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

[gotbottle]

Rachel shakes her head, a rueful grin on her lips. "I wish I had some amazing resume," she admits. "I worked for a publishing company, editing other people's work and writing things like textbooks. Thought maybe I'd be a reporter someday but I never quite got there. And there wasn't anything similar that I could find. The teahouse needed help, it was a decent wage, and I could start right away. Mostly I wanted to get the hell out of the inn."

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."

[fixedroll.livejournal.com]

Nuts, and oh well; can't really be disappointed by an outside chance.

"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?"

[gotbottle]

Gangster talk and intercepting her drink to deliver it. Indeed, sir.

"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."

[fixedroll.livejournal.com]

"Definitely good to hear. Actually, though, I meant the tea." Did he not specify on purpose just so he could be clever about it? Perhaps.

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?"

[gotbottle]

Rachel peers at the cherry, making a face. "Dude, if you eat that and die, I'll be sad. Just saying." It certainly doesn't look like something that should be ingested.

"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."