The city was loud.
Not "market-day" loud or "seagull war over bread" loud. It was pirate port loud. Bells clanged. People shouted. Someone in an alley was either singing opera or choking. Riven didn't ask.
He walked with a suspicious lack of purpose, trying to look like he belonged. Unfortunately, he looked like a guy wearing last week's clothes, one shoe too small, and constantly flinching every time his own bones twitched under his skin.
Don't show the powers. Don't skeleton out. Don't panic and launch a rib through someone's head.
He passed a group of Marines and smiled so hard it looked like a death grimace. One of them gave him a weird look, but didn't stop him.
He exhaled. "Okay. Step one: don't get arrested."
"HEY, YOU!"
Riven jumped.
A boy around his age jogged up to him, dressed in silk, gold chains, and a coat that screamed I've never worked a day in my life. He had perfectly styled white hair, two earrings, and the confident swagger of a man who once paid someone to walk for him.
"You! You've got the face of a man who's in desperate need of fun," he said.
"…What?"
"I'm Zane," the boy declared. "And you're coming with me. Brothel night!"
"I—I'm good actually—"
Zane grabbed his arm and practically dragged him down the street like a rich hurricane.
"No you're not. You're coming. It's titty o'clock, my guy!"
"…I don't think that's a real time."
They turned a corner and entered a gaudy, glowing building with a huge sign that read:
"The Pearl Chest."
Riven blinked at the name. "Is that—"
"Yes," Zane grinned. "Exactly what you think."
Inside was velvet, perfume, and boobs. Lots of them. Everywhere. Big, bouncy, beautiful distractions that made Riven forget for two full minutes that his shoulder blade was slowly sticking out of his shirt.
Zane flopped onto a couch, already surrounded by two girls in revealing outfits. One of them had pink hair, the other had silver. Both had assets that could smother a sea king.
"Girls, this is my new friend," Zane declared. "He's poor, smells like ocean trauma, and I like him."
"…Thanks?" Riven muttered as a girl with glasses poured him a drink.
"You ever been to a place like this?" Zane asked, throwing an arm around him.
"I—uh—I don't—"
Zane slapped a hand on a passing waitress's chest like it was a table. "BOOBIES!" he cheered.
The girl just giggled and winked. "He's a regular."
Riven sat awkwardly between two women who were very… touchy. He stared at the wall. One of them poked his cheek.
"You shy, honey?"
"No! I mean—yes? Maybe! This is all happening very fast."
Someone passed him another drink. Zane was now shirtless, for no reason. He had a girl on each arm and was telling a story that made no sense and possibly involved a swordfish.
Riven sipped the drink. It tasted like fire and regret.
The silver-haired girl leaned in. "What's your name, cutie?"
"…Riven."
"Nice name. Want me to guess your favorite body part?"
"No thank y—"
She grabbed his hand and placed it directly between her boobs.
His soul left his body for a moment.
Zane whooped. "NOW THAT'S THE SPIRIT!"
"OH GOD."
Riven tried to escape, but his leg locked up—his bone was twitching. If it shot out now—
Nope! Nope! Keep it together! No accidental bony rocket launches!
He forced a smile and laughed nervously as another girl nuzzled into his neck.
He was in hell. A very soft, bouncy hell.