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Post by Flyta Dwyn on Oct 29, 2013 12:52:03 GMT -6
The shift at the tavern didn't start until an hour just before the sun went down, which left Flyta to her own devices during the rest of the day to spend it with other jobs or possibly catching up on sleep from the night before. Even when she made it to the tavern after a nap, she was utterly exhausted from keeping her life going. Her mother would have been either proud with how well she'd been holding herself up or mad that she hadn't gone to any of the relatives to seek aid. Flyta didn't even know what she should feel with herself. The rent was behind again and she was certain that there was a bird making its nest in her room. The soles of her shoes were thinning so bad that she could feel every rugged jut and rock that placed itself on the road to her next destination. She was well aware of her to-do list and what she needed to get at the market, but she was also aware that there wasn't much time for either one of them. Despite the worries of the world, Flyta felt like she could forget it when she entered the bar. That was in part to the alcohol that she could also take part in -- not too much, though! -- and the atmosphere. Probably the most exhilarating part of the job was the person she was working with himself, especially after the tavern closed. So even with the thought of leaving in the next thirty minutes or so, Flyta treasured that time where she wasn't stressing. "Darn..." Flyta muttered, internally scolding herself as the echo of shattering glass faded from the room. Third cup she had dropped in the week. If she kept it up at least she would be consistent. "I-I'll responsibility for this... Again," her eyes flickered to the elf before picking up the larger chunks of glass with her hands. After a second glance, she went about looking for the dustpan. ★ hey, this took almost 35 minutes to come up with a title  |
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Post by Atticus Fallon on Oct 30, 2013 20:47:28 GMT -6
The sound of shattering glass certainly caught the tavern owner's attention. Slightly, Atticus's shoulders slumped just a bit, not noticeable to any others in the room. Wincing a bit, the elf turned around to see his dark haired barmaid kneeling down to pick up the broken shards of glass. That was the third glass this week she'd broken, however, no matter how hard he tried, Atticus had a hard time staying mad at her. She was trying her hardest to do the best that she could, and really, that's all he could ask for. However, it sure would be nice if he could keep his glasses in one piece. A small smile peeked from the corner of his lips before he shook his head, sighing slightly. "Flyta, it's all right. Don't be so hard on yourself. I've broken glasses, too. Try not to worry about it too much." With the sort of poor luck that shined down upon Atticus, he could completely and utterly understand hard times, and difficult obstacles that are thrown into one's path. Aquamarine colored eyes grazed over the young girl he'd grown attached to. He supposed that was part of the reason why he wasn't too harsh or too hard on her for making mistakes -- he fancied her. That in itself was a problem. It wasn't necessarily the fact that they worked together, but the fact that she was ten years younger than he was. Atticus groaned internally as he thought of the age difference between the two. There was the possibility that she found him utterly repulsive in that aspect, and there was the possibility that she didn't care either way. This was something that Atticus hadn't paid too much close attention to. With his luck, it was probably the first option, rather than the second. Rounding behind the bar, the owner grabbed a waste bin, and placed it beside the small clump of broken glass. "Here," he said as he pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped his hands off before tossing it over his shoulder a bit. "Really, Flyta, it's just a glass. There's nothing that you need to take responsibility for. It's not like I'm docking your pay because you broke a few glasses." ★ Titles are important. Sorry for the delay. I kind of felt like curling into a hole and dying.
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Post by Flyta Dwyn on Nov 3, 2013 10:35:04 GMT -6
That's what he always said. She owed him nothing, needed to take no responsibility. At home, her mother would have been the same way, but her neighbors would have wanted her to fix everything she broke or messed up. She didn't tell her mom about that, though, as she would have unleashed a wrath upon them and... No, she didn't want her mom worrying about that. So why was Atticus acting the same way? Flyta thought that when she got this job and new apartment that her life would be harder and that people wouldn't be as kind to her. She was pleasantly surprised to find that everyone seemed to be helping her. But that also bothered her. Why? Was it because she looked like she was having a difficult time? Like she couldn't take care of herself? Like she was too young to do all of this? She scooped the glass into the waste bin, golden eyes glancing up through her lashes at the man she now called her boss. "A-Are you sure you shouldn't? I break more glasses and you might be out by this month-- ouch!" Flyta stood up straight and shook her hand. Crimson droplets of blood splattered onto the floor from the new gash in her hand. A sliver of glass fell to the floor, coated in red. "S-Sorry! I-I'm s-s-so sorry!!"★ ---
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