Meet the Bartender

<Bar noises; glasses clattering; heavy discussion>

Well well well...Welcome on in stranger. You're a new face around here.

Well of course I could tell. This town consists of only a few hundred people. I know everyone who comes in here. Most of the people that you see around you come in here often, if not daily.

So...yes. You are a new face. No question about it. No need to worry, I don't judge a new face.

Are you an out-of-towner, or did you move here?

Out-of-towner, hmm? What could possibly bring a young, prosperous thing like you to our little town of Decay?

{Elongate pause for listener answer}

A writer on a journey, huh? Certainly an interesting choice of locale. Trying to get a change in the environment or something like that?

No? What could possibly bring you out here?

{Longer pause for listener answer}

Trying to get inspiration for characters in small places. Hmph. Can't say I understand it. This is a population of around 300...there's hardly a chance anyone here is remotely interesting.

Well, I'm not one to rain on parades or anything. Take a look around, I guess. Any drink I can get started for you?

A Death in the Afternoon? Well aren't you fancy. You know you're buying the bottle, right?

<Optionally, bartending noises. This drink is shaken, if that helps>

Not a problem. You want lemon?

Right away. I guess you fit the writer trope tooth and nail. Big Hemingway fan, huh?

Well I won't say I'm a huge reader, but when I get the time I try to knock out a few chapters before bed. For Whom the Bell Tolls would be my favorite, cliché as it might be.

<Pour drink now>

How long have I been here? Longer than you've probably been alive, most likely! I look good for my age. I've been here for 42 years, believe it or not. I'm not the owner...but sometimes I feel like I am! I don't think this place has changed an ounce since it opened, minus the second pool table we got a decade ago.

Usually, it's just me most nights. The owner tends to cover mornings, and that sweet girl Jezabel does Thursdays. 

Guess that works puh-rit-ty {pretty} well for you, oh writer for the ages. I know everyone here like the back of my hand. Let's see...

Over there at the pool table is Ricky Baise—though most guys just call him Slim. Look at the guy, he surely weighs nothing. Mr. Baise is a lean, mean, billiards playing machine. He will snap at you if you call it pool, so keep an eye on that. Claims he won some big tournament years ago, but I'm not so sure he can back it up. He might be better than the average drunk, but against anyone with skill he crumbles like coffee cake.

You might jive with that girl there by the window. She's some kinda artist. Painter, maybe? She's as quiet as can be. She hardly even drinks anything more than water or the occasional juice, but she always insists upon paying for it anyway. We kinda stopped fighting it. She does sort of have this feeling of...sadness, though. Maybe not the most cheerful person to talk to. That said, creative types typically bond pretty well, right? Maybe you can crack that shell of hers.

You know who's not here today? Rodney. That's honestly pretty surprising, that guy's a total regular. Loud, boisterous type. Drinks like a sponge. Horrible taste in women. I'm not even sure what he does for a living. Makes enough to spend it here, but he's also here all the time. It can be hard to get used to him, but also there's a strange...charm...about the guy. Wretched Crow wouldn't be the same without him. Probably.

{Pause for listener inquiry}

It is a weird bar name. I guess the original owner was poking fun at living in a village called Decay, but no one is actually sure where it comes from. It's dark. Kind of fitting, though. I'm not sure the types that hang around here are always the most joyous of people.

We're one of the top drinking spots in the state, believe it or not. It's 80 miles of nothing any which way you go out of here, so we don't even get visitors often. Goes to show our types. Liquor truck shows up twice a month, 8 AM on the dot. What a long and lonely drive that's gotta be, hmm?

Let's see...Whom else can I point your interest towards...

That guy on the end of the bar? The one kinda slumped over? Absolutely covered in scars? That's Scratches. He's sort of our permanent drunk. Honestly, with the stuff that guy went through, I can't blame him. We don't actually know his real name...or if he remembers it. Grows mushrooms and onions, for the most part. Garlic and Shallots towards the end of summer too, if we're lucky. No clue how he does it when so hammered. It'll be hard to pick up on anything he says, but maybe that poor soul's life story is worth writing...if not as a character, as a biography.

The funeral director is over there by the jukebox. They've been losing their sight over the last year or two, but it's caused 'em to become quite interested in music. Tends to just sit over there with their eyes closed and listen to anything that comes on. Ol' Doc Abrams is definitely one of our longest-living residents. Maybe they have some wisdom for you?

That ought to be a good enough start to find some material. The people of Decay are generally not the busy sort—I'm sure they won't mind the intrusion if you play your cards right. Maybe, though, stick to yourself for a day or two. Outsiders are still rare and generally don't get the highest level of trust. Establish that you plan to be here for awhile, which may help you out.

Ready for your next drink? Most excellent, I'll start that right away. If you need anything further, just let me know. And welcome...to the Wretched Crow.

END.