WHO: Schuldig (
colpevole) ; Axel (
fireveins) ; those who show up (full list to come!)
WHAT: Cowboy Night!
WHERE: The Warrior Princess
WHEN: Friday night
WELCOME TO THE WARRIOR PRINCESS.
[ooc: Hey guys! This is an open thread, and the reason I'm putting it up now is so that everyone who wants to participate will have a chance to do so at their leisure, and work
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Comments 158
A friend, maybe, or some loner who wanted to talk. Someone looking for information; to make a deal; to get drunk.
The sound of their boots clacking across the hard floor beat out the time to Patsy. Schuldig, personally, was expecting a few people-if they didn't show, he'd be pissed-and he was looking forward to Cowboy Night as an institution. He was also looking forward to shaking it like a Polaroid picture, but that was another story entirely, and for a time when more customers showed.
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He had, however, found himself in close proximity with the interior of several of the city's dumpsters on a few more occasions than he would have preferred. Badou hated dumpster duty, but you could get a lot of dirt on someone by sifting through their dirt. It was just afterwards-coming home smelling like their dirt-that he really couldn't stomach ( ... )
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"Thought you might like it," he smiled, fringe swinging as he lifted his hand to the cigarette between his lips and then headed over to the bar.
He took a good long look at his friend-it wouldn't matter what you dressed him in, Badou thought hardly for the first time, there was nothing on earth that Schuldig couldn't pull off with style. Wasn't that what they said about…hell, Andy Warhol wasn't it? One of those famous artists from the old world Before Revelations who ate salad with his fingers and was just so fucking confident about it that no one even looked at him weird. Anyway, whoever. Point was, Schuldig could have done it. Ate salad with his fingers ( ... )
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It was always so depressing before you had a pre-established clientele, regulars at X, Y and Z o'clock, who would come at the usual time to order the usual drink and tell the usual jokes and laugh the usual laugh.
Schuldig was balancing the orders just fine, settling into his new routine, though he was starting to get a little hot under the brim of the cowboy hat. Also, the boots, which were smoking fine, weren't the best for running orders in.
He slid Axel a bottle of vodka down the length of the bar; he didn't even have to look up to check if Axel had it. Axel had it.
"What's cooler than being cool," he muttered, bending down to fish in one of the mini-fridges beneath the bar, "is not running out of fucking ice."
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It wasn't like Guy didn't get his job done, in a timely fashion, on a daily basis. It was just that he didn't understand why you couldn't do that and have a sense of humor at the same time! He couldn't help but thinking that all these serious people were going to be a terrible influence on Asch, who was already far too serious for his own good. It would make him think that it was all right to go through life like that, and that just wasn't cool. The kid was going to get all sorts of bad ideas!
Well, at least he was here. That was saying something--even if Asch wasn't saying anything. Guy adjusted his cowboy hat, grinning as they stepped into the bar.
Hell, it wasn't every night you got to party like it was the wild, wild West all over again. Guy believed in taking advantage of these sort of things. He also believed in costumes.
Dean was so good for costumes. The guy was like a bloodhound, tracking down the very best and cheesiest of
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Now, this is where the Vescovos were not so reliable save for a select few. Select few being sometimes Sammy, and most of the time, Guy.
He wasn't his. Hell, Guy was under Cross's command, but the two could still be seen hanging out at bars, playing cards, getting trashed. So far, Dean has found that Guy was the only other guy who could get the hint that maybe he wasn't being serious all the time.
The costumes, however, were serious ( ... )
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That belt is stupid.
Those boots are so. Very. Stupid.
But Guy was friendly. God only knew why. Asch had never pretended to understand why Guy was the way he was and so long as it didn't make him inefficient then Asch had no problem with it. So long as they didn't try to talk to him, Asch had no problem with it.
He was here for a purpose. Tyki Fucking Mikk.
"Do whatever you want," Asch said, short and to the point; to Guy, not to Dean, because that would have been rude. "If anything happens," he added, and nodded towards one of the couches, where he took his seat without any further comment, folded his arms over his chest, and commenced waiting.
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The magical hour when the players came out to play.
It was when shit in Reggio Calabria really started going down-and if you were gonna have house patronage, you found out right about, oh, now, wasn't it?
Schuldig paused in the service to light up, to scan the new arrivals. A new round of drinks would be called for soon as the new customers filtered in, and he could take care of business, just like this wasn't their big night, make-or-break-the-bar kind of night. They needed a house behind them; they needed to become a haunt.
He closed his eyes, just for a second, to scan the crowd mentally this time; and he took that as an opportunity to rid himself, in preparation, of the heavy cowboy hat.
But not the boots. Never those.
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Maybe.
At midnight, on the dot, Kristoph pushes open the door and sweeps towards Dean, sitting at the bar with Asch and Guy. He's actually remarkably dressed down, especially for going out to a public place, and he might have had vaguely gotten cowboy-dressed up. He's exchanged his suede shoes for an impressive pair of cowboy boots, and attached to the back are a pair of nasty-looking, sharp spurs that click when he walks. He doesn't have a tie on, either, wearing a black shirt with his typical blue blazer. He's also got on a sharp pair of white leather gloves, and attached to his lapel is a well-shined star. On it, says SHERIFF.
"Good evening, my friends."
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She didn't want to be the odd one out, after all.
But when the man who had been more than kind to her earlier that day showed up with a sheriff's badge on his chest, she frowned, brow furrowing just before she got up and leaned on the bar, cocking her head. "So sheriff it is, then?" she asked, surprise evident in her voice.
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He waved over Kristoph who actually got dressed up for the occasion. Fuck yes.
"Looking snazzy, there," he smirked, giving him a wink. "Got no sight of Tickles Mi - oh, hello there."
Pretty little blond thing saddled up next to Kristoph, and Dean had to give the guy a 'look' like 'Oh, hey. What's going on here?'
"Mind introducing us to your friend?"
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