Ye Olde Taverne

[Foxfairy]

<ROLEPLAY IN STORY FORMAT>
(Setting: Medieval Town)

This is Ye Olde Taverne. It's an old, worn place- tired but happy. Walking in through a sturdy oak door, there are booths on one side of the flagstone space, trestle tables in the middle of the area, and a bar with seating. The walls are decorated with all sorts of wartime memorabilia, as well as a few ragged portraits. There are tattered pennants, tankards, and mauled helmets dangling from the ceiling and walls as decoration. A hearth blazes merrily at the back of the tavern, illuminating the space and warming it. Behind the bar is Gharin; he's opening an inn next door soon.

Outside, it's a blustery autumn day. The sky is clear over the town, and the air is filled with the tang of smoking bacon and sausage from the butcher's down the street. the day is surreally beautiful, the air sharp, clear and cold.

[alamaiildrona]

A weary traveler trudges down the street, pausing before each window to drool at the food displayed inside. She hasn't eaten for two days: the last thing that passed her lips was a bunch of wild mushrooms and sour berries, so she's willing to do anything for food, even beg.

Once, Merislda was a proud furre, who lived in a nice house and was the youngest of her family, spoiled by all. That changed, though, long ago.

She doesn't like to think, anymore, of how far she's fallen, or of the painful memories of being loved.

Finally, she reaches the oak doors to Ye Olde Taverne and instead of pausing longingly, like in front of the other stores, she charges straight through, before going to the bar and resting her head on the cool bar counter.

"Please," she murmurs, bearly audible over the crackling fire. "Please, let me stay here, for just a moment. Let me... be warm..." Without even looking up, she falls asleep as she slumps on the barstool.

[Foxfairy]

Gharin heard the doors thud shut, calling out a tired welcome from the tavern's back room. The industrious and hard-working canine had been polishing some old pewter goblets he'd found in the garbage last night. After a bit of beeswax and quite a bit of elbow grease, the goblets were shiny and fit for use.

The haggard proprietor emerged from the back, a cloth and goblet still clutched tightly in his paws. It was still morning; he hadn't expected a customer until at least noon. He groaned upon seeing the female slumped on the bar; he had just polished that an hour ago!

Shaking his head, Gharin paused, wondering what to do with the girl. He couldn't possibly leave her at the bar, but then again, she looked like she couldn't pay for a room in his inn. He retreated to the back room, placing the goblet he had been polishing on a shelf behind the bar.

Picking up a few bottles of liqueur to restock the bar’s supply, he suddenly noticed an old cot in a tiny corner of the room. Gharin had dragged the cot from a garbage pile two winters ago. The stingy creature had restored the cot from its old metal frame, replacing the frayed canvas and rope with new cord and white cotton. It’d served as a bed for a drunk or two, but he had always kept it clean.

Gharin stroked his scraggly chinfur, looking, in his own opinion, rather devious. The cot was the perfect size for the little furre. Yes... He’d take the girl, plunk her down, and hope that she didn’t discover the alcohol.

[calicii]

Sonikana pulled her cloak tighter, but the chilly autumn wind still penetrated and she shivered. Althought she disliked being cold, she loved winter, and was hoping that it would approach fast. At the moment, she was regretting the fact that she forgot her scarf and winter clothes at home. Peering through the icy windows of the shops, she yawned, the scent of bacon clouding her mind. With her eyes still closed from her yawn, she quickly strolled inside the tavern at her left, pushing the doors with her left shoulder, rubbing her eyes with her right paw.

Sitting herself at a stool, she laid her head lazily on her pad, looking expectantly at the canine- she hoped was he was the bartender- expectantly through squinty eyes. Sonikana felt her ebony cloak drift to the floor, not bothering to even turn an ear toward it. The cloak revealed a furre of white pelt, broad, pointy catty ears that were almost drooping as it listened contently to the crackles of the fireplace, and dark chocolate paws, tail, nose and ears. Her clothes were not made for autumn: a pure white blouse with the top two buttons still left unbuttoned, and a dark blue skirt, laced at the end, that cascaded to above her knees. She shifted her eyes, both in a shade of brilliant sapphire, to the furre next to her, not surprised that she was fast asleep.