Cress is more of a smooth operator that I originally thought he was. This is even taking into account his blue-imbued uniform, his longer, straight hair, and Dawn Stones for eyes.

The way he handles a customer is on a whole other level.

"Good evening, sir. Welcome to the Striaton City Bar. You request a drink?" he asks as he walks over to the patron, gliding his hands across the counter. The bar counter is spotless to the point where Cress can run his fingers without making so much as a squeak. That's one tight ship the brothers run.

"I'm glad someone is listening to me around here," the patron responds, his head buried facedown on the counter. From where I'm sitting, I can barely make out his jumbled words.

His black hair barely illuminated by the lights obscure my view of his facial features. A dark, tattered overcoat hugs his shoulders and arms. I can only hazard to guess it's also black in color due to the dim lighting. From this, I realize one thing.

The lengths this bar goes through to establish an atmosphere astounds me.

"Coming up," Cress smiles coolly. He claps his hands once as his Panpour appears next to him. Why do I have a feeling all three brothers here can mix drinks with the help of their Pokémon?

"Substitute Calvados for Leppa Brandy. Benedictine. And Nomel Juice," Cress lists as he grabs a clean cocktail shaker from the back counter. He then shuffles towards the patron, who still has his head face down on the counter. Cress glances at me, a cool expression on his face, as he leans towards the man.

"Do you know how brandy is made, my good sir?" he asks as the Panpour, as if on cue, places the Leppa Brandy on the counter in front of Cress. In response, the man gives a mumbled groan. Cress then extends each of his arms out on the counter in opposite directions, his fingers sliding outwards. His arms and the counter form a triangle as he leans up to the patron.

"Brandy," he starts, "is made from adding heat to wine so it evaporates. The vapor cools down and through distillation, becomes a far purer drink with a higher alcohol content."

Cress then stands erect and pours some of the Leppa Brandy into the cocktail shaker. He then places the bottle on the table, where a Panpour's paws grabs it immediately and takes it out of sight. It is replaced with the other two items he requested: Nomel Berries and Benedictine.

"Benedictine," he continues, "is a distilled herb drink. It is said to be a fusion of twenty-seven different herb distillations...but only twenty-one have been revealed to the public..."

Cress then adds Benedictine to his shaker. He then reaches for the Nomel Berries.

"Fun thing about berries...is whether you take into account all of the fruit. For example...a Nomel berry's white pulp in the center can be excluded from the drink to decrease overall astringency. Leaving skin can also create an exotic flavor infusion," he explains as he reaches under the counter. Out he pulls a paring knife and slices the Nomel berry in half. He then removes the middle white pulp from both halves. He repeats this process four times with two more berries. He then adds all pieces to his shaker.

Suddenly the slumping patron jumps up, almost out of his stool. He slams both hands on the counter, causing an echoing bang that pierces the usual low, trumpeting jazz music. I can finally make out his features. His eyes are crazed with dark circles under them. His noise is pointy in an almost unnatural size. His hair and coat are both indeed black. His coat appears tattered and muddy. I go down his profile and see mud stains on his pants where his knees are.

"What is the damn point?!" the patron angrily shouts. He points straight at Cress, dead center between his eyes, with a formidable left pointer finger. Cress doesn't move as his eyes look at the digit that seems so intimidating that it could pulverize him...single-handedly.

"Why the hell are you explaining all your goddamn ingredients! I didn't ask for a history lesson, I asked for a drink!" he continues to shout, enraged. I'm glad that the man hasn't gotten his hands on any sort of projectile to aim at Cress. Cress simply stands there as the man keeps his pointer finger focused on him.

Cress slowly grabs his shaker. "A drink?" he asks the man. In the midst of shouting, a martini glass somehow made its appearance on the counter. He slowly pours the cocktail into the glass. I sense a clink on metal from the shaker. When did Cress...add ice?

"Finally! Goddamn it!" the man shouts. He reaches for the drink. It's a yellow hue as it sits in the glass. He hastily grabs it and takes a sip.

