Brown Bottle: Thread 4

[Sid]

Previous Brown Bottle Thread Is Here

The Brown Bottle sits in the center of a dusty block of similarly squat, square concrete block buildings, near enough to the docks that the impact proof windows shimmy whenever anything with a Cappesin engine dropped into berth.

With a constant decor in shades of dingy and dark, The Brown Bottle lives up to it's name. Brown laminate tables and chairs are scattered here and there. The bar occupies one large room, only casually divided into sections by the mere arrangement of seating. Frivolities are limited to a pool-table with settings that mostly work, a few dartboards with some of the numbers worn off. An automatic music system drifts dusky background music, loud enough to break silence and soft enough to not harm conversation. And behind the bar, on shelves backed with a long wide bar mirror, rest rows and rows of vintage beer bottles in shades from palest amber to darkest mahogany, some from as far away as Earth-That-Was.

Sid's key clicked in the lock, and she punched the heavily grated door open, letting a shaft of sunlight trickle through onto the hardwood floor, showing off it's need for a good coat of polish. With a slap of her hand, she released the heavy shutters that covered the shatter-proof windows and flipped down the sign that simply said, "Open for Business".


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[Nemo Agoa]

The door to the Brown Bottle creaked open slowly, the push so nervous the portal barely moved. Nemo Agoa rubbed his hands together vigilatnly. Were they shaking already? That was a terrible sign, very terrible indeed. The doctor slash professor slung his duffle-bag casually over his right shoulder, wearing it like a shield against the world.

The man was far from intimidating. He was small, thin and pale. His clothes were clean and well maintained, a pair of supple leather gloves covering hands that shook with fear. Wide eyes took in the bar's smoky contents from behind wire glasses. The man tried to hide his thin frame behind a bulky coat, but it was little use. Nemo was a target and he knew it.

Still, a stranger had pointed out towards the Bottle we he asked for transport that wasn't provided by the Alliance. When asked were he was going he gave an honest reply, “Anywhere away from here.”

The folk around him were grizzled killers and former rebels. They stared at him from behind cigerettes and thick coats, letting the science professor know full well he wasn't one of the. Was he sweating this soon? How... unplesant. His neck felt that cold sweat of fear, condinsation filling the fingertips of those very fine gloves. While someone else would have removed the while in the warm building, that wasn't Nemo’s way. He needed those gloves, he needed that barrer from the rest of the world. That last thing he wanted was to have an episode here...

He walked towards the bar at a brisk pace, not quite a run but most certianly not a walk. His eyes darted from side to rapidly, trying to keep everyone in his line of sight at once. So many people....so many...

The hand not holding his bag retreated into the front pocket of his coat, feeling around for his small container of pills. They were still present thank mercyful Buddah. He'd rather not take some in public but he'd do it if he had to. Better draw a little attention than far too much.

Approaching the bar cautiously, Nemo's hands left that precious container of pills to find his credits. "Hello Miss?" He asked the bar-tender quietly, almost cautiously. "I'd like a White Tea please. If none is availible than any other flavour. If I can't have tea I'd like somthing non-alcoholic; please and thank you."

As he dropped the credits on the bartop he was vaugly aware of his hands shaking more furiously now, his nervous tic. Dropping both hands into his pocket to hide them, Nemo began glancing around the establishment. Now, who has the ship I need to leave this place?

[Drea Allen]

Drea wasn't much of a morning person which was the main reason they were arriving at the Brown Bottle in the afternoon. Taylor had suggested an early start to their search for a crew. However, the young captain was not a happy camper in the morning and the phrase said, "You catch more flies with honey than vinegar." Or something like that. Why would anyone want to attract flies? But that wasn't the point. The point was Drea wanted to attract people to the ship, not repel them. That meant having a good attitude.

As they walked to the Brown Bottle, Drea noticed a nearby marketplace. Her gaze lingered on it, taking in each booth and what they were selling. She finally blinked away the sight, going into the bar with her partner-in-crime. She stuffed her hands in her pockets, looking around the joint. This would be an interesting search... and quite possibly a long one.

