Hastily he jots the translation on the back of his hand as he considers the name of the place.
The Unicorn, huh? Someone’s a movie buff.
He sticks his dark boot in the door, catching it as a swaggering, youngish Cyclopian walks out, swaying, a blue bulb of something sloshing brightly in its hand, and more on a loose grey suit two sizes too large.
“Hey there, Grinchy,” Jack says, steadying the man with an arm as he picks his pocket for an ident, which he finds- a slim silver card punched sixteen times with little holes.
Grinchy’s obviously a heavy, judging by the extra bulk and the bulge of a firearm poking from under a half-tucked pink shirt.
A regularly sloshed heavy, too- that pink shirt is splashed with at least fifteen different kinds of liquor. The pissy stench of blue ale is un-missable.
So Jack gets a good look, memorising the details he needs to get inside, then replaces the card back inside the man’s rumpled suit with a quick grab on the arse.
Speaking of poker and dancing…