March Vignette

[Yvonne]

Yvonne was tending to her mother's bar, the storefront of their establishment, while Mera kept the guest rooms orderly around back. Tables needed to be wiped clean, chairs needed pushing in and the floor needed another mop... and that was beyond the bar itself. Behind the counter there was gold cogs to be sealed in the safe, bookkeeping to be quilled in and beer glasses to clean. She'd only managed to stash the money, close the safe door and relock it when they came stumbling in.

Dark elven regulars the lot of them, none of the men particularly well-to-do that Yvonne was aware of. They were middle class workforce and liked to spend their cogs as quickly as they'd earned them. Quicker still if a bartender was careless and allowed their tab to get out of hand. They'd drink the bar dry and never pay their debts in full. From the stagger on them - and the smell - they were half a hand through the bars of their usual beer crawl.

Yvonne made a hopeless attempt at ignoring them as they situated themselves on stools bordering the bar, filling the sinks with water hot and cold, glass cleaner and sanitizer. She knew how much they owed her mother as she cut them off last week. Serving them would only worsen their debt, she'd have the same result pouring the beer down the sink.

"Do me a favour eh? Bring us a round," came the inevitable call out. He watched her intently, waited, wondering what it was going to take to get some service here.
"You can't ask a dwarf for a favour," another elf interjected, drawing the eyes of the first away from her.
"Why not?" the first queried.
"She has a short term memory! Haha! Get it?" They all laughed, heartier than the joke was funny. So this was how it was going to be.

Another of the elves drew Yvonne's attention from her cleaning by peering down her cleavage. She straightened her back and lifted her chin, unimpressed, but now that he had her gaze he pressed her again, "How about some food then eh. Get us some grub!"
"Naw, you can't have the dwarf cook," the joker interjected once again.
"Why shouldn't we have the dwarf cook?" the hungry one asked.
"The steaks are too high!" Roaring laughter filled the room, hands slapping the counter-top in approval as well as pats on the back for mister comedy himself.

Yvonne needed to take control of this situation before it got out of hand. She sighed, setting the glasses on the drying rack and emptying the sinks while questioning them, "Are ya ready ta pay yer tab from last week?"

The obvious retort, "Sorry lass, we're a bit short changed at the moment." She should have seen that one coming but instead she'd walked right into it. Feeling foolish, the hint of a blush coloured her cheeks while the lot of them sniggered and howled with delight. Clearly distracted as she dried the suds from her hands, she revised her list of chores in her head, realizing the bookkeeping needed amending. She recorded the transactions of earlier genuine customers.

"I saw a dwarf walking to catch the train today. When he saw it arriving at the station he broke into a jog. He was late to the platform so he started sprinting but it steamed off to the next stop before he got there. It was too little too late." Another rowdy, boisterous uproar drowned out all sound and thought in the room. There was only humiliation left.
"I came up to him and I said 'Jump in and I'll take you where you want to go.' He barks, 'Get lost' and I replied, 'Suit yourself,' closing up my backpack and kept on walking." The dark elf crowd were in stitches, the hilarity too much for most of them, giggling with reddening faces as they struggled to breathe.

They needed to stop, but they weren't aware the line had been crossed. They weren't paying attention to their victim - the attention was on the comedian and amongst themselves. A wonderful time was being had by all... except Yvonne, the butt of every joke.

"What is the difference between a clever dwarf and a venereal disease?" The jesting elf posed the question, causing the others to rub their remaining brain cells together.
"No idea. What's the difference?" came the white flag, when thought became too difficult after a handful of seconds.
"One is a cunning runt and the other is a running cunt." Another overwhelming burst of laughter erupted from the lot of them, like floodgates had been broken before an oncoming flood. The laughter drowned Yvonne's thoughts out again, forcing her to rethink what needed taking care of. Tables needed clearing - the grey dwarf dampened a cloth and headed for a table in a far corner.
"This dwarf is both! Haw haw!" That hurt. The voice chased her across the room, booming mirth encouraging the jester as loudly as ever.

"Say what you like about dwarves. At least they don't look down on people." They were relentless. Yvonne wielded a considerable amount of patience, but her patience was beginning to crack and splinter.
"Yes, got to hand it to the short ones." Another elf agreed, their voices were all the same to her mind, as though they were all the same tormentor, conversing with themself.
"Well they can't reach for themselves, can they?" It was the straw that broke the camel's back. Yvonne snarled, her pretend-face waning. She drew back her leg in a wind up and, with a release of frustration, kicked the chair in front of her in. It didn't help. It looked hilarious from their point of view.

"I think she's starting to get angry with us," one of them managed to nasalize over his ongoing cackle, keeled over. His middle obviously hurt from laughing so much.
"What do you say to an angry dwarf?" Where was he getting all of these jokes from? Yvonne thought she had already heard them all, but there were a few new ones even she hadn't been bludgeoned with yet.
"No idea," the dumb one answered.
"Someone's a little mad!" Another guffaw lit the room up, but they were in such pain from all of the effort and ridicule required, they were tiring out. The dusk dwarf was tired too, but she had the energy to unleash hell. She waddled her way back behind the bar, feeling like the most insignificant person in the entire world.

"Why do dwarves get mad so easily?" Anyone with a conscience knew when to quit, but these elves seemed to be immune to feelings of guilt. Maybe it had something to do with how drunk they were. The alcohol inhibited their senses.
"I don't know," dummy dinged in.
"They've got short tempers!" It was more than enough. This was the same joke, only repeated in a different way.

Yvonne took up the crossbow her mother had given her from below the bar, for the first time. She held it vertically, placing her shoe in the claw like her mother had shown her, pulling back to cock the weapon. As she went for the quarrel of bolts the torment continued.

“I bumped into a dwarven ex-girlfriend of mine yesterday,” the comedian explained, eyeing the crossbow in her hands warily. At least she had his attention now, but she was going to have to fight for the rest.
“Small world,” came the dumb one’s first quip. He was catching on! Hooray!
“It’s too bad things didn't work out between her and me. I was just nuts over her,” he sneered at her while delivering the punchline, daring her to do something rash. Yvonne loaded the bolt and aimed it for his throat. Stop speaking. Stop it.

“This dwarf is really sensitive about her lack of height. It's best we don’t tease her anymore. You might take an arrow to the knee!” They got up off the stools and turned to leave, but the laughing, snickering and cackling never ceased. Even when they were out in the street they chuckled and pointed through the windows. Eventually they had all left.

Yvonne removed the bolt and let it clatter to the floor, crumbling to her knees in tears. The crossbow was the only prop holding her up. She wailed in a cold fury.