One for the Road

"Hey, wageslavin' aint so bad. I'd go back to it again iffn I could you know.. you get a roof over yer' 'ead an a steady paycheck that puts food on the table. Ain't such a bad deal you know, better than spending forever and a day eattin military rations and drek like that while having to keep yerself safe from bugs n' bandits all the time." Taurus counters. "Course there downsides too.. like em not giving you time to go searching for missing siblings..." the latter part said with a noticeable tinge of angry sarcasm from the large Minotaur. "Course I suppose havin' to do drek like this ain't gonna net me any leads either.."

The scenery outside the car became steadily more urban; the streets grew more crowded, grass and trees gave way to concrete and lampposts, and the buildings grew taller and taller. The dog brain driver maneuvered the car through the light-to-moderate traffic smoothly and efficiently, taking the roads with the least traffic and travel time. It's programming was constantly checking the city grid to this end, gaining minute-by-minute traffic updates. The results were satisfying, as the team soon found themselves in an upscale district.

Personally Old Bear thought any kind o' wage slave was a Loser he preferred not to emulate the behavior or contribute to the system that had destroyed what he considered his people, and his land. So every chance he could he broke, circumvented, or just plain got over on that system, and its followers. Nope he thought. "Not for me." was all he stated, as he looked out from the window of the moving, an uncomfortable vehicle. To say the least. He had no intention of pissing the two of them off with his own redirect. Hell every body's got an opinion. He knew his was an angry one, and he felt it was rightly so. So he sat in the car and thought to himself for the rest of the way...

Auburn nodded in agreement to Taurus. He had definitely put his finger on what she was saying. There is something nice to being "taken care of" some of the time. Regular pay-checks. No need to move frequently to maintain your "freedom of movement". But he was right about the other part too: You had to give up something for that "security of life". You had to give up your identity. And part of that is giving up your real freedom of thought. If they don't want you to look for something, you don't. End of story.
She snorted in agreement as he came to the end of his point. He was right. They were all there for a reason. Some of it turned out to be a good thing, so not so. But this was the life they had chosen.

"Yeah, well, me either. I wus jus' sayin'... Ignorance is bliss sometimes... At least from this side o'the barrel." She said in response to Bear's statement. "I ain't here 'cuz I wanna be workin' fer "The Man"... Ahm here 'cuz that life jes don'make no sense." She said, looking out the window at the changing scenery. Her mood was hardly dampened, with the prospect of some good drinking coming up.
"Ahh... There's'um good drinkin' waitin' fer us." She said, watching a hole-in-the-wall bar go by her window. She wondered whether the bar they had chosen, mostly at random, would be like this one, or if it would be more "upscale"? - Hopefully a hole-in-the-wall... those are better. She thought to herself with a grin.

"Wonder what's got the cab going through here." Taurus idly wonders aloud as he looks out the vehicle's window. "Dunno bout you but I for sure ain' dressed classy enough to fit in place like this. Wager I couldn't even 'fford the clothes if I wanted to."

"Neh... It's prolly nuthin'. Chances are the city's small 'nuff that the good bars'r jes 'round the corner from the holes we're lookin' for." Auburn responded with a grin. She quickly returned her rude stare to the street, watching the fancy people walking around in their fancy clothes. She was dreaming about an age gone by... An age where her response to this would have been something quite different.

The high rise buildings of the financial district give way to the older, pre-20th century brick and stone of downtown. The sleek exteriors typical of modern architecture are replaced, abruptly enough, by brick and stone-work, ornate cornices and pane-glass windows of a by-gone era as the cab turns onto the city's main street. The road has narrowed to a two-lane, and brick cobbles replace the asphalt that has been sliding smoothly beneath the car's tires. While aesthetically pleasing, the smooth ride the cab had been giving nwo gives way to a bumpy vibration as the cobbles tax the suspension system. There are very few other vehicles to be seen: like many historic districts, this part of the city had given way to mostly pedestrian traffic, and the many crosswalks and stops signs slow the team's travel to a crawl.

Even the sodium lamps here are tooled to look as though they'd come from some hand-work manufactory, all cast iron done up in fanciful knobs, fullers, and drooping curlicues. It seemed the city fathers had gone to great lengths to capitalize on the city's history... not surprising, given that the region's industries were nearly monoculture, primary producer sort. The hope of increasing the cash flowing into the city through tourism was an old gimmick, but was often a first resort for politicians due to the relative success with which such ventures tended to meet.

Finally, the car slows from its already sedate pace, coasting to a stop by and old brick three-storey. A small chime sounded within and one of the doors swung up. Stepping out, you all notice that you're standing the building before you has two old-fashioned merchant's shingles handing from iron posts. One proclaims the name New Again, and you presume it to be the first story business: through the old glass windows you can see numerous antiques; furniture, clothing, and odds-and-ends. The second shingle reads, The Copper Cellar and hangs lowers, over a flight of stairs that lead down below the street level.

Walking through the door, the aroma of hot oil, baked bread, and frying meat is the first thing to great you, before your eyes have even had the time to adjust to the establishment's dim lighting. Old hardwood tables and chairs match dot the old lineoleum floor, all darkened with age, use, and spilled beer. True to its name, there is a good deal of copper piping about, and the countertops are covered in sheets of it. The place is moderately full, and likely to get fuller, given that it is still early evening.

There are several waiters and waitresses moving about the room, taking orders and bringing food and drink to the people at the tables. A black and white uniformed pair of bartenders move about quickly behind the long bar, dispensing drinks to the dozen or so patrons sitting on the stools there.

