Roosevelt Station: Old Toole's Bar

[Hamarr]

Roosevelt Station a military fort ran by the US Rocket Corp, and an outpost of the much larger Fort Washington where the bulk of the Rocket Ships and Rocket Rangers live and work. Nonetheless the station has become a bustling little American city on this dense jungle world. A bar for some more rough and tumble redneck types has become quite the hotspot, Old Toole's or just Toole's. Popular with the Wildcatters who fill the bar most nights, or workers on leave from the ore fields that is when the UVMC gives them leave. The Mine Bulls are vicious in their work. But more recently Venusian laborers have arrived in the bar during the busy hours of the night.

The bar is little more than a large tent set up over a sheet metal floor, offering beer for the thirsty, jungle meat for for the hungry and of course more beer. Lots'o beer. The fare isn't great, but it's clean, cheap, and plentiful. And that is quite enough for Reginald who is quite familiar with this place after selling some of his catches from the wild jungles of Venus to Old Toole. Darwin is less amused with this place, but he/they (whatever it doesn't matter) will follow Reginald for his cause.

Reginald has heard a few things about Old Toole, apparently she worked first a mining camp during the Alaska Gold Rush at the turn of the century. What is known that the old Grandma has a lifetime's worth of stories, the kind only someone with a hard bitten attitude who has spend a lifetime or two beyond the edges of civilization, and a heart that tends to favor the working class over the owners. Others still say that she marched in Ludlow and lost her eye to a Colorado National Guard saber cut. Others say that she had it shot out in an argument with a claims jumper in Guatemala. Old Toole doesn't talk about how it happened, but she does rub it right before she grabs a sawn-off shotgun from behind the bar and wades in to break up a fight.

That all isn't important right now as Reginald and Darwin speak to her about their latest catch and hope to grab a bite to eat and drink on the house. Looking around the bar Darwin easily notices that the place is only half filled, as a storm is brewing outside and the tent roof flaps and cracks in the wind whenever someone comes in. A grease covered cook Jimmy Loon works the griddle and fat fryer in the back, a pair of Venusians, rocket port stevedores by the looks of them, keep to themselves in one corner. Wildcatters are spread around in twos or three, their rough work clothes and mud covered boots speaking volumes about their lives, while their obvious display of firepower on hips and in shoulders tells the rest of the story. The far corner is a young Earthling woman dressed like the other Wildcatters. She mulls her beer slowly while keeping an eye on the crowd.

[BaoAlex357]

Reginald quietly tried to direct Darwin to a "nice" table out of the way, as futile of a task as staying dry in the coming storm. The conspicuous bulges under his oilskin longcoat hinting at side arms in addition to the usually large RAY rifle slung across his back.

"Ahh, Ms. Toole! I hope you've been well since we last met. I've got a rare treat for Mr. Loon's grill, fresh gator-toad meat. The tail is even undissected this time!" Reginald shoots a subtly accusatory glance at his unearthly employer, who has taken to trying to collect a thumb-sized beetle crawling on the makeshift wall.

[Hamarr]

"Reggie, sit down and let me see that fresh meat." She pours a pint of ale for the hunter. "Jimmy!" Ms. Toole snaps back "Get your arse in here and bring this gator-toad meat on ice." turning back to Reggie while the cook lumbers in a meat cleaver in hand, "So what can I do you for?" She pushes the pint over to him.

[BaoAlex357]

Reginald smiles as he takes seat, nodding to the burly cook, "Evening Mr. Loon, the barrel beside my truck."

He takes a slow sip of the pint, a light-hearted grin peaking out from his moustache, "Just the usual rate for fresh meat, of course, less tonight's special, a few more pints, and apology drinks to whichever table Mr. Darwin disturbs. I've managed to convince him to spend some time codifying his notes, so I'll be around more until the next Venusian dawn."

[Hamarr]

Jimmy just grunts as he grabs a rain jacket on a hanger by the bar, and heads out into the cold wet rain. These rain storms last for a while and as it is only a few hours before Dusk there isn't any sign the rain stopping for quite a long time.

"Speaking of Mr. Darwin," she looks over to the strange Europan and snaps her fingers. "Mr Darwin cerme over here, what can I get you?"

[BaoAlex357]

Darwin starts at the snap, wobbling precariously on a table, specimen jar held delicately amongst the myriad fingers.

Roll

2d6+3 Aware +4 Coord

Action

Clumsy check
5-9 falls onto an occupied table
10-13 stumbles off table, jostling patrons
14-17 falls off table
17+ dismounts gracefully

Dawrin smooths his clothing, tucking the jar into a hidden pocket. "Hmm, oh yes, ribs and fresh vegetables will suffice nicely! Do you have any more of those 'cheese fries'?" An exuberant grin creasing the small mouth as the Europan takes a stool.

[Hamarr]

Roll

2d6+3 Aware +4 Coord = 13

Darwin stumbles off the table and jostles into the two Venusians who have been speaking in hushed tones to themselves. One of them gets up angrily, "Away from me," Looking to Reginald. "Get you're Pet away from me. The next time one of you bothers us it will be your head!" He stares down the hunter, while the other reveals his Forest Axe from under the table.

Ms. Toole goes to assist the clumsy Europan and brings him back to the bar. "Yes Jimmy can make you up some cheese fries, and the finest Venusian Salad in all of Roosevelt Station."

[Hamarr]

At the call of his name Jimmy walks back into the carrying the large barrel of gator-toad. He grunts again when he passes by, "Can't wait to cook this up Reggie. And Darwin I got you, a platter of cheese fries coming right up!"

[BaoAlex357]

Reginald sighs softly, an expression of resigned annoyance flashing across his face before turning towards the Venusians, "My employer offers (W. Venusian) most profound and humbling admission of wrongness and to buy your next round." He doesn't bother nudging Darwin to chime in after the pet comment, instead unbuttoning his longcoat, showing an unreasonably large caliber revolver and the filigreed hilt (sans several gems) of a sithanka. A safari vest of reptilian leather worn over a layer of Martian plastic armor.

[Hamarr]

The Vensuians sneer in your direction but otherwise leave you no mind returning to their engrossing conversation. That you now overhear to be about the game of Chess.