Tap, tap, tap...

The sun had fallen out of view of even the whice by the time Littimer turned onto the cobbled street of the Paper Tiger. The entrance was simple, a good sign indeed. Any pub on the up-and-up would be more likely concerned with coin than education.

Tap, tap, tap.

He rested a moment outside of the entrance, gently rubbing his right leg. The approach was always key. If one were to come on too strong to their real motives, a pub owner would suspect they were being set up. After all, aiding in the unlawful education of humans brought a stiff sentence these days in itself. On the other hand, too subtle and you would find yourself fired a week later for a job you had no real intention of ever performing professionally.

After briefly dusting off his clothing, Littimer knocked at the door. Such a gesture was always unexpected at a pub, but life was measured by what a person did without instigation. Without waiting for a response, he opened the door.

The outside had betrayed him.

Cherry. Mahogany. Marble. Cologne. This was the province of the rich, the well-to-do. The only thing smaller than Littimer's need for this place was its own need for him.

"Oh, capital." At the very least, he would grab a drink and find out where the properly poor taverns were in this city.

((Hi Littimer! Do you want Fion to be at the Paper Tiger tonight? She doesn't work on the 5th and 10th of a week but you can edit the date if you want to interact with her ))

Archibald was in a high temper that evening. His high, bald forehead still smarted from where Madame Olive had unleashed a nasty Stinging spell on him for forgetting to report a tip. Never take money from a golly, he thought bitterly, barely glancing up as Littimer entered.

"What can I get for you, sir?" he said, in his crispest and most businesslike tone.

Littimer sighed, realizing that his best hope for information about other taverns to go to was from an already angry bartender. He would likely have as much success simply walking out and searching blindly.

...But the whiskey on the counter behind him did look like it had a kick.

Tap, tap, tap...

Littimer walked forward, making an effort to avoid the Galdori socializing around him. Already, there were rude looks for the poor condition of his clothing. At least he was scraggly enough to pass as human, and not bear the additional burden of being a passive.

"My good sir, I am but a traveling storyteller, looking for steady work. Would this establishment be hiring?"

While it would only be by the grace of Alioe that the bartender didn't laugh in his face for using such language, perhaps it would be enough for him to send Littimer off in the direction of some inferior rival tavern.

But then his thoughts drifted back to the whiskey.

"...And if not, I would still love to have a taste of that whiskey behind you."

Archibald was a professional, and did not let out so much as a giggle at Littimer's suggestion. Actually, he rather liked the idea. It was so dreadfully dull around here most of the time; the lulling silence that filled the bar around this hour made him wish for a bloody barfight to break out. Without some idiot smashing someone's face in with a broken bottle, it hardly counted as a tavern...

"A storyteller?" he repeated, partially to buy himself more time. One of his eyebrows began to travel north across the huge expanse of his head, in both skepticism and interest. "What sort of stories do you tell, then? Do sit."

Without seeming to shift from his station, he managed to get the whiskey poured and the glass proffered in a single fluid movement.

You've got to be clockin' kidding me.

Littimer managed to keep his surprise to himself. The bartender couldn't be serious.

"Oh, you know, my personal favorites are the stories of the ancients. How we came to be, but more importantly what we can learn from it today. Too often we do not heed the lessons of our fathers, and we pay for that foolishness with blood."

He threw back the glass of whiskey, and immediately regret it. The stuff was potent, and his stomach hadn't seen a proper meal all day. But before he blinked twice, there sat another full glass.

No quest the bartender was talented, be it with his hands or with the Mona. Knowing it was a mistake, he began the second round.

"You know," said Archibald thoughtfully, stroking his goatee, "I think Madame Olive might be inclined to give it a try. To be frank, the tavern is in a bit of a slump. People are even going towards the -" He laughed, with a derisive snort. "- the filthy old Book and Bell in lieu of coming here. I'm sure a lively tale or two would bring a crowd...perhaps some women..."

He drifted off into a short reverie, imagining a happier Madame Olive and a full tip jar every night. Perhaps then he could finally propose to Abbie...

Refilling the whiskey glass, Archibald gave Littimer a rare smile.

Littimer could already feel the liquor playing on his mind. This was not supposed to go like this. Here the bartender was seriously musing on whether or not they could use a storyteller, when all said storyteller wanted was the name of another tavern.

The bartender's words cut through his thoughts: Book and Bell.

At last, the information he wanted! Now he could leave.

But on the other hand, this tavern was quite respectable. Even though it was quite nicer than he was expecting, the population had not been unusually judgmental, and even the seemingly angry bartender was nice enough. Assuming he could put up with any potential jeers from the gollies, he might be able to make quite the coin here.

"My friend, let me assure you that such crowds are common. Oh, sure, they begin slow. But the community of good ladies and sirs that enjoy such stories are able patrons, and they pass word of deserving locales to their colleagues. The real question would then be where I would sleep at night..."

Littimer was getting loose with his exaggerations, but did it matter? If it worked out, he would make his money and look all the more confident for it. If he didn't, he would simply show up at the Book and Bell. Confident in his calculations, he finished yet another round of whiskey.

There may as well have been tally signs in Archibald's eyes as he imagined a full tavern. Not that the gollies always tipped well, but when they did, they often had concords to spare...

"Tell you what," he said out of the corner of his mouth to Littimer, still staring off into space dreamily. "You come back here tomorrow morning and ask Madame Olive about it. And..." He glanced quickly down at Littimer's ragged clothes, not judgmentally but sympathetically. "Try to wear something a bit nicer. She's very particular. I wouldn't say so, but I caught the tail end of a nasty hex this morning for something quite minor..." Archie rubbed his forehead ruefully.

"Excellent idea, sir, excellent idea. I shall return on the morn and speak with this Madame Olive. Let's hope Alioe wards me against her wrath."

Littimer was guttered, but at least he still retained the cognitive ability to recognize it.

"I should be going..."

It should noted how difficult it is for one to trip over their own cane. However, Littimer was always one for a challenge, and in this case succeeded beyond his wildest expectations. Onlookers would laughing recall that it appeared as if his cane had literally flipped the poor drunk over itself, in some sort of self-defense maneuver.

Littimer slowly rose to his feet, resting heavily upon the object of his misfortune. Turning to those few watching, he bowed dramatically.

"It seems the floor and I had a small disagreement, to which it responded by rudely punching me in the face. A good night to you all."

He staggered outside, intent on finding a location to bed for the evening.