(Untitled)

[applelimber]

Who: Anyone!
When: Friday, August 19th-Sunday, August 21st
Where: The Foxhole
Format: Whatever you prefer. Tag yourself in, mingle and go nuts. Might wanna specify which night threads take place, open or closed, that sort of thing.
What: HAPPY HOUR. or...unhappy hour, idk.
Warnings: TBD

Comments

open; let's go with both nights, since shirley is a lush...

[thenobledie]

[ so she doesn't care for the lot of you, atm. there are a handful she doesn't feel displeasure with, but they are that: a handful. that doesn't mean she hates everyone else, or even dislikes them, and will refuse to talk to them. she is kind of here for the booze, though... let's be real.

for now, shirley is drinking a brandy on the rocks at the bar and people-watching. shh, this is a highly intense sport. ]

[twoswordjuniper]

[Deneve moves near to her on the other side of the bar. She doesn't speak yet or force her presence on Shirley. It's loud enough in the bar already. But they haven't spoken since Shirley was young and Deneve wonders how much if any of their conversation she remembers.

Deneve does attempt to follow the direction of Shirley's gaze to see if she has found something particularly interesting. She enjoys a bit of people watching herself.]

[thenobledie]

[ at the moment, it's a group of young people - no older than twenty-three or -four. they've been bar hopping, it seems; that, or they really did go outside for a short while to bring sticks inside and pretend to be a fellowship on a quest. someone is the wizard, and her stick is the biggest. ]

This bar finds itself with the strangest drunks.

[ and then, she looks to deneve as she sips her brandy. ]

sorry for the delay ;;

[twoswordjuniper]

[She watches them tromp around some of the tables, some of them drunkenly sloshing drinks as they go.]

It does seem to bring in the odd ones for some reason.

[She stares at them, rather deadpan, and dries a glass.]

So long as they don't break anything.

[And she finally turns to look at Shirley.]

I take it you've recovered.

[From... being young and not remembering things.]

[open, Friday night, underage alien ahoy]

[moarnomsplz]

[Ax is very curious about this happy human hour, linguistic expression though it may be. He is also curious about the place where he hopes to become gainfully employed. It is his duty to contribute to the cost of housing for himself and his brother, after all.

He would probably not admit to an additional motivation, that of rebelling. Just a little.

He approaches the bar, and looks around at the humans here to see what the procedure is.]

Re: [open, Friday night, underage alien ahoy]

[applelimber]

Oi, kid!

[Helen really should stop calling him that, especially if he's going to be around the place more. But at least it's better that 'pet'?

Helen grins and hops across the bar before coming over to where he is.]

Glad ya could make it. I thought you might end up being sent to your room for talking to me or something.

[moarnomsplz]

Elfangor is my prince, but I do not believe, leeve, his authority over me extends to being-ing able to confine me to quarters. Not in this world, at en-ee, any, rate.

[Ax also might not have told his brother he was going out to see what this human happy hour entailed.]

I have considered, sih-durd, your question about cinnamon bun-zuh, and I think I could reproduce a satisfactory, fack-toh-ree, version.

[He says this with all the seriousness the topic deserves.]

[applelimber]

Ha. That's music to my ears. I'm always on the look-out for something new.

[Which is one of the things that makes Helen...Helen. The fact that she eats far more than she needs to, lets alcohol influence her when her body could take care of that too.

She goes behind the bar, tosses a few things aside before finding a piece of paper...a missing poster or something. The city's full of them.]

Have a seat. We'll go over what we need for them and then talk about your pay.

open, all the nights because she lives here :|

[twoswordjuniper]

[Deneve stays mostly behind the bar. The three foot wide counter is a good separation between her and general stupidity. She is largely aloof but not unapproachable. Provided you are drunk or brave enough.

Wouldn't want to be that noisy tomcat though. Occasionally she glares in his direction, and if looks could kill he would also be the deadest tomcat in Anatole. But he shrugs it off, smug as a fat old cat should be. This is their relationship. A camaraderie made of silent rivalry. It is difficult to say from the outside whether they love or hate each other.

