Chapter 3: The Flirtslayer
The guests Erinn usually got were human, around 99.9% of the time, but today was that other .1%. Some tall guy with a spiked bone shouldered and a snake-handled sword was checking in, and he was clearly not human.
"Hello, I'd like to get a room for two," the man began, "just file me as Psaro the Manslayer." Just hearing the name made Erinn fell a little, oh what's it called…oh yeah, SCARED SLIMELESS!?
"Uh…sure," Erinn said with an unsure voice and trying not to make eye contact with Psaro, "I'll go get your room sorted out for you, it should be around 3 minutes…if you want you can, um, enjoy some drinks at the bar while we get your room ready." With that Erinn went upstairs to get the room ready.
About six minutes later, Psaro was having a drink at the bar, which was all fine and dandy, until some patrons who had one drink too many decided to come over.
"Hey babe *hic*," the drunk men said to an elf sitting next to Psaro, "How'd you like to see my *hic* prime slime?"
Psaro caught on immediately and drew his blade partially from its sheath. "If you lay a finger on Rose, I'll slash you into ribbons!"
"Oh…*hic*…come on buddy," the drunkards slurred insultingly, "you're probably compensating with that big sword of yours."
"AARGH, LET ME AT HIM, I'LL RIP HIS HEAD OFF AND FORCE FEED IT TO HIS COMPATRIOTS!" Psaro was screaming and flailing his arms about, but he was being restrained by some girl who nobody noticed was there before.
"Psaro, is not good to kill others," she said with a thick accent, "this is bar, not arena!"
"Thanks Alena," Rose said to the girl, "I figured this would happen, so it's a good thing I asked for your help.
"Do not mention it," Alena said, raising her fist over Psaro's head. "Just give me minute to, how you say, knock him out." Alena brought her fist down on Psaro's head, knocking him unconscious.
Erinn just stood there, wondering if she should be more afraid of the guy calling himself the Manslayer, or the girl who just subdued him in a single punch.