The Rebel's Corner | Invited Players Only

[simon young]

[font=Cambria]Lanzarote was an island adrift in a sea of what might have been. Wreathed in scattered detritus, the remnants of ambitions never materialized, standing lonely vigil over a world which offered only enough resource to ensure that she would never fully die.

The patrons of her one unnamed bar sat similarly wreathed in the smoke of the collective cigars and cigarettes that the weak environmental systems never quite managed to clear; perhaps out of deference for the men who sought an additional layer of isolation from the world. Those who spent their reverie staring towards the heavens would see a collective trail drawn from each man towards the bar'€™s one fan, tracing a thick contrail of ash with each revolution.

Built into what had once served as the station's conn center the bar commanded no view save that of the lonely landing deck, where the curious people watcher could observe the great airlock crack to admit the occasional automated shuttle or even more rare visitor disembark from the docking cradles.

In all respects the her beginning marked her current form. The spartan utility of the command deck supplanted by the spartan utility of the bar. Built of simple metal, her tables and chairs of similar design, all laid out beneath a dim light. When the deck lay silent the creak of the station could be felt as much as heard, when the rare occasion merited that the room should be filled with song it was as though the walls would seize the cry and raise it up.

For the reverent silence of her current form was but a veil over the burning hope that had been carried by those who had founded her, hope and a burning vision for the future which had carried the first explorers to discover Gran Canaria. Hope which was etched far too deeply into Lanzarote's bones to be dispelled.

Or maybe that was just the romantic in him trying to squeeze something out of his surroundings. A body might not have much of a call over the cards they're dealt, but they can decide how the play them. If you ended up in this bar chances are you're clutching your hand for one reason or another.

With that Simon Young flipped on the fan.