misplaced


Tavern
Lancelyn Green
Middle Archenland


The atmosphere of the tavern is warm and cheery. A few well-placed lamps hanging from the ceiling, accompanied by a glowing fireplace, attempt to throw light into the somewhat dim room. Serving wenches bustle in and out of the kitchen door to the north, clearing tables and serving food briskly, calling out orders to each other occasionally over the din. Prinn, the barman, polishes a rather antique-looking counter idly when he is not speaking with customers.  There is a menu on the wall behind him, along with several bottles and glasses.  There is a door to the south that leads back out into the Anteroom.


Lanisen is sitting at a table near the fireplace, in a corner. An uneaten slice of bread sits next to him, along with a cup of water. His head rests on the table, his face obscured by his messy hair.

Astor approaches the man cautiously.  “Good evening.  May I get you anything?”

Lanisen sits up with a start, to all appearances not having intended to fall asleep. “Um,” he says, blinking disorientedly. “No… thanks, though.”

Lanisen is seated at a table near the fireplace, toward the back of the tavern. He looks like he just woke up – there is a line on the side of his face from a wrinkle in his sleeve – and he is blinking up at Astor sheepishly.

Simetra walks into the tavern, wiping her hands on her apron. She frowns on sight of the boy and looks to Astor.

Astor hears Simetra come in and straightens.  “Let’s get you to your room.  I’m afraid that you cannot sleep here.  Do you need help to stand?”

Simetra rubs the side of her nose and goes behind the counter, where she extracts a bucket and rag to clean the table at which Lanisen sits.

Lanisen scrubs the sleep out of his eye. “Oh… ‘course, ‘m sorry, didn’t mean to, just set my head down for a minute… ‘M fine,” he adds, and stands on his own, mostly un-wobbly. He blinks at Simetra and the cleaning supplies for a minute before the dots connect. “Ohh… oh Lion, I’m sorry… can I…?”

Simetra waves a hand at him to indicate that no, it’s fine, she’ll handle it. She then looks at Astor and asks him with her eyes to please take care of the situation.

Astor suggests, “Let me escort you to your room….?”  He ends in a question indicating that he is requesting a name.

Lanisen has to think about it for a minute, but that’s most likely because he just woke up. Of course. “Dorian…us.” He covers the slip with an enormous yawn, not entirely faked.

Astor arches an eyebrow.  “Dorianus?  I see.  Well, please allow me to escort you to your room.”

Lanisen follows without much protest.
Lanisen glances apologetically at Simetra again.

Astor flashes Simetra a meek look even as he escorts “Dorianus”.


The Upper Hallway
Sun and Moon Inn


The upper hallway is a bright place, with a window at each end, a large one over the stairwell, and sconces lining the whitewashed walls between every door. There is a table at the southern end of the hall with a few chairs around it, an easy place to relax with the other guests, or to read a book when a retreat from the room is appealing. Guest rooms line the walls, each adorned with a small brass plaque reading a different number.


Astor looks from room to room.  “Which room did you have, again?”

Lanisen’s forehead furrows as he looks around the hallway. “Oh,” he realizes. “Not… no, Dorian an’ me’re sleepin’ in the hostel. Sorry…”

Astor frowns, “But the hostel is noisy and not the best place for you to rest.”

Lanisen shrugs and half-grins ruefully. “I didn’t notice any last night… or the night ‘fore that, come to think of it. An’ it’s noisy at home – I reckon I’ll be fine.”

Astor crosses his arms, “Maybe so, but you might also spread your illness to others.”

Lanisen ehhs. “Well… I don’t think it’s /that/ kind of sick, that you can give to people… I had some fruit, see, and it was a little…” He waves one hand to indicate that it was past its prime. “An’… yeah.”

Astor does not appear convinced entirely but he sighs, responding, “Very well.  For now you may stay in the hostel.  /However/, if I even catch wind that any of my other guests may have gotten sick, you may be assured that you will no longer be welcome in the hostel and your brother will just have to provide the money for a private room until a healer can see to you.  Furthermore, you may not eat in the Tavern with the other guests.  Simetra and I will see to it that you will be fed in the hostel itself.  Am I clear, Dorianus?”

Lanisen looks thoroughly cowed. “Yessir. Sorry, sir. Um…” he glances back down the stairs toward the hostel, wordlessly asking permission to go.

Astor leads him back down to the hostel.

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