Where Antlers Glow and Stories Flow

Koa

Don't you just wanna wake up dark as a lake
Smelling like a bonfire, lost in a haze?

It's a relatively quiet evening at the Hart - which is to say, no fights have broken out, nor has Mateo appeared to round everyone into impromptu karaoke. Still, enough voices murmur over each other to create a comforting, numbing hum, into which one can easily slide, losing themselves among the flow of people going about their lives. Small quarrels; large laughter; shocking revelations; tenth retelling of an old, familiar tale - all of these and more ripple through the bar, as much a part of the atmosphere as the gentle luxere light, the smell of spirits and pine.

Koa lets it wrap around him as he eases in the door. Fresh off a double patrol shift, the young man is weary, his muscles sore. He's been pushing himself too hard, he knows this, and yet he does not, cannot, make himself stop. Rest means thinking, and thinking means feeling, and feeling- well, he's not in the mood for that. So he dulls the pain with work and liquor, surrounds himself with humming voices to block out the ones in his head.

Finding an empty seat in a corner, the tired Dragoon settles in. There's a redhead nearby, pretty an unfamiliar; he glances at her, once and again, the beginning of a flirtatious greeting dying before it can escape his tongue. He knows he has to put himself back out there - Flora had, after all. Koa's confidence has taken a beating, and the idea of trying to pick up a stranger has nausea rising in his gut.

Instead he waits as the server approaches, an iced, layered drink perched on his silver tray. It smells faintly of citrus and is garnished with something that looks dehydrated, and damn but Koa can't contain his curiosity. "What's that?" the Dragoon wonders as the glass is set down, leaning closer to look between stranger, server, and drink.

If you're drunk on life, babe, I think it's great
But while in this world I think I'll take my whiskey neat