One ✗ Action at Olney's Tavern, then at 5725 Cunningham Lane.
[1: Early afternoon, Olney's Tavern.]
[Less than five minutes after waking up, Zegram could tell this was the sort of day he'd need a large amount of alcohol to get through. Really, the same could be same for just about any day ending in 'y', but he'd decided to get an early start today. That plan fell through the moment he realized the jug he normally kept on his person had gone missing -- as well as his favorite boots, his coat, and even his eyepatch. Whoever had taken it had at least been considerate enough to replace it with another, but the one he wore now was plain black. Boring.
Hours later, Zegram found himself standing in front of a building marked Olney's Tavern, which a couple of pedestrians had been kind enough to direct him towards after he'd irritably demanded answers from them as they passed by on the street. Most of the people he'd attempted to intimidate had given short, rote responses and seemed unaffected. Kinda like robots, he'd thought, except it seemed like he'd wound up on a planet so backwards that they probably didn't even have droids, let alone the technology to maintain them. Well. Not every place could be as advanced as Zerard.
Shoving his way through the front door, he walked over to the bar and claimed one of the empty stools near the center, leaning heavily against the counter on one arm.]
Hit me with the hardest drink you've got. Don't care what's in it. Surprise me. I need to get blasted.
[2: Late evening, 5725 Cunningham Lane.]
[Zegram slammed the front door behind him as he re-entered the house that was, apparently, his home for the time being. He gave the entryway a once-over and let out a derisive snort.]
My own little slice of paradise, huh. Always knew settling down wouldn't agree with me. Already can't stand the sight of this place.
[Less than five minutes after waking up, Zegram could tell this was the sort of day he'd need a large amount of alcohol to get through. Really, the same could be same for just about any day ending in 'y', but he'd decided to get an early start today. That plan fell through the moment he realized the jug he normally kept on his person had gone missing -- as well as his favorite boots, his coat, and even his eyepatch. Whoever had taken it had at least been considerate enough to replace it with another, but the one he wore now was plain black. Boring.
Hours later, Zegram found himself standing in front of a building marked Olney's Tavern, which a couple of pedestrians had been kind enough to direct him towards after he'd irritably demanded answers from them as they passed by on the street. Most of the people he'd attempted to intimidate had given short, rote responses and seemed unaffected. Kinda like robots, he'd thought, except it seemed like he'd wound up on a planet so backwards that they probably didn't even have droids, let alone the technology to maintain them. Well. Not every place could be as advanced as Zerard.
Shoving his way through the front door, he walked over to the bar and claimed one of the empty stools near the center, leaning heavily against the counter on one arm.]
Hit me with the hardest drink you've got. Don't care what's in it. Surprise me. I need to get blasted.
[2: Late evening, 5725 Cunningham Lane.]
[Zegram slammed the front door behind him as he re-entered the house that was, apparently, his home for the time being. He gave the entryway a once-over and let out a derisive snort.]
My own little slice of paradise, huh. Always knew settling down wouldn't agree with me. Already can't stand the sight of this place.