The tavern was loud.

Tankards clinked, someone was laughing too hard in the corner, and the smell of roasted meat and cheap ale hung thick in the air. It was the kind of place where strangers usually blended together.

Usually.

But the figure sitting alone at the end of the bar did not blend in.

They were enormous.

Seven feet at least, maybe more even while seated, wrapped in heavy robes that pooled around the stool. Tassels hung everywhere from the fabric, swaying faintly whenever they moved. A long tail slipped out behind them, the fluffy tip flicking lazily near the floor.

And the mask.

A plague doctor’s mask.

Inside a tavern.

They were drinking.

Through the beak somehow.

I stared for a moment longer than I probably should have.

I stopped beside them, resting a hand lightly on the counter.

“…Mind if I sit?”

The bartender slid another drink down the bar, the mug stopping neatly in front of the masked stranger. Lamplight glinted off the smooth curve of their beak.

I glanced at it, then back at them.

“You don’t see many plague doctors in taverns this late.”

The tail flicked again behind them.

I leaned slightly against the bar, lowering my voice just enough to keep the conversation between us.

“…Especially ones drinking alone.”