Fera's Rest (ye olde generic fantasy tavern // open )

Mellia smiled at the man, not so much out of happiness as to reassure him. “Thank you for the medical supplies. Anything to eat or drink would probably be good, what do you have?”

Could I join//

(Ok)

(Where are the characters at the momentj

(Thank you)

(My character is named Simon) Simon sits at the bar and orders a drink

Aras nodded to the woman seated towards the middle of the room, then gave a slight shrug, cutting an eye to the gnoblin as well. "I'll be honest, I'm…not entirely sure?" The husky voice lilted in question, and then Aras paused, a long-fingered hand running over his face. When it lifted, he shrugged again. "I'm really just working here on a temporary basis. Not sure where the barkeep is…" - probably avoiding me so he doesn't have to pay me, he thought, the eyes shifting lowly to the door leading to the back kitchens and cellars - "…but I…will do what I can in the meantime." Another pause, realizing how unhelpful it sounded. "I had a sandwich earlier," he added, as if that might help clarify matters some.

The grey eyes cut to the newest patron, who'd sat themselves at the bar. For a moment, the look was unreadable (and internally, the Weaver wondered just how much work he'd signed up for? Where was that damned keep?) before softening the barest bit. Not this person's fault that Aras happened to be behind the bar and no one else seemed to be in sight. The thin lips spread in a smile that didn't quite reflect on the rest of his body language: a smile full of somewhat pointy teeth at that. "What kind of drink?" Not that…uh, he knew much about serving drinks, either.

But a piece of gilg paid out is a piece of gilg earned, and any bit of extra money would help pay for this month's medicine, so. Temporary barkeep it was?

Simon noticed the persona taking a glance and he then said “hello.”

"…Hello," he responded. A dark brow curled upwards: a question, though it could have easily have been in doubt as it could be in query. Perhaps the man hadn't heard him, though the smile slipped a bit regardless. Aras titled his head forward a bit, accentuating his question again with the movement. "What kind of drink?"

“Well do you have whiskey?”

Aras blinked. The tall frame turned slightly, looking at the shelves behind him. Hn, bottle, bottle, bottle of something unidentifable, bottle…ah. Whiskey. Of some kind. Sure. Technically whiskey.

That plastered smile again, full of teeth. "Only the finest!"

Long fingers snatched it before the other could (hopefully) see what the label was, and he quickly poured a glass. That looked like a solid pour of drink, right?

…Aras did not drink much, if at all, and he was desperately hoping it didn't show. "Two pieces, please."

How incompetent, Mellia thought. To work in a bar, even on a temporary base, and not know how to fill in as a barkeep. Still, the man had been kind enough to offer her medical aid earlier, so she kept her thoughts to herself. “Well I guess I could probably do with a sandwich.” She said, instead. Mellia really did need some food.

Simon then took the glass and slides two pieces of gold to the barkeep

Aras wasn't going to argue with cold hard cash; he slipped the glass across the table to the thirsty patron with one hand, and the other copper hand palmed the pieces off the counter in a smooth motion. The observant might notice that the coins never made it much farther than that - certainly not to a register - but rather seemed to evaporate somewhere within the folds of his workapron. The otherwise occupied might simply catch that he gave the same thinned smile to the woman's request; it was the sort of expression of someone caught now doing a favor they felt fairly unequipped to do, but who was going about it regardless, and certainly not with any great desire.

He turned towards the closest door leading to the back room. "I'll see what I can rustle up." He paused, then glanced back over his shoulder, the motion causing a bit of dark hair to slip loose of the thick braid. The fingers tapped thoughtfully on the wood. "And, ah, in the meantime: if that barkeep comes back, please tell him he still owes me for the fixywork earlier." Or I'll take it apart as neatly as I put it together, he thought to himself. The grey eyes hardened briefly, the wet slick rock of an impassable cliff, then turned away, settling in a long blink of frustration as he pushed through the door, fingers rising to pinch the bridge of the narrow Weaver's nose in a gesture of annoyance.

…Very much like a jack-turn-lightly, nearly no sooner had Aras disappeared, did the bulk of the barkeep heave himself through the other door from the far side of the room. The man threw a circumspect survey at the recently closed kitchens door, then - as if remembering himself - swept looks out at the sudden crowd of patrons. A hesitant smile. Whatever the man was up to, it was obvious he was definitely avoiding the Weaver.

((Barkeep's an NPC, by the way. Feel free to write him, as well! His primary motivations at the moment are avoiding Aras, to which he owes money for the repair job. He dislikes paying the man a fair price nearly as much as he dislikes having had to ask a Weaver to do the work in the first place; Weavers are not particularly well-liked in this area.))