Scenario Entitled: You Guys Don't Have Any Coffee, Do You?Characters:
Olson, big big BIG guy, underground Arena bruiser. 'Nuff said.
Alejandra, student of magic and all 'round flirt.
'Patch', (NPC) lounge lizard, falling victim to the dreaded RP exit, the Washroom Visit.
Jeremy, doing a cameo appearance.
Lena, doing the masked mysterioso thing.
Lake, demonstrating that coffee is an addictive substance, too.
Carey, (NPC) barmistress getting the last word.
Location: The Fallen Angel
Date: Spring, 108 P.A.
It's perhaps a wonder and a miracle that the monstrous newcomer to this bar even gets through the door. Olson..is definently pushing the limits of what is acceptable in terms of sheer gargantuan mass..and his emergence through the entrance to this bar gives further crecedence to this. His enormous stature and girth made all that much more obvious by the fact that he is indoors. Like an unending passing of an old-world oil-tanker..the behemoth steps through teh door. Seemingly without end. His head bowed slightly though eyes taking in the moody tavern. One of his hands slipped into the epths of his well worn and ragged coat while the other out and loosely hanging at his side.
Carey blinks a few times and comes to a stop in her bar duties as the doorway is clogged by Olson. Her surprise must be a rare occurence, for several more patrons turn in their seats to gaze in consternation. A few murmurs break the sudden silence of the tavern: "...huge fucker.." "Oh crist, it's that Olson guy.. whut's he doin' here?" "Olson? You mean that..." "Order your drinks while you can, boys..." But for the most part, the atmosphere isn't so hostile towards the newcomer as it might have been towards any other most-times stranger. Carey recovers herself, frowning a bit at her own reaction, tears her eyes away and wipes down the bar to be doing something.
The behemoth stands near the entrance for a few seconds as if surveying the bar.. Almost seemingly planning in advance where to go and how to manuever his earth rocking bulk through the area. Olson rubs together his huge hands. The rugged and rock-hardened things scrapping together audibly. A low rumble escapes the depths of his table sized chest as well. Vibrating through teh area and rumbling through both air and floor. Finally his gaze settles on the bar itself..and like a tank beginning to slowly tread through the area.. He starts to move forward once more. Each footfall vibrating and shaking the area gently and his massive form sweeping past tables like the passing of a huge warship. Moving directly past some of the tables who murmered though not deliberatly. Indeed, if he took notice of anything or overheard any comments he makes no reaction to it.. His stoic gaze holds the look of someone taking in the bar and examining it with a curious eye. Almost as if he's giving the place a once over for the first time.. Which wouldn't be to far out of the question given that it's been years since he last saw the place..and hadn't bothered to check into it to see what this new owner has done with the place..until now that is.
Carey gazes suspiciously at Olson, then across the bar, down at the sturdy stools that none the less might not appreciate Olson's weight. With a slow sigh, she moves along the bar to meet him at a parallel point, craning her neck and muttering, "Watch your head, kid, we're outta lightbulbs until Moon Day. What'll you have?" Behind, most of the ladies and gents have turned back to their business, having learned by now that there's such a thing as too much curiosity. She watches the briefly pondering Olson with a hedging look of dry distaste, before looking towards the door as someone distinctly smaller and slighter comes in. "Hola, Alejandra," she greets the young lady familiarly, with a hard smile.
Alejandra slips inside, hands stuffed in her pockets. Once inside, she heads for the bar at an easy pace, hips aswingin' on automatic; habit by now to slink instead of walk. A few blinks are given to Carey... the barkeep said her /name/, that's a new one. "Hola senora." There's a healthy does o' respect in the younger woman's voice when she answers.
"I'll stand." rumbles the behemoth as he hears Carey and also follows her gaze to the bar and at the sturdy stools. This Olson has had his share of mishaps in dealing with less then sturdy equipment. His voice is almost so immensely deep it's difficult to understand. After a second's pause the monstrosity nods his head and rumbles, "What's a favorite drink around 'ere these days? I hear the place is under new mangement..so t'speak. Figured I'd try out any specialities..if any." The giant glances over his shoulders towards Alejandra as Carey speaks to her..and then returns his gaze back down towards Carey.
Even the array of regulars regard Alejandra briefly, with the look of brotherly interest. All right, very odd brothers, but the point would be that she has perhaps earned a place in The Fallen Angel that bears some respect. Surviving the latest bar brawl probably has something to do with it. There are several well-meaning catcalls to the young woman as she passes, some good-intentioned reaches for available parts of her.
