First Day of Summer (Open)

[Franky]

Thread Title

Searing 1, 121

Franky looked up as the door opened, as the first customers for the evening walked in. A pair of elves, a couple. Not regulars but came in sometimes. The two women walked up to the bar, sitting down, and Franky wiped his hands off on a towel. He smiled at them, "Hello you two. Lyara and Jelena, yes?"
They giggled, "You remembered," Jelena said, surprised. "I do what I can. What'll y'all have today?"

Despite there being no one else in the bar yet, Jelena leaned forward and whispered, "Is it true?"

A teasing grin grew on Franky's face. "Is what true?"

Franky already knew what she was going to say next. Last season he'd written back to his family about it. They'd helped orchestrate the whole affair.

Lyara actually spoke this time, an intense look in her eyes as she leaned forward, "Is Wart Frog playing here tonight?"

Franky's grin grew wider, "Now where would you hear something like that?"

Lyara, not looking amused, "Our friend Roguero was in here two nights ago and overheard you telling that hunter friend of yours."

Franky tried to feign surprise at them figuring him out. But really, he'd been talking about it for two weeks now since he received the confirmation letter. He wanted the rumors to spread among his customers. And it seemed it was working. "Yes. They are upstairs right now, got in early this morning." Lyara slapped the counter top as her face lit up, her hand reaching out to squeeze her wife's hand. "They haven't been in our area since our wedding! We went and saw them on our wedding night!"

Franky, being in such a jovial mood, turned and plucked a bottle of blue liquor from the top shelf and three shot glasses. He tapped them all down in a neat row, plucked the cork out, flicking it into the trash bin across the bar. He carefully poured out the shots, then picked one up, holding it out to before the two women. They each grabbed a shot, and in Goblish, "Hefka." The two women did their best to repeat the throaty Goblish toast, and the three downed their shots. "That bottle's on the house." Then he pointed over to a table that had been moved, clearing some space in front of an unlit fireplace. "You're going to want that table if you want the closest seat." The two women thanked him and ordered some dinner, moving over to the table. Franky had been cooking all morning, and felt confident he had enough food prepared. Though he suspected there would be a lot less eating and lot more drinking tonight.

An hour after the women had come in, the tavern was filling up as people talked about Wart Frog. It pleased Franky to hear them so excited. The all goblin band had a following across the Free States and beyond. They were known for crossing a ton of genres, playing with a lot of energy, and their lead singer, a Grackle woman known as Blondie, had a helluva range. She could screech higher than a fey that stubbed its toe and lower than a Mortallen male during mating.

Franky was passing out drinks left and right and his belief on the food was being quickly confirmed. There was going to be a lot more drinking this evening. A good, lively crowd. The band wouldn't be down for another hour, and Franky was all smiles as he served drinks, took empties, cleaned and poured and on the rare occasion, fetched some of the spit roasted pig and mashed potatoes for a customer.

Franky wanted to start Searing off with a bang, and this was just as good as anything he could've hoped for.

[Jane Farraway]

Searing 1st, 121. The Hobbled Gobbler, Zaichaer.

Searing was in full swing. Jane thought as much as she walked along a humid street in the East End of Zaichaer, fanning herself with the stack of resumes she had written the day before. It was about all they were good for, having been rejected by most businesses with whom she had applied. Not hiring. No experience. It was the same story over and over again, yet she could not help but worry if there was something more to it. The Farraway name, though sunken into obscurity, still had weight among those who knew it, particularly the less than flattering history. She frowned at the thought, wiping away a sweaty lock of hair from her forehead.

The young woman had been walking all day and had sweat through her underclothes. Her best blouse, worn to impress, was uncomfortably damp and she tried to wick away the moisture with as much discretion as she could manage. Just as she was about to head back, she noticed the sign to what appeared to be a tavern. The Hobbled Gobbler. A picture of an intoxicated rooster with a chained leg graced the sign. Jane flipped through the business registry she had been referring to and looked for the name. Finding it absent, she assumed it was new. A notice attached to a board next to the door caught her attention. “Help wanted: Servers, Bartenders, Cooks, Housekeepers, and Entertainers”. She watched with no small concern as rowdy group of humans covered in coal dust walked through the door, laughing at some dirty joke. Jane knew she was in no position to be picky, remembering the debt she and her mother had accrued from Glade. With some hesitation, she pushed open the rough door and entered.

