Manhattan bar

[Malaclypse 666]

:: "Pops" Waverly has just signed the last of a huge stack of papers as Fellow Hoodlum and Markus look on, lubricated by the second bottle of champagne Pops had purchased to celebrate the occasion. A bot servant trundles up, and presents Pops with a rather long and imposing tab. He looks at the tab, jumps up, knocking his chair to floor, and shows his Bret heritage by addressing the room in general with a slightly slurred roar. ::

"Bloody Hell, you Wogs! Did your mothers raise children or sponges???! Remind me to put in a week or two of extra trading before I offer to buy the drinks for you lot again!!!"

:: Pops continue to stare daggers about the room, until Hoodlum stands and gently takes his arm. With a wink and a sly grin, Hoodlum offers: "Congratulations, Pops. You've just survived your initiation into the traders! That tab is a farce, a prevarication; our way of jakin' ya on your first "official" visit. If anything, your tab is a lot shorter than mine was when I joined. And not to fret, we'll all make sure you have a decent load before you lift again. Now, can we get back to addressing those few remaining brain cells?"

:: It takes a moment.. (fewer synpapses firing..) until Pops' grin begins to match that of Hoodlum. A slight nod from Pops to accompany the grin, and all present know that a lasting bond has been created between themselves and the newcomer. ::

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