[container:vigmarker]One Night at The Enchanted jackal[/container]

[img:2015993|right|350]Agatha was serving ales and mead on an average night, and fending off the normal amount of grabby hands and lecherous comments without batting an eye.

From across the room came a bellow. “OY – AGGIE! C’MERE!”

Over in the corner was a fellow she had come to know – and disdain. Grokneark was a regular. Regular drinker, regular drunk, regularly in fights, regularly abusing the staff, and regularly booted from the pub. But he spent lots of money when there, and the owner Elindine Raelle seemed to be able to keep him in control, when she was there.

Tonight he fancied himself a ladies’ man.

Agatha had no desire to talk to him. She’d have to fend off his grabby hands. And she was in no mood for his nonsense.

“AAAAAGGIE!!!” Grokneark was louder than usual. What had they served him? He never had a server bring him a drink. He refused to tip. He always went to the bar, got his drink and sat back down. No one dared take his seat – the stench he left behind ensured that.

She couldn’t ignore him. The entire pub couldn’t ignore him. Taking a deep breath, she turned around and approached his table. “What can I do for you, Grok?”

He reached over to pull her closer to him. Grabbing her around the waist, he was more quiet, and more slurred. “Ih’m thinkin ah mights need sssum cumpanee t’night… what ye sssay?”

He smelled particularly foul this evening. Like stale sewer in late summer foul. She shifted her hips to escape his grasp, to no avail. “Uhhh… sorry Grok, I’m… working late tonight. very late. All night, in fact.”

Grokneark snorted. “Figgers. Well, da ya think there might be someone ‘oo might be intrasted?”

This time, she wiggled free. “I don’t think so Grok.”

“Ahhhch, c’mon Aggie! There’z gots to be sumwun…”. He nudged her with his elbow.

She wouldn’t wish this guy on anyone. But she had an idea. “Ya know Grok, now that you mention it… there is someone at the bar who might be able to deliver just what you need.”

“OH!?” She had captured his attention. “Well, bring her over!”

“Easy, loverboy. This one’s a quiet one. But you might be surprised. Give me a minute, and I’ll head behind the bar. I’ll give you a nod when they’re in front of me.” Agatha forced a smile and a wink.

Grokneark was all for it. “Aye, Ah’ll bee ready!”

Agatha turned and headed back to the bar. Grokneark wet his thick, stubby fingers with a sloppy, wet lick, slicking the few hairs on his head back and sticking them to his scalp. He cupped a hand over his mouth and breathed into it to check his breath. His eyes nearly crossed at the stench, but his solution was to take another swig of the swill he was drinking. He watched Agatha intently, waiting for the sign for him to move in.

Agatha grabbed some drinks and food orders and served customers, with Grokneark getting impatient. He shot her a look akin to “Well?”, and she just smiled and nodded. Finally, Agatha stood in front of a patron at the bar, gave Grokneark a look, and nodded. This was the sign he was waiting for! He pulled his collar a little tighter as he stood up, but made sure his hairy beast-chest hair was visible. His quarry was just ahead, with beautiful, flowing blonde hair just past the shoulder. And a Royal Guard uniform. That meant she was strong – just the way he liked it.

He made his move. He leaned in from behind, getting close enough for his rank breath to move the hair just above the ear of his prospective “companion”.

“Oy, lovely… ah noticed ye from acrossss the bahr… cooodn’t misss yer blahnd lahcks. Ah wazz lookin fer sum companee.”

A slender hand rose from the bar and simply waved Grokneark off. Obviously, playing hard to get. But the high cheekbones and smooth skin were far too much for Gork to give up now. He liked a challenge.

“Ahhh… yer not gettin’ rid of ol’ Grok that eeezy. Besidez, ye loookss strong! We could just haz a tumble and I can shows ye what a real…” Grok did not get to finish his sentence.

The target of his advance stood up, a full foot taller. And male. “I think you’re done here, friend.” The patron gave Grok a shove that sent him reeling. As if by reflex, Grok caught his balance and lunged back. The fight was on. But in his drunken state, his reflexes were not enough, and instead of tackling the bar patron, he flew right past, his head thunking on the front of the bar with a heavy thud.

Agatha smiled.

Two Royal Guardsmen seated nearby stood up, and flanked the subject of Grok’s ire. Grok shook off the impact, and before looking he turned and charged. Big mistake.

All three Guardsmen moved and watched Grok as he clumsily rushed past them, into a table covered with steins and half-eaten food. Leftovers flew everywhere, pelting other bar patrons with bits of uneaten pasties and grilled turnips. More patrons stood up, and corraled Grok. Yet, he seemed determined to take them all on. Again. A regular occurence.

He was no match for the mob. They grabbed him, flung open the pub doors and threw hiim headlong into the street, just at the feet of armed Guardsmen outside. He thought better of continuing his fight when he saw the guardsmen’s swords pointed in his face. Another night in the city lock-up. He was a regular.

Inside, the clean-up had begun. Elindine, the owner, came out after hearing the commotion. She saw the mess and quickly announced “A round on the house for everyone! Thanks for helping!”

Agatha was wiping off a tabletop with a wry smile that was not lost on Elindine. “Your doing, Agatha?”

Agatha feigned a shocked expression. “Who? Me?”

Elindine just laughed. “Of course not! Why would I have thought that?”

The patrons all returned to their tables and the bar, laughing and howling at Grokneark the Regular’s antics. Agatha returned to the bar and the patron Grok had approached.

“Why would he have even thought to try to proposition ME?” the patron asked.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” responded Agatha. “But have another mead on me. But just one, brother-in-law, or my sister will tear into me for letting you stay out too late…”