The door opens, it reveals a figure covered in the haze of smoke, no doubt from the cigar in his mouth. He walks in, the actions of his joints accentuated by the hiss from the decompression of hydraulics. He started by removing his top hat, then removed his officers long coat and hung them on the coat hanger on the way in. Above knee and elbow amputations, all his limbs were mechanic, the clicks, sputters, and clanks of cogs emitted from him like a plague. The brass glinted in the light as he passed by a window on his way to the bar. He had northern features; stubble grew on his face except on his left cheek where a scar prevented hair growth. Arriving at the bar, he took a stool and sat down hunched over.
“Yiski, Stabsinthe on the rocks... no more than two cubes, it dilutes the flavour”
