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[Aseaheru]

 Everything and everyone tells a story, and this story, like so many others, begins properly in a tavern. To be precise, it starts in the rather unimaginatively named Hollow Tree Tavern, located within one of the hollow trees that Doris is known for. There are, of course, other taverns in New Champlain(as one bar cannot keep roughly one and a half thousand Canadians drunk on its own), but for whatever reason, this was the one that we find our future main characters in. Perhaps it was the rustic atmosphere. Perhaps that it did not mind its patrons being armed. Perhaps simply because it was cheap, near the spaceport, and had some rooms for rent. Possibly it was all those reasons and more.

 The place is mostly circular in shape, a scattering of toughly hewn tables and chairs spread across the floor, a stairwell heading down into the rooms and storage areas. The walls appear to be the natural timber, though with all the posters plastered upon them(some vintage travel posters, some government notices about this and that, most for drinks) one cannot really tell. There are few patrons at this time, most being at work here and there, and most that are drinking are dirt farmers, relaxing after their long days of work.

 

[Dwarmin]

It always pays to take a look around before you sit down at a place.

Take the woman in the table for example-sitting alone, looking well and truly pissed off at everything and everyone. The way she tenses up, squares her shoulders, bristles at anyone who so much as looks at her. A woman looking for a fight, and judging by the amount she's drinking, apt to find one sooner or later-most people who don't want to bothered take a seat in the corners, back to the wall, in a defensive huddle. She's right in the middle of the room, suggesting she wouldn't care if someone did-might even prefer it.

Not much to look at, and though she has her perks, you'd be a madman to try and chat her up right at the moment. Lean, fit, and ordinary-skinny as a rail, short as a fence post, and not much of a body in either direction, on the X, Y or Z axis. Fairly healthy skin, her face plain and unmarked by age (you'd put her far younger than she looks, honestly), and vaguely Germanic-facial features square and flat like a box, with a tough jaw and prominent cheekbones.

And, for her more obvious charms-the woman is armed, with a government issue baton, and two pistols securely strapped at her slender waist. A sensible rig for carrying openly, yet not for a wanna-be gunslingers draw, a criminal, or a soldier. It's easy to peg her as professional security, maybe a cop or a MP-the way she cases the room, the weapons subtle and discreet, the sort who draws weapons only when she needs them. The more observant of you might notice one of her pistols is pretty clearly of the non-lethal variety (the distinctive bulged holster fits a standard restraint carbine), which pretty much confirms it. Someone who has trained to kill, but only as a last resort. It's pretty clear she's not on the clock right now, though.

The woman merely continues her slow descent into angry oblivion as we watch, occasionally fooling with a shiny keyfob to some sort of motor vehicle in her left hand, seeming restless and lost.

[Stirk]

Of the many unassuming farm folk assembled, one in particular was sitting at the bar. This particular farmer would be difficult to pick out of the crowd, the small glass of expensive-looking wine swirling in his hand being the only oddity that would draw attention to him, perhaps aside from his handsome face. He wasn't visibly armed, though his cloths were certainly enough to conceal a reasonably sized weapon or two. Further contrasting this figure from the woman introduced earlier, his attention is apparent fully in his drink, his posture relaxed as he takes slow sips.

[Cain12]

At the other end of the bar another man sat, his wrinkled, yet well aged, face further creased in thought. His weary eyes fixated on a wall, or rather the old travel posters on it. His slightly bulky frame is wrapped in simple, if worn attire, his rolled up sleeves reveal gnarled arms. On his hip a holstered side arm is on display, a small cable connecting it to a pouch on his belt.

On occasion he turns from the posters, finding his drink, a non-alcoholic brand, taking a moderate gulp. After which he looks to a backpack by his chair, confirming it is still there before returning to the wall. Whatever his thoughts are, they apparently left a bad taste, as his next order is for a stronger drink.

