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Azan27 · 08-23-2011, 06:08 AM,

The hallway outside the 'Lion' rang with the pitter-patter of Peter McCullen's gently flapping feet. The hallway's empty silence made for an eerie echo every time Peter's foot struck the metal walkway. The void of personnel outside the 'Lion' made for pleasant change in Peter's eyes; everywhere he had gone aboard Scarborough had been filled to capacity. All the neural net outlets had been occupied, the restaurants had been fully booked ,and even the loo had been so stuffed full of people that Peter hadn't even ventured near the door, for fear of being sucked into the crowd and trampled to death. That very incident had brought him to the Blue Lion, the only place that Peter could imagine having a working restroom that wasn't smeared with one form of excrement or another.

The doors hissed open, and Peter was careful not to smack into the rather rude sign near the entrance detailing fornication and the local botany, opting instead to head directly to the bar, and, in turn, the bartender.

'Good day, Father,' said the bartender, glancing at Peter's collar, 'what can I do ya for?'

'Oh, it's 'friar,' actually... I'm not yet a... wait, nevermind that! Do you have a WC I could use?' stammered Peter.

'Sorry, Friah,' remarked the bartender in a rather non-chalant tone, 'no public restrooms 'ere.'

'Well,' asked Peter, 'surely you can let me use the employee one, or something in back...'

'Nope, sah' said the bartender, staring down at the drink he was preparing.

'Well,' asked Peter again, 'Isn't there something...'

'Sorry, chap!' said the bartender, getting visibly annoyed, 'Like I said; No restrooms. Good day!'

Suddenly, somewhere deep down in Peter's psyche, something snapped.

'LISTEN HERE!' Shouted the angry Friar, 'I have been having a VERY BAD TIME! I've been kicked out of my own church, beaten by a pack of Corsair farmers, robbed, kidnapped, and had my face shoved into a horribly smelly rack of Canarian Lamb! I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I need to BLOODY PEE! I'm not even supposed to BE HERE, so could you PLEASE LET ME USE THE LOO!'

The bartender stood perfectly still, except for his left had, which he used to wipe Peter's spittle off of his cheek.

'Left door in the back,' squeaked the bartender.

Peter slowly turned and walked to the restroom. When he came out, feeling clear and relieved, he finally began to survey his surroundings.

*Now,* he thought to himself, *what exactly IS this place...*

Let it burn.

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