(no subject)
The Rider enters the bar, French poetry book in hand. Baudelaire makes him want to drink wine, the poet being French and depressing and whatnot.
He makes his way over to the bar to one of the rat servers. He looks down his nose at it. "White wine, please," he says.
He watches it scurry off with small distaste. Rats are all very well In Their Place, but running across counter tops Isn't Classy.
Thanking it with a dismissive wave of his hand, he hands the rat some money and then turns around to survey the patrons of the bar.
He makes his way over to the bar to one of the rat servers. He looks down his nose at it. "White wine, please," he says.
He watches it scurry off with small distaste. Rats are all very well In Their Place, but running across counter tops Isn't Classy.
Thanking it with a dismissive wave of his hand, he hands the rat some money and then turns around to survey the patrons of the bar.