((Open to any and everyone))
“It's so hot,” Alex Alfons thought between dry heaves above the bathroom porthole. He braced himself against the wall like a hopeless defender in a siege. There was a ringing in his ear that kept pace with his pounding headache. Alex's guts seemed caught in the midst of an existential crisis, unsure of their place in the grand scheme of things. A bubbling torment crept up his throat; hot, vile, and deadset on seeing the outside world. He watched the last of the yellow chucks fly down to the waters below, thankful that this time he wasn't wearing his mask. Rising slowly, with all the confidence of a child's first steps, he spun around and opened the stall door.
Every step brought a new nausea and a wretched dread that seemed to say that nothing would be right with the world again. The pearl coast brought with it the empty, shimmering promise of a relaxing vacation. Instead, his stomach rolled with every wave that sloshed against the pier's supports. Though newly built and steady as stone, Alex could feel the gentle rock of the tide and compensated for it as best he could with a wobbling gait. The bathroom proper had become more crowded than when he had first entered. Though he had only hogged one stall, the bar was busy enough to keep a constant flow of traffic for people trying to make room. Cold glares met him as he exited, as he one gentle pat on the shoulder.
“It'll be okay, mate,” said one kindly fat man. Somehow, Alex didn't believe him.
The bar's main hall was massive and open, but oppressively hot. Summer had stifled the cool sea breezes, and dingy windows kept even the zephyrs away. The chandeliers above dripped melting wax onto floors and tables below, but no candles were lit. He walked past rows of crowded tables featuring every weird sort Althanas had to offer. With the Corone Civil War dwindling but alive, Serenti and its barony had begun to thrive more as a port of Free Corone. Local businessmen had worked quickly to take raw materials from Underwood and build a sprawling dock and pier that stretched deep into clean blue waters.
He returned to the bar a new man, a thousand yard stare was occasionally hidden by a worrisome, trembling hand. “So, no food then?” The bar tender had a kind of wry smile you wanted to shatter to a million pieces, slickly sliding a menu cheap menu back behind the counter. As Alex returned to his seat, he was greeted by a sailor he had the cheerful misfortune of spending three solid weeks with. The crew had taken him to the very edge of death, and even a bit past it, with a drink they devised in some dark dream. For endless weeks, Alex had found that happy, perpetual drunk that only daft sailors dared to live. Whiskey, cider, and rum were blended together in a dark oak barrel and aged until they were remembered in some forgotten hold of the ship.
His friend nibbled on a piece of fatty pork that rested in the thin broth, almost starring back at him with grease-traced eyes. He felt another heave, but managed to stifle it.
“As I was sayin',” the crewman began with a toothless grin, “her breast was as big as I'd ever seen!” Though he seemed charming enough during the voyage, Alex looked past his listlessly, rolling a cigarette all the while. He nodded once or twice before licking it closed.
“Got a light?” He nearly croaked.
“Aye.” The crewman reached into his waistcoat's pocket to produce a lighter. If Alex could see straight, even he would blush at the well-done etching decorating it. Shakily, he lit the tip and took the first warm pull towards good health.
“You can't smoke in here. Take it outside.” The bartender was stern for a short man, and ruddy as the sun at dusk. Alex just shrugged before getting up, taking one last drag before making his way towards what he hoped was the door. Blindly bright by comparison, the open doorway was the only source of fresh air into the stagnant tavern.
”Maybe it'll be a relief. I can retch over the edge if I need to - “
Someone stood up so suddenly from a table to his side that Alex almost lost his balance. After gaining some semblance of dignity, he turned to find his cigarette broken in half, and a very tall half-orge shooting daggers at him with a charcoal eye.
“Ya' burned me!” He roared from somewhere deep in the back of his throat, echoing above that deafening noise of the bar. He was covered in scars on his leather skin, and tobacco juice dripped from his lips.
“Sorry man, but you bumped into me.” Alex stumbled a little more on unsure footing. He was considered tall even as a boy, but the half-orge had at least a foot on him. Lifeless blue eyes tried to portray so apology, but were betrayed by their utter apathy. The half-ogre grabbed him by his suit jacket, slamming him to the ground. He held the gas mask at his side as best he could, protecting it from any damage. “Oh man, you win. Now chill.”
This enraged the half-orge further, but Alex's friend stepped in to try to broker some peace. No sooner had the older man opened his mouth than a fist came careening towards it. The crewman was sent sprawling to the floor, a trickle of blood at his lips. The ogre chuckled to himself, but a slow hiss near him caused a pause.
Alex donned his mask, and a slight stream of smoke slipped out of it. Beneath the glass on his, those blue eyes had found some vigor as the looked straight at the ogre. He pulled once at his wrinkled purple shirt and unbuttoned vest, before jumping enough to land a sickening punch at the monstrous face. His knuckle had caught a twisted tusk, but the ogre fell back with a grunt, taking down two tables and a card game with him. Shouts erupted as irate patrons pushed at the fallen monster, and more yells were heard from the back. The heat and drink had finally been more than people could take.
The two creatures that sat the ogre's table, a minotaur and a woman with a lower jaw of iron, rose from their seats and started to approach Alex.
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