10th Winter, 515 AV, The Rearing Stallion at roughly the 21st bell.
She was drenched, from head to toe, to skin and bone, with beer. Some fool, with a head clearly made out of wool, had goofishly trodden on someone's toe, and that someone had instinctively pushed said offender out of the way. Unfortunately upsetting his hand, which contained a drink. Or in fact, used to contain a drink. The contents which now decorated Millie like a former alcoholics bad dream.
The man was apologising furiously, so she supposed that was one benefit. Weakly smiling, the woman gingerly brushed her clothes, feeling the stickiness already becoming a problem. It was a good job, in retrospect, that the barmaid wore a pinny.
A few chimes later, and the girl had a new apron on. Her clothes, hurriedly rinsed with water from the kitchen, were less sticky, although much cooler. And she still had at least three more bells to go. Sighing woefully, the woman glanced over at fellow barmaid Brucila, who simply offered a slight smile of encouragement, or perhaps sympathy.
Moving on... The evening so far had gone well, though, which was a relief. Today she'd been pulling pints, as well as serving tables. The customers were particularly excitable today, as the presence of a group of what she could only describe as bards drew in the crowds.
It was why she couldn't go home, even if she'd like to. Kevith needed all the hands he could get. However, it wasn't that she felt particularly unhappy. No, she merely felt slightly, very slightly irritated. And that was only at the person who'd spilt his drink over her in the first place. She wouldn't let him put a dampener on the mood.
The tavern was filled with the sound of sweet music, with people dancing and merriment all around. The woman had to strain her hearing to pick out what the customers were ordering, wine, beer, beer, water?