The building was refreshingly cool and dimly lit, well insulated against the lingering evening heat. In this she took some small relief before the pungent smell of tobacco smoke mixed with cloves caught her attention. Jane's heart jumped as she saw the source. There was a Lysanrin woman with ashen skin and yellow eyes quietly smoking a cigarette at one of the tables. She appeared to be wearing armor and had an oversized backpack at her feet, seemingly a traveler. A thick accent confirmed this as she addressed Jane, noticing the young human woman staring at her.

“What do you want?”, the Lysanrin asked contemptuously, blowing a cloud of smoke.

Jane stammered for a moment before answering, “Ah, apologies, I thought you were someone I knew”.

There was no way that this horned woman resembled anyone that she knew. In fact, she had never seen a Lysanrin before in her life. Jane's stomach churned at the sight of her monstrous appearance and the woman rolled her yellow eyes, having no patience for the gutless lies of a stranger. The human girl nervously smiled before turning away, clutching her purse tightly. It was clear she was in the wrong tavern. As she turned to walk out the door, a duo of Grackles, nearly identical at least to her eyes, stepped in her path. They were covered in filth, as though they had been crawling through some narrow sewer all day, and were clearly drunk. Jane let out a sharp yelp at the wretched sight of them and swayed as if to swoon from shock.

“Where ya goin', schweetie feeties?”, one of them slurred miserably. Whether it's strange cadence was natural or the result of intoxication was beyond Jane's knowlodge. It took a long, deep whiff through a large nose that crackled with mucus.

“Yeh, ya fink yur too goode ta dwink heya? C'mon, deres uh band to-nyte! Da best band!”, the other said. It pulled at the fabric of her long skirt roughly.

Meanwhile, the other Grackle began to fiddle with the laces of her shoes. Jane grimaced and began to shake out her foot.

“Ah! No, no—none of that now, please!”, she said with no small distress. She briefly fought against the drunken Grackle as it tried to slip off her shoe before it stumbled back and caught her foot in the gut. Jane recoiled, not meaning to kick the little creature with such force, and watched as the goblin leaned over, clutching its stomach.

“Uuuughhhh, muh tummmmie....”, it groaned. The Grackle's friend laughed raucously at the pain of it's companion, gibbering in a hideous language that Jane hoped to never understand.

Jane looked up and locked eyes with a fellow from behind the bar counter. He appeared to be the only staff on the floor, if not the owner. To her he seemed to be an Orkhan, but the idea of an Orkhan business owner in Zaichaer was unthinkably absurd. Where was the Order of Reconciliations in all of this? Regardless, she felt obliged to address him. As she made her way through the growing crowd, she began to slowly realize that as a human she was in the minority at this place. The desire to run back out the door was nagging, but she feared what ire she might incur if she insulted anyone here. The "Help Wanted" sign flashed in her mind. She was in no position to be picky.

Jane sat down at the bar and smiled timidly, placing her resumes face down on the counter. It did not seem like the time to bring up the inquiry just yet.

"Hello, something cold please, sir", she waved at the burly green man. A quick drink and she would return at quieter time. Maybe.

[Franky]

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Franky heard the request for something cold, grinning. He looked up, and his suspicion was instantly confirmed. A human. They always wanted their drinks cold. She was definitely new to this place, most humans avoided it like the plague, so he had a knack for remembering the few who stopped in, and the even more rare ones that returned again. "Sure thing. Though no need to call me, 'sir', we ain't in the army here."

Franky leaned under the bar, reaching into one of his ice boxes there, grabbing an iced wine he'd gotten from a rowdy bunch of Moratallen last season. Apparently they had grapes that grew on the mountains and would freeze there, and that's when they turned them to wine. Though if their jesting was true, they had kidnapped a few humans to create the bottling process.

He grabbed a chilled glass from the shelf inside the cooler, setting it before the woman, carefully avoiding a stack of papers. That was a first. He'd never seen anyone bother to bring documents in here before. They'd almost surely get ruined or lost. Grabbing the cork screw, he quickly got the cork out, holding it up, smelling it. In a whisper, not really for the woman's own hearing, but not avoiding her either, "One for the Everwild." He tossed it across the bar, watching it bounce into a barrel with many other corks. He set the bottle next to the glass, "We'll need to air it out for a bit. Let it breathe. It gets a bit sweeter that way."

He stepped away quickly to fill a few more flagons, dropping empties into the cleaning sink, but always keeping a check on the time in his head. And just when there was enough time passed, he was back at the young woman. He grabbed her bottle, and filled her cup to an appropriate level, which was lower than he normally poured, but young, human women don't often come to his bar.

"You here for the show? I don't believe I've seen you in here before."

