Young Writers Society

JC jumps up from the bar.
"That was a scary dream," she said, shaking her mind clear of it. She looks around the room and see's Claire dancing very weirdly. Thouroughly confused, and a little scared, JC goes back to sleep.

"Good morning and goodnight, JC," Razorblade says, a somewhat sarcastic edge to her voice.

LONG LIVE SARCASM!!!!

"Amen to that, Tassen," Razorblade says, lifting her glass in a toast.

LW wanders in with her nose in a rough draft copy of a script, carrying her usual overstuffed denim backpack and black hole of a purse, plus the empty cup from a QuickTrip slushie. She looks at the cup, then at the barkeeper.

"Oog, nothing sweet, please. I'd like water and some salted peanuts, I guess."

LW looks around at the bar and at Razorblade's glass, still lifted in toast.
Following suit, LW lifts her glass and toasts to sarcasim, then asks:

"What exactly is this place, anyway?"

"This, my darling newcomer," Razorblade says jovially, "is the Tavern. Where sugar, random dancing, and overall hyperness reign supreme."

Razorblade downs her entire drink in one go and calls to the bartender for another.

Tassen chugs his drink, and also signals for another. "Can I get a mix of three parts pink lemonade one part fruit punch? That stuff is good."

*bangs bar* "I'll have what he's having." *jerks thumb at Tassen*

*gulps* "Ah...long time since I was in here last."

LW thanks Razorblade for the intro and, feeling much better for having finished her script and her salted peanuts, turns to the Bartender.
"Can I get a large rootbeer float? Lots of ice cream? Thanks!"
LW turns to Gyr as the Barkeeper slides the float her way.
"Hi, Gyr! Haven't seen you much lately. How's life?"

"Hey, Tassen, no stealing my lunch drink suicides," Razorblade says, playfully poking Tassen's shoulder.

"WHAT?!?! Your lunch-drink suicides?!?! I invented that three years ago at church camp!!!!!"

"Yeah, yeah, sure. You know it was all me. That, and three-quarters fruit punch and one quarter lemonade, and vice versa," Razorblade says snidely, smirking while drinking from her glass.

I refuse to accept this!!!!

Razorblade grins devilishly and chooses not to comment, opting instead to pull a book out of nowhere and read.

Magik glances up at the tavern, wrapping her coat closer to her body to block out the wind and rain. She trudges over to the door and silently slips inside, calling for a cream soda and root beer float. She slips into a booth in a corner and watches the action from her seat, sipping her float contently.