expiationlogs | The Last Drop Grand Opening

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The Last Drop Grand Opening

Who: Whoever would like to attend the grand opening mingle at the Last Drop
Where: Entertainment District – The Last Drop
What: The grand opening of the night club / bar
Warnings: Alcohol and low-level drugs

The Last Drop opens big and loud with neon lights and music that booms from within to be heard from the streets. There are two large bouncers at the door, but they were allowing people in very freely on this night until the room was at capacity then there would be a line. The bouncers only stop those who are already three-sheets to the wind and could cause trouble, but otherwise, they are there to break up trouble as the night wears on.

Inside, there was smoke machines, flashing lights, loud music and the drinks were flowing to anyone that wanted. There was plenty of dancing, some dart boards along the walls, a jukebox, tables and booths for patrons to have drinks and discuss business.

There are stairs that lead up to a second floor to one side of the bar, lights on the stairs. There were people lounging on the stairs and it seemed to be ‘employees only’. Patrons were allowed the lounge there as well if they were tired of dancing or the tables or booths were occupied.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x4aGrN9ZBg0

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Silco expected to see otherworldly currency show up at this place, and he had instructed his staff to accept it. He needed to know more about other currencies now that he had purposefully put himself in control of producing Aldrip's style of it. The more he knew of other metals that might not be of this world, the more he could provide to his daughter to experiment with for her devices.

He approached the bar where Jim happened to be ordering drinks, leaning over. "A whiskey on the rocks," he said simply. He gestured at the younger man next to him. "Serve this one first, of course. Patrons are always provided for."

Jim's previous currency is, unfortunately, likely invalid here, given the fact that Federation credits were a wholly digital resource. He still had his account balance available for viewing on his non-functioning communicator, should that be of any assistance; but Aldrip's crescent-shaped coins, that, Jim had a surfeit of for the evening.

He turns over one shoulder at the new arrival to the bar, friendly smirk gracing his lips when he realizes who he's run into. Jim had restricted himself to text communications only on the compromised network (not that it had mattered, in the end, with the AI ripping through his security protocols like they were made of wet tissue paper) - but Silco had been on video in his announcement message.

"You must be the man of the hour." Jim raises his half-empty glass in tribute. "We spoke briefly when you announced the opening. Your establishment does not disappoint, sir."

Jim offers a hand, and if taken, gives Silco the firm handshake befitting a starship Captain. "Jim Kirk, at your service."

Ah, there were a few names that he didn't recognize on the network post that he had made, and he knew that those were new arrivals or close to it. This was seemed particularly friendly so it was between two people that he interacted with through text message. That list narrowed to one with the introduction, of course. "It pleases me to hear that you're enjoying yourself."

He glanced at the hand, and he didn't hesitate to take it for a firm hand shake. That was how deals could be made, so he had to keep himself used to them. "Silco, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Are you visiting the establishment alone or with comrades?"

Jim has no history, or even rumor, to judge off of, but even so; everyone here has been charged with a crime, and so far, benefit of the doubt hasn't steered him wrong. Jim's friendly, and has no reason as of yet not to be. Perks of being new in town - despite his casual acquaintance with Caitlyn.

"Managed to convince a friend to come out." Jim nods in Spock's direction - they've taken up residence at a booth in the back, and the man in the matching thermal blacks stands out, bent over a notebook and surrounded by empty glasses that tell the tale of how they've been enjoying their time. "Chocolate martinis are a hit with that one, I'd keep it on the menu."

For now, playing nice was the card that he had to play. After all, there were very few people that took it upon themselves to stand in direct opposition of his activities, and those that did could only use words and provide no actual evidence. He had to keep things clean here, build the empire slowly and restrain himself from brute force thanks to the Council and Jerry.

"Did you?" He tilted his head so that he could look over at the booth in question, spying the other person. That looked like someone was either drunk or high and judging by the follow up statement, he understood which. "So I see. If it's a smash hit, I have no reason to take it off. What's your poison for a drink?"

While there have been tales of violence - both alleged and factual, with the bombing - Jim is new enough to Aldrip that he hasn't had a chance to witness any firsthand. The fact that Silco owns several businesses around town is another to which Jim is, for the moment, blind.

"He's a difficult nut to crack, sometimes." A drunken alien in the corner, the softness at the edges of Jim's smile indicative of his regard. He refocuses on the drink in his hand, swirling it idly in his wrist. Silco, funnily enough, seems just as dry as Jim's companion, and the mirth dances in blue eyes as they flick over his countenance. "Scotch. Felt like a single malt kind of night. Seems like your ad managed to attract quite the crowd."

He always assumed it would be common knowledge for the new arrivals within a month of them stepping foot in this place. He had to run things at least comfortable enough for most part so as not to bring the Council's eye towards him.

