Dec. 10th, 2009

xamotomax: (You thinking what I'm thinking?)
Two men. One bar. Nothing unusual. Businessmen will frequent bars now and then, it's just something people expect them to do.

And they're doing it.

Making their way past all the patrons this establishment has [no ordinary pub we have here], they head towards the bar and place their orders for hyper-distilled spirits [standing policy about intoxicants], a handful of business magazines, and possibly some light edibles as well.

That in hand, they make their way towards a table.

Here their breast pockets [on one man it's on his left, the other, the right (who happens to have a scar on his face)] begin to wriggle and bulge slightly. Something is in them.

One head pops out. Then another. It's an animal. A very small animal. Two. A pair of stoats, to be exact, eagerly waiting for the men to sit down so they can get out of those stuffy pockets and get some fresh air, thank you and please.

Request granted as seats are taken and the two animals begin to wrestle about on the tabletop, much to the amusement of the men.

Just another day at the Bar at the End of the Universe, where company might come from....


xamotomax: (Default)

December 2009

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