Inky Spickle

"YOU'RE NOT ALONE!" crooned the heavily tatted pa- tron at the front of the bar, concluding his rendition of the David Bowie classic.

There was a smattering of polite applause as the song concluded. The audience was either too inebriated or preoccupied with who would be called up next to the stage to notice that the last singer had exceptionally pointy ears. He took a seat next to his companion, Rhea, a female round of ear.

“Having fun yet, Alden?” asked the woman, sipping her gin and tonic.

“I must say," said Alden, “Carkey is quite enjoyable. I should hope to introduce it to the Southern Realms when I return.” He spoke with an infectious, Highland brogue.

"It's pronounced ‘karaoke’," said Rhea, setting her drink down. "And we're supposed to be keeping a low profile."

Alden waved her off. "You worry too much, Ducky.”

There was a disturbance at the front of the establishment as a band of orcs lumbered into the bar, startling 39the rest of the patrons.

"Crap," Rhea said under her breath. "What now?"

Alden cracked his knuckles and stood up. "Finally...I haven't seen any action in a fortnight."

"Just try not to cause a scene, okay?" cautioned Rhea.

"Remember: be inconspicuous."

Alden brushed his hand along his collarbone, where he had an elaborate tattoo of a broadsword; that same sword materialized in his other hand. As he approached the orcs, he turned and flashed Rhea a mischievous grin.

"Relax, love - Inky Spickle is my middle name."

Sylvie Soul writes speculative fiction, enjoys cheap pho and plays 16-bit video games.