Private Tales The Journeyman

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Seren

Seren

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There was no avoiding the heavy drops falling from the heavens, especially as night settled over the city. Cursing under her breath the farrier pulled the narrow collar of her button-down shirt closer to her neck in a woeful attempt to stay dry. The rain began in earnest now, the clouds collecting in the dark sky to cover both moons.

No cloak. No rain boots. And to top it off - she was no where near the smithy or her home. She was on the other side of the damn city and irritably unfamiliar with these roads, especially in the dark.

"The last time I play Oren's errand-girl," she muttered to herself as she glanced down the dark street. She had a very general idea of her location and how she arrived here but it was becoming increasingly clear she was lost for specifics. And hungry. It'd been some time since she ate, having briefly stuffed her face with bread between scutwork and shoeing some hours ago. Ignoring the rumble from her belly Seren paused to take stock of her options.

The dim glow of a lantern caught her attention only a block down. In the waning light she discerned a wooden sign denoting a business. With its lantern still lit she figured it was either a pub or an inn - both of which would do well to wait out the rain. The soles of her calfskin boots sloshed through the swiftly growing puddles as she made her way to the establishment on the empty street. If it was a pub it was certainly tucked away, likely a local spot given the quiet street.

One hand gripped the faded satchel's strap over one shoulder, the other pulled the nondescript door open, spilling a narrow column of light into the dark wet street. Slipping through the door and letting it close behind her Seren raised brown eyes to survey the place. She wasn't soaked but certainly left no question to those within of the state of the weather. Draping the soggy brunette braid over her shoulder the farrier proceeded into the small tavern, then wiping her hands on moist tan britches and hoping for a place to sit.
 
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"Ahh fuck," he whispered to himself when the door opened.

It was cold and pissing rain outside. He was about to pour himself another drink...he had stopped keeping track of how many a few hours ago when he heard Oak get up off his lazy ass. Oak was his best friend. Actually Oak was his only friend. Oak normally spent his evenings snoring in front the warm hearth Hawthorne built and occasionally farting loud enough and smelly enough to wake himself up with a stupid perplexed look on his face wondering what had just happened. The commotion of Oak stumbling towards the door surprised Hawthorne. There are only a few things in life he is sure of and one of them is Oak doesn't trouble himself getting up unless what he is getting up for is worth it.

Then he saw who Oak was welcoming at the front door.
 
"Oh," the farrier was greeted by an unexpected behemoth of a dog lumbering toward her. He was certainly the last creature she was expecting but very much the most welcome. A soft smile pulled the corner of her lips as she extended a hand to the large beast. Although not one for canine companions, Seren was partial to any establishment that employed a dog to greet its customers (though preferably not aggressively). And this fine animal was the farthest from aggressive, despite his imposing size.

"Well hello," she murmured quietly, fingers threading through the dark fur atop the dog's head. After this momentary interchange the farrier raised her gaze to the only person in the establishment.

"Apologies for the wet boots," she began with another slight smile, glancing down at her damp footwear and the trail of water she brought in with her. Brown eyes settled again on the man, noting his relaxed demeanor and the lack of patrons in the place. "Might I wait out this downpour?"

The man, she was quick to note, was several years her senior and more than pleasant to gaze upon. Becoming increasingly aware of her wet-rodent state Seren shifted her weight, lingering near the entrance until he responded. If he appeared uninterested in hosting patrons or displeased with her tracking mud and water in she'd just as easily depart. She'd rather wander around a bit than make a fool of herself before a good looking barkeep in an unfamiliar part of town.
 
"Oak, get the fuck the down," he shouted when the door opened letting in the rainy cold shit storm of an evening. He was of the mind to tell the visitor to get their head fucked... not good for business he knew but he wasn't in a mood to have a guest in his house tonight. It seemed that Oak was in the mood though. It had been been a few nights since they'd had any patrons and apparently the dog was tired of only having Hawthorne for company. "Traitor," he muttered under his breath.

The woman was a drenched rat and she smelled like a combination of barn and fire... a smell he knew well. She had tracked into his tavern a puddle of rain and what he assumed was a mixture of horse shit and mud.

"Oak get down, damn you," he shouted again. The dog looked back at him and for a moment they caught each other's gaze. Hawthorne knew full well his friend had no intention of listening to him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Feel free to smack the shit out of him."

But the stranger took Oak's greeting in stride. Well that's at least a start he thought. Watching her stroke Oak's big head he thought for a brief moment he saw her smile. He noticed faint hesitancy as she gently touched Oak but he wasn't an idiot and suspected she was no stranger to animals much larger than even Oak.

Oak didn't seem to care.

