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"Sniffer" Martinez opens a bottle of whiskey and hands out menus.

"What can I get you?"

**Breako sits down at the bar, takes his ball cap off and sets it next to him**
"3 fingers of whisky, straight up"

Special Agent LaRouche shoulders in the door.
Casual gaze takes it in.
Nodding his head "Nice place, I could use the rest."
With that, he throws his red trenchcoat on a chair and approaches the bartender.
"I'll have glass of gin on the rocks.......leave the bottle"
Turning around, leaning against the bar he thinks to himself,
*I think I'm gonna like it here*

I look at the sign over the door. This looks like the place, all right.

Straighten my collar first - you always want to make a good impression.

Open the door - yep, this is it. Ah - good location for the bar, and good lighting, too. Keep your head facing forward, use your eyes to look around. Good - familiar faces.

"Hello, gentlemen. It seems we've found a nice place here."

"Bartender, I'll take a Texas Rum Iced Tea, please. Bring out some of those cheese fries, too. So, boys, what excitement did I miss down in Bretonia today?"

I sit down in the comfortable chair, back to the wall, facing the door, and listen to the tale while my drink is delivered. Just because I'm relaxing doesn't mean I'm still not watching for trouble...

Bobafett walks into the bar and looks around.
he thinks to himself. hmm..a rather interesting place.
He then sits down on a chair takes off his helmet and speaks to the bartender.
Ill have a glass of Side winder fang.

The smartly dressed Roland Deschain walks into his old haunt, rolling his eyes at the new decor. An utter lack of class was to be seen here. Bloody Texans, with their uncouth manner and broad hats, he thinks.

He doesn't make prolonged eye contact with any of the patrons, knowing that these animals will jump at such an invasion of their territory.

He takes a seat, and reads both the menu and the day's most wanted list. He orders a rare steak, and hopes that it isn't served with anything fried.

Roland sighs and hopes that things will be different out in the black, and that there will be some professionalism out there.

Nathan enters, peering round with an uncomprimising stare. He wouldn't usually frequent bars but really felt the need for a drink after the first couple of days on the job.

There were a few other hunters around, and a couple he recognised from the Agency.

But he still didn't trust them...

Walking up to the bar, making sure to give everyone else a wide berth, he communicates to the barman his order in as few a words as possible, not to prolong contact.

"Liberty Ale..... Please."

Odol Krabbelarr sits in corner table littered with empty bottles of very cheap 'Synth alcoholic beverage' , he takes a shot and passes it to a small, oozing alen organism on the table, the alien thing picks up the bottle with one of its transpetant tentacles and drains the last of the rancid liquid, you see the blue liquid flow through the aliens body.
"No more" says Odol as he slumps back into his seat. a rough looking BHG pilot walks up to Odol and picks up the organism
"see? No one can out-drink this thing, that will be 100 credits mate."
Odol grumbles and pulls out a detailed transparent-plastic card out of his pocket and hands it over.
"this little thing's made me over 2500 bucks!" says the BHG as the small creature oozes some blue liquid on his standard-issue BHG pilot-coat
"little bastard!" he says as he tries to soak up the liquid with a napkin and walks out of the bar
"how the heck did a Daumann guy get here?" says a young man to the bartender, he realises he said that a bit too loud
"we'll get someone to kick him out soon, but he's good business, he's bought $250 worth of that Synth rot-gut in one hour"
"who let him land here anyway?"
"dunno" says the barman
"he's that big train over there, with the red and gray cargo pods?"
"yes, i see it" says the young man as several burly guards step in and walk towards Odol
Odol leans back and passes out...

"Sniffer" Martinez points his shotgun in the face of the customer, a loud-mouthed rookie from Leeds.
"Please do not ask for credit, as a blown-off head often offends."
The rookie freezes. Then he slowly reacheds into his pocket and produces a credit chip which he places on the counter.
"Thanks,"says Martinez. "Now, the toasted special and a pint of London Light, was it?"

In the background, the holo-jukebox starts playing.

Richard Vettel walks into the bar and takes a seat.

"Hey, bartender, London Light please."

Grabbing his drink, Vettel looked around the room, filled with Bounty Hunters. Some of them looked as nasty as the pirates he put away.

Vettel swallowed another gulp from his drink, as a hand dropped on his shoulder. Turning around, Vettel saw a heavy looking man, wearing a trenchcoat. He smelt of aftershave, and wore a deep brimmed hat.

Vettel eyed the man, half his face hidden by the shadow cast by the hat.

The man wheezed. "You're that... S/D guy..."

Vettel raised his eyebrow. "Yes, I am. Now, what do you want? Can't you see I'm having a drink with myself?"

The man kept still, and Vettel felt the grip of the hand on his shoulder tighten.

"Remember me?"

The man removed his hat, and showed his face. He was in his mid 40s, apparantly losing alot of his hair. His eyes were bloodshot, and he had a little cut on his forehead.

Vettel didn't recognize him. "No, I don't believe so."

The man slammed Vettel to the table, the barkeeper not doing so much as to look.

The man, on top of Vettel, stared at him. "I did 15 years because of you."

Vettel grappled the man and he shoved him towards to bar table. Grabbing the man's arm, Vettel spun him around, and kicked the man from behind, and he landed on the chairs nearby, on the floor, knocked out.

Vettel turned to his drink, finished it, and handed the Barkeep a credit chip. Stopping right beside the unconscious man, Vettel spoke. "Next time, it will be for much longer."

Vettel left the bar, and headed for the station's hangar bay,