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September 23, 2019 - 240 words
The morning dawned cool and gray as the autumn wind hammered without mercy on the doors of the Ragged Maiden inn, sounding like an exhausted traveler desperate for shelter. The inn was a sturdy hardy structure, destined for greatness in the mind of its builder but falling rather short of that goal and instead becoming just a regular old inn. And that was just fine with the innkeep, Blom Blomgrin, who was up with the rise of the sun cleaning up after last night’s ruckus. Most evenings were ruckuses down here at the ol’ Ragged Maiden.
“Ah ho, Blom,” came a grizzly voice from the other side of the inn.
“Hmm.” Blom flicked a glance across the common room and nodded to Farmer Gack, a grizzled guy with a grizzled voice holding a grizzled-looking grizzler in his hands. Forget that. “Mornin’.”
“Up early, y’are.”
“Hmm.” Blom disliked small talk and he HATED early morning small talk. Say it or don’t.
“Just hoppin’ on by to give you a noticin’ fer the weather. Storms. Lots. Saw the rumors in the sky out in the fields at first break. Looks bad, Blom.”
Blom nodded again and went back to wiping out the last sullied tankards. Quality inns need quality glassware. Keep ‘em clean. It all falls into place from there. “Aye, Gack. Appreciate that reckoning. Let’s keep the lookout.”
“No word?”
“No word.” Blom’s face, worn and scowling, was a worn scowl.