It's like paradise, spread out with a butter knife :: [OPEN]

[bonhomme7h.livejournal.com]

Who: EVERYONE
What: Réjean has decided that more people ought to celebrate and help raise a bit of dosh for one of his favourite bars. See: flyer.
Where: The Apache.
When: Misdi night and into the wee hours of the morning.
Warnings: Discussion of Pickman's manky feet.

The Apache is much the same as it always is: dimly lit, with the jukebox playing in the background, and the bartender serving whatever's on tap. Tonight, the bar is packed with people from all across the city, different cantons and cohorts, all out to celebrate surviving the fungal plague. Patrons are encouraged to buy tickets for a door prize with the proceeds going to repair the damage tunnelling ants made to the cellar.

Comments

[alan_shore]

It's chance--chance and a preoccupation with the weaponry lining the bar's walls--that brings Alan to the jukebox. Dancing's out of the question at the moment and he's content to allow the whims of his fellow party-goers to dictate the musical selection. It's instructive, in a way. It's certainly not dull.

He notes the man, notes the frown, and nods amiably at the assortment of knives dangling (all right, fine, they appear to be held firmly in place) from the walls. "Which do you suppose is the pizza slicer?"

[cerebric.livejournal.com]

It's good to draw conversation away from the immediate topic of music. Charles isn't overwhelmed exactly, but it's discomforting to be constantly reminded of how little he knows in not only this world but his own where people already seem to know him.

He looks up at the knives, pondering the question with thought, but not sincerity. "I would have to say the one with the concave blade and jagged edges. It looks like it was made to battle quite the slab of cheese."

[alan_shore]

Up close, the man's younger than Alan'd taken him for--not alarmingly so, but enough to necessitate a bit of mental adjustment. As for the knife, Alan takes a half-step forward and affects to study it.

"You think?" he asks, cocking his head to one side and turning the same gaze--assessing, mildly interested--on the stranger. "Myself, were I called upon to subdue a block of cheese, I'd favor something likely to make a cleaner cut. Alan Shore, by the way," he adds, with scarcely a pause, as if the shift from cheese combat to introductions is a perfectly natural one. He extends his hand.

[cerebric.livejournal.com]

There's a tilt of the head and Charles gives a nod, conceding Alan's hypothetical point. "This is my first foray into oversized cheese slicers. I'm afraid I might need to find the beginner's course."

Not at all taken aback by the sudden shift in topics, Charles accepts the offered hand and gives it a firm shake. "Charles Xavier. What is it that you do that makes you such a cutlery expert? Certainly not a chef, that would be cheating."