text: One day, a dragon walks into a bar. My bar. Dragons are a bit like superheroes, you know, if superheroes were dicks. Oh, and if they didn’t really give a damn helping anyone but themselves. This dragon is no different, he comes in, chest puffed out in his humanoid form. He doesn’t need the scales or the serpentine tongue or the giant fucking wings to let you know what he is. As a human, this particular dragon has a physique similar to an olympic swimmer, lean but powerful. His clothing accentuates it, a button up that’s a little too snug and slacks that hug in all the right places. Today he looks slightly haggard, for him at any rate, he’s got a bit of scruff instead of his normally clean shaven pretty boy face. He keeps his blonde hair parted showing off what really gives away his true form: his eyes. Dragon eyes still weird me out and I’ve been around them all my life, the pupils and iris match that of your everyday human but also look like they’re on fire. I have to focus every time I look into his hazel irises with that yellow green glow around them. Compare that me, a dwarf reaching the astonishing tall height of five foot three inches. I’m a little bit skinnier that your average dwarf, closer to $170 pounds instead of the typical 190, only because I grew up with humans who don’t always eat the heartiest of meals. I’ve got the obligatory bushy beard, mine’s fiery orange. I tend to keep my beard in two braids to keep it out of the way when I’m cooking or tending bar. My eyes are green, not dissimilar to a traffic light. What really sets me apart from other dwarves though is that I will talk to just about anyone. Most of my kin fall into the known version of what it means to be a dwarf and are terse and quiet. Fuck that shit, I’ll talk to whomever and whenever. My dad jokes that I was actually switched at birth and I’m actually a halfling. “Afternoon Jotiet,” I acknowledge in my watered down Scottish brogue, taking extra care to pronounce his name correctly; Joe-tea-et. Last thing I want is to piss off a guy who could literally speak a word and burn my bar down. When you pronounce things differently than most people are used to, like ‘ye’ instead of ‘you’ and ‘me’ instead of ‘my’, it’s obscenely easy to enunciate incorrectly. “Good afternoon Draven,” Jotiet replied. Jotiet, arrogant as he might be, is at least polite to those he interacts with. I’m still not convinced his manners aren’t some twisted personality trait to feed some superiority complex. It could also be that as a dwarf, he took pity on me for the same reason. In either case, my bar is the best bar in the greater Sacramento area. The Vulgar Unicorn isn’t terribly big, it only seats about 30 people on a busy night. If I had to guess, the Unicorn is known because of its charm. It doesn’t have the intentionally worn down vibe like so many of the hip places in Sacramento nor is it ultra fancy. At the risk of being honest with myself, my bar is kind of a dive, a tidy dive, but a dive nonetheless. It took me the better part of a year to put it together, from the oak chairs I hand crafted and stained in a deep purple that looks brown in the dim light to the hand sculpted bar area. Hand chiseling that granite was a huge pain in the ass, but the gold flakes sparkling in the pitch black countertop was completely worth it. The kitchen was easy enough, I pretty much bought the whole thing online and just installed it myself. I’ve had patrons from around the world show up to the Vulgar Unicorn just because of recommendations from the locals. So it’s never really struck me as odd that a dragon would drink the swill I serve. “It’s not quite dinner time, so it’ll be a bit before I can get you your normal.” “That’s fine, my good dwarf, I came in for a drink anyway.” The nice thing about dragons is they tend to be creatures of habit. I’ve known Jotiet about a year now, I can tell time by when he arrives, orders, and leaves. It’s at the point where ordering his reuben with extra sauerkraut and lightly charred corned beef is a pure formality. He only orders a drink when he’s brought a woman with him and then it’s a wine I keep special for him. So the fact that he’s in alone ordering a drink is a little more than surprising to me. “Some of the zin and two glasses?” I ask hoping his companion was simply late and Jotiet was just warming up. Still out of character, but a dwarf can hope. “No, hand me a bottle of whiskey and a glass.” Shit. Would it be poor form to politely ask my other patrons to leave, lest an inferno is about to begin? I’d truly hate if the legacy the Unicorn left was the cremation of innocent people simply because a dragon decided to act out of character. On the other hand, his ego might get bruised if he caught me evacuating the room. Fucking rocks and hard places. “Not like you to have a rough day, want to talk about it?” Another nice thing about dragons: they prefer