Page 1 of Testing the Kot'oll Officer

Chapter 1

Julie

The bar hums with life, a swirl of colors and sounds dancing around me as I wipe down the polished surface of the counter. Neon lights dance overhead, illuminating the faces of my eclectic clientele—from gravity-defying feathered beings to the shimmering, gelatinous blobs that somehow possess the ability to order cocktails.

I take a moment to scan the room, grinning at the chaos—a cluster of four-eyed beings arguing over who ordered the most exotic drink while a group of charmingly weird humanoids fan their large, ornate wings to impress the cocktail waiters.

Being a bartender is my calling. The pulse of the crowd fuels me, the bass of the music vibrates through my bones, and the new faces each night thrill me. It’s not just about pouring drinks;it’s about the stories that unfold before me and the beings I can read.

As I prepare another round of vibrant fluorescent cocktails, I spot a familiar face slipping through the crowd, and my heart skips a beat. A four-armed kot'oll glides into the bar with a seriousness that contrasts sharply with the chaotic energy around him. He’s here from time to time and always catches my eye. He is a big guy, making him hard to miss. Even though there are quite a lot of big patrons in the bar, he feels different. Maybe that has to do with the light frown on his face that shouts how serious he is even when he's in a bar. He has never even tried to blend in with the crowd.

I can't help but snicker at the thought; he’s all business, but there’s something inherently magnetic about the way he carries himself.

I pull my eyes away from him to the drink I'm preparing. Even though he's pretty attention-grabbing, I have my patrons to serve. With a quick flick of the wrist, I slide a drink down the bar, aiming for the eager hands of a guy who almost knocks it over, his multi-colored tentacles slipping. I chuckle, mouthing a silent cheer, only to catch the kot'oll watching me. His brows arch slightly in disapproval, the corner of his mouth twitching with the ghost of a smile. Maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to see the fun in this delightful chaos.

I don't know his name. I don't ask patrons about their personal information, so usually, I don't know what to call them, not that I have to. But I remember faces and keep them in my head for along time. This kot'oll spikes my curiosity, but I know to remain professional.

A few empty glasses find their way back to my counter as the robot puts them down. I move on to putting them into the cleaning machine. In theory, the robots can mix drinks too, but most beings still prefer to have someone here to chat with them.

As I set the last glass into the cleaning machine, I catch the kot'oll's gaze again. His molten bronze eyes narrow slightly, assessing me like he’s dissecting the crowd and trying to find the best approach to interact. Sometimes, he takes his time before he puts in an order. What’s going through that serious mind of his? Does he ever loosen up?

He looks away when I glance at him, pretty much saying out loud that he has been looking at me. I don't mind, I'm the bartender, and beings look at me all the time. but there's something in the way he looks at me that tempts me.

When he's in the bar, he's always alone. But how can someone like him not have friends? Or maybe he's into an aura of mystery.

When he walks off, I turn to my patrons, having more on my hands.

The night rolls on, and the energy intensifies. The music pumps louder, and laughter screams over the harmonizing sounds of conversations. That’s when I spot a group of flamboyant alien creatures trying to impress a particularly glamorous figurein a shimmering gown. Their exaggerated gestures and wild attempts at dancing make me shake my head, laughing as I mix a fresh round of drinks.

"Hello." That kot'oll's deep voice cuts through the air as he approaches the bar. I can’t help but smile at the way everyone else parts like the Red Sea for the kot'oll. “I’ll have a Sakanol Highball,” he states, his tone flat yet somehow commanding. He takes a seat, his four strong arms casually resting on the counter, but looks steady enough. For a big guy like him to be mere inches away from me, it should be pretty intimidating, but somehow, it feels like he's not going to hurt me, and that's not because the bouncer's nearby. His arms are... comforting, in a way.

What do those arms feel like?

I feign mock seriousness, raising an eyebrow. “You know, for a guy who looks like he could grapple with a Space Kraken, you sure do have refined tastes. Is a Highball enough to satisfy a being from the bravest of galactic ancestry?”

He pauses, looking genuinely amused, and for a brief moment, there's the tiniest crack in his stoic face. “I prefer to keep my drinks as uncomplicated as the rules of the city. Besides, it maintains my focus during these... unpredictable times.”

“Unpredictable is the name of the game here.” I start with his drink. “Just wait until you get a taste of the Interstellar Splasher. It’s known to make even the most serious kot’oll want to dance on tables.”

His lips twitch again, and I want to believe he’s stifling a laugh, but he quickly regains composure, his gaze steady, as though we’re locked in a playful duel. “I shall respectfully decline; dancing is not in my daily protocol.”

“Ah, a male of discipline,” I tease, garnishing his drink with a sprig of fruit I know he hasn't tasted yet. “Perhaps we can arrange a time to spice up that protocol. I bet I could shock you into loosening up a bit.”

His expression softens, confusion flickering behind those intense eyes. “Shock? I believe you have misjudged the nature of my... wiring. But should you wish to initiate a protocol revision, I may consider an experiment.”

I can’t help the giggle that escapes as I slide his drink toward him. His honesty is refreshing amidst the chaos. And to be honest, what kind of being talks like that? Does he always talk like that? Or is he playing along? “Just keep the Highball on standby because tonight, you may find your protocols are about to get a wild upgrade.”

“Is ‘wild’ a recommended addition to my standard operating procedures?” he asks, dead serious like always, but there’s a hint of warmth in his eyes.

If he has no plan to relax, why even go to a bar after all?

What's his job? He talks like... maybe a guard of some sort. It's hard not to think of kot'olls as the species that do the fighting and physical jobs with those strong arms. I have yet to meeta kot'oll without muscles almost bursting out of their clothes. This one looks even stronger than the average kot'oll. Despite the stereotype, there are as many jobs for them as there are for humans, so the possibilities are endless.

This kot'oll waits for his drink, sitting completely straight with shoulders poised. Maybe he really is a security guard or the like, someone who works a very rigid job with a ton of rules to follow. Standard operating procedures, huh?

He takes a sip of his drink, and I watch as he processes the taste, his expression a curious mix of intrigue and mild surprise. He’s not one to show much emotion, but I can see the wheels turning in his head. “It is... unexpectedly pleasant,” he says, almost reluctantly, as though admitting he enjoys it is a breach of some rule.

“See? Who knew the serious kot’oll has a taste for the finer things in life?” I can’t help but tease, emboldened by the spark of humor in the air between us.

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