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Wow, I totally didn’t forget about this!

Anyhow, below is my random snippet. I borrowed a character from one of my older stories that I rewrote so many times…he’s sort of hard to figure.

 

“So, where you from?” the man with half of his teeth missing from his grin asked me. He smells funny, not that I would say so. His southern accent jumbles up the words too much, and it takes my brain a moment to register the question. 

“I honestly don’t know,” I back away, trying not to gag from whatever the man ate–or drank–before.

“You new here, right? Come to Mermaid’s Tail, they know how to sort you out,” he continues to push me along the crowd. “They also serve the best patelonis! No other place with patelonis as good as they make.”

I think to myself that he’s only trying to help, which in itself is not really helpful. I try to explain to him that I’m not really hungry and that I only need a lodging for the night, but I find myself stumbling into a shady-looking tavern. 

“Welcome to Mermaid’s Tail! Wait here, I talk to the owner,” the man does another demonstration of his toothless face and disappears into the mass of bodies.

“Uh…” sighing, I look around. For a tavern in this area, it does look nicer. The building is something of a hut that was built part stone, part wood, and part something I have never seen. The lights serve little purpose in providing vision five metres away, and the ceiling looks ready to cave in. But the smell that is saturated in the building is something wonderful, so I stay there without saying anything. 

There is a round of guffaws loud enough to make your ears deaf, and I look over the people, wondering what could have made such a sound. Since I’m a little on the short side, I do a little hop. Still nothing. Apologizing, I push my way into the crowd. 

In the midst of the crowd is the man from earlier and an upturned table, food and liquid littering the floor. Crude drinking gourds and eating utensils are scattered around, and I have to blink and swallow so that I won’t get sick. 

“He says he knows Amarila,” one of the customer snigger. 

“Why on earth would Amarila know such a beggar? Look at him,” another person points at him, his face a shade too red from whatever he was drinking.

“Did you see how he tripped?” the comment sends another wave of laughter rippling across the room. 

By now, I genuinely feel sorry for the man and walk over to him. The man looks at me with a dazed expression on his face like he doesn’t understand. “Let’s go,” I urge him.

“But I tell you, Amarila’s patelonis are the best,” he mumbles. “If she was here she’d-“

“Thank you for trying to help me out, sir,” I help him to his feet. “But all I needed was a lodging. I’m sure we can come back for patelonis… some other time.” We leave the tavern, rings of laughter still echoing in my ears.

“Amarila…” the man glances up at the sign of the Mermaid diving back into the waters. On my face is a ghost of a smile, reflected in the dirty store windows. I have found my clue.