(no subject)
A bloke walks into a bar and shuts the door behind him, leaning against it and closing his eyes for a moment.
He's tall and blond and kind of rough around the edges, with a couple days' sttubble that he hasn't shaved. He's wearing navy blue suit trousers and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The collar is unbuttoned and his black tie is pulled down a bit, and there are sweat stains under his pits, as if he's been out in the blistering sunlight all day. Under his arm he carries his suit jacket and a grubby tan raincoat.
He, um, kind of smells of old sweat a bit.
He opens his eyes, looks around and startles, as if this weren't the place he expected to end up. Then he sighs, smiles and rolls his eyes, and heads over to the Bar.
He pats the Bar and says, "Couldn't do without me, sweetheart? Aw well then, gi'us a pint, there's a good girl."
Instead of a pint of ale, he gets a napkin. He reads it and says, "Oh, for Chrissake." Another napkin appears; he reads that as well, sighs again and says, "No, no, of course I'm glad to see you -- fine. Fine, of course I will."
He walks around behind the Bar and stows his coat and jacket. Picking up a piece of chalk, he doesn't hesitate a moment before scrawling on the board:
Guinness
Bushmills
Lemonade for the kiddies
He drops the chalk and goes to light himself a cigarette, but before he can, one last napkin appears. He reads it, says, "Bloody hell!" and throws the napkin to the floor. But still, he obediently washes his hands and face, muttering every moment.
Finally, Bar gives him an ashtray, already overloaded with old butts and ash. He lights a fag and calls out, "All right, ladies and gents! Roll on up for Happy Hour. What's your poison, then?"
[ooc: Mun has to go. Slowtimes all around!]
He's tall and blond and kind of rough around the edges, with a couple days' sttubble that he hasn't shaved. He's wearing navy blue suit trousers and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The collar is unbuttoned and his black tie is pulled down a bit, and there are sweat stains under his pits, as if he's been out in the blistering sunlight all day. Under his arm he carries his suit jacket and a grubby tan raincoat.
He, um, kind of smells of old sweat a bit.
He opens his eyes, looks around and startles, as if this weren't the place he expected to end up. Then he sighs, smiles and rolls his eyes, and heads over to the Bar.
He pats the Bar and says, "Couldn't do without me, sweetheart? Aw well then, gi'us a pint, there's a good girl."
Instead of a pint of ale, he gets a napkin. He reads it and says, "Oh, for Chrissake." Another napkin appears; he reads that as well, sighs again and says, "No, no, of course I'm glad to see you -- fine. Fine, of course I will."
He walks around behind the Bar and stows his coat and jacket. Picking up a piece of chalk, he doesn't hesitate a moment before scrawling on the board:
Guinness
Bushmills
Lemonade for the kiddies
He drops the chalk and goes to light himself a cigarette, but before he can, one last napkin appears. He reads it, says, "Bloody hell!" and throws the napkin to the floor. But still, he obediently washes his hands and face, muttering every moment.
Finally, Bar gives him an ashtray, already overloaded with old butts and ash. He lights a fag and calls out, "All right, ladies and gents! Roll on up for Happy Hour. What's your poison, then?"
[ooc: Mun has to go. Slowtimes all around!]