"He seems to have particular habits." A little obsessive perhaps, but everyone had their eccentricates. It seemed to him that this one was quite gamely about the whole oddity lining up glasses and take notes. "Ah, a man of good taste. I can respect that, and also have been known to indulge in Scotch." He glanced back at the crowd of people and nodded. "It does seem to have garnered positive attention. I hope to keep the momentum ongoing."

To be honest, Jim could stand to pay attention to the obvious a little bit more. He's been so focused on trying to figure out what the hell is going on here that the goings-on of the other Chosen and the day-to-day of Aldrip have somewhat passed him by. Then again, Spock did practically lock him in a warehouse with a tablet upon arrival.

"I appreciate you stocking the good stuff." The tavern had been the closest thing to a suitable watering hole Jim had been able to find, and there was only so much beer a man could drink. "Oh, I think success like this will speak for itself in the long run."

"You know, I never did find that Jenga set." Jim shakes his head, leaning an elbow against the bar. "This place has an oddness to it about the most random details, I swear."

"If someone wants screech, there are other establishments to provide such paint thinner like alcohol." Silco prided himself on making certain that there was quality, especially when it came to the whiskey choices as he was likely to indulge now and again. "I believe it will remain successful for as long as it stands."

One never knew if and when one or both of the sisters would simply burn the place to the ground. He wouldn't put it passed either under certain mind-altering events.

"It doesn't provide any consistency," he remarked in agreement. "Perhaps it will come in time; you are new so likely this place wants you to settle on the flat of your feet before it tosses the usual antics and treasures."

"You really think people will take to bombing businesses?" Jim frowns, contemplating the issue, evaluating it under the mistaken premise that Silco would be worried after the events of the attempted city hall bombing. That made some amount of sense, at least, Jim could see the logical through-line; but bombing the bar, chaos for the sake of chaos?

"Can't say I'm looking forward to it getting any crazier than it already is." He sips his drink, uncomfortable with the idea of becoming comfortable here, though isn't that kind of exactly what he's been doing? He adopted a dog, chrissakes. "How long have you been here? If you don't mind my asking."

"There are certain people in Aldrip that don't like me particularly much, so I have learned over the years that it is best to prepare for the worst and hope for the best." Silco was also a fan of getting his own way, and this particular establishment would ruffle feathers, of course. He'd keep it standing for as long as he was here though.

"No one does, but it does provide entertainment to the heroic types. They need something to save otherwise they might develop a complex," he reflected thoughtfully. Bold heroics were not his style; he preferred the slow planned exercises, which was why he invested so much in businesses here. He would establish a sense of control in his own way. "Nine months, one week, and three days."

"Sounds like the smart approach to me. Last thing you want is a situation FUBAR." Jim shakes his head, making a mental note to add Last Drop to his communications trawl net; they've been monitoring the network as much as they can (re: as much as the damn thing will allow), and if someone's talking shit about a form of retaliation against this place, Jim would like to know about it. "Seems like your bouncers have it covered, but if you need any assistance, my friend and I might be able to help."

Captain of the flagship kind of lent itself to the heroic-type moniker, and Jim laughs, spreading a hand as if to say, guilty. To a certain extent, anyway. "Personally, I'm kind of hoping the retirement package kicks in soon rather than later."

"Mazel," He shifts on the stool, nodding in acknowledgement. Several of the Chosen Jim had met here had been stuck for quite a while - some a year or more - but it still never got less troublesome. "At least you have a little piece of home here, now. Whatever that's worth, in the end."

"Hmmm, well, one can always expect a situation to go to rancor. For all the reform this place wishes of us, it also is eager to put us in challenging situations. Enjoy the times of calm." He made a point to collect as much information as possible to utilize for his own survival and gains. The Last Drop had always been a place for Zaunites to go for a sense of unity, and he meant to keep it that way here. "They are fine with breaking up fights, but there are always more subtle conflicts that can use a hand of de-escalation."

Excellent, yet another heroic type. They had their uses with their overt bombastic presence to interfere with whatever twisted up their moral codes. "The only retirement package I expect you will find here is one where you cease to be here." There had been graves, and he preferred to avoid that kind of retirement. Once was enough.

For him, this was only the beginning. He made it no secret his intention to stay and make a life for himself and his here, not that he would stop anyone from choosing to leave. "It is worth its weight in gold. Perhaps you will be blessed with a piece of home soon enough. Until then, you can enjoy mine."

"I keep hearing that, and it's making me twitchy." The tower was something he brought on himself, an intentional choice to try and gain some further information about this place. It hadn't been too bad, all things considered - could have gone a helluva lot worse, at least. But that was a conscious decision, and some of the other chaos he's heard about seems far more insidious. "Why go to the trouble of dressing up this prison? I just wish we knew what They from the department of Them wanted from us."

