The Seventh Heaven Bar, Edge, Wednesday Night
Admittedly, a Wednesday night was a pretty shitty night to go to any bar that didn't actually have something going on. And, in a place like Edge, it wasn't just Wednesday nights that were like that, even at the most popular stop for alcoholic swill in town. It wasn't as though people were going to get together and sing karaoke. Name that tune was pretty much a thing of the past, too. Trivia night? Not so much. But if you got Cid Highwind drunk enough, he'd tell you all about that time he spent about five minutes stuck outside of Gaia's atmosphere.
Word to the wise: Don't get Cid Highwind drunk enough to tell you all about that time he spent about five minutes stuck outside of Gaia's atmosphere.
Fortunately, Reno didn't come to the bar unprepared. He was a Turk. He came prepared for anything, thank you very much. There was a stun baton hidden up his sleeve, extra money for booze tucked away in one pocket, and a deck of cards in one hand. Tifa even tolerated his presence here because he was more or less good business, and he tended to handle her cutting him off when she'd decided that he'd had enough with... minimal leering. Which made him significantly less obnoxious than some of the folks that stopped in for drinks.
And anyhow, kicking the asses of the bar's other regulars at poker? Totally made hitting this place up on his evening off worth any unpleasant aftertaste that his allotted few servings of Corel Ale left behind.
Hey, it wasn't Reno's fault that Barrett was shit at calling bluffs.
[Open for anyone who might want to give Reno a phone call, or what-have-you. He'll probably gloat at you relentlessly, just to rile up the big guy some more.]
Word to the wise: Don't get Cid Highwind drunk enough to tell you all about that time he spent about five minutes stuck outside of Gaia's atmosphere.
Fortunately, Reno didn't come to the bar unprepared. He was a Turk. He came prepared for anything, thank you very much. There was a stun baton hidden up his sleeve, extra money for booze tucked away in one pocket, and a deck of cards in one hand. Tifa even tolerated his presence here because he was more or less good business, and he tended to handle her cutting him off when she'd decided that he'd had enough with... minimal leering. Which made him significantly less obnoxious than some of the folks that stopped in for drinks.
And anyhow, kicking the asses of the bar's other regulars at poker? Totally made hitting this place up on his evening off worth any unpleasant aftertaste that his allotted few servings of Corel Ale left behind.
Hey, it wasn't Reno's fault that Barrett was shit at calling bluffs.
[Open for anyone who might want to give Reno a phone call, or what-have-you. He'll probably gloat at you relentlessly, just to rile up the big guy some more.]