In the port town of Cartia, many vagabonds and lowlifes could be found visiting The Silver Spoon to drown their worries away with grog. The name was quite ironic, as it was most definitely one of the seediest places to buy a less than decent bottle of ale. It was located on the outskirts of town, sandwiched between a brothel and a boarded up pawn shop. Although, the brothel wasn't making very good business. You see, The Silver Spoon had plenty of whores, and all you had to do was buy them a drink and they'd be giggling in your arms as you coaxed them into one of the rooms upstairs. There were also plenty of pirates to fool around with, due to the fact that the out-of-sight-out-of-mind dock, where rows of proud jolly rogers could be seen fluttering in the wind, was only a couple hundred paces away. You could smell the wafting aroma of cigarette smoke and alcohol from halfway down the block warning you of what's to come, but in order to see the The Silver Spoon for yourself in all its glory, you'd have to actually step through the doors. The windows would need more than a good scrubbing before being able to make out anything other than fuzzy silhouettes.
As if in an attempt to live up to the expectations the name placed on the saloon, Louisa, the owner of the fine establishment, hired a pianist every Friday night. It was good for business, she said. The girl she hired was easy on the eyes and a prodigy to boot. Louisa often wondered why she wasn't in Mariejois performing for some nobles. Her music could sway the crowd to whatever emotion she desired, as if she was the 'pied piper', but instead of whistling through a flute, her hands danced upon the surface of the antique piano. The men could often be seen listening with eyes closed, mesmerized by her playing. Or, if she so desired, she could fade it into the background and they'd be too distracted by the business of the room to pay her playful notes any mind.
And so, the tinkling of a piano could be heard floating over the rowdy tavern late that night, creating the ideal atmosphere for the telling of jokes and the sharing of exciting stories. As the night wore on, laughter, cheers, and the clinking of glasses replaced the jolly melodies. Elle lifted her fingers from the keys and began to ready herself to leave.
"Aww, finished already," sighed Gregor, an old friend who would serenely sit and listen to Elle's playing all afternoon and into the night given the opportunity. He pouted at her with twinkling grey eyes. It wasn't unusual for her to appease him with another songful tune or two, but she was utterly exhausted and desired only the sweet sleep her warm bed offered her back home. "C'mon, how much will one more tune cost yah, girly? I really could use a pick-me-up after the brutes I had to deal with today," he bargained manipulatively.
She let out a sigh and glanced at the worn down whites and blacks of the antique instruments. There's no denying the life of a bounty-hunter would be difficult. She remembered her younger self listening to Gregor's stories of exciting battles against swashbuckling pirates with an awestruck expression. He had claimed to be the fiercest fighter on the high seas. Pirates from all over would cower at the name, Gregor the Giant! He was a rather large man, as he found every now and then the top of his head had collected dust and cobwebs from the ceiling. So who could blame young Elle for believing every word of his far fetched tales. But she wasn't a little girl anymore. She now recognized his impressive stories were nothing more than just that. Stories.
"More than you're worth," she responded flatly. Although hunting bounties in the early age of pirates had been quite a lucrative business back in the day, there was no denying his age was catching up to him. More and more crinkles seemed to gather on his face by the day, and she swore his copper locks had taken on a bit of a silver sheen as of late. What little money he did have was spent on grog to help him erase his faded aspirations from his mind. Every now and then he would spend a bit on a pretty girl in hopes that he could get a little action despite his less than breathtaking appearance. She did find herself pitying his sad state, but she also felt as if she was about to fall asleep sitting up. "Sorry, but I'm all out of juice today. I can barely tell the difference between an 'A' and a 'B' at this point. Even if I did play you a couple more, they certainly wouldn't sound all that great." She wasn't exaggerating. A sudden wave of exhaustion had suddenly washed over her, and she was at the point where the keys were overlapping in her vision. Even if she wanted to, she wasn't sure if she could even play 'Chopsticks'.
"You can't be that tired Elle!" whined Gregor, sounding like a small child being denied their desserts. Part of her wondered if her weekly tunes were the only reason he hadn't fully given up on himself yet. She felt her face heat up at the idea. She was truly flattered if that was the case. He interrupted her idle daydreaming, "You haven't had anything to drink, have you? There's no way you can't do one more diddle!"
"I don't partake in alcohol on work nights, you know that! And I am that tired, thank you very much!" she huffed indignantly, although at this point she was getting too exhausted to even protest. It was quite odd though, she felt as if she had just been run over by the sea train. Why was she so out of it? She had to get home.
She abruptly stood and felt herself sway slightly. She briefly worried she'd end up a heap on the floor, but she managed to remain upright and began to make her way out of the tavern. Upon seeing her staggar away, Gregor realized just how unusually fatigued she was. She looked like a precarious tower of stacked blocks, daring to collapse at any time. Her navy hair was pulled into a loose messy bun at the base of her neck and looked to have a few pins slipping out here and there. Her usually attentive chocolate eyes looked buzzed and out of focus. She trudged past his table, sparing him not even a glance.
"Oi, girly! You look as if you've taken a trip through the wringer! You sure you haven't had a drink?" He called after her. She denied his accusation with a dismissive wave of her hand and headed out the door after collecting her pay from Louisa. He fleetingly wondered if he should make sure she got home safe, but he'd already paid for his ale and wasn't going to let it go to ruin. Soon enough, the image of her messy hair and tired eyes were flushed out of his mind by the grog.