FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Kret's bad mood cannot be lifted, even with the sweet smell of the cinnamon toast that sits upon her plate. The kobold slumps over on the bench at the tavern, having spent part of her earnings on the new traveler's clothing she wore and another portion on this meal. Despite how much people clamor for it, she just can't bring herself to enjoy this tasty treat. Here she is, the first time in her life with the means to support herself, if only for a little bit, and the ennui of her life has come back to her once again.

When the barmaid comes around to her table, she misses the kobold's hand, raised slightly to signal for the sweet oblivion alcohol provides. When the server disappears into the the crowd, Kret just grumbles and pulls her hood up over her face. Maybe she can sleep right here, instead of wasting her precious little gold on room and board. At least here she doesn't have to worry about being kicked out all undressed once the night shift decides it doesn't want a 'scaly' on the premises.

So, she falls asleep, on a partially empty stomach, and on a modestly heavy purse, but not heavy enough to get her out of her perpetual distress.

She dreams of a simpler life. It is a life where she can keep her head down and work an easy job. No one looks at her funny and all the tools at the textile mill are sized just perfectly for her. There's no one there demanding her body or keeping their distance, waiting for some terrible accident to happen, and, best of all, when the day ends, she isn't sleeping on some bench, or curled up in a drainage pipe, but she has her own room, her own bed, with nice warm meals and no one sharing it, save for those she invites herself.

As she ends her work day and lays down into her bed, a melody drifts through her ears. It is at the same time mournful, yet hopeful. It starts soft, but swells beyond to a beautiful song that brings a tear to her eye.

A slam on the table jolts her awake. Kret fumbles at her hood and throws it off to find a foaming mug in front of her. The barmaid walks away without saying a word, and Kret shrugs, bringing the drink to her mouth. She notices the crowd around the tavern is quiet, and soon, she realizes why. That melody, the one from her dream, it's still going. The kobold shifts in her seat to face the stage, and she slowly lowers the cup,a foam mustache left upon her snout.

The man on the stage takes everyone's attentions and pulls them right up against his body. As he sways, Kret feels herself pulled along by his motions, and as he sings, the sadness that has a grip upon her heart relaxes and falls asleep, leaving her leaning in, hands on her cheeks, tail tapping to the tune. She doesn't quite recognize it. Elven, perhaps, but the feeling that his music gives her enthralls her to listen, as it has for the other patrons.

Once he is done, the young man runs a hand through his long, curling black hair, the softest of smiles graces his lips, which makes his well-groomed mustache twitch upward in a cute way.

Kret sighs as she watches the man exit the stage with a flourish, and when she tastes the foam, she realizes that she was licking her chops for him. Squeaking, she backs down into her seat, looking down into her lap.

The murmur of tavern guests picks up again as another singer enters the stage, her voice drowns into background noise among the patrons,and Kret is once again left with cold toast and a mug of ale. She brings the drink to her mouth again, envisioning the bronzed skin shown through his half-unbuttoned white shirt, and giggles slightly at the idea. Can she find happiness in just simply admiring beauty in the world around her?Perhaps giving that a try can't be so bad, but damn...

"Is this seat taken, little one?" A velvety voice speaks up from behind her.

Kret, not really interested in company, grumbles into her drink.

"I shall take it as a 'no,' then." The voice responds to her and the bench creaks slightly under the human weight. Kret pulls the drink away, opening her mouth to tell him what for, when her jaw drops. There,sitting right next to her, is that very same bard that had so enraptured her only minutes ago. The kobold scooted over to the side, sitting with her legs straddled on the seat and looking straight at him. "I didn't know it was you!" she gasped. "Please, forgive me!"

"Forgive you for what, little friend?" the bard asks, holding up his own mug. "For not willing to pull your mouth from such fine spirits? I can hardly blame you." He chugs a prodigious amount, and Kret's eyes widen as little tears of ale roll down over his trimmed beard, his masculine Adam's Apple undulating. Again, her tongue passes over her snout at the sight.

He lowers his drink, placing the mug down on the table before him as he looks over toward her. He, too, licks his lips, then says. "You also like to have a slight mess when you drink? It is good manners where I come. It shows the owner that their drinks are so enjoyed, we cannot wait to drink them down. I tell you this in the hopes that I may learn a thing or two about your own story, for I can see it in those great big eyes of yours, that you, my friend, have a story to tell. As a weaver of tales, I am more than happy to admire yours. Perhaps," he adds, swirling his finger over the rim of his mug, "You wouldn't mind if you tell me your story back in my room, where there is more privacy, no?"