The low strum of the wooden bass guitar mixed with the incessant chatter of patrons. The air smelled of spilled ale, damp wood, and smoke so deeply seeped into the beams it would outlive the building itself.
Tormince wiped another mug with a rag that was only marginally cleaner than the counter. Someone was arguing over cards in the corner. A fiddler was attempting a tune none wanted to hear. Somewhere behind her, the cook shouted profanities at his apprentice, pissed about some other fuck-up.
Just another evening at the Gilded Gorgon Tavern.
"You there, the mudfoot," a silk-clad noble drawled, snapping his fingers as though calling for a dog.
Torm smiled the smile she'd practiced for years. The kind of smile that belonged to people paid to tolerate the intolerable.
"What can I get you?"
"You can start by smiling like you mean it."
The other nobles laughed.
She did smile then—not because it was funny, but because smiles paid better than arguments.
The man reached across the counter and caught her wrist.
"There we are."
Torm resisted the urge to slam the tankard into his forehead. Nobles bruised easily. Servants vanished easier. Instead, she carefully pried herself free and simply played out the scenario in her head.
"Your drink, my lord."
She slid the mug toward him, never once dropping her smile.
It never arrived.
A hand intercepted it halfway.
"I think," said a stranger, "you've had enough already."
The voice wasn't loud. It didn't have to be.
The noble frowned at the newcomer—a young noble lady by the look of her. Her dusty cloak covered most of her figure, leaving only the sight of mud on her boots. Her hair was hastily tied back, and she held no jewelry worth mentioning.
Certainly no one important.
"Oh?" sneered the noble. "And who are you?"
The traveler shrugged.
"Someone who's met enough coppercoats to recognize one."
Silence spread across the room.
Torm's stomach dropped.
She'd seen drunks throw punches. She'd seen merchants pull knives over unpaid tabs. She'd even seen a duke's son try to wrestle a feral Inix onto the bar after losing a bet. But insulting a noble to his face? That was a special kind of stupid.
"This isn't over, mudfoot."
"Good," the stranger said. "You were getting boring."
Red-faced and glaring, he shoved past the gawking patrons and disappeared into the street. Laughter followed him all the way to the door.
"Congratulations," Torm sighed. "You've either saved my evening or ruined the rest of your own."
The woman grinned. "Buy you a drink?"
"You just interrupted me serving one."
"So... after your shift?"
Against her better judgment, Torm said yes.
The stranger introduced herself as Tani. She returned the next night, and the one after that, always with another story, another drink, and another reason to linger. Before long, Torm couldn't remember when the stool at the end of the bar hadn't belonged to Tani.
Chimericect Staff Member
Kia Name: Tormince
The low strum of the wooden bass guitar mixed with the incessant chatter of patrons. The air smelled of spilled ale, damp wood, and smoke so deeply seeped into the beams it would outlive the building itself.
Tormince wiped another mug with a rag that was only marginally cleaner than the counter. Someone was arguing over cards in the corner. A fiddler was attempting a tune none wanted to hear. Somewhere behind her, the cook shouted profanities at his apprentice, pissed about some other fuck-up.
Just another evening at the Gilded Gorgon Tavern.
"You there, the mudfoot," a silk-clad noble drawled, snapping his fingers as though calling for a dog.
Torm smiled the smile she'd practiced for years. The kind of smile that belonged to people paid to tolerate the intolerable.
"What can I get you?"
"You can start by smiling like you mean it."
The other nobles laughed.
She did smile then—not because it was funny, but because smiles paid better than arguments.
The man reached across the counter and caught her wrist.
"There we are."
Torm resisted the urge to slam the tankard into his forehead. Nobles bruised easily. Servants vanished easier. Instead, she carefully pried herself free and simply played out the scenario in her head.
"Your drink, my lord."
She slid the mug toward him, never once dropping her smile.
It never arrived.
A hand intercepted it halfway.
"I think," said a stranger, "you've had enough already."
The voice wasn't loud. It didn't have to be.
The noble frowned at the newcomer—a young noble lady by the look of her. Her dusty cloak covered most of her figure, leaving only the sight of mud on her boots. Her hair was hastily tied back, and she held no jewelry worth mentioning.
Certainly no one important.
"Oh?" sneered the noble. "And who are you?"
The traveler shrugged.
"Someone who's met enough coppercoats to recognize one."
Silence spread across the room.
Torm's stomach dropped.
She'd seen drunks throw punches. She'd seen merchants pull knives over unpaid tabs. She'd even seen a duke's son try to wrestle a feral Inix onto the bar after losing a bet. But insulting a noble to his face? That was a special kind of stupid.
"This isn't over, mudfoot."
"Good," the stranger said. "You were getting boring."
Red-faced and glaring, he shoved past the gawking patrons and disappeared into the street. Laughter followed him all the way to the door.
"Congratulations," Torm sighed. "You've either saved my evening or ruined the rest of your own."
The woman grinned. "Buy you a drink?"
"You just interrupted me serving one."
"So... after your shift?"
Against her better judgment, Torm said yes.
The stranger introduced herself as Tani. She returned the next night, and the one after that, always with another story, another drink, and another reason to linger. Before long, Torm couldn't remember when the stool at the end of the bar hadn't belonged to Tani.
2026-07-03 00:49:03 (Edited 2026-07-03 03:03:46)
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