Unnamed is not a placeholder title; it is the title. Enjoy!
The Blk Dragon Inn.
Block letters had been cut out and placed upon the wooden sign, while next to it was a picture of an almost menacing-looking ram. It was actually supposed to spell “Black Dragon,” but the appropriate letters had been missing seemingly almost since it had been placed above the door. There had been efforts made to make replacement letters and put them up, but generally, vandals stole these. Sometimes, rumors surfaced detailing why the letters were always missing.
One tale spoke of a proposed rendezvous many years ago of a young couple at the “place with the 'Blk Dragon' sign.” The young man never showed, and holding out hope, the lady continued to ensure the sign always remained incomplete, hoping to one day be reunited there. Another story spoke of an ancient, nearly forgotten language where the word “blk” (allegedly pronounced “bolk”) held some kind of heavy significance. It was proposed that it meant “luck” or that it was actually a magic word that warded off evil. A third proposition said that a man named Blk, a fierce and mysterious stranger from a faraway country, was actually the one who had founded the port city of St. Elestria where the inn was established, this place was commemorated to him, and the sign's vandalism was perpetuated by his ghost.
Equally possible was that the sign just read “Blk Dragon,” simply because letters were missing.
It was a quaint inn, though it didn't compare in size or service in comparison to the large hotel chains. It had a few rooms, but it was mostly known for its tavern in the main area. It had a rustic vibe, hearkening back to medieval times with lords, ladies, heroic knights, and all the other traipses of that storied time period. The servers of the tavern, few that there were, were all women who wore bar maiden dresses that gave plenty of modesty, and occasionally dropped archaic words when taking orders. Enough attention was given to their dress and the tavern's décor that the atmosphere felt authentic, instead of kitschy or cashing in on a gimmick. Apart from the patrons, the only indications inside the tavern that everyone still were in modern times were the electronic cash register and the sign offering wi-fi to all customers (password: “black”).
The food and service were decent, but it wasn't a very busy place. It was in a more obscure portion of the city, and thanks to the odd, haphazard layout of St. Elestria, the one-way roads surrounding it were incredibly inconvenient and nearby parking was almost non-existent.
Yet still, they had their regulars.
It was Gerania's first day working. She had been the first felid – half-human, half-cat – that they had hired in many years. It wasn't that the mostly human establishment was racist against these animal people; rather, they were just more rare. While the port city of St. Elestria was a great place to live thanks to its thriving commerce and progressive environmental laws, bills could be rather high. Gerania had just moved to the city, and desperate for a job, had taken the first one that had called her back.
“It's not so bad,” she said, filling a clay tankard with off-brand soda. “I had a part-time job like this out in Utopia. We had a lot of truckers come through, though. They could be slobs....”
“Heh, you won't see any truckers around here,” replied Dulcina. She was a plump lady who was always seen with her long hair tied back. While she was the manager of the tavern, she dressed and served just like the other waitresses. “The people we get around here ain't too bad. Usually it's the folks comin' in during their lunches from work. When the phone rings at 2:00, I bet ya twenty bucks it's gonna be Laperel Publishing puttin' in their orders ahead of time. But I should let ya know about this one—“
The phone rang right then. Both of them looked at the clock and Dulcina smirked.
“You're about to owe me twenty bucks....”
“I never agreed to—!”
“Good afternoon, this is the Black Dragon,” Dulcina spoke sweetly into the phone. “Is this for pick-up?”
Gerania hummed in frustration, then went back out to the dining area. She handed the tankard to a man in a business suit who gave an absent nod of thanks, only barely lifting his eyes from his newspaper. He had it turned to the Sports section, where it spoke of the upcoming “Millennium Match” between two young ladies, one of whom could manipulate fire, and the other, water. There had been heavy advertising for it all over the city, particularly because it was going to be the first event held in the newly renovated Silvestrian Stadium. When asked if he needed anything else, the man gave a mumbled, “I'm fine.”
The door to the tavern opened, and behind Gerania, all the waitresses froze. The man who entered looked quietly angry at the whole world. He wore a long, black coat; an eyepatch; a glove over his left hand; and leaned heavily on a cane. He walked with a limp, and gave a heavy “thud” with every step of his rigid right leg. While there was a sign indicating that patrons were to wait to be seated, he immediately started across the floor towards a table. When the hobbled man saw that the table where he usually sat was occupied by the man with the newspaper, he glowered at him as if taking personal offense, then judged the rest of the tables as if this were an incredibly weighty decision.
