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Riding Out The Storm; Scratch the itch of The Fall
Topic Started: Sep 20 2013, 04:02 PM (2,300 Views)
PMD14
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Lighthouse Keeper

PMD didn't usually frequent such places - they weren't so much his 'scene'. The alternative, though - a raging ion storm that was sucking up plots and characters in its wake - was far less appetising. Until it passed, this would have to be his home.

He sighed.

The bar was quiet, surprisingly so, given the hour of night. And dim. It seemed that was a prerequisite of places like this - the odour of booze and cigarette smoke, coupled with lights unable to illuminate the room. PMD had never understood that - was it to hide the foul nature of the place or what? With a shake of his head, he decided he didn't want to know the answer.

"And fer you?" It was the bartender who spoke - well, grunted - and PMD slid across the room towards the bar as to not be rude. The man facing him was far from desirable - pimply, warty, rotund and with a record breaking beard down to his chest. A perfect stereotype, the traveller mused, wondering if he had his wallet on him.

"Me? Er..." A quick, nervous glance across the bar confirmed PMDs suspicions - it didn't matter what he ordered, it was all going to taste the same. "Ah... Just a beer, please. Whatever you have on..." He trailed off, the large man already moving and busy with the clunky, grimy tap on his side of the bar. His face was that of confusion and discontent, as if it was his first time pouring a drink.

"Mmmmm."

Looking around as his drink was 'prepared', the young traveller took in the sights. A few odd looking folk all around, some drinking alone and others whispering to their comrades. A smokey pool table in the middle, a low burning fireplace on one wall, and stained tables scattered all around.

"As good a place as any." He mused aloud, to himself if no one else. As good a place as any to ride out the storm.
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Waelon Blake | Jimmy Chamberlain | Eli Harmon
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Ahroro_Deltori
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Ahroun looked up from his seedy corner of the bar, trails of smoke hung fluidly around his head as he took another pull on his off-brand cigarette. He was supposed to quit, or so the missus though. He told her that he was going to go out for a jog. Just a jaunt down to the other end of the city. It's what he often did to blow off steam, either due to lack of work or the incessant nagging. He just wanted a break, and that's what led him here. He removed his glasses and set them on the dingy table before him. He counted the rings on the particle board top. The formica chipped and scored by the many patrons that frequented the bar before him.

Derogatory slurs and initials covered the material like a restroom stall wall. "For a good time..." He stopped reading as he took a sip from his glass. "What has this world come to?" he pondered by himself, the ash falling from his cigarette as his gaze remained unfocused. The poison was particularly good tonight; the bartender did a good job at surprising him when the man entered the establishment. "Tonight seems different though... He grumbled looking out the window, nothing but a vasty black miasma. The fall had come and all he saw was the darkness. He smiled finishing his drink and moved to return the empty vessel to the bar.

He gave the newcomer a once over and plopped down beside him. He slid the glass towards the bartender and ordered another. "The weather is pretty "Charlie-Foxtrot" out there 'eh? he said trying to strike up conversation, while the hulking form lurked about behind the bar taking orders and filling them.
Kenji Akechi 19Feb06-09Jul06, Darien Dayshadow 27Jan06-01May06Flame 27Feb2006 - 23Apr2006,Daniel Perdue 06Feb2006 – 21Apr2006
Sail the Sky~With all my fears, and sorrows close. I'm hanging on, just hanging on.~~I wish that you were with me, to sail the sky Serenity.~~Then take me high, or take me low, then to the end where I may go.~~If I can stand then I shall pass. Pass beyond this night of black, pass beyond this night of black.~
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PMD14
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PMD was slightly startled, having been intently staring around the room taking in the individuals he was hoping to avoid. Namely, all of them. There were a few odd faces here and there, folk who didn't seem to be quite in their natural habitat, but the traveler brushed them off as weirdos, too.

When the stranger approached, though, sneaking up on him, PMD managed to avoid jumping on the spot as he turned quickly to see who was speaking. The young man looked... well, familiar... but there was no logical reason for him to do so. Otherwise, though, he was just as appealing as the rest of the characters around the bar.

Giving a nervous smile, PMD took a seat - leaving a gap of one stool between him and the stranger, of course - and busied himself with his wallet and the few bills that were in there. Hopefully it'd be enough to buy the drink and let this hellish ride get on it's merry.

"Yeah.. yeah, really something."
The storm was getting worse. It was funny; here, inside, there was no sign of any disturbance beyond the front doors other than the darkness. Out there, though, the world was hell. PMD was sure he'd seen a space ship at one point, sucked up into the blackness of everything 'that was'. After all, that's why he was here, stuck talking to some creeper.