Someone calls out in challenge to Olson's comments, "I got a bucket handy if ya need one, Carey!" And low laughter ensues briefly. Carey ignores them and taps her lower lip with a thoughtful finger before turning away to mix something up.
Alejandra wiggles a little as she passes, allowing the groping that look friendly, and nimbly avoiding the ones that aren't quite so nice. Cat-calls get laughingly blown kisses. She reaches the bar and chooses a stool before the rumble registers. "Hollly... fuckin' /shit/..." is her awed whisper while she stares at the giant taking up so much space.
To his credit, Olson actually allows himself a slight and almost ghost of a smile as he hears the comment regarding a bucket as..in truth..he could probably easy down the worth of a bucket and more without much trouble. Huge shoulder shrug. Muscles rolling with audible motion under the dusty and hair skin before the giant folds his hands together. Laying them across his broad and wall sized belly. At Alejandra's words the monstrosity tilts his head to the side to give her another glance but doesn't say anything just yet. Instead waiting for the drink that's being prepared with some degree of mild anticipation.
Carey doesn't waste any effort searching for the tallest glass in the bar, not being in the habit for anyone but the boss, to pander to anyone on account of size. She hauls down a full, long-necked bottle of minty green liquor from the top shelf, and laces a large tumbler with a spritz of icy clear liquid, before bringing it to Olson and pouring out the vibrantly-colored drink to more than halfway up the glass. "Try this.. Spectral Mist. Can't afford to fill it, as the effect goes quick if you don't take it in quick," she instructs, then looks down the bar to Alejandra. "You healed up, I see. What'll you like?"Boneyard Mist, Fallen Angel Special
The effect is almost like a certain drug, barely coursing liquid and clean down your throat before the heightened temperatures transform it to a light, cool gas that seems to radiate out through your passages, rushing through your veins, cleaning you out almost, and sending a slow bloom of fuzzy warmth and giddiness up your spine and into your brainstem. The room seems a little brighter, and the occupants a bit more 'real' before you, interesting physical details about them popping up into your notice. (OOC: This effect is for people with regular, good constitutions. There is more than double the amount in the glass right now, so it's up to you what effect it might have.)'.Alejandra eyes the minty-green stuff wistfully, then shakes her head to herself and returns attention to Carey. "That stuff?" She points at a bottle of pastel yellow liquid over behind the bar. "S'long's it ain't /his/, I mean." She adds absently, "And yeah, I healed up... Est'ban fixed me."
"Mmmm.." rumbles the behemoth as the drink rolls through his body. Olson's eyes squint a little. The effects rippling through his body and causing a slight 'wave' to pass over his features. The potency of this drink getting even to him given the strength of it. He lets out a contented rumble that once more vibrates through both air and ground. Like several car steroes with the bass all the way to maximum adn everything else lowered. "Huh..interestin'.." he rumbles.. Though if he's referring to just the drink alone is questionable. The monstrosity examines the now empty glass and then cuts his gaze down to Carey..and then Alejandra as if seeing them for the first time..at least in detail. Lingering longest on Alejandra. A bushy eyebrow arcs up as he hears mention of 'healed up' and he seems vaguely curious..though not 'to' curious. He to knows that it's good to not overly pry.
A towheaded blond in patchwork armor to the other side of Alejandra shakes his head. "Estaban, eh? Yeah, really dances on my thyroid that he got closed up by the fuckin' cops.. I hear he's out now, huh?" he inquires of her.
Alejandra flashes a grin up at the giant, "S'good stuff, ain't't man." Then she's blinking over at Mr. Patchwork and informing him, "Yeah, I paid's bail.. still got that fuckin' 'scuse fer a trial t'take care of, but he'll do okie with that. I mean, it's Steves fault." The tone implies that it's /always/ Steve's fault, whoever he is.
"Oh yeah.." rumbles Olson in response to Alejandra. "Real good." The giant seems to be enjoying the sensation and sensory overload given to him by the drink and finally shakes his head. Broad nostrils flaring abit as he sets the empty glass back down onto the bar tap. He rolls his huge neck some. Muscles mass cascading in a tidal wave of flesh and mass. Buclking and heaving up an down his upper body with almost palable and tangible motion and power. The behemoth working any new found kinks out of his form it would seem. He rubs the back of that sickeningly thick neck and then cuts his gaze down towards Alejandra and Patchwork again. The conversation holding some degree of his interest despite himself. "Huh.." he rumbles, quietly. Keeping his thoughts to himself mainly.
