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A Good Life (Postponed Indefinately)

This is where all of the Age of Space role-plays are archived.
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A Good Life (Postponed Indefinately)

Post by DamonMcLarren » Thu Jun 03, 2010 10:23 am

The club, Voyages, thumps, filled with bass and sound, the music what would have been considered an odd mix of metal and techno a few hundred years ago. It is rather early in the day, just before noon, so the music isn't too loud yet, not like it will be later. There aren't many patrons inhabiting the place at the moment, just a few furs having lunch.

Upon entering the club, the first thing that you would see is the bar, surrounding the bartender on all sides in a circular fashion. It's quite large and can seat about 35. In the middle of the bar is an island containing cooking equipment, a grill and griddle, a high-speed oven, and a decent sized stove, as well as several coolers. There are more coolers under the bar itself. The setup allows the patrons to watch their food being cooked or their drinks being mixed freely, and allows the bartender/cook to talk to his customers as he performs his duties, as well as show off a bit as he cooks. Around the bar, mostly to the right, are tables and booths of varying sizes. To the left, past the few tables in that direction, is a large cleared space in front of a stage, for concerts and such. Right now, the club is lit warmly, with a soft light conducive to eating and relaxing. Later, as afternoon fades into evening, the lights will dim, and be replaced with blue strip lighting, as well as specialized directional lights over the tables, which the patrons can switch on and off at their leisure, depending on what type of lighting situation they would prefer to be in. There is no live music scheduled for tonight.

The club, by Dmitrian standards, is a small one when looking only at the restaurant and bar side of it. When taking into account the potential for live music and partying, however, the value skyrockets, especially considering some of the entertainment that goes through here. To handle all the drink demand for live music nights, there are vending machines along one wall that carry generic alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages, to release some of the strain off the bartender.

At any point in time, there is at least one fur in Voyages that stands out, not because of his heavy body mods, but because of his relative lack of them. Blackjack leans against the counter behind the bar, bored, with little to do. He is wearing only a pair of black shorts and a cook's waist apron1 with a decent quality pistol in a holster at his hip, the rest of his apparently unmodded body showing. The wolf's thick black fur shows his muscle tone, and it's obvious that he takes care of himself, even in a lowish-gravity environment like this. Shaggy black hair streaked with red hangs to his shoulder blades, his ears and tail tipped with the same red. A coil of metal spirals up the outside of his left ear accompanied by an industrial bar, as well as two industrial bars set at different angles in his right ear. He has digitigrade legs.

A 4Didar scan would show something completely different, however. His insides, including his nervous system, while appearing to function similarly to an organic's, are all synthetic, with the use of nanites to keep them in proper working order. Muscles flex and work just like the real thing. His stomach is where food (or any source of nutrition) goes when taken in, and from there it is broken down and shifted on a molecular level by specialized nanites and sent throughout his body as needed, until what is left is a sole hydrogen molecule, and even those get used. A very efficient process, especially as there is no waste material produced. His "brain," a highly sophisticated neural array, seems to function much like an organic brain, with the added thinking capabilities of a computer. Even his skin and fur are synthetic, though they look and feel like the real thing. One curious point to note is that in his chest is a thin layer, just underneath the skin and not visible without a 4Didar scan, designed specifically to show up on said scans with the wording "I'm not an Immortal, please ask about this before pointing your gun at me." He added this little feature out of necessity, as he almost got a chemical round to the face on more than a few occasions. Another is that he appears to have scars in several places on his body, though the nanites would normally prevent any scarring from occuring.

The regulars to the club would know him as the owner of the bar, and the main barkeep and cook. At night, he usually has one or two waitresses on staff, and on busy nights another bartender to help him out. However, his other bartender found a different job just recently, so there is a Help Wanted: Apply at Bar sign on the automated bulletin board next to the door.

Currently, to all outward appearances, he isn't doing anything, merely leaning against the counter behind the bar with his eyes closed, waiting for someone to get his attention. However, internally, he's not resting at all. A built-in communication array, and a decently powerful one at that, is allowing him to surf the extra-net, the communications network broadcast throughout the Dmitrian federation. Currently, he is checking on the local news, keeping up with the events of the area. At the same time, he sends a wireless signal to the music player in the club, changing the song and lowering the volume slightly.

