((The boy's page,
https://www.rprepository.com/site.php?char=95230))
Alf felt like he was carrying his own weight's worth of water. Most of it was in his coat. Since he'd put it on, he'd been wanting to take it off, but he just couldn't be bothered. There was a crisscross of belts and bags and if he was being honest with himself, he didn't remember how to pop the clasps.
By and far, this adventure had been a terrible idea. He thought bringing the bags was stupid in hindsight, but after that incident with Bitch Dragon, he couldn't keep his things in the usual place. They might get burnt up.
He came in from the thunderous rain outside and looked at his bare, clawed feet. Water ran around them. He'd made a right mess of the floor, but there were muddy prints there that weren't his, so he made a snap decision that he didn't give a damn. He didn't need much incentive to forget about it and find a seat.
He hadn't come for drinks or food. He was there to get out of the weather, and because the tavern had been the only observable light. That made it worth investigating. He didn't know where he was, but he was sure that it wasn't The Cat's Way. It wasn't Gotham, either. It was some place new. He'd crossed a threshold between worlds again. Some things just oughtn't be normalized for a guy, but there he was, standing in a tavern, probably in a world he'd never heard the name of.
Got'damn cat. He knew who to blame.
Alf snorted. His lungs were hot. Smoke and water flew away from his nose. He looked like a proper, grumpy monster. He did the thing most befitting of grumpy monsters and found himself a bizarrely large chair in the back, some place the firelight didn't quite reach.
Time to figure out how to get his belts unbuckled and get his kicks giving people needle stares over nothing.