Carey cocks an eyebrow and turns to retrieve the indicated bottle from the shelves, while secretly hiding a smile of satisfaction that she was able to select a drink that had more than a passing effect on the big guy. When she turns back, a squat tumbler is put before Alejandra, one cube of ice rapidly dissolving in the buttery yellow-tinted liquid, and adding a faint layer of clearness to the top. She puts it before the girl and watches her with no small amount of interest.
Alejandra catches sight of all that rippling from the corner of her eye, and twists a little to blatantly stare. That much muscle is far from sickening, at least according to the way she's staring. If she had a little less self-control, she'd drool. Another awed, "Shit..." escapes on a whisper. But wait! There's a drink to attend to. Alejandra's priorities are set properly; she turns to pluck up the glass, asking Carey curiously, "Should I drink't any special way, senora?"
The man dubbed Patchwork nods sympathetically to Alejandra, spits to the side (luckily missing the guy beside him), and looks past Alejandra to Olson. "So you're Olson, huh?" he slurs a little, the few drafts he's had making him bold. "Buddy of mine won some good cred betting on ya. Whatcha ranking this season?"
Carey shrugs lightly at the girl, replying, "Any way you want, hon. But make sure to get at least some of that ice water in each time.. hope you had something to eat today."
Alejandra grins at the older woman, "Um... had some eggs this mornin'? Been busy with class all day since then." Regardless, she's bringing back the glass for a fair sized taste; no delicate sipper here, folks.Fool's Gold, Fallen Angel Special
Certainly not a subtle drink, the initial taste is rather minerally, with faint memories of grain and a hint of apricot rum. Due to varying weights and densities of the two liquids, the yellow liquor slides first down your throat, seeming to gain substance and gravity until it freightballs into the pit of your stomach. It would produce an almost sickening reaction of rough alcohol in a weaker or less practised individual, the residues starting to burn at the throat like scotch. Then the ice water chases and extinguishes the pungency before it becomes painful. The poor eggs in your stomach are the victims of a vicious pickling, before the whatever it is settles down to ponder a preemptive strike on your liver.Alejandra sets the glass back down on the bar verrrry carefully, eyes tea-saucer wide. The beginning of tears start up, though they're no where near actually ready to fall; she's had too many years of drinking for that. A sigh escapes, then she's slumping a little against the counter, muttering to herself in Spanish. The tone sounds complimentary though, rather than the opposite.
Sickening, awe inspiring, disgusting, awesome..a number of words can come to mind depending on your viewpoints on such a behemoth but whatever they may be. One thing is for certain. Olson is simply unplausibly enormous. He finishes working the muscles along hsi back and loosens his arms back and forth a few times as well as tightening up his horrificly thick chest. The pectorals there tensing and then relaxing in a cascade of mass that's literally audible to the ears. He grunts and then moves to consider another drink until he hears Patchwork. A bemused chuckle escapes him before he rumbles, "I be still in the middle ranks..though moving up slowly but surely. Better then I was the previous season. Glad yer friend made some good cred." The chap apparently friendly enough, verbally, despite his menacing size.
Patchwork chuckles and nods his head in agreement with the various good things happening in general (even if they're unlawful). "Might come down myself and watch a few, though my ol'lady, she gets nervous that the place'll be busted, an' I'll wind up in a cell with a fine, then no one can feed her or the brats," he babbles easily, before looking over at Alejandra with leering concern. "Few more o' those an' you'll be ready ta go, won'tcha, A-lay-ja?"
Alejandra twists a little so she can wiggle her eyebrows at Patchwork, "Yer ol'lady gonna let you take me home, honey?" Then she's reaching for her glass for a second sip. Just a little more cautious this time, but hey... it's easier going down her throat this time.
Once more the implausibly huge shoulders roll with almost vague disintereste as the gigas rumbles, "I wouldn't worry t'much. Come on down, take a look see." slowly Olson grins, a genuine grin for the first time since arriving as this is a subject he enjoys..the fights.. "I gaurentee you..you'll like it." The behemoth clasps his huge hands together and then slowly cracks his knuckles. THe sound akin to trees breaking or boulders crushing. /LOUD/ and rumbling as they *CRACK* *SNAPPLE* and *POP* under the immense pressure. "I know I do.." he muses almost absently.
Alejandra is sitting over at the bar, a glass with pastel yellow liquid inside, in hand. She's yammering at a man in patchwork armor next to her, laughter coloring her words; someone's having fun.
