A tavern somewhere …
Oh, Great Goddess. Everywhere you damn-well-went … Thera put the last of the empty flagons on her tray and turned to go, putting her back to the man giving what he no doubt thought was a charming smile.
“Oh come on, darling. Don’t be like that!”
‘That’ being a polite refusal of his offer of a drink, or his manly company. He’d started up every time she passed his table, even after his companions had departed, passed out, or simply stopped encouraging him.
She put the empties down behind the bar, circled it again to collect the next orders for the rowdy clientele. Normally the work here was fairly staid, only locals and the occasional visitor passing through. That changed, however, whenever there was a lull in the seemingly endless battles nearby. Wars meant armies, and navies, and occasional leave time in town for men who were lonely, far from home, or simply regarded themselves as God’s gift to women.
“Sweetheart!”
… What. The tray she’d been about to lift settled back down with a rattle of glass. He’d actually gotten up and followed her across the damn room!
“Surely you’ve got some time for a hard-working infantryman!”
“Are you sure you’re wearing the right uniform, sir? Because you seem to be having remarkable trouble with the language!”