Almost on cue, there was a loud shout as a large hobgoblin could be seen carrying a chest full of drums coming down the steps off to Jane's left. Franky smiled, watching Jerky carry the drums over to the designated space, setting them up around the stool he'd also managed to somehow carry. The man made no acknowledgement of the fans that were clamoring around him, before walking back up the stairs. The crowd became even louder, buzzing with excitement as they spoke wildly to one another. Those who were familiar with the group knew Jerky wouldn't speak to any of them, and were explaining to their less experienced friends as to why, as well as various fan theories.

Franky began washing some flagons there before Jane, a practice done so many times, he didn't even have to cast his eyes downward. "It's gonna be a wild night. I don't think I've had a crowd this big and loud yet since I opened last season. How's that wine treatin' ya?"

[Jane Farraway]

Searing 1st, 121. The Hobbled Gobbler, Zaichaer

Jane was taken aback for a moment at his response and felt even more out of place. It looked as though it'd be best to forget her manners here. She smiled sheepishly and her laced her fingers together.

“Sorry, force of habit. How shall I address you?”, she asked, more formally than she intended.

She watched as the imposing bartender rushed up and down the bar in a constant flurry of motion to keep up with the ever growing crowd as they shuffled up for food and drinks. The air was humid from all the warm bodies surrounding her and Jane felt slightly unnerved as they closed in, arms reaching across her as they set down empty flagons to snatch up full ones. The bartender opened a frosty bottle of dark red wine and seemed to say something as he smelled the cork, but it was lost to Jane in the din of voices surrounding them. Despite the hurry, the bartender left the chilled bottle of wine to breathe. Jane pursed her lips. She was more than familiar with the practice and was slightly put off to be lectured on wine by such a man, especially one than kept red wine chilled. It might have been pretentious, but he lacked any sort of haughty airs, so at the very least it seemed to be out of a genuine standard of service. Still, it would have breathed better in a glass, she thought.

“No worries, good things are worth waiting for”, she smiled as he rushed off to serve other patrons. Jane could not help but be impressed at the Hobgoblin's ability to juggle the needs of so many, but she could tell that it was still something of a challenge. Finally, he poured out a modest serving of the chilled wine which gave off a foggy mist that rose to the lip of the glass.Definitely something cold, Jane noted. She nodded in appreciation and took a modest sip. It was sweet, savory, and strong. Very strong. This wine was nothing like she had before and she assumed that it must be of some foreign variety. She held back a cough and took a deeper drink before touching the cold glass to her forehead with some relief.

“Oh, this is what I needed. I've been out all day...”, She was so absorbed with relief that she almost didn't hear the question directed at her and it took a few seconds for her to realize she was being spoken to.

“Oh! Well—no, I had no idea. I only just heard about it as I was coming in. And you're right, this is my first time here. I noticed that your bar wasn't in the registry and was curious. It helps too that it was so dreadfully hot today,” Jane took another drink, nearly emptying her glass. She was thirstier than she thought.

A sudden and thunderous cheer startled her, jolting her as she held the glass to her lips and causing her to spill the last of her wine onto her blouse. She didn't notice this as she was too absorbed with the sight of a hulking man, another Orkhan she assumed, carrying a heavy load so great that it made the wooden stairs beneath him creak. Cries of frenzied adoration called out for his attention, creating a wall of sound that hit Jane palpably. Her ears were already beginning to ring. The bartender's comment on the crowd almost seemed like an understatement and she gave a short laugh, the wine tinting her humor.

She quietly marveled as clean flagons seemingly manifested out from the bartender's practiced hands, “Certainly so, yes. You already look quite busy. If you don't mind me asking, is it just you here?”

His need for staff was apparent bordering on urgent, but Jane was still hesitant. Between what little was left of her pride and the reservations she had as a human, she did not want to appear desperate. She perked up, however, at the mention of the wine and pushed up her glasses.

“Quite nicely, truly fantastic, I must admit. A striking profile and very strong, nothing like I've had before!”, Jane looked down at her empty glass and noticed the fresh red stain on her blouse, “Though I appear to be wearing the rest of it...”.

She inspected the fabric with some annoyance before feeling her resumes being pulled out from under her elbow. She looked down with a start and realized that a group of drunk Grackles were eating them enthusiastically. One of them looked up at Franky and spoke in Goblish.

“Ey, Franky, this crispy flatbread is fuckin' incredible. You need to put out some more!”

“Yeah!”, the others cheered, reaching out for the rest with their grubby fingies. A few tipsy people craned their heads over at them, curious and hungry.