The captain was aware that her age might turn people off from joining her crew. She was only twenty-three, but she looked seventeen, eighteen at most. David, her pilot, was also twenty-three and Taylor was only a year older. Why would anyone want to fly with them? But Drea had been preparing herself for this. She was planning to prove herself, planning to gain respect from those older and younger than her.

... A drink might calm her nerves, though. She didn't care how early it was.

Drea approached the bar, unconcerned with whether Taylor was following or not. She knocked on the counter twice before leaning on it.

"Afternoon," she said politely. "Um, Rhinemark ale if you've got it." She reached into her back pocket for her wallet. When she opened it, she realized just how much she was lacking in terms of money. She sighed. After buying the ship and the food to hold them for a month, Drea was almost broke.

She looked over her shoulder, remembering all of the merchants outside. Well, the crew would probably need more supplies, right? Why not? The opportunity was just sitting there. Of course, she couldn't just abandon her friend. At least, not right now. Maybe after they had another crew member.

"So, Tay, how do you wanna go about this?" she asked.

[Taylor Masen]

Once Taylor woke up, no matter the time of day or night, that was it. He was up for the day. Gorram irritating some of the time, but this morning hadn't been so bad. There had been no alarms or screams pulling him out of bed. In fact, he'd taken advantage of knowing Drea's habits and spent an hour in bed reading. His morning had been spent in Spook City with Atreyu, unaware that the Nothing was inching ever closer to him. Now, away from Atreyu's adventures, Taylor still wanted to be there, but duty called.

He moved into the bar on silent feet, relaxed, but alert. While Drea made a beeline for the bar, the gunhand kept his mouth shut, following her at a slower pace. He took his time, scoping the place out before he returned to her side. "So, Tay, how do you wanna go about this?" He almost mouthed off. It was on the tip of his tongue, but his brain got there first.

She was asking his opinion. Why crack a joke this early (for her) and risk getting pushed away? Better to take the opportunity while it was here. Still, there was no stopping the automatic little smirk that crept across his face. Taylor ran his tongue over his teeth momentarily, turning his back to the bar. Automatically, his left hand rested on his sword hilt. "I'll have whatever she ordered," he threw lightly over one shoulder to the bartender. "Hope you've got decent taste, Drea." The smirk came again as Taylor examined the room.

"We can't exactly hang a sign, I don't think. That could give us trouble before we're ready for it. If we ask people one by one, it could take all day. Still, we've got to figure out something. Then again..." Further down the bar was a scrawny stranger who, no question, didn't belong there. Taylor turned back around, nodding his friend towards their first possible mark, speaking softer. "No way he belongs here. Might be looking for a ride." He shrugged, leaving the decision in Drea's hands. It was worth a shot.


The Nothing, Spook City, and Atreyu come straight from Michael Ende's The NeverEnding Story.

[Sid]

"Hello Miss? I'd like a White Tea please. If none is availible than any other flavour. If I can't have tea I'd like somthing non-alcoholic; please and thank you."

Sid gave a half-glance up from where she was sponging down the taps, her quick eye filling in the details. New in town. Didn't fit. Was looking to go somewhere, anywhere. Not a new tale in the Brown Bottle. "Tea, I got plain iced Sihnon Black. That don't fit your fancy, there's hot coffee and the orange juice is reconstituted frozen, not mixed and dried."

She was kinda proud of that fact. Only the fancy pants bars updown were willin' to pay out for the frozen concentrate.

And what'd we have here, comin' in the door? Sid glanced the pair up and down. Weren't vets, that was sure enough. College kids slumming it on the poor side of town? Just as quickly, she dismissed that one. There was something about the way the girl carried herself that made Sid take notice, stand back a bit from the bar and return her 'Afternoon', with a "Heya. Welcome."

"Um, Rhinemark ale if you've got it."

"Got Rhinemark Gold on tap, or bottled Ice Label. Do I need to be askin' to see ID with that?" Usually the reaction to that question was all she ever needed to know the difference. Not that anyone was particular in Eavesdown- most of the babes were weaned on whiskey- but Sid had her business license to consider.

