Scott Monster's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Scott Monster stood outside the abandoned riverside hall, counting his coin for the third time that morning. The building had stood empty for two years, its wide stone hearth cold and its floors thick with dust. But the bones were perfect — high ceilings, space enough for six long tables, and windows that would fill the room with light. He unrolled the blueprints across a flat stone, their edges worn from handling. Every detail was there — the placement of benches, the raised hearth platform, the kitchen access. He'd drawn them himself over months of dreaming. But as he secured the corners with river rocks, footsteps approached from behind. A woman in a gray coat stopped beside him, her eyes scanning the building. "You're wasting your time," she said. "Warren Ashford already put down earnest money this morning." Scott's hands froze on the blueprints. The woman smiled without warmth. "He collects buildings the way some people collect coins. This one's his." Scott rolled up the blueprints and tucked them under his arm. His coin pouch felt lighter than ever against his hip. Warren Ashford had resources Scott could never match — warehouses, storefronts, half the riverside properties. But Scott had something else. He walked to the building's main door and pressed his palm against the wood. The hall didn't need someone who collected buildings. It needed someone who would fill it with voices and firelight and strangers who became friends over shared meals. He turned back to the woman. "Tell Warren I'll match his earnest money by sunset." Her eyebrows lifted. "You don't have that kind of coin." Scott smiled. "I will." He had six hours to prove his tavern was more than blueprints and dreams. Scott moved through the market district with the blueprints in hand, stopping at every merchant stall and workshop. He showed the drawings to the baker who supplied his current lodging house. He showed them to the blacksmith who'd always listened to his ideas. He showed them to the seamstress, the chandler, and the cooper. Each one studied the plans — the long tables, the open layout, the design that forced strangers to sit together. "You'd serve my whole family at one table?" the baker asked. Scott nodded. "Everyone eats together or they don't eat." By mid-afternoon, he had promises. Small investments, advance orders for opening night, offers to help with repairs. The cooper handed him three silver coins. "I've eaten alone too many nights," she said. When Scott returned to the riverside hall at sunset, a wooden sign reading "For Sale" stood crooked in the dirt. He pulled it free and carried it to the door. The woman in the gray coat was gone. Warren Ashford would learn tomorrow that someone else had matched his offer. Tonight, Scott wedged the sign against the building's stone wall and walked inside his tavern for the first time.