A holographic display in the elevator welcomes patrons as they reach the floor of the Elysium. As the doors slide open, they are greeted by the sight of dozens of screens, tables, waitresses, and other patrons laughing, shouting, drinking, and gambling. A pair of burly men in security uniforms stand either side of the doorway, eyeing up new comers and confiscating any weaponry the automated scanners detect. Once given the all clear, guests are offered whatever their hearts desire. Some of them are even lucky enough to get it.
Games of pool, cards, darts and the like are enjoyed and bet on, along with sports beamed in from across the Houses on holo-displays, mixed in with news reports and arrival/departure times for the various ships entering and leaving the station. A small eating area enjoys music from an old juke-box dusted off from the previous owners, along with the occasional live band on the small stage set up.
Attractive young waitresses offer service with a smile to the tables, encouraging patrons to part with as many credits as possible with flattery. Behind the bar a few bartenders serve drinks, gossip with customers and even sell the odd piece of information.
The crowd itself is one of the most varied and potentially volatile found on any station in Sirius. Corsairs bumping elbows with off-duty Bretonian military, Red Hessians throwing darts against Daumann employees, all under the watchful eye of both Zoner and bar security. Violence is quickly diffused and neutralized to ensure the safety of fellow patrons.
For those more interested in more private forms of recreation, or simply looking for a place to lay their head, small private rooms in the back are for rent, containing a Murphy bed, a small desk, a holo-display, and an intercom system to contact station staff. Room service takes pride in their wide selection, expedient service and most of all, their discretion. What happens in the private rooms stays in the private rooms, as the old saying goes.
For those with business in mind, there are two large conference rooms in the back, designed for diplomatic or business meetings, or just large private venues, such as the odd wedding reception. Fine dining at its best paired with the best security money can buy, not to mention a hell of a view of the Coombe Asteroid Field.
People from all walks of life are welcome here. If they can dock on Freeport 1, we want your custom. Junkers, Zoners, and regular customers are given generous discounts to ensure their continued support. Just another fantastic service provided by Global Trust Enterprises.
Tobias Banks, owner and proprietor, leans up against the bar. A scotch is placed at his side without as much as a glance towards the bartender. 'Lovely sight, init? A non-stop party where everyone's invited, an' I'm the one sellin' the booze.' he says, taking a swig of the drink. 'Well, keep the wheels turnin'. I'ma go kick Hoffmans arse at 8 ball. Call me if anyone interestin' shows up.'
The bartender, David Bekowsky, lets out a chuckle while glancing over to see how the game is going between customers. The weedy little Banks wouldn't stand much chance against the burly Rheinlander head of security, Ulrich Hoffman, in any sort of physical competitive sport. But something like this? Staff and regulars had already started placing their bets. 'Come one, come all. Make a small fortune if you can guess the outcome! If gambling isn't your style, we've got fun for the whole family, as long as it's a family of heavy drinkers.'
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