It was the grand opening of my bar and the wedding reception of two friends of mine, a ribbon-cutting tie-the-knot bonanza, and things were wildly out of hand. Barely half a bell in, three roast dodos were demolished and someone had faceplanted in the shortcake. A silver-haired Miqo'te had gotten cuffed to the bar to prevent him free access to the kegs, but it was too late to confiscate the one he was already draining. Perfect strangers were macking in the corner by the fireplace at a volume to rival the orchestrion. The groom was sprawled across the couch with one drink in him and his new wife was balancing a glass of Lominsan Red on his forehead. Glancing out a window as I brought another round of Shroud perry to a cluster of Triple Triad players, I saw my barmaid heave a Hyur bodily into the pond.

So the party was going well.

A pair of Lalafell gamboled underfoot as I made my way back to the bar past an Au'ra whose chin was dribbling with the juice of the damson in her partner's hand. Our mountain of a guildmaster was smiling genially at the room at large as he nodded off against one wall. A gangly Elezen flashed me a handsign and a wink; returning the latter, I reached beneath the bar and filled a tumbler with Garlean Oil--I know, I know, questionable legality and all that, but at least it was better than the group huffing ceruleum fumes outside by the campfire, which I certainly did not see at the time, thank you officer, and I can't remember their faces neither.

A Hyuran woman with a splash of Merry Mogharita on her muslin was scratching sigils on my countertop in an attempt to summon sobriety, hunched under the weight of the Roegadyn snoring on her shoulder. One overproud acquaintance was loudly proclaiming his victories in the arena; I awarded him with a pint of porter spiked with a hefty aperient--he was clearly full of shite. The cuffed Miqo'te with a hollow leg and, now, a hollow keg was casting about for something new; the chef lit up and slid a tub of untouched mandragora stew toward him.

Above the wine rack sat my bouncer, Finneas, keeping a watchful eye on the chaos. His yellow-and-black warpaint was enough to give anyone who spotted him a moment of pause. Of course, this was in part due to his being a fish mouthing soundlessly through the glass of his tank, but the idea of this fish being employed as a bouncer in the finest bar in the realms implied that he was godsdamned good at his job.

My staff and I shared a glance and inserted our earplugs as the opening lines of Eorzea's most famous song came over the orchestrion. In moments, the floorspace was filled to an ilm of capacity as the cadre of drunkards began howling the lines of "Answers" with all the harmony of a sack of gaelicats.

This was around the time the cuffed Miqo'te escaped his bonds and began stripping on the counter. But that's a story for another time.


-Tethys Alke, "Memoirs of a Cat with No Lives"

Bluebird Earring, please!