At some point in the establishment's history, people became
regulars. Even as its appearance declined over time, for the most
part they didn't stop being regulars. Some preferred the Lamb, others
the Pig and Whistle, and there were those that enjoyed the Recluse,
just as the Shot's regulars wanted to spend their evenings there.
It was far from impressive. The outside consisted of worn wood that
was lucky that it hadn't caught aflame when Deathwing had passed
through the city. Even though it was stationed in an alley, it was
still visible come the night, a torch placed outside its door as to
illuminate the aging sign that rested above the door, “The Last
Shot” carved into the wood accompanied by the image of an empty
shot glass.
The interior matched the exterior to a degree. The newest looking
items within appeared to be the bottles lining the back walls. The
room had a darkness to it that came natural to a building lacking
windows and was amplified by the darkened wood that made up the
furniture and walls. What light there was came from candles around
the place, which the owner liked to claim added “atmosphere”.
It was spacious enough to allow a number of tables and chairs in, as
well as other amenities. A decent sized bar was stationed at the
north end of the room, and the corner to the left of the door space
was reserved for a few musicians wanting to earn a bit of extra coin.
The place was known well enough for a few performers. Some even
argued that when no one was there to play, a bit of music could still
be heard.
Aside from the entrance, there was one other door in the entire
room, and it stood behind the bar. This back room received steady use
as the night went on, with the bartender having to retrieve something
from it here and there, but more commonly for a few patrons who
entered the Shot and went straight for the door. Others might exit
from it, with those who arrived later in the night having never seen
them enter. For those who might have wandered in for the first time
it was a primary point of interest, but for those who had been there
before their interest was much more subtle. Occasionally someone was
brave enough to creep up to towards the door and take a peek into the
room beyond, but they were only greeted with a pantry stuffed with
food stuffs and a few bottles of harder liquor.
-----
When the turned into the alley, she found herself alone, save for
the flicker of the torch in front of the door. She had a small bag
hanging on her belt, leather armor covering the rest of her. A small
smirk played on her face as she approached the door, anticipating the
conversation she might leave in her wake. Pulling the door open, she
entered the tavern, not giving anyone among the crowd a passing
glance. Her destination was the door in the back. Once she had
opened, gone through, and closed it, the smirk broadened. Just
another spark of conversation on it.
The pantry was dark with the door closed. It took only a moment for
her hands to find the small latch on the trapdoor, pulling it upward.
Shifting forward, she dangled her legs into empty air until her feet
found the rungs of a ladder. As she began to descend, she made sure
to close the door above her. Below her a few more torches offered a
faint flicker. Her feet found the floor, and she released the ladder,
turning around to face yet another door.
She stepped into the next room, eyes scanning it slowly. It looked
much like the room above, save for the door in the rear. There were a
few tables scattered here and there, a bar at the end opposite the
door, and a man in the corner plucking at a few strings on an aging
instrument. The crowd her was smaller, being made up of a small group
in the corner who all glanced up at her for a short moment, before
going back to their hushed conversation, the bartender, and a lone
man at the bar. Of those choices, she went with the bar.
The bartender stood, silently scrubbing a glass. At her approach, he
glanced up, an eyebrow silently raising. She kept her smirk, resting
forward against the wood, a knowing sense of amusement in her voice,
“Business seems a bit slow tonight.”
The eyebrow didn't move, and neither did his mouth. The tender
offered no response, simply continuing with his scrubbing. “So
talkative,” she said, smirk widening.
To her right, the original occupant of the bar snorted, his voice
low and rough, “Still thinkin' you're clever?”
She turned, resting her left side against the bar as she crossed her
arms, the smirk not waivering once. He was a tall human, with dark
skin, and his hair was cut short, a trimmed beard on his face. She
recognized him in an instant. “Corvo,” she said, “Still
drinking?”
“Not nearly enough,” he grumbled, bringing his mug to his lips.
Returning the mug to its previous resting place, he turned his head
to the side slightly, shooting her a glance, “I'll take that as a
'yes', then.”
“A yes to what?” she asked, head tilting a tad.
Grunting, he shook his head yet again, leaning forward against the
bar, “'Yes' it is.” Corvo almost sounded amused, for once in his
life, like he wasn't trying too hard to fit in with copper novel
detectives, “Swear one of these days someone will walk in here who
ain't a damn smart ass.”
“Considering you're already down here, and you still don't believe
a person fitting that description has yet to enter, that doesn't
speak highly of your self-esteem.”
“Don't get paid to have a high self-esteem,” he grunted, taking
another pull from his mug.
She rested more against the bar, “So then tell us, mister Booker,
what grand payday has brought you to this establishment of 'smart
asses'? Because I can't imagine you
coming down here for pleasure. That would imply you could smile.”
“Think that's my business, not your,” he said, shaking his head.
“Go around poking everybody with questions like that? 'Cause
eventually they'll get to poking back.”
She put a hand to her chest, eyes widening, “You wound me, Booker.
As if I'm so unprofessional as to go digging into another's affairs.”
He snorted yet again, but said nothing in response, “Then why the
hell do you even come down here if not to pry into other people's
stuff? 'Cause that's all I ever see you doin'.”
She blinked, “Are you accusing me of something? Because I assure
you that I'm perfectly i-...”
Booker put a hand up, “Say what I know what you're about to say
and I'm gonna have a hard time resisting the urge to come over there
and shove a cork in your mouth.”
“My aren't we rude tonight,” she said, amusement leaving her
voice to be replaced by a heavy dose of sarcasm and annoyance.
He shrugged, “Maybe if you got a new joke, people wouldn't be
tired of it.”
“One, it is not a joke, and two, it is far from overused.”
He cocked an eyebrow, “You're kiddin' me.” The man held up a
single finger, “One, it's a joke. A pun. Maybe it was clever the
first time I heard that, but it sure as ain't funny now, and I have
no clue what Light-forsaken urge a person'd ever have to use it on a
regular basis.” A second finger rose to join the first, “Second,
like hell if it isn't overused. You pull the whole 'I'm innocent'
schtick every single time you get the chance. I don't even think
that's an overstatement in the slightest.” He looked to the
bartender, “Ain't I right?”
The bartender glanced up from his glass, looking at Corvo for a
short moment, before his gaze drifted back downward, not a single
noise escaping him. She smirked, “Does that mean he's taking my
side?”
“Doubt it,” Booker said, sliding his glass towards the
bartender, partially for a refill, and partially to provoke some sort
of response. A silence set in for a moment, before he lifted it, “I'm
waitin' on somebody. What's your excuse?”
She produced a small bag from her belt, tossing it over towards the
bartender who caught it. Offering him a shrug, she inched away from
the bar, “Delivery.”
“And the whole standing here was just to terrorize me.”
She shook her head, smirking yet again. Her back to the door, she
began to inch closer to it, attention focused on him, “I'm afraid
not.”
“Nope. Not walkin' into that one,” he said, shaking his head,
looking away from her. “Innocent”, at least that's what she
called herself in such a place, bit her lip, having to resist to say
anymore. Instead, she turned, exiting the room. Soon enough she would
find her way back out onto the street, before slipping off into the
night.
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