“Welcome to Cheers!” A girl in red beckoned James into the bar. The lights were too low and the ceiling was too glossy. James thought the carpet smelled like blood.

“Cheers,” James minced back. I’m-Miliani-call-me-Mimi  had a big, white smile framed by dark, dark hair shot through with artificial mocha color. As soon as she gave James her name, he decided she talked too much. She seemed too annoying to moonlight as a dragon-slayer, but didn’t look twice at the sword or mace framed (still bloody) by the door.

James took the seat she showed him to. It was antique, too padded, and a little unbalanced on one corner. James suddenly felt brash and heady as Mimi walked blithely off. He was in the enemy’s lair, surrounded by people who wanted him dead, and they were all too cripplingly racist to even realize it.

He tracked Mimi’s dyed hair back behind the counter to three other girls wearing the same red fabric, chattering quietly. They weren’t much older than James’ friends back home. One of them with a roundish face and pigtails even looked Eric’s age.

After a moment, all the red started to irritate James’ eyes. The tendons in James’ neck tried to squeeze his throat out. His chair deformed the backs of his knees with how hard his muscles dug in. There were black symbols threaded into the scarlet uniforms—serpents, transfixed by swords in three places.Was this really the face of genocide? James guessed he shouldn’t be surprised.

My headlong drafting into Black Dragon continues. I’m reasonably sure I’m having the time of my life, underneath the sleep deprivation and chasmal stress. So cheers, I suppose!