The Broken Bottle Pub

[Steven Fitzgerald]

Almost as soon as the bartender had placed the double whiskey before him, Steven snatched it up and brought it to his lips draining the entire double measure in one gulp.

Carefully placing the empty glass back on the counter in front of him with what appeared to be deliberate care. He looked for a moment that he might be alright. But as he opened his mouth to say something else he suddenly pitched forwards and began a loud coughing fit.

Steven knew that whiskey wasn't a gulping drink but was something you had to take your time over and sip. Or else she'll come back to bite you. He remembered his dad had told him after he had caught him at age seventeen in his family homes lounge coughing his guts up after having just broken into his parents liquor cabinet and downing a small amount of a bottle of 12 year old whiskey.

Angry that all his mind wanted to do was remind him of his family Steven lifted his head, took a raspy breath and managed to get out the words. "Keep 'em comin'." before lowering his head to hack his guts up again.

[Madoc Wythers]

Finishing this cigarette, Madoc stubbed it out just as Steven entered the bar. He glanced at Felix and mouthed "wow." He got up from his seat, edged around the bar and poured himself a coffee before taking his seat on the other side again.

"Soooo.... bad day?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. He recognized Steven, having seen him around town taking pictures of everything, but he'd never actually spoken to him.

[Steven Fitzgerald]

Regaining his breath for long enough to raise his head and nod to Madoc. "You have no idea." He managed to say in a sort of half choke as he wiped his sleeve across his reddened face in an attempt to clear his teary eyes.

Not wanting to, but felling like he must, Steven glanced down to the watch on his wrist through his tear-filled vision and made a peculiar sort of half whine as he saw the time. He only had just over an hour left to come up with a story if he were going to keep his job.

With an exasperated sigh as he grew angry with himself at still caring about the seemingly impossible task of finding a story for the Gazette, he once more slumped against the bar and waited for his drink.

Drink to forget. He told himself, doing his damnedest to try not to think of the paper. Which didn't seem to be working as that was all that was on his mind.

[Madoc Wythers]

Madoc shifted and leaned on the bar with one elbow. "Really? I grew up here. I've been attacked by vampires, lycans and demons before now. Sometimes all at once." He swigged from his coffee. "But then, I've never drunk a double whiskey straight at ten in the morning."

He paused, thinking. "Ok, that's a lie, but it was after a party and they didn't have coffee."

[Dillon Rickman]

In Dillon's head, his eyes had just been replaced by dollar signs and that 'ca-ching' sound you get in cartoons. He was unaware, of course, that this didn't actually happen in the reality around him.

"Great googly mooglies!" He exclaimed. "That's a lot of moola!"

Then he paused, and looked confused.

"What IS a mooglie anyway? And how is it googly? And why would it be great?" He asked the bar in general. "For that matter, what's moola? I just said a sentence and I only know what four of the words mean."

"Hm, apparently I require a dictionary for myself. Barkeep!" He called, apparently unaware that you couldn't order dictionaries at the bar.

[Steven Fitzgerald]

Steven tried not to listen to the inane babel going on around him. Though as he had been asked a question he thought it only polite to respond.

"I... I think... I think I'm going to... to lose my job..." Steven stuttered out surprised that it was so hard to say, but putting that down to the whiskey burning his throat and not that he actually cared about losing it.

Feeling the very beginnings of the pleasant, but still slight, buzz that alcohol gave you. Steven found himself going to explain what 'great googly moogly' actually meant to the obvious drunkard who sat further down the bar.

Unable to stop himself as his degree in English language had decided it was now running the show and he began to spout all he knew about the phrase.

With a cough and still wiping tears from his eyes Steven said. "Great googly moogly is often used as a term to show surprise or anger either at a statement that someone has said, or at something you have seen." He paused for a moment to cough once more before continuing.

"It was also used in a song I think it was called something like 'Nanook Rubs It' by Frank Zappa, I think, If it was he was a prog rock artist from the seventies. Though I'm not sure if it actually means anything, and I don't think it has to." He explained hating himself even as he did so. As a reporter he had had to find out what obscure phrases meant as when he interviewed people he had to know what on earth they were actually taking about.

"And moola is money." He added with a sigh knowing he had either just set himself up to receive a right hook to the jaw, as he knew drunks didn't like to have there questions answered by someone that knew the answer. Or he had just made himself look like a little know-it-all when all he had wanted to do was drink himself into a stupor and not have to think about the consequences.

