Delthia-Chapter 2

Chapter 2
The MontMacheerion
February, 1835
He needed a place to stay-a place to think. The cold city streets were just too empty those days. The long road ahead was half covered in slush and snow. Gentle, icy flakes fell slowly to the barren ground, making the rest of the world seem still. Nearly a dozen shops and houses lined the lonely road, but their windows were empty and their doors barred. Only a small pub remained open.
The MontMacheerion was generously illuminated. A pianist played in the corner, his song all but droned out by the chatter of patrons. At the counter stood a lone woman. Her dirty dress fleeted above her ankles every now and then as she went from table to table, earning her countless scorns. Even with her curly red hair tied back and her clothing in rags, it was visible that she was fairly pretty.
The door gave a whine as it was suddenly opened. The tender’s eyes shifted upon the newest customer. He was a tall man, half hidden beneath his cloak and hat. Even though the man was young, he leaned against his walking stick like an old man.
“Can I get you anything?” the tender asked in a meek voice.
“No, I’m fine for now. I think I’ll just sit awhile.”
The tender leaned against the counter. She looked over the other patrons. There were a few men sitting at a table, some gamblers in the corner, an old chap sitting at the counter, and a few others, but none of them seemed to be in need of anything. She turned back to the gentleman who just entered. “Would you like something do drink now, sir?”
Surprised to see the bar tender still present, the man gave a startled jump. Blushing, he pushed a half-hearted laugh. “Sorry, dear lady, I didn’t see you there.” He shook her hand, “Simon. Simon is my name.”
“Greetings Simon,” the tender muttered, “Can I get you anything to drink yet?”
“Not at the moment, miss.”
She shrugged. “Alright then.”
Simon waited for the bar tending woman to leave. When she gone off to clean another table, he gave a sigh of relief. He turned to look out the window. Snow was still falling outside, making him glad to be inside The MontMacheerion, where it was warm…and safe.
“The bar tender was pleasant,” he thought out loud, “a little impatient, though.”
His thoughts drifted away from the window. Simon knew he couldn’t stay much longer, for he didn’t want to deal with the building owner when it was discovered he didn’t have a single coin on him. For months now, he had wondered the bitter European countryside with very little, if at all any, money in search of a place to stay put for good. The prospects of travel weren’t all that Simon had hoped-twice he had been mistaken for a vagabond and beaten, and it was hardly possible to count all the times he had gone hungry because of lack of funding. He could get a job if he wanted to-he just didn’t know what he could do to earn a living.
Uneasily, Simon gazed outside at the quiet streets. “It’s pretty now,” he thought, “But it wouldn’t be that hard for someone like me to freeze too death if I were to stay out too long.”
“Hey, I saw you! You’re hiding cards up your sleeve, aren’t you?!”
Every last person in the bar, including Simon and the tender, stared at the man who had just shouted. He was one of the gamblers in the far corner of the room. The other players shifted uncomfortably as their comrade pointed accusingly at another man, who happened to be twice his size.
“Yards, sit down!” hissed one of the other players, “Now’s not the time to bicker!”
The gent, however, did not take his seat. The man he had accused was also on his feet now. He was a giant brute-rising nearly a foot or so above his accuser-and he was furious. The veins on the neck of the charged man bulged as he glared down at the much smaller player.
“You’re calling me a cheater?!” he howled, “’you saying I’m a lying now, do you?! Everyone knows you’re scum, Yardsmith!”
In two seconds, both men were on the floor. The accuser brayed like an injured calf as he tried to sink his teeth into the larger man, but the other man was quick to land his giant fists into his face. The shorter, stockier man howled and kicked, lashing at him again. This time, it was an elbow to the stomach that did him in. His accused chap took the opportunity to throw another punch, this time in the chest. Moaning, the plaintiff rolled onto his back, coughing and spluttering fluids that Simon dared not ask about.
At that moment, the woman who tended the counter came back. A horrified look came over her face when she saw the carnage that had occurred between the two men. “What’s happening here?” she demanded no one in particular. The room was silent.
Not noticing the woman’s return, the accused gentleman continued to repeatedly kick his fellow player. Every time he’d fall, it’d take the loosing gent longer and longer to climb back up onto his knees.
“Stop it!” shrieked the tender in an attempt to stop the fight, “This isn’t a place for warfare!”
The man simply ignored her and returned to the beating of his accuser. Warily, Simon got to his feet and strode up to the combating two. He tapped lightly on the back of the charged man’s shoulder. “Sir, I think it’s time you leave…”
The man glared down at Simon. He flinched, expecting to get hit. The pain didn’t come. Instead, he opened his eyes and saw the man staring in the direction of several people, who stood in a circle around the wounded player. Slowly, he turned back to Simon, and his eyes filled with hatred and rage. “Stay out of my business,” he growled, and as soon as the fight had started, it was over.     
While the gamblers were debating on who should call in a doctor for their injured companion, a dazed Simon drifted back to his seat and the counter. Like magic, a drink magically appeared before him, complete with a bowl of warm soup. The woman attendant stood before him, a meager smile spread across her face.
“I…I can’t accept this,” Simon stuttered.
“Of course you can!” the server chortled, “I didn’t know what to do back there, God knows what would have happened to that man if you hadn’t stepped in…”
“…He had it coming, of course,” he muttered, “who was he to pick a fight like that? Didn’t he know he was going to be injured?”
Sighing, the woman took a seat beside Simon. “He knew, what he was getting into, honey, he just took to much pride in himself to bother stepping out. A lot of people are like that, you know.”
“Well…I hope he’ll be alright then.”
“He’ll be fine, I’m certain.”’
“Ah…”
Suddenly, a loud shouting followed by a loud thumping sound from above shook the pub. The woman glanced up nervously. “I’ll be there in a minute!”
Simon raised an eyebrow. “What was that all about?”
“Nothing,” replied the tender. She stood up and began gathering plates up in her arms. “You’re quite the curious one for a drifter, aren’t you?”
“Why I…! I’m not a tramp, or a beggar, if that’s what you think!”
“Hmm…I knew you were without funds when you first turned down a drink. People just don’t come to a pub to sit around; you know…” her voice fell, “Especially not ones who halt brawls.”
“Is everything alright, miss? You seem distraught.”
The attendant gave a nervous laugh. “Oh, I’m fine, really, though I really ought to be going. Don’t worry-I won’t tell anyone you’re a vagrant.”
“Foul woman!”
She smiled. “Enjoy your meal, sir.”
Just as she turned to leave, Simon grabbed onto her arm. “Wait! I didn’t catch your name.”
“Everyone calls me Rosanne,” the woman muttered. She then gathered up her loose skirts and hastened away.
Filled with gloom, Simon returned to his spot and the counter. Someone else had eaten his meal.