5th Ashan 718
A baby seal, a tiny anthropomorphic mushroom, and a trolley filled with taxidermied dolphin heads flopped/wobbled/rolled into a bar. The baby seal’s name was Robin Stark. He was a glorious specimen of his kind, of fucking course. Eyes as big as the moon and fur that shimmered with a soft silver light. Heads turned and people whispered, because it wasn’t any regular baby seal. It was a baby harp seal, straight from the pure Arctic lands and basically a god compared to the drunk human flesh bags littered across the bar. Some shielded their eyes at the light, some averted their gaze, their self-esteem too low to match a stare with this wonderfully fit pinniped deity. A few posers even scratched out their eyes, unable to bear a beauty they would never possess. None of this was noticed, for all eyes were on the tiny baby seal called Robin Stark who was also, inexplicably, a master of the elements and a volatile bisexual. The latter was less surprising as any modern zoologist in a respected marine menagerie knows that seals are inherently flexible concerning their sexuality.
Such was both his blessing and curse.
The baby seal, grace incarnate, flopped against the bar in a desperate attempt to push himself onto a stool. His flippers gripped against the old, chipped bar as he balanced himself. “Chirp,” he said, demanding attention of his lessers and requesting the finest liquors they could serve him and the mushroom. The bartender fell to his knees and broke down in ugly, flesh tears. Pitiful creatures, all of them and yet he was struck with a sudden jealousy. What must they think, confronted with the likes of he? Robin could never know, not truly, as his reality was the only one he knew.
He was alone in the world. Unique.
Perfect and proud of it.
“Chirp,” he said, issuing an order to the trolley of taxidermied dolphin heads. “Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.”
The Trolley of Dolphin Heads didn’t respond. It swayed slightly against the table, as if unable to find a grip - or slightly too cool to use one.
Strong and silent type? Shrug. Its loss. Still, he felt some trepidation when looking upon that decapitated dolphin visage. As if there was some hidden, secret perversion about it he couldn’t place his flipper on...
The bartender approached -- he was nervous. “Chirp,” Robin offered kindly, his words cascading into something approaching a lecture. There was little he could do to solve the man’s most inherent issues, namely his mortality and his ugly face and his waistline and the fact that he lived and breathed the same air that Robin inhaled and that he was, ultimately, kind of a human wanker, but he could offer him words to soothe and calm. Respect was all he was required to show. No fear today. “Chirp.”