RE: Otaku Melee - Steelport
07-14-2012, 06:32 AM
With a quiet snap, the tip of the seeker's cigarette burst into cinders. He was... he was smoking, outside of... a bar, in... in this odd... city, doing... doing...
...
...Nope, nothing. No memories of how he'd arrived, no idea where he was, no companion(s) at his side, and top it off his time sense was acting up again. Nothing like living a couple millennia to screw over your memory, huh...
Well, at any rate, he was at a bar. Best not squander the opportunity.
Armistice was a classy establishment, or so it desperately tried to convince its patrons. (Not that they needed that much convincing, what with all the getting drunk they were doing.) The place was tastefully ornamented with mahogany and brass, floored with polished black marble tile, and had a second floor where a group was playing cards. A pair of pool tables sat off-center on the main floor, and the seats seemed more suited to a lounge than a bar. Toe the machine-man's eye, though, everything seemed on the verge of falling apart – the tiles were chipped, the wood, splintered, the leather cracked, and the patrons not quite as relaxed as they ought to be. His stool creaked worryingly beneath him as he sat down at the counter.
"Glass of whiskey, please."
A portly, balding southern man in something that wasn't quite a tuxedo waddled over with a drink and an ashtray. He wore an expression that was trying to be cheerful, but at the same time couldn’t quite process a man with a television for a head having a smoke and drinking whiskey, even as he watched it happen.
"Don't believe I've seen you around before, mister...?"
"T-O-E. I'm... not from around here, so probably not, no."
"Not a Decker, then?"
The pair scrutinized each other for a moment, at which point T-O-E realized the bar had gotten awfully quiet, and the bartender wasn’t quite paying attention to him anymore.
"...No, I'm not."
"You're sure."
"Really, I try not to get involved in these sorts of things." He stared at his dwindling supply of whiskey, swirling it around in its glass. "Never seems to work out, though. I can leave, if you'd prefer-"
The bartender waved a hand, and the background noise of the regular patronage suddenly resurged. "Naw, mister, settle down. I’m not one to turn away a paying customer."
"Thanks, ah... I didn't catch your name."
"I just stick with 'Barkeep.' Easier that w-"
A thin, nervous-looking kid popped up from below the counter, whispered something to Barkeep, and vanished back the way he came.
"Shit, already? I just renovated this goddamn... Shit. SIXTY SECONDS, PEOPLE! MOVE IT!"
The machine-man glanced around curiously as the other patrons quickly barricaded themselves behind flipped-over pool tables and retrieved unnecessarily powerful armaments from nowhere in particular. "What's this, then? Barkeep?"
'Barkeep' was loading a pair of automatic shotguns while a few of the patrons casually-but-hurriedly vaulted the counter and left out the back. "Look, you don’t like getting involved, fine by me. You can leave with the rest of them."
"If it's all the same to you," said T-O-E, landing in a crouch beside the old man, "I think I'll stay and watch."
Barkeep gave him a funny look. Also, a revolver. "Suit yourself. Anyway, this?"
The door exploded, and a dozen thugs dressed in purple burst through and opened fire. Someone decided adding a jeep with a mounted turret to the chaos would be a swell idea, but missed the door by a good ten feet. The wall had better clearance, anyway.
"This is why we're called 'Armistice.'"
...
...Nope, nothing. No memories of how he'd arrived, no idea where he was, no companion(s) at his side, and top it off his time sense was acting up again. Nothing like living a couple millennia to screw over your memory, huh...
Well, at any rate, he was at a bar. Best not squander the opportunity.
Armistice was a classy establishment, or so it desperately tried to convince its patrons. (Not that they needed that much convincing, what with all the getting drunk they were doing.) The place was tastefully ornamented with mahogany and brass, floored with polished black marble tile, and had a second floor where a group was playing cards. A pair of pool tables sat off-center on the main floor, and the seats seemed more suited to a lounge than a bar. Toe the machine-man's eye, though, everything seemed on the verge of falling apart – the tiles were chipped, the wood, splintered, the leather cracked, and the patrons not quite as relaxed as they ought to be. His stool creaked worryingly beneath him as he sat down at the counter.
"Glass of whiskey, please."
A portly, balding southern man in something that wasn't quite a tuxedo waddled over with a drink and an ashtray. He wore an expression that was trying to be cheerful, but at the same time couldn’t quite process a man with a television for a head having a smoke and drinking whiskey, even as he watched it happen.
"Don't believe I've seen you around before, mister...?"
"T-O-E. I'm... not from around here, so probably not, no."
"Not a Decker, then?"
The pair scrutinized each other for a moment, at which point T-O-E realized the bar had gotten awfully quiet, and the bartender wasn’t quite paying attention to him anymore.
"...No, I'm not."
"You're sure."
"Really, I try not to get involved in these sorts of things." He stared at his dwindling supply of whiskey, swirling it around in its glass. "Never seems to work out, though. I can leave, if you'd prefer-"
The bartender waved a hand, and the background noise of the regular patronage suddenly resurged. "Naw, mister, settle down. I’m not one to turn away a paying customer."
"Thanks, ah... I didn't catch your name."
"I just stick with 'Barkeep.' Easier that w-"
A thin, nervous-looking kid popped up from below the counter, whispered something to Barkeep, and vanished back the way he came.
"Shit, already? I just renovated this goddamn... Shit. SIXTY SECONDS, PEOPLE! MOVE IT!"
The machine-man glanced around curiously as the other patrons quickly barricaded themselves behind flipped-over pool tables and retrieved unnecessarily powerful armaments from nowhere in particular. "What's this, then? Barkeep?"
'Barkeep' was loading a pair of automatic shotguns while a few of the patrons casually-but-hurriedly vaulted the counter and left out the back. "Look, you don’t like getting involved, fine by me. You can leave with the rest of them."
"If it's all the same to you," said T-O-E, landing in a crouch beside the old man, "I think I'll stay and watch."
Barkeep gave him a funny look. Also, a revolver. "Suit yourself. Anyway, this?"
The door exploded, and a dozen thugs dressed in purple burst through and opened fire. Someone decided adding a jeep with a mounted turret to the chaos would be a swell idea, but missed the door by a good ten feet. The wall had better clearance, anyway.
"This is why we're called 'Armistice.'"