Old: Shank's Speakeasy/ No Event/ BYOA
Arsene Lupin III had taken a wrong turn somewhere west of Albequerque, as the most famed prophet of the 20th Century, Bugs Bunny, would have said. He didn't know how, but instead of the usual lush carpets and heady atmosphere, he found himself standing in a bar that reminded him of those Prohibition-era speakeasys. All that was missing was some snappy black and white cinematography and a saucy, long legged dame that sounded like Lauren Bacall asking the ever-playful question: "Tall, aren't you?"
"I didn't mean to be," he would have answered if he saw such a doll, like Humphrey Bogart would have in those old detective films.
Instead of finding a girl with a smokey voice and cold eyes, he felt the prod of cold steel in his lower back. He knew a gun when he felt it, and was delighted. He actually wasn't armed. Lupin was smart enough not to pick a fight with a gunman when he was unarmed. He decided to play along. For now.
"What's a foppish lad like yerself doin' here?" It was a man's voice. It sounded like New York and cigars.
"Just passin' though," Lupin replied in his best rendition of a Manhattan accent. It had been a while since he used it--he feared that a little of Pennsylvania or New Jersey had bled through.
"You spilled my cask of whiskey on your way." Lupin would have sworn that he hadn't touched a thing, but that was a voice that he didn't want to argue with. "How're you gonna pay for it?"
"I dunno," Lupin confessed. He doubted the gruff man would appreciate a pack of expensive French cigarettes, or a promise to lift something of equal value to make up for it.
The man withdrew his gun. "We're puttin' you to work," he said. Lupin didn't have time to argue.
Later...
Lupin slid into his role flawlessly. It may have been a Prohibition-era establishment, but he had all the ingredients and supplies available to make just about any drink. Appletinis were go. Irish coffee was go. Even Jaeger Bombs were go, although for the life of him he couldn't figure out why a themed bar had Red Bull. His attire was provided for as well, and he had to admit that he appreciated the period-style uniform, complete with sleeve-garters and waistcoat.
"Evening," he said to the newest person that approached the bar, "Is there something I can get you?
((OOC: Yep. I couldn't resist. Have a bartender!Lupin, for you to lay all of your problems on and maybe get a few words of advice. I'm open to most anything, although my prefs can be found HERE.If you have an event or something you'd like to incorporate, go ahead--surprise me. I admit, though, I'm mostly looking for some CR here, so consider yourself appropriately warned. Also, if you want to be a rogue and start a fight or something, go ahead.)).
"I didn't mean to be," he would have answered if he saw such a doll, like Humphrey Bogart would have in those old detective films.
Instead of finding a girl with a smokey voice and cold eyes, he felt the prod of cold steel in his lower back. He knew a gun when he felt it, and was delighted. He actually wasn't armed. Lupin was smart enough not to pick a fight with a gunman when he was unarmed. He decided to play along. For now.
"What's a foppish lad like yerself doin' here?" It was a man's voice. It sounded like New York and cigars.
"Just passin' though," Lupin replied in his best rendition of a Manhattan accent. It had been a while since he used it--he feared that a little of Pennsylvania or New Jersey had bled through.
"You spilled my cask of whiskey on your way." Lupin would have sworn that he hadn't touched a thing, but that was a voice that he didn't want to argue with. "How're you gonna pay for it?"
"I dunno," Lupin confessed. He doubted the gruff man would appreciate a pack of expensive French cigarettes, or a promise to lift something of equal value to make up for it.
The man withdrew his gun. "We're puttin' you to work," he said. Lupin didn't have time to argue.
Later...
Lupin slid into his role flawlessly. It may have been a Prohibition-era establishment, but he had all the ingredients and supplies available to make just about any drink. Appletinis were go. Irish coffee was go. Even Jaeger Bombs were go, although for the life of him he couldn't figure out why a themed bar had Red Bull. His attire was provided for as well, and he had to admit that he appreciated the period-style uniform, complete with sleeve-garters and waistcoat.
"Evening," he said to the newest person that approached the bar, "Is there something I can get you?
((OOC: Yep. I couldn't resist. Have a bartender!Lupin, for you to lay all of your problems on and maybe get a few words of advice. I'm open to most anything, although my prefs can be found HERE.If you have an event or something you'd like to incorporate, go ahead--surprise me. I admit, though, I'm mostly looking for some CR here, so consider yourself appropriately warned. Also, if you want to be a rogue and start a fight or something, go ahead.)).