His hearing was not as good as it used to be but he thought he heard her express some sort of apology for tracking in the rain and mud into his tavern. Then he was pretty sure he heard her ask if she could wait out the storm in his Inn. Hawthorne didn't like her but he also didn't despise her. She was a rugged type of attractive and he thought to himself if she had a bath and put on something resembling a dress she would be as fragrant as a rosemary bush growing along the coast. He paused and figured at least she wouldn't smell like a barn.

"You can stay," he answered. "Can I get you something to drink or eat?"
 
After attending to the large dog, whom she gathered was named for the great trees just beyond Vel Anir's walls, the farrier raised her gaze to the man. Curmudgeon was the first word she might use to describe his demeanor, though his appearance certainly made up for any character flaws. But he offered her entry and respite from the weather and she wasn't about to piss off now.

"Thank you," she replied as she walked further into the tavern. Or perhaps it was an Inn. She hadn't given much thought to the type of establishment but upon further more careful inspection it appeared a place to nurse a drink and retire for a night. Although she was the only patron this evening the fellow was at least attentive to his hearth, the warmth permeating the space and enticing the chill from her bones.

Seren approached the bar top with a polite smile. Tucking a half dried lock of hair behind her ear the woman observed her host. He was significantly more handsome upon closer observation. He was several years her senior though she suspected the grey streaks in his dark hair belied a younger age. He was built like a laborer and certainly not akin to most of the barkeeps in the city. This man kept his body in working order, as if he might be called to service at any time.

"I'll have whatever you've got," she answered with a nod to his freshly poured drink. Despite the ever persistent gnawing in her belly she did not want to raise the ire of the man by ordering her body weight in supper. He did not appear keen on serving more than a drink this evening - even that seemed questionable.

Seren opted to stand at the bar, finding a narrow space betwixt old chairs and resting her forearms on the wooden surface. She didn't want to give him the impression she wanted to stay longer than necessary. Her sand colored pants were drying slowly, no longer clinging to her skin. She was appreciative of the dark brown leather jerkin fastened over the now semi-translucent material of her blouse, which would have left little to the imagination, despite the pair of stays beneath. A self conscious pull to the hem of the long sleeve of her blouse closer to her wrist was discreet but apparent nonetheless. Shifting her attention back to Oak the farrier smiled again, hoping to shift focus to the large canine and his ever enrapt gaze.

"He's quite the welcome wagon."
 
He filled a kettle with cold water and brought it over to the hearth to bring to a boil. "I'll have whatever you got" he repeated to himself. She couldn't have stood more than 5'6'' he thought but she had a ruggedness that he recognized. He damn well knew she could handle "whatever you got" but he decided brewing her herbal tea was a better more thoughtful choice.

While he was at the hearth he took the opportunity to check on his dinner, which had been cooking for the last few hours. He observed it was about done and knew there was more than enough for him and Oak to feast upon and still have lunch for the next few days.

He sensed she was self conscious and slightly uncomfortable by the way she pulled at the sleeve of her drenched shirt making sure the jerkin was situated correctly as to not reveal what lay beneath.

Oak walked over next to him and leaned in for affection. He wrapped his arm around the gentle dog despite knowing what Oak's real intention was. The black dog then sprawled himself out in front of the warm hearth knowing his dinner would be there soon.

He walked back to the bar with the now simmering kettle of water and placed it on the counter. He got down a glass jar of dried "steel powder" green tea - his favorite but was not for everyone as it tasted a bit like earth. He poured her a glass, not waiting to see if she accepted. She was still wet and obviously cold although she had not complained once.

Hawthorne couldn't comprehend why but he didn't hate the idea that she stay to wait out the storm. After dinner she could be on her way and that would be that, he thought.

"Dinner is about done and Oak and I are about to eat. You can join us if you'd like" he offered as he glanced in the direction of his favorite chair before the hearth, suggesting if she did choose to stay that was where she were to sit. "Do you take wine with your meal?"
 
Initially Seren was perplexed when the fellow departed the bar with a pot to kneel beside the hearth, joined at once by his canine. It became clear he would not be serving her the drink she anticipated, though she was able to hide her surprise and mild annoyance with his turned back. Instead she focused on the scent of meat cooking, her stomach churning at the very thought of food.

When the barman returned with the tepid water he made short work of producing a cup and steeping a strong smelling tea for her. All concern for partaking in his drink disappeared as she accepted the warm beverage. This was much more agreeable.

'Dinner?" she paused in her appreciation of the tea, having not yet tasted it for fear of burning her tongue. An eyebrow piqued over one brown eye. "I'd not want to trouble you."

But he was already indicating for her to seat herself near the fire and it would be impolite to refuse, especially as the rain worsened beyond the windows. Hesitating only a moment the farrier followed his gaze to the chair, seating herself with an unrepressed sigh. She was particularly fond of a hot fire, especially on such a cold evening. And she had enough coin on her to pay the man for accommodation tonight so it hardly seemed unwarranted to stay. Setting the bag burdened with her tools of the trade with a gentle thunk beside the chair she returned her gaze to the man.

