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[Fniff]

Tom pointed to Rick.

"This is Rick." He said, simply.

[jc6036]

"Okay. So, robed one, what is your name?"

[The Fool]

"Lex the Harbinger. Long story behind the name. I don't think that going anywhere with my appearance is a good idea, even with the hood. People seem apprehensive around me."

[Fniff]

Tom smiled. "Believe me, the bar we are going to... Well, the guy who owns it is a former mad scientist, his waiter is a retired mercenary who has killed much more rogue Supers then anyone else I have heard about with just an AK47 and the tenant who helps out a bit is a Russian. Believe me, they do not care about a thing in that bar. Seriously, it's a brilliant bar for superheroes."

[The Fool]

"Sounds good then. I'll join, but I won't be drinking. Mainly because I don't really have what would be called blood, or circulation really. I'm not sure what alcohol will do to me."

[Fniff]

The bar was a simple corner place, red brick and slouching beside a nasty old apartment block and an industrial factory. It was high value Old Town material, but it wouldn't fetch a dime in any other place. In Old Town, from the oldest lady to the youngest tot, people had to know where every black market gun dealer was, how to fire a 9mm and how to lynch a Super who is out of line with the syndicate of the month, be it the Russian Mayifa, the Yakuza or the plain old Mafia. This bred a specific class of people who were tough, cunning, and strong.

The owner of the Meat Boy Bar, however, was the exact opposite of this. A lanky fellow named Finn, with square glasses, a yellow t-shirt and a happy demeanor. He was only attracted to Old Town because of the nostalgia factor and the cheap properties. He was not Old Town material. He was an Irish former mad scientist turned bar owner after a particularly bad job. His only waiter was a personal friend who was named Blankey. He was strange. He could take down an entire army of trained superheroes with just an AK47 and some C4 charges, but he had a completely absurd and often childish outlook on life. The guy who rented the room that was unused was a guy named Artyom Risovat. He had a bit of a cynical personality, but was generally a-okay. He enjoyed painting and made a fair amount of money from it. A rumor had been spreading around his paintings caused effects on one's mental health, but those were unfounded.

The bar inside, however, was a fairly typical rough-looking bar. A jukebox in the corner, a tough wooden counter and a collection of spirits behind the bar. Finn was sitting in his colorful checkered shirt on the counter, reading a newspaper.

And then some guys wandered in.  Must be supers, they have that look about them, Finn thought. He set down the newspaper and looked at them.

"Oh, hello! Welcome to the Meat Boy Bar, we do not actually sell meat! Or boys, if you are wondering." He grinned stupidly. "I'm Finn, and I'll be serving you fine fellas."

[Sinpwn]

Rick smiled at the man.
"So, what kind of spirits do you serve here?"

[Fniff]

"Well, we serve a fine collection. We have vodka, bourbon, whiskey, a fine spirit which was derived from that interesting new disease which is really hard-hitting, beer, LSD beer, Coca-Cola, Club Orange and actual souls of the dead infused into alcoholic beverages. Don't worry, it's just the residue. I call it the Echoplasm Cocktail!" Finn threw his arms out dramatically. "It's like heaven and hell with all the best parts!"

"I think I'll have a coke." Tom said. "Also, hi Finn!"

"Been a while, eh my draconic buddy?" Finn chuckled.

[ShoesandHats]

"I'll have the Ectoplasm Cocktail, please. I don't have much to pay you with, being a ghost and all, but I'm sure my 'friends' here can cover it for me."

Ulysses was liking the style of this neighborhood. It reminded him of the days when he was alive. It was nice to be able to breathe in the air with actual lungs.

[Sinpwn]

"I'll have the vodka." Rick said as he gestured to Ulysses. "And I'll pay for him too."

[Fniff]

Finn smiled and got out a glass bottle of coke and vodka, gave it to Tom and Rick, and then got out the equipment needed for a Ectoplasm cocktail. A containment device with a strange yellow light bouncing off the glass, a martini glass, beer and a strange ray-gun device. He poured the beer into the glass, and then put the spirit into the beer, causing the beer to turn bright yellow and start frothing dangerously. He then rapidly put the raygun inside the beer and fired, causing the froth to stop. Finn then gave it to Ulysses with a smile.

"Just like my mum used to make." He winked.

[Powder Miner]

Powder Adept Miner walked into the Meat Boy Bar with a few of the other miners that worked at his jobsite )they frequented the place because it was close to their digsite), and PAM had his dirt-covered pick slung across his back as he strolled in whistling. He walked right up to the counter, and asked if they had decided to keep the dwarven wine they'd been having as a special a few days ago, as a permanent item or really if they still had any of it.

He turned to the people next to him. "Hey, aren't you the people from that madness with the demi-gods yesterday?" He looked considerably healed, with only a little burn blothincg, and the impact wounding cvirtually gone, and with the bullet wound but a memory. He'd got medical help.

[Fniff]

Finn frowned unhappily. "Uh, sorry sir, but I had a bit of a tiff with the suppliers. It got a little... complex. To cut things short, Blankey and I ended up with about 10,000 in drug money, a thermonuclear weapon and several days I'm not going to get back that were filled with explosions and gunfire."

Tom looked at Powder. "Yeah. I'm Tom, and I'm part dragon. Hey, you look like a miner. Do you have any shiny materials that could be given away because of uselessness...?"

[Powder Miner]

Powder Adept Miner sighed. "Well, do you have anything dwarven left, maybe at the bottom of the reserves?" He really liked the dwarven stuff- it was strong, but he'd developed a taste for it over the years he had lived with the dwarves.

He looked at Tom. "I believe I had seen that. And no, all of the ores were given to my boss."

[Fniff]

Finn sighed. "I kinda gave the last bottle to Artyom. You know, my tenant? If you want the last of it, you'll have to ask him."

Artyom, a tall brown-haired specimen of a Russian, walked down the stairs and into the bar, holding the characteristic bottle of dwarven wine. He sat down next to PAM and shook out his shoulders.

"Hallo, Finn. I have slight trouble with water. It is housing micro-biological entities which seem to be rapidly evolving into sentient beings of a humanoid type. I think this may be a violation of some law." He said, not putting any emotion into his words apart from tiredness. "I think it may interrupt my painting sessions."

"Oh, let me handle that." Finn then walked up the stairs. Until he returned, occasional sounds of creatures screaming and the sound of a flamethrower being used could be dimly heard.