[closed.]
Who: Wolfwood and Slade.
When: Backdated to Friday evening.
Where: Tavern #32.
Summary: Two old coots meet up in a bar.
Warnings: Swearing, maybe.
The room wasn't dingy, per se, but it did give a nice feeling of deja vu to whoever entered it: it was generic, after all, a wooden establishment with bar stools and a counter and a rack of assorted alcohols behind, a bartender constantly cleaning a spotted glass and a good number of seats empty.
Well, now one of those empty seats were taken; the Punisher gave a loud thud as Wolfwood let it down beside him, white collars turned up and a friendly grin to the tender, if only because it never did well to be unkind to the fellows who were serving the drinks (especially since he planned on trying to bargain a discount later on- alcohol around here was sickeningly overpriced). "Plain scotch, thanks."
The city had decided to stop being crazy, seemed like; good thing, too, because earlier in the week, it'd been nigh impossible to do what he was doing now: hook his feet under the stool's bars, lean forward on his elbows and take a moment to semi-relax. Prices might've been overshot, he supposed, but at least it was possible to sit for an hour or so and not have to worry about some crazy gunman breaking down the wall over last night's poker hand.
When: Backdated to Friday evening.
Where: Tavern #32.
Summary: Two old coots meet up in a bar.
Warnings: Swearing, maybe.
The room wasn't dingy, per se, but it did give a nice feeling of deja vu to whoever entered it: it was generic, after all, a wooden establishment with bar stools and a counter and a rack of assorted alcohols behind, a bartender constantly cleaning a spotted glass and a good number of seats empty.
Well, now one of those empty seats were taken; the Punisher gave a loud thud as Wolfwood let it down beside him, white collars turned up and a friendly grin to the tender, if only because it never did well to be unkind to the fellows who were serving the drinks (especially since he planned on trying to bargain a discount later on- alcohol around here was sickeningly overpriced). "Plain scotch, thanks."
The city had decided to stop being crazy, seemed like; good thing, too, because earlier in the week, it'd been nigh impossible to do what he was doing now: hook his feet under the stool's bars, lean forward on his elbows and take a moment to semi-relax. Prices might've been overshot, he supposed, but at least it was possible to sit for an hour or so and not have to worry about some crazy gunman breaking down the wall over last night's poker hand.