Tender Ears

20260505

Written for Bradley Ramsey's "Halls Of Pandemonium", Day 5.

This is a follow-up to this story.

CW: Physical sexual harassment and societal dismissal of it.

It’s not like I wasn’t used to it. As soon as men get in the cups - especially if there aren’t proper, respectable womenfolk around - their hands start wandering. I kept my shawl securely wrapped around my bodice no matter how hot I got ferrying drinks, wore my skirts long as was practical, and tried to stay out of arm’s reach.
But that slap caught me by surprise. Brazen. As was the slurred mumble of… the usual. My face burned and my eyes prickled. No matter how often those wounds are jabbed, they never seem to scar over. Always raw.
The snickers which followed stung in a different way, not less painful but at least less personal, until-
~*~
From a usually silent corner came the thunk of a mug of ale being set down firmly - not slammed, but hitting the table with enough force to make it clear that mugs being slammed into things was a distinct possibility.
Every head turned. Startled. And found Dour Pete sitting forward, his feet flat on the floor and his expressionless gaze fixed on Arnold. His posture communicating, even without visible emotion, “Do I need to stand up?”
The answer was no. Nobody wanted Pete to feel it necessary to get up, because once that happened, it was going to end poorly. Having seen what he did to folks who started fights made him seemingly offering to kick off all the more frightening.
Arnold, bewildered and alarmed, stammered out an apologetic jumble and shrunk down in his seat. Gaze fixed on his mug.
Everyone else looked between Pete and this new, so-called widow. And as one drew conclusions.
~*~
I see it ripple across their faces. I’ve been claimed.
Or have I? I’ve no idea, which leaves me flailing. No telling what he meant by that… I’m not sure you could even call it a gesture. Much as I’m glad to see fright put into the louts, keeping their hands where they belong, I now have to worry what that Pete fellow expects from me.
I keep my eyes down. Force my jaw to unclench.
That’s the catch, isn’t it? If you’re looking for a man, it proves you’re a whore, because it’s not proper to be marrying again with a little one and all. But if you’re not looking for a man, it proves you’re a whore, because a respectable woman wants marriage! No winning.
Well… creepy though his face is, he’s far from the worst man to stake a claim on me. At least he’s kindly to Jonny. Still leaves me afeared that I’ll have to flee in the midst of night. Again.
~*~
One unexpected development after another! Of course running an inn you see all sorts of passions flow, but I’d never pegged Pete as the sort to be interested in anyone.
Granted, that might be because the man had enough sense to realise no woman was likely to be interested in, well, an intimidating, rough around the edges fellow like him. Could be he figures a lone mother’s in his league. Especially since her kid already took a shine to him.
But as soon as the moment passes, he’s settled on his stool again, gazing into the middle distance. Seemingly paying her no heed at all. Hm. Would’ve thought he’d be as prone to watching as most men - possibly more - to make sure hands stay off his girl. Is he just assuming nobody’s daft enough not to heed him, or…?
_*
He hasn’t tried to call me over. I’d already learned that he’s the sort who nurses his drink, takes a whole evening to get through two ales. Not great for business, but… honestly I prefer that to the ones who get… insensible.
I have seen him order an apple turnover, and that’s a treat I can afford. So I seize a quiet moment and snag one off the tray to offer him. As thanks.
His brow furrows, though his expression’s still unreadable. “For what?”
Is this a joke? He has shown right dry humour whenever Jonny comes to bother him.
“For… calming things down.”
I carefully don’t look at the man who was trying to buy my ass. Don’t risk setting him off again.
“Oh. That. Don’t need thanks.” He does look over, gives the chastised fellow a hard look. “Shouldn’t be saying that stuff with a kid in the room. Specially to his mother.”
I automatically glance at Jonny curled up by the hearth. Seeming asleep - and I do hope he was napping through that nastiness. Not that the poor cherub isn’t used to it, but that itself breaks my heart.
Shaking that off, I push the plate to him and risk a firm “I insist.”
“Alright then.” He lifts his mug - for a moment I think he wants a top-up with his snack, but the motion’s far too brief. He was toasting me. “My thanks.”
“I’m the one saying thanks.”
“Well, your thanks is well generous. Call it making change.”
“Alright?” I’m not sure whether it’s safe to smile at that. Smiling might be too friendly.
But he’s turned straight to the pastry, paying me no more heed than if he’d ordered it normal. So I take myself back to work.
~*~
Holy Sunborne’s testicles, the man’s clueless! And I don’t know what to do. Alright, he keeps to himself, but woulda thought he’d know at least the rough shape of the oldest game! Yet I’m pretty sure he didn’t think nothing of it - either him browbeating Arnold into apologising to her for being forward, or her insisting on paying him back for it.
Well… he was happy to call them even. Hopefully that’s her at ease.
I’m gonna have to talk to her, aren’t I? And maybe even him. Crone grant me wisdom…
Alright. Best to find out what she feels about it, I suppose? Assuming she’s willing to tell me. I don’t want to try and explain romance to Pete until I’m sure he’s actually in the game!

Prompt was “Write a piece set in the same world/universe as another of your works. It can be a side story, a sequel, a prequel, etc.”