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 Posted: Fri Jun 18, 2010 11:20 pm
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Posted: Fri Jun 18, 2010 11:44 pm
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Posted: Fri Jun 18, 2010 11:45 pm
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House Rules
The bar - that's a good idea. The bar top is dimly lit with the iBar system, and concentric neon circles gently throb around a stray glass. You look towards the bartender for guidance - feline ears and paws on this one, but at least he is human-sized. You surmise that the establishment has obviously put their pets to work.
"Good evening," he purrs, unclasping the shaker and expertly straining its contents into a glass that is quickly whisked away, "what can I get you for?" He chuckles lightly at the bad bar joke…trailing off as he eyes flicker down to the leaflet in your hand. "…But you're not just looking for a drink…are you?"
He sweeps a golden gaze around the dark room, then leans in confidentially: " The minute you walked in the joint, I could see you were a patron of distinction. You look like you can keep a secret, so here we go…
Welcome to a little something we like to informally call…Punch Club.
The first rule of Punch Club is - you do not tell Maxx and Jun about Punch Club.
The second rule of Punch Club is - you DO NOT tell Maxx and Jun about Punch Club.
Third rule of Punch Club…nah, that's it.
Just kidding! House Rules," sliding a print-out in front of you over the glass bar top, blazing a neon trail. It looks like a photo of the Rule plaque you had noticed in the lobby downstairs…with some cross-outs and a few additions scribbled into the bottom of the picture:
. HOUSE RULES .
♠ Please exercise common sense wherever necessary
♠ Guilt-tripping, pity-partying, attacking other posters - strictly prohibited
♠ All art and ideas are ©C*cktail - please do not use without permission
♠ Chatspeak is not recognized - apologies for any inconvenience caused
♠ Do not post in this journal without permission, please keep it IC if you do
♠ Hos is not for sale, trade or bribe |
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Posted: Fri Jun 18, 2010 11:46 pm
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How It Began
The feline bartender grins at you from across the counter, his hands busy as he creates your special cocktail – not just any cocktail, but a C*cktail, what with an asterix and everything. "I'm delighted to be doing this for you, you know," he says, and you wonder how his deft hands can measure and pour without his taking his eyes off you, "it's an absolute pleasure."
When you look down, your cocktail is done. It is pristine and perfect.
As you reach to admire it, he taps your fingers with a velveteen digit. "Finishing touches," he explains, and empties a solution from a small metal pellet into the drink. He slides a coaster under, and it is now truly complete.
You decide it's best not to drink it, now that it's obviously spiked. |
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Posted: Fri Jun 18, 2010 11:47 pm
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Posted: Fri Jun 18, 2010 11:49 pm
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Posted: Fri Jun 18, 2010 11:50 pm
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Posted: Fri Jun 18, 2010 11:51 pm
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Posted: Fri Jun 18, 2010 11:53 pm
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Posted: Fri Jun 18, 2010 11:53 pm
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Posted: Fri Jun 18, 2010 11:54 pm
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Reply
