Solo Wet Your Whistle

[Verin Rush]

26th Day of Winter, 513AV It had been a long day for some, and in order to relieve themselves of stress – and, if Grayson and Verin had anything to do with it, their coin. For Verin, however, his day was just beginning. Oh, he’d been up before noon, but he had allowed himself to sleep in, having worked until the early hours of the morning the night before, and he would be doing the same tonight. At about four bells past noon, Verin had left his accommodations and wondered down the canal fronts and narrow passageways to reach the Malt House, his place of work. At he entered, he removed his cloak and nodded at a few of the more well-known patrons to the establishment, who returned the gesture. “Good Evening, Grayson,” he greeted the owner of the tavern as he steps behind the bar and hung up his cloak, “It’s a bit chilly tonight” he made idle conversation as he got himself prepared for the night ahead. "Ah, well, we’re all glad you could brave the evening temperatures to grace us with your presence tonight, Verin, aren’t we, boys?" Verin looked up and smiled as the men around the bar, most of whom he knew, raised their ales in a mocking toast as they jeered. In return, he offers them a mocking bow and leaves Grayson to his horseplay as he turned to serve the customer standing in front of him. “What will it be, Sir?” He asked the gentleman, someone he had not seen before, or if he had, he didn’t recognize him. The man asked for a galleon of ale and a meal. “We have a bit of a wait on the food, as always, Sir; this is out busiest period. About ten to fifteen chimes, and someone will bring the food out to you.” Verin spoke the well-recited words in a half-monotone as he took down the order and a brief description of what the man looked like, which he would give over to the kitchen staff. He honestly had no idea how long the wait would be; it could likely be shorter, maybe longer. But the man had also ordered a galleon of ale and Verin knew, with that drink in front of him, he wouldn’t be worrying about food for a while. Leaning down, Verin grabbed at the first metal handle he could find and, examining it, frowned and placed it back, having picked up a smaller flagon than he wanted. He stood up once he had the one he wanted and turned to the barrel of ale; one of many that the bar had on hand for the punters throughout the evening. He stared silently at the filling flagon as he waited; it was too early in the evening for Verin to be in the full swing of things; the first customer of the evening was arguably harder to deal with than the last and it would take him a few chimes to settle into the mind-set he needed to perform his job well. The flagon was full, and he lifted it up and placed it carefully onto the side. “That will be two Gold Mizas and two Silver Mizas,” he said quickly; the man looked wealthy enough for Verin to charge the highest price he could, and he got away with it. “Thank you, Sir.” He said as he counted the money out and puts it away, glad to receive the exact change. The man left and he turned back to the kitchen to give them the sheet with the order on it.

[Verin Rush]

Verin leant against the backboard of the bar as he watched a pretty, young serving girl bring out the food to his first customer. The food was ten chimes later than he said it would be and, though the man seemed unaware of this a grateful for the arrival of his food, Verin knew better, and he shot the girl an irritated look as she made her way back to the kitchen. She caught his gaze and her eyes lowered, a blush forming on her cheeks, making her look even more appealing to the bartender. But his gaze didn’t falter; the girl needed to know that late food was not acceptable, no matter how many guests they had in the tavern. As she brushed past him, he grabbed her arm, stopping her. “I hope,” his voice was low as he whispered into the girl’s ear, so as to keep business away from the punters, “That food service will be a little quicker next time, especially when we have some well-paying guests here.” she girl squeaked her apology and he closes his eyes to compose himself for a moment. She really was quite sweet. He let her go, pushing her lightly as he turned to see Grayson trying to hold back his laughter. "If you’re done playing with the girlies, Verin," Bennett, a man in his late fifties, who was a regular here, caught his attention,"I’d like another mug of the brown stuff." The man, who knew the drill, pushed eight Copper Mizas across the bar towards him. Verin glanced down, then back up to look at the man, “That’s eight, Bennett.” He said slowly, wondering if the man was really that drunk already; it wasn't even six bells past noon yet. Though he would charge the fullest price he could, Verin was not out to rob people of their money, particularly the regulars, no matter how much they drank. "Ah, I know, one for me friend here, too." He jabbed his thumb towards the man sitting to his left and, without looking over at the other man, he took the money and bent down to grab two new mugs. One first, and then the other, he knew Bennett liked a small head on his ale, so he tilted the flagon and scraped the froth off the top before bringing them over to the men. Then, he picked up the two used mugs and brought them to the back for one of the girls to wash up. The same girl as before, possibly eager to please, rushed over and took them from him, blushing furiously before she turned away again. Raising a brow, he exited back to the bar. "So who’s that new bit, then, Verin?" Bennett asked as he returned. His gaze flickered over to the man but he said nothing as he leant down to pick up a cloth in order to clean the polished wooden surface of the bar. "Aww, c’mon, lad, is she any good?" “At her job? No, but she’s learning slowly. You know how Grayson likes to employ the pretty ones, no matter how dim-witted they are.” The tavern owner guffawed at Verin’s words but didn’t disagree. Truth be told, he didn’t think this girl to be particularly slow, nor had he misunderstood the man’s meaning. Verin was happy to take the teasing from Bennett, he just chose to take the dignified route in answering the questions, rather than descend into talk that was probably more suited for the brothel than here.

