Post by Bowhead on Jan 27, 2015 19:36:15 GMT
Located within the bowels of the self-aware cityship Vivisector, Club 47 is a meeting ground for all sorts, seen as a neutral DMZ of sorts where anyone can get a drink, or some food. Smoker-friendly, and operated by the ex-mercenary K.I.A.-47 cyborg soldier.
((Rules:
No fighting, there's an arena for that.
No pursuing romance, you can eat eachother's faces all you want elsewhere.
This is a semi-canon thread intended to be used as a way to develop characters and create a record of player-knowledge for later reference. While the interactions themselves are non-canon, the personalities and traits revealed are.))
Sitting comfortably upon a floating chair with assorted manipulator arms, the club's owner chuckled to himself as he drifted along the bare; giving out the drink orders of those sitting at it and often pausing for a brief moment of chat with the patrons. The Vivisectory was parked right alongside a major trade route, and as such they not only recieved regulars, but a steady influx of new patrons both from the route and from the colony inside the vessel itself. Life was good, if only until the patrons left and were on their way back to the harsh realities of life.
((Rules:
No fighting, there's an arena for that.
No pursuing romance, you can eat eachother's faces all you want elsewhere.
This is a semi-canon thread intended to be used as a way to develop characters and create a record of player-knowledge for later reference. While the interactions themselves are non-canon, the personalities and traits revealed are.))
Sitting comfortably upon a floating chair with assorted manipulator arms, the club's owner chuckled to himself as he drifted along the bare; giving out the drink orders of those sitting at it and often pausing for a brief moment of chat with the patrons. The Vivisectory was parked right alongside a major trade route, and as such they not only recieved regulars, but a steady influx of new patrons both from the route and from the colony inside the vessel itself. Life was good, if only until the patrons left and were on their way back to the harsh realities of life.
