[Stallion] Ginge on a Binge (Qist)

[Roald]

34th of Summer, 512 AV Roald was very nearly rushed off his feet. The Stallion was exceptionally busy all of a sudden, thanks to a large crowd of farmhands that had just stumbled in and flooded the bar with orders. It had taken at least five minutes to convince the mob to find seats and wait for their drinks there instead of suffocating the bartender. Roald had to quickly calculate just how many ales had been ordered and then how much the men should have paid. As it turned out, the group had underpaid, unless Roald served them in gallons. The customers hadn't -asked- for their ale in jugs, but he gauged the group to be too rowdy and far too tipsy to risk starting an argument with. So rather shrewdly, Roald poured two gallons of ale in jugs and sent the girls over with them. Hopefully that would keep the patrons happy for a while, he thought while he wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Roald turned his attention back to the rest of the inn, keeping an eye out for troublemakers. Anyone who looked to be getting too drunk or rowdy was a potential troublemaker, but so was anyone who showed signs of irritation at the more rowdy patrons in the tavern. Roald knew the farmhands could easily start a fight, but it was a dead cert that they would if somebody tried telling them to shut up or sod off. The mob of your lands certainly seemed to morph the atmosphere. A handful of other patrons were already setting up to leave the tavern, their good mood ruined or their gambling halted. (No gamer was willing to risk a drunken lad losing at his table) Quietly, the bartender took all of these details in. It was a shame to see loyal regulars pack up early, but it couldn't be helped. The regulars would be back tomorrow and the farmhands wouldn't take a request to leave graciously. They barked and jeered amongst eachother, possibly celebrating something by spilling half of their drink on the tavern tables and floor. Roald's job now was to keep the peace until the crowd left, or it came to closing time; All while keeping the rest of the patrons happy. It would be a long night.

[Qist Tiere]

Qist shuffled her way through the crowd. Her head was bent down, focused on the stones beneath her. Occasionally she would glance up, but this wasn't to help her ascertain where her destination was. No, this mixed blooded femme knew exactly where the Stallion was. In fact, she had gone to the tavern so many times that she knew its location within the castle better than that of her own home. Tugging on her cowl with her left hand, Qi ducked into the bar. The welcomed stench of alcohol and the warmth of a crowd swept over her. The Stallion was rather full today, taking in many more patrons than the redhead would have expected. Normally, this would not of irritated her too much. True, the lot was more than likely human (and, thus, inferior by Qist's standards) and obnoxiously loud, but she could rub that off. She could not, however, help but be snubbed by the fact that the swell of men had swooped in and taken her normal seat in the middle of the room. Glaring, the petite gal shot daggers at the mens' backs with her eyes. Vermin. Sadly, glaring was the best she could do, seeing as there were too many of them and too little of her. So, instead of causing a commotion with the drunken group, Qi elbowed her way to the bar. She heaved herself onto a seat, sighing as she let her muscles relax. It had only been what seemed like a few bells since she had returned from her "trapping" trip, and the stress of her surprise friend had worn her down. This, coupled with the fact that sobriety had begun to sink in, and it was easy to see why Qist was hanging on her last thread.