Beryl's Antics (Optional RP Fluff for IC Inn Workers)
Posted: Tue Jul 25, 2017 1:35 am
THE NEW AND IMPROVED DWARF SWEAT
Beryl peered over the railing of the landing at the top of the stairs leading down into the tavern of the Inn, seeing if the Fates of Mischief were going to be kind to her this eve. By the looks of it, they were! There was nary a barkeep, bar wench, or inn slave around. And, by the sounds coming from some back room, Fugly had claimed a catboy for the night. A grin appears, and mischief gleams brightly in the depths of pale yellow eyes. With her steps quick and light, she all but scampers down the steps, white furred ears upright and swiveling to catch any sounds of would be spies! Her tail sways freely behind her, and the tip of it is the last thing seen as she disappears behind the bar. At 4'2", she's not easily visible on the other side of the long wooden structure that separates patrons and Inn workers. She puts her hands on her hips, and turns in a full circle, taking a look around, hoping for inspiration. It's true, that switching bottle labels has funny results, but she wants to try something different. The various sized and colored bottles catches her eye, and she then glances at the place where drinks are prepared. What if... what if she makes a NEW drink? She'll pick a few bottles, empty the contents into a large pitcher or bowl, mix them together and pour them back IN the bottles! Perfect! With that in mind, she goes to stand in front of aaaaall the bottles along the wall.
She starts reading the labels, muttering to herself, as she tries to figure out what would taste good together. "Hmmm. Dwarf Sweat?" She wrinkles her nose, but then brightens, "Oh! Maybe, I can make it taste better than it sounds!" With the first bottle chosen, she continues to peruse each one, "No, not that one. No. Weeell. No. Oh! This should make Dwarf Sweat taste better! Princess!" Second bottle is plucked from the shelf. So focused on her task, she did not hear anyone enter the Inn. Last she knew, she was the only one here other than the regulars one could find in any tavern, in any town, any time of day or night. "Maybe, one more. Something that sounds sweet." She steps sideways as she goes along the wall of bottles. "Three's a charm, or something, right?" Suddenly, she stops. "That's it! BirdSong! That sounds pretty sweet!" With a bit of awkwardness, that third bottle is procured and she makes her way to where drinks are mixed. After a brief search, she finds a large pitcher that's perfect for her needs. Lofting it onto the surface of the mixing area, she goes about pouring the entire contents of each bottle into the large drink container. Once that task is finished, she tries to find something to stir it with, but is not successful. So, with no other choice, she dips her hand, forearm, elbow, and halfway up her bicep into the liquid and begins to swish it around. When she feels it's been stirred enough, she withdraws her arm, which is dripping all over the counter and floor, and goes in search of a towel. This time, she is victorious and finds a clean bar rag to use. Well, somewhat clean. It was dry. That's all that was important.
The next step, obviously, is pouring the new mixture back into the three bottles. In her mind, she's attempted to improve Dwarf Sweat, which is entirely possible because, let's face it, any change to the drink is probably an improvement. Be that as it may, it doesn't dawn on her that she's utterly ruined the bottles of Princess and BirdSong. Oblivious to the demise of two perfectly good bottles of fine tasting alcohol, she manages to get most of the "new" drink back inside. Losing only about a third of it onto the mixing counter, the floor, and herself.
Finally, she recaps/corks the three bottles and returns them to where they belong. Happy with the results of her plottings, she turns on a wet squeaky heel, and heads back toward the stairs, leaving footprints in her wake. Luckily, even if they didn't dry out immediately, they only trailed about halfway up the steps. A few moments later, she disappeared into the upper floors of the Inn and, somewhere overhead, a door slams shut.
Beryl peered over the railing of the landing at the top of the stairs leading down into the tavern of the Inn, seeing if the Fates of Mischief were going to be kind to her this eve. By the looks of it, they were! There was nary a barkeep, bar wench, or inn slave around. And, by the sounds coming from some back room, Fugly had claimed a catboy for the night. A grin appears, and mischief gleams brightly in the depths of pale yellow eyes. With her steps quick and light, she all but scampers down the steps, white furred ears upright and swiveling to catch any sounds of would be spies! Her tail sways freely behind her, and the tip of it is the last thing seen as she disappears behind the bar. At 4'2", she's not easily visible on the other side of the long wooden structure that separates patrons and Inn workers. She puts her hands on her hips, and turns in a full circle, taking a look around, hoping for inspiration. It's true, that switching bottle labels has funny results, but she wants to try something different. The various sized and colored bottles catches her eye, and she then glances at the place where drinks are prepared. What if... what if she makes a NEW drink? She'll pick a few bottles, empty the contents into a large pitcher or bowl, mix them together and pour them back IN the bottles! Perfect! With that in mind, she goes to stand in front of aaaaall the bottles along the wall.
She starts reading the labels, muttering to herself, as she tries to figure out what would taste good together. "Hmmm. Dwarf Sweat?" She wrinkles her nose, but then brightens, "Oh! Maybe, I can make it taste better than it sounds!" With the first bottle chosen, she continues to peruse each one, "No, not that one. No. Weeell. No. Oh! This should make Dwarf Sweat taste better! Princess!" Second bottle is plucked from the shelf. So focused on her task, she did not hear anyone enter the Inn. Last she knew, she was the only one here other than the regulars one could find in any tavern, in any town, any time of day or night. "Maybe, one more. Something that sounds sweet." She steps sideways as she goes along the wall of bottles. "Three's a charm, or something, right?" Suddenly, she stops. "That's it! BirdSong! That sounds pretty sweet!" With a bit of awkwardness, that third bottle is procured and she makes her way to where drinks are mixed. After a brief search, she finds a large pitcher that's perfect for her needs. Lofting it onto the surface of the mixing area, she goes about pouring the entire contents of each bottle into the large drink container. Once that task is finished, she tries to find something to stir it with, but is not successful. So, with no other choice, she dips her hand, forearm, elbow, and halfway up her bicep into the liquid and begins to swish it around. When she feels it's been stirred enough, she withdraws her arm, which is dripping all over the counter and floor, and goes in search of a towel. This time, she is victorious and finds a clean bar rag to use. Well, somewhat clean. It was dry. That's all that was important.
The next step, obviously, is pouring the new mixture back into the three bottles. In her mind, she's attempted to improve Dwarf Sweat, which is entirely possible because, let's face it, any change to the drink is probably an improvement. Be that as it may, it doesn't dawn on her that she's utterly ruined the bottles of Princess and BirdSong. Oblivious to the demise of two perfectly good bottles of fine tasting alcohol, she manages to get most of the "new" drink back inside. Losing only about a third of it onto the mixing counter, the floor, and herself.
Finally, she recaps/corks the three bottles and returns them to where they belong. Happy with the results of her plottings, she turns on a wet squeaky heel, and heads back toward the stairs, leaving footprints in her wake. Luckily, even if they didn't dry out immediately, they only trailed about halfway up the steps. A few moments later, she disappeared into the upper floors of the Inn and, somewhere overhead, a door slams shut.