Commissar Farzi
🎖️ Game Master
- RP Date
- YE 45.5
- RP Location
- Funky City
Funky City
The Green Ocean
Morris sat in a booth, his huge frame nestled as far back in an attempt to try and make himself as indiscreet as possible as he nursed the foul-tasting brew. Grimacing as he took another sip-even the old cesspit would be better than this overpriced crap. They wouldn't even serve this ancestor's forsaken garbage to prisoners. Glancing around at the assembled patrons; a motley mix of various military branches of DION, and a smattering of civilians and staff. The music wasn't much better-a loud, obnoxious booming, thumping, noise punctuated by some idiot wailing something in trade. The big man couldn't make heads or tails of what was being said-not that he cared honestly. All it was doing was making his head pound.
He, Machelle, and a few other Yeomen had been looking to unwind after a particularly vicious fight with a group of gangers-why the hell the Neps couldn't sort out a simple domestic he didn't know. ("I thought this was supposed to be a place to relax.") He grumbled in Valhallan, attempting to make himself heard over the 'music' as he set the mug down. A few of the patrons were starting to get a little rowdy, but nothing that really warranted his attention as of yet. ("At least the food is decent.") The meal was a surprisingly delicious meat patty of some sort-no Thurok, but good nonethless.
The Green Ocean
Morris sat in a booth, his huge frame nestled as far back in an attempt to try and make himself as indiscreet as possible as he nursed the foul-tasting brew. Grimacing as he took another sip-even the old cesspit would be better than this overpriced crap. They wouldn't even serve this ancestor's forsaken garbage to prisoners. Glancing around at the assembled patrons; a motley mix of various military branches of DION, and a smattering of civilians and staff. The music wasn't much better-a loud, obnoxious booming, thumping, noise punctuated by some idiot wailing something in trade. The big man couldn't make heads or tails of what was being said-not that he cared honestly. All it was doing was making his head pound.
He, Machelle, and a few other Yeomen had been looking to unwind after a particularly vicious fight with a group of gangers-why the hell the Neps couldn't sort out a simple domestic he didn't know. ("I thought this was supposed to be a place to relax.") He grumbled in Valhallan, attempting to make himself heard over the 'music' as he set the mug down. A few of the patrons were starting to get a little rowdy, but nothing that really warranted his attention as of yet. ("At least the food is decent.") The meal was a surprisingly delicious meat patty of some sort-no Thurok, but good nonethless.