(no subject)
Who: Stan Kowalski, ANYONE WHO FEELS LIKE IT
What: Freakshow breach. Drunk shenanigans. Illegal substance abuse in the 1920s.
Where: The carnival. HE NEVER MADE IT THERE, so it's the street leading up to the carnival.
Warnings: None as of yet.
Notes: This is a day late! I was playing tag catch-up yesterday. Feel free to have your character do pretty much anything you want to Ray Stan. He's a happy, gullible drunk. Except of course he's not drunk, because he's a law-abiding citizen an' all.
Being the town drunk during the Prohibition isn't easy, but Stanley Kowalski has always done his very best to live up to the task. Stan was already a rock-solid, card-carrying alcoholic when the government had the grand idea to outlaw the stuff, and while usually being a more-or-less law-abiding citizen, Stan saw no reason to go along with any of that type of insanity. If God put the stuff on the Earth, he put it here to drink. At least that's what Stan's got to say on the matter.
Stan used to work at the local coach station, handling luggage and cleaning out the stables, but that was a long time ago, even before that unholy Prohibition law came into effect. Nowadays, he makes a living begging, scamming money off good-hearted and gullible fools, and doing the occasional handiwork type of job, provided he's sober enough to hold a wrench. At all other times, he's usually to be found in the little ramshackle shack behind the coach station that he calls his home, which contains a bed, a stove, and a perfunctorily hidden moonshine machine. Take that, rotten government bastards. If he can't get his booze at a bar or a store, he's just gonna make his own.
Now that the carnival's in town, he may not have to, though. Carnival folks are usually reasonable about the whole booze thing. And even if they don't have any to share, he might be able to make a few bucks selling some of his. In either case, he's definitely planning to have a good time.
So this fine day finds Stan staggering walking down the dirt street that leads to the carnival, several thin flasks of what is most certainly not water hidden in his bulky, shapeless coat. People passing him by will catch a treacherous whiff about him; naturally he can't sell his booze without generously sampling it beforehand. He's friendly enough, though, waving to people and grinning at them if he catches someone's eye.
"Carrrrnival!" It's not entirely clear who he's talking to, although what he lacks in clarity he makes up for in volume. "Carnival, folks, huh? Come one, come all. Less' all go an' have a good time, 'cause the carrrrnival's in town."
What: Freakshow breach. Drunk shenanigans. Illegal substance abuse in the 1920s.
Where: The carnival. HE NEVER MADE IT THERE, so it's the street leading up to the carnival.
Warnings: None as of yet.
Notes: This is a day late! I was playing tag catch-up yesterday. Feel free to have your character do pretty much anything you want to Ray Stan. He's a happy, gullible drunk. Except of course he's not drunk, because he's a law-abiding citizen an' all.
Being the town drunk during the Prohibition isn't easy, but Stanley Kowalski has always done his very best to live up to the task. Stan was already a rock-solid, card-carrying alcoholic when the government had the grand idea to outlaw the stuff, and while usually being a more-or-less law-abiding citizen, Stan saw no reason to go along with any of that type of insanity. If God put the stuff on the Earth, he put it here to drink. At least that's what Stan's got to say on the matter.
Stan used to work at the local coach station, handling luggage and cleaning out the stables, but that was a long time ago, even before that unholy Prohibition law came into effect. Nowadays, he makes a living begging, scamming money off good-hearted and gullible fools, and doing the occasional handiwork type of job, provided he's sober enough to hold a wrench. At all other times, he's usually to be found in the little ramshackle shack behind the coach station that he calls his home, which contains a bed, a stove, and a perfunctorily hidden moonshine machine. Take that, rotten government bastards. If he can't get his booze at a bar or a store, he's just gonna make his own.
Now that the carnival's in town, he may not have to, though. Carnival folks are usually reasonable about the whole booze thing. And even if they don't have any to share, he might be able to make a few bucks selling some of his. In either case, he's definitely planning to have a good time.
So this fine day finds Stan staggering walking down the dirt street that leads to the carnival, several thin flasks of what is most certainly not water hidden in his bulky, shapeless coat. People passing him by will catch a treacherous whiff about him; naturally he can't sell his booze without generously sampling it beforehand. He's friendly enough, though, waving to people and grinning at them if he catches someone's eye.
"Carrrrnival!" It's not entirely clear who he's talking to, although what he lacks in clarity he makes up for in volume. "Carnival, folks, huh? Come one, come all. Less' all go an' have a good time, 'cause the carrrrnival's in town."