The rush hour at Old Sally Pub on a Saturday was a specific kind of chaos. The space was nearly filled up, every wooden stool at the bar taken, every booth occupied by a group of people talking over each other. The air smelled of fried food and beer.
Vessara moved through the narrow space between tables, a damp cloth in one hand and a small notepad in the other. She had a warm smile on her face as she stopped in front of a table of two older women.
"Can I get you, ladies, another round?" she asked.
"Yes, dear. Two more gin and tonics," one of them said.
"Coming right up," Vessara replied and turned toward the bar.
The pub wasn't something fancy. But people loved it because it had a homely feel. No one dressed up to come here. You could walk in with muddy boots, and no one would look at you twice.
Old Sally Pub wasn't just a business to the natives of the Silvermoon pack. It was like a second home. It had been running for the last twenty years.