To my disbelief, the rage melts off his face. One sip, from what I could see, is all of took?

"What is this?" he shouts at Cress. Cress folds his arms as he looks back to the customer. A small grin appears on his face.

"I thought...you didn't want me to inform you," he said slyly. The man then slams his right fist on the counter.

"I don't have the time or patience to play games!" he shouts at Cress. Cress then...nods in agreement.

"Yes...I concur," he comments, his index finger tapping his chin as if he's in thought. The man sits down, almost as if he realized his outbursts.

"What. Do you mean." he says, almost as a demand. His face is turning slightly red. Luckily the cocktail-whatever Cress made him-remains intact on the counter.

"You've been frantically searching for it, haven't you? And you can't seem to find it..." Cress says coolly. "Your ring."

Ring? What ring? And how does he figure the man lost one?

When I turn to the patron, his face is as dumbfounded as I thought it would be.

"When you pointed at me with your left hand...I saw your ring finger. It has an ever so slight difference on the skin in a spot where a wedding ring would be. Bartenders here in Striaton always look at their patron's hands." Cress explains. He then tilts his head, looking downwards.

"Your clothes? They're muddy at the knees since you were bending down somewhere in the dirt looking for something. The lack of patience means you still haven't found it," he deduces. His eyes turn to the patron, then to me. How in the world does Cress figure all of that out in a simple meeting? And seemingly with pinpoint accuracy no less?

"...okay, so you're right. I lost my wedding ring. And I was looking in the alley next to the apartments where the forest's edge meets the city. And yes, I still haven't found it. But..." the patrons says, "that doesn't explain what concoction this is."

Cress smiles at the man. His blue eyes light up at the man's argument. Never have I seen someone so excited to line up all of the pieces of a solution to a puzzle he's made. Is this what the trio wants me to do?

"It's called...a Honeymoon. Originally it's made with calvados...but I changed it to a more fruity substitute of Leppa brandy. I figure a drink that represents rekindling love would be most appropriate," Cress says to the man. The man eyes his golden drink. It gleams in the dim lights, as if Cress placed it so it would have its own spotlight.

"And you made this...because I lost my ring?" the man asks, looking straight in the Dawn Stone eyes of Cress. Despite hesitating to ask, he seems willing enough to sip the appropriate cocktail.

"Precisely. Though I don't know exactly if your ring will pop up anytime soon. The Striaton Brothers will keep an eye out. I can say that at least," Cress winks as the man relaxes back down. It's almost in resignation, like Cress completely disassembled him and correctly aligned everything that was wrong with him-in the process learning every part he needed to know about the man. Cress adjusts his bow tie with his left hand confidently.

"I really appreciate it barkeep," the man says. Cress nods as he produces a towel from behind the counter. He moves towards me, keeping his eyes on the patron, and places the towel on the bar counter.

"It's no problem," Cress smiles. "After all, it's in my title."

"In your title?" the man asks, curling an eyebrow in curiosity. Cress nods, his long hair shuffling around on his head with every move he makes.

"Bartender. The first part is bar. A place where you go. The second part is tender. Which means kindness. Put it together and you get a place where you go to receive kindness." Cress explains, wiping the counter down in wide circles. The semi-damp towel polishes the counter, making it shine in the nitid glow of the bar's lights.

"Haha, you're too kind barkeep. Or should I say...bartender. Thanks a lot." the man says, smiling for the first time since he walked in. Sipping down the last bit of his cocktail, he nods in acknowledgement to Cress. He places the martini glass on the counter in front of where he sat. He stands causing the stool to squeak.

"No problem, sir," Cress answers. "The drink is on me tonight. I hope to see you again."

"Will do, maybe with my wife next time!" the man smiles cheerfully. He waves one last time, his teeth brighter than his mood was a few minutes ago.

I can't believe that Cress got this guy to do a complete one-eighty in a matter of a cocktail.

