First Entrance

[captained]

The door opens, admitting a tall guy in a red, white and blue costume that may or may not look like he was mugged by an American flag. The shield he's carrying on his left arm, decorated in the same motif, doesn't help either. He stops, confusions flickering across the part of his face not obscured by a hooded mask, which mainly consists of his jaw

Comments

[remindmeof_me]

Halloween, thank the good Lord above, is over. Shephard got up this morning and came downstairs in his much-repaired urban camo fatigues, and he's still in his fatigues. After what Bar's been making him wear the past few days, it's nearly enough to make a man cry with gratitude. He gets to wear his own clothes. He gets to swear. This is fucking fantaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-

He's just seen who walked in.

"Great googly moogly."

[remindmeof_me]

Shephard nods. "They get all kinds of folks from all kinds of places," he says. "And I do mean all kinds of places. Like I said, it ain't your normal bar... it's neutral territory, wherever you come from'n whoever you meet here."

[captained]

He isn't quite sure what that entails, outside of his own experiences and a few fanciful science fiction tales, but he does understand the concept of neutrality.

Safe ground.

Steve can only hope Hitler doesn't show up.

"Can't say I approve of neutral in all cases, but it's gotta be better than hostile."

[remindmeof_me]

"You ain't the only one," says Shephard. "I c'n think of a face or two I wouldn't mind personally cavin' in if they came through the door, neutral ground or no. Stuff like that happens, fights git started, they ask you to take the fightin' out back and keep it to just your fists'n feet. Gits messy otherwise. You fight in here, they got security folks'll put a stop to it right quick."

[captained]

His smile is brief, and a little thin. "Think all I'd need would be fists and feet."

Not that it's anything but a slightly entertaining fantasy at this point, since Steve hasn't actually been tested in battle yet. Just basic training.

"Security - like a guard?"

[remindmeof_me]

"Somethin' like that, yeah. This place's open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, to whoever walks through that door. They got a fair number of guards around to cover all that. Most of 'em wear badges so you can tell 'em from the patrons."

[captained]

"They wear badges." He files that away, and leans on the counter, letting his attention drift away from Adrian briefly to the place as a whole. Mostly looking for exits and anyone out of place.

It's habit.

"Thanks." He means that. "For the information."

[remindmeof_me]

"You're welcome," says Shephard, and sips his coffee; it's about cool enough now, and he's been dropping a lot of info on the man. After a moment, though, he says, "Oh, yeah. Somethin' I think you ought to see."

He was able to handle this place the first time he visited because he'd... well, he'd been through Black Mesa. He'd been to Xen. He'd had to fight off headcrab zombies in western Pennsylvania with nothing but a pipe wrench and all the profanity he could muster. The weirdest bar in the world was not a very big thing to him after that. But it's entirely different for the man he's talking to at the moment, and Shep... well, he knows extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof.

So he gets up, walks over to the back door, and opens it onto a scene that could not possibly be any less like the Detroit Rogers came from without actually being somewhere in Xen itself.

"Like I said. They want the fights taken out back."

[captained]

Steve finally takes an experimental sip of his, struck by the fact that it's still warm even after they've been talking for a little while, and makes an agreeable sound over the taste.

Of course, that sound turns to something approximating alarm when he sees the back. Or, rather, what's behind the bar building. Leaving his coffee on the counter, shield held up as a ward against whatever is out there.

"... My god."

There's a very good possibility he steps out the door after a minute, just to see if he can.

[remindmeof_me]

That's fine. Shephard will be right there, holding the door and watching. Because Steve can. And the ground is squishy beneath his feet- this is, after all, a wet time of year in Scotland.

"Hate springin' it on you like this, but it ain't the kind of thing you can just tell a man and be believed."

[captained]

He tests the weight of the ground with a boot, then steps outside fully, shield lowering when nothing attacks him immediately. Steve has never been to Scotland, but he can appreciate the landscape, unknowingly, all the same.

"... Wow."

[remindmeof_me]

"Target range is over there," says Shephard, gesturing off to one side of the lake. "Got what looks like a football field, only I don't see folk playin' there much. There's a stable 'round here somewheres, too. Me, I'm in the forest or up the mountains most of the time I'm out here. Reminds me of home."

He'll answer any questions that come his way, of course. Best to just let them come at their own pace, though.

[captained]

Another few steps in the direction of the lake, just so he can turn around and get a better perspective of the area, automatically identifying and cataloging everything he sees for future reference and pondering over.

"How -- who built this?" It's the first question that springs from mind to mouth.

[remindmeof_me]

"Folks tell me 'the Landlord'," says Shephard. "Ain't heard of anyone ever seein' him face to face, though. Come to think of it, I seem to recollect 'em mentioning somebody name of Belar, too. Might be the same Belar who runs security 'round here."

[captained]

"The Landlord." That sounds ominous, at least to a guy who grew up in the not wealthy section of Brooklyn.

"So Belar is someone I should talk to?" He really is trying to keep up with all this, Adrian.

[remindmeof_me]

Adrian nods. "Him, or Mikey. Mikey's the barman, 'bout half the time," he says. "One of 'em will know."