Merv slid a large mug into Eleanor’s open palm. The glazed ceramic was cool to the touch and smooth as she wrapped her fingers around its girth. The liquid inside was dark brown and cold as it rushed down the girl’s throat. Thanks for the treat, Mystery Man, she thought as she wiped her lips on the stained sleeve of her shirt, Perfect for a hot day like this. The ale left a rich, nutty taste in her mouth as she took another sip, and settled happily in her empty stomach. Eleanor was careful to drink slowly, tipsy was not what she needed at the moment, and besides, she was out of money. Once this drink was finished she would have nothing to do but stare at a stranger drinking himself into a stupor. That would not only be tremendously boring but Merv didn’t take kindly to that sort of loitering, and her generous tipping might easily be forgotten.
So she drank slowly, running her fingers around the rim of the mug, feeling the bumps in the clay and watching the vibrations send ripples into her shadowy drink. On occasion she glanced over at the sad man in the corner. Merv was doing well, there was a variety of glasses in front of the poor bloke now, indicating that he was getting something a bit stronger than ale. It was difficult to tell in the gloom but it looked as though his cheeks were turning the sticky pink that came with too much to drink. What was easier to see was the unsteady way the man was beginning to sway in his seat.
Soon the man was slapping his glass down clumsily. His wrist moved about loosely and his hands had trouble gripping. It wasn’t long before he overturned one of the vessels in front of him and the last drops of amber liquid dripped slowly onto the etched and dimpled table. Time to go to work. Eleanor drained her mug and asked Merv where his wheelbarrow was. His grunt and head nod lead her to believe it was in the back. “Thanks,” she said, jumping down from the bar stool and throwing a casual wave over her shoulder as she headed for the man’s gloomy corner.
She put a hand on his shoulder, and her turned to look at her with surprised eyes, red, puffy and moist with tears. Here goes nothing… If this worked it would make her job much simpler, if not she would hit him over the head. He looked heavy though.
“Hey there,” she said in a soft voice, trying to sound concerned, “She asked me to bring you back. Come on now.” Eleanor gently worked her hand underneath his arm and lifted. He offered no protest but very little help, babbling in a confused manner instead of moving his legs as she steered/dragged him out of the Pig’s Foot.
“Sh-sh-she asked for m-m-m-me?” He burbled between soft sobs. Eleanor just nodded, guiding him around the back of the tavern. “But she said… HIC! Said she never… I was just trying… And now she’s…” His speech faded into silent tears. Grimacing as every orifice on his face oozed with tears, saliva and snot Eleanor sat him in the wheelbarrow.
“Come on now, I’m going to help you out.” His head nodded, or bobbed drunkenly, it didn’t matter which and she began pushing. He sat limply in the wheelbarrow, crying softly and occasionally raising his voice to say something incoherent. Whenever her passenger attracted the attention of passersby Eleanor twisted her face in disappointment and made sure to mutter something along the lines of “Dammnit Pa!” as she pushed him along the streets.
It wasn’t long before she reached her chosen drop point, though Eleanor was sweating as they rolled into a small alleyway behind some tall houses that looked woefully abandoned. She was well aware that the only use these buildings had was the amusement of youths after nightfall, and felt safe from unwanted eyes. He was nearly unconscious, with his balding head hanging limply over the wooden edge of his chariot. His eyes swam about; unaware of one another’s movements and a chain of spit was forming on the corner of his mouth. No point in even tying you up, eh, buddy?
So instead Eleanor riffled through his pockets while she waited for the cloaked man. There wasn’t much to be found, two copper mizas turned up in his pants and a thick bit of folded paper was in breast pocket. Eleanor unfolded this and stared at the loopy lines that crossed the surface. In some places the black ink was smudged and loose, pepper with large water stains in the shape of tears. Uninterested in what she couldn’t read the girl dropped the note back into the unconscious man’s lap and leaned against the wheelbarrow, waiting, guarding her captive. She kept a hand on the hilt of her dagger, ready to draw it in case the man refused to pay.
OOCDon’t worry about it. I’m interested to see where this goes.
So she drank slowly, running her fingers around the rim of the mug, feeling the bumps in the clay and watching the vibrations send ripples into her shadowy drink. On occasion she glanced over at the sad man in the corner. Merv was doing well, there was a variety of glasses in front of the poor bloke now, indicating that he was getting something a bit stronger than ale. It was difficult to tell in the gloom but it looked as though his cheeks were turning the sticky pink that came with too much to drink. What was easier to see was the unsteady way the man was beginning to sway in his seat.
Soon the man was slapping his glass down clumsily. His wrist moved about loosely and his hands had trouble gripping. It wasn’t long before he overturned one of the vessels in front of him and the last drops of amber liquid dripped slowly onto the etched and dimpled table. Time to go to work. Eleanor drained her mug and asked Merv where his wheelbarrow was. His grunt and head nod lead her to believe it was in the back. “Thanks,” she said, jumping down from the bar stool and throwing a casual wave over her shoulder as she headed for the man’s gloomy corner.
She put a hand on his shoulder, and her turned to look at her with surprised eyes, red, puffy and moist with tears. Here goes nothing… If this worked it would make her job much simpler, if not she would hit him over the head. He looked heavy though.
“Hey there,” she said in a soft voice, trying to sound concerned, “She asked me to bring you back. Come on now.” Eleanor gently worked her hand underneath his arm and lifted. He offered no protest but very little help, babbling in a confused manner instead of moving his legs as she steered/dragged him out of the Pig’s Foot.
“Sh-sh-she asked for m-m-m-me?” He burbled between soft sobs. Eleanor just nodded, guiding him around the back of the tavern. “But she said… HIC! Said she never… I was just trying… And now she’s…” His speech faded into silent tears. Grimacing as every orifice on his face oozed with tears, saliva and snot Eleanor sat him in the wheelbarrow.
“Come on now, I’m going to help you out.” His head nodded, or bobbed drunkenly, it didn’t matter which and she began pushing. He sat limply in the wheelbarrow, crying softly and occasionally raising his voice to say something incoherent. Whenever her passenger attracted the attention of passersby Eleanor twisted her face in disappointment and made sure to mutter something along the lines of “Dammnit Pa!” as she pushed him along the streets.
It wasn’t long before she reached her chosen drop point, though Eleanor was sweating as they rolled into a small alleyway behind some tall houses that looked woefully abandoned. She was well aware that the only use these buildings had was the amusement of youths after nightfall, and felt safe from unwanted eyes. He was nearly unconscious, with his balding head hanging limply over the wooden edge of his chariot. His eyes swam about; unaware of one another’s movements and a chain of spit was forming on the corner of his mouth. No point in even tying you up, eh, buddy?
So instead Eleanor riffled through his pockets while she waited for the cloaked man. There wasn’t much to be found, two copper mizas turned up in his pants and a thick bit of folded paper was in breast pocket. Eleanor unfolded this and stared at the loopy lines that crossed the surface. In some places the black ink was smudged and loose, pepper with large water stains in the shape of tears. Uninterested in what she couldn’t read the girl dropped the note back into the unconscious man’s lap and leaned against the wheelbarrow, waiting, guarding her captive. She kept a hand on the hilt of her dagger, ready to draw it in case the man refused to pay.
OOCDon’t worry about it. I’m interested to see where this goes.
