<hr/><strong>Location</strong>Don't Fall Inn<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>Mara<br/><strong>Content</strong>Ominous?<br/><hr/>As she made her way up the staircase that climbed directly from the first floor to the third, it seemed each stair creaked far more than she ever remembered. She had been up and down these stairs countless times in her youth, ending in Gretla’s room and usually in her bed. It was Gretch who put a stop to it a few years ago with her trip to the Library. Now, at the top of the stairs, Gretch’s room is the first of the floor.<br/><br/>The once white door, now yellowed with the stain of a thousand meals wafting up the stairwell, hangs open. Gretch is sitting at his desk turned a quarter right to the door, one arm resting upon it, tattoos, faded with age obscured by the thick dark hair lightening like that at his temples. Deep set but still vivid blue eyes, eyes that have seen his own death and stood defiant, are set on the form creaking its way up. Waiting.<br/><br/>“So, Bright Eyes, Gretla sez you wants to talk. Whats you wanna talk ‘bout?” he starts, his voice seeming as scarred as his cheek. “When Gretla wants the talk, she done sumpin’ needs Daddy’s fixin’. Whutchoo done?”<br/><br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">OOC</div><div class="spoiler_body">Anyone else doing anything?</div></div>