White stone paths wind between palm trees and clusters of blooming hibiscus. A turquoise pool glitters under the afternoon sun, surrounded by loungers and cabanas draped in flowing white fabric.

Somewhere, a steel drum cover of a pop song drifts from hidden speakers.

And there—gathered around the outdoor bar like they're posing for a magazine spread—they are.

A man with hair so blond it's almost white lounges with his wings half-spread, sunglasses perched on his nose. Next to him, a woman with sharp rabbit ears and a sharper smile stretches her legs out, a cocktail in hand.

A massive man in a floral shirt that struggles to contain his frame barks a laugh at something a scruffy man in black says—the scruffy one looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else. Beside him, a blonde with glasses so bright they could signal aircraft adjusts them with a flamboyant flick.

A woman in a leather jacket and dark lipstick watches the gate with a feline interest the moment I walk through. A man built like a brick wall—red hair, flames tattooed up his jaw—stands apart, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the horizon like he's already planning his exit.