Solo Clean-Up Crew

[Verin Rush]

*

48th Day of Spring, 514AV

It had been a long day, in a literal and figurative sense. Longer than even the worst days for Verin. The blond bartender had been summoned to work by one of the barmaids, who had been sent by their employer, Grayson Falkes. Apparently The Malt House had… received some negative attention the night previous, according to the owner of the respectable tavern, and it needed all available hands to fix the mess left behind. Initially, Verin had assumed that that meant a few of the punters had gotten particularly drunk and rowdy, and probably caused the mess. What it actually meant, Verin had discovered upon a swift arrival, where he first noticed the Ebonstryfe soldiers stationed outside the establishment, was that The Malt House had been victim to a burglary mere bells earlier.

The place was a tip – empty caskets having fallen from the rafters, a table or two damaged from their falls, glasses smashed and metal flagons strewn across the top of the bar and all over the floor. The stench of alcohol permeated the main room; ale stuck to the ground, wine too, and even some of Ravok’s finest whisky had been wasted. You’ve got to be kidding me…” the elder of the Rush twins had muttered in disbelief as the barmaid quickly scuttled off to return to her new duties of mopping and cleaning.

“I’m afraid there is no joking here, lad,” Grayson spoke as he had come up from behind to stand next to Verin, also surveying the damage. “A bunch of young lads. I dun’ know how long they had been here before I hear’ them, but it mus’ have been quite some time, given the mess they lef’ behind. Scarpered as soon as I appeared here, crowbar in hand, of course.” The owner had cracked a weak smile, and Verin could tell how much it hurt the man, to see his life’s work in such a state. “We’ll have it sorted in no time, Grayson,” the blond had promised, patting the older man on the back awkwardly in an attempt to comfort him, “no time at all… and it will look even better than it did before.”

And, so far, Verin had made good on his word, instantly taking up a position of leadership over all of the other bartenders and barmaids, even the kitchen staff, who were not yet preparing any food until the tavern proper had been cleaned to Verin’s high standards – there were no customers at the moment anyway, Grayson refused to open it until he thought it was presentable enough.

“No, no, leave that out the back for now,” Verin called over to the other young bartender, only a few winters younger than he, who was heaving an old ale cask full of wasted glass towards the main doors, “There are enough people milling outside, we do not need to make this into a bigger spectacle than it already is.” The other hesitated, then nodded, though Verin raised a brow when he huffed in frustration at having to lift the weighty load back the other way.

Looking over to the rest of the tavern, he spoke to the room in general, “If you’ve finished with the floor, girls, rearrange the tables and stools and clean them up too, please. Grayson isn’t paying you to stand around and gossip.” He turned back to his own task of going through all of the ledgers, trying to work out if there was any money missing. It took time, Carefully, making sure that his cursive writing was legible to the slightly less educated Grayson, he jotted down what seasons they had for the whiskies, and how many of each, as well as making a note of what they would have to order in from the High Spirits Distillery next. It paid off to have a good working relationship with the manufacturer, Verin decided, as it meant that they could send someone over soon and get what they needed quickly.
*

[Verin Rush]

*

The young bartender frowned as he looked over the bottles of whisky that he had out on the bar top. There were more here than he thought there would be, and he began to organise them into seasons, to see if there was a pattern that emerged. Putting them into lines, which gave him a visual chart of what he had, he realised that there were far fewer bottles of the younger whiskies than there were of the older ones. He laughed, which caught the attentions of Grayson, who raised a questioning brow. “Turns out your burglars are hardly the cleverest… or they just have no sense of taste,” Verin smiled to his boss, “All of the older whisky is still here, thank Rhysol. We might be able to make back some of what we lost when we charge people more for the whiskies that are not drunk as regularly as the others.”

Shaking his head, Verin turned back to his writings and returned to his scribblings, writing down the final amounts of each bottle that the Malt House had possession of. Then, picking up two at a time, he began to place them on the empty shelves, separating each shelf according to year. The lowest shelves, containing the youngest distilled bottles, were the emptiest, so he didn’t put them as far back, making the shelf look as full as the others.

Next, he checked the wines, of which they had always had more, given that it was often served in higher quantities, and more regularly than whisky. Much of the wine, both red and white, was still on the shelves, and even more stored in the back. After a quick count, he jotted down the details for the colours, and the amount of each. “Wouldn’t have minded if they took the claret…” the young man thought to himself as he wrote, having always preferred the palate of the white. He left the bottles were they were and turned to watch the rest of the staff working for a moment. He frowned as his eyes landed on Grayson, who was sitting at the bar, as if he were a guest, nursing a pint of ale.

