A Rainy Evening

[w0lverine123]

Country: Britain
Current Time: 19:14 (about 7 PM)
Weather Conditions: Light Rain

Zack sat in the back of an English taxi, keeping very still as he watched the driver fidgeting in his seat, turning the radio on and off. A steady downfall of rain came from outside, although just hours ago, it had seemed like the night would be clear. The rain wasn't very hard, but that didn't stop the paranoid cab driver from having the windshield wipers going as fast as he could. Zack, acting almost on instinct that he'd developed in service with the military, glanced out the window as another car passed by. The soldier calmed himself. Before checking for the German swastika or mounted weapons had been for his life, and purely for that purpose, but gradually, it had also developed into a matter of pride. However, now that the newly promoted staff sergeant was on leave from his military service, that year of living in an isolated war camp on the brink of enemy lines was forcing him into bad habits.

After a few minutes, Zack's thoughts were interrupted by an impatient little cough from the cab driver, which made the man snap out of his mind and back into the real world. “Your stop, good sir,” muttered the taxi driver crossly, his lips forming into a thin line of impatience as Zack yawned and pulled his coat tighter to his frame, before shoving the door open. The driver yawned as well, hiding it behind a second little cough to hurry Zack along. After a few seconds, the soldier was outside the cab with his bag and rifle case in both hands. Just as Zack turned to get off the street, another little cough and reminder could be heard from the taxi driver. “Your fare, good sir?” The man, trembling slightly from the drafty air laden with moisture, pursed his lips even tighter.

“Sorry,” Zack replied as he searched an inner pocket for spare change. After a moment or two, the soldier's fumbling around bore fruit, albeit in the form of a slightly crumpled wad of bills. “Here,” the young man said, handing the whole bundle to the cab driver. “Keep the change,” he muttered, turning around and snatching his rifle case up from the ground before briskly striding up to a nearby inn. Ocean breeze hit his face, giving Zack a hint of what might be behind the inn as his cab rolled away.

Zack pushed open the door and stepped up to the young lady who appeared to be on the current shift. “Would you happen to have an open room in this inn for an affordable price?” he asked kindly, putting on a kind (or so he hoped) smile as he did so.

[Leeroy Atherton]

OOC - Two pounds and a crown = £2.25. Also, "luvver" is a West County slang term that is equivalent to, say, the Australian term "mate".

~| (o) | ~ ~| (o) | ~

The night was quiet, the number of people in the inn's bar strangely minuscule for such a stormy night. Rain pounded the windows heavily, strengthened by the Bristol Channel that Burnham-on-Sea was situated upon. Beneath the faint veil of cigarette smoke that drifted from a few tables, the low hum of conversation went on, the majority of customers local people that night. A large number of soldiers had shipped out a day earlier, their time off finally over; since then, the Traveller's Place Inn had been mostly empty. For Leeroy Atherton, door supervisor of the inn's bar area, it was an emptiness welcomed with open arms. Soldiers could always be a rough lot when they had alcohol for blood.

One of the waitresses - a dainty girl by the name of Harriet - suddenly trotted up to Leeroy, a platter of empty whiskey in hand. Leaning over slightly, Leeroy automatically doing the same, Harriet whispered, "There bizt a problem 'round back, at the zix-chair table. I 'ooden throw out them, iv I were 'ee; he be gettin' right drunk. Keepz braggin' 'bout how he'z goin' to be drinkin' the place dry, and they be arguin' with each other a bit. 'Zidez, they a-have zix glazzez each to drink."

"Right love, 'ee go and take the dizhez to the cook. I be taking care of buzinezz, now, so juzt make zure no one doez zomething ztupid - holler if they be doing that."

"Yes'm," replied the young waitress, immediately scurrying off to do as Leeroy said. Eyes following Harriet until she disappeared into the staff-only back rooms, Leeroy advanced toward the upper left corner of the bar, where the table with the most chairs stood. There, a local for each chair was talking low, hiccuping here and there, their faces varying shades of cherry red. It took Leeroy a moment before she could figure out which one was the most sober, and she tapped that man on the shoulder.

"Excuze me, zirz," began Leeroy in a stern, semi-loud voice, "but I be thinking you've had enough to drink. I would be appreciating iv 'ee could go home now; I can call a ride for 'ee if 'ee can't get home. It be a dangerouz thing driving drunk."

At that moment, the door to the inn opened, and in stepped a soldier in a British uniform. Leeroy glanced over her shoulder at the man's entrance, but then went back to looking at the inebriated group. The most sober one grinned like a madman, giving a loud, "PFFFFT!" while shrugging.

"I...I be a - HIC! - thinking I bizt viiiiiiine...me and my luvverzzzzzzz...we be viiiiiiiiiiiiiiine...HIC!" drawled he. The other men grunted in agreement, nodding. Leeroy scrunched her nose up, her gaze become a little more heated.

