[ He couldn't say what drew him to the bar. There's a club a few blocks to the north that has flashing lights and scantily clad girls and a base thump that you can feel all the way on the other side of the street, and the idea of getting lost in the noise and heat of a crowd sounds better with every step he takes toward the entrance.
But then he keeps going, hands stuffed in his pockets, face turned into the cool evening breeze -- he wanders aimlessly until the club is nothing but a memory and the sidewalks clear of people. There's a neon sign in an otherwise blacked out window up ahead, the white and green of a martini glass blinking the international symbol for come drink here. It looks like the kind of place that nobody outside of a three-block radius would ever look twice at, where the regulars all know each other's faces but not their names, and where every shelf is the cheap shelf.
He couldn't tell you why he goes in. But he's got three bills in the local currency burning a hole in his pocket, and they'll spend here as well as anywhere.
The door squeaks when he enters, and he makes his way straight to the bar, slapping down two of the bills to get the bartender's attention. ] Beer. [ He's discovered already that Ekko had been right -- the living really don't see them, so if he wants a drink, he'd better get it in that brief window while the bartender's still looking at the door to see who's coming in.
Being dead is a pain in the ass, sometimes. ] And keep 'em coming! [ --he calls, as the money vanishes off the bar. He'll go nab a bottle from behind the bar himself if he really needs to, but it's better to try and do things legally first. It just feels right that way. ]
Sure! What is time, really.
But then he keeps going, hands stuffed in his pockets, face turned into the cool evening breeze -- he wanders aimlessly until the club is nothing but a memory and the sidewalks clear of people. There's a neon sign in an otherwise blacked out window up ahead, the white and green of a martini glass blinking the international symbol for come drink here. It looks like the kind of place that nobody outside of a three-block radius would ever look twice at, where the regulars all know each other's faces but not their names, and where every shelf is the cheap shelf.
He couldn't tell you why he goes in. But he's got three bills in the local currency burning a hole in his pocket, and they'll spend here as well as anywhere.
The door squeaks when he enters, and he makes his way straight to the bar, slapping down two of the bills to get the bartender's attention. ] Beer. [ He's discovered already that Ekko had been right -- the living really don't see them, so if he wants a drink, he'd better get it in that brief window while the bartender's still looking at the door to see who's coming in.
Being dead is a pain in the ass, sometimes. ] And keep 'em coming! [ --he calls, as the money vanishes off the bar. He'll go nab a bottle from behind the bar himself if he really needs to, but it's better to try and do things legally first. It just feels right that way. ]