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<div class="SpoilerTarget bbCodeSpoilerText">Combine the following images to get a clear visual look and feel of what I'm trying to pass off as a bar here...<br/>
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<a class="externalLink" href="http://i.kinja-img.com/gawker-media/image/upload/s--ielZl1Qd--/c_fit,fl_progressive,q_80,w_636/18qdfo278yb12jpg.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="[​IMG]" class="bbCodeImage LbImage" data-url="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTxY5A8LaXT_l2Rh2HT7wD1HCpNNcO75i0AeWwN8uftrfmZuTGkhw" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTxY5A8LaXT_l2Rh2HT7wD1HCpNNcO75i0AeWwN8uftrfmZuTGkhw"/></a><br/>
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<img alt="[​IMG]" class="bbCodeImage LbImage" data-url="http://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/01/5b/6c/1d/berlin.jpg" src="http://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/01/5b/6c/1d/berlin.jpg" style=""/></div>
</div><br/><br/>Dark black dust covered lamps flickered overhead in the nearly empty bar giving the old metal chairs a dim glow. The lights seemed neon, but all colours could might as well be permanently neon on Dystopia. There was no sun, and without light there were no colours. It seemed the vegas-like atmosphere the first humans had left on this planet had caught on with the other races that sought their refuge here. And why not? It fitted there lifestyle like a babe on a mothers teat. Scum from the worst kind, with nothing to lose and everything to gain would flee from the darkest corners of the multi-verse to disappear from the records outside of the Dystopian galaxy. They knew that they would be forgotten if they returned to their respected homes or homeplanets. What they didn't knew, was that what they remembered to be their homes would not only be forgotten as well, but long lost and gone through time. Many refugees would return, either gone mad or broken from grief of the loss of something they thought they could miss.<br/><br/>A bar was always a very nice start to drown a sort of grief that could not be drank away. To those who wanted to drink, there would always be a place in the small establishment of old Cowry. One of the last un-evolved humans still alive, he is famed to be an ancient relic outside on the societal planets of the Citadel. A human from the dawn of FTL travel of earth. Nearly a few millennia ago outside of Exas.p30.  Not that anyone from the famed leaders of the multi-verse would ever traverse down here to come in and meet the bugger. Not that he didn't welcome patrons of all sorts, it didn’t matter what their alignment was in these tumultuous times. As long as they have wares to trade, they were good enough for him.<br/><br/>The front doors swung open and the bartender glanced away from cleaning the musty glass in his hand to make sure it wasn’t anyone he should worry about before going back down to his cleaning. He had an ancient, but still effective lasergun hidden under the bar just in case the clientèle became too unruly. The<a class="externalLink" href="http://th09.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/i/2012/059/1/4/wild__by_sakimichan-d4rc12g.jpg" target="_blank">rainbow-haired</a>woman who had entered the bar was a regular he easily recognized and the bartender knew she wouldn’t cause anything other than the usual trouble which he was perfectly capable of handling. There was little conversation in the bar at the time other than the quiet hum of the interstellar Radio as it rattled off advertisements and the latest news stories. At least communication was still possible, although delayed and filtered through a series of systems. It was required by law for all establishments in and around<a class="externalLink" href="http://www.bullshift.net/data/images/2013/09/sector-302809-12181-8151.jpg" target="_blank">Battered City</a>to have some kind of news transmitted in their place of business. Any establishment found without it would be shut down and the owner of the business punished to the full extent of the law. It must be because of the nature of the customers, and the dangers of being on a planet filled with criminals. Even those running from the law would not be able to escape it on here.<br/><br/>Alice watched how ol' Cowry tensed and relaxed when she entered the bar. She knew it well, the peril the man must endure every day. Especially when anyone new would come and enter the place. The entire planet knew of any and all spacetravel towards it. It was on the news every day, and the Hawks would watch it carefully, counting numbers and races to make sure no spies would every set foot on the rocky bottoms of Battered City. Or worse, would reside on Dystopia for shorter than a day. A law which is punishable by death.<br/><br/>A smile glittered over Alice's bright white teeth as she nodded towards Cowry's direction for a glass of his home-brewed rum. She loved it. It was as old as Cowry himself, made from the honey his bees collect in the underground gardens. When the man brought the glass with the golden liquid swirling in it over, she saw his old horny eyes gaze over the shimmering folds of<a class="externalLink" href="http://www.fashionisingpictures.net/photoshoots/goldbodypaintnude.jpg" target="_blank">her body</a>underneath her flimsy dress. She blew him a kiss and tugged on her bottomlip just to edge the man a bit more on, but he had lost his attention already.<br/><br/>It didn't matter. It wasn't Cowry what she was after, it were the new ones. The new dystopian desperate souls that would set foot on solid ground any time now. Alice loved the flavour of despair and all hope lost, she savoured it like a drink that was made for gods. It was both a sport and a way of passing her time to bleed her victims dry of any resources they would have thought of to bring to their doomed oblivion.<br/><br/>It was also very entertaining to see any new races that have sprouted into existence or have been discovered by the Citadel to flee to the place as well.<br/><br/>Let's hope they were a lot better than the last ones.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>