[My Name is Immaterial]

Alban was pissed at himself. To be specific, he was pissed that he couldn't think of anyone to be pissed at for his current situation. On the one hand, the beer in this town was cheap, but, on the other hand, judging from how the beer was warm, he had a sneaking suspicion that he had wandered into English-Canadian territory. Damn rosbifs.

And he was bored. Cheap beer didn't mean much, if there was nothing to do. He looked up from the third pint he'd been nursing, and glanced at his reflection in the bar mirror. The unsightly face, with sunken, unblinking chrome eyes, that stared back at Alban quickly crossed off the idea of spending a night in the company of a woman or man, even in the platonic sense. The contents of his pockets weren't much more promising; he had left everything but his wallet and car keys in the truck. Well, maybe not everything. The weight of his pistol on his hip tugged at him, reminding him that violence could certainly help make things more interesting... but he quickly dismissed that idea, having noticed the fuming cop earlier.

He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the room. Maybe it had a pool table, or something.

Look for a pool table, or something.

[Dwarmin]

Katrine paused her drinking for a moment. Was this place really as dead as it looked? Oblivion was a goal, but not a plan.

Action: Test my streetwise. What sort of action can you find in a place like Doris, if any?

[Aseaheru]

 After a bit of thinking, Katrine cant really think of much people actually do in Doris. I mean, theres something they do besides go to these bars, right? Well, that and work.

 Alban looks about for entertainment, noting a trio of screens showing what appear to be long-over games of sports, probably just gotten here from where they where played. Theres also a pair of old-fashioned pool tables over by the stairs and what appear to be a pair of computer terminals tucked away in an alcove.


 With that, more individuals, rather more energetic than the dirt farmers already here, start to trickle in. A shift must have ended just before. Most head for the bar, while a group head for a pool table and start playing.

[Dwarmin]

He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the room. Maybe it had a pool table, or something.

Look for a pool table, or something.

Katrine managed to cool down her temper a moment. Had to think. What to do?

In the end, she picked out someone as angry looking as she felt. Figured he'd either try his luck in some way, or take a swing at her. Either way, it would break up the monotony.

...

She followed up behind the man with the chrome eyes as he approached the pool table, being careful not to get into his blind spot. Such a thing often got you a bullet in the gut, you weren't careful.

"...There's not much sport in playing by yourself. Fancy a round?" She said to him, first in French (Pas beaucoup de sport en jouant par vous-même. Vous voulez un jeu?), then German (Nicht viel Sport, der durch selbst spielt. Willst du ein Spiel?) if he didn't get that, and if he didn't get that broken English was always a popular 3rd choice (You, playing by yourself. So, me and you a game?)-either way, her tones were evenly clipped, neither friendly or hostile-just talking to talk.

She considered that she wasn't bad at the game, though all in all, she preferred a good game of cards. Or maybe a street race.

[My Name is Immaterial]

"Sûr. Je n'ai pas joué depuis longtemps, donc ne vous attendez pas à un défi. Voulez-vous casser?" (Sure. I haven't played in a long time, so don't expect a challenge. Do you want to break?) he replied, as he busied himself with setting the table with an efficiency that threw some doubt on his inexperience. He kept the woman in the corner of his vision, sizing her up as he prepped the game. What was her angle?

[Dwarmin]

"Might as well. This isn't my game either, but that's about the size of things these days. You play the games you can.

I'll wager 10lv, make it a little interesting for both of us. You eager?" Katrine said, seeming pleased he knew a language she didn't have to mangle. She sets up her first shot as he finishes racking the balls, without waiting for his answer-her hands steady, and breathing even...yet, her earlier smoldering rage is hardly subdued, only a little more buried.

"...Call me whatever you like, but I go by the name Hall. Shall we begin?"

She still waits till his answer about the bet to make her shot.

...

