Eala Muir
People were staggering out the door, it was an hour or so past sunset. Only a handful were left- all very quiet. It was sullen, only the clinking of glass to be heard and maybe even the chirping of crickets outside the windows.
Broden was checking people into rooms, giving them keys and pointing their way upstairs. Eala was being her ever-efficient-self, currently on all fours next to a table, sopping up some spilled whiskey. Her hair was hanging limply in her face, her apron fell away from her body. A man's hand swung down from the table and squeezed her bottom. She jumped, gasping and quickly stood up. He was drunk. He didn't know what he was doing. She said nothing, she simply turned scarlet in the face and hurried back to the wash tub where she rung out the dripping rag.
There was another man with one of those hats coming in. Her attention was drawn in his direction. She was so very curious about those men. There had be a dozen of them by now, how did they all fit in a room together? Sure, their rooms were nice, but not very large.
Eala watched him drop a couple coins into her father's hand and very smoothly step past him to stride upstairs.
"Eala!" her father barked, "There's whiskey all over my floor, what are you doing girl?!"
She jumped, squeezing the rag a bit more and she scurried back to finish cleaning the spill.
