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Post by Spinister on May 25, 2010 19:14:58 GMT -5
Spinister takes the drink, sips it, and says politely, quietly again, "Thank you." He sets down what he hazards is appropriate change for the drink that he ordered - if it's not, the bartender can yell at him.
Okay, this drink has way more kick to it than he actually wanted. What is with people here and giving cops boozy drinks? Oh... right.
Spinister rubs the back of his head with his free hand and looks over at the booth by the jukebox, its proximity to exits, its proximity to other patrons, and well, its proximity to everything. He walks on over with the air of someone who expects to be followed. After shooing off some rats, he sets down his drink, sits himself down, and leans back. He doesn't quite vanish, but something about the way he's sitting, and the way the shadows of the booth fall over him, he's... just a lot harder to see.
Hairsplitter tells him that he's going to have to launder the uniform after this, but Spinister lets Hairsplitter worry about that. Taking another sip of his drink, he asks Kup, voice again at what would be a normal speaking voice for a normal person, instead of his usual whisper, "Barrel drums of kerosene? Enough fertiliser for a metro park? What were you thinking?"
Spinister seems quite the incredulous parole officer.
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Post by Kup on May 26, 2010 11:18:43 GMT -5
"That it was too damned dark," Kup snaps back as he grabs his drink and follows Spinister away from the bar and towards the booth. He, too, double checks the seat for rats, but it seems the assassin-cop already shoo'd them off, so he throws himself down into his seat.
"Figured it was better'n cursin'," he adds before throwing back half his drink without tasting it.
If he notices that the Bartender might be looking at him a bit close, he shows no sign of it.
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Post by SceneMod on May 26, 2010 12:59:30 GMT -5
The bar is slowly filling up, the seats the two vacated already occupied. Across the room, a couple of guys are arguing over their pool game, the shorter man who looks entirely too well-dressed for the bar is angrily insisting that the reedy fellow with the expressionless face (no really, his face is blank, no features. How does he even play?) just made a double-hit and that is clearly a foul.
A waitress in in Daisy Dukes and a midriff shirt stops by and drops off a basket of fuel-filled cracker analogues, some thick, bright red spread, and a couple of tattered and stained single-page menus. Typical bar far. If this was a human establishment everything would be fried. Even the cheesecake.
"Back in a few, sweetcheeks," she drawls, then wanders off to another table.
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Post by Spinister on May 26, 2010 14:15:23 GMT -5
Better to light a building than curse the darkness.The great thing is, Kup probably doesn't even need to pretend that he's torqued off at Spinister, because he probably is. Spinister nods to the waitress but doesn't say anything and looks over the menu, and his thought process is... 1) Is there a secret message written on here somewhere, possibly in invisible ink? 2) Is there some mysterious patten to the typos? 3) if he rearranges all the letters, will he... It's doesn't matter that Spinister's at Dawson's; he's in a House of Pancakes by now. Hairsplitter, meanwhile, is thinking about how much Spinister is going to need a tank flush. Maybe Spinister ought to get fitted with a universal fuel adaptor, like an Insecticon? Except Spinister hates letting other people work on him. Singe ponders the other patrons and the lingering look of that bartender on Kup, but that could just be 'you have a little guy on your shoulder'.
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Post by Kup on May 26, 2010 19:51:43 GMT -5
Kup nods to the waitress before she leaves and picks up his menu. He, also, scans over the menu, and if he's not being quite as paranoid in his examination than Spinister, he is looking it over more closely than the appearance he gives. He reaches down and grabs a 'cracker' and pops it in his mouth.
"Don't see what the big deal is, anyway," Kup grumbles, though he switches back and forth between the local language and basic Tarnish, sometimes alternating words. He's getting any listeners used to the idea that he tends to slip into his 'native' language. "No one got killed, and only one of 'em's not gonna walk again."
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Post by SceneMod on May 27, 2010 10:09:50 GMT -5
The menus hold no secret messages hidden in the ketchup stains, though some might wonder if the establishment is trying to kill off its patron with one dish that is proudly declared the Ultimate Tower of Grease and seems to be comprised of a every low-quality, high-filler solid-fuel manipulation ever created.
Mr. Blank Face just cracked his pool cue over the shorter man's head. Argument solved.
After a short while the waitress comes back, "Just drinkin' or you boys want something with grit to nosh on?" A pause, then she cocks her head at Kup, "I can get ya a paper, sexy, if you want to ignore your shadow here and just enjoy the atmosphere."
Dixie doesn't like cops, it seems.
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Post by Spinister on May 27, 2010 10:22:29 GMT -5
Spinister sighs and grumbles unintelligibly as Kup slips into Tarnish here and there, like he doesn't follow that language. Optics twinkling a bit maliciously, he picks up one of the crackers, turns it over in his fingers, and looks over at Singe, asking, just in normal Galstandard, "Laserbeak want a cracker?"
