Secrets in the Dark

[Larien Elendil]

Alassea wrapped her gray woolen cloak tighter around her and pulled the hood farther over her head, attempting to ward off the chill of the rain pelting against her. Her thin woven shoes, so perfect for running through woods on a sunny day, were completely inundated. This... sucks, she concluded dryly, attempting to ignore the fact that the rain was soaking through her hood and matting her blonde hair firmly to her head.

The sound of her fist pounding on the door of the bar was lost over the sound of the downpour, but it must have rung clear through the interior of the building. It wasn't long before a small peephole opened up and a voice reached her ears.

"Who goes there?" it said. Gruff, paranoid... potentially drunken.

"My name is Alanna," she said, being sure to saturate her voice with charm. "I'm looking for a place to stay." The peephole closed, and the door cracked open; the chain lock, however, remained securely fastened. A wary, piercing blue eye peered out at her.

"Why on earth is a lass like yourself out so late on a night like this?" His roving eye seemed to gesture at the rain and the utter blackness in confusion. "It's not safe in these parts. There's talk of... creatures roaming about."

Alassea gave him a enchanting lopsided smile, knowing it would calm him. His body visually relaxed.

"Oh, trust me, good sir... I do not travel unarmed!" With a grand flourish, she unsheathed a small pocket knife. The old man chuckled.

"Well, then, lassie... come in before you catch a chill. I'll show you to your room."

~^*^~^*^~^*^~^*^~^*^~^*^~

Alassea took off her cloak, ringing it out over the bathtub and hanging it to dry. She proceeded to remove the bow and arrow from her back, the two daggers from her outer thigh sheaths, and her sword, which was fastened around her waist and tucked inside her skirt. She chuckled under her breath... the helpless-maiden-with-only-a-pocket-knife-for-protection bit worked every time.

She pulled her long, curly hair up into a bun on the top of her head, being sure to tuck the pointy ends of her ears under locks of her hair. After thoroughly drying herself, she changed into a brown, natural-looking dress and traipsed down the stairwell. There had been a couple shady-looking characters in the bar whose acquaintances she was eager to make.

[Kale Allerion]

"I'm not very good at this, y'know," Monte said to the bartender who was pretending to listen. "Y'know, I don't get drunk. Not ever."

The bartender rolled his eyes.

"I don't even go to bars," Monte continued, speech slurred. "Too many people. Too much. . .noise, y'know."

The bartender walked away before Monte could finish this sentence, but the inebriated man did not notice, nor did he care. He didn't come here to socialize. He came to get drunk, and he became more talkative than usual when under the influence of alcohol.

"Just couldn't stay there, nope," he continued, speaking to the half-empty bottle which sat in front of him. "Couldn't stay alone in that house. Not today."

Today was the anniversary of his wife's murder.

Closing his eyes, Monte let the noise of laughter, conversation, and classic rock music drown out his own painful memories. He allowed the alcohol to do its work on his mind, clouding his thoughts and making them seem insignificant compared to the clamor of music and laughter that surrounded him.

[Larien Elendil]

Alassea scanned the bar room, carefully selecting her prey. The more drunk the man, the more fun she'd have messing with him.

To her left, a young man polished off his fourth beer before placing the empty bottle proudly in front of him alongside its predecessors. He turned to the fireplace, yelling, "Beertander, bring me anudder one...!" before promptly passing out on the floor. Alassea shook her head half in compassion, half in amusement. Talking to this boy would have roughly the same enjoyment level as talking to a cadaver.

She turned her eyes to the next man. He was rather heavy, his hair unkempt and matted. He seemed to be pondering his mug of ale, considering it from all angles as if deep in thought. Suddenly, he became very excited and sprung to his feet, rushing to the aforementioned unconscious man and shoving the mug in his face, pointing vehemently. "DO YOU SEE IT?" he shouted. "It's so clear now!" When the man on the floor gave no response, the drunken philosopher sat down in the nearest corner and wept.

He was also clearly not the man she should go after.

"I don't even go to bars," she heard an inebriated voice state from the counter. The man was tall, mildly attractive, and hopelessly drunk. Seeing that he was both capable of coherent speech and clearly unaware of the fact that he was IN a bar, she decided to try her chances. She sidled up beside him, plopping herself on a barstool and saying, "I'll have what he's having," offering the poor fool a small smile.

[Kale Allerion]

It took Monte nearly half a minute to acknowledge the stranger's presence. He stared stupidly at the young woman, furrowing his brow and squinting his eyes as if trying to read her thoughts.

"Hi," he attempted to say, but the word came out in a deep belch. Too drunk to be very embarrassed, he chuckled nervously and apologized. "Ss-sorry about that!"

He wrinkled his nose at the stench of his own breath, and it was then that he felt his face flush with shame.

And this is why I don't go to bars.