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

[obscuredvision]

She's had the impression of capability, of doing good work, already; seeing Sol's pride in it and the ease and respect with which he speaks of his work and the people with whom he does it only bolsters her opinion.

"I was aware of the crisis response, naturally," she tells him, "because of everything that's gone on. But I wasn't aware Hellsing offered other services to the city. I think that's a wonderful thing."

[cailisairgid]

"We're sort of the paramilitary ghostbusters." ...that's the best possible description of Hellsing, thank you. He takes a drink, here, thinking about whether or not he actually needs a cigarette right now. (Probably not.) "Not a government organization, but we get by."

[obscuredvision]

She smiles, faintly, at that description. It is indeed the best--it sums up, for the uninitiated, just what they do.

"I spoke with your... leader, I suppose? Once." There's a momentary hesitation before she decides, look, he works for the place, it isn't as if telling him will surprise him. "About a vision I had before the problems with the ants and the fungus broke out. I was very impressed with her."