It's been three days. Three days of the constant pitter patter on wooden posts and windows - most likely driving the locals mad in this shithole village that most likely, you didn't bother to remember the name of. The boats in the harbor groan as they are pushed against the salty breeze; villages scurrying with books or cloaks, or jackets above their heads - not that it would help shelter them from the onslaught of droplets. The fact that you were noticing these things is impressive, quite amusing really. Heading down the street towards the local tavern, surely you must've had a complex plan. You do have a plan, right?
You weren't planning on actually staying, were you?
The moment you entered the tavern, the static noise of drunks stumbling about, and raunchy laughter filled your ears. It's not as if anyone had anything else to do - especially the sailors. They were stuck til the water levels lowered; it's all they ever damn near talk about!
Perhaps you approach the bar wench for the drink, or perhaps not. Regardless, nothing really seemed that interesting in a popular seaside tavern, except -
A woman, sitting by herself at a small, rickety table - staring directly at you.
Perchance you made eye contact? Regardless, she's definitely eyeing you, a deck of cards rifling through her fingers.
Maybe something just managed to capture a slight interest to stay for a bit in this shithole village after all.