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Post by The Stranger on Aug 5, 2012 9:46:29 GMT -5
A large ballroom style rock club, featuring a marquee which reads: One Night Only: A Band You Never Heard Of!" Already a crowd is forming, straining the four burly bounces positioned outside the front door.
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Post by Lord Oswyn Baratheon on Aug 5, 2012 19:56:13 GMT -5
Malcolm followed Green closely to the entrance of the club, hoping the punk was as big a deal as he and his deceased girl had claimed. Otherwise, he might have a hard time in his singing career after swallowing half his teeth. The merc valued his time too much to be uselessly jerked around.
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Post by The Stranger on Aug 5, 2012 20:32:30 GMT -5
They cut to the head of the line, despite a loud outcry from those behind them, and ta large ogre of a man wearing a black shirt which needlessly reminded people that he was "SECURITY" in big yellow letters looked Nathan up and down, "You're late, Thompson is pissed." He told the Band leader.
Nathan just waved this away, and moved passed the door, with the bouncer making no effort to stop him.
The bouncer did however zoom in on Malcom. "No cutting, end of the line."
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Post by Lord Oswyn Baratheon on Aug 5, 2012 20:42:24 GMT -5
"I'm with Green." Malcolm replied simply, flexing his cybernetic hand. "Personal protection."
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Post by The Stranger on Aug 5, 2012 20:44:01 GMT -5
"What's your name?" the Bouncer said, sounding doubtful.
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Post by Lord Oswyn Baratheon on Aug 5, 2012 20:48:08 GMT -5
"Malcolm Price." the merc answered, already losing patience. "Ask Mr. Green. I'm a recent hire."
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Post by The Stranger on Aug 5, 2012 20:50:24 GMT -5
SECURITY raised his forearm and displayed a small green holographic image, apparently a list of names. "Sorry, but you're not on the list. Mr. Green's guest was listed as a young girl named Emily. Is your name Emily sweetheart?" He asked with a smirk.
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Post by Lord Oswyn Baratheon on Aug 5, 2012 21:00:53 GMT -5
"No, Emily is dead." Malcolm answered in a tone that might as well have been discussing the weather. "Shot up by five Skinnys that would have offed your boy inside as well without my timely intervention."
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Post by The Stranger on Aug 5, 2012 21:11:47 GMT -5
SECURITY considered this new information for a moment.
"Fine, frag it who cares, go on in," he said, and stepped aside.
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Post by Lord Oswyn Baratheon on Aug 5, 2012 21:22:26 GMT -5
Malcolm grunted his thanks and stepped by the bouncer into the club, looking to catch up with Nathan.
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Post by The Stranger on Aug 5, 2012 21:40:41 GMT -5
Malcom was socked in the gut by an earth shaking wall of sound. The kind of sheer sonic blast that quivered in your intestines and had you looking for a bathroom even if you just went a few minutes before.
A thrashing mosh pit had developed, consisting of several dozen young punks in the center of an otherwise attractive marble floor heavily decorated with broken drink glasses and vomit. To Malcom's right was the bar, followed by a set of stairs leading up to a second floor, where he could see people seated and drinking. To Malcom's left, through the mosh pit, was the stage, where the music was being generated from by a single man standing in front of a computer and wearing a pair of noise canceling headphones so large they gave him the appearance of some kind of bug-based alien creature. His Black armless t-shirt helpfully advises Malcom that he will "Frag Your Corpse."
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Post by Lord Oswyn Baratheon on Aug 5, 2012 22:08:25 GMT -5
Malcolm grimaced at the head-splitting sound, sure that he had heard quieter ordinance explosions in his time. He cast a critical eye over the youthful crowd looking for Nathan and sighed, before heading directly for the bar. He took a seat, his back to the bozo on the stage.
"Whiskey neat." he ordered. "Make it a double."
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Post by The Stranger on Aug 5, 2012 22:13:58 GMT -5
The voice-activated AI acknowledged Malcom's presence with a buzz and a beep, "Whiskey Neat coming up. How you doing today Sir?" the automated voice asked as cheerfully as an automated voice can manage, "Voice Stress Software results pending.... Sounds like its been a rough one?"
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Post by Lord Oswyn Baratheon on Aug 5, 2012 22:41:59 GMT -5
"All in a day's work." Malcolm replied gruffly. "So who runs this joint?"
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Post by The Stranger on Aug 6, 2012 7:59:31 GMT -5
"The Novarock is owned by EntertainMented LLC." The machine replied helpfully, as it dispensed his drink.
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Hope you all are well and happy.