“Get out!”
“Wait Alastarian. Gromp want one more mushroom mead for da road,” Gromp the Shewish Giant requested.
“No, the tavern’s closed,” My-re said as she playfully pushed the back-sides of the three objecting Shews out of the Broken Sword Tavern. “Come back tomorrow night.” She shut the door behind them. Leaning against the entrance, she just didn’t understand how anyone could drink a beverage concocted from the refinement of fermented mushrooms.
My-re glanced at the various tables filled with empty glass, plates, and coins stacked on them. Sighing at the work ahead, she did enjoy the now quiet room. The only sound was the crackling of the hearth and its slowly dying embers drifting upwards. She sat on the nearest chair and slowing removed her boots. They each made a sucking sound as they pulled off. She stretched out her long legs and rested her feet on a stool. There was a slight ache as she wiggled her cramped toes held hostage for countless hours.
“I know just the thing,” Hungry Peasant of the Famine stable said, cleaning a nearby table, as he came up, kneeled next to the stool with her resting feet, and reached for them.
“What are you doing…Ohhh,” My-re started to ask then moaned as the youth pressed his thumbs along the arch of her foot. The soreness in her muscles melted like butter as he glided his hands over them. He then squeezed each of her digits and they instantly relaxed at his touch. She slumped in the chair and closed her eyes. She hadn’t felt this good since right after winning the Blood Games tournament in Valamantis and ‘suffered’ Lord Garlor’s of Clan Shanmarrik gracious hospitality well.
“Hey, what you and your boyfriend do is on your own time! The tavern is a mess and I want to get to sleep before the sun comes up!” General Pol of the Skull Squadron yelled from across the room in the Rirorni native language of Rathiri.
Hungry Peasant stopped and rose quickly. His eyes shifted back and forth seemingly unsure what General Pol said.
“Back to work,” My-re translated. While HP knew some Rathiri and was picking up words here and there, he wasn’t fluent. She wasn’t going to let on that he knew less than Pol thought, as they needed the extra help. Grudgingly, she slid back into her boots, which her aching feet instantly protested, and glanced to General Pol who was watching them.
“You can help out you know. The great gods of the plains gifted you with two hands too,” My-re called back in Rathiri.
General Pol moved to the nearest table, pushed a couple glasses out of the way, and retrieved the coins. He proceeded to the next table, avoided the dishes, and gathered those coins also.
Grumbling that he was leaving all the plates for them to clean-up, My-re added in Rathiri, “And he’s not my boyfriend!”