Gleda

The tables at the Curved Horns Tavern fill with the usual crowd of tired workers looking to unwind, and other folks with nowhere better to be. One of many similar establishments dotted around the slums of Vorinstead, it offers cheap booze to drown one's cares, and a few serviceable beds upstairs. Nothing for free, of course. As the sun sets, there remains warm but weak illumination from oil lanterns, blending with the blue-tinged glow of a few low-quality magelights. The crystals of one are clearly in need of recharging, its dimmed light adding little more than shadows to the corners of the room.

In the middle of the crowd, laughter bubbles out of Gleda where she reclines across the lap of an elderly customer, listening to the same old jokes while running her fingers through the wispy white remnants of his hair. She doesn't miss the firmness in his lap beneath her shapely bottom, but this well-seasoned regular has always been just a bit too grandfatherly for anything to come of it. She wraps a warm hug around his neck, and plants a soft kiss on his forehead, before hoisting herself to her feet and straightening her skirt.

Braden, the tavern's owner and Gleda's father, grunts and rolls his eyes as she saunters toward the bar. The barrel chested man isn't much younger than that elder customer, his own eyes and posture betraying a deep weariness with life. He hads the girl a pair of tankards, nearly overflowing with frothy ale, and gestures toward a table. With a wink and a smile, Gleda whisks away to deposit the beers between a relatively young couple who are clearly more interested in each other than anything else.

"'Ere you are, loves," she chirps merrily at them, just the same. "Rooms for a bronze an evening, a silver for the night... we don't ask no questions if'n you get rowdy up there, 'ight." Having set the two lovebirds to blushing, Gleda grabs empty tankards from another table and struts back to the bar, passing around to the other side. As she deposits them in the washing basin, her father frowns and sighs at nothing in particular.

"Oi, ye can leave these ruffians wit' me, papa... if'n you need a lie down." It's become more and more common these days for him to leave the business in her younger hands, as age brings him down. The big man grins down at her and pats her shoulder, but shakes his head before stepping back and sitting down on a stool. Gleda shrugs and smiles, leaning forward to lay a wet kiss on his cheek, before turning her attention to the crowd again.