Lie Out In The Field Till The Morning Light
WHO: Paul Reid, Mara 'Blue' Bluest
WHAT: Blue took the Stinger during the Ball. Paul needs it back fair n' square. Quicklog.
WHERE: An unnamed bar in the Slums
WHEN: The night after this, backdated like whoa.
[The shadows of day stretch into the darkness of night. And just like everytime the sun sets, that darkness lets the Slums take on a life of its own. Mangy dogs sniff about for scraps, seedy vendors hawk the day's leftovers, gangs of youths rumble in the alleys, and spritely women with too much makeup and too little clothing step out of every other doorway with offers that would make a priest go red. And not always in the cheeks, mind.]
[Through it all, a gray-cloaked figure keeps its' hood down and charts a swift path around the nightly goings-on. He goes up a flight of stone stairs and crosses to the next roof on a narrow wooden plank. At the other side he steps through a door and into a dimly-lit tavern. He makes his way past several gaudily-dressed brigands and claims a stool at the bar. This joint's seen a lot of action, if these sword nicks on the battered wood are any indication.]
[A cursory glance tells him his 'date' hasn't arrived just yet, so he decides to make himself comfy. The bartender turns to him with a sour look and the hooded man speaks.]
Beer. Blue Coral if you've got it.
WHAT: Blue took the Stinger during the Ball. Paul needs it back fair n' square. Quicklog.
WHERE: An unnamed bar in the Slums
WHEN: The night after this, backdated like whoa.
[The shadows of day stretch into the darkness of night. And just like everytime the sun sets, that darkness lets the Slums take on a life of its own. Mangy dogs sniff about for scraps, seedy vendors hawk the day's leftovers, gangs of youths rumble in the alleys, and spritely women with too much makeup and too little clothing step out of every other doorway with offers that would make a priest go red. And not always in the cheeks, mind.]
[Through it all, a gray-cloaked figure keeps its' hood down and charts a swift path around the nightly goings-on. He goes up a flight of stone stairs and crosses to the next roof on a narrow wooden plank. At the other side he steps through a door and into a dimly-lit tavern. He makes his way past several gaudily-dressed brigands and claims a stool at the bar. This joint's seen a lot of action, if these sword nicks on the battered wood are any indication.]
[A cursory glance tells him his 'date' hasn't arrived just yet, so he decides to make himself comfy. The bartender turns to him with a sour look and the hooded man speaks.]
Beer. Blue Coral if you've got it.