Welcome to Gaia! ::

(This place will remain open for casual roleplay. You can come and go as you please with no limits placed on how many people can join at one time. I imagine the thread will get pretty lengthy so do try and keep up.

When you are finished roleplaying here, please post an exit for your character so that people coming in later don't get confused and think you're still here. Thank you!)

Passerby Bar
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This place is a real hole in the wall. A closely-knit, run-down sort of place sitting between a laundromat and a clothing shop; it's as close as possible to the slums, yet still retains a bit of dignity.

People come here to forget their woes and drown their sorrows by the bottle. People also come here to gather information..

There are two tables on either side of you as you enter just past the door (They would be window seats if the place had windows) and a few booths on the righthand wall leading toward the back where the restrooms, payphones, and an ancient pinball machine are situated. The door leading to the back room and basement is there as well, but it is kept securely locked.

On the left is the bar counter, l-shaped and commonly full of all sorts of city riff-raff atop its weathered leather-cushioned stools. The floorboards look sturdy but well walked upon and a few antique wooden fans spin lazily overhead.

The cooking area appears relatively modern and clean as do the televisions set into the upper halves of the walls at the bar and at the back of the place for easy viewing all around.

A young lady with a pony tail (Alice) usually washes up the counter with a rag and takes drink orders while a burly-looking man works on food in the back. The place is constantly in a state of hiring and firing.

Acceptable settings for this thread:
Bar room, bathrooms, kitchen area, alleys between bar and surrounding buildings, basement(possibly), back room(possibly).

(I'll join with my character Spy. If I take a bit between posts please forgive me.)

Spy strolls into the place with the confidence of a regular though.. no one around here has ever heard of or seen this guy before. With sparse conversations between the locals going on, his entrance is unnoticed for the time being. Except for the young lady taking orders at the counter.

A cigarette hangs out of his mouth, still lit and actively producing smoke much to the tender's dismay. She pauses in the middle of talking to a customer and waves over at the entering man, "Hey pal, no smoking in here. Put it out or take it outside."

Brow arched, he hesitates and then complies by plucking the thing from his mouth and grinding the end of it into the ashtray beside the front door before stepping back in. ~Friggen regulations..~ he muses idly, ~Barrin' fun one thing atta time.~

Satisfied with Spy's conduct, the woman returns to business and pays him no further mind.

Slinking over to the counter, the forest-colored individual drags himself up onto the bar-stool just around the L-bend of the bartop. What a ridiculous outfit.. Lime green? Blegh.. People with that sort of fashion sense ought to be invisible to save the eyesight of normalfolk.

The corner of the L remains between them and grants a comfortable distance, "Least drinkin' ain't banned yet." He tugs at the righthand shoulder of his coat, adjusting it for comfort with a faint sniff. The tender seems to be taking her merry old time getting to Spy to ask his order. Not a fan of smokers herself, it's probably her way of sticking it to the man. Blah.

He peers over to this 'Bob' character through darkly-tinted green shades, the color of his eyes remain undeterminable for now. It would seem that he's inspecting Bob, likely trying to determine a gender and eventually deciding on male due to the flatness of the chest and 'lack of back'. "That's a pretty spikey get-up ya got there, kid."

One of the man's eyebrows lifts, his outline tensing slightly but then relaxing as a suave smile spreads over his face, "Hey.. I just said it was spikey, ain't an insult unless yer makin' it one, porcupine."

"Alice, darlin'. Our new friend is waiting."

Oh so her name's Alice? He would have pinned her as a Jennifer or maybe a Suzie.. It doesn't matter much though, for soon she's headed his way and pausing in front of him with her hand on her hip, "What'll it be?" Aw man.. The guy's gotta admit he hates the look she's giving him. It's one of those 'I've seen your kind before' faces.

Shrugging it off as he's accustomed to doing, Spy sits up on his stool and offers her a friendly smile as he glances briefly to Bob and back, "I'll have what he's havin'. Little guy seems like he might have good taste."

"..right. Ok." She turns on her heel and struts off to fulfill the order with an amused shake of her head. It's all she can do not to bust out laughing. Green? What a hoot!

Task fulfilled, he leans back on the stool a bit, dragging his right hand into his lap and cracking his knuckles idly, "Naw, seriously, are you just outta high school or somethin'?" He looks toward the young man after a moment or so.

As if the green weren't an alarm all its own, the man wears a pair of multi-pocketed cargo pants. You don't need to carry much in the big city, not if you're lawful and legitimate..

"You bein' serious? What a lame-a** comparison.." Blunt, isn't he? He smiles regardless with a slight shake of his head, his tone not very threatening for the moment.