____________________
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Last edited by DamonMcLarren on Wed Jun 23, 2010 9:46 pm, edited 3 times in total.
"When I was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse
Out of the corner of my eye
I turned to look, but it was gone
I cannot put my finger on it now
The child is grown, the dream is gone
And I have become comfortably numb"
~Pink Floyd

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Re: A Good Life (Dmitri, various)(Open)

Post by Sade » Sat Jun 05, 2010 2:55 pm

A massive tube five kilometers in length clawed its way across the expanse of space between Dmitri's colonies, nearly black against the background of stars save for momentary ignitions of its micro-pulse drives. The interlunar tug nicknamed Yessingham by her permanent crew of fifty was, in fact, one of the original colony vessels, modified for freight service. The endless honeycomb of cubical quarters that once filled out her interior had been largely stripped away in favor of open spaces for cargo of varying kinds. Her original nuclear pulse propulsion engine which had been powered by surplus nuclear warheads, had long since been replaced with a more modern design. She was meant to carry as much cargo as possible for the lowest price possible, not paying passengers. Lucky for Spacer John, the tugs often allowed layabouts in good standing with the law to ride for free during less demanding duty cycles.

So, John found himself standing at one of very few viewports towards the forward segment of the tube, in one of the crew's recreational spaces, watching the vessel's next port of call ever so slowly fill the void. Times like these he almost wished he'd paid for passage on a dedicated passenger vessel- two months to cross a measly million kilometers of space!!! Then, of course, he would remind himself that there was a very good reason for his decision. Economic times were bad, and a series of expensive genetic modifications had left his pockets almost completely empty.

His eyes focused on the ghostly reflection in the glass. He wasn't a bad looking fur, as far as he could tell. Genetically feline, physically a cross between feline and vulpine with a coat ranging from light grey on his face and down the front of his body to dark grey along sides and back, sprouting tufts of grey-streaked blackish hair between his ears. He was somewhat shorter than average, and noticeably slender. His smile was fanged and narrow, his cheek bones set somewhat high, his face showing very slight favor towards yamahanese traits- which made sense for reasons he usually refrained from discussing. Lines of green phosphorescence pulsated slowly through his hair and up either side of his torso. Oh, and then there was the matter of his arms and ears, of which he possessed four each. The arms had been a clever idea to increase his productivity and desirability to employers. The ears had been another clever idea to the same effect. Unfortunately, as he discovered only after the fact, genetic modifications to the brain were an order of magnitude more expensive, and quite beyond his financial means. Without those neural enhancements, the extra arms and ears had ended up robbing cognitive real-estate from his eyes and tail. He'd ended up clumsier than he had been before the mods, with worse eyesight, and less employable overall. Oh, and he had been forced to give up his feline tail in favor of one less neurologically demanding: a rabbit tail.

So here he was, riding a giant cargo container between the moons! It wasn't all bad. He played cards- using real, physical cards!- with the crew on occasion. He was able to win enough to buy the most delightful cooking apron from one. It was a novelty apron showing a live feed of the star field from whatever external sensors were available to the public networks. The image was oriented with his own orientation in relation to the stars, so when he wore it the front of his torso was like a moving window. People were free to gaze through him at the stars at any time. Anyone gazing at his back would see a furry back, clothed butt, and his bunny-like tail. With this piece of clothing, he now possessed two pieces of clothing in total, the other being his dark greenish shorts.

"Should be docking soon," a passing feline drawled as he joined John at the window.

"Yes? And how soon is soon?"

The crewman scratched behind an ear, considering the growing shape out the window. "Oh, few hours maybe? Day or two? Something like that."

John smiled, because John was almost always smiling, almost always upbeat to the point of irritating coworkers and employers, upbeat to the point of being grating to many furs. Had he been fired from his previous job because of a lack of productivity, as claimed, or for his glass-half-full, find amusement at everything attitude? "Oh, yes! Of course! Such very, very, deeply good news! You have brightened my day considerably!"

The crewman eyed him, "not thrilled, are you?"

"No!" he called, waving his arms in exasperation, "I've been here for two months with nothing to do but lose money at card games and stare at endless containers of...errr-"

"Helium-3."

