Open Another Round?
#1
Another night, another round of watered down beer to sling. One guy got frostbite the other week, and if he lost all his fingers that way – how would he afford to drink?

She wiped down the bar, taking special interest in the left hand side once she spotted Sad John on the right, searching for an ear about his latest tragedy.

“What’ll it be?” she grunted to the next person to sit down.
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#2
Kel shuffled in via the back, his fiddle clanging a bit inside its case on his back as the narrow doorframe offended.

A night of playing would warm his fingers. But he had to wait for the frostbite to thaw before he could even begin. So he walked out from the kitchen to the bar.

"Ms. Bluff." He nodded. "Cold as witch tits out there."
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#3
With perhaps less sturdy and weatherproof outerwear than would have been prudent, given the low temperatures outside, Nearboy had gone to the village pub for a pint of beer. He'd gotten his hands on a shilling, and would drink it's worth, and then head back to the circus. Having had yet another spat with his sister, he wanted to put some time and space between them. He "loved" Mezi, and was quite emotionally enmeshed with her, but they had a gasoline and matches type of dynamic. If it wasn't her getting mad at him, it was him getting furious at her.

He needed some peace and quiet, to think. So...best place for that? A possibly noisy pub, of course.

He nodded at the woman and said in an accented voice, "Beer. Pint." He was not one for grand manners. Sliding the coin over to her, he waited for the cup to appear, and glanced at the young guy who'd just come in from a back room. He had what looked to be a musical instrument in a case on his back, maybe. Oh, wonderful, gadje music? Well, he could tune it out just as well as the conversations going on around the place. Or, who knew? There was always the possibility it might be good. Anything was possible, right??
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#4
“Witch tits?” she said, pausing in her wiping down of as-clean-as-it-got bar. “This isn’t your good old witch tits, boy: this is Jack Frost’s nipples.”

Without batting an eye, Jane nodded to the new kid, bit the coin, and swiveled to the taps. She sniffed and looked back over as it poured. He smelled kind of like that guy that was always spitting mud in the cups after picking some fight.
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