"I'm sorry... have we met?" The question was a stupid one, and the traveler recognised that fact moments after asking it. Surely they hadn't. There was just that feeling, minute as it was, that seemed to think otherwise. A sign of my delirium, he mused, nodding an intricately insincere thanks to the barman as he slid a half full glass of brown ooze down the bar. Well, I'm not drinking that, PMD though with a nervous smile.
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Waelon Blake | Jimmy Chamberlain | Eli Harmon
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Balketh
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Requiem for a Hawke
A loud thunk rumbled along the bar, the sound of bone hitting wood. A broad young man, thick up and down, standing at a solid 5'11 sat, face first, at the far end of the bar. The blackest of black and short hair, windswept back was all that could be seen from that angle, but he had quite a thick, but tightly cut beard to match.

He was Mediterranean in appearance... Somewhat. Reasonably good looking, a strange mix of age and youth on his features that made it rather difficult to tell in exactly which age bracket he sat. He was built solid, a pickaxe handle at the shoulders and hips easily, but apparently not solid enough to fully deal with the 3/4 empty bottle of Jack Daniels next to his head.

In one hand, an empty glass with fresh ice still rattling around in it. He sluggishly released it and gripped the bottle of Jack and poured himself another tall order, all without peeling his face off the bar. In his other seemed to be a piece of paper of some kind.

Eventually, the lad managed to raise his face from the wood, dark green-hazel ringed eyes peering out at the paper in his hand - a photo, it seemed, before he took a long, hard-looking draw from his glass.

Thunk. His head hit the table again. The bartender came, on second thunking, and relieved him of the bottle of Jack - not for having drank too much, but for the bottle being empty now.

"Sucks, don't it?" The barman rumbled at the lad as he peeked at the picture - a woman.

"Yyyyyyyyyep." A somewhat gravelly voice rolled back from the Greek-looking lad. The bartender tossed a plastic card down in front of him, that spieled a bunch of embossed numbers, and a name - 'Balketh'.

"Up on yer tab for the next one?"

"Yyyyyyyyyyyyyup." He rolled again, taking another draw.
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Trina
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Queen of the Lost Chapters
From out of the swirling, storming darkness, a slim shape exited the storm to a foreign, yet somewhat safer feeling place. Blinking even in the dim light, Trina looked around taking in the bar and then glanced back over her shoulder and through the door. Definitely not heading back out into that...

That left the brunette one option: move forward. Shoving her hands into jeans pockets, she crossed towards the bar and started to eye the wares shelved behind it. She noted a few other occupants, aside from the large man behind the counter, and decided to settle on a bar stool with a little space between her and the others. What struck her as odd was, she felt like she might know the others, but there was no way that was possible.

Short as she was, she perched more than sat on the stool, her hands coming free of her pockets and resting on the edge of the bar. Idly, her fingers felt along the weathered surface as the large man approached her. "Just a whiskey..." Her voice was quiet, calmer than she felt after making her escape from the storm.
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ian dugan
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From a back entrance of the bar, back past the bathrooms, if the slime covered toilets that the room held could be considered bathrooms, an image bagan to take shpe. In, from the Black nothingness, walked a man, five foot six inches in height, weighing in at one hundred and fifty eight pounds. He had mostly black hair streaked with gray, throughout. Onn the bakc of his head was a bare spot the continued to grow the older he got. His face sported a mustache and goatee, also peppered with gray.

His face, kind and lined, did not have any scars, but, in certian light, there seemed to be one in the shape of a "t" over his right eye.

Once in the bar proper, he stopped, moved to the side fo the passageway and stood, watching the crowed, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. He shrugged his shoulders and sauntered to the bar. He sat as the big man behind the bar came over.

"What can I gitcha."

"Do you have any Sprecker's" asked the new customer.

"Root Beer!!" the heavyset barkeep practally bellowed.

"It's the hardest thing I drink."

The barkeep just shook his head

"....takes all kinds"

Hr grabbed a frosty mug and put it under a spout and pulled back the handle. Soon Ian had a sweet, dark, cold, drink with a thick head of foam.
Ian Dugan

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Dis-memberment - 1,Coma - 3, Kills - 1
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Ahroro_Deltori
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Ahroun took a quick glimpse about the bar at the sudden influx of newcomers. A mass exodus of people bursting in through the entrance trying to escape the void. He shook his head as he heard PMD speak beside him. No just figured it looks like we'll all be stuck here a while so why not try to get to know some people. He said as the barkeep turn to him with a semi-questionable look. The young man slapped a crisp fifty dollar bill onto the bar and requested two bottles of Wild Goose bourban. He spun on the stool beneath him, his hand still on the bill as he faced the door. Through the double paned glass he saw land stripped bare around the establishment, chunks of soil and granite slowly dissolving into an ether.