Before Jane had time to react, all of her resumes had been snatched away and devoured. She recalled the hours she had spent drafting them and tears nearly welled to her eyes, but she fought them back as she placed a handful of silvers on the counter and poured herself out a fresh glass of wine.

“I'm sorry, it's been a long day.”, she sighed and took a long drink.

[Franky]

Thread Title

Time Stamp

Franky was more than well versed at the art of speaking in delayed and staggered conversations. It was common and expected for bartenders. He had been paying close attention to every word that this human woman had said, just as he would for anyone speaking to him while at the bar. He also had seen the Grackles eat the papers the woman had brought with her, and he saw the look in her eyes, as brief as it was before she composed herself. As she poured her wine, Franky spoke in a booming voice, in Goblish, bellowed in the way that only a true hobgoblin can do.

"All of you rats that ate the crisp bread, front and center or you'll wish you were the King's footsuckers."

It was a harsh sound to those who didn't know Goblish, but especially full of venom for those who did. The offending Grackles came around, standing off to Jane's right, all a bit inebriated, refusing to look up at the angry Hobgoblin. They knew their place in the goblin society, they were all from the Imperium as well.

"That crisp bread was not yours. Apologize, in Common, to this woman. Now. Then leave tribute to her, and to our King, and go back about your business."

The Grackles were shuffling among themselves nervously, reaching into their small coin pouches, discussing how much was a fair price. They climbed the stools next to Jane, looking up at her, and in a squeaky chorus that showed that these particular friends had had to apologize en masse previously, "We sorry lady for takin' yous bread. Was deleeshus, yousa like it." They, sat a stack of silvers before her, and taking an extra silver, throwing it through the crowded room, watching it bounce across feet, and rolling about, before slipping into a crack in the floorboards. They all nodded, seeing that the Goblin King had accepted their tribute.

They all climbed back down the stools, disappearing back into the crowd.

Franky turned to the woman, "You certainly have nothing to apologize for. I'm sorry about all that, Grackles ain't known for their manners. And my own have been lacking too. You may call me Franky, everyone does. What may I call you?" Then continuing onto the other things she'd asked, "You're observant," he said with a teasing smile, "Yes, it's just me here. Second season here and it seems word spread quickly here through the Knob. Tough to keep up well, that's for sure."

Franky pushed her offered silvers back towards her, "That bottle's on me. What were those papers, if you don't mind my asking. Funnily enough, the only other person to come in with an armload of papers was the small slip of a man in glasses bringing the paperwork to register my business and collect the taxes. That was weeks ago, Zaichaer doesn't seem to be quite as efficient as the Imperium with paperwork, that seems." Then he snorted, "Or maybe he just didn't like the cut of my jib and is dragging his feet on purpose."

That was when the crowd went absolutely wild, making any more conversation momentarily impossible, for all the members of Wartfrog were now descending the stairs, with the curvaceous Blondie leading the way, in an especially skimpy two piece that didn't leave much to the imagination, followed by the ever silent and stoic Jerky, wearing the same belt, kilt, and bracers he always wore in performance. Then came Dedrick, in a flashy red tailored suit, with a tri-corn hat with a large blue feather out of it, carrying his famous lute, waving and smiling at the crowd. Pulling up the rear was Vermula, in a modest blouse and tighter, knee length skirt, and a few different cases for her instruments.

A path was cleared for the band as they reached their small stage area, and Blondie held out her hands, and the room went dead silent. In her gravelly speaking voice, "Thank you, all of you, for coming to our first performance in Zaichaer! You all are amazing and we couldn't be here without you! But first..." She pointed at Franky, beckoning him to come to her. Franky chuckled, and excused himself from Jane, cutting through the crowd.

"Franky, thank you for inviting us to your beautiful tavern! I hope we don't tear it up," she smiled devilishly, "Too much..." She then stepped close, putting an arm around Franky's stomach, "You can pick our first song, Franky."

Franky already knew what he would choose. One of his favorite songs from around the soldier campfires in the Imperium. A grin crossed his severe face, "Loreley." A cheer passed through the tavern, and Blondie was smirking, as she nodded in agreement. As Franky turned to go back to his bar, he felt her hand slide off his waist and pinch his ass, hard, before she turned away, a sneaky look in her eyes. And she began tapping the fast paced count on her feet, as Jerky began the intro on his drums, soon joined by the lute.

And then Blondie began softly, almost demurely and innocent.

"Merrily we sailed along
Though the waves were plenty strong
Down the twisting river Khine
Following a song

Legend's faded storyline
Tried to warn us all
Oh, they called her: "Loreley
Careful or you'll fall"

Then she began to pick up tempo and strength of her voice, which would continue through the entirety of the song.