"That be not a requezt," the Romanichal said. "'Ee are all dizturbin' the peace, according to zome ov the ztaff. And, by the lookz ov things, many o' ye are about to pazz out. I be callin' a cab for 'ee, and then, ye tell me where ye want to go, and 'ee can leave. There be plenty of nightz avter where 'ee can come and be drunk again."

"B-b-b-buuuuuuuut...laaaaaaady..." one of the men groaned. "We be...HIC! We be viiiiiiiine...."

"No, ye be not. I be counting to eight, and then, 'ee be gone. Otherwise, I will be calling the police. One...."

"Would you happen to have an open room in this inn for an affordable price?" came a voice from behind Leeroy, startling her slightly. She quickly pivoted on her heel, now facing the same British soldier who had come in before. Truth be told, she was a little irritated with him for interrupting her, but she couldn't blame him; most of the staff were in the kitchen, since it was getting close to closing time.

Clearing her throat, Leeroy answered, "Yes, we be having a room. Two pounds and a crown vor one night. I will call for someone to show you to one in a moment; I be handling something at the moment, zir. I apologize."

Turning back to the drunk men, Leeroy then said, "Two. Now, will ye please leave, before I call the copperz?"

[w0lverine123]

Country: Britain
Time: 19:22
Weather Conditions: Light Rain

The young lady turned towards Zack, looking flushed with anger and irritation, but her gaze softened after a moment. Wondering what he did, Zack was about to apologize for disturbing her and leave, when she abruptly stopped looking like she was about to kill him. Although Zack thought he saw it flash back for a moment at the word 'cheap'. Looking thoughtful for a moment, or so Zack liked to imagine, the young lady began to speak. “Yes, we be having a room. Two pounds and a crown vor one night. I will call someone to show you to one in a moment; I be handling something at the moment, zir. I apologize.”

It was then that Zack noticed the six men behind her, and decided that the lady must be busy serving them. He inclined his head slightly towards the lady. “Well then, I shall just have a seat right over... There,” Zack surveyed the room and motioned to an empty table with two seats. “Take your time, I can wait for a while.” The soldier removed his dampened coat and balled it up under his arm, hoisting his luggage and rifle into the air with his hands.

Zack trudged over to the table that he'd indicated, dropping his bag and gun case next to the closest chair before sinking into it. He spread his coat out on top of the table, and carefully folded it up, before slipping the bundle that was really a coat into his bag. Rummaging deeper into the bag of luggage, Zack broke into a small smile of pleasure as he drew a packet of cigarettes from the deep folds of his personal belongings and necessary items. The soldier struck a match, stuck a cigarette the corner of his mouth, and lit it. Blowing gently, Zack snuffed the match and put it back into the box of cigarettes, just in case it could be salvaged for later use. A curl of gray smoke drifted up from the tip of his cigarette, seeming to chase the larger puff that had come from blowing the match out. After a moment, Zack heard voices behind him, voices that he recognized. One voice, actually; that of the young lady who seemed to be on shift.

“Two. Now, will ye please leave, before I call the copperz?” she said as Zack turned around to watch. The six men who were sitting behind her were hiccuping at infrequent intervals and slurring their speech as each one in turn attempted a witty response, most of which involved little to no sense but a good bit of laughing and nudging each other.

Zack sighed, blowing out even more cigarette smoke, as the most sober managed to respond. “Me and me... Hic... Luvvers be just viiiiiiiiiiine... Dun kick us out, we be jizt... Hic... Jizt viiiiiiiiiiine...” As Zack watched the men tottered in their seats and chuckled nervously, he knew this wasn't the truth. These guys were drunks. They might be good guys, but they were drunks.

Zack got out of his chair slowly, taking his time walking back over to the girl on shift, but passing her and focusing his gaze on each of the six men in turn. One of the more drunk ones managed to pick up a discarded bottle of beer and chug down the last of it, regarding Zack nervously. He flinched and recoiled back to a slumped, almost completely still position for no reason that Zack could see. Occasionally the man would give a hiccup, so Zack knew he was alive. As for the other men, well, they might not be so lucky when Zack finished with them.

“What do you vant, kiddiez... I iz having a... An inellectule coversenz... Over here...” muttered a man who seemed particularly drunk and was contributing next to nothing but the infrequent hiccup to the 'conversation', as far as Zack could see.

The soldier knew these guys were drunk out of their sanity, at least for now. He didn't look anything like a 'kiddie'. “Ma'am, are these guys giving you any trouble?”

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Moderation Post:

The following CP has been issued:

Caldicot - 4CP, nice posts

Atherton - 2CP, again, nice, but half the number

-JT