The Black Flag Alehouse, Planet Sprague - All Welcome!

[Capt. Henry Morgan]

In recent years, Sprague has gone from a dusty backwater to a bustling colony world. With this activity has come a lot of thirsty people in need of a drink. To fill this need, retired Buccaneer leader Captain Henry Morgan opened the Black Flag Alehouse a short walk away from the planet's main spaceport. Aside from the large barroom, the Black Flag also boasts a number of rooms for rent by the hour (and no shortage of available company to keep the rooms warm), as well as private meeting rooms adjacent to the main barroom.

Morgan's Buccaneer roots are visible in the constant presence of current Buccaneers as well as various Buccaneer memorabilia, such as founder Captain Myngs' jolly roger hung behind the bar. Another prized possession is the original ship's bell from the Royal Liner Maelstrom taken by Captain Dunsburry during the raid that led to King William I's death. Rumor holds that the BAF Fleet Museum is very eager to get their hands on it.

Despite the rough clientele, the Black Flag manages to hold a respectable reputation. A crew of intimidating bouncers ensures that the bar always remains civil. The Black Flag stocks every alcoholic beverage known in the colonies, from the finest libation from heaven to the rankest swill fermented in a jailhouse toilet. What really draws customers from every corner of Sirius and every social class, though, is the house's already legendary variety of craft beers.

On any given day, you can find people from all walks of life, from lowlife criminals, to active duty military personnel of all ranks, to wealthy traders and socialites looking for a bit of the rough (without getting too rough). The Black Flag caters to all, and is one of the premier drinking establishments in the southern colonies.

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[Lewis Harry Stone]

05.25.824 A.S.
A normal day for Larry, working in the mining fields is a hard job as a Bretonia Mining and Manufacturing employee. While the paychecks are finally great again, the work still costs alot of his power. After his workshift he decided to get some drinks before he hits the weekend.

He took a civilian shuttle from Bristol Mining Facility which directly headed to Planet Sprague, not the fastest way, but at least the price was low enough to get some drinks in the Alehouse.

Larry headed straight towards the Alehouse that alot of workers spoke about, so why not give it a try.
He finally arrives and stands infront of the Alehouse where he already spotted the security.

"Looks great, let's hope this guys are civil and won't drag me into any action... the Police wouldn't be so happy to caught me again."

Larry went to the entry and moved straight into the House where he looks around and gives his best to spot someone he could know.

"Quite alot of people here, let's see... do I know anyone here..."

Checking the room but isn't able to spot anyone he could know, he decided to head straight to the bar.
He raises his arm slightly to get the attention of the bar-keeper.

"Greetings Lad, I need something to get in the right mood if you know what I mean."

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[Ellie Hardy]

Planet Sprague, Ellie Hardy

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It's been several weeks since Ellie passed Planet Sprague on her trip to Liberty, with all the stolen Ore from Omega-7. But she wondered how exactly it looked like down there, on the ground of the planet located deep in the borderworlds. Leaving her "throne", on the Pilgrim Liner located behind planet, behind, she took her Recycler and set course to Planet Sprague and its docking ring. Excited, she managed to land and after several minutes of cracking in her cockpit she jumped out of her own lovely ship and headed towards the lift. Down there she couldn't miss name of the bar... "The Black Flag Alehouse, uh?" she murmured to herself and sighed heavily as it really caught all of her attention and raised some curiosity as how would it look like inside and what kind of drinks would they serve.

Stepping inside, she stopped and looked around, trying to inspect details of ceilings, furniture and decorations in the bar before she proceeded to the counter. "Ello?! I'd love to order something!" she couldn't help herself, but yelled at the staff. Then she sat down and continued inspecting details of the bar.

[Capt. Henry Morgan]

Morgan came up the stairs out of the basement, where he had been inventorying the bar's stocks. He missed the old days, but running a bar wasn't a bad way to spend his retirement. As he came up behind the bar, he saw the usual mix of patrons as well as two new customers. By his garb, the first was clearly a miner who had come dirtside to spend his hard earned credits. He stepped up next to the bartender, who was just about to show the miner the beer list.

"Lad, led me make one suggestion to ye. First, ye want a pint of Huntmaster's Draught. Easily the finest lager ye've ever had. Once ye've had yer fill, head over and talk to one o' the workin' girls. I'll even get ye a first timer's discount!"

The next new customer was a bit more interesting. A spacer, by the look of her. Not too hard on the eyes, but with a bit of the rough and tumble about her. He sweeps the tricorn hat off his head and offers her a formal bow.

"Ahoy there, fair lady! Captain Morgan, at yer service! What brings ye to the finest pub on this dusty backwater?"

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[Ellie Hardy]

Planet Sprague, Ellie Hardy

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She was tapping steadily on the counter with her finger, when guy arrived on the scene. He seemed to be an old man, but Ellie has never underestimated people, she knew people could be tricky. Even if her nature was the one of the rough, harsh, bit**y and shady person, she still kept formalities and pleasantries on high level. Returning the bow, she leaned forward, placing her elbows on the counter while her head rested on her right hand, left one kept tapping on the counter.

"Mister Morgan, I am miss Hardy. But people call me just Ellie or scumbag, pick one." she said, but smirk slipped away as she finished her short speech. "I'm not sure if there is a specific reason of my existence at this place... I was just loitering around and thought I could train my social skills. I'm failing at them miserably" Once again Hardy couldn't help herself and smirked.

