The Pub

Are we our characters? I am, anyways. Flames, at your service.I walked into the rusty old bar. Several people clambered around, and a nice looking bar tender asked;

"can I get you anything?"

Instead of being my philosophical old self, I replied "Lemonade please." She filled my order, so I sat at the bar.

"Going slow today?"

"I expect it to pick up a bit later." I nodded to her, sipping at my lemonade.

Yes, we are our characters. I am the bartender

A short girl, in her early twenties, came from behind the bar and walked towards the table of the new customer. "Hey sweetie, I'm Alisa and I'll be your waitress today. Is there anything else I can get you? A refill maybe?" She asked, taking out a pen and tablet from the back pocket of her light washed jeans. Her red hair was pulled up in a sloppy bun at the back of her head, random hairs were sticking over her head and looked like a small crown. Her green eyes were looking kindly at the potential tipper.

"What'da you got?" I asked her, not unkindly. She handed me a menu, which I skimmed. Hastily, I ordered and gave her a small tip that would probably bring it out faster.

*sorry for the short post!!*

(I will be switching characters like craz-ay.)

Twitch, from Prohibited

I sat heavily in a booth, rolling out the blueprints. My jagged crimson hair, the bleached ends still a yellowish-white, swished some, and I shrugged. Jaw length and angular, perfectly convenient. My eyes, still dusty jade colored and a dead giveaway, flitted around. The waitress, looking not unfriendly, was bouncing about. It almost sickened me.

If it had been any other day, in any other situation, I might've laughed. But noooo. I HAD to come from 2059 Antropolis, I HAD to be born a third daughter, and I HAD to have just run into Pop Control. I huffed and unlatched my bag. Dear, sweet, robotic feline Repo scrambled out, pawing at the buckles. She didn't like it when I did that, but it wasn't my fault.

As I pored over the newly-stolen CIA prints, I traced my fake ID idly with one hand. Clarissa Purey. That was who I was supposed to be. But I'd introduce myself as Twitch here- I couldn't spot out a single gang member or Pop Control officer. No reason to be hiding; no one knew me as the fifteen year old, red headed, genius, inventor-hacker-thief, ILLEGAL girl I was.

I was just the weird, paranoid acting, robot-cat owning redhead in a side booth.

Alisa walked over to the girl who had just walked in, her stray hairs bouncing with every step and getting in her eyes; It annoyed her. She plastered on a smile for the sketchy looking teen. No doubt she would try to order beer, they always did. "What can I get ya sweetie, I'm Alisa by the way." She said in her sing-song voice, still smiling and looking friendly. She held her pen and tablet in her hand, poised to write.

Twitch

"Sprite," I grunted. "A Monster, too, if you can manage it." I didn't look up from my print, just uncapped my silver marker pen and jotted some calculations down, first on the blue paper and then on my forearm. Rolling that up (and wincing when the CIA emblem flashed), I traded it for my sketchpad.

Mark.

I blinked. I didn't think I had sketched him at all, but there he was, blue eyes staring into mine and blonde hair hanging in his face. I shook my head and flipped the page. I couldn't think about the boy who's living right next door. Who's a Third, just like me.

No time for that. Must sketch lamp.

"I'll get right on that hun. Anything else? Cheeseburger? Fires?" Alisa asked, seeming to have over looked the teens comment about 'managing'. She noticed that the girl didn't take much notice to her, never looking from her papers. Alisa scanned them over while the girl flipped through them. They were odd looking, nothing she would normally see someone bring into the pub.

(Analise)
"Don't worry everyone! The party is here!" A small blonde yelled as she burst through the large wooden door of the pub. She scanned over everyone until her eyes landed on the waitress. "Sister!" She yelled in her loud voice, as she ran towards the woman. "Hey Ana." Alisa said, her voice retaining most of it's cheerfulness she reserved for the customers. Ana rested her arms on her sisters shoulders and looked over the customer in front of her. "What do you have there?" She asked and moved to look over the girl's shoulder at her art.

She lets out a yelp and leans forward. "Sketch. Stuff. Not great." She clears her throat- it's risen an octave. "Um, fries would be great."

She slowly leans back, when she's positive the woman isn't looking, and flips quickly back to Mark's picture, tracing the outline lightly. The shadowing of his cheekbones, the lines of his bangs, his eyes, nose, jaw. If only she could do that to the real Mark.

She flips back to her lamp sketch and clicks her mechanical pencil.

-A vary tired looking, but not unhappy, young man about 14 takes a seat at the bar. Looking at the waitress with dull gray eyes that look like they belong on an extremely old, wise man asks," may i have a coca-cola if it isn't a bother"

I enter the pub, my eyes adjusting to the dim lighting quickly as I make my way over to a stool next to the fourteen year old boy. I lean across the counter and just grab a bottle of wine from on the shelf under the bar counter, I toss a twenty and open the bottle and begin to guzzle it. I reach behind me to grab a pen from my back pocket and look around blindly for a piece of paper.

the boy sighs at the man next to him and puts a pad of paper infront of the man and gets out a book filled with hieroglyphics.

(It's a girl.)
Katherine .


I look over at the boy next to me, grunt a thanks and then began to sketch out something complex onto the paper. A few symboles, a building, a man hole and so on. It looks real, like the paper was becoming another dimension..

Seres enters the bar, coughing. He slumps on to a chair, next to a man drawing what looks like a town, and lets out a sigh.

(Seriously people, the person drawing is a Girl)

Katherine

I sketched rather quickly before setting the pencil down and gazing into the image, conjuring a small flame in my palm did I light it on fire and sigh. Nothing was quite as much fun anymore.