It’s a busy night at the inn, almost annoyingly so. All Hallow’s Eve is fast approaching, and as the veil thins, more and more newcomers are dropping into the place, so many it’s damn near impossible to keep track of them. Well, that’s to be expected. Happens every year. But an awful rainstorm is raging around outside tonight, too, drawing in those who have no dry place to stay yet and those who were caught in the weather on their way home and those who just don’t want to cook their own dinners. Briony rises beautifully to the occasion as she always does, cheerfully running around like a chicken with her head cut off as she mops up after people and brings food out and chatters the whole way, but even she can’t be everywhere at once.
So the Crone scowls at the crowd. Then she sniffs.
Well, nothing for it. Her bones aren’t so old they can’t wield a mop, even if it is cold and wet outside. She heads for the door to sop up the wet, rainy mess the customers keep bringing in, freeing Briony up to focus on those who are already settled. And really, this crowd isn’t so bad. She’s certainly seen worse in her time as the innkeeper here.
And the Crone has been in the Crossroads Inn for centuries.
[Welcome, welcome, welcome! Mix and mingle and have fun!]