The hulking mass of a nine foot tall man with broad shoulders eclipses the open tavern door. His gargantuan hand clutching the door frame. His face is darkened by a hood, attached to a strangely thick looking coat. He breathes heavily as he squeezes past the threshold awkwardly. 

As he steps into some lighting, his face and hand are illuminated, they are covered in what appears to be freshly pink scar tissue. A multitude of silver facial piercings, glimmer in the light of the day, shining through the overhead hatched opening, which bathes the room in a warm glow. It revealed an ugly muzzle, adorned with strangely fashioned facial hair. A strangely taboo looking individual, at least that’s how he felt he looked to strangers. 

Salvador’s custom made coat is jet black, and looks almost reflective. Though anyone guessing, would find it difficult to tell what kind of material the coat is made from. As he takes another step in, something looking like balloons tied to his back also squeeze in. They jumble around and reorganize themselves, seemingly of their own accord.

When Salvador solemnly stands away from the entrance, to make room for others, he appears almost meek. At least in body language, not so much in stature. Like a shy teddy bear. When the pack of eight “balloons” move into place, with their slightly obscured tubes, they look almost like a set of wings in arrangement. 

But they aren’t really balloons, it’s just the nature of them that resembles those. Anyone standing close enough would see clearly that they’re floating glass bags, filled with something of a reddish-gold tint. Something within them, bubbling, maybe even boiling? It’s hard to tell. The man has a belt with a few daggers nested safely in their holsters. 

He takes stout steps and pulls back his hood. Revealing an inside lined with short metallic blades of some kind. His bald head is then etched in reddening lines, drawing deeper. Then, the blood bubbles and seeps back in and molten tendrils slither out. Now the contents of the glass bags seem more telling. 

The tendrils form thin but flexible blades that move independently from each other and their host. Then they further form mouths, and heads resembling that of many tangled cobras. Although they also lay a bit flat, like actual hair. Somewhat like dreadlocks, if they were wide, iron, and sentient. It’s tamer towards the base of the skull. Though, they can also change their length at will, they’re roughly the same length, at current. 

The towering heap of a man smiles grimly as he stands at the bar and looks for a bartender. 

He asks in a deep, reverberant voice for two drinks, to no one in particular. One of the beverages non-alcoholic. His hands are trembling, but his jade eyes show kindness and patience. 

He then notices a sign that didn’t appear to be there before that says only; “Get it yourself.”

A small child with ruffled short brown hair and an owl mask runs in the doors shortly after, to hide behind him from the strangers, like she doesn’t want to be seen. She’s a bit chubby, wearing a small striped blue and white outfit that seems to be made of a stretchy material. 

“Sal, Sal. Dad.” she says in a hushed whisper. “Can we get something to eat too?” She asks sweetly, and loudly, tugging at his hands that are almost as big as her. He puts his hand to his pointed goatee, as if to think and then nods with a brighter smile. “Okay, but I think we’ll have to find and make it ourself.” He tells her, in a louder voice. 

He grabs from behind the counter a bottle of rum, trying to sneak it past her and looks for something else. He finds a cooler case labeled “juice”, tucked away in a corner behind the counter and he picks out some iced apple juice in a carton for her. Ruka points to the counter sternly with a frown. Her dad puts the rum back on the counter, from behind his back and looks ashamed. Ruka smiles and grabs a carton of grape juice to hand to him. She giggles and pats his side. 

Then he picks her up like she weighs absolutely nothing and sets her on top of his shoulder to look more closely for a menu. He assumes it will be higher up. The snakes are careful to keep their distance from her. But the snake hair can and does easily smooth out their edges to allow her to pet them. And they become more dormant and friendly around Ruka. Almost becoming more playful themselves. 

“Ruka, no need to hide.” He says to her as he motions to her ears. Ruka pulls her owl mask back behind her head. It looks the same upside down as up right. There are earmuffs behind the mask and she holds onto them, then hesitantly pulls them down to her neck. She smiles and tells Sal they should make “something vegetarian” for herself, and “some kind of very rare meat” for him. She produces a small cloth bag and pours it onto the counter to leave behind for anyone as payment. It’s an almost endless supply of wooden coins. The bag is seemingly bottomless. 

“You know those won’t work here Ruka, you know better than to try and pass those off as currency.” Salvador apologizes profusely to onlookers for their rudeness as he helps his daughter pick them up and scoop them back into the bag. Even the snakes help, to individually pick up coins. “I wonder if I can start a tab of some sort here?” He asks, with uncertainty in his voice, standing back up. 

He looks around once more, to make sure no one’s there and rereads the sign. “Get it yourself!” It reads. “Did someone add an exclamation mark to that sign?” He scratches his brow. Then shrugs and steps around the counter to fumble around for ingredients. The oven and such are all within visible range and reaching distance. 

He then notices someone behind the counter he didn’t see before. His daughter jumps back behind him, with a remarkable sense of agility, his balloons lowering automatically to let her through. She hides and braces with her earmuffs, closing her eyes whilst his metal snakes flare up on alert, just out of reflex. 

He then senses that there is no danger at the time coming from this person, and lowers his guard and turns around, to tap Ruka’s shoulder and tell her it’s okay to do the same. Salvador again apologizes and steps back to the other side of the counter to ask the sharply dressed man for their meals. 

He doesn’t mean to impose on the mysterious server. Sal does not expect a speedy response, as the man prepares drinks. And seems just a bit busy. Salvador is unsure whether he should feel bad for sneaking behind the counter for the juice boxes but Ruka swiftly pokes him and shakes her head, disapprovingly. As if picking up on her father’s feelings of guilt.

@Dark Light