The group was loud, nearly belligerent as they entered Derek's business, The Crane Inn. It is always the same with these adventuring types. They swoop into a place of business, try to spend as little coin as possible, sometimes pickpocket the patrons, and then move on as if they didn't just disrupt the lives of those around them.
Granted, not all these groups are completely terrible, and some are worse than others. Still, they all fall on the same scale of annoying—even those who come back regularly.
A ranger follows in behind the group. Unlike the rest of them, she isn't loud and vying for attention. Instead, she seems amused by their antics, hanging on the edge of the group. They find a large table, snagging a chair from another table—a chair they're unlikely to return to its spot, Derek notes.
The innkeeper stares at the elf as she stands, not bothering to take a seat. She taps her fingers as she waits for her group to decide what they want before heading his way. When she makes her way to the counter, Derek does his best to make himself look busy. It would be best if he wasn't caught staring.
She has to clear her throat for his attention.
At the sound, he looks up, keeping his face carefully neutral. Bored, even. "So," he says, "go ahead and tell me. What's your sad story?"
She blinks. "Excuse me?"
Gesturing toward her adventuring gear proudly on display, then at her compatriots, he raises his brows at her. "Yeah, people like you always have a sad story of how you decided to get into adventuring, and they always love to tell it." He notes that there's a twig stuck in her hair, finds it oddly endearing.
Her brows shoot up as well. "And you think it's alright to just demand that story from a person you don't even know? People like me." She snorts, derision dripping from the sound. It gives him goosebumps for some reason. "You don't know the first thing about me."
"Please." Derek tries to match her level of contempt—and contempt is something he does very well—but it can't quite equal it. Maybe because he realizes she might have a point. Still, he's built the hill. He's going to die on it. "I see your kind in here all the time."
"You think that I'm just going to hand over my life story to some—" her eyes flick up and down, taking him in and making Derek feel exposed and seen; he doesn't mind the displeasure written all over her face, finds her distaste for him appealing, "—forgettable barkeep? You think that because you stand there—not asking for my order, by the way, I have to wonder if that's really any way to run a business—that I'll decide to sit here and spill my painful life story to you? That I'll open up to this stranger who felt entitled to my business?" Her arms cross over her chest, eyes narrowing.
"Adventurers do like to talk about themselves."
"You give them the opportunity." The corners of her lips quirk a little. He notes that her shoulders square, and she plants her feet even though this battle is entirely verbal. "In fact," she leans in a little and lowers her voice; Derek can't help but mimic the action, "I bet you love to listen. You probably would love to be out in the world yourself, but something keeps you here, tied to this building, and this life that you desperately want to escape."
He doesn't have an answer to that. Instead, he straightens up, taking a step back. Somehow, that last lean aside, they'd moved really close together. He found himself simultaneously annoyed and grateful for the bar top that separated them.
But she's not done ripping him to shreds. "The audacity," she continues, "to think that I want to relive my most painful memories with an unsympathetic question grunted at me like that. You've no right to me or my story. Honestly, mind your damn business."
Thoroughly shamed and strangely aroused, Derek frowns. "You're right; I shouldn't pry. What can I get for you today?"
She presses her lips together before quickly rattling off her group's order. When she's back to collect the last of her order, she leans back over the counter to whisper, "For the record, I had a very whole and happy childhood. My parents are still alive and kind people, and I've no sad or tragic background. Adventurers do love to talk about themselves, though, don't they." She smiles, winking before turning on her heels and flouncing back to her table, leaving Derek to stand there gaping like a fish.
She'd been pulling his leg the entire time.
That—that—brilliant fucking elf.
It doesn't occur to him until their group has left that he could have at least countered with the fact that he's more than a simple barkeep and owns the inn.
She doesn't look at him as she leaves.
It's unlikely that he'll ever see her again, but Derek regrets that he didn't get her name. In the weeks that pass, he spends more time thinking about her piercing blue eyes and unruly brown hair than not.
Quite honestly, it's a relief when she does return.