Oh, the stories we were told
Quite a vision to behold
Mysteries of the seas
In her eyes of gold

Laying on the silver stone
Such a lonely sight
Barnacles become a throne
My poor Loreley

And the winds would cry
And many men would die
And all the waves would bow down
To the Loreley

And the winds would cry
And many men would die
And all the waves would bow down
To the Loreley
You would not believe your eyes
How a voice could hypnotize
Promises are only lies
From Loreley

In a shade of mossy green
Seashell in her hand
She was born the river queen
Ne'er to grace the land

And the winds would cry
And many men would die
And all the waves would bow down
To the Loreley

And the winds would cry
And many men would die
And all the waves would bow down
To the Loreley

Oh, the song of Loreley
Charms the moon right from the sky
She will get inside your mind
Lovely Loreley

When she cries: "Be with me
Until the end of time"
You know you will ever be
With your Loreley
And the winds would cry
And many men would die
And all the waves would bow down
To the Loreley

And the winds would cry
And many men would die
And all the waves would bow down
To the Loreley

And the winds would cry
And many men would die
And all the waves would bow down
To the Loreley

And the winds would cry
And many men would die
And all the waves would bow down
To the Loreley


By the end of the song, the entire tavern was singing along with her, yet Blondie's voice, unaided, still rang out louder than all of them. Franky had been using the time to quickly refill and clean a bunch of the flagons, prepping them for the onslaught of orders that would be coming when the first song ended. And as he did, he was singing along in his deep tenor as well.

And once the final Loreley was belted out, there were massive cheers, and coins were filling the tip bucket at the front of the informal stage. Then came the rush of refills of beer, and Franky's arms were a blur as he took coins and gave beers. Eventually it calmed down, as Blondie began a softer song, a duet with Dedrick on his lute.

Taking a moment to breathe, Franky wiped his brow with his sweat rag, smiling tiredly at Jane. "Gonna be a long night too, if you stick around for the whole show. I recommend it. Ain't a person in this land with a voice like Blondie there."

[Jane Farraway]

Searing 1st, 121. The Hobbled Gobbler, Zaichaer

The severe tone of the strange language that Franky spoke gave Jane a scare and she gripped the edge of the bar. She relaxed as she saw that it was directed at the group of Grackles that had eaten her resumes. They looked down like scolded children, but one held an expression that was almost impudent. It was one of the little twins that had accosted her when she arrived.

“Footsucker? Maybe for the Queen, if ya know what I mean”, he rebuked slyly, elbowing his brother.

The other Grackle swiftly smacked him in the mouth, “Will you shut up about feet for once in your miserable life?!”

They all fell in line at Franky's command, offering random handfuls of coins and other trinkets. Among what she could recognize there was a small brass bell, a pearl earring, and an ivory cigarette filter. She nodded briskly at their apologies, only wishing that they would leave sooner. Tossing a coin into the crowd, they left, puzzling Jane as to the significance behind such a gesture.

Feeling grateful and somewhat endeared by Franky's generosity, she loosely waved her hand as he apologized for the Grackle's behavior.

“Oh, no need, Franky, no need. You can't be expected to account for everyone, though it is much appreciated. And for as me, I'm Millie. Lovely meeting you.”, she said with a nod.

Not exactly a lie, Jane thought to herself, though she hadn't been called Millie since she was nine. Still, the thought of using her real name in such a place did not sit easy with her, lest word spread that the Farraway daughter was gallivanting in deviant bars.

She listened as Franky spoke about running the bar by himself and his success despite the challenge. There was pride in his voice, but it was frayed by a subtle edge of fatigue. Skill and experience could only go so far. He mentioned the officer that had tried to register his business and she let out a snort of laughter through her drink. She could only imagine what the State thought of such an establishment. The wine was beginning to get to her, but she was not about to let it betray her sentiments, especially when the bottle was given to her for free. She thanked Franky and collected herself.

“Dreadful! It is such a pain to deal with State when there's anything to be done. I can assure you that most businesses experience the same. Coin and clout grease the wheels of Zaichaer and when you're lacking in either you can expect an indefinite delay. Regardless, I'd say you've done quite well without their endorsement.”