"-Helium-3!" He folded his face into two hands while leaning hard against the viewport with the two remaining, "hey, I'm grateful for the ride, I really am. Just can't stand being stuck in one place like this for so long. An economy is out there," he waved at the colony, "and I really need to get back into it..."

And, three days later, he finally had his chance. After days of coasting and agonizing hours of careful maneuvering, the Yessingham had finally eased into a birth at one among hundreds of docking spires. An eleven minute elevator ride brought him away from the dock, where robotic servitors worked diligently to unload a fortune in fusion fuel, towards the superstructure of the station, with its shops and living quarters and bars and information processing centers and industry and all the workings of a civilization.

An hour of searching yielded many disappointments. The economy here was on an upswing and people were hiring, but it never took long for prospective employers to identify a... perhaps not serious, but, definitely inadvisable flaw in John's genetic enhancements. Employing a fur with extensive body mods yet lacking the neural mods to accommodate them was seen as a wildcard, and most employers avoided wildcards. Why hire somebody potentially unstable- and so gratingly cheerful- when more predictable furs could be had?

"Ahhha," he created a noise between a sigh and an 'aha,' noticing a change in his retina heads-up-display. He had crossed a boundary. This section of the colony was in the early morning, while the one he'd left was approaching night- a common strategy to reduce the load on public services. His body, meanwhile, told him he was... excited yet tired. Bags hung under his eyes- of which he only had two, of course. Soon the excitement would wear out and he would have to find somewhere to sleep. Births were available for such things. But to sleep would be to admit defeat! No, he would press on, even if he had to search night and day for weeks! He would climb the highest peaks! He would walk ten trillion miles! He would-

Spacer John crashed into a solid object and fell to the floor. Above him, along the top of a doorway, was the word "Voyages," obviously one of the local bar and grills. What really excited him was the Help Wanted message on its electronic billboard. He scrambled to his feet, grinning from ear to ear, and ducked into the bar- then ducked again as he almost collided with one of few patrons, spun, slipped, recovered, stumbled, and somehow found himself at the bar, looking into the face of a black wolf- black save for red accents. "Ahem," the fur's grin remained as he uncoiled his torso to face fully in the correct direction, and sat on a stool. He examined the wolf with all of his senses, including an implanted 4Didar scanner, the vestiges of a previous place of employment. "So I noticed the Help Wanted sign in the-" he choked on the words, stifled laughter, emitted a nervous chittering of a giggle, "please!-" he slapped the bar with two right hands, "please ask before-" laughter, "before pointing your gun at me!" He leaned away from the bar, now outright laughing and rubbing at his eyes.

A minute passed. He finally brought his humor under control. People were staring. "Ahhh... yes, well, I was wondering if the position was still open? I've worked bars before, mostly in Yama and Vac." That both were tiny, largely irrelevant outposts was something he refrained from mentioning. The internal 4Didar was from Vac, where the bars often served refreshments in open public spaces and the bartenders had been required to scan patrons for dangerous weapons. Vac, where rougher kinds tended to carry such things. He shrugged away the thought and waved absently towards empty space, "and I did some data-proc work as well..."

He suddenly perked. He seemed always to do things suddenly. "Hey, I've had my hands on some of the newest holographic projects- I could help you install some! What better way to spruce this place up, eh?" He moved to elbow the wolf, found that a large bar happened to be in the way, stopped and thought better of it.

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Re: A Good Life (Dmitri, various)(Open)

Post by DamonMcLarren » Sun Jun 06, 2010 9:29 pm

Blackjack opened his eyes as the door to the club slid open and a thin, shortish hybrid walked in. He couldn't help but smirk a little bit as the fur made his stumbling way towards the bar. He detected a ping from a 4didar scanner emanating from the hybrid as the fur got a look at him, and pinged him right back, storing the information that he found in his short term memory1 for quick access and later filing to long-term storage. He smiled a bit as the fur started laughing at the message in his chest, standing up straight and reaching forward to put a few glasses back in their proper place.

Well, at least he has a sense of humor, he thought. More than a few furs new to the place would be nervous about me. Points for the new guy.

