Ethan was drenched from head to toe by the time he returned to Ye Olde Dog and Pony Inn. The torrential rain hadn’t let up after he’d failed to commune with the spirits, if anything, it had worsened.

The common room was full when he passed through the wooden door, the townspeople and most of the players looked to have given up on trying to accomplish anything in the downpour. Opting, instead, for a seat in the warm inn along with a drink and a meal.

He could smell the short ribs as he passed by the door leading to the kitchen. Ethan debated going straight in and grabbing a plate, but the disproving glare from Jerry quickly sent him up to his room to change clothes.

Once he’d changed, he returned to the bar. He looked presentable, even if he didn’t feel like being part of a large group of people.

“Have a good day off?” Jerry asked, much more amicable now that Ethan wasn’t dripping a puddle on the scuffed hardwood floor.

Ethan merely grunted as he squeezed through the gap in the bar leading back to the kitchen.

Nigel was busy plating up short rib and farro onto half a dozen hand thrown clay bowls. Jerry had been hesitant to purchase the extra plate ware, but Ethan convinced him that presentation was just as important as the food itself. The increase in sales had helped reinforce Ethan’s position.

“You’re not sandbagging, are you?” Ethan asked as he approached the table the other cook was working at.

“No, Chef,” Nigel shook his as he focused on spooning creamy farro onto each of the bowls. “Sandbagging” was an industry term Ethan had brought to the game. It meant, roughly, to prepare extra food in advance of the need for it in expectation that it would sell soon, allowing the cook a little break or to catch up on a busy night. “All of these are sold.”

“Heard,” Ethan nodded approvingly, and took one of the few completely finished bowls from the middle of the group.

Nigel looked up at him in confusion, but grabbed another bowl to replace the one Ethan held in his hand.

“Random taste test,” Ethan lied as he took a bite. A spoon full of the farro and carrots would have been sufficient, but Ethan was starving and exhausted.

“Go a little heavier with your herbs in the carrots,” He said, continuing his “critique”.

“Heard, Chef,” Nigel said mechanically, his face stock as he focused on continuing to plate.

Ethan merely nodded and returned to the common area. He picked up a bottle of cheap Dwarven Whiskey and a small glass as he passed through the bar, vaguely aware of the disproving stare from Jerry as he searched for a solitary table near a wall.

“Getting a little worried about you, Chef,” Jerry said as he lowered his bulky body into the wooden chair across from Ethan. “That’s not the first bottle you’ve added to your tab this week.”

“I’m fine,” Ethan said, swallowing the amber liquid, wincing as his throat burned from the alcohol.

“Are you?” The large innkeeper asked as he poured some of Ethan’s whiskey into his own cup. “You showed you drunk a month ago, and have done your absolute best to keep yourself in the same state ever since.”

“Just like the taste is all,” he winced again as he downed another glass. “Hard to find,” he lifted the green glass bottle and made a show of reading the label “Grandmater’s Distilled Horsepiss, anywhere else.”

Jerry stared at him blankly for a second before continuing

“Ethan,” he said slowly, his dark piercing eyes focused on Ethan’s. “I own a bar, I live above a bar, I spend almost all of my time in a bar. I know the signs of a alcoholism when I see them, and I’m-“

“Jesus, Jerry,” Ethan slammed the glass bottle down harder than he meant to. “Alright, fine, I’m having a shit time recently and I’m using alcohol to cope for a little while. I’m fine, I promise.”

“Listen, son,” Jerry took the bottle away from him. “I know you may think of yourself as ‘just my employee’, but I do care about your well being.”

“Jerry-“

“No, let me finish,” Jerry held up his hand to cut him off. “I don’t know what you’re going through, and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want, but I have to cut you off.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Ethan asked, his anger rising as he reached for the bottle.

“Just for a couple of days,” Jerry said patiently, sliding the whiskey out of his reach. “You show me you can go one week without a drink, and I’ll let you drink here again.”

“This is bullshit!” Ethan slammed his hands down on the table, causing the glasses and silverware to rattle. “I can just go somewhere else then!”

“Not in Grassmere,” Jerry said firmly, shaking his head. “No one else in town will serve you, until I say so.”

“Fine,” Ethan stood you quickly, knocking his chair backwards. The sudden change caused his head to spin and he caught himself on the table. “I’ll leave! I can cook anywhere!”

“You’re more than welcome to,” Jerry’s voice remained calm. Through their entire conversation, he never raised his voice or acted threatening. If Ethan hadn’t already been more than a little drunk, he would have recognized Jerry was coming from a place of genuine care. “Your current tab comes for 86 gold pieces and 17 silver.”

“Eighty-six-“ Ethan started to say.

“I discounted this bottle since you didn’t actually get to finish it.” Jerry pointed at the half drank bottle. “But, that’s your food, drink, and lodging for the last month.”

“Take it out of my pay!” Ethan snapped back at him.

“I already did,” Jerry crossed his arms over his barrel like chest. “That’s your tally after I deduct your pay.”

Ethan swiped his hands in the air, summoning his inventory, not caring that an NPC was watching him interact with game systems.

Total Currency:

12 Gold

8 Silver

92 Copper

Ethan sat back down in his chair hard. Before he’d left Startesgarde, he’d had to pay nearly everything he had towards a fine they’d accrued from killing a rival player in the guild Blood Dragons. Ethan was broke.

“I… I don’t have it,” Ethan said sadly, as he dropped his dead onto the table.

“I kind of figured that,” Jerry said, resting his massive hand on Ethan’s shoulder.

“One week, huh?” Ethan looked up from the table. “Can I… keep working at least?”

“I don't think you have a choice at this point,” Jerry smiled kindly at him as he patted his shoulder.