Wench work (Day 2)

This was easily the busiest day the Tavern had seen outside of the harvest season when everyone was having celebrations. As she placed two flagons of ale down at one table and collected dirty dishes from several others she felt the fatigue of the day get to her.

For awhile she could bear it, then the clamoring of boots and all manner of hollaring erupted from the crowd. The building seemed to shake to their revelry, absorbed in a fierce series of boasts followed by flagons, cups, mugs, and carafes all slamming at an instant. What followed was a rush of drunks tripping over one another to get to the halfling.

“Another round! Wench! Bring us another round!” the Ranger belted across the hall to a insatiable crowd.

Holding the dish bucket with both arms extended, leveraging all her weight, the waif froze on the floor when all turned to her expecting their free round of ****.

Nearly dropping the bucket she hobbled her way to the kitchen, dropped off the dishes then ran to her station. There she stood ready with flagons, trays, and cloths determined to take on the rush.

“Key moment of despair,” she whispered.