He waited until the fur was done speaking before even opening his mouth to reply to him. "Well, I have ta say, that was a very graceful stumble tha' ya made on yer way in here," he began, speaking with an odd accent that the fur had probably never heard before.2 "Yes, th' position is still open, bu' I need ta know if yer gonna be breakin' any glasses or bottles before I go hirin' ya." He looked the fur over, putting his paws on his hips as he looked up a detail of the 4Didar scan that he made, re-affirming a suspicion that he had on the subject of the fur's clumsiness, though he kept his mouth closed about it at that particular moment.

Instead, he continued. "As far as Yama an' Vac go, Yama's really nothin' special, though Vac has some tough customers ta deal with. But at least ya have th' basics down, I s'pose. As for the holo's, I think yeh'll change yer mind about th' look of the place tonight, if I decide ta keep ya around.

"Speakin' of which," he continued, "I don' even know yer name. Blackjack McLain, a'cher3 service." He held out a paw to the fur to shake.

______________________

1. Comparable to RAM in a computer, for you nerds out there.
2. Technically a Fortrian accent, just think Scottish. :P
3. "a'cher" = at your
"When I was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse
Out of the corner of my eye
I turned to look, but it was gone
I cannot put my finger on it now
The child is grown, the dream is gone
And I have become comfortably numb"
~Pink Floyd

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Blackjack

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Re: A Good Life (Dmitri, various)(Open)

Post by Sade » Tue Jun 08, 2010 5:15 pm

John nodded enthusiastically at virtually every single word coming from the wolf's mouth, which wasn't to indicate any kind of agreement of appreciation, more just an inbuilt reaction of his character. He listened intently to people, and he felt the need to make sure they knew it, too! As his head flopped, he thought the wolf's words over, grinning nervously at the question of whether he'd be breaking bottles left and right, puffing out his chest in friendly defiance at the suggestion that his previous places of employment were "nothin' special," and so on. He tried to peg down the wolf's accent, but couldn't. No matter. He liked it. It was different, and different was more often a good thing than not, so long as the person being different wasn't snooty about it, like Feilan's tended to be.

"Speakin' of which," the wolf continued, "I don' even know yer name. Blackjack McLain, a'cher service."

"Spacer John," the hybrid grinned- more than before, that is- and shook the wolf's hand with one of his. "Actually, I'm not a Spacer- err, not, not from the Felecis belt or anything like that, god forbid! All kinds of nasty weapons in those parts... No, there's a great story behind it. You see, it started the first time I brought a girl home. I thought she was quite nice looking, myself, but apparently my father didn't agree! After she left, I asked him about her, and he just looked at me. Like this," he tried to emulate the look, a sort of humorous yet jokingly serious, sideways glance of sorts, "and he exclaimed, 'Space 'er, John!' Apparently he didn't approve!" The fur's voice seemed to slowly accelerate as he continued, up to the point where sentences starting losing structure, "of course he was joking- of course- it's not like he was really suggesting that I kill her or launch her from an airlock - no- he's not that kind of guy- not like his father- err no, not at all, he just wasn't impressed!"

Deep breath, tempo back to normal, "Sooo, somehow or another, I can't really remember how or why, I ended up with Spacer John as a nickname. The real name's Johnathanium Turnpike. Longwinded and unpleasant. Apparently Turnpike comes from the name of... some kind of ground vehicle interchange or another, where you actually had to pay to use that segment of network. My grandfather used to take his ship and park it at one of the Lagrange points, where ships could change course without too much delta-V, and... sort of, 'request' that they... 'donate' money in order to use the L point. Like a Turnpike, you know. And then- like- shotgun weddings lead to other things and soon enough Turnpike was our family name."

"That's all ancient history, though, nothing to worry about. Fun story though, I think," he scratched behind an ear, but suddenly burst forth with more speech halfway through the motion, "oh- but he could tell some great stories, grandpa Turnpike could! He'd bounce me on his knee when I was little and talk about... err, well, I think he called it 'sports.' Racing other ships whenever they happened to be bigger than his, or had 'longer guns,' or were painted with military colors, or when they were 'pretending,'" he made quotes in the air with all four hands, "to shoot at him! Fun stuff."

God, he was tired, but excited! He was going to crash tonight, that was for sure. Or this morning... He was going to crash whenever he ended up someplace with a bed.