[Drea Allen]

"I'm not sure whether to be flattered that I always get carded or be irritated that I don't look my age," Drea muttered to herself. She pulled her ID from her wallet and showed it to the bartender. It clearly proved that she was twenty-three and not the assumed eighteen. She didn't know how many times she'd been carded since she was eighteen. But it certainly happened whenever she went to a bar and ordered a drink. Sometimes, she just ordered something non-alcoholic to avoid the hassle.

Once the bartender had looked over her ID, she responded to the question with "Bottled, please." She turned toward the door, leaning back against the bar. "And I've got decent taste. Especially if you wanna get hammered." Drea looked at her partner as he answered her question. It was rare that she actually asked for his opinion. Demand it, sure, but more often than not, she just stuck with her guns. She was stubborn like that.

However, her nerves had a slight hold of her, not that she would say that out loud. Her stomach felt like it was tied in tight knots. She'd tell Taylor if she weren't afraid to hear his sarcastic, snarky remarks. Usually, she found them entertaining and had a quick comeback of her own. But her own vulnerability was on the line and she couldn't take a hit to her pride. She never could.

"You're right," Drea sighed. "We probably need to do it person by person, though. We don't want anyone to know our business right off the bat. I don't want to be arrested or put on alert today. The adventure hasn't even begun, yet." She ran her fingers through her hair.

She turned her head to look at the man her friend was gesturing to. She cocked an eyebrow. He definitely didn't belong in the Brown Bottle, let alone Persephone. He looked too neat almost, too clean. He also looked frightened of the area. He could be an easy target. Probably wanted to get out of here. Hell, Drea would take passengers if they paid the right price.

"You wanna handle it together or should one of us do it?" she asked, looking back at Taylor with a devious smile. There was a sparkle of excitement in her bright eyes.

[PraetorLicht]

Praetor made his way cautiously through the crowd. It seemed to thicken has he made his way from the docks. It didn’t necessarily grow as much as became more dense. Perhaps he had taken for granted how much space the docks themselves contained. He was seeing an increase in generic concrete buildings. Honestly, it was hard to tell one from the other at times. But, the need to escape the constant press of people spurred him to action. What was the action? The action was choosing a building at random and seeing where he ended up. ”The Brown Bottle?” It looked promising enough. If the name was evidence, then he could at least get a drink inside.

Gently, he brushed an elderly gentleman out of his way; taking a few meaningful steps towards the door. Reaching for the handle, he stopped; allowing a smile to spread across his face.”Can’t have mother rolling over in her grave.” His occupational choices had more likely than not done a great job of that already. He dropped his bag to the ground (the clank of tools can be heard from within) and allowed his hand to stray to his back pocket. He takes a moment to ensure that no one is paying him any mind, before giving the shirt a quick sniff. With a shrug, he pulled on the form fitting undershirt. It was sleeveless, but it covered everything that mattered.

Praetor reached down and picked up his bag; swinging it cross body across his back. This was a more secure position and allowed him better use of both of his hands. You know...if the need were to arise. ”Alright Licht....keep your eyes low, but watch your corners. Passive...forceful. Passive...forceful.” Feeling sufficiently pep talked, he inhaled slowly through his nose and pushed opened the door; exhaling slowly.

The sun shined through the slowly closing doorway; casting his shadow over many of the bar patrons before him. He lifted his head slowly and studied the low key establishment. The first thing he noticed was the dim lighting. The paint job added to the overall gloom; adding a level of depth to the room’s shadows. He could tell that this place encouraged the privacy of guests who sought such a thing, and he couldn’t help respecting that.

Hearing the door click shut behind him snapped Praetor out of his temporary pause of contemplation. Turning towards a nearby table, he set his bag against the wall and slumped into the moderate comfort of a chair. Sighing softly, he turned towards the nearest server ((**ooc**I’m assuming this place as a server?**ooc**)) and offers his most charming smile. ”May I have a cup of hot water please?

Continued From(Thieves Den)

This post has been edited by PraetorLicht on Feb 2 2012, 04:49 PM

[Nemo Agoa]

Oh Merciful Buddah! They were coming after him! No wait, they just wanted a drink. Okay, that was good.