Jane took a deep drink and refilled her glass, “As for my papers well—they were resumes. Not that they did much good; I had been job hunting all day and only two businesses I spoke with took one, though I suspect they were just being polite. I did noti--”

Her voice was smothered by a sudden eruption of applause from the crowd as the band, this so-called Warthog, appeared on stage. Jane blinked, unsure of how to process these grotesque humanoid creatures. They were like sick caricatures of a proper band. The whorish one called Blondie flirted shamelessly with Franky, who did not seem to mind her brazen advances. Jane grimaced and started to have second thoughts about working at a place that endorsed such behavior.

The music, however, quickly made her forget her biases for a brief moment It was lively but wistful, enrapturing the entire bar in a jaunty melody. The crowd sung off key and danced without form. There was no pressure to impress, no standard to uphold, only the sheer joy of music and good company. Jane swung her feet to the rhythm and swayed in her seat. This was a freedom she never had at any Zaichaeri function. She clapped along with the others and felt, for the first time since leaving Haqs, that she was truly welcome.

The Grackles from before were back and pulled at the hem of her skirt, gibbering about a dance. A mischievous sense of spite nurtured by wine lead her to roughly take one by his little hand. She took a drink straight from the bottle and swung the Grackle in circles, lifting him off his feet to both his terror and delight. She let go, sending him flying over the crowd and landing on a table, tipping it over and flinging ale into the air. Jane could not help but laugh, as did others who saw, but like the Grackle she too was whisked away in a dance. A Hytori man had caught hold of her and twirled her about in a frenzied waltz. He grabbed her bottle and took a deep drink, but sputtered and coughed as more poured out than expected. She pushed him away to avoid being spat on, but with little success. The elf reddened, thrust the bottle back into her hand, and slurred an apology before stumbling back to his jeering friends.

Jane, shaken and her front drenched with wine, sat back down at the bar and took the last sip from the bottle, clumsily placing it back on the counter. Franky was again a flurry of motion as he washed and refilled flagons. Hungry mouths demanded food, their appetites stoked by alcohol. By the time they were all satisfied, Franky seemed winded. While he enjoyed his work, it was clearly taking its toll, and he commented on the long night ahead.

“Ah—yes, but it does not need to be”, Jane said, standing up with unbalanced conviction, “You need help and I need a job. Perhaps I am not the best you could hope for, but I hope to give it my best. That I can promise, sir!”. She would not remember saying any of this and would be grateful that she did not.

Fueled by the sheer, unyielding power of alcohol, she staggered around from table to table, collecting empty flagons and placing them on the bar. People from the back noticed her “working” and yelled for more ale, to which she gave a pitiful curtsy. Jane relayed this to Franky and then pondered over the large puddle of wine the Hytori had made, thinking of how she could clean it up.

[Franky]

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Franky watched Millie take the hand of a Grackle, clearly emboldened as the lady took a swig from her bottle. He was still busy, but his mind began working. She was looking for a job, had been turned down previously. He was not her first choice, nor would she be his. However, she did have the bravery to come in here, despite being a human woman, and despite coming from some form of money, if both her dress, her manners, and the extra pounds of flesh were any indication.

And that counted for a lot in Franky's mind. It was something he would chew on while continuing through the automatic repetition of his work. So while he worked, he kept half an eye on her. He smirked as she tossed the Grackle about, as the Hytori spat all upon her front, and as she returned to the bar.

And then she spoke with a boldness that stretched a smile across Franky's worn face. He had to stifle a laugh at her use of 'sir'. She was quite drunk, which meant she truly was being genuine about the words she was sputtering. And then she was off, making a show of getting to work. Franky paused in his machinations, and watched her directly. And when people were hollering at him for drinks, getting rowdy, he held up a scarred hand, and they waited. He heard her call for more ale and he quickly filled up a tray with the flagons. It would be heavy, not the easiest for a first timer.

He whistled shrilly at her, a piercing cry that he'd used to cut through battlefields in his past, seeing her worrying over a puddle. "Don't worry about cleaning. That's for the end of the night. Here's your tray."

And with that, he left her to her work, as he went to appease the drunks he'd left waiting. Over the next hour, the band launched into song after song, intermingling songs everyone knew, followed by some of their own. Their tips bucket was overflowing and Franky brought out a second for them. He'd kept the occasional eye on Millie, making sure no one overstepped their bounds, but also watching her reaction for when they did. Being a barmaid was a test in survival of the fittest, and it was by no means easy.

She seemed to want this, so he needed to see if she could handle it, good and bad. He replaced her empty bottle with a simple, watered down grape juice. She'd appreciate it in the morning, that much he knew. She didn't need more booze in her system.

