Imogen had woken up with a head full of fog. She got out of her bed, looked out of the window and thought for a moment that she had slept right through the night and most of the next day, but her mind slowly cleared, she came to her senses and remembered she’d told Vicka she would pay a visit to the Clockwork Stag.

The shared bathroom at the end of her hallway was free, so Imogen took the opportunity to take a quick soak before going anywhere. After changing into her cleanest dress and running a brush half-heartedly through her hair, she shrugged on her jacket and grabbed her old umbrella. The evening had brought about a heavy drizzle that didn’t look likely to stop any time soon.

It was past 26 o’clock by the time she got out of the door, but feeling glad to get out of her room for a while, Imogen made her way towards the Soot District. She walked past groups of conspiring humans, huddled in doorways and under awnings; discreetly taking swigs out of flasks and jars. The city grumbled with displeasure and growing dissent as Imogen weaved her way through the streets and into one of the darker corners of Vienda.

She came to an old shabby building that looked like it could be the right place, it was in the area that Vicka had described too. Squinting up at the sign, Imogen recognised the word ‘clock’ among the letters there and started trying to spell out the rest, but got herself muddled and asked a passer-by instead if this was the right place.

Apparently it was, so she shook out her wet umbrella, and then stepped inside. It was quiet, but not completely empty. Imogen stashed her brolly by the door and looked around to see if Vicka was about.

The Stag was unusually quiet tonight.
It was a very bad sign.

Earlier that day, the prohibition had been declared. And it especially applied to the Stag.

There was no alcohol. Gannon had already rolled the extra kegs back down to the basement and the bar look very empty. There were no glasses, no bottles of spirits, no kegs. Nothing. It was strange. Jane just stood behind the bar, idly wiping down the old chipped wood, her chin her hand. It was a concerning time. The Stag was bound to go out of business now there wasn't any ale served, and Janes cooking alone couldn't keep the place alive. Jane worried for her place at the Stag, but not too much. Gannon hadn't shown any signs of closing up shop for good. Not yet.

Jane lifted her head at the woman who entered the Stag, her umbrella soaked from the heavy rain drumming outside. The woman was older than Jane (most people were).

Yawning, Jane lifted her head and stretched out her back. As the woman enters the Stag, Jane greets her.

"Evening. Sorry, we can't serve any ale today, or any alcohol for that matter. You no doubt heard the announcement? Clocking stupid. Anyway. I can get you some food if you'd like?"

"Jane, m'dear, she already knows," Vicka said, rubbing her brow. There was precious little for Vicka to do except wander in and out of the kitchen with plates. Occasionally she would wash something, as she had just now, whether it needed to be washed or not. She wiped her hands on her apron.

"This is my friend Imogen, Imogen Lee," Vicka said by way of introduction. "Imogen, our Jane."

"Oh! Vicka! I didn't see you there."

Jane looked at the woman Vicka introduced. She was nice enough, and Jane wondered how the two met. She shook her head a little at herself. Unlike her, Vicka lived away from the Stag, and actually had conversation besides the drunkards asking for another ale. It was a lonely existence in the Stag, but Jane didn't mind. Vicka was a lucky one to be able to talk to people who weren't drunk all the time. Well, all of that was going to change.

Jane smiled at Imogen and offered her hand to shake.

"Jane Harrison."

"Hello Jane." Imogen smiled at the girl and shook her hand as she took a seat by the bar. "Some supper would suit me well, thank you Jane. Surprise me... but uh, nothing too pricey. I won't be getting paid for a few days yet. Nice to see you again Vicka."

Inside, the Stag was a nice enough place, much better than how it looked from outside anyway. She wondered if all the bars and taverns were this quiet tonight. Imogen looked up at Vicka who, understandably, seemed at a loss of what to do with herself. "You know the streets are full of people drinking, even in this weather. You must have seen it on your way here too. There'll be many a guttered cretin out there come 30 o'clock."

Imogen took another look around and quiet washed over the Stag again. The rain was drumming on the windows and distant shouts could be heard coming from somewhere outside, which was nothing unusual really, for this part of the city. "Vicka, I'll gladly take a mug of anything you can give me to drink. It's just a shame I didn't get to try your ale before the ban was declared."

"Can do. One meal coming right up."

Jane walked out back, finally glad for something to do. She slipped her apron over her head and tied it up the back. She had two planned meals available already on the stove - ham stew, and potato and leek soup - as well as ingredients in the cupboards that could be used. Bored, Jane went to the cupboards to see what meals she could conjure up. Jane was glad for the task, and most likely Vicka and Imogen would be talking for while, so they could wait.

Carrots, potatoes, a bit of the leftover ham, some limp looking celery, a beet and....
Gods, is that flour?
The flour was in a tiny pot, way down the back of the cupboard. Jane meant to clean the cupboard out, but kept on forgetting about it. And that flour, was a godsend. It called for pastry, it called for cakes, it called for so many more things that Jane couldn't imagine. Flour, was the most versatile ingredient Jane had ever known.

