Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-27830834-20180707190947/@comment-27830834-20180721205820

Your path takes you down a dusty set of screw-stairs as wide as a processional walkway, pedestrians clambering around you until eventually, you reach the Hive's mid-tier. From here, it isn't hard to find the Last Gasp, it's entrance lit up by a phased-neon sign of some massive pelagic creature surfacing from the deep. Even from the outside, the bar seems a fairly public locale, a few rough-looking types with chem-treated muscles and heavy scowls minding the doors even as some portly Spire heir stumbles out and into a nearby alleyway. You can faintly hear the sound of retching.

You pass through into the interior without complaint and take in your surroundings: it's a large, well-lit area, the rightmost wall dominated by a long bar. Decorations are fairly sparse but as you glance up you can see the complete skeleton of some long-dead oceanic predator suspended from the rafters via a taut web of cabling.

The clientele is perhaps the most interesting part of the Last Gasp, now revealed to be less a dive joint and more an intersection of sorts, where the adventurous sons and daughters of Hive aristocrats can slum it with the great unwashed for an evening. But, among their raucous, well-dressed ranks are a multitude of Hive toughs, gangers, and even a few patrons with scaled skin or multiple eyes. Even the bartender doesn't bother to hide his mutations, serving customers with six-fingered hands that seem too long and multi-jointed to be natural.