OOC commentary: The mob was taken over by an immortal who had some fun with it. And so, for the first time ever, Phil the barman roleplayed back! Stuff like this should happen more often.
Phil's Bar
Ror sat down in the warm chair against the wall in Phil's bar. He placed his ordered pizza on the table next to him and started reading his book, eating a slice every now and then. After a while Phil looked up from his glasses and glanced at Ror, saying 'Tough times, huh, bud?' Chewing on his pizza thoughtfully, Ror went 'Hm?' still focussed on his book. Phil nodded toward the book, still polishing glasses, asking, 'What are you reading there?' The barman put some glasses back and started wiping down the bar. Finally Ror looked up from the book at Phil, 'Ah, that'll be 'The Art Of War' by Tsun Tsun,' he answered. 'Whoa, ho! A friggin scholar in my bar.' Ror chuckled. 'I actually pay my tabs, if that helps... '
The barman let out a gruff chuckle and opened the ice chest behind the bar. 'So what do you think about this new Westbridge garbage? I gotta say, it's nice not having those purple armored bastards in here.' He started chipping off pieces of ice. Curious about the use of the terms 'new garbage', Ror asked about but agreed with the barman. Less purple bastards was always a good thing in the eyes of any TriPower officer. And Ror was no exception. 'You green, bud?' asked Phil, 'Those Vector bastards have been here for years. I almost forgot what the damned place looked like without that trash around.' Now Ror understood exactly what Phil had meant and he explained about his absence while the barman was wiping the sweat off his face due to the hard chipping labour he was performing.
'Need a hand?' asked Ror, but the response he got was one of laughs as Phil rolled up his sleeve and flexed his arm. 'You kiddin? I ain't a greenhorn here.' Ror disliked the display of muscle, as if it was the only requirement to be helpful, and so - to make a statement - he pointed with his finger at the block of ice and cast a lightning bolt to shatter it, saying 'Neither am I.' At first Phil raised his eyebrow, but after it sank in, the man finally grinned. 'Well alright then, range rover. You win.' Ror smirked and turned back to his book while Phil shut the ice chest, satisfied, and started cleaning up the ice fragments on the floor with a broom. Resuming the smalltalk, Phil said, 'So, war. Not to put to fine a point on it, but the war is over, brother.'
'For now,' said Ror trying to concentrate on his book again. Near the bar Phil was emptying the ice fragments into a trash can and nodding. 'Yeap. I s'pose your right there. Someone always wants someone elses' shit. That's for sure. Anyway, I'll let you get back to your reading. I know what it's like to have people talking non stop.' And with that last commented the barman looked out over the pretty empty bar with a smirk and a shrug. Life was as it was. And Ror could not disagree with that. 'Indeed. And we've not seen the last of Vector, I'm sure of it,' added Ror thoughtfully. 'I'll bet you're right,' replied Phil going back to cleaning his glasses. 'I wish I wasn't...' Behind the bar a grunt of agreement came.
The barman let out a gruff chuckle and opened the ice chest behind the bar. 'So what do you think about this new Westbridge garbage? I gotta say, it's nice not having those purple armored bastards in here.' He started chipping off pieces of ice. Curious about the use of the terms 'new garbage', Ror asked about but agreed with the barman. Less purple bastards was always a good thing in the eyes of any TriPower officer. And Ror was no exception. 'You green, bud?' asked Phil, 'Those Vector bastards have been here for years. I almost forgot what the damned place looked like without that trash around.' Now Ror understood exactly what Phil had meant and he explained about his absence while the barman was wiping the sweat off his face due to the hard chipping labour he was performing.
'Need a hand?' asked Ror, but the response he got was one of laughs as Phil rolled up his sleeve and flexed his arm. 'You kiddin? I ain't a greenhorn here.' Ror disliked the display of muscle, as if it was the only requirement to be helpful, and so - to make a statement - he pointed with his finger at the block of ice and cast a lightning bolt to shatter it, saying 'Neither am I.' At first Phil raised his eyebrow, but after it sank in, the man finally grinned. 'Well alright then, range rover. You win.' Ror smirked and turned back to his book while Phil shut the ice chest, satisfied, and started cleaning up the ice fragments on the floor with a broom. Resuming the smalltalk, Phil said, 'So, war. Not to put to fine a point on it, but the war is over, brother.'
'For now,' said Ror trying to concentrate on his book again. Near the bar Phil was emptying the ice fragments into a trash can and nodding. 'Yeap. I s'pose your right there. Someone always wants someone elses' shit. That's for sure. Anyway, I'll let you get back to your reading. I know what it's like to have people talking non stop.' And with that last commented the barman looked out over the pretty empty bar with a smirk and a shrug. Life was as it was. And Ror could not disagree with that. 'Indeed. And we've not seen the last of Vector, I'm sure of it,' added Ror thoughtfully. 'I'll bet you're right,' replied Phil going back to cleaning his glasses. 'I wish I wasn't...' Behind the bar a grunt of agreement came.
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