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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.
