The Caspar Expedition - Ankle Deep

The Black and White Tavern 

This bluesy tavern is cool and inviting, a feeling made possible by its frequent use of stained wood and soft lighting. The walls are covered with old pictures and strange items that seem to have no purpose other than to offer an interesting look. Peculiar chairs hung on the walls, sculptures that look like child projects, items remeniscient of almost every alien race, and a menagerie of good and not-so-good paintings are just a few examples of the culture this room presents.

A bar sits in the far left corner of the tavern, a long curved counter that wraps around shelves of alcohol bottles and two large brass stills pressed against the wall. A pair of swinging door nexts to the bar leads into the kitchen, and is constantly being used by the waiters and waitresses as they rush back and forth. Dotting along the bar is a row of bolted steel stools covered with plush crimson cushions. Other seating includes a multitude of round tables set around the tavern in a trial and error pattern that offers plenty of space to move around. On the right side of the tavern, surrounded on all sides by tables, is a semicircular stage, elevated just high enough to distinguish itself. Sitting atop the stage is a pair of simple wooden stools, and set of two microphones attatched to stands. About ten feet above the stage is a rod that curves against the wall, with a crimson velvet curtain that can be drawn to cover the far half of the stage, and hanging just below the ceiling is an electric bar of stage lights, all pointed in various angles at the stage.

Just off to the left of the door is an antigrav platform that rises up to the balcony. This section of the tavern stretches across the entire left half of the bar, and has the same arrangement of tables as the lower level. It generally is lit darker than below; what little light there is glows a soft green. Each table has a small reading lamp affixed to the center. Along the very edge of the balcony is an arrangement of comfortable couches that are aimed for viewing at the stage.

Harkness is sitting at a corner table, nursing a glass of iced tea while he peers out at Regreb Bay with his good eye.

Rathenhope wanders in carefully, looking around warily as if the tables themselves might suddenly jump on him. He pauses just out of the doorway, as if unsure what to do.

A perky young greeter accosts Rathenhope at the door. She's maybe seventeen, wearing long pants and a dark turtleneck that's covered with elements of holographic "flair." "Hello and welcome to the Black and White Tavern! Fun is Black and White! How many in your party?"

Rathenhope blinks a little as he's caught by the greeter, confused for just a moment before he smiles widely, stance becoming more neutral. "Ah! Just me, actually. I'm looking for Mr. Harkness."

An iconic cartoon cat winks at Rathenhope from one of the holobuttons as the greeter nods, offering a winning smile as she gestures toward a table in the back corner of the restaurant. "He's just there, you see?" She shoves a menu pad toward Rathenhope. "Enjoy your stay with us! Have a great meal!" A virtual dragon on her right lapel roars mirthfully.

Rathenhope takes the menu pad and bows his head in a thank you. "I'm sure I will," he says, striding over towards the indicated table. "...Mr. Harkness, I presume?"

"Ah, Captain," the writer says, tearing his gaze away from the sailboats on the bay to regard the newly arrived Rathenhope. "You thurvived the chirpy new wall of pain at the front door, I thee."

"I"m more surprised I got this far at all," Rathenhope smiles freely, stretching as he takes a seat. "I'm alive, all's good, yes.

Harkness nods. "I have every confidenth that they will break her thpirit eventually." He takes another sip of his iced tea. "Order anything you like. Mr. Thtillman ith comping your meal."

Rathenhope tilts his head curiously. "Mr. Stillman?"

"Yeth," the writer replies. "Abermarle Thtillman. Inheritor of Peter Delarme'th ethtate."

"Ah. So he's interested as well," Rathenhope muses, but waves it off. "But no, I'm fine."

"Mr. Thtillman wath interethted *firtht*," Harkness explains. "He ith a Thpethialitht, of courth, tho he wanth to know what the Kamir can do to help him live a full life without relying on Metathone. It'th all very Pinocchio, really. Me, I want the thtory of Kip Cathpar. And what ith it that you want, Captain?"

A small, private smile. "What I want is unimportant. And I do just generally enjoy putting the Kamir a little... off balance."

Harkness considers the captain's sentiment. "And how doeth your crew feel about the Kamir? Do they know about your intentionth?"

Rathenhope laughs softly, nodding. "Oh, they know. The only thing I do is talk to the Kamir as equals. I don't think they -really- know what to do with me."

"Very well, then," the writer says. "When thould we plan to depart for Nocturn?"

"Whenever you wish," Rathenhope nods. "There are a couple of other people who want to tag along, so I'll have to let them know. Not many people go to Nocturn, these days."

"I have thome looth endth to tie up," Harkness replies. "I thould report to Mr. Thtillman. Athemble your crew and retainerth. Let me know when it ith time to leave and I thall report to your thip."

Rathenhope nods a little at Harkness. "Okay," he smiles, stretching out. "We're on Quaquan at the moment, if you're okay making the trip."

Harkness curls his lip a little. "Duthtball of a planet. I'll bring a particle mathk."

"I'm sure it could be worse," smirks Rathenhope, but nods. "As you wish."