Posted by Vice Admiral CockRoach (GM) in San Francisco - Smugglers Cove Bar - One Last Drink
[snip]

He was tall but not tall enough to stand out in a crowd, and an average build, fit, but not athletic. It was his mop headed, curly, red-brown hair that set him apart. Not overly long so that it looked too messy, but also not cut short, and looking like the most he’d done to manage his curls was run a comb through it. Not one to go to a bar in uniform, he wore a blank solid colour olive green t-shirt made of a thin material and a pair of comfortable jeans and shoes. He picked a stool with a good view of the room, not paying attention to who he might be sitting next to, and ordered a water.

~ Captain Marceau Renault

After getting his water, a couple of civilian men behind Renault laughed over something someone said, but then Renault could hear their jibbing. “..Ohhh lookie at the fancy Fleeter there Bob! Thinks he’s so high and mighty posh drinking WATER at a BAR..” one said.

The one that seemed to be named Bob replied, “..No kidding Lu! I mean lordy me if I came into a BAR and ordered a WATER when the BAR was well known for its RUM I’d no doubt feel like a fool!” he laughed.

If either Fleeter looked back at the jiving pair they would see them both near the billiards pool table wearing workmen jeans, boots, and shirts. They probably were dock workers or something just coming off a shift having been here for a bit to get a bit tipsy so far.

GM CockRoach

Marceau ignored their digs. A man who didn’t drink was quite used to hearing others’ uninvited opinions on his habits. And they were probably trying to start something anyway. No reason to indulge them. But if someone was sitting next to him they might notice his grip on his glass of water tighten just a little bit.

~ Captain Renault

“Saints preserve us! Someone’s found their voice. Keep it down over there. Some people are trying to concentrate here!” That came from a burly, dark haired, tall figure perched on a chair that was perhaps not so adequate for his weight. His tone was Italian. He wore an outrageous yellow t-shirt with a brazen suit jacket of orange and red. It may have come off okay if there weren’t occasional sequins flashing in the dim lighting.

“Don’t bother with them, Flo,” said his companion, a man of short stature, but trim and of distinct Asian or Polynesian descent. His dress was from head to toe in grey, from the turtleneck he wore to the loose trousers to the grey sneakers. He was focused on the table and spared barely a glance at the workers, and another over to the target of the butt of their jokes. “They’re just making fun of a designated driver. Kudos to him. The irony is he may be driving those lushes home. Hurry up. It’s your turn.”

Both were bent over the table where they were busily working on building a house of playing cards. Both had hair that was cut in what could only be military style.

NC Benji Borja and Florian Basile

The door to the bar opened and brought with it strong gusts of wind and a low whistle as it speed through the alleys. With the wind that entered and swirled and created a chill was a tall, golden blonde haired woman with startingly green eyes stood framed in the door way. Her hair hung in waves down her back and moved like it was part of the wind. Her eyes scanned the bar taking in the atmosphere immediately. She swayed and sauntered across the room toward the bar in rhythm to the music the heels of her boots clicking to the bass beat. Black leather pants and a deep v-neck cotton tank, was overlaid with a copper colored bomber jacket. A silver studded belt rested on the curve of her hips and a long chain, dangling a smokey quartz pendent almost disappeared into the neckline of her shirt.

She leaned crossed forearms on the bar, her fingers tapping to the music, and she swayed on the spot. She grinned at the woman behind the bar, “Water on the rocks, and don’t forget my tiki umbrella.” She looked at the man to her left and then to the right at Marceau and winked at him. “Alright boys, I’m here now the party can start.”

Lt Laursen, pilot

Marceau was friends with both the people sitting on either side of him now, Lieutenant Kelleher to his right and now Laursen to his left. Though he had yet to notice it was Logan to the right of him. “Helena, you made it! Finished your paperwork, I take it?” He said with a smile, happy to have something besides his water to talk about.

~ Captain Renault

No sooner had Renault’s words left their mouth when their communicator in their pocket chirped.

Once answered, a male voice came through, =/\= Good evening Captain Renault, this is Lieutenant Dainly at Starfleet HQ. I am contacting you because Commodore Samson requests your presence at his office in 30 minutes. Do you confirm? =/\= He asked.

GM CockRoach

Marceau stepped out quickly to answer the call. =^= Confirm. I’ll be there.=^= Then he headed back in and returned to his seat.

OOC: Moving the orders to a new thread so people can keep going in the side sim.

~ Captain Renault