"No, thank you," she replied to his final question. "This will do just fine." She raised the warm mug a tick before taking a slow sip. The tea was stronger than she was used to but not displeasing. Like her host it took some getting used to but quickly made up for first appearances.

"I appreciate the hospitality," she remarked between sips. "This tea certainly remedies a cold night." She paused a moment, glancing back at the front door and the nearly dry puddles she'd tracked across the floor. "I apologize for rushing in, I hadn't expected to get caught in the rain so far from work. I'm not often this side of the city. " Another pause. "What is your tavern called?"
 
"The Journeyman," he replied.

He hated having guests save for a few familiar friends and their acquaintances. His inn was known to be friendly to the sort of folk who normally were not welcome in this city. He was grateful that his immediate neighbors shared his conviction of not giving many fucks about what other people thought. Although he was not terribly social every now and then he enjoyed an evening of feasting and drinking followed by drunken story telling in front of his beloved hearth. Sometimes he even laughed. That was why he was surprised he didn't mind company tonight.

Yes, she was a rugged type of beautiful that reminded him of someone from years ago. and yes for fucks sake he finally had a guest that had a bit of self-awareness and gratitude. He had noticed her glance back and her apology at the puddles of rain and shit she had drug in with her when she had barged into his Inn. The mess she tracked in didn't mean shit (he paused for just a second at his unintentional pun). These things did play a part in him not being upset with her staying. Fuck, he had invited her to share dinner with him and Oak.

He was certain she knew he knew that she was different than most who came into the inn. It seemed like they were in a polite dance of trying to figure each other out. He knew damn well why he was interested in her... when she had reached out for the cup of tea he gave her and saw the old burn scars on her hands and and wrists he knew she was a craftswomen and when he heard her set her bag down beside the hearth he knew the sound was not of makeup or jewelry but that tools only a journeyman would have.

Fuck it, he thought bringing over a glass of water for her and two plates plus Oak's dinner bowl.

"What's your trade?"
 
Seren took another sip as he responded, the name occupying the space between them. The Journeyman. An unexpected name for a tavern in Vel Anir. Perhaps in Alliria with its ever changing population and grand metropolitan swath, or so she was told. She made a mental note to inquire further if the conversation lead her to it.

Accepting the plate of food after setting the mug down at the her feet the brunette flashed an appreciative smile. The smoke winding ponderously from the food enticed a deeper inhalation as she ignored the calls of her stomach to down the meal immediately. She waited until her host was seated before setting the glass of water down and answering.

"A farrier, for the most part," she replied. "Pulled shoes from a cart horse down the road," she indicated with a cant of her head south of the inn, "before getting stuck in this rainstorm."

Seren wasn't entirely sure what to expect from the man. Although she'd received her fair share of derisive snide remarks regarding her profession she'd learned it was rarely worth it to take them personally. The business of ironworking and indeed smithing itself was categorically male. The assumption she was either an apprentice or fucking her way through the guild was familiar - expected, even. This fellow. however, didn't seem the type to remark upon it, even if that was his impression.

"It's a decent enough living," she remarked by way of explanation with a slight shrug. "You don't strike me as the barkeep breed, if you don't mind me saying so. Too..." she flicked her gaze to the defined muscles of his arms before returning to his face, "well built to be an idle bar man with an empty tavern. A Vel Anir native, then?"
 
This storm is getting ugly , he thought. There was a flash followed by a deafening crack. It was loud enough to scare Oak even if his guest didn't flinch. Oak let out a little whimper as he walked over to the woman, tail tucked between his legs and with a dramatic sigh he threw himself on the floor next to her feet. Hawthorne observed the woman's hands as she held the plate, noting they were delicate, even graceful yet calloused and had a few cuts in varying degrees of healing from scars to a half a scab that looked like it had just been ripped off a few hours ago.

Well, she's working by herself so she's no damn apprentice, he thought, and with hands like that she didn't spend her apprenticeship on her knees and screwing her way to a "decent living." He allowed himself just a moment to wonder what it would be like if they fucked. As quickly as the thought had come he vanquished it and returned his attention to the storm and his guest.

He had intentionally, ignored her question about being a Vel Anir native. He was somewhat warming up to her but she hadn't earned his trust for him to disclose any personal details about himself. He also wasn't comfortable lying to her so he just pretended she never asked the question. He threw another log in the hearth.

"It is a decent living and and you should be proud," he replied. He intentionally looked her directly in the eyes so she could not mistake his words for any sort of sarcasm or disrespect.

There was another flash and deafening crack outside. Oak whimpered. The storm was getting worse and wasn't going away anytime soon. He knew it and he suspected she knew it too. He picked up her empty plate. It seems she had done her best to eat it slowly because people like her knew how to be guests but she had not done a very good job at it. Her plate could have passed as freshly washed it was so picked clean. Before she could offer to wash the plate he walked away with it, noting with an exaggerate glance that Oak was tucked comfortably at her feet.

