Solo [Silver Sliver] A Daily Dose of Nosy

[Erienne]

Summer, 4th, 19th bell

One tiny foot tapped as she leaned against the bar. Jeb mostly hated it when she stood around enjoying herself instead of working, but Erienne felt it was good for the old bartender to be a little bit irritated - kept his heart rate up. And she was particularly fond of the performers on stage, so she held her position at the bar, foot tapping along with the music as she studied the patrons. It was busy in the Sliver today, as it usually was, the tables inside and outside were populated with patrons in search of a decent late meal, or more commonly at this hour a decent mug of ale. The Silver Sliver provided both, in a pleasant environment, and all with a lovely view of one of Ravok’s well-traveled canals, for those in search of atmosphere along with their drink.

For Erienne, the view outside was less commanding than in, and bright blue eyes roamed the interior for familiar faces and interesting new ones. Although delivering food and drinks in the tavern was how she earned her living, in truth she would have spent as much time in the place without the incentive of income. Its popularity with both longtime residents of the city as well as travelers from all points outside, the tavern was the perfect place for her to indulge in her favorite pastime: being nosy.

“Get to work, Erienne,” the low growl cut across the energetic music, but without any real heat. Loafing for a few seconds wasn’t the worst thing she could be doing, and Jeb knew the regulars enjoyed her bubbly personality, so there would be no real consequences for her abandonment of her duties. Still, customers had to be served, and he wasn’t hesitant to let her know about it. “You can ‘enjoy the music’,” the words came with a twist of his lips that clearly communicated his opinion on that, “while you go ask those folks what they need. Go on!”

Erienne turned an unapologetic grin on Jeb, the group of men who had walked in were regulars and she could have taken their order to them without even asking them, but they were friendly, not grabby, and tipped well. Before pushing away from the bar, she offered one last bit of sass to the tender, “Save me a dance later, Jeb?” With a showy twirl that set the skirt of her dress twirling in a cloud of grey, she laughed and made her way to the new arrivals, certain that Jeb was shaking his head at her back. She’d never seen the man dance, or smile for that matter, as though he thought it would crack the scar of his face.

Although she’d long ago learned not to ask about it, Jeb’s scar was still a spot of intense curiosity to her. Now, as she spun and bobbed her way across the tavern in time to the music, she wondered again how he’d come by it. Barfight? Attacked by monstrous beasts outside the city somewhere? Youthful indiscretion? She shook her head; it was no use. The man was not eager to reveal his secrets, and she’d never even heard a hint of information leave his lips that hadn’t been intentional and planned. No, Jeb wasn’t one she could plumb for juicy details on anything. Much too tight-lipped.

[Erienne]

“Hello, handsomes,” she flirted playfully with the men as she approached their table. Sharing a wink with the oldest man there, a white-haired and bent old geezer with dark eyes and more than a few missing teeth, she offered him a special smile. He was easily the oldest man she’d ever met; she’d cheekily guessed his age at 183 one evening, setting him on a bout of cackling, hooting laughter that had lasted until she thought he might expire of it. That had been in her first several days of work, and since then they’d come to an understanding: if he were 300 years younger and she were 200 years older, they’d have married and run away together. As it was… “What’ll it be tonight, Fram?”

“The same as always, girl. Marry me, let’s run off and make babies together,” his words were met with a chorus of good-natured laughter from the two men who’d accompanied him, and Erienne joined in, her own laugh tinkling over theirs companionably as she shook her head. For such an elderly crew, the three of them managed perfectly respectable leers and she wondered what their lives had been like when they were younger – and presumably had all their teeth and hair.

“Fram, I would – you know I would - but what would Jeb do without me? Doesn’t he look lonely over there? Besides,” she ventured a small guess, guised in good cheer, “I’ll bet you’ve proposed to hundreds of women, and the minute I said yes, they’d be lining up to run me out of town.” Sadness flickered into her eyes, fake but hopefully appealing, as she shook her head and delivered her regrets, “and I just love Ravok too much to risk it.”

Settling down to business, after all the trio in front of her had little to offer other than friendly faces and a few mizas, she glanced around the table inquisitively. “Silver Slivers all around? Or are we feeling adventurous tonight? Jeb’s got a new wine, I think – or the ale, but that’s really just swill.” She winked, already knowing what the response would be. She’d find herself weaving back through the crowded tavern to the bar, only to return to the table with 3 mugs of Silver Sliver, a loaf of bread and 3 chunks of meat. But it would be ordered piecemeal, one by one, with the men chiming in over each other in habit that spoke of untold seasons of friendship and ease.

“Ah, I’ll stick with the Sliver, girl,” Fram led the charge, “and how fresh is the bread?”
“The freshest, of course! Wouldn’t dare bring you anything less.”

Mell and Ritter, proud owners of their own heads of white hair and wrinkles, spoke up simultaneously, their respective “Meat” and “A mug of Sliver” tripping over each other and the general din in the tavern. Erienne smiled and nodded at the two of them. Brothers, twins, as she’d discovered, the two weren’t as outspoken as their friend Fram, but were just as genial in their own way. Polite, with twinkling eyes, they had yet to propose marriage; Eri wondered how many Silver Slivers it would take before they, too, were as shameless as the eldest at the table.

Fram was nodding, “I’ll have a chunk of that meat, too, then.”

’Might as well make a meal of it,’ Eri predicted the man’s words, grinning when, a few ticks later, they were repeated from Fram’s wrinkled lips.

“Might as well make a meal of it, eh?”

“No reason not to, Fram, no reason at all. I’ll be right back with your food & drinks, gentlemen,” another smile for her audience, and a twirl for herself as she made her way back to Jeb with the order, steps falling into rhythm with the music coming from the stage.