The sun was barely setting by the time the band stumbled back onto dry land, but their adrenaline still surged like they’d just walked off stage. None of them were ready to call it quits — not while still in full pirate gear, not while Gabriel was still waving his wood sword and yelling “AVAST YE!” at pigeons.

So when Mark casually suggested, “We could hit a pub,” the rest of the pack shouted in such unified agreement that nearby tourists ducked for cover.

And so it was that nine fully costumed pirate-werewolves and humans stormed into a harborside tavern like it was Tortuga reborn. The pub — an old wood-and-brick joint called The Salted Barrel — was quaint, cozy, and definitely not ready for what hit it. A few locals looked up, blinked at the sight of a tricorn-wearing Gabriel with a clawed paw on the bar shouting, “RUM FOR ME AND THE WHOLE CREW!” and simply decided to stay for the show.

They never regretted it.

Within minutes, Rico was arm-wrestling the bartender over a bottle of whiskey (which he didn’t win), Jonah was trying to learn an Irish jig from a local who barely spoke English, and Maya had commandeered the jukebox and set it to nothing but Flogging Molly and Dropkick Murphys. Cassie, already tipsy on something suspiciously pink and glittery, started narrating the evening like a history channel special about debauched pirate courts.

Emily sat at the bar sipping soda and giggling helplessly at the chaos, occasionally live-streaming little clips for the band’s story feed. “This is not a sanctioned tour event,” she said on camera, “but it’s happening anyway.”

Gabriel, of course, was at the heart of it all. Still in full pirate regalia — minus the boots, which he had ceremoniously flung at someone’s poodle outside — he was now on the bar, paw lifted in a dramatic flourish.

“THIS ROUND OF DRINKS BE ON THE PACK!” he shouted.

The pub cheered. The bartender almost protested… until Thane silently slid a platinum card across the counter and gave him the kind of look that said don’t ask questions — just run the tab.

“Seriously, Thane?” Mark muttered, sipping his water as a foam dart whizzed by his ear. “He’s literally sword-fighting a barstool.”

Thane gave a long-suffering sigh, arms folded. “I’m letting him burn off the chaos before tomorrow. He’s going to crash so hard.”

“And you?” Mark asked.

Thane raised a brow. “I live in a state of exhausted tolerance.”

In the back corner of the pub, a group of young tourists approached, tentatively holding out menus and napkins. “S-sorry,” one of them asked, “but… are you actually Feral Eclipse?”

“Do we look like a tribute band?” Cassie drawled, twirling a bottle between her fingers. “Come on, sit. We’re handing out rum and trauma tonight.”

Autographs were signed. Photos taken. Someone put a pirate hat on Mark — who didn’t object, but grumbled the entire time. Gabriel ended up arm-in-arm with a local sea shanty group, leading them in a werewolf-themed version of “Drunken Sailor” that went viral within minutes of hitting social media.

Somewhere around midnight, a conga line of people in pirate costumes came in. Nobody knew where they came from. Nobody questioned it. They were simply absorbed into the swirling vortex of nautical nonsense.

By 1:30 a.m., Jonah was asleep under a table with a parrot plushie. Maya was teaching Emily how to balance on bar stools like they were mast rigging. Rico was busy sketching new tattoo ideas based on tentacles, tridents, and moon phases on a napkin. Thane was leaning in a booth, rubbing his temples.

Gabriel bounced over, flopping next to him in a heap of rum-scented werewolf pirate.

“That,” he said, licking rum from his fingers, “was the BEST DAY EVER.”

Thane didn’t disagree.

“You gonna tell me not to do this again?” Gabriel asked with a mischievous grin.

Thane smirked. “You already know I won’t.”

Gabriel leaned his head on Thane’s shoulder and yawned. “Love you, my wolf.”

“I know,” Thane said, wrapping an arm around him.

As they sat there in the flickering candlelight of the pub’s quieting chaos — costumes rumpled, fur tousled, hearts full — someone from the kitchen peeked out and whispered, “Are they always like this?”

“Yes,” Emily answered, sipping the last of her soda. “And it’s awesome.”