"Another one, ma'am."
The words softly whistle past Murphy's wet lips, nearly made inaudible by the ripping snore from his bud right by him. The bartender hears him, though, as she arranges his drink.
A burning of zest later, an ol' fashioned cools his palm as he looks to the beach. Two weeks ago, someone defaced it and the rest of the island with a goop-y substance, and Murphy had vacated (besides, he had been meaning to check out Jewelry Land—though he left unimpressed).
"The officials finally fixed something for once?" he asks before taking a swig of his drink. It gives him a sweet mild burn on the way down.
The bartender shakes her head with a sneer, rustling her leaves. "Of course not—someone else did it."
Murphy thinks that's that—why should he care either way?—but as the bartender goes to turn on an electric fan, she keeps talking.
"Never caught his name, but I know he was with a princess of sorts. Peach, I think? Must be from far away, because I've never heard of her before."
Murphy pauses mid-drink for just a moment before finishing his sip. The second time isn't as flavorful.
He tattoos his fingers against the countertop. "Nothing bad happened to her, I hope?" he ventures.
"Hmm?" She turns back around. "I think she got into some trouble, but that guy helped her. Didn't seem hurt when they left a couple days ago."
His shoulders relax. "That's good."
"Yeah. Say, do you want a wet towel for your cap? I know it dries out easy."
He shakes his head. "No, thank you."
Some noki strides up to the counter, and the bartender leaves him to attend to them. Murphy looks down at his drink.
"...Least someone's looking out for her."