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Date: 06 May, evening
Location: Bar
Status: Public (Dustfinger)
Summary: Dustfinger goes to the bar

Dustfinger was bored from waiting that a Silvertongue arrived to the manor.

He still had the money from Arty, so he he thought could go and drink a glass at the bar.

He went in the bar and took a barstool by the counter.

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"Hi there," Joe said. "What can I do for you, Sir?"

"I'd like something to drink", Dustfinger said. "A beer please."

Joe poured and set the keg down in front of the man.

"Here you go," he said. "You're the fire artist, aren't you?"

"Yes." Dustfinger said. He took a swallow from his drink. "What do you know that from?"

"I saw you perform out there a while ago," Joe said, nodding towards the window. "It looked great. Are you a professional?"

"I perform on fairs and in the streets", Dustfinger said. "It's the only one I know.

He drank from his glass and held it towards Joe to fill up again.

Joe topped up Dustfinger's glass and put the bottle within easy reach. "Do you have any repertoire to speak of to be performed inside?" Joe asked. "And how much would you charge for a show for my guests?"

"Show is better outside", said Dustfinger. "Inside is too dangerous with fire. Things burn."

He nodded at the chair Joe was leaning against and that showed clear signs of fire.

"So it would seem," Joe said. "No idea how that happened, though. The chair was singed already when I took over the bar."

"Fire is everywhere", Dustfinger pointed out. "And fire here don't understand any fun. It's really angry and aggressive. It even burn me."

Joe looked surprosed. "Fire doesn't burn where you come from?" he asked.

"It does, but not me", Dustfinger said. "It doesn't bite its friends there. I can touch and handle it and it follows me like a little cat or something."

"A cat." Joe wasn't quite convinced. "Cats scratch your furniture but they don't tend to gobble up your entire home if you let them out to play."

"Fire never eats my home", Dustfinger said. "Not at home anyway. Never. It's good there. Here not so much."

He moved around on his chair and put his arms on the counter.

"Are you happy here?"

"Here in this bar, or here in this hotel, or here in this town?" Joe asked. "Any of those, though, I'm happy enough to stay for a while."

"I guess it's not so bad for somewhere in this world", admitted Dustfinger. "Can I have another one?" He pushed his glass towards Joe.

Joe poured and pushed the glass at him. "This one's on the house," he promised. "And no, it's not. Nice and quiet, but without being boring." When we're not all plagued by all too vivid nightmares, that is...

"I like nice and quiet," Dustfinger said. "They have much noise and dirt here in most places. That's not nice and quiet."

"No, indeed it isn't," Joe agreed. "I guess you'll like it here."

From what he had seen, apart from the nightmares, it was nearly too nice and quiet here.

Dustfinger lifted his shoulders. "I really just want to go home", he said. "But if I have to stay here, this place will be okay if I can get enough money to stay."

"Are you in need of a job?" Joe asked. He mentally went through his inventory of barpeople. Did he need another one? He did need to make sure he was well established in this hotel so no one would wonder about his staying here, since McLeod definitely seemed to be settling down for a long holiday.

Dustfinger thought about it.

"I am a fire-eater and juggler", he said. "I don't think I am a very good in anything else. I want to get money with performing, but they do not like that I do that on the street here."

Joe nodded. "People and their laws," he said. Too bad that putting on a fire show indoors is a bit too dangerous, or I'd offer you the stage here once a week. You might be able to sell tickets for the garden, though."

Dustfinger shrugged. "Not many people pass through here, and you only want to see a show so often."

Joe nodded.

"So, would you be interested in another kind of job if it was something you can do, or do you only actually want to stick with performing only?"

"I never learned anything other than performing," Dustfinger said. "It's no other job I can can do."

"Maybe there's something around the hotel that you could do?" Joe suggested. "I could use another pair of hands in the bar, too, to serve drinks to the tables in the evenings when there's more going on here. I'm not that easy on my feet with a tray of drinks in my hands."

"Maybe I can", Dustfinger said. "I don't know. I never tried that. I don't drop things often."

"If you want to, we can try. I could use another pair of hands here."

He didn't just say it because he already liked the man.

"Maybe we can", Dustfinger said. "But I want to see if there is someting else first. I think I'm not so good with this kind of work."

"We won't know for sure unless we try, though, will we?" Joe said. "What would you say about a test day?"

He wondered if the man was shy, had no confidence in his own skill at all or simply didn't want to tell him no.

"Unless you're really rather not."

"I... I don't know." Dustfinger wanted to have some money. He needed it. But working in regular work was not for his nature.

"It's very... sudden."

Joe smiled at the younger man.

"Don't worry. I'll not be mad at you if you don't make a decision right away."

He pointed at the mug. "How about another one?"

Dustfinger considered it for a moment. Then he nodded. "Okay," he said.

He watched as Joe filled up the glass.

"You're a good man, you know."

Joe smiled a half-embarrassed smile.

"Thank you," he said.

"I mean it." Dustfinger said. "And I'll think about it."

He looked around the room. "How many people come here that do not live in the hotel?"

Joe shrugged. "Some do, but not too many. I think the hotel may have a bit of a reputation for... odd... inhabitants."

"Really?" Dustfinger asked. He thought about it. Yes, some of the people here were strange.

"I guess you're right," he admitted."Why do you need anyone at all then?"

Joe came around the counter, letting Dustfinger see his cane and his gait. "I'm not too good with serving tables," he said. "I can't use both hands for carrying trays and sometimes it gets hard to balance one - especially if it's very full or during those hours when the room is pretty crowded. I'm much better behind the bar."

Something close to pity stirred in Dustfinger. The man had a hard job, tending his bar and waiting tables, when he was obviously not in best health. He wondered what had happened to him. Had he been a soldier? Soldiers returned home with all kinds of injuries. That was the same here as well as back home.

Joe knew the expression that crossed Dustfinger's face.

"You don't need to feel obliged," he told him quickly. "I've been running bars and pubs for over a decade. I can handle it."

Moved to http://www.ltsafehouse.com/sites/thread.php?type=1&name=Thread%20240

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