RP Talk Bar and Kareoke

Ladies and Gentlebeasts, I humbly welcome you to the RP Bar!

Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters to a good ol' Jack n' Coke served, as well as water. If you're in the mood for something less tangible, more ethereal, let us know and we'll see what we can cook up. Or down. Whatever...

Unfortunately, after the Bar by the Bog became The Bar IN the Bog after the global warming concerns of the 21st centuries (yes, there was more than one. Just like the internets.), the only supplier of Brainrot went literally UNDER. Fortunately, a synthetic form was found out some time later with the nasty side effect of restoring brain matter, rather than necrotizing it. Who wants that? That being said, its horrible symptom makes it the cheapest and most crudely looked upon drink in the known polyverses, such as polysorbate LX, and thus by slim margin beats out budwiser for the most popularly ordered drink.

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Talk and mingle as you please, citizens!

A silhouette darkens the doorway of the bar, followed seconds later by a lean-framed figure draped in elegant, albeit slightly weathered, caster's robes. He drew his hood back from his face as he stepped inside the bar, the bangs of his ebony hair drifting lazily down over his forehead. Steel blue eyes surveyed the atmosphere as the man strode over to the counter and seated himself atop the stool closest to the corner of the bartop. A gloved hand slipped from beneath the many folds in the robe to signal the bartender, a small grin spreading across his face as he yet again took in the familiar surroundings of the bar he once frequented long ago.

"What'll it be, Mac?" the bartender said in a rough and raspy voice. A voice which made you think either: "How long did he stick his head in the smoker?" or "How much excitement has he seen in what seems to be an ancient life?" Probably a bit of both, looking from his leathery skin and hickory scent.

Shaking his shoulder-length bangs over his shoulder, he strolled over and leaned on the counter. "Brainfart? You look like the wrinkly type," he uttered, referring to the lobes of most humanoids with advanced gray matter. "'Course... I got other stuff... If you've got the coin."

His grin turned into amused smirk at the bartender's comment as he replied "You look like you've seen better days." The hand that had signaled the bartender closed into a loose fist, turning over and opening to reveal a bulging coinpurse. The mage set it on the countertop and laid his palm over it, his gaze still on the barkeeper. "And there's no need to worry about how full my pockets are. I've only come for a drink, a mug of ale if you will."

OOC: Apologies in advance for the length. I'm trying to remember how to write after a long break. *wry grin*
IC:

Outside the bar, a sky that had up until now been a pleasant blue and altogether unremarkable began to darken as clouds raced across the sky, whirling and converging in unnatural patterns. There was a low, rolling boom of thunder and the loud crack of a few forks of lightning as a virtual deluge, a torrent, a cascade... in short, quite a lot... of water began to fall from the sky, soaking the already boggy ground quite thoroughly.

Through the rain a figure - but no, that was incorrect. This figure strode out of the rain as if he had been concealed behind the oncoming storm momentarily. He was tall, for a man, easily making six foot seven without shying and dressed in a fashion that was rarely seen outside of a certain plane in a certain time period.

A long grey-black duster cloaked his figure, his worn brown boots - caked with worn dust - squished the treacherous ground beneath him. There was the glimmer of clothes under the duster... a loose leather vest buttoned over an unremarkable white shirt..perhaps a pair of leather pants? All servicable, uniform brown, the mark of a man concerned with practicality far more than presentation. Over his brow was pulled a wide brimmed Western style hat. It did more than cast a shadow, it exuded blackness, covering him in a palpable aura of darkness, and beneath the brim his eyes glowed brightly like twin white suns.

The most striking thing about his appearance however was simply this;
Striding through a deluge of rain, he was not the slightest bit wet.

And as he flung open the door this was the image he presented - a conveniently timed lightning strike illuminating his imposing figure, wind whipping at his duster as it howled viciously through the door.

And yet seconds later it was over. The sky had cleared, the clouds had dispersed and the rain had stopped. And where in the doorway there had stood the very personification of night and terror, there was simply a man dressed in a long grey-black duster, stained with dirt from the road and sagged a little with the weariness of travel.

