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[Phantom of The Library]

A tallish man in his early twenties stumbles in, nearly falling over as his foot catches on the door-frame.  He has short brown hair and wears an unbuttoned flannel over a t-shirt and baggy khakis with way too many pockets.  On his back is a backpack that seems to be packed with books and some sort of gold cloth.  He looks around the ground floor for a moment, staring off into space, then snaps back with a start.  "Do you know where I might find the manager?"

[Fniff]

Fniff takes the money and walks in from the cold, and looks at Phantom.

"I am the manager." Fniff says cheerfully.

[TherosPherae]

The man on the couch wakes with a start, yelling obscenities about Martians and the Eighth Declaration of Independence. He then quickly realizes he dropped his bottle, and stumbles outside to look for it while clutching his forehead.

[Phantom of The Library]

"Ah, thank you!  Do you have any rooms available? Preferably some with shelf space?"  He says with relief as he struggles with his wallet, which seems to have become entangled in his pocket somehow.  He steps aside to give the Theros a clear path to the door.

[TherosPherae]

"Thanks, man, was 'fraid I'd have t'walk through ya." The man wanders outside, grabs his bottle, then releases a string of minor profanities upon realizing that it's broken. He then turns around and notice Fniff holding his paper-wad. "'Scuse me, but that's mine. Why d'you got it?"

[Fniff]

"Infinite rooms, just don't ask for any in the subbasement..." Fniff stares a thousand miles away, then shakes his head and smiles. "So, just pay me 100 quid and you can sign a contract after you set everything up!"

Fniff then sees the fellow. "You payed me it...? Why do you seem familiar all of a sudden?"

[Doomblade187]

The man pushes by the 20-something, handing a small package to Fniff as he walked down the hall. "That should be enough. I'll be in a room on the second floor if you need me. Just call me Doom," he shouted over his shoulder as he walked down the hall. He climbs up the stairs and enters room 2C.

[Fniff]

"... Charming and chipper name."

[TherosPherae]

"Feck if I know what his problem is. But why th' hell did I pay you for anyth- oh hey, these th' new apartments, huh? You th' landlord or somethin'? Tha's gotta be it, I was lookin' fer one and I heard you guys had 'em cheap. Seriously, though, can I have that back, I kind of really need some more." The man points to the empty bottle and tries to make a pitiful face, instead looking something like a pitbull.

[jc6036]

Jim walks back to the entrance to help Fniff, his bags unloaded.

He looks at the drunk, "Aw, he's kind of cute."

Jim pulls some crumpled bills out of his pocket and toss them to the drunk.

[Fniff]

Fniff thinks. "Uh, promise not to drink yourself into vomiting into Howard's bowl and you get free rent for the first month... You really do remind me of someone, yet I can't place it. My name is Fniff Aelis."

[Phantom of The Library]

Phantom stumbles and falls over as Doom pushes his way past him, but the impact knocks his wallet out of his pocket at last, and he crawls over to retrieve it then pulls out one-hundred and ninety-four american dollars and seventy-two cents and drops it in Fniff's hand, "You do accept American dollars right?  If memory serves one American dollar is 1.9472 quid, or is it the other way around..." His voice trails off as he searches his memory.

[Flying Dice]

A tall, overly thin young man burdened with a few too many bags stumbles through the open doorway. In one hand, he holds a mostly full bottle of vodka, in the other a crumpled map of the city. He looks hesitantly around, scratching his rather patchy stubble with the (mostly) free hand holding the map.

"I-ah, that is, I had heard that there were rooms to let here?"

[jc6036]

At the name Howard, Jim flexes his right pointer finger. A rather mechanical sound can be heard from under the glove.

"Yes yes, there are rooms here. And we'll just take whatever you have, young man."

[TherosPherae]

"Mine's... um. Shit, one moment. It's, uhh...." The man digs around in his pants pockets for a few seconds before producing a badge, which he then reads off of. "Oh right! I'm 83rd Police Department, New J- wait, tha's not it. It's the subscrip'. Right. Okay. Kevin..... wait, how th' hell did I pronounce that? Tha' can't be right. Wai', didn' I win this in tha' bet over in - OH. M'name's Johnathan Smith, profession'l gambler 'n' storyteller, at your service. C'n I have that back now?"