Finally deciding upon one that was acceptable, he limped to it, and after leaning his cane against the table, carefully lowered himself onto the chair. His right leg slid out as he did so, until finally, he let himself drop onto the seat. He scooted the chair back until his back was firmly against the wall, then dragged the table back with him. It made a loud noise as it moved that briefly interrupted all conversations. He didn't seem to notice.
Gerania approached the newcomer with a standard smile and notepad in hand. “Welcome to the Black Dragon, my lord” she greeted in the courteous voice that all service workers develop. “Could I get you a drink or start you off with a—?”
“Meat and tea,” he replied in a gravelly, disinterested voice.
“Ah...a-all right,” she replied, hesitating a moment to write that order down. “Now...we have several options for both meat and tea. Are you interested in a stea—?”
“Meat...and tea. What I'm regularly given,” he replied.
“Oh! So...you're a regular then? I'm sorry, but this is my first day here.” Her large ears partially lowered in nervousness. She looked around for help, sensing that this was about to start going poorly, but found her coworkers either absent or preoccupied with other customers. Dulcina was watching Gerania and was talking more quickly on the phone, eager to get off there. “Could I have your name?”
“Why?” he asked suspiciously, his voice taking on an edge.
“Uh, so...so I can see your previous purchases through BDI Rewards.”
“I don't have a name,” he insisted. “You may not inquire into the logistics of that.”
“My apologies,” she apologized, not sorry at all. “Er...so...just-just 'meat and tea' then? I assume the others will know exactly which kind you want?”
“Just me,” Dulcina sighed, suddenly there at Gerania's side. She frowned down at the crippled man. “I’ve got this.... Sir, please don't badger the newbie.”
“There was no badgering taking place at all,” he muttered in reply. “And I thought her kind were called 'felids.'”
Gerania's ears lowered even further in awkwardness. “Should...should I...?”
Dulcina nodded and waved towards the kitchen. “Yeah, check on the order for Table 5.”
“Ensure the food is unspoiled,” the hobbled man offered as the felid turned to leave. “Tainted food has been served here before.”
“It has not!” she snapped back at him.
“February 27th, two years ago, the man in the—“
“That guy brought a baggie with the dead bug and you know it. You've been here longer and you've never seen any pests here.” She raised her eyebrow. “Well, maybe you count....”
He seemed more confused by the comment than offended. “That's intended as an insult, correct?”
Dulcina wiped her face in frustration. “Sheesh you're dull sometimes.... Look, I'll get the order together. Just keep it down.”
“The man is in my spot,” he then muttered with a lowered voice.
The bar maiden lifted a brow, then looked to the man with the newspaper. “It's not 'yours,' you know....”
“Have you seen him before?”
Dulcina tried to think of a smarmy reply, but came up short. “I don't know,” she tiredly reply. “We get a lot of people.”
“Mmm....”
“Are you good?”
“In what respect?”
“Yeah, you're fine.”
She turned and left for the kitchen to retrieve the specific tea flavor he liked, which was actually a generic brand she got from the nearby dollar store. He had had other flavors before, but once when she was told for the fifth time to get a different flavor, she had grabbed one of those as a joke. To her incredible surprise, the allegedly nameless man loved it, or at least as much as he could show enthusiasm for anything. On the box of tea bags was a piece of tape with “Stranger” written in permanent marker.
As she went to pour our boiling water from the coffee maker into a clay mug, Gerania quietly approached, holding a stack of dirty plates.
“Please tell me he's not here too often...” she whispered.
“You don't have to worry,” Dulcina assured her, not bothering to keep her voice down. “He's only here every weekday.”
Gerania's mouth went slack and her ears wilted. “Are you serious?”
“Honey, you can't get more serious than him.”
The felid sighed in frustration. Dulcina took the plates out of her hands, then pushed the mug into them. “All right, you talked to him, he's your responsibility now. Congrats. He's gonna be like this every time, but don't take it personally. We haven't banned him yet, because he's constant business. And if he gets what he wants, he's usually quiet and harmless.” Dulcina looked down at the tea, and given her hands were full, motioned at it with her elbow. “...and don't take offense if he pulls out some science thing to test the tea.”
Gerania begrudgingly headed out, both hands holding the mug. She sighed in frustration as she headed towards his table. “What kind of life did he have to make him like that?” she wondered.
