The good news was he made it back to Alanor in one piece. The bad news was it was already dark when he returned. Michael and a couple other workers, including Uncle, were tasked to deliver spare wood for another construction that was going on. Just so happens that they're a few short of supply and two of them are absurdly tardy checking in. Though, this was already usual for Michael so the guards didn't even bother to punish him.
He walked along the street, being avoided like he was a plaque passing by. This was how it was for any worker in the union except he was younger so it was even worse. The same pitiful eyes he had to endure. He never had clean clothes to wear, his skin was probably coarse and dirty, yet he felt happier than all of them. Because sitting right on the back of his drawers was enough money to change his life.
Michael didn't even bother coming back to the union. It was some crappy building filled with old men like Uncle and always reeked of booze. The rations they would always give were blatant leftovers from the guard's meals. Sometimes, workers smuggle their own means of consumption either through illegal substances or more hearty alcohol. That's probably what gave the workers such a horrible reputation against the public. Guards won't even care, as long as it didn't concern them, workers can live in trash if they wanted.
He stopped by a tavern that he's always had his eye on. Just from the aroma from the outside already had his stomach grumbling. Michael was never let inside because of the state of his clothes but it didn't look like anyone was here. He entered through the door and found the tables were empty.
Until a waiter gasped, like a stray animal had entered the tavern.
Michael turned around startled with the same reaction, trying to find the animal that probably sneaked under him. Then he realized the waiter was looking at him.
"You—you can't be in here," he said. "We don't serve people in the union."
"But, I'm not from the union."
The waiter looked at Michael's clothes and could already tell his blatant lie.
Michael dug from the back of his drawers and fished out the same pouch Nasir had given him. He emptied a handful of gold coins, not sure how much a decent meal costs though this much should have been enough.
The waiter's face was apprehensive, watching a dirty child dig from his bottom and suddenly pull out gold coins. He even stared at them if they were even real. But reflecting from the light inside, these gold coins were the real deal.
"Are you an adventurer?" the waiter asked. "How do you have this?"
Michael assumed the waiter probably thought he stole them. But he nodded instead, keeping his remarks to himself though this story couldn't be more fabricated. Adventurers were usually equipped with gear though all Michael had was his ragged shirt and pants.
The waiter contemplated at the sight of gold. "Give me one second."
As the waiter headed to the back of the tavern, he pulled another person. One that was taller than him and much more chubby, with an apron that was almost as dirty as Michael. This person must have been the chef. They discussed back and forth like trying to find out some type of scheme Michael was pulling.
But the long walk and a fair beating, all Michael felt like he deserved was a good and hot meal.
Michael waved his hand in front of them. "Could I eat or not?"
The chef cleared his throat. "Give me the gold."
Michael reached his palm out.
"No, I want all of it."
"What? What type of food costs this much?"
"You said you wanted to eat," he folded his arms. "I ask for gold. Eat or not, choose what you want. Your money is dirty anyways."
Michael poured the gold back into his pouch. "Yeah, and your food probably tastes just as bad."
"You little—" the chef lunged for the pouch. "Come here!"
Michael hopped away and ran outside. It looked like he wouldn't be getting any fair service either, even if he had the money to pay. The appearance of a worker would never rub off that easily so people were bound to treat him like trash.
That sucks a lot, Michael thought, he wouldn't be able to get a meal if he couldn't shake off this stench that followed him.
So he settled for a steamed potato on the side of the road, for a single gold coin from a street vendor. It was the only decent food he could find at this type of hour that didn't try to trick him of his money. Michael was stupid but he wasn't stupid-stupid, if anyone else could understand that. He stuffed the pouch back in his trusty drawers. Maybe he could buy a place to stay, or a room to shower so he'd actually feel somewhat clean.
He stared down the street where the union was a couple minutes away. All these buildings had gone dark, mostly all the commoners were probably asleep. You could hear some distant chatter and laughs from drunkards at this hour that looks to cause some commotion. Other than that, nothing interesting really happens in Alanor.
Michael moved under some porch of a building. It sounded quiet and nobody looked to be inside. He patted the coin pouch tight at his butt, making sure it wouldn't somehow slip away. Sleeping outside on a hard floor wasn't the problem for him, it was more like the people and noises that kept him awake. Even so, he always hoped for a better tomorrow.