Every fucking forum needs one. It balances the flow of things. (lesser of a shit load of evils).

so yeah.

also it's not related at all to bada bing bars, Cador. get over it.

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A wooden bar seemed to stick out in what would appear to be the red-light district of a big, mostly concrete and stone city. The easy to break wood made a statement. And over the door a big sign read [The fallout shelter drinking establishment]. A barely well thought out name. And there was a smaller wood sign tacked on next to it. [Now hiring]

If one walked inside it would look rather different. More metallic, with shiny bartops and a mirrored backdrop with every kind and brand of alcohol you could drink in two lifetimes against the back of the bar. Noone was in there though, seemed to be... Understaffed to say the least.

It couldn't be that bad a bar, could it now?

---

Employment roster:

Samuel La Croix (Manager)
Michael Azrael (Doorman)

(You realize that in one of ULX's Fallout Bings, he opened one up? As such, I intend to go with that. Heck, we might be able to get the lazy bastard to update the Fallout bing again. Hm... Competing Bars, maybe?)

Cador sighed at the entrance of the Division 99.1 Bar that ULX and the other four original's of his crew, Stacy, CX, Lap, and Tiff. He was just beginning his shift as Bouncer of the place, and had already been forced to evict Joe Joe and a few others from the place, Joe Joe for as much his own sake as for the customers, and a few others because they're the ones prone to never paying.

(Dunno about you guys, but I sure didn't see any OOC posts, since posts containing only OOC are strictly forbidden, as per the rules!)

Michael stood in front of The Fallout Shelter Drinking Establishment, a cigarette hanging from his lips. He took a looooong drag from it, before exhaling out his nose. His snow white hands were deep within the pockets of his black pants, and he was drawing crude pictures in the dirt with his hand made dress shoes. Michael was very informal, his maroon shit wasn't tucked in, nor was his blazer buttoned up, opting to be the terror that flaps in the night instead. His black tie was following suit.
The cigarette floated out from Michael's cold lips, and flicked the ashes off itself, and inserted itself back into Michael's mouth. Tonight was cold and boring. Being a doorman fucking sucked.

Iota was banned from the bar for nearly drinking them into bankruptcy a few weeks ago. Therefore, he's not in this story.

The faint sound of knuckles knocking against the wooden walls of the bar, right near the entrance, could be heard if only slightly. However, it echoed throughout the pitch-darkness of the seemingly empty bar. "...Anyone here?" The voice of questioning was that of Linken Rocuta, a commoner to bars as he did not get out from "work" all that much, but when he could he would spend his time throwing back a few brewskies and relaxing with his pals. "...Hello?" He spoke once more, this time slightly lower, afraid of awakening some sort of darker power within the confines of this odd, wooden bar that had been established in the middle of a big city.

(hai can i play? No seriously this was a pretty good idea. It's like Random Encounters only... with some hope of not being too random and getting out of control. :D)

A pair of rough hands fall upon Linken's shoulders and turns him around to face a grim middle-aged man, "I wouldn't be going near this bar, son." He says with a raspy voice, "It's a cursed place. Someone goes in, and they say he never comes out. Some say that this place steals your very soul, or a wicked demon lives inside, waiting to feast on unsuspecting customers. I should know, I lost my best friend to this place a month ago, and I can still hear his soul wailing every time I pass by this wicked place." The mans dark and mournful expression would lead someone to believe this is all true.

(Everyone loves Oushi, right D:?)

Oh, my! The only reason anyone would say the bar is cursed would be because the alcohol is too awesome.

Or it might be the gallows prop outside. Whatever!

A man exitted out the door to the two. Big n' Gruff. Bubba the barkeep. Well, he wasn't so much a barkeep as a criminal hiding out in the bar until the fuzz got the stick out. "You are customers? We have booze. You are workers? We have moneys." A thick-ass slavic accent for a gigantic bald man in a red suit and an apron reading "Old willy's". That wasnt even the fucking name of the bar for christ's sake.

A brief kick in the face later, Samuel La Croix was at the door on top of Bubba. "Ignore him, come in, come in. First drink's free." Turning his head to the doorman he said "Also, tuck your shirt in."

"O'hey Sam." Linken exclaimed as he entered the bar. He knew the man named Sam for quite some time, but had no knowledge of his whereabouts until just now. He entered the now well-lit bar, and surveyed the cheesy, over-used dart boards and football "artifacts" that were often seen in bars. It had that nice home-y feeling to it. Linken spent no time at all finding a seat, rather, he simply sat in the nearest place to park his ass. He rose a hand and shouted "WAITER. I'll have the most expensive meed y' got."

The man frowned as Linken stepped into the bar. He sighed and walked inside, "God dammit, Samuel, how am i supposed to keep all the booze to myself if you keep letting everyone else in?" He got inside an flopped down on a bar stool. He wore a long tattered coat with a few of the pockets overstuffed with some questionable content. He face was wrinkled and his hands were worn and scarred; his hair was a tangled brown mass and his beard was unkempt. He heaved and said, "I'll have to most alcoholic thing you can find, Sam."