Post by Melody Arachne on Feb 15, 2007 10:03:58 GMT -5
((just a potential setting for some interaction; feedback appreciated))
The door is set into a brick wall, and painted matte black; by the clang when it opens to admit you, you can tell it is reinforced steel and a good two inches thick. Wrought iron gates are pulled back against the walls of a short hallway; a last ditch defense against the shambling horde of undead that occasionally break down the outer door.
Posters, ripped and torn and pasted over, cover the walls of the pub. The lighting is sparse, most of it focused behind the bar, where a struggling generator wheezes and emits the occasional belch of smoke. The mirror that once hung behind the bar is long gone, though shards remain in the upper corners. Bottles are displayed on the shelves, protected by a steel grille from randomly thrown objects. To the right of the bar the room stretches in an L shape, making space for a pool table and darts. The main tables are badly in need of repair, with tilting tops and gouges, burns and bullet holes. To either side of the entrance are the restrooms, doors decorated with rude anatomical representations of which sex they are intended for. The left of the bar is taken up with a proto-sixties go-go cage, now standing empty except for a metal collar and a sign on the closed door; "RESERVED FOR LEON".
Above the cage- hung just a bit askew- is a pilfered painting of dubious merit, of a crowd waving red flags.
A heavy-set man stands behind the bar, looking over the room with a surly glare. A smiley face name tag on his apron reads 'ValJohn". He'll fill your orders, but don't ask for small talk, you couldn't afford it. When asked, he points to another sign hung prominently behind the bar. It reads,
"NO CREDIT FOR RANGERS!!"
The door is set into a brick wall, and painted matte black; by the clang when it opens to admit you, you can tell it is reinforced steel and a good two inches thick. Wrought iron gates are pulled back against the walls of a short hallway; a last ditch defense against the shambling horde of undead that occasionally break down the outer door.
Posters, ripped and torn and pasted over, cover the walls of the pub. The lighting is sparse, most of it focused behind the bar, where a struggling generator wheezes and emits the occasional belch of smoke. The mirror that once hung behind the bar is long gone, though shards remain in the upper corners. Bottles are displayed on the shelves, protected by a steel grille from randomly thrown objects. To the right of the bar the room stretches in an L shape, making space for a pool table and darts. The main tables are badly in need of repair, with tilting tops and gouges, burns and bullet holes. To either side of the entrance are the restrooms, doors decorated with rude anatomical representations of which sex they are intended for. The left of the bar is taken up with a proto-sixties go-go cage, now standing empty except for a metal collar and a sign on the closed door; "RESERVED FOR LEON".
Above the cage- hung just a bit askew- is a pilfered painting of dubious merit, of a crowd waving red flags.
A heavy-set man stands behind the bar, looking over the room with a surly glare. A smiley face name tag on his apron reads 'ValJohn". He'll fill your orders, but don't ask for small talk, you couldn't afford it. When asked, he points to another sign hung prominently behind the bar. It reads,
"NO CREDIT FOR RANGERS!!"
