A Y-shaped counter with blue neon trim above blocks of glass backlit by dim orange bulbs forms the centerpiece of this trendy San Angeles bar. A mirrored wall stretching between the upper legs of the Y bears several shelves that are loaded with bottles of liquor and wine.
Several tables and booths are available throughout the room, with a raised stage platform provided for entertainment acts, several holovid arrays, and virtgogg stations for people who want to pay money to be someone else for a while.
Double doors lead out to the street.
Vechkov sits at the bar, shrugging as he talks to the Demarian bartender. “It’s just a lot of ship, y’know? I’m not exactly an engineer. Hell, I’m barely a pilot. But she’s mine now. Might as well put her to good use.”
Speaking of ships, one about the size of a deck of cards comes flitting into the pub. Given the apparent erraticness of the flight path, there’s no guarantee the pub was an intended destination. Mind, the german drinking songs coming out of the tiny ship’s underslung speaker do suggest that it probably was.
The Demarian bartender bobs his snout, replying: “I hear of anyone looking for ship work, I’ll send them your way.”
The Ungstiri picks up his glass of whiskey and takes a sip. “Appreciated.” He hears the noise coming from Kilroy, then turns to look in that direction.
A little more flitting about almost wildly takes the tiny ship to a handy patch of the bar. It doesn’t land of course, just comes to a hover about a foot over it. “Evenin, barkeep! Could I get a drop of whisky, and perhaps a shot for the Limping Moth?”
The bartender eyes the Nemoni craft suspiciously, but grunts as his whiskers flex. “I got no idea how to enter that cost into the system.”