*crack*

Action: Time for a friendly game of pool! (I suggest the GM give us a competitive roll-off to see who wins)

[Aseaheru]

 Katrine and Alban play for a bit, each potting a ball or two. Alban seems to be doing slightly better than Katrine, though both appear slightly off their games.

[My Name is Immaterial]

"I'll wager 10lv, make it a little interesting for both of us. You eager?" Katrine said, seeming pleased he knew a language she didn't have to mangle. She sets up her first shot as he finishes racking the balls, without waiting for his answer-her hands steady, and breathing even...yet, her earlier smoldering rage is hardly subdued, only a little more buried.

"How does 10lv, and any drink on tap sound?" He stands back, letting her setup her shot. The frown that creased his mouth had evaporated, replaced with a slight smile.

"...Call me whatever you like, but I go by the name Hall. Shall we begin?"

"Call you whatever you like? How's Couloir sound, Hall?" He chuckled to himself at his own joke. "I prefer Alban for myself."

Katrine and Alban play for a bit, each potting a ball or two. Alban seems to be doing slightly better than Katrine, though both appear slightly off their games.

As the game progresses, Alban begins to relax, and tosses some friendly verbal jabs at Hall when she messes up. "Come on! You aim like an ostrich!"

[Dwarmin]

How does 10lv, and any drink on tap sound?" He stands back, letting her setup her shot. The frown that creased his mouth had evaporated, replaced with a slight smile.

"Given the pisswater they serve here, that's extra incentive not to have to drink it." She comments, her own mood mellowing out.

Call you whatever you like? How's Couloir sound, Hall?" He chuckled to himself at his own joke. "I prefer Alban for myself."

"Sure, I'll be Couloir, you be Écosse."

She curses (Zut!), though in good humor, as she misses her next shot.

As the game progresses, Alban begins to relax, and tosses some friendly verbal jabs at Hall when she messes up. "Come on! You aim like an ostrich!"

"I assume 'Ostriches' have good aim, then, whatever those are." Katrine quips, stepping back from the table.

"The World I grew up on just has a lot of big bugs. A big rock wiped out all the major life about the time of all the Dark Plagues on Old Mother*...no ostriches, but we shot and grilled anything with 6 legs or more. How many legs does an Ostrich have?"

Given her tone, her comments may be slightly flippant.

*A somewhat fond term for Earth, not in wide use

[Cain12]

With the influx of chattering workers crowding the bar, sitting in a quiet misery became increasingly harder. Finishing his drink, Brian turns at the sound of previously neglected pool tables put to use. Maybe the night won't be a waste after all.

The larger group arrived just now, look like co-workers, might be regulars here. If so they might be good, or at least better than him, and are certainly sober. Maybe check in when they have more drink in them.

The other, smaller, group was also uncertain, but for other reasons. The woman he knows was drinking when he got here, and she made no secret of her foul mood. He didn't notice the man, though looking at him, wonders how, is a "distinct" fellow put politely. Might be easier to beat, but carries a greater risk of violence.

Having more confidence in his skills in a fight than his skills at pool, he settles on the smaller group, though maybe get some help. He grabs his bag and approaches another man at the bar, he looks relaxed, slowly sipping wine.

"'scuse me, any good at poker? How do you feel about taking some drunks money?" he said while gesturing towards his targets. "I can handle them if it gets ugly, but would rather have backup."

[GiglameshDespair]

Olga was not a particularly nice woman, in looks or temperament.
This day, she was seated at the bar, sipping a cheap and rather strong rum. Drinking beer was annoying, because it tended to leak slightly out the hole in the scar tissue called half her face. Spirits, though.
Good kick to them.

Her old acquaintances on this planet - she didn't really have friends, as such - were sure as hell taking their time to answer her email on any work.

Fuck, maybe she was a bit hasty in quitting the Legion.

She regarded the pool game. She was surprisingly good at pool for a stocky-framed mesomorph such as herself. People tended to assume mesos were all lumbering brutes. She was, but she could play the knife game as well as anyone.