[Verin Rush]

It was still early enough for most of the customers in the tavern to be unknowns. In a few hours, when the kitchen had closed and only a few of the girls remained, Verin and Grayson would be left with the regulars, as they got more and more drunk and the conversation drifted from serious to slanderous. Sometimes he looked forward to those times, others, not so much, today was one of the days where he was dreading it, noting that, as it was the end of the working period, may people would be arriving to enjoy themselves and be merry with each other. Thankfully, though, a sober, middle-aged man wandered in, a young woman latched onto his arm, both were clearly thrilled at the match they had made. Both were attractive, though neither were anything out of the ordinary. She was more attractive than he, and dressed very well, to match his own attire. Verin wondered which one was the one with the money, and if that dress had been a gift. But he smiled as they approached the bar, stepping forward and leaning on it in an open gesture. “Welcome to the Malt House, Sir, Madam,” he nodded at each in turn, “What can I get for you?” Another order of food, though this time the man specifically asked for the best food in the house, which Verin was more than happy to offer. He repeated the same utterance of wait times for food, though he added an extra five chimes to his later estimate, muttering something about , “Possible technical problems in the kitchen.” The man seemed a little annoyed, but the woman placed her hand against his chest, trying to placate him. Verin takes the opportunity to offer an explanation, “I’m sorry, Sir, it is rare that we have such issues, but I can guarantee that the food will be well worth the wait.” He smiled, “And with a drink in your hand and such lovely company to occupy your attention,” he gestured to the lady, who simpered at him, “You will not even notice the time passing.” The man nodded and asked about wines, to which Verin advised a white wine, as they were to have the fish. The pair agreed and the bartender nodded and turned to the stores to receive a chilled bottle. He makes a show of uncorking it in front of the pair, so that they know it is the best they have, and not something that has been refilled. With that he pulls out two small glasses. “The wine, then is ten Gold Mizas, and the two meals brings the total to fourteen Gold Mizas,” he said finally as he pushed the glasses nearer to the couple. The man gave him the money and, picking up the bottle and two glasses, walked away. The bartender made a note of the order and takes it to the back. The girl, the same as before, almost banged into him, clearly not paying attention. Quickly, he raised his hands and stopped her before she actually did collide with him. “Please try to pay attention, girl.” He uttered as he guided her back a pace and let go. Holding up the piece of paper, he offered it to her, “Remember what I said earlier. This particular couple have paid a lot of money to eat here, more money than you will earn in five days of work here; I expect their meal to be out on their table within a quarter of a bell.” The words were firm and relatively harsh, with an element of a threat behind them. He was satisfied when the girl’s expression dropped in fear and hurried away; he did not like being harsh to subordinates, but the situation required it and he needed to get it through the girl’s head that he expected perfection.

[Verin Rush]

Looking out of the window, which, he thought, needed a good clean, he saw that night had most definitely fallen upon the lake city. Glancing up from putting away various mugs and flagons, he notices that the couple he had served earlier were leaving. The man nodded in his direction – a sign, he hoped, that the meal had been to his satisfaction, and he returned the gesture before returning to his work. The serving girl had brought out the meal within the time he had requested, and he had offered her a brief smile of congratulations, muttering a quick, “Good girl,” as she walked past, eliciting another blush from her. The kitchen was now closed, however, and some of the staff had left, leaving only a few to continue serving the drinking customers. The same girl was one of them, and Verin goes in search of her. “The windows could do with a good clean.” He said simply, the order evident in his expression, before turning away and back to the bar, where he noticed Bennett waggling his eyebrows at him. Verin scowled and made his way over. “Can I get you another drink, Bennett?” He said before the older man could utter any more foul talk about Verin’s habits with the young lady. The man shook his head, pointing at his half full mug of ale, but his friend, the man next to him, captured Verin’s attention, "Since you offered, I could go with a gallon, please boy." The blond doesn’t show any reaction to being called ‘boy’ though inside he was a little insulted. He narrows his eyes, recognizing the man at last as a friend of his father’s. He couldn’t recall the man’s name, but did notice that he was swaying on his seat a little. Wondering whether or not the man could actually take a gallon of ale, he decided to pour the drink anyway more money for the tavern, and the man probably wouldn’t even finish it. "And a bit of meat, to help it all go down, boy." The sentiment was rather backwards, Verin thought, “Sorry, Sir, kitchen’s closed.” He said bluntly as he passed the drink over and accepted the money, passing one Miza back when the man overpaid him. A few chimes pass, and Verin spent it watching the girl wipe the windows; not much of the dirt was coming away, but it was making a little difference, though no more light would be coming in tonight. "So which one are yeh, then?" Verin returned his gaze to the man, "Verin, or Venser, eh?" “Verin.” He answered simply, wondering where this as going. Bennett and Grayson were in conversation, so there was nothing to save Verin from talking to the man. "Ah yes, the first born. Not the mother killer, then." The bartender bristled at the well-aimed insult to his brother, but said nothing as he stared out at the tavern. A man wanders over and requests a refill, which Verin happily obliges as he vaguely listens to the man carrying on about his brother and father. He completes the transaction with the other man just as he tunes in to hear, "…always hated it here. Never had any love for Rhysol." “I think you’ve had enough, friend. We’ll have no such talk here.” Verin murmured, careful to train his expression into one of apathy. To Verin’s great relief, Grayson came to his rescue and, with the help of Bennett, who said a quick, amicable goodbye, they guided the man out of the tavern. "You alright, lad?" The owner asked as he pushes his way back behind the bar. Verin nodded simply as he stared at the place where the man had been sitting. “I’m not my father.” He whispered, watching Grayson clear away the two flagons left behind. With his arms crossed, he did nothing to help. "Aye, we all know that. You’re the most pious man I’ve met, at least when it comes to the Defiler." The older man slaps the younger on the back, "I wouldn’t worry about it, if I were you. Now back to work, lad."

[Abstract]

Grade Awarded!

Verin

Skills

~ Observation - 3
~ Rhetoric - 3
~ Bartending - 2
~ Intimidation - 1

Lores

~ Bartending: Takes a bit to get in the 'Mood'
~ Identifying a Wealthy Customer

Other

N/A

Notes

Very nice! You got a lot of verbal xp here... interesting to see Verin on the job