Taurus felt a little uncomfortable as he followed the others into the establishment. This was the sort of place he might have hit up on rare occasion when he was actually making a half decent salary, which meant it was near luxury compared to the conditions he'd been living in for the past few years. That said it wasn't like his wages as a runner had been all that horrible, given that in a single day a runner could make what some people made in a month, or time to time what they'd make in a year or more. Still, it just.. felt out of place to him and his large massive frame guaranteed to draw some attention didn't help matters any. His choice of clothing wouldn't likely help things either, given that he'd had little left in the way of 'civilian' clothing these days. The lack of need had seen it almost all go in lieu of far more useful tactical and survival gear.

Still, he consoled himself with the fact that he could fit one particular role rather well without anyone questioning it too much. That of body guard. Trolls were often a prime choice for such work and he'd literally been no different when he'd gotten to working for Ares, and so he found himself calmly slipping into the sort of mindset he'd used when assigned to guard some Ares VIP or the like in his days as an armed security guard. Naturally of course he chose to use Auburn with whom he'd spent so much time for the role of being the one he was here to protect.

Auburn, after enjoying her relative rest, uncoiled from the extreme resting condition she had been hanging on to in the half-way comfortable cab seating out onto the street with the agility and grace that, unfortunately, clearly gave away her capacity with her body. Perhaps she wasn't as strong as the next Troll out there, or even most Orcs, she was certainly moving with the Agility of any amateur ballet dancer, and perhaps more.
Once standing on the curb, Auburn turned quickly, with a grin, and scooped up her bag, odd lumps sticking out in strange directions, and dropped it over her shoulder. Her grin flashed somewhat brighter after she realized that the "establishment" that they would be patronizing was on the nicer side of the "hole in the wall" spots that she had attempted to pick out. She started toward the stairs with only the slightest of moments' notices. In her thirst, or ardor, she didn't even check to see if the men were following her. Nor did she remember to don one of the hats she so frequently used to off-set her ridiculous outfit. Ridiculous, that is, from the "Street Clothes" perspective.
Auburn strode down the stairs like they were the pathway to her long lost lover. Strangely, in this circumstance, it could be properly misconstrued as being precisely that! Arriving at the bar, Auburn took the barest of moments to admire her surroundings before returning her eyes to the approaching bartender.
"Barkeep." She stated mater-of-factly. Like they were old acquaintances, returning again to each other's company. "Gimme a Sapphire London Dry Gin, Club Soda, and a sqeeze of Lime." She said, grinning. Chicago couldn't even afford to have a bar that served this stuff, let alone serve it. She leaned in to the Bartender, locking eyes. "And make it real." She hissed in his direction once he was close enough to hear her over the light but growing din of the bar. Auburn didn't even notice when her companions arrived, and strangely took up posts on her 5 and 7.

Old bear was not one to complain to much. Hell it was their dime, and like a lot of his people he did enjoy drinking. like his companions his out fit was clearly out of place for the establishment Auburn was heading for so quickly, but Old Bear smiled clearly enjoying the thought of stirring up the locals. around this time Taurus was taking up the body guard position at Auburn's side. Body guards is it? he thought to himself. So he pulled his leather jacket down to make sure the predator was covered on his back side. Then took up a similar position at Auburn's Side.

In the dank dim environment patrons seem to still be very judgmental of them. The tough Orc met there gazes all eye to eye as they entered.

Auburn ordered her drink, and leans in to whisper to the bartender. Then Bear ordered his. "Vodka stinger with a Whiskey back." the Orc then turned around back to the bar, and put up his elbows on said bar. "Now What?" he asked his companions in a low voice...


(Ooc: found a way to post and im still in NYC not home but im good hope i did not make anybody mad with the delay and i hope you enjoyed the post lata)

Taurus considers his choices for a few moments before deciding he might as well order a drink as well, and in so doing decides to stick with one of the old time basics. "Jack on the Rocks" he orders nodding towards a bottle of whiskey. A little drink couldn't hurt after all. The order placed he then once more turns his attention to the other patrons, trying to judge their various reactions to the group's presence here. Sometimes folk like him weren't terribly welcome, though Minotaur tended to have a slightly better time on the whole than other Trolls. Of course that didn't mean some punk didn't occasionally toss out a bull joke.

Auburn grins at her companions' choices of drinks. She generally approved, since they were good solid choices...

"Well, now we need to work some angles. This is what we might call a "Small big city," somewhat like ours." she said, punctuating the point that she hadn't made yet with a quick swallow of her drink. "So, people notice when some stinkin' kid comes'round tryin'ta lay down some green..." She turned away from the bar proper, leaning over the copper counter-tops a little and enjoying the authenticity of the place. It had probably been open for some 300 years, or more. And it was probably just as good now as it was then. In it's own way.
"We jes gutta find the fragger in here who wants to spill on "the new guy" that we're lookin' fer. Yeah?" She says, turning back around to gaze out at the cramped interior of the bar, propping her elbows on the copper counters. She grinned at her two companions, enjoying the way they were subtly, and not so, controlling the environment. It was the perfect expression of metahumanity. - We don't adapt. We force our environment to adapt to us...

There is no OOC so if this is still moving T and everyone watching ill post in tomorrow lata.

OOC: I'm still in...

Old Bear looked over the scene of the antiquated bar with glee. Truth be told he liked the joint. It was the faces mostly. They looked at him with disdain in their eyes. He quietly relished in the smoggy bar and enjoyed his drink...

Ooc: I know its not a lot but the children call to me for shower time. lol so many children lmao.