http://bonhomme7h.livejournal.com/ (
bonhomme7h.livejournal.com) wrote in
multiversallogs2011-08-08 08:05 pm
Entry tags:
- @ mog hill,
- @ mog hill: apache,
- anna demirovna,
- ava lockhart,
- charles xavier,
- hellboy,
- ilde decima,
- ivan,
- jack benjamin,
- james t. kirk,
- jones,
- npc,
- rachel conway,
- raylan givens,
- solomon koenig,
- sonja garin,
- { boromir,
- } adrian veidt,
- } aimery le gode,
- } alan shore,
- } arthur,
- } asbjørn strand,
- } brie cormac,
- } cindy,
- } edward nigma,
- } isobel saltzman,
- } jack harkness,
- } lex luthor,
- } mabel albans,
- } narcissa black,
- } njoki rainmaker,
- } pickman,
- } remy lebeau,
- } rochelle,
- } ruby van alst,
- } réjean sept-heure,
- } sebastian lemat,
- } toshiko sato,
- } wanda maximoff
It's like paradise, spread out with a butter knife :: [OPEN]
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.
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.

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Very little intention, anyway.
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She does notice he said for them, like he's not part of this. She lets it go; she supposes everyone has their coping mechanisms, the things they do while they try to adjust.
"Yeah. I could do with a few deep breaths myself. Especially since I have a hard time believing this place will leave us alone from now on."
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As though suddenly inspired, then: "Hey, can I buy you a drink?" He plans on getting at least one, it seems, as he's already flagging down the bartender.
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Rachel laughs, shaking her head slightly. "I swore I was not going to be all gloom and doom tonight and talk only about things that suck. If I do it again, elbow me or something. We're supposed to be celebrating."
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"A whiskey sour, please. And thank you. And what on earth is a Tar Manhattan?"
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"...So. About this psychedelic teahouse of yours."
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She sits up a little straighter on her stool. "The psychedelic teahouse, yes." She had a feeling he'd ask at some point, after their conversation. "Anything in particular you want to know, or did you just like saying 'psychedelic teahouse'?"
Which, if so, is totally legit--it's a fun thing to say. Psychedelic teahouse.
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"Actually, I was wondering how you came to work there. If it wasn't just a happy accident, you must have a fascinating resume." This isn't only a quippy perpetuation of conversation; he's looking for something specific. It's a major long shot and would be way too convenient, but stranger things, etc.
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She shrugs. "It's all right, for work. The owner's nice, the hours are okay. I'm happy staying on, for now, until something better opens up."
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"Yeah, I'm not sure you really want to work for any of the rags in this town." Why yes, Arthur does make use of a little film gangster slang occasionally, what of it. (The drinks help.) "And you could certainly do worse. I've gotta ask, though..." And, whilst asking, he can multitask to deliver Rachel's order to her from out of the bartender's hand. "What's it like?"
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"No, I didn't think working for them was a good idea. I wasn't even sure I was going to be that kind of reporter at home. I mean, like. Sell an investigative piece first, maybe, and then turn it into a book. I don't know."
She thanks him as she takes her drink, and she pauses to sip from it. "What's what like? The tea house?" She shrugs. "Cool place, nice people. It's fun. I've gotten to meet a lot of people. You're right--I could do worse."
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Meanwhile, along the vein of curious new beverages, Arthur sips experimentally at the Tar Manhattan. He looks quite serious for a moment, and then up come his eyebrows, like he's just had an idea. "Huh. This...may be the best Manhattan I've ever had. ...Ah." He lifts the wee plastic cocktail pick—shaped like a sword, of course, although not the usual cheesy-looking one—to show Rachel the cherry impaled upon it, which is well and truly black. "Mystery solved?"
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"I'm glad the drink's okay, though. And as for the tea..." she shrugs, sipping from her own drink. "I've never tried it personally. But I've sat with a few patrons while they partook. It seems to relax people? Open up their minds, give them sort of dream-like visions. Hallucinogenic, I'm told, but not like LSD where you just see random crazy shit and sometimes it's terrible."