@uchihacycs liked this post for a casual event starter:
The four kingdoms were apparently locked in some kind of endless war, which made the scholars of Xalphina self-righteously proud of allowing foreigners into their kingdom in order to study the arcane arts, or whatever. The pub owners of the city were far less self-righteous about it, but it seemed whatever universe you were in, money was money was money. Even if they called it Dust.
So it wasn’t really unheard of for other races to show up, which didn’t mean the locals didn’t keep their distance and shoot glares over their shoulders.
Furuta wasn’t in the bar for the casual fantasy racism, but that was all part of the people watching, which was why he was here. That and throwing money at the barkeep to bring him little trays of food he could actually eat, for the novelty of it, even if the tastes were all muted and mutated (he had to guess.)
Today, they were all making a show of pretending not to glare at what appeared to be an elf, sitting alone at a small table by the entrance, not actually ordering anything.
He looked to Furuta like he didn’t want to be there. Maybe he was waiting for someone? He certainly wasn’t doing himself any favors with the locals. It’s actually their glares that had tipped him off. It wasn’t like there was clean and clear visual difference between fae and elves - not that he himself could be mistaken for one. A demon, maybe. They were also in the same kingdom as the elves if information served.
But the locals could always tell, somehow.
When he got bored of watching, he ordered two drinks and another plate of fried something or other and stepped on stage himself.
He picked up his order and walked, casually, over to the small table. The locals muttered something under their breaths, but they didn’t say a word. They were all under the impression he had connections here, for whatever reason.
He slid into the chair across from the stranger, who looked by the second more and more upset with him doing so. How encouraging. He was about to slide one of the drinks over when he finally got a good look at the stranger's face.
“You’re not actually old enough to drink, are you.” He said, in a low voice, so that the evesdroppers at the bar wouldn’t hear him. (Those rules might not actually apply to fantasy settings, but Furuta found the joke of enforcing arbitrary societal restrictions very funny. He’d equipped a death squad of children with bicycles because god forbid the murder tweens broke the law.)
