4. Kazrith

"One pint of auralos, please."

The barkeep offers me a raised eyebrow in return. Her stiff posture and furled wings remind me of what kind of creature I'm dealing with.

Yeah. Xaphans never did know how to have a good time.

Sitting on the stool and avoiding stray glances, I take in the roaring fire, trying to avoid glaring out the window at the bright, oppressive sun. This city has a glimmer that agitates me, its golden bridges and arches nearly blinding me as the sunlight beams off of them.

Everybody here is quick to remind you how much they have, and to try to make a nodal off your blind trust. There's something deeply predatory about this ‘perfect' realm and its insistence on commercializing everything.

"Here you go," the barkeep says, sliding me the mug with a hint of venom in her voice. "Drink up."

I barely catch it in time, avoiding a shattering humiliation with my quick reflexes. But rather than conveying my frustration, I offer a polite grin, not about to be the demon she expects me to be.

Though, she's certainly asking for a slash or two across the face for the disrespect.

But as quaint as this city is, I can't help but admire it. As ostentatious as it might seem to many, New Solas is a testament to ingenuity, entrepreneurship, and ambition. If it weren't for the terrible folk here, it might actually be a haven.

I lift the mug, inhaling the bubbly liquid. A sweetness follows every pop and fizz, the golden liquor masking its toxicity with an almost overbearing pleasure.

It's a bit like the beings here. Overly sweet on the surface, concealing venom in the shadows and corners where you don't dare look. Hidden on the tidy, perfectly kept wooden floor, I can see dust and droppings in the corners of this bar where nobody glances.

At least back home, I knew where I stood with people. It was out in the open.

"This bar's a shithole."

Vrask is not subtle as he sits down beside me, his tentacles retracting into his legs. To the people of New Solas, I am a thousand times more unwelcome than the cecaelia sitting down beside me, and they make a point to remind me of that fact.

"I wouldn't say that so loud," Vrask whispers. "Beings here take a lot of pride in appearances. Wouldn't want to go pissing off the wrong folk."

I take another sip of my drink. The illusion is already ruined for me. The sweetness feels like a pretense.

A good mug of auralos isn't filled with this fake nectar. There's a subtlety to the taste. If I wanted to rot away my fangs, I'd stick my head in a sucoril bush.

"I've noticed," I reply. "Not very good salesmen, though. I've been offered four trinkets just while I was sitting here. All junk."

He nods as he taps on the counter, no doubt waiting to be served.

"And how has your luck been?"

I take a large sack of nodals and novas from out of my waistcoat pocket, jingling it for effect before I set it on the counter.

"See for yourself."

The barkeep gasps, and I feel a sudden respect flowing from her. Good to know that I was no good to her as a demon, but having the proper currency changes everything.

She's smart enough to know that the world spins because of currency.

"Why don't you take my friend's order?" I ask her, not hiding my ire. "And maybe try giving him something higher quality than this shit."

She stiffens her lip but layers on the politeness, perhaps hoping for the bigger tip she's not getting.

"Right away, sir," she says, taking out a scrap of parchment and scribbling frantically.

I laugh as Vrask orders the worst drink in the realm. Cheap shit, filled with berries and herbs.

We'll see what she does with that.

"Seems like you're doing pretty well," Vrask offers, looking at my waistcoat pocket where the bag of currency is prominently bulging.

"It's all the tourists. They see a demon, and they can't help thinking I'm exotic," I reply. "They also don't think I know what I have. I make sure to take advantage of that."

The barkeep scowls at me, her stiff golden eyebrows hanging over her wary eyes. I just chuckle to myself as she slides a glass toward Vrask.

"Maybe don't be so loud about your con," Vrask whispers. "I'd hate to end your continued streak."

I laugh aloud while taking another sip of my drink in spite of how much I hate it.

"I never said there was a con. All I said was I'm having good luck."

Vrask shakes his head.

"My job as a businessman is to convince these fools what I'm selling has value. And I believe it does. So there's no con."

I pat my other waistcoat pocket. "And I'm getting plenty of good stuff to take home, too," I add.

