The place sounded packed.
As Tony reached for the round door handle and pulled it open, the crowd erupted in cheers and applause.
For one disorienting moment, Tony thought the ovation was for him, some kind of welcome for the new guy, and he felt his face flush with embarrassment. But then he realized that no one was looking at him or at Shira. Every eye in the place was fixed on the bar, where Fenella stood taking an elaborate bow, a keychain dangling from her raised hand.
She must have just finished a performance. Tony let out a relieved breath.
The interior of the Hobbit was everything the exterior had promised. Low ceilings supported by exposed wooden beams, walls curved like the inside of a barrel, cozy nooks and alcoves filled with mismatched furniture. Lanterns hung from hooks, casting warm golden light over the crowd of immortals who packed every available space.
"What did I miss?" Tony asked as Shira tugged him forward.
"Fenella must have just finished her pretend reading." Shira grinned. “She's incredibly entertaining."
"Is that why the place is so packed?"
"Yes, but it's also the only bar in the village, and immortals like to drink." Shira scanned the room. "No place to sit. We'll have to stand until someone leaves."
"I don't mind standing."
They squeezed through the crowd until they found a spot with a decent view of the bar. The atmosphere was infectious, warm, rowdy, and welcoming in a way that Tony had never experienced before, not even before the harem. The few bars he'd been to were nothing like this happy place where people were clearly enjoying themselves, surrounded by friends. Just drinks and laughter and the simple pleasure of community.
A white-haired man who looked like an army sergeant somehow navigated the packed room with a huge tray of drinks balanced on one hand.
"Good evening, folks," he said. "What can I get you?"
"Just a beer for me," Tony said. "I don't care which brand."
The guy raised a white eyebrow. "Not much of a drinker, are you?"
"Atzil, this is Tony," Shira said. "He's new, and he's human, so don't expect him to drink a barrel. Tony, this is Atzil. He runs the place."
"Welcome to the Hobbit." Atzil balanced his tray on one hand and offered him the other. "First drink is on the house." He turned to Shira. "What will you have?"
"My usual."
Atzil nodded and disappeared back into the crowd with enviable agility.
"He seems like a nice guy," Tony observed. "Given the way he looks, I expected him to shout at me to drop and give him twenty."
Shira laughed. "I know, right? He looks like such a military dude, but he's actually a cook. He works for Kalugal."
That was a name he knew. Kalugal was Areana's son and a former Doomer, which meant that Atzil used to be a member of the Brotherhood.
Suddenly, he didn't seem so nice anymore.
"All right, all right, settle down!" Fenella called out.
She was still behind the bar, but she'd climbed onto something, a stool perhaps, or maybe a crate. "Who's next? Who wants to know what their possessions have been saying behind their backs?"
Shira nudged Tony's ribs. "You should volunteer."
"Absolutely not."
"Come on, it'll be fun!"
Thankfully, someone else was already pushing forward, a tall man with dark hair and the kind of muscular build that screamed 'soldier.' He held up a pen, waving it like a trophy.
"Rodney!" someone in the crowd shouted, and the others picked up the chant. "Rodney! Rodney! Rodney!"