"As for breaking bottles," he squared his shoulders and opened his mouth to say something confident and reassuring, then sighed and visibly drooped, sinking down against the stool. John wasn't aware of McLain's 4Didar ping- his own equipment couldn't detect such things, being of much lesser quality and cost- but even so, he could think of no good reason to deceive the wolf. First, lying just wasn't in his nature. Second, he didn't think he could pull it off very well. Third, Blackjack would find out soon enough. "Look, I'll level with you here," he started off hesitantly, tracing circles in the condensation on the bar before meeting the wolf's eyes. He tapped his head, "the kinds of mods I'd need, up here, are - what, five years pay at bartender salaries? That's money I didn't have then, and don't have now. I got these arms and ears without knowing, and now I'm stuck in one of those horrible, vicious spirals where I need to work to get the mods, but nobody will hire me until I get the mods."

He shrugged heavily, all the activity and excitement of the day finally catching up to him. "I'm out of options here. Frankly, I just don't know what to do anymore. A free ride here was costly in time; two months to get here, and that's from a moon right nearby! I mean, I can try my damnedest not to break anything, but... I'm almost certain to break something, and knowing my luck it'll happen sooner rather than later."

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Re: A Good Life (Dmitri, various)(Open)

Post by DamonMcLarren » Tue Jun 08, 2010 5:56 pm

Blackjack listens patiently as John tells his stories, going about some small meaningless chores behind the counter, but stopping and leaning on the bar a little when John tells him about his lack of implants, smiling openly at him once he was finished.

"Well, I'll tell ya right now, I like ya," he says, straightening up a little. "An' I'm glad ya leveled with me. I scanned ya after you scanned me, an' knew about th' implants. Thank you fer bein' honest with me, John, I appreciate tha'." He sighed and leaned his head back, seeming to think for a second. "Tell ya what. Ya look tired, but I'd like ta try ya out behind th' counter fer a while, here now while it's not real busy, an' I might quiz ya on some barkeepin' stuff. Dependin' on how ya do, I think I have a deal in mind that yeh'll like."

As previously said, Blackjack liked him. John being honest with him had won some major points, as well as his cheery nature in general, so he was inclined to help him out a bit.

"Yer employment here, if ya do good, will get ya room an' board, s'long as ya don't mind sharin' an apartment with me, food, a small salary plus whatever tips ya can get, an', after a couple weeks o' work, those neural mods tha' ya need." He said this nonchalantly, as if it were a standard perk that he often included in his employment benefits.

"There are only a couple things tha' I'd like ya ta keep in mind," he continued, with a bit of a smile. "First, all of my glassware is non-breakable an' I have a padded floor, but tha' won' stop it from spillin'. Second, a sugesstion tha' ya keep a pair o' yer arms in yer pockets when yer dealing with food an' drink. This'll reduce th' strain on yer nerves an' hopefully improve yer coordination somewhat, at least until ya get yer mods. Third, be mindful of yer mouth. Ya can talk ta me all ya want an' I won't mind, but customers may not want to hear yer stories, so be careful not ta annoy them. I'm no' sayin' don' talk to them at all, but tone it down a bit, a'right? If ya can do tha' for me, I think we'll be able ta work together jus' fine."
"When I was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse
Out of the corner of my eye
I turned to look, but it was gone
I cannot put my finger on it now
The child is grown, the dream is gone
And I have become comfortably numb"
~Pink Floyd

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Damon (outdated)
Blackjack

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Sade
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Posts: 1317
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Re: A Good Life (Dmitri, various)(Open)

Post by Sade » Thu Jun 10, 2010 1:51 pm

The four-armed hybrid's grin grew, if such a thing were possible, when the wolf said he liked him. He liked being liked, even if he wasn't liked enough to be hired on. His grin faded ever so slightly and he found himself flushing beneath his fur at the revelation that he himself had been scanned by Blackjack. He was suddenly very glad that he'd decided against lying! Where would he have ended up had he lied? On another slowboat to the next Colony, no doubt, still out of work; still out of hope.

The rest of Blackjack's words were only increasingly fantastic. The wolf was going to give him a chance to prove himself, to show that, perhaps he wasn't the most graceful of creatures, but he had the knowledge and the will. The will to serve dutifully and loyally, the will to work any hours and all hours, the will to serve furs alcoholic beverages until they pass out on the floor! Well, not really. He couldn't see himself allowing a person to harm himself so. Not only that, but the will to-

"Yer employment here, if ya do good, will get ya room an' board, s'long as ya don't mind sharin' an apartment with me, food, a small salary plus whatever tips ya can get, an', after a couple weeks o' work, those neural mods tha' ya need."