But the bar is short-staffed again. So Deneve is serving drinks as well. She takes an empty glass and sets it on the counter. What was it you wanted?]

[poweroflegend]

[The hunter's sitting at his usual spot by the bar, a gloved fist resting under his chin. Fifteen minutes in and Trevor has yet to order something. That isn't like him at all. So's the pensive faraway look in his eyes instead of the one firmly grounded in the here and now.]

[The thump of the glass on the wooden counter calls him back to reality. Blue eyes blink once, very much surprised. Deneve? Seems like the Foxhole wasn't the only one with a break in routine tonight. He nods at her with that steely courtesy he saves for fellow warriors who haven't quite yet made the jump to being personal friends.]

Lemon ale, please.

;A; sorry for the lateness!

[twoswordjuniper]

[She returns the nod, curt but not unfamiliar, and gets him his drink without a word. When she returns and sets the glass before him she pauses before attending to anyone else. She's not really an employee here and she doesn't care much who has to wait to get their cider or beer.]

Are you well, Trevor Belmont?

[She notes his faraway expression with a raised eyebrow. He doesn't look injured.]

*permasnug* It's been crazy for everyone! ;_;

[poweroflegend]

[A hand closes around the cold sweating mug. They remind him of rain sliding off window glass.]

[...or tears shed for those slaughtered like cattle. Anatole's cleanup crew had yet to wipe all traces of them off the streets, following the Red Elf invasion.]

Aye, well enough, thank you. [At last, a sip.] I cannot say the same for those we've lost.

[It was a sad day whenever a man like Trevor was reminded he couldn't save everyone.]

waiting for the Buffy/Angel crew, but not strictly exclusive

[samianscar]

[Never, before not ever, has Spike been the one holding the table.

…Okay, that one…

He makes up for it by sprawling back in one chair with one foot up on another and the other on the table itself. Yeah, that's right. I'm not waiting for anyone, who may well not turn up and so show me completely pathetic: this whole table is my barcalounger. Bake me a beer, barwench. …Pretty please.]

[takesthings]

[ Of course Faith's already there, she'd been promised a free drink, and she's got a cast iron party girl rep to maintain. By now that freebie's long gone and she's spent what she can afford to, is down to wheedling drinks out of dudes who think the cost of a shitty beer is some kind of promise. ]

[ At least with Spike, Faith knows she won't be ogled. Or if she is, she kinda won't mind. ]

[ So she sashays on over with a glass of miscellaneous hard liquor that tastes like white rum and miscellaneous cordial that tastes like orange pop without the bubbles. ]

Budge up.

[ She swings a chair around and straddles it, resting her arms across the back, laissez faire. ]

Long time no see.

[samianscar]

[he swings one foot off the chair but leaves other foot on the table, so he's peering at her through the forced-perspective window between his foot and his beer.]

So what's a slayer like you doing in a dimension like this?

[he raises his glass to her]

'Sides from improving the view.

[takesthings]

Right, aside from.

[ The look she gives him is somewhere between bring it on and you're kidding, right? She lifts her glass back, and lets the cheesy line pass in case she wants to convince him to fill it again later. ]

Let's not, with the me, I'm making the best of a bad relocation. What's up with you? Last I heard was Andrew saying you'd visited him in Italy.

[ Which sounded like b-s, but would do to get the gossip started. The Sunnydale grape-vine may have now stretched world-wide, but Cleveland had only ever caught the Chinese whispers. ]

open! saturday, august 20th

[break_onthru]

[Break is at the bar, alone, several pints of ale in. He's not actually drunk - no, his tolerance is supremely high - but he's making a good show of it with excessive giggling, slouching heavily over the bar, and engaging in chatty conversation with anyone who happens to slip by to order a drink.

It's a useful tactic - lots of information can be gleaned from people when they are intoxicated.

Besides, it would be nice to actually fool someone for a change. Certain people in Anatole have gotten to know him far too well as of late.]