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T H R E E. an inn at mos espa. word count: 2973
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YOU WALKED THROUGH THE WINDING STREETS of the desert town, taking in the sights and sounds. The binary sunset had turned into a bleak, star-filled evening, and the wind was cool and brisk, kicking up sand in your wake. The townsfolk must have noticed this too, as many were beginning to duck into their homes for the night, the sound of their voices carried off with the nighttime winds.
Now only the night-dwellers remained, their eyes examining you with curiosity and suspicion as you walked by, their heads ducking when you craned your head, avoiding your gaze.
But one patron had a loth cat, it seemed. That was the one stare you didn't mind. Animals were always a welcome change of pace.
You sighed as you neared a multi-storied building, its windows aglow with warm, orange lights, its front door sliding open as you entered.
Cozy, you thought, smiling widely beneath your mask.
The air wasn't too hot nor too cold, but rather the perfect temperature. The lights overhead gave off a soft illumination that didn't intrude the eyes of exhausted patrons, though there were few. You saw a couple families sitting at the larger tables eating dinner and chatting among one another, and a few spaced out customers relaxed at tables of their own, their minds occupied elsewhere.
Then a sound caught your ears. Heavy footsteps.
Your head jolted up and with lightning fast reflexes your hand grabbed your blaster.
But then you saw the source of the sound come from upstairs: two children, a little boy chasing around a little girl with a particularly intimidating stuffed animal. It was made in the likeness of a creature you didn't know, with several eyes, a long, finned tail, and a mouth set with fangs.
"Keevah, Goru!" shouted a woman's harsh, grating voice. "How many times have I told you two to settle the noise?! You're disturbing our customers!"
"Sorry, ma," said the children in unison, their heads lowering.
"Don't be so hard on 'em, Drogra," an older man from one of the families said. "Let kids be kids and have some fun - given where they live, they deserve it."
A very audible groan escaped the backroom, which you assumed was the kitchen. A savory, searing aroma emerged from within, an aroma that turned the growling in your stomach to longing, hungry pains.
"Just go to your rooms if you want to play," the woman said, defeated, as she exited the kitchen, one hand holding a platter of glasses while the other held a tray of steaming hot food. "If you're good tonight I'll make you two some of our special breakfast in the morning, alright? But you have to be good for your mama."
