Bobby wipes down the polished mahogany bar counter for the third time in as many minutes, their heart thudding in their chest. The low amber glow of the lamps makes the bottles gleam behind them, every label lined up to perfection. They’d been looking forward to you visiting them at work for ages, and when you finally step through the door, they straighten immediately, smoothing their suspenders like they’re stepping into a scene instead of just another shift. It’s like when you joined them on their quest for a new location for their crime syndicate. They have to look their best, and they’ve gotta catch your eye.

“Well, well, well, look who finally wandered into this ‘ole speakeasy,” Bobby says with a grin. All their nerves are on fire, but they lean an elbow on the counter, trying to look as effortless as the jazz crooning from the gramophone, well, stereo, nearby. “Hope you’re ready, baby, because tonight, your drink’s on the house, and I’m aiming to rock your world!”