Filth.

Disgusting, wretched filth. The acrid scent of the establishment assualted his sensitive nose. A delicate hand, swathed in his sleeve’s soft material, immediately moved to cover the lower part of his visage. Behind the cloth his lips curled into a sneer as he watched patrons drink mug after mug of cheap beer. It was obvious why the obnoxious odor clung to this small building of a bar and inn. No matter how much the surfaces were scrubbed and cleaned to perfection, the smell of vomit and spilled alcohol would remain to fester within the tables, the chairs, and the floors.

Peter Endless, though he liked to think himself as above the little insects that occupied the structure, was no more than an equally dirty traveller. His previously pristine clothing were frayed at the edges, even having a hole or three, and obviously hadn't been washed for more than a few days. He didn't like to think about it, however. And the young man of nineteen comforted himself by reasoning his lack of cleanliness with thoughts of: I've travelled across Fiore with no food or money. or Of course sleeping on the ground and in the woods would do this to me.

Suffice to say Peter passed through the doors in hopes of procuring a room with the small amount of money he stole from unwary people. He could practically feel the warm water running down his gritty body, and the softness of a bed compared to the hard ground of a forest. To finally be clean! It was an excitement he was eager to relish in, but... There was always a "but." The noise here simply won't do. Loud chatter reached every corner and the sounds of throaty laughter began to grind unpleasantly in his ears.

And the more he observed, the more he wanted to trash the place. He deserved to be in lavish inn, not this hole in the ground at the poorest part of Oak Town. Silver-grey orbs narrowed at a particular idiot stumbling towards his figure by the door. The bumbling drunk, Peter could tell, wasn't particularly wealthy and that could be said of more than eighty percent of the people there. Their clothes seemed to be made of the roughest material, cheap and easy to make - a very commoner standard. There was no way he would be paying for a dump like this, but he also didn't have the cash to stay at a higher rated inn.

"Good afternoon, dear Sir. I would like your best room if you please." A cordial smile was in place as he approached the burly man behind a desk by the stairs and adjacent to the door he had been rooted at; Peter assumed the rooms were on the second floor.

"That'd be 'bout 350 jewels, Kid."

"A very steep price for a room here," commented Peter, irritated that he had been called a child and the number given. "Are you trying to rob your customers?"

"I do no such 'ting! Got a problem with me inn then get out. Take it or leave, aye!"

"Oh dear," Peter shook his head in dismay. "You're such a rude host, aren't you?" He did not like the way he was being spoken to, especially when he was being so polite about the situation.

So, Peter did what he did best - threaten the owner.

"You are to give me your best room free of charge," cold, hard eyes glanced quickly to small foot peeking from underneath the man's desk. "... Or this little girl won't live to see tomorrow."

Their conversation had been quiet and nothing more than a murmur between two individuals. At the man's unnecessary yell, however, those were within ten feet of them turned to see what the fuss was about. They didn't know the specifics but someone was about to get pounded on! Money on the boss; the kid looked to scrawny to even put up a fight.