lilouche

 The tavern was loud as always as everyone was drinking, fighting, and trying to find someone to share a night with. All the females in the establishment were hardly dressed, their skirts in shambles with cuts and holes in them everywhere, the bodices hardly covering their breasts as they flirted with the nasty men. All the women, but one who sat at the bar, a tankard in hand. You sat there quietly, nursing your rum as you thought. Your leg bounced on the stool absentmindedly, your pants rubbing against the wood. This was something you did often as you thought of him, a man you had spent tie with not too long ago who only saw you as a mere