The stable was out of the way, a cozy number near some trees a local candlestick maker of some renown used to hold his personal horse. He'd made it a bit too large, however, so some of the other locals kept sticking their horses there too. It was a bit of a nuisance but an informal payment system and been set up and no one had rocked the boat.
Now, Golan sauntered in, trying to appear calm, and trying to carry a bottle of vodka nonchalantly.
A local girl who kept her horse here and occasionally delivered messages for Golan was just hitching up her stallion. Her name was Freya, she was a good kid.
"Hi Golan!" she said much louder than necessary.
"Freya! You're just the person I wanted to see. As it happens, I need your help. I need to borrow your horse for most of the day, and in exchange, I'd like you to look after this -" holding up the bottle of vodka "-and make sure no one drinks it! Except you, you can have a little. And you can share with a friend."
Freya gave Golan a funny look.
"Except this time you won't tell my parents?" she said, clutching Slowpoke's reins a bit more tightly.
"Nope! Promise. Last time I didn't know about customer-bartender confidentiality."
Freya gave Golan a long look, then took the flask and wandered off.
Phew!
Golan hopped on Slowpoke and dashed away, hopefully in the direction of Noah.
The story continues
Here
Golan returned, and reopened the bar, slightly confused by the whole event that had unfolded. Bad people, little kid, not able to help... Golan made a promise to herself that in the future, when people need help, she would keep a merc on hand that she can trust to refer them to. That way, she would be able to leave people like that with a clear conscience.
Then, Golan suddenly remembered something. She closed the bar again and went to return Slowpoke to Freya.
After seeing a new poster looking for work, and feeling a drive to make her life matter in a way that maintaining a fantasy bar slash hotel wasn't cutting anymore, Golan locked up the bar and went away.