The opening of the door marked 'Private' is heralded by the heavy *thunk* of an iron lock mechanism turning. The thick wooden door pulls inwards, and a blur of various blues brightens the dim area as Lena slips out, cheeks flushed a tawny red under the face paint. Barely taking in the contents of the bar, she pushes past the patrons seated at the edge of the counter to make her way to a clearer space.
Patchwork blinks up at Alejandra, having become absorbed in looking down her neckline and entertaining mental pictures of such content that cannot be printed up for fear of overt vulgarity. "Huh? Yeah, baby, yeah. I think so too." Twit hasn't been following along too much, has he?
Alejandra just leans a bit closer, giving the guy a better view. "So she's gonna join in, huh..." Laughter continues to spill out along with the words that are getting accented heavier with every passing drink from her glass.
With the arrival of the blue-masked lady from the Private door, bar noise fades to a low hum for a few moments. The observant might piece together various whispers about the new sensation to the middle-league's underground arena fighting being in the taproom.. what.. if anything, has she to do with the Boss? Of course, it would take some pretty keen listening to get even this much.
Olson has fallen strangely silent as Patchwok and Alejandra have been chatting. The behemoth keeping his thoughts mainly to himself. He currently is standing at the bar. Dominating a huge portion of it. Much to big for even the sturdiest of stools, hence why he is standing. An empty glass near to him and back to the rest of the bar. Gaze lowered and shadowed. The murmers that whisper through the bar concerning the new arrival seem to not disturb him. He is most certainly lost in his thoughts at the moment..or so it seems.
Regular roughhousing resumes, along with dry banter and two poker games at the corner tables. Lake is given a few odd glances, and the comments, "Isn't that the coffee-swillin' Succ guy? Whut's he doin' here?" "Gunnin' for Sneakers, mebbe.." "Shuddap..!" mumble through the wood and leather undergrowth.
Lake, were he prone to hearing each and every utterance of an establishment upon entering, might have some semblance of a response. Then again, considering how he reacts (or fails to) to most odd commentary combined with the fact that words such as 'coffee' and 'succ' are all but common in such locales, he seems more or less unphased by any remarks at his entrance. He's far to busy giving the room a brief once over. Maybe he is looking for something.
Patchwork cocks his head, confused by Alejandra's teasing, but picking it up willingly as he reorganizes his thoughts, "Nah, baby.. you're not her type," he chuckles, and gestures for a refill of his drink. "But you're my type, baby," he suggests further with a smile that says he does quite believe he's one of the most romantic fiends around.
Lena stands there for a little bit, stunned into inaction by the various notable sights in the room. Alejandra gets a grim glance, then a slight shrug. Olson gets a longer stare, probably because it takes that much just to find his head atop that mass. When Lake enters, he gets little more than a blink, before Lena is darting for the bar, and squeezing in between Olson and another patron, with the towering guy between her and the door. She slaps her hand on the bar to catch Carey's attention.
Lena's movements finally stir the behemoth from his thoughts and Olson raises his head. The living mass blinks abit and emits a low rumble that vibrates up and down the bar..before he moves. Giving Lena some space and allowing her to easier slide into the bar. He glances over towards her and gives her a once over.. Eyes squinting momentarily before he nods in her direction respectfully and then returning his gaze back to the bar counter. Huge hands folding and his own thoughts once more beginning to surface and command his attention.
Alejandra slides her glass closer to Patchwork, "/My/ type gets me a new drink when th'first one's gone, honey." It's all laughing suggestion, that idle comment. She doesn't notice Lena or her glance; all attention is fixed on getting another drink.
The usual suspects. Boy, girl, boy, girl, thing, ugly thing, thing that should not be (Sweet fancy Lovecraft!), girl, huge boy, bluestreak... Lake reaches back to rub the back of his neck. No one glaringly desiring his attention (not a new thing by any means), he decides to make his way towards the bar in relatively innocuous fashion.
Patch laughs alongside Alejandra, honestly believing that it is he who is leading the poor girl on. "Carey," he raps on the bar counter. "Another of the same for 'gorgeous' here." If only he paid attention to how much something like that costs.. think of the brats back home! Carey rolls her eyes as she's preparing another drink for Alejandra, then swaps the new one with the empty, and goes on to see to Lena's request, her expression becoming more neutral as she arrives.
Alejandra flashes a quick grin at Carey's roll-of-the-eyes, not at all bothered by Mr.PatchworkArmor's beliefs about who's leading who. "How'm I s'posed t'say thanks, honey?" That asked of him with more laughter; laughter brought on by alcohol, the very best way to do it.