The man shuffles his way out of the bar the same way he came in. I can't help but watch him as he leaves. His mood changed from miserable to hopeful. I turn to Cress, who approaches the man's glass. He plucks it from the table and lowers in down behind the counter out of sight.

"Panpour," a voice says. I assume Cress handed the glass to his Panpour to take to a sink somewhere. He wipes the spot where the man was. His grin is subtle as his head turns to me.

"Make sense?" he asks me. No of course not, Cress. How does serving drinks and sounding cool make sense?

"No. No, it doesn't," I say to him. He grins at me as he approaches me from behind the counter.

"Chili, Cilan, and I...we're bartenders. We provide a place for kindness for people. We help them when they come in need of help. So that's our proposal," he says to me. He reties his white apron around his waste as he nods to me.

"Wanna be a little more specific and be less cryptic?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. Contrary to Cress's apparent belief, not everyone can understand abstract riddles that are supposed to teach lessons. That goes double for a dense, self-aware person like myself.

"We want you to help people, just like we do," Cress answers. His blue hair flows elegantly as his words come out of his mouth as he picks up the martini glass and begins to polish it. I assume it's the one the man had earlier. Did Cress's Panpour clean it that quickly?

"Woah hold on. I know nothing about cocktails and mixing drinks though," I argue. Cress nods as he holds the glass up to the light, as if he's inspecting its authenticity. He then places it down out of sight behind the bar counter. He tosses the towel down as a small grin forms on his face. Why do I have a bad feeling about this?

"No, Tristan. We aren't going to teach you how to mix. For one thing, you need to get some qualifications...and without them would be a health hazard. We suggest you solving them your own way," Cress says to me. He wipes the side of his cheek with his hand as he takes a step back. The wall of cabinets behind him, probably all stocked with alcohol, make a woody, brown background.

"My own way?" I ask him. Yet again, here he is being cryptic. Why do people like beating around the bush when teaching lessons? Is it just so I can realize the solution on my own?

"Yes...hopefully solving other people's problems will ultimately help you solve your own. And with that, you'd clear your tab with us," Cress explains. He turns around and looks at the display of the bar. His explanation seems harmless enough, but I sense it's just a ploy to get me to change myself. Plus I severely dislike dealing with other people. My solitude is something I relish.

"You only have to solve three problems: one from me, one from Cilan, and one from Chili. And we'll even give you a handicap and provide an assistant," he says to me, clapping his hands together once. His head tilts upward slightly as I assume he is admiring the wall of bottles before him. I wonder what would happen if they all came crashing down?

"An...assistant," I simply say. It's all I can manage from Cress's offer. Not only did I have to deal with other people and their issues, but someone else is tagging along for the ride with me?

"Correct. She's a patron of the restaurant we run as of yesterday. Perhaps she's a new resident? I'm not too sure myself," Cress admits, "But that will make it better for you. That way she'll have a clear perspective on you without any sort of predispositions that everyone else in Striaton may have. I think it works out nicely for you."

"Of course you think so," I sigh angrily. I'm left with a decision. Help others or be in even more debt than I already am.

"You can decide as soon as possible. While your bill racks up, we might add more requirements. Just a heads up," Cress grins. I look up at the clock. It hasn't even passed eight p.m. and I'm already stuck in a bind. The decision may seem obvious, but I have no idea what consequences lay ahead taking the unknown route.

"Can I think about it?" I ask him. Cress nods once. He adjusts his blue bow tie again as he leans in towards me. His hair shrouds his right eye as it hangs over half his face.

"Of course, Tristan. If you want to meet your partner, she could still be in the restaurant. Or perhaps she's already left home," Cress says to me. I shake my head furiously. There's no way no how I'm going to prematurely meet this girl he mentioned earlier. Last thing I need are more sour opinions of me.

"I'll keep it in mind," I lie, standing up. I slam my left knee on the countertop causing me to wince in irritation.

A girl is the last thing I'll keep in my mind-especially since those three brothers just put me between a rock and a hard place. I'll remember a girl when I have enough dignity to live. Which hopefully, will be never.