The morning was like any other at the bakery—calm, warm, and smelling of freshly baked bread. I was kneading dough near the back, listening to the rhythmic thud of Errol working the ovens, when Lena shuffled in from the pantry, struggling to carry a large, sloshing jug.
She paused, breathless, setting it down with a soft thud just beside me. Wiping her brow, she caught me looking at the jug with curiosity.
"Elliot, can you do me a favor and throw this out for me?" she asked, still catching her breath.
I frowned, glancing between her and the jug. "Didn't I already take the trash out this morning? What's in there?"
Lena smiled, looking a little sheepish. "Oh, it's just leftover sweet syrup from last week. I meant to toss it earlier, but I got sidetracked."
I blinked. "Sweet syrup? You're throwing it away?" I wiped my hands on my apron and walked over, eyeing the dark, thick liquid inside. "Isn't that kind of... expensive to waste?"
Lena laughed lightly. "Well, yeah, it's sugar syrup. We make quite a bit of it for pastries and glazes. Normally, we sell some of it to local restaurants, taverns, and even a few wine makers. But a lot piles up every week, and we can't use it all." She shrugged. "If we keep too much around, it starts attracting insects, and trust me, that's not something we want in a bakery."
I thought about it for a second, the sweet, rich smell of the syrup wafting through the air. It seemed a waste, but I understood why she needed it gone.
"Alright," I said, picking up the heavy jug. "I'll take it a bit further from the bakery so it won't cause any problems."
Lena smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Elliot. You're a lifesaver."
Carrying the jug outside, I found a spot away from the bakery, near the alley by the back of the street, and carefully poured it out. The thick, syrupy liquid oozed into the ground, and I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for all that wasted sweetness.
Once I was done, I returned to the bakery, ready to finish the morning's shift.
Later that day, after a few hours of bakery work, Billy and I headed over to The Rusty Tankard for our evening shift. The tavern was already filling up when we arrived, and by the time we put on our aprons, the rush had fully hit.
Mercenaries, travelers, and locals alike crowded around the tables, shouting orders for drinks and food. The noise was deafening, and the air was thick with the smell of ale, roasted meats, and the usual blend of sweat and laughter that came with a packed tavern.
I started serving a group of mercenaries at one of the larger tables. They were a rough-looking bunch, covered in dust from the road, but they seemed in good spirits. As I approached with their drinks, one of them, a burly man with a scar down his cheek, grinned at me.
"Ah, fresh blood!" he said, eyeing me up and down as I placed their mugs on the table. "You're new, aren't you?"
"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile. "Been here a couple of weeks now. How are you all holding up?"
He took a long swig of his drink, smacking his lips afterward. "Better now, lad. You pour a mean pint."
Just as I was about to walk away, a commotion erupted from the far side of the tavern. Two groups of mercenaries, clearly deep in their cups, had started yelling at each other, and it didn't take long before the shouts turned into shoves. Tables were knocked over, and soon enough, fists were flying.
I glanced over at Jorin, the tavern owner, who was already marching over to break it up. His face was set in a hard line, but the mercenaries didn't seem to care.
"Uh, should we... do something?" I asked the scarred mercenary in front of me, pointing toward the fight.
He waved me off, laughing. "Nah, don't worry about it, lad. Jorin's got this. Seen him do worse than take on two groups at once. Just sit back and enjoy the show."
I raised an eyebrow. "You're not even a little concerned that your friends over there are getting their faces rearranged?"
He shrugged, taking another swig of ale. "Eh, they'll be fine. Builds character. Plus, Jorin's a lot scarier than any of 'em."
I couldn't help but laugh.
Sure enough, Jorin wasted no time getting in the middle of the chaos. With a grunt, he grabbed the nearest mercenary by the back of his shirt and tossed him to the side like he was made of straw. The man hit the floor with a thud, groaning. The other mercenaries paused, clearly surprised by how easily Jorin handled their friend.
"Alright, enough!" Jorin barked, his voice cutting through the noise. "You wanna brawl, take it outside. Otherwise, sit down, drink your damn ale, and keep your hands to yourselves."
For a moment, there was silence. Then, slowly, the mercenaries—both groups—began to back down, muttering under their breath as they picked up their chairs and slumped back to their seats. Jorin stood in the middle of the mess, arms crossed, glaring at anyone who dared make eye contact.
"Told ya," the scarred mercenary said, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin. "Jorin's the real deal."
I shook my head in disbelief. "He should be out there fighting monsters, not running a tavern."
The mercenary chuckled. "Oh, he's fought his fair share. Now he just fights drunks."
As the dust settled and the brawlers returned to their mugs, Jorin walked over to where Billy and I stood, wiping his hands on a rag. He looked tired but not the least bit fazed by what had just happened.
"You two alright?" he asked, nodding toward us.
"We're good," I replied, still a little in awe of how easily he'd handled the fight.
Billy, leaning against the bar, gave a tired grin. "I'd offer to help next time, but I think you've got it covered."
Jorin smirked. "You just focus on keeping those drinks flowing. I'll handle the rest."
We all slumped down at a table, the rush finally dying down, and let out a collective sigh. The night had been long, and between the chaos of the tavern and the mess at the bakery, exhaustion was starting to catch up with us.
Billy stretched out, groaning dramatically. "How do we keep getting stuck in the middle of these things?"
I shrugged, leaning back in my chair. "Just our luck, I guess."
Jorin laughed quietly. "Welcome to the tavern life, boys."
And with that, we all sat in silence for a moment, letting the weight of the day settle into our bones.