[Dillon Rickman]

"I see." Dillon replied as intellectually as he could, stroking an imaginary beard in deep thought. "So... what you're saying... is that you have no idea what a moogly or googly is either?" It seemed like a sound conclusion, as far as Dillon was concerned.

"So, losing your job, huh? You need the life of a mercenary! It's brilliant!" Dillon cheered enthusiastically. "Like that time I got hired by this young guy, can't remember his name, had no personality what so ever, to steal a ship and reclaim the love of his life, who had been kidnapped by pirates! But only I knew the truth, that they were pirates cursed by an ancient curse and-"

"......No, hold on, that's Pirates of the Carribean. You know, the good one, not the rubbish one." He realised. "Hm. That's a shame. I'd of liked to hunt pirates."

[Madoc Wythers]

Madoc watched the exchange in silence, swigging from his coffee occasionally and grinning. It always amused him to watch other people trying to interact with Dillon. On the other hand, he'd figured out that Steven was a reporter - as if the camera and the constant picture taking wasn't enough, nobody who wasn't in journalism would have been able, let alone bothered, to explain a nonsense phrase like that.

"You know, I think you watch too much TV," he said to Dillon. "Anyway, only losers want to hunt pirates. All the cool kids want to be pirates."

Then he turned to Steven again. "Losing your job, huh? Rough. So how come you're getting the boot? Turn in a bad story or something?"

[Felix Dolohov]

Felix kept quiet, pouring the guy more alcohol with a sinking feeling in his gut. Why was he getting the impression that Dillon around a desperate drunk guy was a really bad idea? He'd not had it when he was around other drunk people though... Probably some reminant of what Carla had done. He was now in suspicious bastard mode - which made him antisocial and 'bitchy', according to certain people who will remain unmentioned.

[Steven Fitzgerald]

For a moment Steven thought he had found a sympathetic ear with Dillon, but that moment was brief and barely registered as he came to the understanding that, as the drunkard blathered on about pirates, he was obviously poking fun at him. Though he was surprised and grateful that he hadn't been at the receiving end of any form of violence, yet.

Surprisingly the roguish looking man behind the bar seemed to be the only one, other than the bartender, who seemed to be genuinely interested in what he was saying. Asking him to reveal more information. Steven even surprised himself, finding that he was grateful for this. So scooping up his refilled glass and this time taking a sip rather than a gulp of the amber liquid he found himself answering the questions.

"Is it that obvious I'm a journalist?" He asked with a bitter sigh sipping from his beverage.

"If only I had a story!" He cursed. "I'll tell you why I'm going to lose my job. It's because I've got a little over an hour left to submit a story to my editor that I haven't got! And without that story I haven't got a job! Its sort of circular. Don't have one, don't have the other."
Taking another sip of whiskey Steven thundered on.
"I've been living in Edgehaven for two whole months! Two months! And nothing has happened in all that time! Nothing!" He almost wailed showing that he obviously couldn't handle his drink. Though to be fair to him, Steven hadn't eaten since at least the morning before as he tried in vain to hunt down that most elusive of beasts. A decent news story.

"I mean you'd think that something would happen here! I mean this is Edgehaven for Christ sake! Edgehaven! The Town Of The Dead! And this place is as quiet as... as the bloody... grave!"

Downing the last dregs of his drink Steven choked slightly as the liquid burned his already aggravated throat. "I mean. Does anything ever happen here?" He asked placing the empty glass back on the bar, obviously expecting it to get refilled.

With his face red and his eyes once again watering, the young reporter glowered at all of the rooms occupants. "And to make matters worse no one will return my calls." he moaned. "I've tried getting interviews with everyone but no one will give me the time of day! Darkora, Lémartes, Thorne none of 'em will help a guy out!" He said counting them on his fingers. "I mean even the EHPD have blown me off! The only time I did get through to them I was told that. 'Captain Wright was too busy to chat right now' then the speaker said they'd have to go because the tea was ready!"

"Can you believe it?" Steven asked anger showing plainly in his voice. "I mean, blown off because the tea was ready!"

"And to make matters worse I think it was Wright I was speaking to in the first place."

[Felix Dolohov]

Felix canted his eyes away, determinedly saying and giving nothing away and eyeing Madoc warningly. The last thing he needed was the place becoming known through the papers as Demon-Sympathetic, Anti-Night Watch AND unsafe on top of all of that.

He wordlessly poured the man another double and removed the amount needed from the pile of change yet to be removed from the top of the bar.