John laughed ecstatically, thumping the bar a single time with a hand while rubbing two together, "that's... just... incredibly generous of you!" He grabbed at Blackjack's hands and shook them haphazardly, "you won't regret this, I promise! I will earn those implants one way or another, I will work so hard- so long, that....that...that even the dread pirate Robylinson couldn't drag my carcass out of this bar!" He pantomimed swinging a saber, "with a drink in one hand, a bar tab in another, and a young half-naked woman swooning in the other two, I would fend him off! Even if it means sharing quarters with an Immortal pretending not to be an Immortal who also happens to be a complete stranger!"

He ran around the complete circumference of the bar as he rambled, looking for a way to the other side. Failing that, he scrambled over the top of it and slid headfirst into a stove, which he carefully set back to its proper setting while he clawed his way to his feet. Even as he figuratively frothed at the mouth, Blackjack's conditions to this agreement rang in the back of his mind. "And- yes- of course," he shoved two of his arms into the pockets of his shorts, switching on the star-field apron as he did, "I'll try to keep small talk to a minimum. Yes, no random stories from me, not while on duty. Strictly professional! Those are my middle names!"

Dear Lord, he was going to crash SO INCREDIBLY HARD. He beamed at his prospective future employer, "so, what would you have me do?"

((OOC: Please keep in mind that I myself haven't actually worked at a bar, so my knowledge of the subject is not extensive. :P I will be trying to play John as if he knows things that I don't know, which should get interesting real quick-like!))

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Re: A Good Life (Dmitri, various)(Open)

Post by DamonMcLarren » Thu Jun 10, 2010 9:20 pm

Blackjack just grinned and shook his head as John talked about fending off the pirate, but had to fight to hold down a bristle at John calling him an Immortal. This left him in a rather neutral mood, the two reactions having effectively canceled each other out. He circulated the inside of the bar as John ran around it, standing and watching with his paws on his hips as John slid over the bar.

"Well, th' firs' thing tha' I would have ya do is use the door next time," he replied, doing a quick visual check of the stove to make sure that it was indeed reset correctly and then opening a section of bar outwards to show John where it was. "Th' second is never call me an Immortal again." He let the section of bar swing back into place as he walked towards John some, pointing a finger at him as he said this. "I am not an Immortal. Those fools have a completely twisted outlook on life, an' I want no part of it. I've been alive longer than any of 'em, an' am disgusted with the lot."

Whoops. There was something he didn't let slip all that often, and never in the company of strangers, the fact that he was older than any of the Immortals. After all, he only looked to be about 25 years of age, physically. The Immortals had changed so much as they aged that they were unrecognizable, whereas he...looked normal.

Now that he thought about it, maybe he had let his temper get away with him a bit. He suppressed his anger for the time being by making a slight adjustment to his systems, wanting to be more levelheaded. John hadn't known any better, and the comment was innocent enough in nature that there was no logical reason that he should have gotten mad at him, aside from pre-existing bad feelings towards the Immortals on his part.

He sighed, washing his paws in the small sink in one corner of the bar, separated along with the InstaCleen dish system from the food prep sink and counters. "I don't mean ta snap, John, I'm sorry," he said, looking back over his shoulder at the hybrid for a moment. "I just get angry at th' Immortals, an' not jus' because I've almos' gotten shot in th' face more than a few times after someone pinged me." He finished washing his paws then, and stood up, turning back around to face John, drying his paws on his waist-apron. "What right do they have ta declare themselves better than everyone else jus' because they can live longer? That's...th' most asinine mentality I've ever heard of." He shook his head and looked away, not really willing to continue on the subject.

((OOC: That's all right, I haven't worked in a bar wither, but I will be looking up some general info and some drink recipes. On a different note, John cheers me up and make me laugh. :3 I like him a lot.))
"When I was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse
Out of the corner of my eye
I turned to look, but it was gone
I cannot put my finger on it now
The child is grown, the dream is gone
And I have become comfortably numb"
~Pink Floyd

Links to Characters
Damon (outdated)
Blackjack

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