He felt the bill get yanked from beneath his fingers and heard dual clunks as the bottles were placed within reach. "End of the World scenario why the hell not he looked over his shoulder with a grin, speaking now to whoever would hear. Not that he cared, all that he had known was gone the instant he stepped foot within the bar. He found it funny though that no matter the hellish existence that took place on the outside slowly changing the world he had no regrets, no anxieties. The patron heaved a sigh and pulled one of the bottles close to his chest. "What do you think's going on?" He asked his question directed to PMD. He sure as hell never thought that he would have died in a bar. Then again growing up and living the life he did, nothing was completely unexpected.
Kenji Akechi 19Feb06-09Jul06, Darien Dayshadow 27Jan06-01May06Flame 27Feb2006 - 23Apr2006,Daniel Perdue 06Feb2006 – 21Apr2006
Sail the Sky~With all my fears, and sorrows close. I'm hanging on, just hanging on.~~I wish that you were with me, to sail the sky Serenity.~~Then take me high, or take me low, then to the end where I may go.~~If I can stand then I shall pass. Pass beyond this night of black, pass beyond this night of black.~
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Balketh
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Requiem for a Hawke
"They lost our bloody world, is what." The man, face first on the bar, rumbled from the far end.

"Well, the last few days of it, at least. Twits..." He peeled his face from the bar again, this time sitting up. He wasn't a thin man, chubby all over, but with a hell of a big frame to carry what body fat he bore, and musculature to put it in odd places and give him a rather rectangular figure, cleanly cut by a nice, plain black shirt and jeans.

"They back it up every few days, as I recall, but they didn't really manage to save our bits on the maintenance... Not as bad as what happened on forgotten realms..." Bal shook his head, his wavy, coal black hair refusing to really move not out of product, but out of sheer thickness. He downed what was left of his glass, clutching the photo, and slid off the barstool.

"PMD." He nodded, not even pretending that he didn't know these weird strangers. He shot a wry grin down the bar to an old friend emerging from the toilets as he sauntered along, bartender and bottle seeming to float along with him, ready to set down again and ring in more cash.

"Miss Trina." His frame dipped courteously at the lady requesting the whiskey.

"Been a long time since I seen you folk around, eh Tristan?" He pulled up the spare stool between the small whiskeyed woman and the others, beckoning to the root-beer quaffing man at the far end as he gave a sly wink to the first entrant to the bar.

"Don't believe I really know you though, stranger. Good t'have you along in this little slice of no and where, at any rate." He placed down the photo on the bar, and extended his hand to Ahroun, instinctively holding his glass out to the bartender at the same time.

The photo was a beautiful young woman, with big, hazel doe eyes. A slender jaw line framed with wispy, straight-as-a-dye shoulder length hair of an auburn-red, soft features and a set of pouty lips curved into a big smirk; she radiated at the camera when the shot was taken, joy in her eyes.

He never let himself stray too far from it...
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PMD14
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PMD hadn't responded to the young man who'd walked up to the bar, ensuring there was still a solid gap between the two of them. Instead, he just did his best to pretend they weren't conversing. Catching sight of the other, most definitely intoxicated character down the bar, the young traveler squinted a little in confusion as if trying to remember some distant memory. Nope, he concluded is dismay. Nothing. Turned out the other man wasn't having the same recollection issues, though, as he waltzed up to the slow forming group and greeted them all in kind.

"You what...?" PMD was confused, surprised, slightly pissed off, and he kept one hand firmly clasped around the cool glass in front of him as if that made him look less on edge. He was tense, though, barely on the stool, and eyes locked on Balketh. So they had met... right? Not a thing was making sense.

The young lady who'd approached, followed by the larger unit of a man, both looked familiar to him. Where the hell am I? It was a question PMD didn't expect to get an answer to - everything, this whole situation, was too far beyond him at this point. He just sat quiet, pretending Bal hadn't spoken directly to him - what, something about a 'Tristan'? - and stared down quietly at his drink.

Then it happened. That familiar, almost warm feeling (warm, despite the fact that the metal was, in reality, very cold) of something chunky sitting on his thigh. A hand shot down with instinct - not his hand, but Captain Harmon's. There was no gun there, though. No Elijah Harmon. For a split second, everything had moulding into one, a blur of colours and memories and lines and lines of copious text. Something had happened.

Feeling refreshed, if not still puzzled, PMD took a slow sip from his drink (Jesus, what the hell is this?!) before turning to face Bal.

"We're stuck here, aren't we?" It was barely a question, almost a statement of truth, and his voice was no longer that of caution and fright. It was that of despair - despair shared with an old friend. The young traveler tried to hide his prying eyes, but couldn't help glance at the worn photograph in Bal's hand.

