Boar's Hat Tavern Novels & Stories

“There’s a bar not far from here.” THEY ENDED UP AT A bar about halfway between work and home. An off the road place that Mandy would never have pictured Carl going in to. It was a local tavern kind of place with deer heads and other stuffed animals staring blatantly at you from the wall. Carl pointed at a table under a moose head with massive antlers and walked to the bar to grab drinks. Cautiously, Mandy slid on the bench under the elk, eying it with mistrust. There was a reason nobody was sitting by this area, hopefully it wasn’t because of the beast above them.

For all he knew, or cared, Paul could quit because of his lack of interest in Paul working out in his new position. “Sure Bill. Whatever you say.” Thank heavens he didn’t need to come in first thing in the morning. Paul probably would like to see some of his pack and get to work with them. “I better go. So, I can catch him before he leaves for the day. Anything else?” “Yeah, so what is with the magically returning tavern owner?” Bill couldn’t even get the type of business correct. A tavern was more like a restaurant that served alcohol. A bar was a drinking establishment that might sell snack type foods.

The other single-story storefronts were closed up for the night, the bright white from the bar's sign the only illumination aside from the orange-ish glow of streetlamps. Her tavern was pretty large in comparison to the other buildings. The gray clapboard siding had no doubt been weathered by salt-infused sunshine and wind off the sea. It resembled a large crab shack with burgundy shutters framing the large lower and small upper window. The front door had a gold plaque indicating Locals Only, along with hours of operation and that they were closed on Sundays and Mondays. Above that was an enormous fishing hook mounted to the frame that could've taken down Moby Dick.

EPISODE 134 I opened my eyes, just a little. Just enough to see through my lashes without revealing I was awake. They were getting closer now. Two of them were carrying a large wooden spit, each holding one end over their shoulders. Skewered in the center was a boar, completely hairless and cleaned. The pinkish meat was already rubbed with crushed herbs that clung to its skin like a dark, speckled coating. I could smell it faintly, the rawness of the flesh mixing with the earthy scent of herbs and smoke from the fire.

When I felt confident my horse would be well taken care of, I led Sage to the tavern entrance. It smelled like spilled beer and a hot meal, with a little livestock undertone. The tavern was far less bright than the sunny day outside, but it was hardly dim. There were tons of bodies moving like blood through veins inside the tavern, and I squinted as my eyes adjusted to the interior. "Well, you rat bastard, how dare you show your face here?"

Dominance layered beneath beer, leather, and rain. Hollow Creek Bar & Grill had not changed much. Same long wooden bar. Same scratched tables. Same green-shaded lights over the pool tables. Same mounted deer head above the fireplace, still wearing the ridiculous Santa hat someone probably forgot to take down five Christmases ago. For one stupid second, I almost smiled. Damien had hated that deer. Said it looked judgmental. I pushed the memory down before it could become something softer. The second I stepped farther inside, conversations thinned one by one.

Bari didn’t ask any further questions and led the group towards the tavern that was written on the scroll ‘Green Serpent Tavern’. Unlike the taverns in the other parts of the kingdom, this one reflected the true lifestyle of the gipsy where drinking was only one of the activities. There were performers, gamblers and even sporting events like blind-folded archery with live targets. “Do we have a name for the one you want to meet?” Bari asked in a low voice as they neared the tavern.

Since gin and not boxing talk was what he came for, this did not trouble him, and he was quite content to ensconce himself in a cosy corner of the tap-room and watch the prize fighters and the Corinthians drift past him to the inner sanctum. The tavern was always crowded, every young gentleman came to it, every prize fighter of note, and it was not unusual for some ambitious person to walk in and pick a quarrel with the genial host for the privilege of being able to boast afterwards that he had exchanged blows with the champion. This practice had of late become less popular, as Boa had formed a disappointing habit of hauling his would-be assailants straight before a magistrate, on the score

The nobles twisted that idea, creating a class system to control and keep the weak; weak. We made our way to a little tavern called The Nasty Willows. By the time we reached it was already evening. "What a difference," said Kali walking up to the tavern doors. I glanced up at The Nasty Willows signboard. It was a Willow smoking a cigar. "Cute," I said. The tavern was lively, with people drinking and chatting about their day. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, lighting up the room with candles. It was a circus of fun as the waitresses rushed back and forth bringing food on plates and drinks in wooden mugs.

I huffed at the thought and cranked the motor along the gravel driveway that led away from the pack and into town, increasing the stereo’s volume. The other neighboring packs were hours away, and I had no desire to engage in the niceties and diplomacy of other Alphas to get their permission to enter their territory. Instead, I advanced to the nearest tavern I could locate. Until my mind decided it was time to seek her out. I would attach my ass to a barstool and drown my sorrows in the bottom of a bottle of whiskey. *** Howie’s Ole Ale House was the first tavern I spotted before entering the city. I assumed they were referring to the dilapidated status of this establishment, which desperatel