The Flaming Wombat
Posted: Thu Feb 17, 2011 3:57 pmThe rain poured down over the darken streets of what had once been the brightly lit entertainment district of F7. Up and down the now deserted streets one can see shuttered and padded places of entertainment, conversation, and drinks each bearing a large white notice stating:
Street after street, row after row; nothing but dark buildings devoid of the life and gaiety that once was the hallmark of the district. Time was when wild parties could be found here, but the crowds grew wilder and wilder and the authorities found more trouble coming from the district than it was worth, and so now there is nothing but darkness and the rain...
Or is there?
Turning down a side street, one can see a dim light and barely make out a vast, somewhat ill-defined shape in an area that previously had been an empty lot. Coming closer and the shapes start to make sense, through instead of bright lights that used to define the district, this has a simple glass encased light over a dark and heavy wood door.
Odd, the light is not only lit, but there is no closing notice on this door. In fact, judging from the movement that can be seen within through the smoky glass window, the place is open for business.
A polite cough from behind reveals a man with a step-ladder and holding a somewhat large wooden sign.
“Excuse me, gotta hang this up before we do the grand-opening,” he says, placing the ladder down and scurrying up it to the metal perch where obviously the sign will hang from.
But... hadn’t the district been shuttered? Were not the many places within all supposed to be closed and abandoned?
The man grins and hooks the sign to its post then rubs the back of his head, “Well, yeah, but I kinda have an arrangement going on. It works out great, we become the only game in town, even get full staffing from the gnomes lent to us by our sister establishment over in the WA.”
And in return?
“And in return, well...” the man shrugs and slides down the ladder and folds it up. “Well, they get just one place to watch instead of dozens, and a cut of the profits of course. Excuse me, got to get inside.” The man pulls open the door, sending a blast of warm air that swirls around with the scents of various foods and drinks. “Oh, we’re open now if you want to come in. Just please mind the rules,” and with that he disappears into the open door.
Looking up, you can see the sign in the dim light; ‘THE FLAMING WOMBAT’ is written below a nice carved picture of a fierce, flaming, wombat. Below that, in smaller letters, it reads ‘Owner: M. Barry. Manager: [v]. Asst. Manager: R. Productions.’
Stepping inside, one can see a carved brass plaque inscribed with The Rules which reads:
Well, what else can be done? This is, as said, the only game in town. Sighing, perhaps in memory of what was loss, perhaps in anticipation of might be, one walks down the short hallway under the sign of The Flaming Wombat.
- Code: Select all
“By order, this establishment has been shut down.”
Street after street, row after row; nothing but dark buildings devoid of the life and gaiety that once was the hallmark of the district. Time was when wild parties could be found here, but the crowds grew wilder and wilder and the authorities found more trouble coming from the district than it was worth, and so now there is nothing but darkness and the rain...
Or is there?
Turning down a side street, one can see a dim light and barely make out a vast, somewhat ill-defined shape in an area that previously had been an empty lot. Coming closer and the shapes start to make sense, through instead of bright lights that used to define the district, this has a simple glass encased light over a dark and heavy wood door.
Odd, the light is not only lit, but there is no closing notice on this door. In fact, judging from the movement that can be seen within through the smoky glass window, the place is open for business.
A polite cough from behind reveals a man with a step-ladder and holding a somewhat large wooden sign.
“Excuse me, gotta hang this up before we do the grand-opening,” he says, placing the ladder down and scurrying up it to the metal perch where obviously the sign will hang from.
But... hadn’t the district been shuttered? Were not the many places within all supposed to be closed and abandoned?
The man grins and hooks the sign to its post then rubs the back of his head, “Well, yeah, but I kinda have an arrangement going on. It works out great, we become the only game in town, even get full staffing from the gnomes lent to us by our sister establishment over in the WA.”
And in return?
“And in return, well...” the man shrugs and slides down the ladder and folds it up. “Well, they get just one place to watch instead of dozens, and a cut of the profits of course. Excuse me, got to get inside.” The man pulls open the door, sending a blast of warm air that swirls around with the scents of various foods and drinks. “Oh, we’re open now if you want to come in. Just please mind the rules,” and with that he disappears into the open door.
Looking up, you can see the sign in the dim light; ‘THE FLAMING WOMBAT’ is written below a nice carved picture of a fierce, flaming, wombat. Below that, in smaller letters, it reads ‘Owner: M. Barry. Manager: [v]. Asst. Manager: R. Productions.’
Stepping inside, one can see a carved brass plaque inscribed with The Rules which reads:
- No drama
- No, you cannot be staff. We have gnomes.
- Chatting is fine, but PLEASE try to keep some RP’ness
- Issues should be reported in Moderation (See Rule 1).
- All other rules apply.
- Have fun.
Well, what else can be done? This is, as said, the only game in town. Sighing, perhaps in memory of what was loss, perhaps in anticipation of might be, one walks down the short hallway under the sign of The Flaming Wombat.