[Jane Farraway]

Searing 1st, 121. The Hobbled Gobbler, Zaichaer

As soon as Jane was handed the tray, a dozen thirsty hands shot into the air to hail her down for service. It was then, as she wove through the tables, collecting empty glasses and taking slurred orders, that she had no earthly idea of what she was doing. She became aware of how miserably drunk she was and took slow, deep breaths to steady herself. The best she could do was smile and carry on, half wondering what she had gotten herself into.

Thankfully the crowd was more occupied with the band than ordering during their set so she took that time to bus their tables, awkwardly carrying her tray, heavy with stacks of clinking glasses, back to the bar. Too late she learned not to pile them up too high as a few fell to the ground, some chipping or breaking into large pieces. She grimaced and looked up to see Franky's eyes on her. Carefully bending down, she gingerly picked up the broken glasses and placed them on the counter.

“Sorry, I'll replace these later!”, Jane shouted over the blaring music. A Grackle sitting at the bar grabbed a shard of broken glass and began to chew it like a piece of hard candy, not minding the red saliva gathering at her lips. The sight of it made Jane grow faint and she quickly retreated with her empty tray. At least it wouldn't be a complete waste.

A group of rather rough looking laborers had been leering at Jane as she worked, talking amongst themselves and growing more bold with every drink. Jane, putting all her focus into overcoming her drunkenness, was so occupied with balancing glasses and trying to remember orders that she did not pay them any mind. At one point she stopped near their table due to a miserably drunk Grackle tugging roughly at her skirt, attempting to ask her something.

“Piggled Yeggs...”, the creature slurred miserably.

“I'm sorry, could you repeat yourself?”, Jane asked, staggering slightly as she bent down to hear him better.

“I wan---PIC-KULLED EGGS!!”, he shouted, losing grip of her skirt and falling backwards.

One of the labors, an Orkhan wearing the garb of Grungeworker, saw Jane bend over and shot a smirk to his friends.

“Hey, girlie, how much to tap that keg there?”, the laborer said, throwing his hand out to smack her posterior.

Just as he did, Jane knelt down to tend to the Grackle, his fingers only swatting her ponytail, flipping it upwards. She grabbed it in shock and turned around, assuming he was only trying to get her attention, albeit in a rather rude way.

“To tap a keg? Oh—well, I'll have to ask”, she answered, clueless. With that she hefted the unconscious Grackle onto her tray and teetered back to the bar. The Orkhan cracked a confused smile while his friends laughed and elbowed him.

Jane struggled with the tray and let it drop on the counter, breathing out a sigh of relief. This kind of hard work was not something she was accustomed to and if she were sober her arms would have ached miserably. She pushed back her bangs, messy and dark with sweat.

“Franky—tho-those gentleman want to tap a keg. I suppose they want to buy one for themselves? I don't know what to tell them. Also we have, um—this—little—uh”.

She rolled the Grackle off the tray, his tongue lolling out. He burped and a globule of thick spittle splattered onto the bar.

The sight of it made her reel with nausea but she was able to hold it down, at least for the moment. She excused herself, saying she had to help more guests, in order to put some distance between herself and the stinking little drunkard.

[Franky]

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Franky had to try hard to not laugh loudly at the keg joke that Millie seemed to have missed entirely. A cheeky smirk on his face, "They do not wish to tap a keg, not in the tavernly sense it seems. And I know they can't afford it anyways. Just uh.. be mindful when around that lot." He wasn't about to burst her bubble. The innocently naïve was a rarity in these parts. No need to ruin it prematurely.

As for the Grackle, he sighed. "I'll deal with this one. You keep at it out there, you're doing well so far."

Franky waited for Millie to leave the bar, and he flicked the Grackle hard in the nose, "Clean your shit up. I saw you pull this trick last week." The little goblin yelped and hopped up, rubbing at its nose. "I's jus' wanted a kissie from the curvy 'uman."

Franky threw a dirty rag at the goblin, "Then ask her next time. She's a nice girl."

The grackle cleaned up its mess from the bar, grumbling all the while, before hopping off the bar and disappearing into the crowd again. A few more hours went by and eventually the band faded the music down, drawing their performance to a close. Jerky made his way back upstairs with the band's instruments, while Blondie, Dedrick, and Vermula all made their way to the bar.

The trio looked tired, but content, and Franky poured them all some of his highest quality brew. "Hungry?" They shook their heads, too busy drinking down the first round. Franky took many more orders, as people ordered many a drink for the band members. He kept a running tally, knowing that they would never be able to drink them all. He'd split the difference with them in the morning.

The crowd began to thin out now that the show was over. After all, many of the people here needed to work in the morning. As it did, Franky continued to watch Millie work, as Blondie purred at him. "You've had eyes on her all night. If you're trying to make me jealous, it's working."