Maybe he was being paranoid, scratch that, he was being paranoid. It wasn't his fault though, someone would come for him eventually. The woman behind the bar asked the female for a card. Made sense, she looked almost too young to enter such an establishment, let alone order ale! He let the pair order before he returned the server's quary.

“Iced Sihnon Black sounds wonderful,” he told her, struggling to maintain a neutral tone to his voice. “Thank you.” Reaching into the other front pocket of his coat, Nemo withdrew a silk handkerchief, mopping his brow with trembling fingers.

The two next to him began a private hushed conversation. That didn't bother him at all, as long as they left him alone he was happy. What do regular people do at moments like this? They banter don't they?

“I'm a doctor,” he said with a very forced smile, “I can stop those two before they succumb to alcohol poisoning.” He put one hand on the right arm of his spectacles. “You needn't worry about them drinking themselves to death."

His handkerchief returned to the pocket from where it came in a crumpled ball. The shaking hands returned. I must reek of fear.

[Taylor Masen]

"I'll have whatever's on tap," Taylor volunteered to the bartender, ready to reach for his own ID if he was asked. As Drea passed hers over, her friend's grin resembled a Cheshire cat's. "You know, Drea, I'd question your ability to captain a ship, but I'm worried you'll put me on septic duty for insubordination." He chuckled before turning his focus back down the bar.

The stranger was wiping his brow. Nervous? Possibly. “I'm a doctor,” At this pronouncement, Taylor's smile relaxed. Could they have struck gold this early? "Give him a try, Cap. I'll find my own target." As the door opened, Taylor glanced that way. "Be careful. He's nervous." With this whispered advice, Taylor grabbed his drink, moved away from Drea, and walked the length of the bar before moving to the tables.

He took his time, subtly watching the way the second stranger walked in and looked around, taking a seat at one of the scattered tables. It was a sure way to spot those who didn't belong - they were careful in obvious ways. Taylor knew he was sending off 'outsider' signals just as much as the stranger was, but that wasn't important - as long as he stayed alert. He walked to the table and nodded to an empty seat with a smile. "Mind if I join you?"

[Mira]

She stepped out of the ship and onto a planet with natural air for the first time in quite a long time. The claustrophobia of Route 66 had finally gotten to her and she made a hasty decision leaving only a scribbled note to let her good friend Matilda know she was leaving. Stowing away on a ship was easy enough and she had little trouble sneaking off. Now all that was left was to find out why she did what she did and figure out where to go from there.

Charise wandered the streets contemplating her plan until she came across what looked like a small pub. Upon entry her suspicions were confirmed and after ordering a drink settled herself into a corner booth where she could watch the goings on in the quaintly titled Brown Bottle as well as watch the entrance. There were a few others in the bar, only one really stood out in the form of a thin, pale man by no means towering in stature. He looked more like he should be at some medical seminar than in a low-brow bar likely full of seedy dealings in spite of or involving the woman behind the counter who spoke volumes with her eyes before ever uttering a word of hello to the patrons. This was her bar and trouble came in the form of the piece she likely hid under the counter. She knew she was right about it, but she didn't know how she knew. Why did instinct rule so strongly in Charise yet she couldn't even remember her real name? Why was she so guarded? Who the rut was she?!

[Drea Allen]

"You know, Drea, I'd question your ability to captain a ship, but I'm worried you'll put me on septic duty for insubordination."

Drea found a small laugh escape her lips. A much needed one. Taylor's comment led her mind to the idea of punishment. Pirates had had brigs. They didn't have one. Hmm, maybe Drea would have to make room for one. The whole idea added to her much needed and very appreciated laughter. And this was one reason Taylor was still her friend.

"You'd be right about punishing you for insubordination. However, for a crime of that size, you'd need to be locked up for a bit. Can't lock you up in your room, because you'd find a way to entertain yourself. That leaves my room, so I can keep an eye on you," she placed a hand on his chest, shoving him lightly away from her, "and that just won't do."

“I'm a doctor.”

This caused Drea to look back at the oddly out of place man again. He had said that. He was a doctor? Well, he fit the profile, she guess. He was rather neat and looked quite upstanding for this type of establishment. Why was he so nervous, though? He was sweating quite a bit. She pushed that thought aside, though, looking back at Taylor when he spoke again.