"Then I guess maybe in here isn't so different from out there," Jim can't help but snort to himself, offering Silco a wry smile. The percentage of Starship Captains that actually made it to Admiral and retired was low for a reason. Hell, he has died in the line of duty. He'd be one of the first to do it twice, at least, add that to his world record count.

"I'm not sure it would fit." Genuine amusement colors the words that, at a glance, probably don't make much sense. But it's true - the only true home he's ever known is his starship. If that washes up on the beach, they'll have bigger problems. Jim raises his glass in a salut, tipping his head towards Silco. "And your home is mighty fine indeed, sir. I'll drink to that."

"You'll endure much twitching in your future, I'm afraid," he replied simply. He wasn't going to sugar coat it; he had been here eight months and there was always something that was on the horizon whether by their own actions or this place deciding to shake it up. "Some prefer to not see the bars of their cage to be content. It could be a social experiment on how free a prison must look to acquire compliance." They brought the wrong people here for that.

He nodded his head, noting that this one seemed to take the idea rather gamely. Most railed against their potential mortality or the unknown of what 'disappearing' was. "Death as we know it isn't permanent apparently. I haven't risked testing the theory myself, but some leave and never come back and others experience a supposedly permanent solution and yet appear again." Just in case this one happened to be a risk taker.

"We have a mostly empty sky and earth, so you never know." He was mildly curious what sort of item that this one would want from home to require a description like that. He nodded his head, inclining it to accept this toast of sorts. "Well, we are open seven days a week, so you can enjoy it as much as you like... with or without that friend of yours over there."

Nothing new there, unfortunately. It seemed like the universe was always up to something, finding some way to put Jim and his in the line of fire. Part of his enlistment in Starfleet was just Jim giving in to the natural order of things - if the forces that be were so determined to have at him, Jim would rather it be with a phaser in his hand and doing some good in the universe.

"There's a theory I haven't heard yet." Jim raises his glass in acknowledgement, taking another sip and turning that over for a moment. It could be that the goal had little to do with them. It did make him wonder what the hell kind of control they were using for their datapoint if that was the case - but this place too often had more questions than answers. "The punishment methods around here are definitely unique, when we've still got access to liquor."

"My running theory is simulation." He nods with Silco's explanation - that would track with a computer-generated scenario, though Jim can't say he's keen to test it himself. Risk-taker, yes; suicidal? Well, he's already died once in his own world, he can safely say it wasn't for him.

There was only one way to find out, though if a massive, hulking spaceship appears on the beach tomorrow, they'll have other problems - like a nuclear cascade failure in a warp core not being managed properly. "With genuine booze, I'll definitely be around. As for my friend, we'll have to see how bad his hangover is tomorrow."

Silco was always open to hear the theories of others, expecting that they all may have some truth to their assumptions. For some, the benefit of advanced technology would provide them an edge over others who did not, but they all seemed to agree that this wasn't a sustainable situation no matter how much they played house here.

"Simulation for what point and purpose do you suppose?" This was did seem to be more on the ball, especially for having recently arrived. He glanced back to Jim's friend who had put the entire contents of the table in a very specific order. A logical pair, it seemed. They could use that. "This place has shown evidence this isn't its first iteration either."

Something had failed to create a restart. Given the types of people that it drew in, he could likely understand why.

"Not much of a drinker, is he? Well, you're both welcome to partake in the spirits during business hours." He would keep the place well stalked. "If he wants water or juice next time, that's acceptable as well."

There is the distinctly uncomfortable possibility that none of it would matter, in the end. If it was a simulation...it was possible none of them were actually real. Imprints of their true selves, computer-generated - there would be little point in 'breaking out', as it were, if there was nothing on the other side - their consciousnesses nothing more than bits of code, trapped in an endless loop until the power went out.

"Hard to say. Not enough evidence so far to point towards a specific goal," Jim's fingers drum on the bartop absently as he falls further into thought. "Worst answer is probably someone's idea of 'fun'. Could definitely be a study of complacency and compliance. Or there's something they want out of us - but telling us what, exactly, wouldn't yield the results they're after. That's the part I'm most worried about."

Most Chosen would probably tell them to stick it where the sun don't shine if it were so straightforward, ergo. Jim runs a hand over his hair, humming at the back of his throat. "The logical next question is whether or not we're the first iteration of ourselves."

"You could say that." Jim smiles, something fond lurking at the corners of his mouth when he turns to glance at Spock as well - Spock who is very much engrossed in his current cataloguing, probably working out that equation he'd been scribbling so fervently on. "I'll make a note of it to him. Anything chocolate works well for him."

