The Hole In The Wall on Dawn Station was a popular hangout for some Nepleslian employees of Origin Industries. A spacious, Abwheran-run pub in the traditional sense, it was always home to five or more mumbling, manly steveadors in from one freight run or another. The room was mostly bright mahogany wood: floor, tables, chairs, booths, you name it-- everything was wooden excepting the odd red leather trim here and there. This was offset by a low and soft yellow lighting scheme ushered unto the wide chamber with shaded hanging lights. On slow nights, which was most nights, the proprieter would emerge from the back room amidst clinking bottles and foaming mugs of ale with his accordian in one pair of hands and a recorder in another to give his regulars a spectacle of four-armed musical wonderment. On occasion, someone could be bothered to bring a clarinet or a lute to the party, and the two buxom-enough-for-Oktoberfest barmaids would take a seat at one of the wooden tables and have a few drinks themselves.
It was also a popular choice for its proximity to one of the many departure stations to many of Origin's constantly in-and-out freighters. With the wheels of commerce constantly turning on Dawn Station, goods were coming in-and-out and the low-lit bar was the perfect place for a layover well-spent.
Due to its location, it was chosen as the place where Ake's second Terraforming Team would meet for the first time before going off on their expidition together. This is partly due to fate, and partly due to the fact that this is a role-playing game, where meeting in a tavern is customary. It was where the first team had met before their own ill-fated journey; not that anyone involved was aware of that. The orchestrator of the flight, Daziel Burton, had not yet arrived to the bar; though two members of the team had.
They were situated on the far end of the bar, opposite the fun and commotion of the accordian music and buxom maidens. The two of them also left a space between themselves, clearly already acquainted and already disliking one-another. The first was Spencer William Franklin, the Fifth. He was a tall older man with wispy, greying hair and an odd take on the Origin Uniform. In place of the standard tie, Spencer opted for a bolo. In place of the adorable garrison cap, the older man sported a short black hat with a wide, flat brim. The same way a steak is served with a little sprig of decorative parsely, Franklin also kept a handrolled cigarette dangling from his lips as he looked bitterly down into his beer and muttered to the man two seats over, "Strellan."
"Franklin." Replied the middle-aged shipwright, Niel Strellan. He was also an older man, though not quite-so-old as Franklin. With short, thinning flaxen hair, the wrinkled and smudged Origin Uniform looking like it'd been worn for years; anyone could tell he was a wash-up of sorts.
"Well." Franklin said without looking after a silence passed between them. "I s'pose I orghta say I'm sorry I wrote up your enclosure. But, shit, son, y' didn't have to be a dickweed about it."
"Mister Franklin, if you people in the field team hadn't over-stuffed it--" Niel turned with a hand outstretched to begin the lecture, but stopped himself abruptly and turned to face the back of the bar again and collect himself. "Look, just forget about it."
It was also a popular choice for its proximity to one of the many departure stations to many of Origin's constantly in-and-out freighters. With the wheels of commerce constantly turning on Dawn Station, goods were coming in-and-out and the low-lit bar was the perfect place for a layover well-spent.
Due to its location, it was chosen as the place where Ake's second Terraforming Team would meet for the first time before going off on their expidition together. This is partly due to fate, and partly due to the fact that this is a role-playing game, where meeting in a tavern is customary. It was where the first team had met before their own ill-fated journey; not that anyone involved was aware of that. The orchestrator of the flight, Daziel Burton, had not yet arrived to the bar; though two members of the team had.
They were situated on the far end of the bar, opposite the fun and commotion of the accordian music and buxom maidens. The two of them also left a space between themselves, clearly already acquainted and already disliking one-another. The first was Spencer William Franklin, the Fifth. He was a tall older man with wispy, greying hair and an odd take on the Origin Uniform. In place of the standard tie, Spencer opted for a bolo. In place of the adorable garrison cap, the older man sported a short black hat with a wide, flat brim. The same way a steak is served with a little sprig of decorative parsely, Franklin also kept a handrolled cigarette dangling from his lips as he looked bitterly down into his beer and muttered to the man two seats over, "Strellan."
"Franklin." Replied the middle-aged shipwright, Niel Strellan. He was also an older man, though not quite-so-old as Franklin. With short, thinning flaxen hair, the wrinkled and smudged Origin Uniform looking like it'd been worn for years; anyone could tell he was a wash-up of sorts.
"Well." Franklin said without looking after a silence passed between them. "I s'pose I orghta say I'm sorry I wrote up your enclosure. But, shit, son, y' didn't have to be a dickweed about it."
"Mister Franklin, if you people in the field team hadn't over-stuffed it--" Niel turned with a hand outstretched to begin the lecture, but stopped himself abruptly and turned to face the back of the bar again and collect himself. "Look, just forget about it."
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