"Give him a try, Cap. I'll find my own target. Be careful. He's nervous."

Drea nodded in response to Taylor's advice.

"You be careful, too. Wouldn't want you to talk to the wrong person and get hurt," she told him, genuinely concerned. She knew that he was more experienced in the 'Verse than her. Frankly, this was her first time on a planet other than Athens. Still, she wanted him to be safe.

Drea watched as he walked away, but never saw his destination, because she turned to look at the doctor.

"Excuse me, sir," she said politely, softly as to not worry or frighten him. Despite her being a pirate (or almost a pirate), Drea was raised to be polite. Her family, especially her maternal grandmother, would have nothing less than that from her. "I couldn't help but overhear that you're a doctor. Is that true?"

And so the search for a crew truly began.

[PraetorLicht]

Praetor sat staring at the empty table top. He was thinking of the hot water that he hoped was in the process of being delivered to him, but he wasn’t allowing himself to get impatient. He had a bag of tea stashed somewhere...either on his person or in his bag...and he wouldn’t allow a feeling of impatience spoil what would hopefully be an excellent cup. After he had turned his back on the consumption of alcohol, tea had taken over as the drink of choice. Lately, he found that it relaxed him more and more.

He’d had his share of years indulging in alcohol. Granted, he was entirely too young for such beverages at the time, but the early exposure did wonders at weeding out the feeling of necessity in later years. Although the decision to stop drinking as the youngest member of a crew of slavers wasn’t exactly a popular one. However unpleasant the experience had been, it pushed him to strive for physical superiority over his shipmates. Perhaps in some way, this early aberration helped set in motion his separation from the slavers and their ideals.

”Mind if I join you?””

He turned his head slightly to face the source of the question. A young man who appeared similar in age and very near in height to Praetor stood near his table. Instinctively, he allows his foot to slide a few inches to the right; coming to rest against the wooden stock of his weapon. Knowing exactly where to reach for his gun would save a few seconds should the conversation take a turn for the worst. It was unusual how conversations with strangers tended to end in conflict. For now, the stranger’s demeanor spoke otherwise which spurred his curiosity. So, he motioned to the seat opposite himself. ”Dang-ran...”

Sitting back slowly, Praetor crossed his arms across his chest. He was expecting a proposition. Perhaps the man was a ship captain or a mercenary recruiter. He had encountered his share of both while indentured to other vessels. Now....”How may I help you?”

[Grant Gardener]

As he rolled (literally) down the street, the wheels in his shoes hummed out a solid whirring sound that vibrated all the way up his legs. He let out a shriek of pure delight as he neared the bottom of the hill, scattering people this way and that.

"WEEEEEEEOOOOOO!"

He slid to a stop, and put on his headphones, a heavily amplified guitar riff zipping into his ears. He clicked the wheels back into his shoes, and headed for the nearest food cart. A scruffy young man in what appeared to be an old style pilot's helmet was cooking up something delicious. Grant ordered himself some, paid, and moved on with a gracious bow and a "My thanks to thee, good sir." to the cook.

"Nugget, biscuit, nugget in a biscuit. Nugget, biscuit, nugget in a biscuit. Nugget, biscuit, nugget in a biscuit." he sang, his voice intentionally deep, words melting into the tune in his head as his left hand played invisible piano keys, and his right held the afore-sung-about sandwich. "Dip it all in mashed potatoes!"

His voice went up into a high falsetto, and he found himself rather pleased that he'd come up with such a catchy tune. Grant Gardener was pretty much convinced that he should be writing music professionally. As he strolled down Persephone's dusty streets, he was careful to keep the sand out of his sandwich as he continued to sing, headed to the Brown Bottle where he was to meet his new boss.

"Chickens running across the road. People chasing after chickens. Probably after a delicious sna-haaaaack. What they don't know is that chickens bite back!" he chanted, along with the beat in his ears, walking up the steps towards the saloon's doors. "Chickens nipping at children's toes, that's the way that this story goes. Children now running away down the block, that chicken was about the size of my-"

Grant found himself standing just inside the doors of the bar, both of them closing softly behind him as he noticed the glares he was getting inside the bar from some of the less...shower-ey people.

