Fiona
There's a hand on my ass.
I wish that I could say this was the first time such an unwanted groping has happened, but considering I work in the villages only tavern, it's hardly the first and it for damn sure won't be the last.
I smile politely down at the drunk man who's taking full advantage of the situation, his meaty hands roughly squeezing my ass while his glazed eyes are staring at my tits.
"Hands off the merchandise," I tell him as I fill his mug with more ale. "You only paid for the food and drink, not my ass."
He ignores me and grabs his mug, drinking deeply, most of the ale running out of the corners of his mouth, down his beard and onto his shirt. When he's drank the last bit, he slams his cup down and stands, tossing me over his shoulder as he does.
"I'll pay when I've sampled the goods," he says roughly. For as glazed as his eyes are, his words are surprisingly clear.
I also wish that I could say this was the first time that this has happened, but that would be a lie.
Bringing up the pitcher of ale that's still in my hands, I bring it down onto his head. The pitcher shatters and the man falls to the floor, dropping me in the process.
The other patrons laugh as he holds his now bleeding head, and I collect the broken shards of the pitcher and head towards the back of the tavern, slipping behind the bar and into the kitchen.
The smell of roasting meat, the day's vegetables and fresh bread great me, along with the cook and tavern owner, Mable. "Break another one?" She asks with a knowing grin.
Tossing the pieces into the trash I grin, "a rather handsy man needed to be put in his place."
Mable shakes her head but chuckles as she lightly reprimands me, "you keep breaking them pitchers and I'll have to start taking them out of your wages."
I scoff and pointedly look at the shelves full of pitchers, "I make them! I think I'm entitled to break a few."
"Aye, that you are," she agrees. "I don't like that you're breaking them over my customers heads though."
"Good thing I'm your favorite then," I tease.
Mable would never admit it, but we both know that I'm right. My mama, goddess rest her soul, was Mable's best friend growing up. When mama's dad married her off to my father, they'd lost touch. I'd grown up hearing stories of Mable and her wild ways, and when mama died a few years ago, rather than stay with my father, I'd set out to find the woman in my bedtime stories.
And find her I did.
Mable had made quite a life and reputation for herself in the small village of Jessup. Instead of marrying, she'd taken her dowry and bought a run down tavern, building it up so much that Jessup had nearly doubled its trade thanks to her. And while she was an unmarried woman, nobody dared to make trouble with her out of fear that they'd be banned from the tavern and village.
The first time I'd seen Mable, she's been beating a man up with a frying pan for saying that her tavern looked like shit. And in truth, it did, but only a suicidal person would voice that opinion.
She'd seen me standing off to the side, had stared at me for a brief moment and then pulled me into a large hug and didn't let go for several minutes. Then she'd pulled me inside and given me a room and a job. She hadn't asked questions, knowing full well that I wouldn't be there if my mom was alive.
It was one of our unspoken things. She didn't mention my mom and I didn't mention the green fluffy mold growing behind the oven.
"Going to the festival tonight?" She asks, changing the subject.
"Don't know if my boss will let me," I reply solemnly. "She can be a bit of a bitch when it comes to giving us time off."
She grabs a roll from a basket and chucks it at me, "little shit. You know full well that you can go to the festival. Harper should be back in a few minutes and then you'll be free to drink and fuck the night away."
My face crinkles in disgust as I catch the hot bread, "as if I would fuck anyone in this town."
"Fiona," she sighs. "One day you'll want someone of your own to come home to. Perhaps even little ones."
"Mable," I deadpan. "Let's be real here. It's me we're talking about. That future.. isn't possible." I take a bite of the roll, "besides. If I get married and become a housewife, who would run this place? Because it sure as shit isn't you!"
I duck just in time to avoid a spoon being flung at my head, "out of my kitchen you ungrateful little shit! Go to the festival, have fun and come back in a better attitude!" Mable orders as she tries not to laugh.
I skip over to her and give her a light kiss on the cheek, "love you Auntie."
"Yeah, yeah," she mutters. "Now git."
Not wanting to be told again, lest she changes her mind, I race up the back stairs and up to the rooms that Mable gives her girls. There's six room total, five for us working girls and one for Mable.
Mine is at the far end of the hallway, the smallest and furthest from the bathroom, but I didn't care. It was mine and nobody was allowed inside unless I said so.
When Mable had told me that, I'd stared at her, sure it was a joke. But when the others had backed her up and made it clear that they would cut me if I ever dared to enter their rooms without permission, I'd started to believe them.
My door creaks open and I slip inside, lighting the lamp on my bedside table. The sparse room was bathed in a soft glow, illuminating my bed, dresser, cracked mirror and a small table with a single chair that sits under the window.
It wasn't much, but I didn't need much.
Making my way to my dresser, I pull open my bottom drawer, my forbidden clothes staring up at me. Pulling them out, I can't help to smile, Mable had been right about one thing-
I was definitely going to have some fun tonight.