Anna Marie | Rogue (nogloves) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2013-05-13 22:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | !thread, booker dewitt, rogue (616) |
Who: Rogue & Booker
What: Night at the bar
When: 5/13 (technically 5/14 - 2AM)
Where: Blackout bar; Alphabet City, New York
Rating: PG13ish
Blackout, a small hole-in-the-wall sort of bar from the outside was actually kind of charming on the inside. If you went for bare wood floors and booths connected to the walls, tall leather stools surrounding the bar counter itself, and rock music playing in a dimly lit one room area. There was a small black light lit hall that connected the bar area to another section where a live band played on the stage during the weekends, on the weeks the pool tables were lined up and darts could be played on the stage instead. The scent of cigarette smoke loomed heavily outside of the building and billowed in through open windows and the two main doors that were propped open by bricks to help keep the air flowing and the temperature down. Even still with such a small space it got hot fast. But Rogue’s favorite part about the bar? Other than the liquor being displayed on an old looking shelf unit behind the bar with a mirror inlaid behind it, the dim lights—maybe it came from that one time way back when, and a time closer to now, when she’d taken (and then offered) Remy’s abilities, but her eyes never seemed to like bright lights anymore. It was the perfect atmosphere for her, and tonight was her second night of work—it wasn’t part of her normal schedule, but a girl called off and Rogue eagerly stepped in. Mixing drinks wasn’t hard, having an attitude and a snappy comeback wasn’t hard, an evil death glare when a guy got too friendly or handsy? Not hard. She actually loved tending here, and already she was becoming a known tender, which meant better tips. But it was a Monday, just past two in the morning and last call was coming in the hour. The only people left were the alcoholics leaning in corners or over each other, mumbling in their own incoherent languages, the sulkers who usually sat at the bar with their faces in the bottom of their drinks lost in thought, and then there were those that just didn’t want to go home yet—or want to return to the wives who were going to nag them for being out so late again. In other words, it was quiet, but Rogue’s tip jar still looked quite pretty for a simple night, if she did say so herself. While the bar was quiet she took the granted time to start cleaning a few glasses, sort her liquor, and check tabs—that list being handed over to one of the guys she worked with so he could go remind people it was time to pay up for the night. She turned her back to the patrons as she started to clean the glasses, using the mirror behind the shelves to keep an eye on things behind her. |