“I can get you something stronger if you wish?” Verin murmured as he slipped over and rested against the bar too, across from the older man. “The burn of the whisky will numb the.. burn of loss..?” Though he had always had a way with words, even a few times managing to talk his drunkard father down from one of his rages, Verin had always found sympathy a little harder to deal with. He viewed those who wore their hearts on their sleeves as weak, and admired those who could hide their emotions, especially men. So when he saw men displaying such weaknesses, even ones he respected, he never knew what to say.

Grayson glanced up and attempted a smile, before looking around the tavern himself, “You done a good job, lad,” he said gruffly, “if you didn’t have other plans, I’d consider givin’ you this place… hope you dun have to leave us. I’ll skip the whisky, bu’ feel free to have one yerself.” Verin smiled but said nothing. Grayson was one of the few people who knew Verin well enough to know of his ambitions in life, and he knew that Verin could not be swayed from his devotion to the Defiler.

As he turned to pull out a tumbler and pull out the cork of a previously opened bottle of 24 seasons aged whisky, he considered the possibility that he could continue working at the Malt House when (not if, he had decided) he was granted the rank of Agent in the Black Sun. It depended in what Rhysol’s closest wanted from him… it was not entirely inconceivable that he could continue his drudge work as a bartender, as a guise. But Rhysol would always come first, especially if he was required to leave the city.
*

[Verin Rush]

*

If the placement of Syna was anything to go by, Verin had been in The Malt House for approximately five bells now. Normally, he would have a chance to sit, or to rest, but today, even with everyone in the tavern to help clean, he had been working non-stop to tidy up. To day was supposed to be one of his days of; he had even hoped to head down to Ino Vations and see Nolan Parnell. Not for anything in particular, they had not scheduled anything for the day, but the two acquaintances had become what he might consider friends, and he was anxious to learn more from the Master Poisoncrafter. But now it was too late and even when the tavern was ready to open to the citizens, Verin had decided to continue working, knowing that Grayson would be no use.

The main room looked much better, Verin decided and he singled out the regular kitchen staff, “Head back to the kitchen and start preparing whatever is in there for food. I haven’t done an inventory of there, seeing as food is much more perishable than the alcohol and we go through it so fast anyway…” he scratched his head, “I highly doubt our burglars stole any of the food anyway.” Most nodded and headed around the bar, taking the mops and buckets with them, “dump the dirty water into the canal too,” he called after them.

Turning back, he realised that one girl had remained behind, “We have no fish, Verin,” the bartender blinked in surprise at the girl’s comment; of course they had no fish. It hadn’t been stolen, but that’s because they had not been able to procure any fish to sell to their patrons for a number of days now. He wondered what the girl expected him to do about it.

“Nor does the rest of the city.” He finally responded with a relatively blank tone. “People will ask for it and we will answer the same as most every other establishment, market stall and shop in the city. There is none. Go and prepare what you can, we will finish off cleaning in here. I hope to open the door within the next bell. Something had better be ready to cook by that time.” The girl squeaked an apology and scurried away and out of sight. Verin watched her go before raising his hand and pinching the bridge of his barely healed, crooked nose; even though the alcohol had been mopped up from the floor, the fumes lingered, and his headache was not going away.

Returning to the bar, he took a seat beside Grayson, who was now on his third pint of ale. He grasped the tumbler that he had been slowly drinking from and took another sip. Hopefully the high alcohol content would soon dull the headache before the bell was over and the noisy customers entered, all clamouring for a story of what had occurred the previous night – no doubt the rumour had spread across Ravok, like wildfire through trees.

After a few chimes, he slammed his hands down on the bar top and stood, “Right, let’s finish this off,” he spoke to no one in particular, though Grayson grunted some words of encouragement. Verin leant over the bar and picked up a cloth, which her wet in one of the buckets left behind. With firm, methodical movements, the grime and sticky ale lifted off of the wooden tables in large circles. Once the table was completely wet, he ducked down and rinsed the cloth out in the bucket and then ran his fingers over the table, checking. Some of the dried ale was left behind and he pushed harder on the cloth as he cleaned it once again.
*

[Verin Rush]

*

It took Verin, the other bartender and two barmaids a good half of a bell before all of the tables were cleaned to Verin’s high standards. It took a few chimes, but eventually they got into a routine of the barmaids doing an initial clean, Verin following behind and running over them again to ensure the residue of the ale was gone, and the other barman working behind him to make sure the room was set up as it should be.

