33rd Day of Winter, 510
Stepping casually out of the ravasola, Theo took a moment to straighten his clothing. Turning to bid farewell to his ravasolaman - a lanky individual with yellow teeth - Theo frowned as he watched the small boat disappear around a bend, leaving a trail of gently disturbed water in its wake.
That man was not one to linger, I think. Dismissing the event with a shrug, Theo found his bearings and started down a particularly busy walkway. Ravok was a few bells into the afternoon, and people were scrambling to prepare for the inevitable surge in business that was to come. The regular tapping of Theo's cane as he made his way through the throng could barely be heard above the hustle and bustle. A particularly cool breeze tickled his nose, prompting a shiver.
Maybe I should grow a moustache... It would certainly keep his upper lip warm, he thought. As Theo toyed around with the prospect, he almost failed to notice he had reached his destination. Pushing the theoretical moustache to the back of his mind, Theo gave his full attention to the building.
The Malt House was one of Ravok's most successful taverns, and for good reason. It was in a prime location, was kept well maintained, and-
Starting today, this is where I work. A surge of genuine excitement flooded Theo, and there was a particular jump in his step as he crossed the final few metres to the entrance. The owner of The Malt House, a middle-aged man named Grayson, had agreed to take him on after what Theo had judged as an odd interview. Drinks were poured, questions were asked, and barrels were relocated. At the end of the ordeal, a simple "you'll do" was the only praise he received before he was dismissed with instructions to return the next day. Theo found himself quite liking the man.
Today will be more difficult, I think. It was a sobering thought, but Theo was eager to impress. He'd always wanted to work in a bar, believing that anything interesting that ever happened was at least conceptualised surrounded by empty mugs of ale. Breathing deeply to steady himself, Theo opened the door and stepped inside.
The warmth of the place pulled him into its gentle embrace, and the inviting scents of leather, ale, and wood smoke played around his nostrils. The artificial lighting cast a welcoming glow to the place, shining in the places where it struck the upholstery or timber just right. Already, small pockets of people were claiming the more desirable tables. A bubbly barmaid with an oval face framed by auburn curls chatted happily with a group of well dressed gentlemen, of which a couple risked the occasional glance at her low-cut top and the flesh it barely concealed.
Best go make my presence known, I think. Straightening his back and putting on an air of what he hoped was confidence, Theo forced his attention away from the dining space and approached the bar.
"Hello, my name is Theodore Muzenni. I am the new bartender," he would say to whichever staff member decided to greet him. After that? Well, Theo imagined he had a lot to learn.
That man was not one to linger, I think. Dismissing the event with a shrug, Theo found his bearings and started down a particularly busy walkway. Ravok was a few bells into the afternoon, and people were scrambling to prepare for the inevitable surge in business that was to come. The regular tapping of Theo's cane as he made his way through the throng could barely be heard above the hustle and bustle. A particularly cool breeze tickled his nose, prompting a shiver.
Maybe I should grow a moustache... It would certainly keep his upper lip warm, he thought. As Theo toyed around with the prospect, he almost failed to notice he had reached his destination. Pushing the theoretical moustache to the back of his mind, Theo gave his full attention to the building.
The Malt House was one of Ravok's most successful taverns, and for good reason. It was in a prime location, was kept well maintained, and-
Starting today, this is where I work. A surge of genuine excitement flooded Theo, and there was a particular jump in his step as he crossed the final few metres to the entrance. The owner of The Malt House, a middle-aged man named Grayson, had agreed to take him on after what Theo had judged as an odd interview. Drinks were poured, questions were asked, and barrels were relocated. At the end of the ordeal, a simple "you'll do" was the only praise he received before he was dismissed with instructions to return the next day. Theo found himself quite liking the man.
Today will be more difficult, I think. It was a sobering thought, but Theo was eager to impress. He'd always wanted to work in a bar, believing that anything interesting that ever happened was at least conceptualised surrounded by empty mugs of ale. Breathing deeply to steady himself, Theo opened the door and stepped inside.
The warmth of the place pulled him into its gentle embrace, and the inviting scents of leather, ale, and wood smoke played around his nostrils. The artificial lighting cast a welcoming glow to the place, shining in the places where it struck the upholstery or timber just right. Already, small pockets of people were claiming the more desirable tables. A bubbly barmaid with an oval face framed by auburn curls chatted happily with a group of well dressed gentlemen, of which a couple risked the occasional glance at her low-cut top and the flesh it barely concealed.
Best go make my presence known, I think. Straightening his back and putting on an air of what he hoped was confidence, Theo forced his attention away from the dining space and approached the bar.
"Hello, my name is Theodore Muzenni. I am the new bartender," he would say to whichever staff member decided to greet him. After that? Well, Theo imagined he had a lot to learn.