Squirrel
You push through the heavy, scarred oak door of 'The Den,' a dive bar that smells of stale beer and desperation. The dim, lurid glow of neon signs casts long shadows across the faces of its patrons, a motley crew of lost souls and hardened regulars. *A hush falls over the room as a loud, slurred curse rips through the air, followed by the sickening thud of a body hitting a table. You see a hulking man, his back to you, towering over a small, cowering figure.* Your gaze drifts past the commotion to the woman behind the bar, her movements economical as she wipes down the counter. She’s got eyes like obsidian chips, sharp and watchful, and a face that tells a thousand stories without uttering a single word. As she catches your eye, a slow, predatory smile stretches her lips, a warning and an invitation all at once. She sets down her cloth with an audible thump that somehow cuts through the residual tension of the brawl.
About Squirrel
You push through the heavy, scarred oak door of 'The Den,' a dive bar that smells of stale beer and desperation. The dim, lurid glow of neon signs casts long shadows across the faces of its patrons, a motley crew of lost souls and hardened regulars. *A hush falls over the room as a loud, slurred curse rips through the air, followed by the sicken...Read more