Grabbing the ham, carrots, celery, and the flour, Jane prepared to make a pie. It was going to be a big pie. A really big pie, so big that it would feed an entire tavern! Well, maybe not that big. But, big enough that the meat and flour would go longer. Jane didn't have a recipe memorized from her mothers cook book about pies, so she ran upstairs to her room, unlocked the door and grabbed the book. She found a recipe for pie pastry, memorized it quickly, and ran back downstairs.

Jane made the pie quickly, using very little flour and ham, and put it in the oven. It was a massive pie. Simple, but massive. The pastry had been the hardest part, rolling it out. It wasn't very good quality, as there wasn't any eggs and very little milk left in the kitchen, but Jane managed. The hardest part would have been trying to find the right pie mold! The kitchen was in such a mess, it would take hours to find anything!

After washing the dishes from the making of the pie, the pie was ready. Jane took it out of the oven, and cut a nice chunky slice out, pleased with herself as a waft of steam floated from the pie. She placed it on a plate with a knife and fork, and took the plate out to Imogen, placing it in front of her.

"Here we are." She smiled as she took off her apron.

The proprietor had indeed been rolling everything back, taking everything in, closing up shop and such as that. There was no sense in having the alcohol out and about if there was no one to drink the stuff. Didn't mean that it was all down there. No sir. This was a clockin' bar.

Hang the barking prohibition.

Seventen hadn't come to bust his kegs yet, hadn't come to bust a big bastard like him across the nose and remind him of his place in this fetid city, didn't have to. Because unless Gannon hatched a right marvelous plan fast, he wouldn't make the rent and neither would Uncle Andrew.

The pain of worry had stabbed at his stomach all day. After he'd gotten done with a chair (now kindling heaped by the fire) he'd found himself with a strong urge to get into the bottom of a bottle and drown. Clocking useless, he was now. Would be clocking useless unless he thought of something fast.

None had come by all day long. Regulars knew to stay off. This new law would have the master of the house in ill sorts and no one really wanted to share the fate of the kindling that was once a chair. Everybody else just seemed to follow suit.

So it was with a great slamming of the back door (he'd been out talking to Coby, hoping the wise old kenser could impart some wisdom. If wisdom was chewing hay, then he was a very wise kenser indeed.) that the proprietor of the Clockwork Stag, Gannon Oranos, "strapping man with an eye--his only eye--for women", entered.

Needless to say he'd seen more sober evenings.

Gannon blinked woozily at the gathered three in his bar. Tall slender blur, short round and hansom blur, and...unidentifiable blur. Who was that?

"Evenin'..." he drawled, his black eye wobbling to focus.

“Ahh pie! I haven’t had pie since I left Dutaim. Thank you Jane, it’ll fill me up for a good while, I’m sure.” Imogen stabbed her fork in and was happily chewing on a mouthful of her supper when a loud slam rang through the whole building. It came from the back and Imogen swallowed as soon after, a great big mountain of a man appeared at the bar. This was the proprietor, she knew it. After all, Vicka had described the man to her earlier that day. She’d forgotten his name though.

He was very obviously sloshed and Imogen ate another forkful of pie as he stumbled his way over. The door opened behind Imogen and she glanced over shoulder to see who had arrived, but instead she saw a customer leaving rather hastily.

“Evening...” she replied with a nod. She wasn’t sure if the man had even heard her as he just stood there swaying in all directions. “Glad to see your ale isn’t gracing the gutter outside just yet.” she added with a smile.

Jane eyes widened at Gannons state. "Oh, Alioe..." The prohibition had been hard on Gannon. He didn't take it well. The remainders of his anger were burning in the fireplace. They were all angry, all worried here in the Stag. Jane did nothing of it but work like a good employee. She could find another job if need be. But Gan, this was his livelihood. It would be like Janes father losing the farm. Devastating. She felt for him.

It had only been a week since Jane was working and living at the Clockwork Stag. But, as far as she could tell, Gannon wasn't the kind to get drunk every night. Hell, Jane had barely ever seen Gannon drink. Maybe some Bastian whiskey every now and then, but that was about it. Troubled soul, but not a drinking one. It was concerning to see Gannon so sloshed. Imogen didn't seem to care, (who could blame her?) but Jane did.

Jane walked over to the staggering drunkard of a Gannon, and helped him to get steadier on his two wobbly feet.
"Vicka, can you come and help me?" She hauled him up, trying to direct him to a chair.
"If any gollies find him in this state, he'll be spending the night behind bars for sure."

"He'll be fine, I think. The Stag's not known for its golly patronage, and now, I think, it never will be," Vicka said, leaning back to appraise her boss's exact state of drunkenness. Vicka always felt tipsy after one shot of Mr. Oranos' whiskey, and was done for the night after two--she wondered if he had done in the entire bottle. She ambled over and took Mr. Oranos' other arm, although it looked a bit comical for her to do so. She helped Jane guide him to some place to set for a bit, one of the stools before the bar.

