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~Nika~
Planetoid
- Joined
- Dec 2, 2012
"Pandemonium."
That was that title of this tavern in which she toiled every evening for as long as she wished to remember. It never failed to stay true to it's name. Another mug went flying, spilling brew all over the floor. Aliya's head popped up from behind the counter, glaring at the table of men guffawing, boasting loudly and sloshing their drinks. Drunk pirates.
She cursed, looking to her left, where the tavern owner, plump Mr. Orvell, lay slumbering away in his usual ale-induced coma. She had almost finished sorting out the different currency bills as well! "Shoot." There was never a moment of peace.
Little Marge wasn't going to do anything about it; the girl was huddled in the back corner of the tavern, trying to untangle herself from a rather stout man's large arms. Or was he a dwarf? Stupid girl. She was always getting so close, and flirting so much- Nevermind that. Aliya scolded herself, brushing down the front of her brown skirts to smooth out the creases. Nimble fingers worked the brown tresses that waved down to her lower back into a strict braid. The bodice was another annoying piece of work, cinching in her slim waist and pushing up her breasts. Her pale skin showed too much in these clothes for her comfort. She'd much rather be wearing pants and a heavy, concealing cloak. She did indeed have herself a fine pair of breeches, but they were kept upstairs in her tiny room, folded lovingly amongst her sparse belongings. Belongings she hoped to be packing up soon.
"OI. IF I GOT TO TELL YA ONE MOR' TIME YOU ROWDY MUTTS-!" She yelled above the noise of feasting, jolly men, hands perched on her hips, and a "I dare ye to challenge me" glint in her kohl-lined eyes. A chorus of laughter erupted as mugs were raised in a merry, ale-stupored toast to her, before the racket settled down somewhat.
"That's right. I serve that brew. Don't be waistn' it." Aliya smiled; her teeth bright in the lanter-light and the glow of the big hearth to her left.
The chaos that ensued on the evening of the last work-day was always a grand spectacle. Even more so when the merchant caravans drove through their little town, bringing all sorts of new folk in and out. She could have sworn she had seen an elf in the marketplace this morn. An elf! Wasn't that wonderful? Her grandmother had always said Aliya had some elf blood in her, of how much she wasn't sure. That was enough to spark the girl's desire to travel, and to learn magic. Aliya knew she couldn't stay here, in this dark tavern, seeing so many travelers pass through, yet being unable to follow them. She wanted to go; she needed to go, and she had almost saved up enough to do just that. . . She was nineteen winters after all. Far old enough to set off on her own!
"Mr. Orvell? Sir? It might be more comfortable upstairs in a nice warm bed, don't you agree?" She patted him awake gently, her previous rough, common drawl gone. A refined lilt slipping from pale rouge lips, revealing her education, something she would never let slip in front of brutes like these; "Brutes" being any man who walked in through Pandemonium's big, oak tavern doors and into it's smoky, dim interior. A girl could never be too careful here.
Mr. Orvell snorted awake, grunting until he slid off the bar counter and his stool, shuffling upstairs. Aliya turned and smiled at a rather mussed-up Marge, taking her table's orders and yelling them to the cook.
"Smooth out your hair, love. Don't want customers getting the wrong impression," she chuckled at Marge's flushed and wistful face, "and clean up that mess." Aliya pointed Marge off towards the mop and puddle of brew before starting to fill more glasses. It looked like it was going to be a long night. . . Luckily, Ellen said she would be able to come in and help later into the night. . . Aliya took a deep breath, chuckling a little as her green eyes followed a duo stumbling out into the cooling night air. It was getting late, many of the regulars were leaving now, the noise and merry-making had died down somewhat.
That was that title of this tavern in which she toiled every evening for as long as she wished to remember. It never failed to stay true to it's name. Another mug went flying, spilling brew all over the floor. Aliya's head popped up from behind the counter, glaring at the table of men guffawing, boasting loudly and sloshing their drinks. Drunk pirates.
She cursed, looking to her left, where the tavern owner, plump Mr. Orvell, lay slumbering away in his usual ale-induced coma. She had almost finished sorting out the different currency bills as well! "Shoot." There was never a moment of peace.
Little Marge wasn't going to do anything about it; the girl was huddled in the back corner of the tavern, trying to untangle herself from a rather stout man's large arms. Or was he a dwarf? Stupid girl. She was always getting so close, and flirting so much- Nevermind that. Aliya scolded herself, brushing down the front of her brown skirts to smooth out the creases. Nimble fingers worked the brown tresses that waved down to her lower back into a strict braid. The bodice was another annoying piece of work, cinching in her slim waist and pushing up her breasts. Her pale skin showed too much in these clothes for her comfort. She'd much rather be wearing pants and a heavy, concealing cloak. She did indeed have herself a fine pair of breeches, but they were kept upstairs in her tiny room, folded lovingly amongst her sparse belongings. Belongings she hoped to be packing up soon.
"OI. IF I GOT TO TELL YA ONE MOR' TIME YOU ROWDY MUTTS-!" She yelled above the noise of feasting, jolly men, hands perched on her hips, and a "I dare ye to challenge me" glint in her kohl-lined eyes. A chorus of laughter erupted as mugs were raised in a merry, ale-stupored toast to her, before the racket settled down somewhat.
"That's right. I serve that brew. Don't be waistn' it." Aliya smiled; her teeth bright in the lanter-light and the glow of the big hearth to her left.
The chaos that ensued on the evening of the last work-day was always a grand spectacle. Even more so when the merchant caravans drove through their little town, bringing all sorts of new folk in and out. She could have sworn she had seen an elf in the marketplace this morn. An elf! Wasn't that wonderful? Her grandmother had always said Aliya had some elf blood in her, of how much she wasn't sure. That was enough to spark the girl's desire to travel, and to learn magic. Aliya knew she couldn't stay here, in this dark tavern, seeing so many travelers pass through, yet being unable to follow them. She wanted to go; she needed to go, and she had almost saved up enough to do just that. . . She was nineteen winters after all. Far old enough to set off on her own!
"Mr. Orvell? Sir? It might be more comfortable upstairs in a nice warm bed, don't you agree?" She patted him awake gently, her previous rough, common drawl gone. A refined lilt slipping from pale rouge lips, revealing her education, something she would never let slip in front of brutes like these; "Brutes" being any man who walked in through Pandemonium's big, oak tavern doors and into it's smoky, dim interior. A girl could never be too careful here.
Mr. Orvell snorted awake, grunting until he slid off the bar counter and his stool, shuffling upstairs. Aliya turned and smiled at a rather mussed-up Marge, taking her table's orders and yelling them to the cook.
"Smooth out your hair, love. Don't want customers getting the wrong impression," she chuckled at Marge's flushed and wistful face, "and clean up that mess." Aliya pointed Marge off towards the mop and puddle of brew before starting to fill more glasses. It looked like it was going to be a long night. . . Luckily, Ellen said she would be able to come in and help later into the night. . . Aliya took a deep breath, chuckling a little as her green eyes followed a duo stumbling out into the cooling night air. It was getting late, many of the regulars were leaving now, the noise and merry-making had died down somewhat.