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Summary
The lazy trudge of work boots earned creaks from aged planks, a biting contrast to the quaint jingle that initially welcomed Jose in. The sharp shift from swaying floors to the solidness of land made every step wary, careful.
He was sure he couldn’t be a pretty sight. Wind blown hair, smoothed into something half-way presentable, then haphazardly finger-combed back. His uniform, wrinkled and rumpled in a shape no respectable officers should be, though “respectable” was a word not used to describe Jose for quite a while now. Salt clung to his body in unsavory ways, and he's sure he reeks of the sea.
Thankfully he wasn’t here for appearances, or else he’d have quite some trouble.
Cautiously did he maneuver around wooden beams with long strides, the movement spotlighted by golden light and its copper fixtures. On his path, obscured in shadow, patrons stared. Some faces lit up in recognition, while others scrunched in disgust, but nothing of the latter could be found on the familiar faces he met behind the bar.
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The Bourbons Bar is home to an elusive officer.