the finer things and this one, at least, is willing to pay premium prices. So there was no hesitation in pulling out the 37 year old bottle of McGidden. It hasn’t seen much use, after all, what moron would pay for a glass of this stuff? Hell, if Jotiet drank a quarter of the bottle, I could close up shop for the rest of the week and still break even. Speaking of rocks, “Want it neat?” “Yes please Draven, I don’t want to water down whatever delightful amber liquid you’re serving. Today, has been exciting to say the least. I’d almost forgotten the feeling of having events not being comfortably in my control. Today, I lost it.” Jotiet sighs as he pours his drink. Three fingers on the first drink! Must have been one fucked up day. “What did you lose?” “I lost my company to some smooth talking, fast acting piece of elven trash. The company I founded, invested my heart and soul into, and worked into a multi-billion dollar cash register. Durlan Daren waltzes in there and talks to the board and convinces them that I’m taking the company in the wrong direction. My vision for Cerberus is ‘unsustainable.’” I appreciate that he emphasizes that last comment with sarcastic air quotes. Wait, Jotiet just said ‘Cerberus.’ It seems unlikely he’s talking about the three headed dog that sits in Hades, so he’s talking about Cerberus International Biomechanical. This dragon is one of the top three richest people in the world and he comes into MY bar? What in the actual fuck? Jotiet acknowledges my very obvious surprise, “Yes, I am Roland Jotiet Beldrenth, founder of Cerberus. Now it would seem I should probably introduce myself as ‘former owner’. Your surprise is why I come to this bar; everyone only knows what I am, not who I am. I get the respect I’m due without the trouble of having to maintain any social expectations. Using my middle name naturally makes it harder for the rank and file to put two and two together and gives me that modicum of privacy. If I may speak frankly, Draven, that makes you one of a handful of people that know me best. You’ve managed to do that without ever knowing my real name.” Complimenting me by confirming his own importance? Like I said, he’s an arrogant fuck. “I just like to have a place people can come and have a drink worry free. If the president were to walk in here, even he should get a moment of peace.” “For that, you have my eternal gratitude. Not so many dwarves have the social awareness you do. Most of them seem to be,” Jotiet pauses to ponder, “rather uncouth is probably the politest word for it.” “Fucking rude is probably the most accurate way to say it. I’m special. I grew up mostly around plain old humans. My dad lost his job when I was a wee baby, so we had to move around a lot so that he could find work. Eventually he found a job up in Lebanon. The pay and hours were shit, but it was a job.” I’m actually not sure why I’m spilling my figurative guts to him right now. Maybe it’s just because this is the first conversation he and I have ever had of substance, maybe I’m being charmed, but that seems unlikely. Not that I would do anything about it, he’s a dragon after all. I continue, “Back then, Lebanon was mostly human. Dwarves don’t handle that kind of climate too well. Mom didn’t adjust at all and we lost her to the first winter there. Let me tell you Jotiet, a dwarf with pneumonia is a terrible thing to see. Anyway, with only humans around, I grew up with more of their mannerisms. Don’t get me wrong, I still love a good solid ale and friendly brawling. I’m pretty sure us dwarves are genetically engineered that way.” Jotiet grins ever so slightly as I play into a few overused stereotypes, but sometimes they’re stereotypes for a reason. I do love a good ale and I’ve been known to get into scraps with my “brothers”. My brothers also taught me some manners. I’ve only disrespected a new acquaintance once. I got into a fight with my brothers later because of it and I’ve not forgotten to show respect since. “How old are you, Draven? I get the impression you’re younger than your beard would suggest since it’s only been about ten years since the Reclamation.” Stroking my bushy bright orange beard, I answer, “Just had my 25th birthday a couple of weeks ago. I don’t usually celebrate since it’s a big hassle.” Raising his glass, Jotiet cheers me, “Prost!” and finishes his drink. The glass is barely back on the bar as he’s pouring the glass full with more McGidden. “Please, don’t let me keep you from your other customers. I’ll take my meal at the normal time. Thank you Draven.” Far be it for me to keep a man from a drunken stupor, lord knows I’ve had my fair share of those nights. I’ll keep an eye on him, though, I’ve never seen an intoxicated dragon before, so I kind of want to see one now. I mill about the Unicorn for most of the rest of the evening, I bring Jotiet his food right on time, chat with a couple of the other