly with his sandals at a big clump of grass with a pout. He muttered under his breath as he shook free the dirt that landed on his foot.
"It was 137 years ago. I wasn't planning on breaking anything again..."
Having wandered several feet from the wooden steps leading up to the door, he glanced back, the edges of his pink hair touching the corners of his vision. As the only one on the planet with that color of hair, any signs that banned individuals with pink hair were obviously meant for him.
"It took a week to get here," he said with a sigh. "What a bummer."
"Look who it is. If it isn't Haqin Hachi, the golden boy."
With a gloomy yet snark-filled tone and a frown of her own, a woman stopped walking several meters away from the man, spotting the brightly unique mop of hair on his head. The two of them seemed out of place in the vicinity of the tavern, as both had appearances much younger and smaller than expected of their physical ages. Alas, neither were true and ordinary humans, so differences were bound to be found true.
There was an instant recognition within the man, upon hearing the voice of the woman. The corner of his mouth turned up, as if by instinct or habit, his reply coming before turning to see her face.
"It's Haq. You should know that, Abana."
Haqin Hachi wasn't the only uniquely made being on the planet. He turned to see the one he responded to, his eyes landing on blue amidst the green of the surrounding forest. Abana's skin color didn't reside in the light tans to browns. She was blue. Quite literally, the skin on each inch of her body was in the middle of the shades of blue. Not dark, not light. However, her hair, tied up neatly on either side of her head, was a golden yellow that could almost glaringly reflect the light of the star.
"I think I distinctly recall your name being Haqin." She folded her arms with a smirk. "It's so obnoxiously strange that I had to remember it."
"I go by Haq. Everyone knows that." Mimicking her, he lifted his brows. "Even you."
"Haqin. Hachi," Abana replied defiantly. "I'd rather not use your nickname."
Haq let out a heavy sigh and rolled his eyes. "Fine." He paused, a frown falling into place as he met her gaze again. "Why'd you come back here?"
"I could ask the same."
Her smile grew as she looked over to the doorway. Bounding over and up the steps quickly, leaving behind her large weapon on the ground where she'd been standing before, she tapped lightly on the picture of Haq that had been newly nailed into place.
"Can't get in?" she said, chuckling at the sight of his scowl as she put a hand on the door. Slowly, she pushed it open.
However, as she moved to step in, the two men who had ejected Haq now stood in her path. Surprised, her feet took her back a few feet.
"Miss, you're banned from the premises as well." The taller of the two men spoke bluntly, their expression unchanging as they stared down at someone nearly three foot shorter than them. "Please leave."
"That was ages ago," Abana tried. "I've changed."
Rather than replying, they stared down silently at her, only stepping aside when the owner appeared yet again, a new paper in hand. Abana stepped out of his path when he gestured for her to move, and watched as he nailed a page to the doorframe under Haq's. Aside from the image, the new showing Abana's blue skin and golden hair, the posters were identical.
Not feeling the need to explain again, the owner nodded to Abana and disappeared back inside, the other two men taking one big step in to let the door fall closed in front of them.
Loud laughter rang out behind her, prompting investigation. She turned to see Haq standing there with arms folded, grinning.
"Oh," he said jovially. "Do you not recall breaking the bar in half the last time you showed up?"
"As if you didn't break both the window and the door," she snapped back at him, trotting down the steps and over to him, her strides speaking as much as her furrowed brows.
"You pushed me into the window."
"You threw me into the bar." Abana put a firm hand on her hip and tilted her head, waiting on a comeback.
After a quiet few seconds, Haq replied. "I recall we both touched that door. It wasn't just me."
She scoffed, crossing her arms and looking away.
Seconds ticked by agonizingly slow as they avoided each other and roamed in their separate thoughts on the matter that had led to both of their bans.
"Let's agree it was mutual destruction."
"Fine." Haq looked at her again with their new agreement before glancing back at the tavern door. "Wait. Why did you come back here?"
Abana gazed over at the tavern. Releasing a huff of a breath, she pursed her lips.
"The specialty. You?"
"The same." He paused. "Though, I'm assuming you mean the Goblet of Death?"
"And what if I said I enjoyed the Goblet of Life?"
The secret recipes of the tavern included both drinks. While the Goblet of Death was sweet with a blended fruity taste, the Goblet of Life was citrusy and sour.
Silently, their gazes clashed. Haq was the first to look away. With a dismissive shrug of his shoulders, his next words lacked care.
"It doesn't suit your allegiance."
"Excuse me?" Abana narrowed her eyes, only trying to find a different meaning for a few quiet seconds before settling in on what was fact.
The reason they trashed the tavern 137 years prior. The way they bickered and dismissed each other time and time again. There was one thing at the root of it. One glaring fact.
They weren't on the same team.
While the God of Death and Goddess of Life clashed, there were those who aided either side. The so-called 'golden boy' and the devilishly strong blue girl had never been fighting under the same banner. They were never once allies.
Whether it was some kind of residual defiance linked to their roots or something he truly believed, Abana didn't know. She scoffed.
"Why am I recalling you having previously ordered the opposite your own allegiance?"
Haq glanced at her, noticing her dark expression that looked closer to that of someone betrayed, and dropped his arms to his sides, opening his mouth.
Before he could clarify his words, that sour didn't suit her, someone interrupted them.
"You two..."
Haq and Abana both turned at the sound.
"You both work under Life and Death?" a young woman asked them, her eyes wide and brows furrowed.