Evaline | L. Lioncourt ✔

[06] Tasting Death

The tavern was crowded with all types of people, flowing in and out of the open doors freely. And just as freely as the influx of people was the exchanging of drinks from one table to another. Loud laughter echoed throughout and the atmosphere was heavy with the drunk chatter as the stench of liquor hung about the whole place.

A game of cards was going on at the central table where most of the men were crowded, watching the hands that were being dealt. A few of the tavern's women hung around as well, serving drinks and cleaning up the mess that had been created simultaneously.

In the darkened corners of the tavern, the upper class gentry lurked, placing bets and ordering for drinks every now and then.

Evaline tried her best to stay away from the main room, busying herself with preparing the drinks which would later be served by her fellow workers. But it seemed as if a bid had been made on the tavern's loveliest worker for shortly afterwards, her friend Theresa dragged her away from the messy kitchen.

"But why me?" she protested as her friend loosened her curls, applying rogue onto her lips, "tonight is not my turn to serve the drinks."

"I am sorry, Eva, but Rob would not take no for an answer. Some gentlemen from the city are visiting and they asked for you."

She knew that situation all too well; whenever the upper class gentlemen came to the tavern, the owner made sure to tend to all their needs without delay. And it seemed as if her name had come out of the lot that once.

It was useless to argue further so she followed Theresa out as she handed her the tray of glasses. Her friend had noticed her reluctance, so she spoke, "look at the bright side. They are all drunk and they must have money on them. If you get tipped nicely tonight, you will be able to pay for the lace and frills you had borrowed from Genevieve a few weeks ago."

"Fine," she nodded, "but will you ask Rob to give me an off afterwards? This is going to be tiring."

"Sure, sweetie. Best of luck."

Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she made her way to the dimly lit table in the corner where the gentlemen were seated. She had to set her face into a cordial smile even though she hated being there at the moment.

Theresa was right; those men were heavily drunk and she knew it only ended up in trouble when there were multiple customers to tend to whose senses were clouded by alcohol. She placed the drinks on the table, digesting the uncomfortable feeling of being watched closely.

She should have gotten used to it by then; those prying eyes, the hands that reached out for her and the repulsing stench of alcohol. But even though she had been serving in the tavern for almost an year, still she was never ready for all that followed each time she was sent with the drinks to the upper class table. 

And by the end of the night, she would be battered and torn, crying her eyes out in the room she shared with three other tavern maids. 

It was no different that night either.

When she was finally able to make her escape from the tavern's main room, she was in a rather disheveled state; the rogue on her lips had been smudged off and tears were pouring ceaselessly from her blue eyes.

She rushed to the small bathroom at the back, filling a bucket of water from the tube well that she poured over herself, in an attempt to cleanse off the touch of those men. The drops of water running down her head mingled with her tears as she pushed back the wet strands from her face, leaning against the wooden wall.

No matter how hard she wanted to run away from her life, she knew she could not do anything. She had nowhere to go, no one to turn to and that job at the tavern paid merely enough for her lodgings and food, without which she would be thrown out on the streets, liable to fall prey to much worse conditions.