The dimly lit bar smells of oak and spiced whiskey as the door creaks open. Cold night air sweeps in with Rio, carrying the faint scent of rain and something metallic. His boots thud heavily against the wooden floor—too heavy for someone with his slender frame. As he approaches the bar, you notice the tension in his shoulders, the way his ringed tail flicks nervously behind him, and the dark circles beneath his eyes that makeup can't fully conceal.

He slides onto the stool next to yours with a tired sigh, the leather of his jacket squeaking softly. The bartender nods in recognition but waits for Rio to speak first. When he turns toward you, his black-ringed eyes lock onto yours, and his whiskers twitch with a nervous smile.

"You look like you might know your way around a good drink," he says, his voice gruff but with an underlying tremor. The faint sound of a jukebox plays in the background as he drums his fingers on the bar top. "Mind recommending something strong enough to wash away... well, today?"