12-21-2017, 11:38 PM
The board, while plastered with all sorts of community notices, was not entirely smothered in paper. Yes, the best spots were taken, but people had kept their posters mostly confined to the center, leaving ample room on the rim. Jams already knew what to call the bar, but needed to take a moment to think of the poster's design. After about a minute, he wasted another partially summoning a pencil, before realizing he could just summon the poster and some thumbtacks instead. When the deed was done, an azure poster with a silver-leaved blue tree read:
THE COBALT OAK
Soda Bar and Auditorium!
Opens Tomorrow Morning.
Before leaving, he noticed an old man taking out the trash. The elder seemed to be in pain, as he was doubled over his cane like he was afflicted with kyphosis. "Hold on, sir!" Jams ran over to help. "How about you let me take the trash for you?"
The old man gave him a slightly preturbed look, but melted to cheer quickly. "Why, thank ye sunny! This ol' backbone's been givin' me troubles of late."
"You're welcome, sir!"
"Say, I don' recognize ye. You new in town?" The elder thrusted his cane towards the lad.
"Yes sir, I'm Jams Bolero! My friend Eric and I just opened up shop recently." He pointed toward the ramshackle bar.
"I see, you two are starting a business, eh? Seem a tad young for it." The elder leered at the bar. "Then again, only the foolish youth would rent out a space like that." He gave an indignant glare at Jams. "You don't mean to tell me you're gonna sell BOOZE now, boy?"
Jams was shaking in his sneakers. "Oh, no, we plan to sell soda and host gigs and stuff, we didn't know that place was bad..."
"The old man burst into laughter. "Hah hah, oh, I didn't mean anything by it, young 'un. That bar's been in the can for a long ol' time! Sorry to make ye feel bad. So, soda? You'll need a better lookin' front door if you want to rope in company, even if ye knew what advertisin' meant."
"Oh, uh, of course sir. I just cleaned up the trash, in fact I was going to toss out mine, but then I came over to help you."
"Yes yes, you know where the bin is, right?"
"Uh, no sir."
A finger pointed right of the signpost. "See that alley? Head down there, and take a left. Your bar should have a backdoor, and if it doesn't, get one. Never have just one entryway, especially if you plan to have some gigs over, as ya said."
"Ok, sir. Oh! What's your name, by the way?"
"Ah, the name's Smitty MacGuffin. A pleasure to meet ye, and many thanks for taking the trash for me. If ye and that friend of yours ever get that place tidied up, perhaps I aught to humor you two boys."
"Alright, take care sir!" Mr. MacGuffin trodded back to his house as Jams carried the trash over to the dumpster. When he got back, Eric sat at the door with his jaw agape.
THE COBALT OAK
Soda Bar and Auditorium!
Opens Tomorrow Morning.
Before leaving, he noticed an old man taking out the trash. The elder seemed to be in pain, as he was doubled over his cane like he was afflicted with kyphosis. "Hold on, sir!" Jams ran over to help. "How about you let me take the trash for you?"
The old man gave him a slightly preturbed look, but melted to cheer quickly. "Why, thank ye sunny! This ol' backbone's been givin' me troubles of late."
"You're welcome, sir!"
"Say, I don' recognize ye. You new in town?" The elder thrusted his cane towards the lad.
"Yes sir, I'm Jams Bolero! My friend Eric and I just opened up shop recently." He pointed toward the ramshackle bar.
"I see, you two are starting a business, eh? Seem a tad young for it." The elder leered at the bar. "Then again, only the foolish youth would rent out a space like that." He gave an indignant glare at Jams. "You don't mean to tell me you're gonna sell BOOZE now, boy?"
Jams was shaking in his sneakers. "Oh, no, we plan to sell soda and host gigs and stuff, we didn't know that place was bad..."
"The old man burst into laughter. "Hah hah, oh, I didn't mean anything by it, young 'un. That bar's been in the can for a long ol' time! Sorry to make ye feel bad. So, soda? You'll need a better lookin' front door if you want to rope in company, even if ye knew what advertisin' meant."
"Oh, uh, of course sir. I just cleaned up the trash, in fact I was going to toss out mine, but then I came over to help you."
"Yes yes, you know where the bin is, right?"
"Uh, no sir."
A finger pointed right of the signpost. "See that alley? Head down there, and take a left. Your bar should have a backdoor, and if it doesn't, get one. Never have just one entryway, especially if you plan to have some gigs over, as ya said."
"Ok, sir. Oh! What's your name, by the way?"
"Ah, the name's Smitty MacGuffin. A pleasure to meet ye, and many thanks for taking the trash for me. If ye and that friend of yours ever get that place tidied up, perhaps I aught to humor you two boys."
"Alright, take care sir!" Mr. MacGuffin trodded back to his house as Jams carried the trash over to the dumpster. When he got back, Eric sat at the door with his jaw agape.
Death Count: 0
Banish Count: 0
Banish Count: 0