A/N: This was written using this song as prompt: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LxGr5doGJmY (New Year Minute by the Eagles).
In a town somewhere irrelevant to the most of the universe, it also happened to be raining. Not a deluge that cried for cover, or a drizzle that sent couples out under umbrellas, full of giggles and bumping shoulders. The rain came down, a steady roar of patter, patter, patter, thousands of rat feet scuttling through drain pipes and down through the sewer pits of the Vauxhall Hinges.
At the front desk of one of the town’s numerous inns stood a clerk who felt as dried out as crackers. Despite the rain, as he shuffled group after group of customers through to enjoy soft beds and the lamb pies Jack, the house cook had on special tonight, if the smell wafting down from the common’s wasn’t his imagination, he counted the minutes. The seconds, until he’d be off duty.
He sighed for the thousandth time, a most fortifying exercise that got him through the monotony of taking names, assigning rooms, handing out keys and dealing with customers that still had things to complain about, despite the sort of weather that really should cause everyone to act more like sheep than usual.
At least, that was until a group of four barreled in, dragging another round of mud and wet and the smell of soaked fabrics, plus the middle train of an argument that revolved around money, esthetics, locations of things in the town, boredom and, the clerk sympathized with the last, exhaustion. Though he bristled a bit at the remark that this inn was no more than a set of four walls and two floors that resembled a droopy-eyed hound. He wasn’t so far gone, yet.
The slight was counteracted quickly through a smile leaking through his cracks when the prettiest member of the group, a slight young woman with straight light brown hair done in a braid, offered an apologetic smile and asked in a quiet tone if they could please have two rooms, to share.
Even so, two rooms, four names and keys distributed later, the clerk wanted to go hide in a corner. Apparently this group was that sort. The sort who, despite opening the gambit with the shy but politest member, there will always be one or two who then start an argument in the background over who is sharing with who and why can’t they all get their own room because they are stuck all day already, and so on.
Mostly the argument richoched between the tallest member of the group, a lanky young man with a red hair and the short woman, who seemed to be the eldest of the group while the other two looked on. In another universe, the boy in the group would probably have manifested popcorn from the air and been snacking it. The scene was that sort of show.
Between the exchange of names and room numbers the short, older woman bashed the tall young man somewhere on his body with a black lacy fan more commonly seen with old widows than thirty-something women wearing a baggy faded shirt, waistcoat, black jodhpurs and a fedora. Thankfully it died down once the keys were distributed. Evidently giving them command of things like room keys kept them under control. The boy snacking on the pseudo popcorn, was the quietest, aside from a non-stop giggle. After noting the action for a few seconds the clerk pointedly ignored the boy until mid-giggle still, the boy said one word.
“Food!” He blurted, silencing all other noise in the entrance way. Without further ceremony he disappeared up the back set of stairs, presumably following the wafting scent of meat pies and wood-fire that spoke more about the hour of the day than just the dreary weather. Night was close at hand. The red-head, who had folded his lanky form against a corner in the wood siding, as far from the older woman as possible, looked after the boy before nodding to the women of the odd group and disappeared up the same stairs.
“I have a date with a bar,” the short woman announced, “anyone who wants a date with the business end of Lucy, please follow,” the woman gave an exaggerated pat to a bulge at her hip.
The desk clerk gurgled. Guns were not allowed in rooming establishments such as this. Any further sound actually resembling a parroting of inn rules stopped at the roof of the clerk’s mouth with a look from the woman who barked, “you’ve got a bar yes? Where?” The desk clerk managed a nod and a shaky finger point in the direction before diving behind the desk with the cover of locating some files that needed urgent sorting.
“Just me here Anne,” a girl, around the same age as the lanky young man answered in the longsuffering tone of those who are used to being the only sane ones in a group. The woman snorted and marched in the direction of alcohol, calling over her shoulder, “Anyone by the name of Esperance however is an exception to the rule.”
“Right then.” The girl, Esperance, an unusual name. Sounded more like aperformers alias than the legal identification of the quiet girl in fingerless gloves, a lacy black riding jacket and jodhpurs spattered with mud.
Unfortunately for the desk clerk, that was not the last he saw of the odd group. Nor was his night a quiet one in the rain. After all, rain creates quite a symphony of problems on its own. Add four individuals who have trouble following like baby dusks in a row and the clerk would not be getting a reprieve any time soon.
