Who: Souji, Sam Tyler and a possible appearance from Dan Foster later. When: Night time, mid week. Where: Sam's new pub What: Sam's first night opening the pub. Warnings: TBD but probably none.
Sam had been working on the pub for weeks. Seeing as he couldn't work as a DI or a DCI any more, he had to find something else to fill his time. And running a pub was about the only thing he could think of. He would serve up drinks, and even food. He had made sure to find a big enough room and then kitted it out. There was a small kitchen area in the back which was open to the rest of the room which had probably taken the longest time to set up. The TARDIS was confusing... very confusing. And trying to set up anything that hadn't been there before was a battle in itself. It was almost like the TARDIS has a mind of it's own...
There was a bar, of course, with stools. The wood had been stained a nice dark red colour. He had managed to find the panelling in a room on the TARDIS and the rest of it, he had made from things he found in the market. He had set up a few tables, with chairs. Added some warmer lighting. Placed some pictures on the walls. The pictures were a bit of a mix too. Mostly paintings from artists he had never heard of. Probably because they were from this strange universe. But they were beautiful pieces. The more disturbing ones, he had put aside. After all, he had bought them as one collection and didn't discover half the works until he had got back to the TARDIS. That had been fun, getting lost in Orientia...
Still, all his hard work had paid off. The pub had a warm atmosphere and he had tried to make the best out of what he had. The room had started off feeling quite cold and almost sterile. Now it felt a bit more homely. A bit more accepting. And hopefully people would come. If only he could think of a name. Picking up a cloth, he wiped the bar down. Not that it needed it but it was something to do while he tried to come up with a name.
It was quiet. Maybe the pub needed a music player of some variety? That was something to look into. Then again, the last thing he needed was the radio talking to him. But it was a strange comfort at the same time, a link to the real world, his world, his life. Or the life he had come to love and accept at least. Stuck in 1973 with Gene Hunt and his little mob squad. He actually missed them...