[Cat]

Julian Grayson

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A young blond stepped out of his Griffin light fighter and gave the developing world a somewhat skeptical look as he took a deep breath. The colony didn't seem like much from orbit: a somewhat barren world that has become one of the hotspots for Leeds refugees. That resulted in a hubs of small prefab buildings spread across the area, although the main spaceport seemed slightly more advanced.

As the man combed his medium wheah-colored hair backwards with his head, he walked steadfastly down the path away from the port, eventually running across the Black Flag Alehouse. With a slight smirk, he changed course and walked through the entrance. Wearing his dark-brown leather jacket, he didn't stand out among the patrons, all of whom he quickly glanced over as he walked in. The pilot noticed that the bartender was already busy talking to some other people, so he just occupied a free spot by the counter and decided to wait, with a bored expression on his face.

Assuming he'd get noticed, he'd greet the bartender with a nod and a curt "Hi" followed by a request: "Give me the strongest thing you have." The only peculiar thing that one would notice about the man was a squinty look (some might even consider it arrogant) that he'd give with his shrewd green eyes.

[Unseelie]

Mike Halloran fancied himself a connoisseur of libations, and had been plotting his routes by some of the best alehouses for a while. If he wasn't flying, he'd be drinking, and even if he was flying, he probably would still be drinking. The thing did most of the work, anyway.

He'd been on Sprauge for a few days, trying hard not to tear at his skin wherever the biting insects that seemed to live on every last world had swarmed him, lightly boozing. After laying in a cargo, he'd come back for a few more hours in a table near the bar. He had thought he'd had a pleasant time already, peoplewatching and muttering, but when a less than massive chap walks in and says something like"Give me the strongest thing you have." . . . well.

That got Mike interested. In a place like this...you were safe to be interested in libations. You probably weren't safe to be interested in the strongest libations...or you were safe, and you weren't safe to be around. Not if the things Mike shipped had anything to do with it. As he turned, the chair made just too much of a screech against the floor for him to feel graceful...He hoped nobody noticed he was keeping an eye on this boy.

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[Capt. Henry Morgan]

Henry Morgan came into the bar carrying a sealed case under his arm. It had been a busy couple days, to say the least. A group of local teenagers had decided to have a scavenger hunt, and on their list was one of Morgan's prized possessions. The ships bell from the Royal Liner Maelstrom, passed down from Captain to Captain from Wallace Dunsburry himself. The youths had been caught lifting a few other people's possessions and had gotten themselves arrested by the local authorities and their ill-gotten gains confiscated. The local Governor from the Bowex Colonial Authority had been prepared to hand the bell over to the BAF until Morgan reminded the man that his preference for male company at the Black Flag might not sit well with his wife.

As Morgan replaced the bell in its place behind the bar, he heard a man at the bar ask for the strongest thing they had. He turned around to see that a rather haughty-looking young man had placed the ill-advised order. Just as the bartender was reaching for a bottle of bootleg Libertonian Moonshine, Morgan stopped him. Instead, he reached under the bar and grabbed a very dusty bottle of Gundey VIII. As soon as the bottle hit the bar in front of the young man, all the bar stools adjacent to him immediately cleared out and knowing chuckles came from all the Black Flag regulars who had seen this scene play out before. The bartender sighed and walked off to get a mop and bucket.

As soon as the cork was pulled from the bottle, the foulest vapor to ever crawl out of a bottle began to seep into the room. Gundey VIII was legendary across the colonies as the worst synthetic alcoholic beverage known to man. An alcohol content that was beyond what seems possible is its only virtue. One sip of the stuff was enough to convince a life-long alcoholic to go sober for the rest of his days.

Morgan poured about two fingers worth into a lowball glass, slid it forward, and waited for the show to begin.

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[Ellie Hardy]

Planet Sprague, Ellie Hardy

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It's been several days since her visit, but she was passing by with some goods once again. And there honestly wasn't a simple reason why Ellie shouldn't fly down there and visit the bar again. Maybe it won't be "dead" as it used to be.

Ellie just walked in quietly and took a seat in the corner of the bar, carefully observing details of guys sitting and apparently drinking some weird smelling booze.
"Hmmm, do you actually specialize in cocktails as well?!" she yelled at bartender while crossing her legs before she laid her head onto her palm.

[Cat]

Julian Grayson

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The young man had thought he'd seen and tasted it all back in the day, but as the aroma of the beverage (where in Sirius did they brew that stuff?!) drilled its way up his nose, he was quick to reconsider and accept his mistake. But there was no going back now: it was either losing his face, or the contents of his stomach. Or both. Luckily, he hadn't eaten before coming here.

He pulled the glass with his hand, looking down at the contents and trying not to inhale or smell it. Then, with a quick move he swigged the glass, hoping that the liquid wouldn't touch his tongue and go straight down the throat—that way he'd avoid tasting "the best part". The plan worked with moderate success: it still felt like kissing the north end of a south-bound goat, and the liquid was throat-burning, so the young man only had to grab the counter with his both hand and wheeze out, trying to regain his lost breath and regretting his choice of beverage.

After a couple of seconds spent like that, he recovered and wiped his eyes with one hand, his expression not so smug now, but exhausted. Wiping his face again, he now looked "somewhat" normal. But then the alcohol kicked in. A little shaky, the man pushed the glass away and replied coarsely: "Thanks. You serve any food here? I'd chase it down."