"Pardon Alice. We've a bit of a community of reg'lars 'round this bar."

"Yea I figg'ered as much. Show me a place that ain't in this city." This time he sounds a bit rueful. Maybe he's had a bad break tonight. If so, he's doing a decent job at hiding it.

Alice swings by, tapping on the counter to grab the man's attention and setting Spy's glass down. He looks to her and clears his throat lightly as she starts to turn away, "Hold up a sec. I'll pay ya now. Tonight's gonna be brief." He proceeds to reach down to his right ankle without looking and unzip a pocket located there.

Alice pauses and turns back to him, wit apparent in her voice, "Why, got a ladyfriend waiting for you?"

" 'Ppreciate your efforts, but I just want a beer not therapy.." he forks over some cash which she plucks from him, glances to, and then takes with her over to the register. She looks a little bit put off by his quick and snippy reply but she chalks it up to the fact that he must be laughed at daily for that ridiculous outfit.

Resealing his pocket with a swift motion of his right hand, Spy sits back up straight and drags his drink closer. He looks to Bob, "Formaldehyde huh? Great.. It'll preserve the good looks." Afterward he takes a sip of it.

Spy lowers his glass, drawing the back of his left thumb across his upper lip before refocusing his attention on the boy to his right, "Bob huh? I'm Spy. But I know whatyer thinkin'. Doesn't make much sense havin' that name when yer lit up like a glowstick."

His right heel clinks against the lower bar of his stool as he shifts for comfort, "I dunno. Nice places never sat well with me.." He quiets briefly, "Ya get the best conversation in holes like this." He gestures around briefly with a tilt of his head, careful not to make it too obvious to anyone that he is doing so.

The laugh stings Spy's ears a little. It's not the sound itself really, more the fact that it's laughter at all. Whatever problem he has with it, however, fades quickly as he rotates his glass on the counter top and sips from it before listening to Bob speak.

No, no. That's not the sort of thing he listens for. But all in good time; Bob doesn't need to know why he comes to bars or what he's after. For the time being he just remains someone to speak to. Part of the 'act natural mantra' as it were.

Spy merely nods in reply, even when Bob mentions his 'hobby'. The two of them seem to have lightly figured each other out. A boy with quick-looking hands in a place like this? Even with the nailpolish, he's pretty sure those fingers aren't just for attracting half-drunk men looking to get lucky. Nah. The kid's got another agenda. He could care less about its details, however. Best not to stick your nose somewhere unless you're being paid to do it, ah?

"Yeah, it's nice not havin' anyone relyin' on ya ta come home. That's a restriction I couldn't sit through." ~..or survive fer that matter..~ he thinks idly.

A noisy woman whoops and hollars back at the pinball machine. She hangs off her boyfriend's shoulder, likely tipsy, while he tries to shove her off and play the game properly. The noise fits right in with the constant mutter of the bar.

Spy barely notes the commotion at the back of the bar. He's heard screaming ladies before enough to know they're not threatening until they start kicking with high heels.. >_o

But suddenly she lands between himself and Bob, disrupting any mundane conversation the two might be having. Instinctively he caps a hand over his beer and slides it to his left to prevent a spill. Initially he's amused to see her collapse onto Bob, but it changes..

He THROWS her off. And I mean throws! She is gone within the first few seconds of contact with such precision that Spy's attention is captivated on him first and only after that on the wobbling girl. He yammers lightly, but by the time he finds his tongue, Bob has already sicced her on him. b*****d! He smiles in a failing way that reads, 'aw crap'.

"Spy huuh? Hehe. Hee. Are you a secret agent?" she chirps at him, moving far too close and extending a hand to rub lightly at the back of his coat.

"Ah, ah," he tsks her, gently taking her wrist and peeling her off while giving Bob the stinkeye, "Noneuh that."

She giggles and collapses against his arms. He catches her, but only on instinct. A roll of his eyes is given behind the shades before he whips his head over his shoulder to eyeball the guy at the pinball machine, "Hey MARIO I think ya dropped somethin'!"

The man, more muscular and foreboding than Spy, sports a mustash similar to the famed game character with facial features that write him off as a definite Italian. He blinks, somewhat shocked by the brasen callout, and turns around to see his girl slumped over by the bar. "What did you say.." he asks testily, ignoring the machine as his last ball drops between the paddles.

Alice peeks over at the situation from the kitchen but then disappears back inside. Nothing too terrible yet, might as well leave it alone she figures.

The drunken girl grins widely, completely oblivious of the situation as she wraps her arms around Spy's torso and pulls him lower in the stool.