The elder of the Rush twins’ arm was beginning to ache as he continued to push down on the cloth and tables, moving his hand in neat circles, some large and some small, to ensure that there was no stickiness left behind. This was not his usual job when he worked as a bartender; the cleaning was often left to the girls in the evening, or morning, and he got the impression, from the amount of effort that it was taking to remove some of the filth, that the tables had never before been cleaned so thoroughly. Part of him was frustrated that the girls had net been doing their jobs properly, but the rest was pleased that he could now live up to his earlier promise to Grayson, to make this place better than before. Either way, he made a mental note to check the tables more often, to ensure that the girls tasked with cleaning were actually doing as such.

It was a menial job, he knew, as his hand rubbed in circles around and around, but it was satisfying. He had never minded cleaning, often enjoying the piece that it brought him when no one was around to disturb him, and his thoughts could drift. Verin ran his hand over the table for a final time, now satisfied that the table was cleaned enough, the final table. He dropped the cloth into the bucket and asked one of the girls to take it out the back and dispose of the used water. “Come back when you’re done, we’re going to open the doors now.”

He spoke loud enough so that Grayson could hear him, but the owner of the Malt House did not acknowledge his words. The employee sighed and nodded to the other man to go behind the bar as he made his way to the doors, which he quickly unlatched and opened. Looking out, he was pleased to see that much of the crowd had now died down, clearly bored of waiting for any more excitement. All that remained were the regulars, including Bennett. “Ah, Verin, my lad!” the loud guest called out, even though they were standing a foot or so apart, “finally opened up the tavern, I see?”

Verin groaned; of all the people to be the first in, it had to be the bluntest of patrons. “There was a burglary here? I don’t believe it, lad! Looks good as new in here! You just closed it for a bit of publicity didn’t ya?” Verin knew that the loud man was just joking; the Stryfe guards standing mere feet away were more than enough proof of the claim of burglary, but he didn’t need Bennett’s attitude tonight. As the man walked past him, he grabbed his arm, and Bennett met the bartender’s gaze.

“Please use your sense tonight, Bennett,” Verin said softly as other punters strolled through the doors, paying no attention to the two partially blocking the way. Verin had never attempted to use Hypnotism on a customer before, preferring honesty as the best policy in a city of Chaos, but he felt like he had no choice right now. “I know you can be reasonable and discreet when you want to be. Tonight is one of those nights to be as such. Grayson is in no position to field your drunken questions, so please refrain from causing trouble where it is not warranted.” Finished, Verin looked away as he left go of the man’s arm, and he returned to stand behind the bar.
*

[Verin Rush]

*

“What’ll it be, Sir?” Verin asked the patron who had just returned to the bar, back for his third drink of the evening, in as many bells. He was surprised at how busy he had been, even with three of them behind the bar, none had had a break since they had opened. This patron in particular, seemed intent on getting some information out of the bar staff, and Verin had made an effort to be the one to serve him each time. He was sure that the others would not share details of the events the night before, given that no one really knew what went on, but he was keen not to have people speculating and allowing rumours to spread faster and grow more and more fantastical.

“A whisky, if you have any left, if you’d be so kind,” came the request following Verin’s preemptive question, “make it a double.” He was polite, at least, though the blond suspected it to be just an act, an attempt to buddy up to him and get more information. Verin grasped at a new bottle of whisky, one of the older one, seeing as all the others were gone now. He poured two drams worth into a tumbler and slid it over, asking for fourteen silver mizas. “Fourteen? Just for that tiny amount? You have got to be kidding me!”

“It will be a few days until we get some of the younger whiskies in from the distillery, Sir,” Verin explained diplomatically for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon, “All of the rest has been sold out, this is the youngest we have left. Trust me, it will taste all the better for the mizas you are spending on it.” As the man passed over the money, he muttered something under his breath, which Verin just about managed to catch on to. He waited for the man to look back up at Verin before taking the money and speaking, and pale blue eyes met chocolate brown.

“Yes, some of the cheaper bottles were stolen, but that is not something you need to concern yourself with, friend.” The use of this magic was becoming a trend for Verin tonight as, when it worked, it was the quickest way to get the punters to settle down and drink their drinks without making too much of a disruption. “Enjoy your drink and try not to worry about the events of last night.”

