A well-worn, unglamorous bar, often serving a cheap, simple selection of drinks to a regular clientele. The term can describe anything from a comfortable-but-basic neighborhood pub to the nastiest swill-slinging hole.
"Man, that place is such a dive bar... Don't go in unless you plan to burn your clothes afterwards."
life sucks, off to the DIVE BAR
• COMMENT WITH CHARACTER/SERIES IN THE HEADER • ROLL 1-5 ON RNG FOR A SCENARIO • TAG AROUND!
01) BARFLY Is that your fourth or fifth drink? Nice. 02) BOOTH In your own mind, you probably think you're pulling an Aragorn. 03) TOILETS Place stinks of piss but it's the most private room around. 04) BACKYARD Where the smokers usually huddle together. The proverbial kitchen of the party. 05) STREET The lamplight is broken and it's fucking freezing. And 3AM. Why aren't you inside?
Logan is sitting against a light pole. To say that he's had a bad night, would be an understatement. He's taken a bottle out from the bar, and is smoking a cigar.
[It's a late night on base. Middle of the week, to boot, so the place isn't all that crowded. It's a little more cramped than the civilian dive bars she's used to, but it's also less seedy and smells nicer. And even though she's never stepped foot inside, or on this particular base, somehow it all still feels... familiar. Like home.
Though as a military brat, home is a bit of a relative term. Sometimes home is Metropolis, or Smallville, but right now it's wherever The General happens to be holed up. She's flown out to visit her father for a week before he ships back out to some classified location for the holidays, and it's been so long since she has that she's forgotten how much she misses it.
Downing her third - or was it fourth? - whiskey of the night, she hits 'play' on the worn jukebox, almost surprised when it actually starts to play the Whitesnake song she's picked out. Ambling back to the bar, she takes a seat and flags down the bartender for another, shooting a polite smile to the only other man occupying a stool near her.]
Hope you like Whitesnake, Sergeant. 'Cause I just put the whole album on rotation.
[With a cough, Shuichi waves away yet another puff of cigarette smoke as discreetly as he can manage. Which, for Shuichi, isn't very discreet at all. But it's one thing to grow used to living with a smoker, and entirely something else being in a small crowd of them talking drunkenly loud and standing far too close.]
Yuki... [He's not glaring. He really isn't, because at least they're out together somewhere, sort of.] You know this isn't what I had in mind when I asked for 'date night', right?
[He stands in the alternating light of a neon banner. The stencilled glass flashes, dyes his formal coat deep red, siren blue. His figure is an unmoving obstacle in the stampede of the crowd, but he does not care. His methods make scarce time for social detours, he will pursue a significant case into his off hours if he must, so this is neither here nor there. He is somewhat curious, he supposes. A familiar shape had passed under the illuminated threshold of open door. The face was recognizable. No question about the bearer's identity, it's the motive that is unclear. This ward is irrelevant to them, as far as he's concerned.
Urie shoulders past the traffic of bodies and vanishes in the faux wood interior of the bar. He heads straight for the counter top, placing his hand on a man's chest and directing him aside before he nears the vibrant wall of glass bottles. He takes his seat beside his colleague and props his elbows on the freshly wiped surface. His gloved palm folds over his fist. His eyes stare at the liquor display.]
[ Dick's not a fan of this, but his current case has taken him to Starling city, and, as far as he can determine, his target's informant somehow passes information inside a bar. Not a very nice bar, either, though he guesses that's the point. Not a place where the interaction would be under any scrutiny. ]
[ And that means that Dick needs to go in and see what was going on. With whom. ]
[ Not through the front door, anyway. Even with a fake ID, he was just too young to get in that way. But the loos do have a small window, and, once he's inside, fewer people are likely to question his presence. And he can fake being drunk, if he has to. For now, he just finds a corner table from which to watch the dim place. Good enough, right? ]
Naturally their paths would cross sooner or later. But Duncan gave a damn about the cagey old immortal - not to mention Dawson's bar. So Connor leaves his sword carefully concealed within his trenchcoat and settles on a stool beside 'Adam', ordering a whiskey.
"Didn't realize you were back in town." Okay, so it's at least a start at being cordial.
Never - ever - let if be said that Stephen didn't know this was almost entirely his fuck up. He was sure he'd hear about it for...well the next six decades, once Jed, Cara, and everyone else caught up with him.
...Hopefully not "everyone", there were a few people he'd be happy to never see again, and a couple he really didn't want to run into fully armed, much less where he currently was.
For now though he was going to enjoy whatever this was that was supposed to be alcohol. And continue telekinetically picking pockets.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lolawolf) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
bakerstreet2014-11-15 11:36 pm
Page 1 of 3