12 January, 1692
Mid-evening
Aparumcium Public House, St. Cyprian

For your soundtrack pleasure...

It was a lively Saturday night full of music and good cheer, and there was barely room to take a breath inside Aparumcium. 

The public house usually did its liveliest business when the threat of church loomed on the morrow, as if the whole town wanted one last round of jocundity before their souls faced their weekly judgement before divine providence.  Ever since the New Year, though, it had seemed as if the pressure was building without release.  No one knew if this Saturday would be their last, if a Company ship or the Wizards' Council would come calling with a writ of enforcement in hand to finally impose the Statute of Secrecy on St. Cyprian and insist that all their common ways of life be tossed to the sea.

Someone had brought a fiddle tonight, and another some pipes, and the two together had led to the vigorous jig that now sounded through the establishment. The joyful music pushed the levels of noise even louder, as patrons grew more and more boisterous in an effort to be heard over each other.  Pollux had practically had to demand that the last customer shout his order directly into his ear so that he could be sure that the man was requesting some of Hopkins' stew and not searching for a lost shoe.  Even after he'd taken the man's coin, he still wasn't certain that he'd gotten the order right.

"Sorry!" Pollux exclaimed, as he nearly bumped into Aquila.  His employee had been in the process of carrying two nearly-overflowing mugs to a nearby table, which looked to be on their fourth or fifth such round, judging by the empty soldiers that lay fallen by their wayside. 

He flashed her an apologetic look as he tossed the silver into the coin box, and then bent over to go searching for a clean bowl to distribute the stew into.

It was much noisier then she was used to coping with, so much noisier, and smellier. Lots of unwashed or salty smelling people, alot of fish. It was sort of foul in a sense but she can manage it, she was managing it. She was pretty well, she hadn't bitten anyone, or hit someone, yet atleast. There was still time, there was always time to end up biting or hitting someone. One drunk had already become dangerously close to losing his fingers when he tried to stroke her face.

The noise part was the worst, but she'd had time to learn to manage it, if she only focuses on a couple of things at a time she can block out the rest, mostly it was listening to the barman and the woman helping him. There was something about a lost shoe, she figured it worthwhile to slowly slide a boot that was near her under someone else's chair, she didn't want them finding it too easily, more amusing to let them get hit by drunken dancers as they tried to pick it up off the floor, or fight a drunk for asking to the move the chair. She'd take the petty revenge for now over biting their hand off.

She had been waiting to see if anyone she recognized was here, she had been told by someone to visit the island but so far she's not met anyone she's known, not that she would know many anyway. But regardless the only people interested in her have been those thinking they can touch her and not need to see a doctor or a gravedigger after.

She saw the barman approaching with some drinks and moved slightly to meet them so she can more reliably get across instead of the dancing, plus he seemed busy so no use calling him over. Getting up from her chair and prowling over to him, like a beast stalking its prey.

"How much for a bottle of Rum and a room with company?" She asked with a slight gesture.

Pollux was well used to Aparumcium attracting all kinds of guests, but the voice that interrupted his hunt for a bowl sounded much younger than the sort that he would have expected to ask that type of question.  He straightened, wiping his hands clean on his apron as dark brown eyes studied the slip of a girl who'd approached him.

She looked like she'd just crept off a ship in the company of the louse and vermin, with matted brown hair that looked as if it were first cousin to a rat's nest.  A noticeable scar ran from her right eye down to her chin: recent, by the looks of it, and somewhat poorly healed.  Up close, there was a knottier look to her lean body than he might have guessed from afar, but she also looked ready to leap if he so much as twitched too quickly in her direction.  Whether that vault would take her towards his throat or for the door remained to be determined.

All in all, the girl looked as if she was far more in need of a warm meal and a safe place to rest her head, rather than rum and older company.  Pollux considered her for a moment, and then nodded to the counter, where there were one or two mismatched stools still open.

"'Fraid we're all out of bottles at the moment, miss," he said, flashing her an apologetic smile.  "These Company inspections have been wreaking havoc on our imports the past few weeks.   But I'll pour you a glass if you don't mind taking the supper that comes along with it."