The man took his drink and wander off, back to the table, and Verin watched for a moment as he rejoined his friends, who al leant in, but the man said nothing. Satisfied that the Hypnotism had worked, the bartender looked up to greet the nest punter, who ordered three flagons of ale. As he pulled the lever and watched the golden liquid flow into the first flagon, then the second, Verin considered that perhaps the rumours weren’t all that bad. They were, after all, much busier than they would normally be. It wasn’t even particularly late and they already had more patrons than they would during their busiest bells in the night.

Despite this, he thought, he would not be spreading any rumours of his own, and prayed to Rhysol that the incident was a one-time thing. The Ebonstryfe would surely mount an investigation an catch the perpetrators. He didn’t think that Grayson’s nerves could take another burglary. The final pint was pulled and he lifted the three flagons onto the bar top. The customer was a regular, so he handed the exact money over without Verin having to ask for it. He murmured a quiet thank you as he looked over to the owner of the establishment, who was still drinking – Verin had lost count of what pint he was on now.
*

[Verin Rush]

*

“Your colleague tells me that you have no fish, boy.” Verin didn’t look up as he continued to clean some of the glasses and metal flagons that one of the girls had brought over to him. It was yet another job that Verin did not usually do, but it was busy enough that all the staff were doing what they could to lessen the load, and that task for Verin was cleaning the used drinking vessels so that they could be reused. With a cloth wrapped around his hand, which was jammed as deep as it would go in the narrow hole, he twisted the flagon around and around it until it was clean.

“My colleague speaks the truth,” he said softly as he took his h+and out of the flagon and raised it up to peer into it. Pleased with the result, he shook it out and placed it on one of the shelves under the bar and picked up the next. “We have no fish today. We can, however, offer you beef. It goes particularly well with the claret we serve here.” After rinsing out the cloth, he stuck his hand into the next flagon an repeated the twisting action, stretching his fingers out to get to the corners at the bottom of the metal vessel. This time, he looked up to the man, “I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience,” though his tone suggested that he was anything but apologetic, “But you’ll find that most places in the city will tell you the same thing. If you take issue with this, I suggest you go to the docks and converse with the fishermen.”

Placing the next flagon away, Verin smiled politely to the man and moved along the bar to serve the next customer, who requested two glasses of wine, one for his lady-friend. Looking at the lady-friend Verin suspected that she was a whore – in fact, he was sure that she was a whore, given that he had paid for her vast array of services a few seasons ago, and she didn’t have a face that he would easily forget. Hiding his grin, he poured out the glasses and handed them over, just as he caught onto the conversation happening a little further down the bar: “…three youths, you say, man? C’mon, in your height, you could have taken them, easy! You’ve let yourself go, Gray, I’ve said it before an’ I’ll say it again. ”

The blond’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowed as he slipped past the other bartender to join the conversation. “By Rhysol, now they know you’re a weak target, you can be sure they’ll be back for more. Those Stryfe guards ain’t gonna be standing outside here forever, you know.” It could have been the sheer amount of alcohol that he had drunk since starting, or it could have been the words of his good friend, but Verin realised that his employer had paled significantly. He cleared his throat, so that both looked up. Grayson’s eyes had glazed over, as if in a drunken stupor, but that did not bother Verin; he didn’t need him to pay attention.

Instead, he met Bennett’s gaze, deciding that perhaps his suggestions earlier were not strong enough, or perhaps they had worn off – Verin was no expert, after all, he was still very new at this art, and it would take much more practice before he could be assured in his work. For now though, he was happy to reinforce the suggestions, maybe this time they would last the night. “The burglary last night will not be happening again,” he said softly, slowly, allowing the words to sink into his victim’s mind. He paused for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep, calming breath. When he opened them again, he was glad to see that Bennett was still staring at him, which made his task easier. “You do not need to concern yourself with the events of last night, it happened, there is no real damage done, as you can see, and we will continue as normal. There is no need to bring it up again.”

Walking away, Verin listened for a chime or two to see where the conversation went, and he was glad to find that the two began discussing the fish shortage, something that people should actually be worried about. He smiled to himself as he faced the next customer, comfortable in the knowledge that he could deter people from talking about the burglary. The rest of tonight would go smoothly, he was sure.
*

[Abstract]

Grade Awarded!

Verin

Skills

~ Leadership - 3
~ Observation - 2
~ Organization - 2
~ Cleaning - 1
~ Persuasion - 1
~ Hypnotism - 3
~ Bartending - 2

Lores

~ Cleaning up after a Burglary
~ Organizing a Full Staff
~ Using Hypnotism to keep a Customer out of Trouble

Other

N/A

Notes

An interesting thread! A wide variety of skills to give, and I like your use of Hypnotism. Enjoy the grade!