Vrask takes a sip of his drink. I'm surprised when he imbibes it with no reaction, not spitting it out across the bar like I would be. I look at my mug and resist the continued urge to shatter it on the floor.

"I still marvel at you sometimes," Vrask confesses. "If you were just a hint more ‘you,' we'd be kicked out of this tavern in minutes. But you toe the line so well."

I lean into him, looking around the room.

"Oh, come on," I say. "Tell me you didn't haggle somebody on the way in here. Go ahead."

Vrask shakes his head.

"You're a fucking idiot," he replies. "Even if I did take advantage of some poor xaphan, I'd still have the good sense not to say it out loud."

That's when the tavern door slams open, and everybody's attention shifts. A tall, burly demon enters the bar, flanked on both sides by two human women covered with cuts and bruises. From head to toe, the women are covered in blemishes, and they look as though they haven't slept in months.

I can hear everybody's hushed whispers. Though I'm relieved that for a brief moment, their attentions have shifted, I still notice as their eyes turn from the intruder back toward me, as though making a less than subtle association.

The women sit down beside the demon at the back corner of the bar.

"Poor things," Vrask whispers. He stares as the demon scolds the women, punishing them for speaking out of turn with a slap across the face. "They must be new acquisitions."

I nod, finding myself with no real opinion.

"Purchases in the area have gone way up," Vrask says, leaning closer to me. "And so have the number of unreported casualties."

"Doesn't seem right," I say noncommittally. Feigning interest when I have no real attachment to these women is difficult. I suppose I feel pity for the humans, but I can't do anything about it.

What I do notice is how the demon gives all of our kind a bad name. With so many slave traders walking into bars from off the street, simply existing in New Solas is a bit more complicated.

That's when the bartender departs toward the back of the room, perhaps to take their order. I perk up my ears to hear the conversation as Vrask eyes me warily.

I can tell what he wants to say before he says it.

"You need to take your business somewhere else," the bartender says. "This is an institution of high repute."

The demon scoffs. "Ridiculous," he says. "My nodal's as good as anybody else's."

The bartender looks dismissively toward the two women, then back at the demon. I notice the anxiety on the patrons' faces, unwilling to embrace confrontation in their pristine lives.

"That may be," she says. "But if you want something to drink, you need to leave your pets outside."

At this, the demon stands up, towering over the bartender as he slams his stool into the table.

"You can't prove a single thing," he says, nostrils flaring. "Who's to say I didn't just pick these women up from the human settlements? Maybe they're my friends."

I bury my face in my hands, tired of being associated with this dumb beast.

That's when I notice several xaphans standing up from their seats, ready to force this brute out if they can.

Seeing himself outnumbered, the demon's posture slackens. Where he once stood tall, he now hunches in acquiescence. How pathetic. He can't even put his money where his mouth is.

"Fine," he says, before gesturing toward the women accompanying him. "But don't think this is the end of this."

The crowd gathered around him parts, allowing him to leave out the front door, which he slams behind himself.

"Guy wasn't missing much," I comment. "Drinks are piss here, anyway."

The bartender approaches us from the back of the room, staring at me.

"Don't you go causing trouble, too," she commands. "We can do so much worse than throwing you out."

I lift my arms in mock surrender. I almost think I see her chuckle as she walks away.

"Fucking embarrassing," I say under my breath.

Vrask nods.

"Crazy what your kind's willing to do in the pursuit of human women," he says. "I bet many would be jealous."

I shake my head in disbelief. "Why? What's so special about human women?"

Vrask studies me.

"I mean, they're not even built to take us," I continue.

"I know one thing," Vrask says. "There's a reason sales of humans have gone up."

He leans in to whisper, noticing the increasing focus on me.

"Just recently, I heard a demon went mad with lust out at the stocks. The woman looked like she might keel over at any moment, and he was still ready to ‘embarrass' himself."

I bring the mug back up to my mouth, less for an enjoyable drink and more to do something under all the scrutiny.

This insanity is beyond my comprehension. I'd like to understand what makes these demons tick because they're all my potential customers.

But how could they lose themselves over something so frivolous? How could they humiliate themselves in the face of society's pressures?

I empty my money onto the counter and start counting, keen to let anything take my mind off this inane and vexing question.