Young Writers Society

No one really talks about the Shady Inn. There are no taxes to be collected here, and certainly no reputable noblemen to be seen in its seats. The lights are shady and the people even more so. It's definitely not the place you'd likely find yourself in at the end of the night. It's not the place to ask questions or pick up a conversation. No one talks about this place. It's on no map.

However, here you find yourself. It's quite a big inn, with tall ceilings that seem to just fade into darkness with dim chandeliers. A hefty fireplace in one corner spews out smoke and warmth and the smell of whatever stew is currently cooking. An innkeeper, a burly, dark woman with too many scars and not enough eyes, stays wiping away at a tarnished wooden bar. Seedy people sit all around the certain tables, both looking like they have a story to tell and looking like they'll shoot you if you even ask.

You can't seem to find the exit, but then again you don't seem to want to. You have found yourself at the Shady Inn. Have a seat, stay awhile.

(do it do it )

Corrick found himself at the Shady Inn late one night. Through a dusty little window he could see frost on the glass. It was cold. Far too cold to be walking the streets. No, what he needed was some good old mead.

Looking at the gruff bartender, he ordered himself a drink. As she turned to make it, he glanced over to his left. "D'ya mind?"

How did things like this always happen to Ky? It seemed like every time she thought she’d gotten used to terrifying things happening to her — something else happened. And now here she was. Alone. Surrounded by people who probably could kill her and did they want to? That was anyone’s guess. But she was trapped her and anxious and very much wanted to leave.

And to make matters worse, now a burly man was talking to her. She was glad she was still masc presenting. That seemed to help curb unwanted attention male attention anyway. Usually.

“No, sir. Not at all. Please.” Ky slipped off her stool and gestured at it, taking a step away. “Be my guest.”

Corrick eyed the man carefully as he hopped off the stool. "Be'd better if you ordered a drink when you're at't bar." He grabbed his mug of mead and downed it in one gulp. He was too tired of telling people what they needed to do, but he'd do it one last time tonight if they stood in the way of him and his beer.

There was no chance at all Ky was going to risk inebriation in a place like this. None at all. “Yes, sir. You’re probably right. I mostly just found an empty seat and went for it.”

Corrick sloshed his drink at this person, who was now just kind of standing there. It was obvious he's not a regular. "Next time, don't take up a seat for the drinkers. You might not get someone as nice as me."

Ky squinted at him. How exactly was he being the nice one here? She had offered him her seat — when she didn’t have to — and he hadn’t even said thank you. He was being rather rude, as a matter of fact. “Okay.”

Corrick decided to ignore this person now, and stared into his drink. Perhaps this concoction will make him forget his problems for today. Either that, or someone to knock him out, or something.

Ky decided she didn’t like him. And also decided it was awkward to just stand here. But she at least had a corner here where everywhere else she’d be surrounded by hostility on all sides. So she crossed her arms and leaned against the wall and watched the rest of the room.

Corrick found the bottom of another mug and sighed. It wasn't even hitting him. It lacked the punch it used to have... once upon a time. He leaned back and drooped his shoulders. If he was here like ten years ago, he would have picked a fight already and got kicked out or his ass kicked. He was a sucky fighter.

He glanced back at the person he forced out of their seat. They were leaning against the wall, looking sulky but more importantly looking completely out of place. Corrick heaved a heavy sigh and turned to the barkeeper. "Save me the next empty table, why don't ya?"

Ky glanced at the man, considering asking him why it was that he was unable to find his own seats. Then dismissed the idea. She didn’t want a beating tonight. And that’s all that would do.

The innkeeper motioned to a rickety table towards a lonely corner of the inn and grunted. Corrick nodded his thanks. "Get a drink for that one over there and tell them there's a table open for them."

He'll deal with that in a moment. He took another large swig of his drink.

(I’m unclear who he’s referring to. Ky?)

Ky sent a wary glance between the man and the barkeeper, something deep inside her wanting to go out to pace. To feel the cool evening air against her skin and let it ground her and clear her head. But she couldn’t. She didn’t know why. But she couldn’t leave this stupid inn no matter how hard she tried.

Double the reason to be polite. She wouldn’t be able to run away from a fight if one did break out. And she far preferred running to fighting, even though she knew she could hold her own. Why would she risk breaking her hand — again — when she could just run away instead?

(yeah he's referring to ky, i was going to say loner but i thought that'd be mean haha)