Alejandra is sitting at the bar, a newly filled glass in hand. Her attention is on a 'gentleman' in patchwork armor who's peering down her shirt at every opportunity. From the laughter from their part of the bar, they've both been drinking.
Lena nods with brief acknowledgement of Olson's actions, and asks Carey for a vodka straight, looking straight through whatever stoney gaze she gets from the female bartender. Tapping her fingers on the bar for a few moments while she waits, she leans a bit casually to readjust her skirt ties. The same movement helps her barely look around Olson's girth at the occupants down the length of the barcounter. And... awwww damn.. who's that coming in? She sinks back behind the ogre-like man and shakes her head.
What to do early in the morning when no one is around, you feel like getting lightly...erm...toasted, and your next shift isn't for another twelve hours? Isn't it obvious? The good doctor Jeremy, as some may recognize him, or, alternately, the man in the big black trenchcoat with the firearm-sized bulges and the steel in his face. Hands swing freely at his side as he makes his way to the bar.
Indeed, the awesome girth Olson carries provides a nice way to simply hide if you don't want to be seen. The behemoth also gestures abit towards Carey..finally settling on getting naother drink and rumbling an order out. His brooding thoughts finally leaving him and his attention returning to the here and now. The heavy rumbling of his movements and breathing probably sounds like a steady rumbling engine to Lena due to her nearness. Vibrating down into the pits of ones stomach in it's town and deepeness. Olson himself isn't paying much attention to who is coming and who is going unless they actually approach him at the bar. His bigger then tree trunk arms relax abit on the counter top of the bar..though not to heavy. Folding abit as he leans over some to take a little of his ponderous weight off of his legs alone. Without a stool to support him..he's been standing this whole time..which is fine. He's dealing with it. Small price to pay for getting a good drink in a bar that can at least tolerate your size. When you're as big as Olson, you can't be nitpicky.
Patch leers his leeringest at Alejandra, starts to answer, then either has an acute attack of conscience, or a need to relieve himself in other ways. With a slow wink, he stumbles out of his stool and heads for the dingy one-room bathroom near the end of the bar, pounding on the door a bit when he finds it's occupied.
Jeremy, fairly unaware of the patronage nearby, shrugs mildly to himself as he eases up onto a barstool. He's just here for the alcohol. He peers down at his barstool, then glances back up slowly... nodding a bit. "Not terribly dirty," he remarks, voice a little less precise, much more slummy.
Carey takes to staring at Lake once she makes her way towards him, and stands there across from the man. "And what the hell would you like, sir?" she asks bluntly. Just let him try to order coffee here!
Alejandra flashes a grin in return to the wink and promptly forgets Mr.Patch once he's out of sight. Poor guy, used for his credits. She blinks a few times at the sound of a familiar voice, and turns towards Jeremy, eyes widening. Then she's down off her stool and heading toward him whether he's ready for it or not. Look at that, Alejandra knows how to drape like a wet blanket.
Lake arrives at the bar in rather casual fashion, trying not to seem to confused by activities taking place along its expanse. He leans up against the bar, noting the now unoccupied Alejandra and for some reason seeming just a tad occupied with Olson's midsection... or something that might be lurking on the other side of it. Then again, maybe he just appreciates abs of steel. He leans against the bar gently, waiting for something resembling service before noting a slightly familiar murmur before realizing he has the attention of Carey. He turns to face her, replying calmly, "You guys don't have coffee do you?" He's either joking or really, really serious about his coffee consumption.
Just his luck. The be-trenchcoatted doctor-turned-alcoholic is draped all over... and just as he'd begun to settle himself into the stool's collected filth. Probably for the better. So, uprooting himself somewhat with a soft protest of, "Mymymy... quite..." He turns back to glance over his shoulder at Alejandra, a trifle peeved looking. And then, he stops glancing, especially with all that animosity. He smiles brightly, "Ah! My dear girl...come, sit with me. Please do..."
Lena looks faintly uncomfortable squeezed in next to Olson between seats, but two things are true here. A) No one could see her to observe that much, as dwarfed as she is by the guy beside her. B) She'd rather be accidentally stepped on by Olson, than have to duck past any familiar faces right now. With her vodka nursed untouched in front of her, she takes to watching the door marked 'Private' in a brooding fashion.
Carey wrinkles her upper lip in a contemptuous sneer at Lake. "Fuck no. I could, I guess," she concedes, "but it's not on the regular menu. So I won't. Anything else, sir?"
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