Chapter 1: Shaken, Not Stirred Into Another World
Talia Grey prided herself on two things: her ability to mix the perfect cocktail blindfolded, and her sacred post-shift nap that followed a night of slinging drinks and dodging awkward pickup lines. The neon hum of her downtown bar was still echoing in her head as she collapsed into bed, the faint scent of lime, bitters, and burnt orange zest clinging to her fingers.
She didn't remember falling asleep.
She did remember the shaking.
At first, it felt like her building was experiencing an aggressive washing machine cycle. Then came the light, soft and golden, not the harsh blue streetlamp glow that usually leaked through her curtains. Her bed was gone. Instead, she was gently rocking on a floating mass of bar stools, broken wine crates, and... was that a cocktail umbrella boat sail?
The air smelled like cinnamon, regret, and the kind of beer that had clearly lost all its self-esteem.
"What the—" she muttered.
"FINALLY! THE MIXOLOGIST HAS RISEN!" boomed a voice overhead, echoing with the power of ancient spirits… and recent hangovers.
Talia sat up sharply, the floating platform wobbling beneath her, and saw her. Hovering above the stream like a disco ball blessed by Dionysus was a woman—if you could call her that. Her hair cascaded in waves of honeyed chardonnay, her eyes swirled like absinthe, and her gown shimmered like spilled starlight mixed with bar napkins. She clutched a glowing blue bottle like a holy relic.
"I… am the Goddess of Alcohol!" she slurred triumphantly.
"Great. I've officially lost my mind," Talia said.
"No! You've been chosen, Talia Grey of Earth!" the goddess announced, attempting a dramatic pose and only mildly tipping over. "Summoned in your sleep to save our world from cocktail catastrophe!"
"I was promised good sleep, not interdimensional liquor duty."
"Silence, O Blessed Bartender! For your world sleeps, but ours suffers. Too many bad beers. Too few bitters. And no one—no one—has seen a properly balanced Old Fashioned since the age of the Elven Distillers!"
Talia blinked.
"Wait. You summoned me… because your world's drinks suck?"
"Not just that!" The goddess huffed, wobbling as she floated down and dramatically extended a pinky. "This realm is on the brink of emotional implosion. Villains, rogues, broken heroes—all swirling in their own personal crises. The very fabric of this realm's harmony is unraveling… and the cure?"
"…A good cocktail?"
"YES!" she slurred. "You get it! A drink not just to numb, but to heal. Crafted with intention. Served with flair. Garnished with purpose!"
Talia rubbed her temples. "So you want me to what, host happy hour therapy?"
The goddess beamed. "Exactly! And to do that, you'll need tools."
With a snap of her fingers, the sky burst into sparkles, and a swirl of magical violet-pink mist descended from above. It formed into a glowing cellar hatch marked with elegant sigils of lemons, sugarcane, and a hangover skull.
"This," the goddess said, "is your Summoning Cellar. Just snap your fingers and whisper 'Happy Hour'—and your liquor vault shall descend from the heavens."
"...That is weirdly specific."
"And this—" She pointed toward the horizon, where a building shimmered into view above the treetops, descending slowly from the clouds like a majestic party cruise ship with neon lights.
Talia's jaw dropped. "Is that... a floating bar?"
The goddess grinned. "Stirvana. It opens each night at 7 PM and vanishes at 5 AM sharp. It contains every tool you'll need, every surface charmed to self-clean, and shelves that refill when you're not looking."
"Does it come with a mute button for chatty customers?"
"Of course not. That's your job."
The building hovered closer, revealing its sleek, otherworldly design: arched windows trimmed in glowing runes, stools that rotated with sentient sass, and a swinging door that creaked in time with jazz.
"Why me?" Talia asked, staring at the goddess. "Why not summon a celebrity bartender or a fancy mixology influencer?"
The goddess leaned in, serious for once.
"Because you make drinks that connect. You remember stories. You listen. You know that sometimes... people don't want the fanciest thing. They just want to feel seen."
Talia opened her mouth, closed it again, then sighed. "Okay, you sentimental drunk deity. I'm in."
The goddess squealed, nearly tripping over her own aura. "YES! Let the Spirits of Spirits bless you!"
With a dramatic burst of confetti made from cocktail menus, a scroll popped into Talia's hand
"This is your Skill set."
New Class Unlocked: Spirit Sommelier
Skill: Summoning Cellar (Lv. 1)
Skill: Liquor Lore – Instantly know if a drink is a disaster
Passive: Charm and healing
Ultimate: Drink of Destiny – One miracle cocktail per week (Cooldown: 7 days)
"Oh, and one more thing," the goddess added, reaching into her cosmic bar apron. She handed Talia a violet-and-gold shaker that pulsed with energy. "This is Mister Shakesalot. He's sarcastic, he knows proportions better than you do, and yes, he talks."
"Does he come with an off switch?"
"No. But he does judge silently when you eyeball measurements."
Before Talia could protest, the goddess began to fade, leaving behind the scent of vanilla bourbon and fireworks.
"Good luck, Barmaiden Supreme! The first villager's emotional damage arrives in 30 minutes!"
Talia stood alone, bar tools materializing at her belt, and watched as Stirvana hovered above, awaiting her. The grass beneath her feet shimmered like champagne. The air hummed with potential. Somewhere nearby, a kobold probably needed a cocktail.
She cracked her knuckles, straightened her bar tee, and whispered, "Let's stir up a new era."