What a day and night it was. It is for the second morning now that I wake up in the confines of the fat man's rooms. I almost dare not venture downstairs for breakfast again. I might see if I can have it brought up.
What's this you say? Another journal in such a short space of time. Well, I am simply of a mind to pen my innermost thoughts now in particular.
Upon arriving in this tavern on the first day for the most part no one had paid me any heed. The common room was quiet. It was just the sanctuary I had needed from the village. I supped of my rum, apart from the odd little chattering here and there I was at peace aside from my thoughts. This place has been eerily quiet when I have come in before in recent times, fleeting as though that may be though it seems I merely chose the timing of my visits wisely.
No sooner had I settled upon that bench on the first morning, mug of mead in hand the way I start every day if possible. Had it begun. A queer rough talking sort of girl with an patch over her eye and carrying instruments parked herself down opposite me on the bench, very well I thought. I can handle a pleasant chat over breakfast. I put on my best smile, and bought her an ale which she seemed quite surprised by. As if it was some kind of trick. I don't wager many buy her ales but I saw not why it was so strange. Is kindness still so fleeting for Bree's poor?
I ate the bacon upon my plate, so far so good. This was a welcome distraction from my thoughts. Talking about much of nothing. And then he came. Booming laughter, a tiresome grin upon his features. Wearing a bandana. Slapping my back as though we were close companions. Yet a change came about in my company. She went quiet. Would not speak further. I listened to their conversation keenly. The subject of some violence he had committed in the name of business.
I suddenly felt a tingling in my fingers. A stirring within my blood not so visible on the surface so that the naked eye would see. Whisperings in my ear. That ever so jovial man. I know his type well. I've known them all my life.
A hero type, he himself branded me. Amusing, to say the least. He would not label me such if he knew what I had done. Perhaps I have played the part at times.
But for every good turn I have done bad ones in pursuit of my own self interest. As much as my conscience does me no favours.
Would a hero have found it most pleasurable to throw that man from the bench and crush his windpipe underfoot. To observe the spluttering and gurgling of blood and the last desperate struggle of a man with the surest knowledge he is seconds from death. I think not.
Deep breaths, deep breaths.
I had no time for this. I smiled, and I jested and I went along with his labeling of me. My first performance of the day. I then excused myself in order to go locate for myself a damsel in distress. In truth, a stroll across the town I needed to gather my thoughts once again. So I left my poor and silent companion alone with the man.
I am no hero. Perhaps I have played the part in the past but not today. I sought to put the exchange to the back of my mind. For I have enough to concern myself with.
I took a long stroll of the length and the breadth of the town. I walked all day. In the countryside also. My only respite. For when I returned to the Inn there was the dark-haired lover of the Rat's friend and another. Smiles, laughs, jests. Curious that any ill will I bore this man seems to have dissipated in such a way. We shook hands after a private word in the back rooms in the end. We bid farewell, a timely end to the exchange and I approached the bar yet again.
Lingering but a few moments, it was my intent to find a quiet corner to sit and simply finish my rum. Then take myself off to bed. No sooner had I put my bottle upon the bartop to reflect had the woman pounced. And thus it came to pass that I spent the evening schmoozing, flattering, conversing with a rich and well-to-do lady and her companions whom it seems had more coin than it was sensible to advertise.
These noble lords and ladies have no humility. No subtlety when it comes to tempering their ostentatious ways. Still, I would be fool not to flatter them when they can enrich the coffers of my Inn so should they make good upon my invitation. She wasn't unpleasant to look upon either which helped.
There came a point, when enough was enough. The crowds in the Inn were loud, and they grew louder still. Wrestling with my innermost thoughts whilst presenting an outward image of myself as I have grown so adept at over the years in small doses grew too much.
I found myself longing for that quiet chair and when enough time had lapsed. All I had wanted all day. I bid goodnight and I sunk into it. Exhausted beyond belief. I find it grows more exhausting as time goes on to put on the acts required of me to venture out into the world. I spied that fair haired maiden once more, creeping by me. Strange.
I will return to the village. The middle-aged keeper does oft ensure that no one disturbs me at the very least and does not ask her questions aloud even if she does appear to worry for me. And the villagers have grown to respect my preference for distance as a result. Still, a change of scenery was what I wanted, a change of scenery was what I received.
