BRADÁN
Cathair, northern Baile"Mornin' Genovefa," said Bradán as he made his way down the rickety stairs from the second floor of the Backalley Inn. "Is that bacon I smell?"
He was a tall man, was Bradán, but skinny. He had short bright red hair and the typical freckles and green eyes that went along with it. His face was what you would call long, but had an honest look about it. Bradán was anything but honest, though, as most people who knew him could testify. His friends had in fact given him the nickname 'Fish', which was part a play on his actual name, but mostly on account of him being slippery as one.
Genovefa was like his exact opposite. Short and stout, with coal black hair and more than a little muscle on her. She eyed him evenly as he descended the steps.
"That big nose of yours ain't lying, Fish. There's bacon, bread, and even a little bit of butter." She gave him a stern look and added, "You'll have to pay for it, though. Up front."
Bradán raised his hands in defence and gave the innkeeper a hurt look. "A bit early for hard words, don't you think? I've barely got out of bed and already you're harassing me with accusations! When have I ever not compensated you for your hospitality?"
She turned towards him and crossed her arms over her chest. "I could name a few times, as could you. And to be fair I haven't accused you of anything. Yet. But I could start with reminding you that you haven't paid for lodging yet, you mingy bastard!"
Standing on the bottom of the stairs, it was Bradáns turn to look cross. "Mingy, me? Since when does old friends charge eachother for a roof to sleep under? Does your greed know no bounds, woman?" He waved an accusing finger at her, and then pointed it up towards his room. "And I can't see why anyone should pay you anything for those filthy beds of yours! I swear, your sheets are riddled with lice!"
She snorted at that. "If there are any lice in that bed, it's only because you brought them! Now, are you going to squeeze any coins out of that dried up purse of yours, or am I going to have to call the guard?"
"Maybe you should!" He shouted, "They could rescue me from this robbery!"
They stood there for a a few moments, glaring at eachother over the counter.
"Ten pieces." She said, with a finality that could have stopped a racing horse in it's tracks. "Ten pieces and not a coin less."
"Ten? Hah! I'll give you five!"
"Eight, and that's the end of it." Her gaze forbade defiance.
"Fine, then," he said and approached while opening his purse. He slapped a handfull of coins on the counter and looked her in the eye. "Seven, and next time I'll give you a couple extra for the trouble."
She met his gaze, a mix of anger and disgust on her face. "You truly are a slippery, slimy old fish, Fish." She pocketed the coins and went pack to the pan on the stove.
"And you, my dear, are a true philantropist. Now, you mentioned bacon earlier..."
An hour later, Bradán was getting ready to leave. Genovefa was doing the dishes and eyed her customer from behind the counter. "So," she said, "Where are you going this time, then?"
"East and then south, along the old Gold Road" he replied, "Got me some swords out of Loch Dubh to sell, and some elvish glass out of Mun Geata, and I've heard there's a market for them down in Thangoradrim."
She raised her eyebrows. "That's quite a journey. How are you travelling?"
"Not by my lonesome self, I can tell you that!" He scoffed before continuing, "Might be we haven't fought with those Uruk bastards in a long time, but that doesn't make me trust them any more than I have to. Barbarians are what they are, Gold Road or no. There's a caravan leaving town today, led by a fellow I know by the name of Lóegaire."
"Aye, I've heard about him. A tough old bastard, they say. He'll keep you safe."
Brádan looked up at her then, all surprise. "Why, Genovefva! Are you worried about me? Sad to see me go?"
She snorted again, louder this time. "As if."
