Thread Title 
It was coming up on lunch time and the Hobbled Gobbler was surprisingly quiet. Typically there would be a small lunch crowd right now, but today there was a sign on the door, stating that the Hobbled Gobbler was closed for an extended lunch and would open in a few hours. Franky had already checked in with any of his overnights and tended to their needs. There would be no interruptions for this lunch.
A knock came on the back door, and there was a nervous looking human boy, one who was almost an adult. "This is the Hobbled Gobbler, yes? I have your delivery." Franky, there in his cleaned and pressed day suit, smiled at the young man. "You have my receipt?" The boy nodded, "Yes, it's inside there." Franky nodded in return, his smile growing broader and toothy, "How much do you get tipped up in West End?"
"S-sir?" The boy stammered.
"When you deliver to a home in West End, how much of a tip do they give you?"
The boy was clearly made uncomfortable by the question, but Franky stood there with his posture relaxed, his arms open, "Um... 3-4 silvers. Once a gold, but he was drunk."
Franky's broad grin twisted into a smug smirk, "And what's your name, lad?"
"Orville."
Franky grabbed the coin purse that he had tied to his belt. Anyone who knew him knew he never carried his pouch there, but he had hung it there explicitly for this transaction. "Well, Orville, you came exactly on time. I've heard nothing but good things about the food from your family's restaurant, and you're a very polite, friendly young man." Franky opened up the coin pouch, plucking two, three, four gold coins at which he paused. He put on a face like he was thinking hard about something, weighing some options, before grabbing a fifth. He handed them to the boy, "Keep up the good work, lad."
The boy's face paled and his eyes grew wide at the amount of coins he was being handed. "Th-th-thanks Mr. Franky."
Franky nodded at the boy, taking the two large baskets he offered up. "Have a good day, lad."
The boy was practically skipping down the back alley, "You too, Mr. Franky."
Franky carried the baskets through the kitchen and out into the bar. He began unloading the wrapped food, presenting it an a neat arrangement at the table whose flatware had already been laid out. Today he was having the first business meeting of his establishment, and it was with his only employee, Millie. She'd worked for him for nearly a season now, and he wished to have this meeting now. To do things right, and to show his gratitude for all of her hard work.
Franky had caught subtle glimpses that she was conflicted at working here. And he figured it was probably because she was a Zaichaer born human. He knew where the status lines were drawn. So Franky had asked around, what was the nicest restaurant that also delivered food. It took a lot of ear bending and searching, but soon he found one, one who catered wide through West End. Apparently it was a bit of a guilty pleasure for nobles. It wasn't too expensive, but it was considered really high end Zaichaerian home-style food.
And so, Franky was wearing his best, was well washed and groomed, had the bar even cleaner than Millie had left it last night. And he waited for Millie to arrive. The food was covered, but he knew there was a honey glazed, Zaichaerian ham, mashed potatoes, some sort of creamy green bean casserole, a seasonal fruit salad in cream, a roasted blend of seasonal vegetables, and a strawberry rhubarb pie. Franky kept a bucket of ice with two bottles of cider on a side table.
Now, he just waited for Millie to show up. He had told her before hand about this meeting, and that he would be shutting the bar down for it and that he would provide the meal. He found himself in a surprisingly good mood and really looking forward to this. It was a momentous occasion for his little business. Franky walked behind the bar, grabbing a bottle of mead from the chiller, ripped the cork out, and sipped at it, leaning against the bar.
Today was a good day.
Ash 1, 121
It was coming up on lunch time and the Hobbled Gobbler was surprisingly quiet. Typically there would be a small lunch crowd right now, but today there was a sign on the door, stating that the Hobbled Gobbler was closed for an extended lunch and would open in a few hours. Franky had already checked in with any of his overnights and tended to their needs. There would be no interruptions for this lunch.
A knock came on the back door, and there was a nervous looking human boy, one who was almost an adult. "This is the Hobbled Gobbler, yes? I have your delivery." Franky, there in his cleaned and pressed day suit, smiled at the young man. "You have my receipt?" The boy nodded, "Yes, it's inside there." Franky nodded in return, his smile growing broader and toothy, "How much do you get tipped up in West End?"
"S-sir?" The boy stammered.
"When you deliver to a home in West End, how much of a tip do they give you?"
The boy was clearly made uncomfortable by the question, but Franky stood there with his posture relaxed, his arms open, "Um... 3-4 silvers. Once a gold, but he was drunk."
Franky's broad grin twisted into a smug smirk, "And what's your name, lad?"
"Orville."
Franky grabbed the coin purse that he had tied to his belt. Anyone who knew him knew he never carried his pouch there, but he had hung it there explicitly for this transaction. "Well, Orville, you came exactly on time. I've heard nothing but good things about the food from your family's restaurant, and you're a very polite, friendly young man." Franky opened up the coin pouch, plucking two, three, four gold coins at which he paused. He put on a face like he was thinking hard about something, weighing some options, before grabbing a fifth. He handed them to the boy, "Keep up the good work, lad."
The boy's face paled and his eyes grew wide at the amount of coins he was being handed. "Th-th-thanks Mr. Franky."
Franky nodded at the boy, taking the two large baskets he offered up. "Have a good day, lad."
The boy was practically skipping down the back alley, "You too, Mr. Franky."
Franky carried the baskets through the kitchen and out into the bar. He began unloading the wrapped food, presenting it an a neat arrangement at the table whose flatware had already been laid out. Today he was having the first business meeting of his establishment, and it was with his only employee, Millie. She'd worked for him for nearly a season now, and he wished to have this meeting now. To do things right, and to show his gratitude for all of her hard work.
Franky had caught subtle glimpses that she was conflicted at working here. And he figured it was probably because she was a Zaichaer born human. He knew where the status lines were drawn. So Franky had asked around, what was the nicest restaurant that also delivered food. It took a lot of ear bending and searching, but soon he found one, one who catered wide through West End. Apparently it was a bit of a guilty pleasure for nobles. It wasn't too expensive, but it was considered really high end Zaichaerian home-style food.
And so, Franky was wearing his best, was well washed and groomed, had the bar even cleaner than Millie had left it last night. And he waited for Millie to arrive. The food was covered, but he knew there was a honey glazed, Zaichaerian ham, mashed potatoes, some sort of creamy green bean casserole, a seasonal fruit salad in cream, a roasted blend of seasonal vegetables, and a strawberry rhubarb pie. Franky kept a bucket of ice with two bottles of cider on a side table.
Now, he just waited for Millie to show up. He had told her before hand about this meeting, and that he would be shutting the bar down for it and that he would provide the meal. He found himself in a surprisingly good mood and really looking forward to this. It was a momentous occasion for his little business. Franky walked behind the bar, grabbing a bottle of mead from the chiller, ripped the cork out, and sipped at it, leaning against the bar.
Today was a good day.