"If he's not, then we'll have to watch him, not hide him in the back," Vicka said. "Jane, fetch some sort of basin . . . Oh, Imogen. This is my employer, Mr. Gannon Oranos."

Vicka made an amused face. "Surprisingly, he is not usually so far down in the gutter. Sober up, Mr. Oranos, I'm trying to make a good impression."

"Drank the rest of the whiskey I'll bargain. Never like him to be so drunk."
The two sat Gannon on the bar-stool and Jane rolled her eyes in Gannons general direction. It was unlike Gannon, but she was entertained by his drunken antics. She always was by the men who stumbled out of the bar, leaning on each other. Jane had to contain her giggles.



"What for exactly?" Jane called, walking behind the bar and into the kitchen, her pie from minutes before still sitting on the bench, looking delightfully delicious. She bit her lip as she looked at it and suddenly noticed how hungry she was - her stomach grumbled at the smell. Jane cut herself a little slice, placed it on a plate with a fork and started to look for a basin.
A basin, a basin. Hmmm... Aha! Jane spotted an old bowl under the sink. It was never used - too dirty from years of lack of use - and Jane would never use it for cooking. It was old, metal and slightly rusted. She brought it out to Vicka, holding her own plate of pie.
"This do?" Jane asked, placing the bowl on the bar in front of Gannon. "And, I think any good reputation that was possible, has now been ruined." Jane smirked. She placed her plate of pie on the bench, took her fork and chewed moodily.

As he had been intending on sitting down at one of those stools anyway, Gannon didn't shake off Jane and Vicka and just sat down. He waved at Imogen. "Evnin'" he repeated as Vicka introduced them.

When he sat down, he looked back at Vicka, leaing back dangerously in his chair and regarded her with a slow eye. "Di'n think y' 'xactly look'd t' me fer 'good 'mpressions', Mz. Vi," he rumbled, smirking and making reference to the first time she ever saw him--a mountain of a natt laying in a pool of his own sap and already half unconscious.

But right now he wanted a drink. Several drinks, actually. There was still a gnawing at the bottom of his gut and the voice in the back of his mind still told him he was useless. Those needed to go. And if the Stag was going as well, then at least she could go out in the same fashion that Vicka first met him:

Memorably.

Gannon leaned back back in the direction of the bar, bracing himself against it with his wide hands. He was about to give his orders to Jane when he spied the bucket. He frowned at it. Oh he was not that guttered, no sir. He could get far more guttered before he chucked anything up. Gannon poked the thing off the bar, letting the rusty thing clang to the floor before he smiled at Jane and winked.

"Hoi, Jane-y, be ah dear an' go fetch th' Blly Benk--" Gannon frowned a moment, trying to remember exactly how one got out those fancy Mugrobi words. The syllables felt like marbles in his mouth even when he was sober. Being drunk and requesting poison with such a frilly title was an added bother. "Mmm...Bill Ben Kule blnded--uh--rum, woudja'? Th' whole bottle, yah?"

Maybe Vicka would know what he was talking about....

Jane knew what Gannon was talking about when he said the Bill Ben rum. She just rolled her eyes, and looked at Gannon sceptically and didn't move. He never winked. Ever.

Something was not quite right. She smirked, unamused, from under her creased eyebrows. Jane was in a pessimistic mood now that Gannon arrived.

"Knowing your state you've already drunk it. No more booze for you I'm afraid. I'd rather not see you spewing you guts all over the floor. Knowin' you, it'll me who'll have to clean it up."

She picked up the bowl that had clattered to the floor, and placed it back on the bar with a thud. This time, out of reach for Gannon. The few customers that remained in the Stag looked towards the trio of employees as the bowl clattered to the floor. Jane sighed, and yawned a little. She had a habit of doing that recently. Returning to her pie, she pushed her food around the plate with her fork, stabbed a piece of carrot and chewed it, unenthusiastically. Her pie that had once been so delicious, was now a little unappetizing.

Imogen only sat a few feet away from Mr. Oranos, so she got a good whiff of the strong medicinal odour of the whiskey he’d been quaffing. She continued to eat her slice of pie as Vicka and Jane tried to get him to compose himself. Imogen smiled at the man again as he waved at her and then glanced at the door. The Seventen may not come tonight but they’d arrive sometime soon to inspect the place. She wondered if they would be out already, taking alcohol and making arrests.

Finishing her supper, she pushed the plate away as Mr. Oranos asked for rum and Jane flatly refused him. Imogen laughed a little. “Looks like you might have to fetch your own rum Mr. Oranos, or be sweet to our Vicka here.”

"Mr. Oranos, you are a mess," Vicka said, patting his arm affectionately. She turned to Imogen. "There'll be no more for him tonight but if you'd like a tipple I'll be happy to enable you, love."

In truth, Mr. Oranos' reaction worried Vicka a little bit. She was used the comfort of a safety net of friends and neighbors; she had gotten this job by chance, but Vicka could always find work through her multitude of connections. People like Mr. Oranos and Jane and even Imogen . . . they were alone in Vienda.