Gabrielle Dimitri's POV 

April 19, 2328 

5:22 AM

My cafe was in full swing, acting like a proper joint. Monsters alike buzzed around in their own conversations. Of course, it was only monsters. None had come in with human slaves today, which wasn't too out of the ordinary. Ever since the Brutals had taken over, the world was thrust into what could be called total chaos. The history books explained it really well, I think. 

This story began in 2023 when a lonely man, drowned with despair from the lack of a partner, who wanted to summon himself a boyfriend from the depths of hell- seeing as he might have no chance at finding one on earth. Unfortunately, the gates of hell opened to a parallel universe instead of the intended location and summoned a portal for monsters of all heights and vile to pass into our own realm. That gay man fucked us all. 

Ever since, the Monsters, Brutal, Supernaturals, whatever you call them, had taken over the human race and forced them into slavery. Generally, it's only the very rich and powerful Brutals that get slaves, However, some may be gifted to lower-ranked beings in the system. The first portal opened in Siberia, but it branched off into areas all over the world. Over the next three hundred years, they developed cultures in their areas, and eventually, it became the world we know today.

I glanced at the clock.  5:30 AM. The sun was rising and I could feel my fatigue set in.  I worked the night shift tonight- with a wee half hour left at it.  I was snapped from my thoughts when the bell rang.  Glancing up, I saw a man with violet wings trailing behind him.  A matching tail peeked out from underneath the layered scales.  One of the most prominent things, however, was the deep, void black horns that faded to a light purple at the sharp edges. Light orchid gray hair sprung from his roots, trailing down past his elfish ears into a long, loose ponytail.  His dark skin was covered by a navy cloak.  

He stumbled the joint counter, and dropped into one of the stools, far from the rest of the guests.  Gingerly walking over, I huffed.  He was tall, even for a dragon.  Intimidating, too.

"What would you like to order, Sir?" his head sluggishly nodded upwards.  

"Do you sell whiskey?"  The dragon sounded vaguely like Morgan Freeman. I am glad to be able to recognize the similarity- keeping the old fame remembered- in fact, many of the vintage audiobooks I own were read by him.

"Yeah, have you got any ID?" He bobbed his head and dug his hand into his cloak.  A few seconds later, and he pulled out a thin piece of metal.  It had a name, birth date, and a colored picture engraved into it. He was well over the general-dragon requirement of needing to be at least forty.  A two-hundred-year-old dragon.  

I nodded and reached for a whiskey off the top shelf. We usually stored our pricey and rare drinks up there- more noticeable, and a likelier buy. This one wasn't selling in recent days, however.

The whining man graciously took the glass I set down and looked at it with inspecting eyes. After taking a thick gulp, his eyes focused on the counter-top. I watched his lip twitch, and eyes start glossing over. His mouth was locked tight as if he's smuggling a frog in there- looked like that little frog would jump out any second. 

That frog turned out to be a vicious cry of pain. His screech was laced with heartbreak- and I was ready for this story to be told.

"My wife left me," he croaked out." Caren took the gold," he paused his sniffling, only for a moment when I said,

"At least you get to keep the kids-" he wailed again.

 "The kids already left the cave!" I looked at him, a drop of sorrow in my eyes as I set down the whole bottle of whiskey. 

"If you want the whole bottle, I'll give you a discount," I said solemnly- internally glad to get rid of this bottle.  He nodded. "It'll be twenty galleons," I then responded.  He shoved two fistfuls of gold in my direction.  I counted the pieces before scooping them into my apron.  

I glanced at the clock again.  5:35.  Why hasn't time sped up yet?  I was dreading this shift.  This was the first time I had ever had a customer come to me grieving.

Minutes passed that felt like hours. With a now empty bottle of whiskey and dry eyes, the man stood up.  "Thank you," he said.  "My name is Zmey Gorinich, I think I'll be coming here much more often.  It's nice," He said before turning around and sauntering towards the exit. 

To my luck, there were no customers post him, making the last ten minutes of my shift a breeze. Abandoning my work attire, I checked out, and waved a departing hand at my coworker, who's dreadful hours at this place begun.