Cryptid Creature

Original poster
A car rumbled by, throwing a sheet of puddle water onto the sidewalk. The onslaught nearly splashed Wren had she not jumped backwards. She shook her head with a grumbled expletive and readjusted her cropped leather jacket.

The night sky cloaked the city in a wreath of darkness, but still many lights burned on. The city never rested. In the daytime people bustled about in droves, traversing the sidewalk to restaurants, jobs, and movies. While the sun was up, everyone was out and about. But come nighttime, the scene changed. The wise headed home and the wiser locked every door. While the seedier folks frequented bars, private clubs, or other grimy hideouts. Wherever there was excitement, drugs, and the opportunity to make some cash.

But not everyone who lurked about at night was a crook. What would that make Wren? An idiot maybe, but she needed a drink after a long week. Besides, she had full confidence that she could hold her own in a scuffle. It was part of her job after all.

High above, the moon peered down from its shawl of clouds. It eyed the city with disdain, shedding light upon the blocks and blocks of buildings both squat and immense. Cars whizzed by with haste on the wet asphalt. As Wren sauntered down the gum marred sidewalk, glancing side to side, she spied her destination. A small bar nestled in between a pizza parlor and a consignment shop, both closing up for the night. The sign above the door read, “O’Brien’s Pub” in cheesy green and gold font. The sign underneath flickered “OPEN.”

Wren pushed the door open and left the humid cityscape behind her. She was greeted with the tumult of jovial chatter, the clinking of glasses, and the tempting smell of whatever was grilling. She took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders, heading over towards the bar. Wren took a seat at an empty stool and one of the bartenders was quick to dote on her. A familiar face.

“What can I getcha, Wren?”he asked,a middle aged man with a beer belly and a scratchy ginger beard.

“Whatever’s on tap and doesn’t taste like piss,”she answered.

He let out a hearty bark of laughter. “I’ll fix you right up.” With that, he left to pour her drink, returning soon enough with a cold glass of beer.

“A nice summer ale, not too hoppy. I know how you feel about hoppy beers.”

Taking the glass in hand and sipping the amber liquid, Wren canted her head to the side thoughtfully as she swallowed. Then she gave the bartender a thumbs up. “You know me, Brian.”

“Glad I can help. I’ll put it on your tab,”Brian replied before hobbling off, leaving Wren to nurse her drink alone.

Once left alone, she allowed herself to hunch over a bit as she relaxed. Wren scoped the bar for something or someone interesting enough to check out.
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