She burst into the bar like a fat man's gut through a worn-out buttonwood shirt. The howling storm drown out the small jukebox in the corner while she tried to beat the storm back enough to close the heavy wooden door. Panting, she struggled to get the door shut against powerful storm. Once she had she leaned her back against it and slid slipperily to the floor.
All eyes were upon her. And by all eyes I mean the two belonging to the wizened old barkeep, as he was the only one there.
"What kin I do ya fer?" his shaky voice doled out. He had been polishing glasses for several hours now, his muscles were taught, ready to spring into action the moment she ordered.
"Nuh... Nothing, thanks." She sank deeper into the floor. A quizzical look came over her face as she drank in her surroundings. Her eyes settled on the old man behind the bar. His huge bushy eye-brows and jowly cheeks gave him a sweet old grandfatherly look. His warble-like neck-skin dangled gently back and forth. The disappointment was as evident on his face as if she had written it on there with charcoal. "Actually... I guess I'll have some whiskey." She said as she tried to pull her feet beneath her. They were too slippery and she ended up falling flat on her bum. *splut*
The old man exploded into a flurry of action! Sweeping bottles and shot glasses, whiskey mugs and whiskey vases around and about. "This one!" he declared then mumbled something incoherent as he tossed it back on the shelf. "No, no! You'll be wantin' sumthin' dryer I reckon!" He settled on just the right glass (a half-mug, with a golden seam) and then stooped under the bar.
"Ah," he said when he resurfaced. "Here she be..." He cooed over the dusty red bottle, carefully removing the cork-cap and pouring a finger into the whiskey mug. "This should perk ya right up. Make you forget all aboot that durn storm!"
More Wrathmall Tega!
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