He seemed shorter, somehow, a little unimpressive. This was only reinforced as he took off his hat and made his way to the bar. A face lined and tanned from the harsh kiss of the sun coated with coarse, scraggly stubble; pale, wide blue eyes beneath a mop of mussed brown hair. A nose that seemed slightly off centre, as if broken but never set quite right. A scar above the right eye tracing down to the cheek - a pale line through his tan face. He was whistling a rather jaunty tune under his breath as he made his way across the room and parked his rear on a stool at the bar next to a man dressed in robes.

His voice was bright, almost irritatingly so after the relative drama and fanfare of his entrance. "Howdy folks. I've travelled a long way and my mouth is gettin' mighty dry by my reckonin'. Don't spose you could see yer way clear to fetchin a man a drop of whiskey? Any variation y'like. Surprise me."

He reached beneath his duster and flicked a coin onto the bar, that shimmered blue-green under the light as if stamped from algae. Which it may possibly have been, because it certainly wasn't any kind of local currency.

"Seems a mite quiet right now. You reckon business'll pick up come happy hour? A saloon ain't a saloon without a few lovely ladies to entertain, if yer followin' my drift..." He trailed off as he turned to the man in the robes on the seat next to him, starting slightly as if only just noticing him.

"Say, I didn't cut in on yer conversation there, did I son?" he asked, rather bluntly but out of an effort to be polite.

"It's early yet. It's been years since I've had a very happy hour, though," the bartender said dryly then rolled the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. Suddenly it pulled up on one side and a twinkle in his eye finished the dry joke. "Heh..." he uttered and got one ale and one Tennessee whiskey for his patrons. Smoothly, he pulled the payment from each in a single motion.

"I'm gonna take a piss... Don't take nothin' while I'm gone." He pointed behind him with his thumb and said grimly, "I check the levels, and I ain't ever been wrong yet." A moment's glare gave the hard truth of what happened to the ones who tried to take his livelihood away.

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OOC: I'm going away for two weeks. May or may not post. We'll see. ;)

Strains of music wheezing from the old honky-tonk piano rambled to a close, then thudded to a stop, accompanied by the creak of an ancient stool shoved slowly back.

"Ty! It is you! Where have you been?"

A flurry of awkward teenaged limbs descended on the trio. "Ren, you didn't tell me anyone was back in town," she whined, but her bright eyes and the simple grin pasted on her face belied the aggrieved tone she'd taken. Still smiling, she punched the roughrider's thick, tanned arm, leaned over, and stretched her hand out to the foreigner beside him. "Name's Thalion. I used to be Tiggy around here, once upon a time. I don't think we've met," she said, but her gaze flicked down to the elegant robes before meeting his hard blue eyes again, and when she continued, there was a note of true respect. "I might hazard a guess though. I've heard... legends of you," she told him, gravely, before another grin broke the moment of solemnity. "You were WAY before my time," she told him, flicking her long black hair from her glasses with the ease of long practice.

She was tall, late teens, dressed in heavy boys' pants and a vibrant red blouse. Reaching over to the mugs, she winked once at the company before turning to the nearest tap. "Don't mind Ren, he's an old softie, he is," she murmured, voice low and amused.

Off on the side of the bar, a flushing toilet was heard and the door opened shortly afterward. Wiping his hands on a paper towel, the old salt's eyebrow raised slightly. "Softy? That's not what she said last night," he grumbled. Walking behind the bar, he tossed the paper into the trash and scratched his salt and pepper stubble. "What'll it be for the Tomboy-Tig?" he asked sheepishly and then smiled. "Coke?"

The doors fly open, in walks Nexus "who wants to buy my beer?"

"Deserters..." Rensha grumbled, running a hand through his dark curly hair. He had really meant to cut it recently. "Maybe that's what I need to bring here, dessert... Creme brulee?" He rubbed his stubbly chin and raised an eyebrow, "Hmm..."

rubbish

Do people just wander in here to pad their post count?

Rensha looked over with a weary smile. He grabbed a mug and stuck it under the nozzle of a lager on drought and pulled the lever. "Probably," he admitted. "It isn't what I had intended though." Setting the mug down, it started to sweat on the bar.

"Stay for a brew?"

Rensha slid the glass toward Arc, hoping he didn't waste another mug trying to look cool. Let's not forget the beer... he thought.

If he could trap Arc on a stool he could draw others walking by. Everyone was thirsty, Rensha knew. It was a question of how thirsty. If people walking by saw others drinking their favorites, chances were that they would realize just how thirsty they were.