Franky smirked, "I wouldn't dare do that to you. Might have every person in here after my hide." He continued to clean mug after mug, "But I think I'll hire her on. She's certainly got enthusiasm, plus not exactly a big line trying to show up to work here."

Blondie leaned forward across the bar, "Good... Though she's going to need to update her wardrobe if she wants to do well here. She might be the most modestly dressed barmaid I've seen."

Franky chuckled, "Noted."

As it began to slow down even more, Franky waved to get Millie's attention, "If anyone passes out here, leave them be. I'll collect the overnight debt from them later. When you're done, I'll give you your day's pay. I'm going to clean up back here and in the kitchen."

[Jane Farraway]

Searing 1st, 121. The Hobbled Gobbler, Zaichaer

Jane's cheeks turned a bright red, partly from embarrassment, partly from offense, as she realized the innuendo. She looked back at the table of roughnecks, but their attention was conspicuously focused on the band as they came under Franky's gaze. Jane twisted around and looked down at her own rear. It most certainly was not keg-like in the slightest, she thought indignantly.

“I see. Thank you for the warning”, she said in response. She pushed down her wounded pride and continued to make her rounds.

Empty tables were cluttered with dirty flagons and half eaten food, some with drunks slumped over in the chairs or snoozing underneath. Jane wrinkled her nose with disgust, picking up the mess around them and doing her best to avoid touching them. Her own drunkenness was beginning to get the best of her and she buckled under the nausea she had been fighting entire evening. It was the sour, acrid stench of a particularly ripe grungeworker that sent her over the edge. Jane crawled beneath the table under the pretense of picking up a dropped glass and vomited into an empty flagon, stifling her retching under the music.

This is what she had been reduced to, Jane thought to herself. Stone drunk, surrounded by vile, licentious low breeds, and vomiting beneath a table in what might be the seediest bar in all of Zaichaer. This was not what she had expected, or wanted, from her life. She thought of all the things we would rather, and should, be doing aside from being here. Pained tears mixed with regurgitated wine. With the last of her vomit went this self-pity and she dabbed at her eyes with her soiled sleeves, savoring the relief.

A fat Grackle approached her from under the table and looked at the full flagon hungrily. “You gonna finish that?”, he asked. The very question almost pulled more bile from her stomach.

“By the Brass, just take it, “, Jane sighed, shoving it into his greedy little hands. If these goblin creatures were good for anything it was cleaning up messes, though perhaps “consuming”would be more appropriate.

The thinning crowd gave some reprieve and she no longer felt like she was being pulled in dozens of different directions at once. Thankfully their orders had been simple and most were so entranced by the band, particularly the whorish singer, that they did not notice or mind when their orders were forgotten or incorrect. Some seemed to have understood that she was “new” and were patient, happy that there was finally another pair of hands to help out at the Hobbled Gobbler. Jane had overheard assumed regulars comment “About time Franky hired someone”, giving her a strange sense of pride, which surprised her. Outside of odd jobs at her grandparents' farm, she had never held employment before. Societal obligations felt like a chore at times but she hesitated to call that actual work.

Most of the stragglers had stumbled out the door, leaving the bar almost completely empty—save for the drunks, Warthog, and of course—Franky. Jane wiped the sweat from her face, feeling completely soaked. She sorely looked forward to a bath. She hesitated, somewhat intimidated by the goblinoid band, before approaching Franky at the bar and setting down her tray the rest of the glasses she had collected.

The blond goblin grinned and withdrew a silver piece from her top. How she stored anything in something so small was a complete mystery

“Not bad for your first night, babe”, Blondie said, tossing Jane the coin. It landed just over her high collar and slipped down the inside her shirt. Jane gasped and clapped her hand over chest, catching the coin through her clothes.

“How--?!”

“I've played WAY too many games of Coppers”, the goblin lady replied, taking out another coin and smoothly bouncing it off the bar and into her ale. She downed the flagon in one gulp and held the copper piece in her mouth, winking at Franky.

At this point in the night, Jane was too tired to be shaken, but it did remind her of all the other coins she had received that night. She reached into one of her skirt pockets and felt the same cache of coppers she had acquired that evening. It wasn't much, but every bit counted.

Jane nodded as Franky talked and she collected towels from behind the bar. He mentioned her pay and she perked up.

“Oh thank you! Let me know if you need any help in the kitchen!”, She turned briskly around, ready to finish out the night, before stopping, her face pensive.

“So—does this mean I'm hired?”