"Don't be disturbing poor Oak now." He wondered if she had caught the very slight inflection in his voice and quick movement of his lips that almost resembled a smile.

He filled her plate again. This time with a double portion so the next time he went to clear the plate it would be the last. He handed the plate back to her before retreating a bit to the bar. He put his glass to his lips and took another drink. There was another crack of lightening. He set his drink down and walked over to the front. He didn't look but he felt her gaze upon him. He took out a key from his pocket and locked the door. It was getting late and he didn't want anyone to freely enter without him first knowing who they were and what their business was. He knew she saw him take the key out of his pocket and lock the door. So when he turned around he walked over and dropped the key on the end table next to her chair. If she was nervous he didn't pick up on it.

"Those keys work for every lock in this place. Don't lose them," he said implying that he was giving them to her.

He took another sip of his drink. He guessed the storm wouldn't pass until morning at the earliest and he suspected she was aware too. But he wanted her to know he meant no harm and she was welcome in his inn as long as she liked. He had 4 guest rooms and all were empty tonight... as they were almost every night.

"If you want to wait out the storm you can stay in one of the guest rooms. They are all empty," he motioned to the stairs leading to the second floor. He couldn't help it but he was proud of the "boiler" he had made. He had crafted it so that each room could have access to hot water within a few minutes to use for a bath. He was conscious to be sure she couldn't see the pride in his eyes when he told her that his inn had plumbing and access to hot water for a bath. He lied again when he said his craftsman friend built it for him. He briefly had a moment of softness and embarrassment that he hoped she didn't recognize and apologized, reiterating she could leave whenever she wanted. He hoped she would stay though. It was late but it wasn't that late and he just wanted to spend an evening with a decent human being who wasn't an asshole. He took another sip and wondered if the stiffness of his drink had anything to do with honesty. He caught her eyes, slightly perplexed by this guest. He considered himself well above average at reading body language but he was struggling with her.

He did his best to smile. One of Hawthorn's oldest friends who had turned out to be a very successful merchant had visited a week or two back and had left him with what apparently is some of the most sought after chocolate in the world. Hawthorne didn't care for chocolate all that much but he knew others did. He took a quick glance at her dinner plate again, glanced at her and said, "would you like dessert?"
 
Seren adjusted her feet appropriately to allow the great dog to make himself comfortable. Like his master he asked no permission for his actions, though he remained increasingly endearing. She felt the heat of his body against her leg and decided she quite liked the companionship of a dog, especially tonight. A light smile broke upon her face at her host's quiet redirect of the offhanded description of her profession. She was proud but lived in constant fear of becoming too cocky - though she'd never admit it.

The crack of thunder outside was cause for her to jump ever so slightly, though she was careful not to disturb the behemoth laying at her feet. Damn this storm. And curse her poor decision to take a call this late. Although she was pleasantly surprised by her company Seren wasn't looking to draw the evening out longer than what was politely sufficient. But this weather was not doing her any favors.

"I wouldn't dream of it," she intoned with a smile to Oak and a gentle caress behind his ear, hiding her expression from him as the storm picked up beyond the windows. Although she hadn't asked for a refill she wasn't one to refuse food and good company. She accepted the proffered second helping, eyes widening at the amount of supper he offered this time. She paused mid-bite at his offer for her to stay.

"That is a generous offer," she replied carefully, her gaze following his gesture to the stairs and rooms above. Brows rose as he explained the marvel of plumbing that allowed warm water to circulate in the Inn. Certainly he must know that is unheard of in this city. She masked her surprise with another bite of food, making a note to inquire about this mysterious man when she returned to the guildhall.

"Your friend must be a marvel engineer. Or a Dwarf. Perhaps both," she quipped with a tilt of her head. "I'm sure no other tavern is fitted with such luxuries - least not this side of Vel Anir."

Seren could not figure the man out. He did not seem overly welcoming, especially to strangers, yet here he was offering for her to spend the night. Though she could not deny he was pleasing to look at she remained on guard for behavior she deemed threatening or suspicious. And she couldn't quite determine where his offer landed on the spectrum. She shrugged lightly at his reminder that she could leave when she wanted. Her shoulders relaxed ever so gently when he offered dessert. Good. He didn't expect her to accept his offer to stay and fly upstairs to a room.

"I'll have to pass right now." Seren picked up the mug of tea and balanced her plate on her knees. "I've only just finished this," a nod to the near empty plate, "and I'll certainly be in dire straits if I eat an ounce more. But if you aren't hurried off to bed, I'd appreciate the company while my food settles." She paused to take a sip before continuing. "How often do you see overnight guests?"
 
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