:TP gets ready to throw another dart, praying that this time, she’ll close out the 20s:
Ferrous, it doesn’t look like it’s really either of our nights. I’ve always had a problem with those 20s, though. I think it’s because I’m so short.
:After releasing her final dart and hitting a single 20 to close, she takes a glance at the score. Ferrous needs to close out 15s and cork, and she has to close out 18s and cork. The points are fairly close - this is one of the best games she’s played in a long time. She takes a bite of her chicken fingers and goes to the bar to get a quick refill while Ferrous is shooting his next round.:
24-hand, feh! I pulled a 28 on Yahoo! once. Three fives and a jack in the hand, starter five was the wrong suit. Oh, but for that one glorious point… So bring it, let’s rock
screech-owl, I’ll make sure I got fresh batteries in the digital camera before I go. I’m bringing the Tzeroling, her friend, and my nephew with, but since he’s old enough to watch the other two I’m planning on dressing up and having at it. I promise to take pix!
::as TruePisces turns her back, Ferrous quickly reaches into his robe and produces several odd shaped implements, which he rapidly assembles into his Laser-Guided Multi-Projectile Grav-Pistol. He inserts his dart into the side port and aims the laser spot at dead center on the dart board, and fires…
…unfortunately, in his semi-drunken haste, he has installed the power regulator knob upside down, so that instead of setting the grav-driver for Firm Toss, he has set it to Supersonic.
The dart streaks to it’s target and strikes the cork dead center—a perfect bullseye!..then continues through the dart board, blasting a 5 cm hole through the center and proceeds on through the wall and into the adjoining massage parlor, accompanied by a loud, sharp CRACK!
Ferrous quickly shoves pistol back in robe and assumes an innocent, puzzled air as other pub denizens look up in alarm…::
HOLY! What was that noise!
Boy thats engrossed with my book…
Well now I best visit the bathroom… shoulders pack and wanders vaguely in the direction of the bathrooms
Will you look at that! Straight Dope columns framed and posted on the walls leading to the bathroom… that is just evil… now I will never make it there and back with dry knickers…
“Jeezus Ferrous! Your “Laser-Guided Multi-whatchmacallit” trick didn’t work last time…and you remember what happened then!”
::whipes tear of joy from eye::
“Ohh man…that was a funny night.”
I wave my hand over the hole in the wall and the damage is intantly reversed.
(OOC: Hey…he has fancy technology…I have some funky super powers. Ppffftttt!!! :D)
::strolls in a little unwashed and slightly dazed::
“Dudes, word up? I just flew in. I’m dying here for a real beer after drinking about 400 gallons of Tsingtao this summer. You guys have Anchor Steam or Sierra Nevada Porter?”
-=DarkJudicator wanders in, scans all the unfamiliar faces around the bar briefly, smiles and nods towards chique, then strolls over to the (as yet unnamed) bartender.=-
“Evening, man. Have I missed anything exciting yet?”
“Things are just getting swinging, my friend. What can I get you?”
“Know how to make a Khaki Dream?”
“Comin’ right up sir.”
-=DJ grabs his widowmaker cocktail and takes a seat near the window… looking for a vivacious young female Doper to lose a game of pool to. :D=-
Another long day at the office. Stress left at the office door, barely 5 minutes walk through the city lights. He opens the door, pauses onley to take a pamphlet from a holder at the doorside labelled “Crunchy’s Cold Fusion”. he gives it a brief read, but his weary eyes and the Strange applications of Newtonian physics to a 3 stooges plotline are too much to consider right now. The leaflet goes into his overcoat pocket, to join the rest
of the assorted papers that lined his coat. He pulled up a pew at the bar, gave a nod to the lady reading in the chair in the corner, and signalled for the barkeep. He lays a chrisp ten out on the counter, the Barkeep puts his Vodka in front of him, makes change, and completes the transaction in silence. Another day, another drink. It’s all he will allow himself ever since she left him. She left the drink really, but he realised that he wouldn’t be able to.
This turn in his thinking brought along the usual deflation of spirit, inspiring the stoicism within him to flair. It had come down to this. Work, one drink, and hoime to the empty chairs of his flat.
He sipped the vodka and soda. The effervesent liquid running over deadening tastebuds, its bitter kick his sweet nephente. He gazed in zoned silence at the pictures of people adorning the bar. Nameless faces with perfectly captured poses, Emotions of elation and desparation caputured on now grainey, faded paper.
He drains his drink, leaves a buck on the counter and heads for the door, past the gentle murmurings of the patrons and the music from the guitar. Turning his collar up, he pushed the door and heads out into the wind.
::Enore enters rubbing backside::
“HEY! Who’s dart is this?”
“I demand to know who the perpetrator is! I… ooooooh! Guinness!”
::makes a beeline for the bar::
To the bartender: “Black and Tan my good man”
::starts to sit down, forgetting hole in backside:: “Ouch, damn I hate when that happens” Whispers to the bartender,“Do you have an inflatable doughnut? A large cushion perhaps?”
::Nods to patrons in the bar who have been staring::
“In my experience, nothing numbs a sore backside like a pint or four of Guinness”