"Oh, wow. I just...I'm gonna...I'll go..." he muttered, heading directly for the bar.

He slid into the seat, and began playing his fingers against the well polished edge of the bar, a lively tune running through his head, and was grateful that no bottles had flown through the air to explode against the wall above said head. Quickly, the feeling of hatred that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end subsided, and the conversation in the room returned to a normal level as he waved to the bartender for a drink.

"Dear God in heaven, please let this be a real gig and not the seedy bar where I meet my dramatic end..." he whispered softly to himself.

This post has been edited by Grant Gardener on Sep 14 2012, 08:51 AM

[Taylor Masen]

At the affirmative response, Taylor reached for a chair and faced its back toward the table before straddling it, automatically allowing space for his arm if he developed any need to draw his sword. At the same time, the stranger shifted, no doubt being just a wary as Taylor. Coincidence or had Drea jinxed him with her 'don't get shot' comment? No time to consider it, the swordsman reached for his drink, buying time to study the stranger. "I was hoping I could help you," he answered the question, hoping he'd read the other's body language correctly.

"My name's Taylor and I happen to be in the employ of a Captain in need of some extra hands or paying passengers." Money was money, even if they needed crew more than passengers. Surely Drea would see sense in that. Maybe. Taylor was being careful, not giving his full name or the name of the ship right off the bat. In a place like this, you never knew who might be listening and ready to come up with some go-se reason to hold a grudge. People got paid off to play stool pigeon all the time. No reason to give them information they didn't need.

Before Taylor could say anymore, the busy streets sent in another lost soul who drew plenty of stares, singing like he was. Taylor's gaze, like every other in the bar, shifted to the source of the disturbance, his brows raising in disbelief. Talk about being out of your element - the singer was truly a fish out of water, sticking out like a sore thumb. He seemed to know this, moving to the bar in the utter lack of sound that followed his debut. Taylor tracked the songbird, gaze sweeping over Drea at the same time. Please, he thought fleetingly. Please let that not be what I think it is.

Was Drea watching the unusual songbird as he tried to shrink at the bar? Taylor couldn't tell. Shaking his head, he looked back to his companion and wondered, again, what Drea could be getting them into.

This post has been edited by Taylor Masen on Feb 13 2012, 12:21 PM

[Nemo Agoa]

"I couldn't help but overhear that you're a doctor. Is that true?"

Lord of Enlightenment! She's talking to me! I suppose that's what I get for trying to make a joke.

And yet.... There was something about her that the former science professor couldn't quite put his finger on. She greatly reminded him of former students who had been called problematic by certain functionaries He knew better. Those students had hardly been problematic or challenged; they were driven, gifted. Being truly gifted was something school bureaucrats never understood. Nemo Agoa might not have been gifted but he understood it just fine. Doing his part to help those students fulfill those lofty dreams wasone of the few things in his life he truly prided himself on.

He hated to admit it, but despite his nervousness at being in this strange place he was intrigued. Besides, this young woman hardly matched the profile of a bounty hunter or contract killer.

“I'm a doctor yes,” he admitted, removing his wire spectacles and wiping them on the lapel of his coat. “And a science teacher, though I doubt that would interest you.” Pushing the glasses back onto his face with one hand, Nemo surveyed the room. “I doubt it would interest any of these crewmen either.” He shook his head casually, masking his fear behind simple sadness, “It's a pity so many people grow up without an education don't you think?”

Stupid fool. She doesn't care about your philosophy!

“Back to the original question, yes, I am a doctor. Is there something I can do for you?” Mentally he cursed himself, now he couldn't take those words back, he was obligated to honor his statement. Still, perhaps both could benefit from this conversation. This woman might have connection to a ship, maybe she was a cabin-girl or a deckhand. If he could convince the captain of said boat to allow him passage in exchange for his medical expertise then he could save some of his all too limited finance. He could stay on the move and help some sick crew members. Taking care of people...it was something he hadn't done in a long time.