regulars. After pulling away from a conversation about six armed lizard men around closing time, I go to check on Jotiet, but all I see is a thick envelope under the now dry glass. My name is on the envelope, but I still cautiously open it. Inside is the single largest amount of cash I’ve ever seen. At a quick glance, there’s got to be ten grand in there! I look over at the bottle of McGidden and, sure enough, it’s empty. Not sure what’s more surprising, how much he drank, how much he paid, or how he left without everyone knowing. On one hand, it’s pretty fucking spectacular knowing that I have ten thousand dollars to deposit, even taking into account that I’ll have to buy another bottle of the McGidden. On the other hand, I am now obscenely paranoid that I have to carry cash between now and the ATM. There’s not a bright fluorescent sign over my head blinking or anything, but there’s nothing like having a small fortune in your pocket to make you question the movements every living creature around you. Did that person turn there because they are heading the same direction as me or because they can smell the stack of bills? Is that cat really a cat? Why don’t I have a safe at the Unicorn? No, seriously, why do I not have a safe? I make a mental note to start shopping for a safe. I’m focusing on the wrong details apparently, since I fail see the shadow move up in front of my very face. Between blinks, my legs are kicked out from under me and my nose fills with blood from the quick introduction it makes to the concrete. The only communication I can come up with is a loud grunt. “Give me your wallet and you get to hobble away from here, beardie,” rasps an oddly familiar feminine voice. Silly woman, I think as I roll away and jump up, narrowly dodging a reaction kick from her stiletto. Focusing for a second, my favored weapon materialises in my hand. A great axe forged from iron, the handle grip stitched in gold. Up where the double-sided blade spans is a gold etching of Dirog, the dwarven deity of honor. The wings of his helmet form into the blades themselves. The lining of the curves underneath the blades is iron contrasting starkly with the gold in the low light of the street. The Diplomat is probably the single best piece of metal work on the planet. “Listen lady, I don’t know what you want, but I assure you, I don’t have it!” “You mean to tell me that bulge in your pocket means you’re happy to see me then and isn’t a wad of money? Perhaps around ten large?” If I weren’t preparing myself for a fight, I’d probably make a dirty comment here. Two daggers form in the black gloves of the figure who almost looks like pure shadow. In the dark, it takes twice as much focus to observe the womanly curves. What sticks out though wasn’t the absence of light across her body, but the reflection of light in her eyes behind the ornate mask. Apparently that’s all the time I get to try and figure out who or what she is as she tumbles behind me and slices at me with both of the daggers. Fucking hell she’s fast. The night air feels cool against my upper left thigh where the bitch struck me, cutting open my shirt and pants. It might be the adrenaline or it might be a lack of wound, but there isn’t any pain, so that’s good. Focusing my efforts, I swing the broad side of the Diplomat at my attacker. I don’t have any interest in the proceedings that come with killing someone, so I’m just trying to knock her out so I can get the hell out of here. Then I fully intend on running home with my axe out like a mad man. No one is going to fuck with a running dwarf carrying a weapon taller than he is. My follow through hits her left arm, knocking her back. Damnit, she’s quick. She’s already adjusting her agile form in mid-air and using the momentum to do a backflip. For a brief second, I see a glint of white hair and elf ears under the hood. The spark of realization flashes in my head as she changes from three point landing to tumbling slash. I feel cool air on my right side after she somersaults past. “God fucking damnit Soviel! This is one of my favorite shirts!” “Oh hush you big baby, use some of that money Jotiet paid you to get it fixed.” Soviel pulls down her hood and takes off the now silvery mask that is suddenly reflecting light. Her white hair falls over her shoulders and her tall, elven ears frame her shit eating grin. I guess she’d be considered a typical elf, tall like a freak and skinny as the twigs humans think they eat. “You’re allowed to say hi in the bar, you know that, right? Don’t have to fake a mugging on me in the middle of the fucking street just to ask how I’m doing.” I reply, not even pretending to hide the irritation in my tone. I take a breath and the Diplomat disappears; Soviel’s daggers are also gone. “Maybe, but it’s no fun just walking up to a bar and saying ‘Heya Draven, how ya doing?’ I prefer something with a little more flair.” She accentuates the last word with twirl of her daggers. The raspiness of her voice now gone, that must be the mask. “That said, how are you doing?” “Well, I was better until...” The full extent of Soviel’s ambush reveals itself as my pants fall off. “Until a few seconds ago. Did you really have to cut my belt too? Wait, where is my belt?” “Please, you think I’d embarrass you so fully without making sure to have a way to fix it?” Soviel throws my belt back at me. “Be nice to me, it’s not very often I could perform such a magnificent feat. Most of the time we’re involved in a scuffle, you’re wearing your armor, like last time.” I pull my pants backup and chuckle a little as I recall that particular fight. Soviel had found herself a little too deep into enemy territory and instead of employing her preferred brand of subterfuge, I opted to go charging in to save her ass. Not my smartest move but we got out mostly okay. She then thanked me by trying to kill me, not realizing I was an ally. “How are you, Soviel? It’s been almost six months since I last saw you.” “Oh, I’ve been great, I spent a few weeks in Europe liberating some particularly valuable tokens from various counts, dukes, and royalty.” She waves the mask. “I also spent some time working with others who practice the art. Learned a few new tricks.” Others who practice the art. She still just won’t come out and say it, she’s a damned thief. A fucking phenomenal one, but still a thief. I once saw her steal a piece of art off of a museum wall and manage to get the curator blamed. Fortunately for her, by the time the authorities got everything straightened out, the surveillance footage mysteriously vanished and no one could seem to recall what she looked like. Soviel’s even been back into that museum and talked to the curator and she didn’t get locked up. “Yeah, were you that shadow, did I imagine that?” “Draven, you must have hit your head a little too hard when I kicked you over. How could I possibly be a shadow? Do I look like some sort of mage to you?” Okay, so she’s full of shit and doesn’t want to tell me. Not the first time she’s lied to me and it probably won’t be the last. Whatever, I can play along. “Kick me over, Soviel? You can barely open a bottle of water without crying for help let alone knock me over. I just wasn’t paying attention and tripped on my own two feet.” See, I can make stuff up too. “I guess so, though that seems far more embarrassing than having someone get the drop on you and then you consequently getting the drop on the ground. But if that’s the excuse you want to go with, I’ll let you have that victory.” Damnit, this chick knows me too well. If I had a sister, Soviel would be her. Back when we were younger, Soviel showed up on our doorstep, on the run from something. I still don’t know what she was running from or even if she’s still running. If you ask me, she’s just running for the sake of running at this point. Soviel spent a couple of months with us and my family. My brothers took a liking to her but she had eyes for someone else. Not to mention, I don’t think Soviel really ever had a thing for humans. In any case, after she left, I didn’t see her again for a couple of years. Then fate decided we needed to meet by way of a mobile dating app. She won’t let me forget it either, all while claiming she was only on there to get more information on a human mark. Or was it a man named Mark? Eh, who cares. “Yeah, well, fuck you too Soviel. You now get the amazing privilege of walking me home to make sure any would be muggers don’t catch me with my pants down. Which is now a more likely prospect, thanks to you.” I’m already walking as I finish clasping my belt. “What are you doing here?” “Are you telling me I’m not allowed to drop in on my very best friend uninvited and try to steal a small sum from him just because I missed him?” “I guess that’s okay, now get over here!” I can’t imagine seeing an elf tackle hug a dwarf is anything short of hilarious, but it’s what we do. Soviel dives at me and I catch her, somehow becoming tall enough to lift her off the ground. Okay, so it’s really just me leaning back, sue me. Setting her back down, “It’s good to see you, I’ve missed you!” “I’ve missed you as well, Draven, how are things?” “Same shit, different day. Keeping a low profile can be difficult sometimes, and I don’t want any short jokes.” Sometimes I have to cut that off at the head, which is good since Soviel gets a dumbass smirk every time she comments on my height. I look both ways before jaywalking across the street. “Any new leads on where he might have taken her?” “Negative, but at this point, it’s more about hiding than finding her. You know that asshole is way too connected for me to try and step up to him right now. I have to wait until I can pay for a mage to help.” Patting the wad of cash in my pocket, “another small amount of cash to help with the deposit.