“That is the stalest food I’ve ever had. And I’ve eaten five-week old bread by accident. At least that had fresh mold. You can’t cook, Mirn. Don’t tell me you tried?”
The Drake looked at her old acquaintance. Another Drake leaned on the counter. Mirn, the owner of…this place at this moment, grinned at her. He had an infectious smile, also a scar across his bottom and upper lip.
Their greetings finished, the two Drakes leaned in. Mirn wasn’t exactly circulating the room, waiting on clients. And Onieva noticed most had brought their own food or drinks. Some were chatting together, or finding new people. Cautiously.
Mirn tilted her head, indicating a group of Gnolls and Drakes and a single Garuda dancing wildly in a corner. They were being treated with some forbearance, despite the pub’s clientele differing wildly in ages. But the pop song didn’t bother anyone unduly. In fact—Onieva smiled.
Mirn went sober for a second. He investigated a mug, picking at a bit of something. Onieva checked her mug; Mirn was in theory a [Pub Owner], a [Publican]. In theory, because he didn’t have that class and because his establishment was nothing like Tails and Scales, or even The Wandering Inn.
Mirn went sober for a second. He investigated a mug, picking at a bit of something. Onieva checked her mug; Mirn was in theory a [Pub Owner], a [Publican]. In theory, because he didn’t have that class and because his establishment was nothing like Tails and Scales, or even The Wandering Inn.
“Mirn. I’ve got a lot to tell you. Not just my problems. But have you ever thought of being an actual [Pub Owner]? Or [Innkeeper] or something? Even a [Bartender].”
Mirn nodded. He was dressed in casual clothes, not a [Bartender] or other owner’s distinctive clothing. He could, if needed, disappear into a crowd. Everyone could. Most had come here with some sort of disguise. And some still wore them.
“I have one, Mirn. She’s a good kid. And I was delivering the potion. I met this young Drake. Selys Shivertail. Niece of Zel Shivertail. She was getting tangled up in society with all the rich idiots at The Noble’s Fancy.”
The Drake pulled out a bottle of the stuff and filled a glass. Not a shot glass, or a cute tumbler. A proper drinking glass. Also—not a tiny bit. It was two thirds full and Onieva took the glass and drained half. Mirn winced.