This isn't good...
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Waelon Blake | Jimmy Chamberlain | Eli Harmon
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MacTrom
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She walked through the door, the long black duster billowing around her long slender legs. Her thumbs stuck into the striped suspenders clipped to the dusty denim jeans. A creased brim cap covered the top of her head, hiding all but a few wisps of hair caressing her forehead and temple. The oversized holster cross draw on her left hip was empty, signifying that she had not come in anger, although the dark foreshowing of her face belayed that opinion.

After a brief pause at the entrance, her eyes having cast about the room, casing it for any potential troubles, she made her way to one corner booth and settled in. She waved two fingers at the waitress that was three tables away and received a nod in return. She cocked her head to one side while watching the short interchange happening at the bar, but took little notice other than to try to recognize those involved. Since none seemed familiar, she returned to self-introspection.

A clink of glass announced the glass and bottle of dark amber that appeared on the table in front of her as the waitress stepped away. She pulled a few coins out of her pocket and slapped them on the table in return, picking up the bottle and unscrewing the cap. Two ounces of the liqueur filled her glass and she sat the bottle back into the newly forming wet spot. Her left hand grasped the glass and sped it to her lips; the warm fluid barely touched her palette before flowing back over her tongue and down her parched throat. A repeat performance, and again the warmth of alcohol filled her chest. It felt good. Awakening.

Too gorram long. Ship blasted out from under my skinny ass. Then a job gone completely tee wuh duh pee-goo. Now the whole tal mah 'Verse gone all crazy like and dropped me into this go se of a bar.

She shook her head in recognition of her predicament before polishing off another jigger of booze.
But my heart is not weary, it's light and it's free I've got nothing but affection for all those who sailed with me
Stick with me baby, stick with me anyhow. Things should start to get interestin' right about now

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Tojoyama
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Africa Chamberlain just stood in the middle of the room.
Restaurant and the End of the Universe? World's End Tavern?
Or more traditional: Pergatory? Limbo?
Or older: Valhalla? really? She wasn't really a warrior. Well, maybe she was, but that seemed to have been.... 'erased.'

But these people didn't seem to mind. Maybe they'd been reading up on the latest news, Africa had not.

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Tojoyama
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Sonya got it. Right off.

"I knew it. Bloody aliens. Writing it all out, just little puppets on a string."

She saw Ian. "I told you!" Gulliver gloated. She had been right all along. Tiny little pawns they were, people. Toys of some greater beings, or being. Though one seems pretty silly, what would be the fun in that. Tossing out your little toys with no one else to play along.

No, there were many gods and now they'd grown bored, or had rutted things up. That was her suspician. The verse just got too screwed up. The idiots and written themselves into a corner and now they had to figure out how to fix it.

Yeah.

Stupid gods.

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ian dugan
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Ian nodded at the man as he indicated him. Something was ... familiar to him. In the middle of the room was a calm in motion. Ian knew her as Rica, or Africa. The person, not the continent.

Then in burst a frenzy in stillness in the form of Sonya.

Hadn't they ... well ... you know. That thing that a gentelman sometimes does but never and talks about??

Ian looked at Sonya and nodded at what she said then looked at the mirror behind the bar as if it were a window to whom ever was writing this go-se. He looked until he could just about see a person typing something in on a keyboard. The person seemed to be looking at the keyboard and not the screen, then the image faded and he saqw Sonya and Rica again.

He lifted his mug of Root Beer to the mirror in salute.

"Wrtie well, eh."
Edited by ian dugan, Sep 25 2013, 09:54 AM.
Ian Dugan

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Tojoyama
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Sonya winked at Ian Dugan. The I'm heading for fun, er, trouble smile on her face. She approached the bar. Figured to see if there was any free will here.
But then, how would she know. Really.

She thought without thought of the repercussions. Stood next to the giant.

"I just wondered, you being all metalic and all. Just what you packing. What you got for where with parts real and machine made."" and with that she put her left hand on the right ass of super terrorist Tobias the Hawkman. They stood side by side.

"Solid." She looked straight ahead. "So's the important movin' parts on the other side all regular and functional. Won't say I'd mind a hydrolic enhancement, just - you know. Not the same."

'Let's see what the creators make of that.'
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MacTrom
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The woman by herself watched the goings on with distraction. She took another drink and pushed herself back into the cushion of the booth, letting her hands drop to her side. For a long time she sat there before reaching into her left breast pocket and pulling out a slim digital screen. She held it low in front of her so only she could see the images displayed there.

Images of two men, one older, the other just barely an adult. A tear caressed her cheek as she tapped the screen and that image was replaced by another of a man in fatigues. Another tap and a second man, this time in dark coveralls with a lopsided grin. Again a tear, again a tap. The images started to blur as her vision softened until she finally sighed a deep, exasperated sigh and put away the memories.

What more tragedy to come?
But my heart is not weary, it's light and it's free I've got nothing but affection for all those who sailed with me
Stick with me baby, stick with me anyhow. Things should start to get interestin' right about now

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