Settling Up

The gloomy tavern was empty save the barkeep and two patrons. The barkeep was making his last patrol around the small tavern, rounding up any stray glasses and tips.  Tara sat at the bar, her right arm propping up her delicate chin as she listened to the blocky man sitting to her left.  He spread his hands out dramatically: “The last Chromerfinger was the big boss, he was probably eight feet tall and as wide as a tram.”  Tara put her left hand up to her mouth, gasping daintily.  “What did you do then, Grak?” she asked with a mixture of amazement and horror on her face.  Grak leaned back on his barstool, snarling and swishing his arm through the air. “I ran forward and slid under him, slicin up his legs real good.  He fell then, and I finished him off good'n proper.”  Grak mimed plunging his imaginary weapon downward repeatedly delivering a lethal, if imaginary, coup de grâce.  Tara's eyes widened and she blushed slightly.  “How very reckless, and brave.” she purred.  “You must be so incredibly strong.”  Grak grinned smugly.  “As you can see, he didn't manage to lay a single finger on me.  I'll like as not be able to take down two more of his type, at the very least.” He boasted.  Grak tipped his bar stool back again, making a fierce face at the air above Tara, as if staring down another powerful foe.  Tara leaned toward him and her voice took on a husky quality as she spoke. “You know what I would like to do right now?” she asked in a sultry tone.  Grak gulped, surprised at how forward the beautiful woman was being.  Barely managing to keep the barstool balanced, he carefully shook his head, and tried to assume a devilish expression.  Springing from her chair, Tara grasped Grak's face and drove him backward to the ground, his head making a wooden thump as it struck the floor.

The barkeep rolled his eyes and sighed.  “Tara, maybe this sort of thing would happen less often if you didn't attribute all of your work around the city to a nonexistent gang.  Some people are bound to make up stories, especially to try and impress a pretty lady such as yourself.”  Extracting a wallet from the now unconscious Grak's jacket, Tara pulled out a wad of units and tossed the wallet aside.  She sat back down at the bar and waved the money at the barkeep.  “If I don't keep running into these aspiring bards how do you expect me to pay my tab?   Besides, having everybody believe that there is a group called the Chromefingers causing trouble across the city keeps everyone off my trail.”  The barkeep just chuckled.  “He probably would have paid it if you had left him conscious.”  He said, amused.  Tara gave him a wan look. “But then you would have gotten a smaller tip.  Anyway, I would have had to find a way to lose him after that.” She retorted.  The barkeep just shrugged and continued to place glasses in the dishwasher.  Tara counted out some units and set her glass down on them.  “I have some work to do in section 19." She said.  “You probably won't see me for a few weeks.”  She hopped off her barstool and began to drag Grak's limp form toward the door.  The barkeep looked up from the dishwasher, looking a bit dour.  ”Ok, stay safe out there." He called.  “I will Dad.” Tara replied.  She opened the door to the bar and dragged Grak out, letting the door smack his head as it began to close again.