I figured I would try to keep track of the most recent RMB RP, and post it here when it was finished with. It didn’t go on for very long, but I’ll post what did get written anyways. Feel free to continue on with it, I kind of like the feel of the story so far.
Moafin:
It was a dark and stormy night. The rain was pounding the sidewalk like an overzealous construction worker with a jackhammer, so I decided to slip into a scummy little joint with a neon sign promising good music and bad drinks. As I flipped my trench coat down from around my neck and sat down on a stool, the barkeep eyed me with a knowing glance.
“I can’t help with your troubles,” he said as the jazz quartet droned on in the background, “But I can help you forget 'em. What’ll it be?”
I glanced up at him while I lit my cigarette and took a drag. “Something stiff and tasteless, like the spum people keep trying to jam down my throat. Seen anybody… noteworthy, around here lately?” I glanced through the smoke filled haze around the room and could make out a few silhouettes. Yep, my kind of people were here. Wonder what they’d have to say?
Kangarawa:
Swallowing the last of the vinegar the bartender had insisted was dry Cabernet, I motioned for another. Too much trouble to find something palatable and it would be as effective as anything else. I was content to wait while he served a newcomer. The puddle below the new guy’s stool made me realise that it might be a long night.
South Allegheny:
A scruffy man who looked like he hadn’t showered in years patted the trench coat man on his back. “Don’t worry brother, Your troubles will pass. Hey barkeep, I will have this guy is having.”
Californian Tourism E:
Another man came into the bar, casually but expensively dressed. He walked up to the other two men and said, “You have troubles” to the first, and “You have a peculiar odor” to the second. To them both he said, “Why don’t you both have what I’m having?” Then he summoned the bartender, laid a $100 bill on the bar and said, “Let this man use your shower, and give both of them your best Cabernet instead of this vinegar. Thanks.” Sitting down next to the other two, he said, “Now what seems to be the problem?”
Moafin:
Glancing up from under the brim of his fedora, the man in the trench coat eyed the highroller who just waltzed in and threw a Benjamin on the table like it was chump change. “Tossing a tip like that around is gonna get you noticed around here, bud. But thanks, been a while since I’ve had something that doesn’t taste like acid.” He turned his head towards the Local. Every bar had one of them, he was easy to recognize. Someone who knew the place better than his own home, which may as well have been a cardboard box. “Listen, ‘brother’, I bet you see a lot of stuff happen go down here. Either of you two ever seen this mug around these parts?” He flipped open a leather notebook, there was a picture paperclipped to it of an overweight beady eyed Italian with a scar running from his ear to the corner of his mouth. “He’s… An old friend of mine, I’ve been trying to get in contact with him.”
Lord of Swords:
looks at the trenchcoat man
walks up to the bar
Orders a bottle of Johnny Walker black.
Moafin:
The barkeeper kept busy behind the counter, trying to act uninterested in the people who were coming in out of the rain. He set up the one fellow with another Cabernet, after topping the bottle off with cooking sherry, and gave the three others what was left of the bottle. “Best in the house.” he said. The most recent newcomer got a bottle of Johnny Walker black, which had of course been cut with some homebrew stuff in the back. Not that any of these guys needed to know that, you don’t come to a joint like this for fine dining.
He leaned one elbow onto the counter as he slid the drink across it. “Glad to be out of the rain, eh? It’s a real drencher tonight. So what’s your story?”
South Allegheny:
The smelly man took the picture and thought for a moment. “Yea, I seen this guy. He owns that Cats Crib up on 39th and Hayworth.” I never been in there myself but I seen the big fella in the back alleys behind it." The tramp massaged his scraggly mustache before giving the photo back to the trench coat man. “So you say he is a friend eh? I heard he’s got a new squeeze, she is a fine lady I should say. I hears her father lent that guy alot of money to start up a new packaging business down near the docks. That’s all I know, it’s all hearsay though, but it might help ya find out how to get to your friend.” The tramp took a sip of his drink and leaned back in the chair.