Singe does reply in Tarnish, with a hot, "Frag you," and only because Tarnish doesn't have any more organic-derived terms.
Spinister laughs, an echoing, rattling noise, and he tosses back the cracker himself. It is mysterious how he does this with no mouth, but Spinister is terribly mysterious. He starts to say, "The problem is-"
Ah, but their waitress is here. Spinister's used to not being liked, but he tips his hat slightly and asks, anyway, "Is there a special?"
He doesn't seem particularly inclined to do anything about the pool-related assault. Not the case he's working right now, and he doesn't want to take on the whole bar.
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Post by Kup on May 27, 2010 14:25:51 GMT -5
Meanwhile, Kup doesn't even seem to be noticing the pool-table fight.
Kup gives one more glance over the menu, then shrugs and lays it down. "I think I'll stick the liquid for now." When Kup speaks, it's with a thicker accent than usual, one matching the Tarnish dialect he's been using on and off so far. "S'till early, and I prefer to drink my meals, anyway." Well, that's true enough. He takes another long draw as if to demonstrate, then nods at the waitress. "But yeah, I'll be takin' that paper, thanks." He smirks at Spinister. "S'sure to improve the view."
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Post by SceneMod on May 27, 2010 22:35:04 GMT -5
"Most do, sexy, most do," she chuckles, reaching out to pat Singe on the head as she turns away.
Oh wait. The cop asked her a question.
"Naw, no specials. What ya see is what ya get, copper. What, they didn't tell you 'bout how we do things down here?"
"Anyways, back shortly with that paper, sweets."'
Dixie ambles away, stopping at a few other booths to chat and take orders.
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Post by Spinister on May 27, 2010 22:48:20 GMT -5
Singe makes a chirping noise when Dixie pets him on the head, but in his head, he's wondering if he could beat the slag out of Spinister somehow without feeling the pain himself.
No.
Dammit.
Maybe the newspaper has a secret message for Kup in it? Spinister doesn't say anything, and he just sits there, pondering what to do next. He plays with his drink, not having too much.
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Post by Kup on May 28, 2010 9:23:33 GMT -5
"Thanks, babe," Kup says, voice still heavily accented, when the waitress mentions she'll be back with the paper.. He doesn't seem to mind Dixie patting his 'pet,' though he does smirk faintly.
When she heads off he glances back down at the tabletop, gazing distantly at anything that might be there. Without looking at Spinister, he says in full Tarnish, "Was curious to see if these folk had been told to expect me by look, but unless there's something in this paper she's gettin', I'm thinking I'm going to have to actually ask for the... whatever."
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Post by SceneMod on May 29, 2010 9:55:59 GMT -5
After what probably seems like too long for good service, Dixie wanders back to the table and drops off as paper.
A rolled and tied paper.
She tries to give Singe another little pat on the head and a bit of a rub under the chin and cheek- parrots like that, right?- before ambling back to the bar.
The short man who was cracked on the head by his fellow pool player is once more arguing- loudly- about the blank-faced man fouling again, this time accusing him of scooping the ball to make a jump shot. Apparently he likes being abused by pool cues.
Looks like the band's about to start, and the bartender comes over and shuts down the juke box. He gives Kup a deliberate look that clearly says, Get the damn cop the hell out of my bar.
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Post by Spinister on May 29, 2010 10:41:15 GMT -5
Singe cheeps a bit when Dixie gives him scritchies. I will make you bleed.
Can you save that for when we're both off duty?
Oh, but Spinister's being quiet and well-behaved, barely visible at all, unless you know to look right at him! He's like that ugly lamp that your eyes just slip over. But maybe, looking over at that violent game of pool, being well-behaved is the problem.
Singe asks, in Tarnish, "That what we need?" He nods at the paper.
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Post by Kup on May 29, 2010 23:50:06 GMT -5
Kup unrolls the paper and opens it up, looking it over quickly. After a few moments, he looks up at Spinister and just nods, then finishes his drink, rolls the paper back up, and starts to walk from the bar.
If Spinister comes with him, he'll hand the paper over to the assassin as soon as they're out of sight of Dawson's.
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Post by Spinister on May 30, 2010 17:48:57 GMT -5
Skipping Scenemod as per request
Spinister does follow, giving Kup a second shadow. He's glad to be gone from Dawson's, truth be told. Spinister has no problem with dive bars, but he's a little too by the book, especially in his uniform, for dive bars not to have a problem with him. He takes the bomb, er, newspaper. Thank you ever so much, Kup. Spinister bestows upon Kup a look.
Hmm. There is a thingy inside the newpaper. Spinister fiddles with it and plays with it, pondering turning into a helicopter so that he can look at the IR.
Man, why did he not put IR sensors in robot mode? This is what he gets for doing all that engineering work on himself without any help.
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