More than most would expect, but any further details of Spock's tolerance - or lack thereof - to cocoa-based sucrose is neatly sidestepped around.

"No, they have not played their hand yet," he agreed as he sipped at his tumbler of whiskey. This wasn't all for nothing; this place wanted or needed something from them or they wouldn't waste the time and energy in it. "There is always worse than fun." At least in his opinion, there was always indifference. "An experiment of some kind seems the most logical, especially given the notion of multiple iterations."

Some were more interested in others in finding answers, and he couldn't say how many wanted to stay here or if everyone else simply wanted to walk away and go back to where they had come from. No doubt they would remember none of this if returning Chosen were any indication.

He nodded his head slowly, casting his mismatched gaze on the strange man in the booth. He was used to multiples species, so it wasn't odd and everyone had their vices. It was a matter of discovering and offering them. "Chocolate, hmm? A common enough ingredient in this place."

"Fun would mean there's no end goal, other than entertainment." Jim points out, musing on that for a moment. If that were the case, there would be fewer opportunities for escape. How often did the Sehlats at the zoo get a chance to run free, right? "I'd have to agree with you there. Though I do have to wonder how they're choosing their lab rats - what metric they're using to link us all together."

Because there had to be something, right? They were all from different worlds, different ages, genders, species - hell, even him and Spock, they were from different timelines entirely. It felt like there was a detail right in front of him that Jim was missing, and frankly if he thought about it for too long, it was bound to drive him absolutely nuts.

"Bit of a sweet tooth, you could say." Jim just grins to himself, clearly amused by the whole thing. If his fondness for the man in the corner wasn't evident - well, who was he kidding, anyway? Jim wore his heart on his sleeve, more often than not, especially in comparison to his usual impassive shadow. "Which is incredibly ironic, considering the food from his culture is unpalatably bitter."

"Fun would also indicate that they don't actually care about the outcome either," he agreed with a small shake of his head. How many of them would balk at the notion that they were little more than playthings meant to entertain? "I couldn't say. They take us from various walks of life, time and status." Some weren't even criminals.

Perhaps the choice was random? Yet, it seemed nearly impossible; the number of different people, places, times and worlds was infinite it seemed. Some of the same people arrived more than once, and others didn't arrive at all. What made their arrival advantageous to whatever was happening here?

"So I see." It was clear that this one had a fondness for his associate. It wasn't his business nor care to guess as to the extent of it, not yet anyway. "To you or to them as well?"

"I prefer your social experiment theory." Jim admits, idling with the glass in his hand. One answer is a lot easier to deal with than the other. "Dancing monkey isn't a great look on me."

There had to be some link, even if it was all computational, even if the decision was based off some artificial intelligence formula - there was still a matrix of some kind, determining who would be pulled into the system. Some kind of guiding principle, and not just...entropy for the sake of it, right?

"To humans, especially. Physiological difference in the tastebuds." Jim drains the remainder of his drink, setting the glass down on the bartop. "If it's not bland, it's bitter. The amount of sugar I have to put in their tea makes my teeth hurt, just thinking about it."

"Agreed," he said with a small nod. A social experiment meant there was something to be learned; he didn't want to exist in a place where there was no illusion of control. "Said as if you've been a dancing monkey in the past?"

He thought that many of them should be focusing their attention on gaining some control of the system because at least one hand on the wheel meant they had an ability to steer even through the worst of this place. That would take a united effort and so far, most were not the types to play that well in the united sandbox. Perhaps, for his own survival, he might have to force them in line....

"Fascinating," he remarked, pushing off of the bar. He should return to making the rounds. "Well, I will keep the chocolate on the menu for your friend. You're welcome to endeavor on the selections of spirits. This place isn't going anywhere."

"More times than I care to count." Sometimes literally, sometimes more metaphorically. Being a starship Captain involved a great deal more diplomacy and ambassador-type duties than Starfleet wanted to advertise - wasn't all just photons and Klingon warbirds in neutral space.

Only time would tell how well that would go. A significant number of Chosen would probably refuse to work together out of spite - hopefully it outweighed those who would put aside differences. The STEM club was making headway, at least, in trying to find some sort of origin point, but again, only time would tell how fruitful that proved.

"I thank you kindly." Jim nods to the bartender for a refill on his drink, passing over another coin, before he collects both his whiskey and Spock's martini - he should also probably head back to the booth, and see what mischief a tipsy Vulcan has wrought in the meantime (looks like a very serious cup line up and he's moved to a new page in his notebook, lots of math going on over there.) "Nice meeting you in person, Silco. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon."

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The Last Drop Grand Opening

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