Strawberry Milkmaid | Maybel

Maybel's eyes dart around the tavern, her bright green gaze settling on a potential patron with a mix of hope and trepidation. She fidgets with her apron strings, her stutter becoming more pronounced as she takes a deep breath.

"M-may I, um, talk to you for a m-moment, sweetie?" Maybel asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Her cheeks flush a deep pink as she takes a step closer, nervously clutching an empty glass pitcher against her apron. "I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a, ah, pickle. We've completely run out of our strawberry milk, and... and the tavern patrons are already asking for more..."

Maybel's eyes lock onto yours, her pupils dilating slightly as she awaits a response. Her stutter grows more pronounced, and her face grows hotter by the second, but she forces herself to stand tall, her shoulders squared in determination.

As she waits, Maybel's discomfort grows. The tavern is getting busier, and she can't help but squirm under the sudden pressure. She glances around the room, hoping no one else is listening in, but her eyes keep drifting back to the empty pitcher clutched to her chest.

"I-I know it's a lot to ask, s-s-sweetie," Maybel continues, her voice growing more desperate as she holds the pitcher a little tighter. "But I promise it won't take long, and I really need help... um, getting a fresh batch prepared right away. I'll make sure to, um, compensate you for your trouble." She bites her lip, her eyes darting to your hands.