Ash 2, 121
It was a peaceful evening at the Gobbler. The lunch rush had already passed and the Lysanrin Happy Hour was in full swing. All those horny buggers with the shifty eyes got drinks at half the price. As such, the vast majority of the customers in the bar were Lysanrin. Franky was grateful he didn't have anything hanging from the ceiling with all the varieties of horns and antlers grazing about. It was bad enough that there was one with moose antlers, but he finally took a seat in the corner where he wasn't smacking into people anymore.
Franky passed out a bunch of drinks, stopping to take a sip of his own, as he glanced around the room. A couple of pretty Lysanrin women had set up shop at one of the central tables, sisters Franky guessed, with their matching rams horns. They had a wide variety of colored strips of cloth, flowers and small branches of leaves, and other such adornments. They were decorating the various horns and antlers for a very cheap cost of materials. Some Lysanrin ended up with flower crowns, others, their horns wrapped in a kaleidoscopic display of cloth.
Across the way at another table, a large burly man had his many little jars of paint and was painting incredibly detailed designs onto horns, promising they'd last for a week or two. And in one corner, an amusing new drinking game was going. A Lysanrin would sit in the chair in the corner, and a challenger would step up. From several feet out, using some six rings made of heavy cloth, would toss the rings at the horns of the Lysanrin. If the thrower missed more than three, they would buy the sitting Lysanrin a drink of their choice. If the throw made more than three shots, the reverse would happen. If the thrower would only hit exactly three, both would finish their drinks together, and go to the bar to order another round, together.
Franky could only smile. Each of the happy hour nights had begun shifting into their own entities. This one had far less of the other races, and not one single human. Franky knew many were superstitious and wary of the race, and in his opinion it was understandable. But right now, he saw a bunch of happy smiles of a lost people finding community that is so rare for their kind. Franky hadn't needed to coordinate or create any of the little things going on around the bar, the people just did it on their own. His eyes wandered over to a woman with a set of files and snips and such, offering to help clean up and groom various horns.
It was shaping up to be a good night, for sure.
