forget about life for a while [closed]
Characters: Anyone on the Convoy
Content: This is the closest thing to an Amicus party the Convoy will have. Anyone who wants to drink to celebrate the holiday is more than welcome, but drowning your sorrows is all right, too.
Setting: The Convoy's mess hall
Time: Amicus, evening and into the night
Warnings: Alcohol use, plus whatever the characters bring with them.
The Convoy was not the sort of ship one would expect to be stocked with drinks. Ordinarily, it was not. However, the alcohol that had been brought over from the Fiertia months ago had not been cleaned out yet. (The Fiertia had been a pirate bar; there had been a lot of booze on board.) It was the last of this that had been brought out that night. This party -- if you could call it that -- would be taking place in the mess hall, rather than out on the deck under the stars and in full view of the blast damage. It was unadorned, but it was warm and well-lit. One end of one of the long tables that stretched the length of the dining hall was piled with bottles of varying sizes: plenty of wine, beer, and harder things. (There was no energon out; any robots who wanted to partake would have to ask for that. No one wanted to risk Hex getting into it again.) Further down, all the wine glasses, mugs, and shot-glasses the kitchen had in its possession were lined up. If someone wanted to serve them, or mix anything fancier, they were more than welcome to, but no one in particular had been instructed to work the table. It was every man for himself. The supply was not limitless, but it would be enough.
Content: This is the closest thing to an Amicus party the Convoy will have. Anyone who wants to drink to celebrate the holiday is more than welcome, but drowning your sorrows is all right, too.
Setting: The Convoy's mess hall
Time: Amicus, evening and into the night
Warnings: Alcohol use, plus whatever the characters bring with them.
The Convoy was not the sort of ship one would expect to be stocked with drinks. Ordinarily, it was not. However, the alcohol that had been brought over from the Fiertia months ago had not been cleaned out yet. (The Fiertia had been a pirate bar; there had been a lot of booze on board.) It was the last of this that had been brought out that night. This party -- if you could call it that -- would be taking place in the mess hall, rather than out on the deck under the stars and in full view of the blast damage. It was unadorned, but it was warm and well-lit. One end of one of the long tables that stretched the length of the dining hall was piled with bottles of varying sizes: plenty of wine, beer, and harder things. (There was no energon out; any robots who wanted to partake would have to ask for that. No one wanted to risk Hex getting into it again.) Further down, all the wine glasses, mugs, and shot-glasses the kitchen had in its possession were lined up. If someone wanted to serve them, or mix anything fancier, they were more than welcome to, but no one in particular had been instructed to work the table. It was every man for himself. The supply was not limitless, but it would be enough.