[SS Tavern]Another day, another dollar [Solo]

[Robert Cithon]

17th Spring, 511 AV Robert rushed into the worn doors of the tavern. The warm musty smell greeting him as the natural daylight faded behind his back. He was late to work, though no one seemed to notice his absence. Robert quickly made his way toward the kitchens. With practiced effort he zigged and zagged through the crowd room, careful not to disrupt any paying patrons. He pushed the kitchen doors open slowly, double checking for oncoming traffic. A few days ago Robert had accidentally shoved the door open roughly, nearly knocking a barmaid unconscious. Working indoors was taking some getting used to, he would prefer to stay outside most his life. But miza was needed, and coming across mercenary work had been hard in the city. He politely waved hello to one of the kitchen attendants. They seemed to be preparing the house brew, a sickly silvery substance. He was determined to never try that particular drink, it would surely leave him stumbling and useless. “How goes it?” He asked another pretty young barmaid. She smiled back politely but spoke no words. She must be busy He thought silently. Most the time when someone ignored you here, it was not out of rudeness. But rather a lack of time to associate politely. A simple nod, perhaps a slight curtsy if time allowed. That was how most seemed to greet one another here. Robert walked toward a small store room, it was kept empty. He had asked his employers if it was ever used. They informed him there was a leaky ceiling above it. And they worried about water ruining their products. So he in turn had inquired about storing his weapons there while he was out in the common room. He had noted that if you weren’t carrying bulky intimidating weapons, angry patrons were less likely to pull a weapon of their own on you. Witch in turn meant, less bloodshed, meaning they would likely come back and spend more coin.

[Robert Cithon]

Robert had spent nearly two hours sitting in a corner, surveying the patrons. Not much had taken place. There were nearly two dozen men occupying the benches and bar stools. Most sat alone, though a few had gathered into groups exchanging stories or gambling over coin. So far it was a relatively peaceful night. Drowsiness was threatening to topple Robert from his seat. In order to counter his extreme boredom, he slowly stood up. Stretching his arms behind his back, relaxing his aching muscles. He nodded politely toward a nearby patron, a man in his later years. Eyes sagging down from lack of proper sleep. He had a rough light grey beard, and his strikingly blue eyes seemed to tell of better times. “How goes it old timer?” Robert smiled with his question. Robert had made a decision, he could not bear sitting in silence waiting for something to happen. He had to talk, socialize, move, do something before he curled into a ball and passed out. Robert moved toward the old man, grabbing an old worn chair and sliding it out from it’s original. “Mind if I sit here?” Robert questioned him, the old man responded with a slight nod, and then he took a wig of his ale. Robert slowly sat down in the chair, careful to not press his weight down suddenly. He had ended up embarrassingly on his backside more than once from that. Once he was comfortable, he leaned forward setting his elbows on the table. Looking at the old man, Robert noticed scars, along his neck, up his face, everywhere. He was obviously a veteran with blades. The old man noticed Robert studying him, and in return he smiled slightly. “Impressed?” He asked. The man’s voice was cold. As if death itself had taken form in front of him. Robert was taken of guard, and hesitated in responding. “Impressed? Yes” He paused again and then added “And not, if you know hat I mean.” The old man smiled before staring at Robert with those icy blue eyes “I do”. Robert smiled in response. They both sat in silence, eyeing one another openly.