Only three customers within the location in its opening hour, the darkness barely lit by neon lights stringing forth a sultry, exotic ambience. Swinging music from an arcane speaker blasts through the interior, Ford’s sensitive ears suddenly blanketed with overloading stimulation as he blinks away an incoming headache.

Eyes with orcish blood adjust, vision cutting into darkness through the monochrome ranges of lower light levels. Identification of working adults and working adults, a brain instinctively affixing on the curves and vices of the human woman on stage.

He looks away, shaking the feeling within his mind as he follows his group through the space.

Oh you’re blushing. That’s pretty cute.

“I hate how dark it is in here.” Underfoot growls under his breath.

Sergeant Jarka goes for the joke. “You wanna hold my hand?”

The police mage isn’t amused, a poisonous statement not meant in seriousness. “Fuck you ma’am.”

Away from the bar, away from the stage; the security guard leads the four into a single unmarked door at the edge of the dark space.

STAFF ONLY.

Three distinct knocks on wood, a rustling of papers behind it sounding through the cacophony of noise from roaring speakers. “Just a minute!”

Light spilling from an opened door, eyes move downwards to reveal the well dressed individual within.

Gnomish figure even shorter than the shortest member of the Heavy Response Division, the old man stopping in immediacy at the realization of uniformed individuals. High pitched voice with palpable fear spiced in. “Ohhh…”

“Hello.” Sergeant Jarka stares. “Are you the owner of this establishment?”

“N-no…?” The man instinctively lies, suddenly pulling his mind back together. “I mean, yes! I own this place!”

The woman takes a moment to glance at her team, turning back to the gnome with a serious expression. “I’m Sergeant Luria Jarka, Arcane Crimes Unit of the South Police Department. We have reasonable suspicion of illegal activity occurring on this property.”

“Nothing suspicious happening here!” The gnome announces. “Nope! Nothing suspicious aaat all!”

Officer Ican takes charge of the scribing, a casebook retrieved from her belt as she puts pen onto paper.

“What’s your name sir?” The Sergeant continues to press.

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh… Iadon! Iadon Kindfern!”

The tall tiefling woman kneels down to her halfling comrade, a confirmation of spelling blocked by a harsh whisper from the mage. “I can’t see the paper Ican, it's too dark!”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Sergeant Jarka continues with a false smile. “Ok Mr. Kindfern. So you own this establishment that we are currently in?”

“Yes I do!”

“So there’s nothing illegal on the premises? No operations, no activities, nothing of the sort?”

“Nope! Nothing of the sort Officer!” The gnome rejoices. “So you can all go home!”

“Nothing illegal?” The Sergeant chuckles, turning to her halfling comrade with a wink. “Fair enough. In that case we just have a few standard questions to ask you.”

Underfoot turns to the nearest officer with the closest height, Jason Ford chosen to translate in darkness. “Kid, did she just wink at me?”

“Y-yyes?”

The halfling sighs, a darkened sense barely capable of finding the intended target in the distance. “Ok, let’s do it.”

“W-w-what are we doing?”

“Drinking on the job kid.” The halfling straightly informs his subordinate as he turns to stroll towards the bar. “You a beer or wine guy? Or are you one of those new cocktail lovers who can’t stomach real liquor?”

Jason Ford barely follows the conversation, an arm dragging his whole form along with them. “I-I… I uh… I don’t drink.”

“Oh come on, that half-orc physiology of yours probably lets you crush beers like a beast.” Underfoot nods as they arrive at the bar. “Hey barkeep!”

A human gentleman in a formal suit, at attention to new uniformed customers. “Hello there, can I get you two anything?”

“I want a highball, extra soda.” Officer Underfoot requests. “And for my comrade here a wizard tower; no ice, with lemon, stirred please.”

The barkeeper nods as he processes the order. “On the way sir.”

A bar split between tall and short sections; the speciation of South birthing accommodations for all heights. Though, the halfling simply leans on the tall bar like a wall as he waits for the ordered items.

“So you’re telling me you’ve never went to a party before? None at your time at U. South?” Underfoot asks casually.

“N-no sir.”

He scoffs at the young man. “Gods you missed out kid. Back in my day, the Society of Spell Casters was one of the wildest partying organizations on campus. And I like to think that right there…” He points towards the two glasses at the bar, one comically taller than the other. “…that was our inventive contribution to modern society.”

“A… d-drink sir?”

“Yep.” The Mage casually nods. “Which dorm did you live in by the way?”

“I-I… I uh… I lived at home.”

A long pause as the officer makes the connection, lips sucked on as he attempts to hide the disappointment. “Well that explains that. You being a commuter and all… nothing wrong with living at home of course.”

Oh you missed out on the college experience alright.

They watch as the bartender works his way through the order, two chilled drinks placed on the countertop in just under a minute of work. Ice clanking within clear liquids, the pair of glasses already covered in a thin film of precipitation.

The police mage on duty takes the drink, a quick sip of the fizzy concoction confirming his own assumption. “Oh yeah, that’s an alcoholic content.”

Jason Ford takes his own unconsenting cocktail, the thing held in hand as Underfoot chuckles. “Alright kid, ready to do this thing?”

“W-what thing?”

“The most bullshit technicality in bar law.” Underfoot strolls over to Sergeant Jarka’s posting, sipping the drink in hand as he reveals the grand deception. “Hey Sarge, you want a highball? The whisky’s pretty gods damn good.”

A filler interrogation session interrupted with critical information, Sergeant Jarka’s question stopped right in its tracks. She simply smiles as she looks over to the gnomish man. “Does your business have a liquor license?”

“W-w-what?!”

“I need to see it.” The Sergeant points over to the two. “Since your establishment just served an alcoholic beverage.”