Bottom of the Glass [OPEN] Oct 13, 2020 17:27:30 GMT -6
Post by Saizomaru on Oct 13, 2020 17:27:30 GMT -6
Saizomaru PL: 190,000 (BASE)
The bar was relatively quiet. People sat around the large lounge filled with leather chairs and couches and redwood tables both round and rectangle. Some simply came in to get a pint or three, take a load off, kick their feet up and enjoy the morning sunshine and fresh country air. Others came in for a good meal that wasn’t available in most parts of Ginger Town; twelve-ounce ribeye steak with chunky fries and a bit of parsley butter that slowly melted and saturated the meat beneath.
At the bar proper, Saizomaru sat with his elbows on the waxed countertop, one hand tucked to his chest while the other held gingerly a glass tumbler between its fingertips. His head lightly bobbed up and down to the music that was playing faintly in the background, his heel tapping to the beat on the metal rest of the bar stool.
It has been a long while since he had last come to Ginger Town. The last time he had come here was almost two decades ago when he was stationed here as part of his military training to acclimate to the temperate climate and to survive in its arid deserts. He had only been here for a few months back then but he enjoyed the country hospitality of the people.
The only downside was that he didn’t recognize any of the faces that he had met back then. It would have been nice to have talked to the people who looked after him and his troops again.
His eyes shifted to the side, followed by the turn on his head. He stared at an old grandfather clock that sat by the side wall, an antique that had been here since way back when along with the oil painted that lined the rest of the wall. Five to noon, read the clockface.
He looked back down at the glass, watching the pale amber liquid swirl as his hand rocked the tumbler in circles. It was a bit early for drinking, so he thought to himself, but it wasn’t as though he was going to get drunk. He was an android. He couldn’t get drunk.
He took a sip of the liquor before leaning forward, his free arm coming up and propping itself upright on the counter, letting it serve as a rest for his chin. His eyes followed along the shelves and racks in front of him. A small smile crept over his lips. Same old drinks as always. He hoped that would never change, at least.