Locke heard the slit slide open, and a deep, angry voice rumbled from behind the iron. ?Real clever, asshole. Just say the password, before I come out there and cave in ya melon.?

?That's not very friendly,? Locke pouted. The bouncer's dark brown eyes glowered at him before the snow elf finally relented, rolling his cobalt eyes. ?All right. 'Butter your bread.' You happy?? The man grunted before unlocking the door and throwing it open. Although the guard was a little shorter than him, Locke immediately knew this man was not to be messed with. He was a little on the portly side, but from the chest up to his neck, he was solid muscle. A thin sheen of sweat covered the bouncer's face and his bald head, as he scrutinized Locke.

?I need to search ya first. Cain't be havin' ya bringin' in weapons inside. Twouldn't be proper.? He glanced down at the baton dangling off of Locke's hip. ?Ya'll need to be taking that off.?

?Bollocks.? Locke stamped a foot on the ground, before removing the holster. After a quick pat-down, and a search through Locke's bag of tricks, he let the ice elf in.

***

Locke walked a short distance and turned left, away from what remained of the restaurant's old kitchen. Everything that was still in there was no longer operational. The cabinets were smashed to splinters, the ovens and stoves had giant dents in the side, and there didn't seem to be any electrical cords left on any of the appliances back there. He pushed their way through a pair of flimsy old double doors that, in days past, must have separated the dining room from the kitchen, back when it was actually an eatery.

These days, it was something far worse: A dark, smoky, somewhat crowded den of iniquity. The original bar was immediately to their right as he came out, but few chose to use that bar, and at that time, it wasn't even staffed. It had a small liquor shelf with unmarked bottles and a cooler full of bottled beverages was partially visible, if one leaned over the bartop. The owners had chosen to maintain the old restaurant furniture pattern. There were plenty of tables in the middle along with booths on the right and left side, although a quick study would reveal that not all of the tables or chairs matched. The very front, though, had been drastically altered. The front door, and the entire front side of the building, for that matter, had been taken over by a gigantic bar. The entirety of it was oak, stained a deep and rich shade of brown. Lighter colored wooden bar stools were spaced out at regular intervals on the patrons' side of the bar. Behind the bar, the liquor bottles sat on cabinet shelves made of mahogany, furniture polished so that it practically shone in the dimness. What light could be found in this place was cast by candles on some of the tables, and red sconces in the walls beside the booths. These lent the place an almost infernal glow.

Although Locke could hear the faint sounds of carrying-on when he was outside, Calf's was by no means a boisterous place. Some of the customers were immediately recognizable as ne'er-do-wells. There were pirates, clad in ill-fitting (and foul-smelling) breeches and long-coats. There were bodyguards and thugs, faces frequently sporting black eyes, cuts, and other bruises, their clothes sometimes little better than rags. Much more common, though, were those dressed in finer clothes. A handful of men chose to wear suits, but most of them were content to wear dress in slightly more casual attire: button-down dress shirts, black dress slacks, shined leather shoes, the occasional tie here and there. Most of the men wore subdued, simple, and darker colors; rare was the man caught wearing any sort of white in here. Oddly enough, there was little conflict between the poorer customers who managed to get in and the richer patrons. This was probably linked to the same reason the only females usually present in Calf's, cocktail waitresses clad in black dresses and miniskirts and spiked neck collars, weren't harassed. It wasn't just the barbacks that doubled as security, or the guard at the door. Mostly, it was the bartender himself. Behind the bar, slinging drinks with an agility that belied his exceedingly tall stature, was a minotaur. His fur was brownish-red. The color was very similar to his eyes, which were set behind a long snout. He was wearing blue denim overalls, which made him stand out all the more from the usually well-dressed client?le here. Locke immediately headed to the front, and after a short wait, the minotaur slid over to where the frost elf was standing.