At the Tavern

A post-apocalyptic short. Hope you enjoy!

    “Any Artifacts?” the seller asked.
Alex opened his fanny pack, pulled out the rubberband-wrapped deck of playing cards from inside and set it on the counter.
    “Is this acceptable?” he asked, hoping it was enough payment.
The seller picked up the deck gingerly, as if the cards would turn to dust in his hands, and unwound the rubberband. He lightly shuffled the cads, testing their durability, and began to suit them, placing them into four piles from Ace to King, a hopeful grin on his face the whole time. When he was satisfied that all fifty-two cards were in the deck, the seller rebound them and smiled at Alex.
    “My patrons have been playing with strips of paper for years now, boy,” he said. “This is one helluva treat!”
    “So it’s acceptable?” Alex asked.
The seller nodded. “I should say so! h rooms are upstairs. Beds are made and you’ll get a bit of breakfast in the morning.”

“Thank you, sir,” Alex said. picking up his bag. He turned and walked up the staircase at the back of the crowded, smoky tavern, to the second floor where he tried door after door until he found an unlocked one.

He walked into the room and found it small but cozy. It consisted of a well-blanketed cot and a small table and chair. He shut, locked the door and set his bag on the table.

It had been a long day’s trek, over thirty miles, and Alex was spent. He drew his bolt-tosser and took it to the bed with him. After making sure it was loaded, he lay his head on the pillow and closed his eyes, falling asleep to the pleasant, but all too rare, sound of friendly laughter and chatter in the bar below him.

The next morning Alex woke with a start at the sound of wrapping on the room door. Bolt-tosser in hand, he got out of bed and unlocked, opened the door. In the hall stood a young woman, the barmaid from downstairs, holding a tray of small- probably blue jay or some other tiny bird- eggs and a mason jar of milk.

“Good morning,” she smiled, brushing, not impolitely past Alex, to set the tray on the table beside his bag.

“Uh, good morning,” Alex replied, setting his weapon down, embarrassed. He’d been dealing with hostile Travelers and Soldiers too long and had thought that the knocker on the door had been looking for trouble, only to find the truth to be a sweet, generous woman. “Sorry about the, uh,” he gestured toward the tosser, too ashamed to identify it verbally.

“Don’t worry about it,” the young barmaid smiled. “I understand.”

Alex nodded and sat at the table, staring hungrily at the breakfast before him.
    “How did you sleep?” the woman asked, hand Alex a cloth napkin, which he placed in his lap.
    “Very well, thank you,” Alex grinned back, taking a sip of milk. “I’m used to sleeping on rags in abandoned buildings. This was a lovely change.”
    “Well, I’ll let you enjoy your breakfast and, please, take your time. You have until then end of the day to check out.” With that the barmaid left the room, leaving Alex to his meal, mot of which he transferred to his resealable tin and canteen.
    He ate a little and packed his bag. He wanted to make good distance before that night, when the Travelers came out with bolt-tossers and guns of their own and, for the most part, irrational and violent minds behind them.

Reviews

[Fallacy Pharmacy]

"h rooms are upstairs" - so far thats the only mistake that I could find. Overall this is pretty good, feels unfinished though-are you planning to carry-on? I hope so!