Harry's Bar: Under New Management

[RevdKathy]

Long long ago, in a far, far galaxy, next door but three to the restaurant at the end of the universe there was a bar. Known most often as 'Harry's Bar', though sometimes 'Sarek's Bar' after its proprietor, it was a warm, friendly, peaceful place where TrekBBS denizens could gather for a pint, a laugh and some gentle fellowship or philosophical debate at the end of their long day's boldly going.

Eh. Who am I kidding? It was a doghouse. A place of drunken brawling and riotousness. A place where any furniture not nailed down was smashed over someone's teeth (and some of the stuff that was nailed down!) A place where mere Bar Fights were for wimps. A place where only the toughest ventured to swill down a quick illegal Romulan ale and get out before one of the more rumbustious clients took a bat'leth to you. It was... glorious!

Finally, after repeated complaints by noise abatement officers, environmental health officers and local law enforcement Harry's Bar was forced to close its doors. A few half hearted attempts were made to reopen subsidiaries in local outposts, but they lacked the cosmopolitan glee of the original. Harry's Bar had gone. Forever.


RevdKathy pushes open the door, shoving back several pieces of broken chair, and enters the stale-aired room. In the dimly lit arena the ghostly shapes of broken furniture rise up under dirty dust sheets. The place exudes deep sadness, and a stench of very stale alcohol.

Kicking aside a chair leg, the Revd picks her way through the broken glass and strange, sticky patches on the floor to the power meter. Shovelling a few quatloos in the slot, she thumps the meter into life. Lights blaze on, exposing the decay and devastation of the bar. RevdKathy sneezes. The juke box coughs into life, sputtering out a slightly flat recording of 'Beyond Antares'.

The Revd sighs. She looks at the staff in her hand, without much hope. Once a tall, all-powerful Admin Stick of Thwacking, the staff now resembles a Morris dancer's stick struck by Ash Dieback (that famous welsh fanfic writer). Like an interstellar McPhee, the Revd thumps her stick on the ground.. once... twice... three times. And twitches her nose bewitchingly, for good measure.

As if by magic, a shaft of light filters through the empty bar, transforming all it touches. Broken tables right themselves, chairs become (almost) usable. The floor is swept and polished by an unseen hand. The bar sparkles with bottles of every kind of drink, strong and otherwise. And there are actually unbroken glasses to drink from! The juke box pounding out 'Bilbo Baggins' is almost in tune. Almost.

The Revd smiles almost imperceptibly, then walks to the door. A shiny neon sign declares “Harry's Bar”. Throwing back her head, she announces to all who will hear:

“By Order of T'Boss The BAR IS OPEN!”

[Tora Ziyal]

Ziyal pokes her head in and looks around. Wow, this place is ancient! Obviously from way before her time. But it looks sort of intriguing, so she decides to come back later and see who hangs out here.

[Bob The Skutter]

Just a soft drink for me. Probably not a good idea to go for the good stuff in my current condition. What time do the regulars roll in?

[macloudt]

macloudt, ever the nosy bugger, strolls into the bar. The slightly mad lady who'd thrown open the bar door and shouted down the street that the bar was now open didn't phase her in the least, most likely because macloudt is slightly (or perhaps not quite so slightly) mad herself. She walks up to the bar, and after spending a minute or two hoisting her short and amply padded self on to a barstool in a rather unladylike manner she surveys her surroundings. The place looks old and as if it's been through the wringer a few times. Still, as long as the company's good and the drinks are drinkable macloudt's content. Now, to get to know some of the locals...

[Mr. Laser Beam]

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!!

Now where's the karaoke machine...

[Zion Ravescene]

Evening, barkeep. I'd like a double entendre please.

[Mr. Laser Beam]

I've just spent 20 minutes arguing against artificial turf. *hic*

[Shaytan]

I remember the Harry's Bar, I fell in the stairs while going to the bathroom once. Friends are still making fun of me because of that.

I will take a Bloody Mary anyway. I will behave, I promise

[RevdKathy]

Zion Ravescene wrote:

---

Evening, barkeep. I'd like a double entendre please.

You want a double entendre?

*Gives Zion Ravescene one*
*Fixes drinks as requested for all. Slaps Mr. Laser Beam with a wet clod of earth. Hides the karaoke machine for later.*

[Bob The Skutter]

Revdkathy wrote:

---

You want a double entendre?

*Gives Zion Ravescene one*

So this is what you're doing while I'm sick in bed?

[RevdKathy]

If you can't fondle the hand that you're fond of, fondle the hand to hand.

Get back to bed you, and stop coughing.

[macloudt]

*reaches behind bar and pulls karaoke machine back out*

So, who's going to be Sonny to my Cher? Because I've got you, babe.

[Bob The Skutter]

I'm in bed. I'm trying not to cough, honest, but it's like it's a reflex or something.

[Zion Ravescene]

Bob the Skutter wrote:

---

I'm in bed. I'm trying not to cough, honest, but it's like it's a reflex or something.

Another double entendre please, barkeep!

[sojourner]

<walks in and immediately up to the bar, seeing no empty spots, "whacks" someone on the head with his cane and takes their spot>

<gruffly> "white russian and a grappa shooter"

<eyes others warily>