[Madoc Wythers]

Madoc chuckled. "Well, kinda. I mean, nobody else carries huge cameras like that around."

He glanced at Felix in time to catch the warning look and nodded. He knew that look - it meant 'so help me gods, I will kill you if you say the wrong thing.'

He listened to the reporters rant, nodding sympathetically and then checked off Steven's points on his fingers. "Weell, nobody ever gets anywhere with the Night Watch. They're far too busy saving the world from demons and whatever else to actually talk to the rest of us about it. Lémartes is a bad choice - the old one was bad and the new one... well, I think he's a bit crazy, but for godsake don't tell him that. Thorne, well she probably just doesn't want to be bothered. And as for the EHPD..." he drained his coffee, stifling a grin.

"Coppers take their tea very seriously. And you're wasting your time trying to talk to the captain. You need to go through the second-in-command, Sergeant Mortymer. Or possibly Corporal Beaumont."

He glanced at Felix with a look reminiscent of an eager-to-please puppy.

[Felix Dolohov]

A blond eyebrow shot up and he couldn't stop the small snort of amusement that escaped him at Madoc's expression, idly he wondered if he should get out the dog treats (i.e. Bacon) and pat him on the head. "They'll be expanding soon though. They've become pretty determined to bring the Law back into this place," he pointed out before glancing at the Reporter thoughtfully. Well, best feed him a bone so he'll go off and gnaw on others rather than bother them. "Especially with the recent incident. They ferreted out a Vampire den where they'd been keeping people for the last ten years sucking them dry of blood. Apparently, most of 'em were saved but five got turned and went feral in the middle of the paramedics," he told them. "They'll probably be looking to recruit more members if they're going to be dealing with more stuff like that."

Hopefully that would distract Shutter Bug there from taking a too close look at the Pub until it got cleaned up.

[Steven Fitzgerald]

((Do you lot want to hold fire on this for a bit to let whoever William Dane is post a reply? I think I might have scared them off with Steven's abrupt arrival. Or should we soldier on?))

Steven listened as Madoc told him why no one had gotten back to him, and as soon as Felix placed the drink before him he started sipping it.

"I've tried everyone at the EHPD." He lied, "And no one will talk to me." In truth he had tried to ring several times on the same number. After that he had had his Cerberus Breeder story so he'd been wrapped up with that. Then it had been the tea incident.

Feeling even more depressed as two people he didn't know seemed to be trying to help his career more than he was. Steven felt his ears prick up at the gossip the bartender was slipping. The EHPD had discovered a Vamp den? Steven found himself disturbed that the general public seemed to know this and yet the newspaper didn't. At least he thought they didn't. He hadn't seen a story on it yet.

Suddenly Steven felt the beginnings of a shining beacon of hope radiating from what he heard. This was big news! Then just as quickly as it came the world went dark as he remembered the smug tone of Miranda Burkes voice, made all the smugger in his mind with the added alcohol.

That was probably what she had found out about. He thought. I mean it wasn't like her not to know of something as big as that.

"Recruiting eh? Well maybe they could get someone to answer the phones once and a while while there at it." He said in a serious tone taking a swig from his drink showing no intention of leaving any time soon.

[Dillon Rickman]

((I say we go ahead, we've given him a while, and he can always jump back in whenever))

Dillon suddenly leapt from his barstool and put his arm around Steven, confident to help out a friend in need! Or at least, not an enemy in need! Whatever Steven was, he needed, and needing was a thing Dillon could stop! Okay, admitingly, he usually stopped people needing life by inserting a sword in to parts of them, but that was a discussion for another time!

"You need a story, eh, ol' Moogley pal of mine?" It was usually best not to question the logic that led Dillon to his nicknames. "Then you've come to the right place! Have I got a story for you!" Of course, anybody in the bar knew the type of stories that Dillon tended to tell.

"The year was 1900, and I still hadn't figured out how to set the date properly on my watch..." He began, holding his arm out as if encouraging Steven to imagine a distance land. "The place? Brazil. I was enjoying a nice quiet drink, much like this one, holding my tongue and never speaking in my usual stoic badass quiet way..." This was, obviously, not something Dillon was actually good at. "...when suddenly, I was surrounded by three vampire ninjas... and a werewolf mime!" He paused, turning to Steven very seriously. "We don't mention the mime. Never mention the mime." He instructed, before resuming his story telling mode.

"So, I drew slashy and stabby.... those are my swords... and we prepared to fight...." Dillon was clearly already far away, happily narrating his story.