Zac hated Mondays. Doesn't everyone?
He sighed as he looked out the broken windows, wiping down the corner booth table with a rag that smelled faintly of rum and regret. Outside, the docks of the small seaside town were bathed in the cold light of a full moon. The air was thick with salt, the sound of waves slapping against the pylons a constant, rhythmic lullaby.
Zac had used to dream about setting sail. Living a life of adventure with a ragtag group of pirates, stealing gold from corrupt empires, helping downtrodden locals, making friends of all shapes and sizes... finding the Uno Piece... and maybe getting to romance a bara shark fish-man who would rescue him every time he clumsily fell overboard.
"Oh, Junbei," he sighed wistfully, wringing out the rag. "Do whale sharks have proportional reproductive organs, or are they extra large?"
He straightened his barmaid outfit, wincing as the leopard-print thong rode up uncomfortably. It was tight, it was drafty, and the corset was murder on his ribs, but it brought in the tips. And in a town like this, tips were survival.
Zac carried the stack of empty mugs to the bar. Behind the counter, Mac, an octopus-man with a weary expression and an eye-patch over one of his three eyes, was polishing glasses with six tentacles simultaneously.
The bar was dark, smoky, and loud. The clientele were anthropomorphic demons of the seafaring variety—shark-men with jagged grins, crustacean brawlers with chitinous armor, and seagull-folk screeching over dice games. Some were quietly drinking in the shadows, nursing grievances along with their grog. Others were loudly singing along with the piano player in the corner, a tune about drowning and syphilis that was surprisingly catchy. In the center of the room, a fistfight had broken out over a spilled drink, but no one paid it much mind.
"Thanks, Mac," Zac said, taking a fresh tray of drinks from one of the bartender's slimy appendages. "This is for table four."
Mac just nodded, sliding a foaming tankard down the bar to a thirsty walrus-man.
Zac navigated through the crowd, dodging a flying stool and a drunken embrace. He thought about quitting. He thought about it every night. Once he made enough money, he'd buy his own ship. Or at least a ticket on one. This small seaside town was suffocating him. He watched the travelers, the sailors who came and went with the tide, and felt a pang of intense jealousy. They were so free. So uninhibited.
Oh, how I wish I could just be free to be myself, he thought, adjusting his tray as he approached a table of hardened sailors hunched over a high-stakes card game.
"A fresh round, gentlemen," Zac announced, his voice cutting through the din. He began placing the drinks on the scarred wood table, careful not to disturb the piles of gold coins and wickedly sharp knives scattered among the cards.
The sailors eyed him over their hands, their gazes lingering on his exposed legs and the corset that pushed everything up and out. Zac ignored them, used to the stares. He turned to head back to the bar for the next order.
A taloned hand shot out, grabbing him firmly by the waist.
"Whoa!"
Zac tripped, the empty tray clattering to the floor. He landed hard, right in the offender's lap.
"Hey, asshole!" Zac yelled, struggling to keep his barmaid outfit from riding up even further and exposing everything to the room. "I'm working! Hands off the merchandise unless you're paying!"
He looked up, ready to slap the jerk who had gotten handsy.
He froze.
Looking down at him, a smirk playing on his beak, was Andras.
The owl demon looked magnificent. He was dressed like a dangerous pirate captain, a tricorn hat perched rakishly on his head, a long coat with gold braiding hanging open over a loose white shirt and his trusty cutlass strapped to his hip. He was smoking a cigarillo, the ember glowing red in the dim light. His golden eyes were filled with a familiar, predatory amusement.
Zac blinked a few times. Sexy evil owl man... wait... oh fuck, is this a dream? When did I fall asleep?
Andras looked back at the eel-man across the table before blowing out a perfect smoke ring. "Let's make the bet a bit more interesting," he drawled, his voice like velvet over a rusty blade. "How about this: whoever wins this hand gets a dance with this little piece of ass."
Zac looked at the eel-man and gagged a bit. The proportions were off, all neck and no chin, all teeth and no lips. Zac shuddered. Even though he was a bottom, he had standards, and the eel looked like he would give the most awful blowjobs of all time.
"You better have a winning hand," Zac whispered up at the owl, gripping Andras's coat. "I don't think I wanna jig that sailor's hornpipe."
Andras gave Zac a squeeze, his talons digging just slightly into the human's hip. "It's a game of luck," he murmured. "Let's see if we get lucky, little wench."
The eel narrowed his eyes, his slimy skin glistening in the torchlight. "That human isn't worth the gold on the table."
Zac felt a bit hurt. "I'm totally worth more than-" His voice trailed off as he actually looked at the pile. It was a dragon's ransom in gold coins and glittering jewels. "Oh... Well... fuck you still."
Andras laughed, a smoky, wicked sound. "When I say dance, I mean getting to bend this tight little thing over in the tavern room upstairs." He waved at the bartender. "Hey, Octavius! We are borrowing your waitstaff for a bit."
"Not this time, you dirty bird!" the octopus bartender yelled back, slamming a mug down. "That little hoe is on the clock! Who's gonna serve the drinks?"
Andras waved a hand dismissively. "Oct, you've got plenty of arms. Don't be a lazy cunt."
THWACK.
A knife landed on the table, vibrating, right next to Andras's hand. Zac looked up to see the octopus ready to throw another, six tentacles armed with blades.
"Fine, fine," Andras drawled. He reached into the pile, grabbed a particularly large, glittering gem, and tossed it casually at the enraged cephalopod. The octopus caught it with a spare tentacle, inspecting it greedily. "Don't say I never do anything for you." Andras's eyes narrowed, the gold turning cold. "Now, if you try to raise a blade against me again, you'll be a quadrapus."
Zac giggled. "Good one. I never thought of what you'd call an octopus with four of its legs cut off."
Andras chuckled darkly. "I meant that I'd stab him in the crotch four times."
Zac's chuckle slowly died as the cruel owl began laughing.