A visiting Zangali gets a lesson in life on Tomin Kora from one of his own kind…(Editor’s Note: This episode also puts paid to the common misconception that Zangali are total morons. They aren’t. They just don’t speak everyone’s language.)
Last Call Tavern
A place like this makes a person wish every chair sat with its back to a wall.
The tavern is a dark and shadowy place, the outside glow of the nebula filtering in weakly while pale blue plasma lanterns gleam in the center of most tables (some seem to have run out of juice, but the complaints department doesn’t care and the maintenance crew doesn’t get paid enough to intrude on conversations better left in the darkness).
The room stinks of sweat, cigarette smoke, and spilled alcohol and blood.
Fifteen tables and six booths are arrayed around a central C-shaped bar counter, which has eight stools in front of it.
“Well it looks like a dummy.” Jasra chuckles and picks up her scotch to take a long sip, hiding her smirk.
Knuckles thumps into the tavern, and swings his snout around to take in the occupants. His eye membranes nictate and the spines bristle atop his head.
Falkenberg is sitting at the bar, as are Kendrick, Tkagorth and Jasra. Cesca stands behind Falkenberg.
Tkagorth spots to other Zangali and quickly goes about scanning other patrons of the bar.
Knuckles walks to one of the tables with the blown plasma lamp, off in a shadowy corner, and settles into a creaky chair.
Falkenberg gestures to the seat next to him and looks to Cesca. “Sit,” he says. “I’m not sure they serve any wine you’d like here, but you can ask.” Continue reading Classic OtherSpace Log: Only One Law