Ten miles south of Grand Junction, in the mountain ranges known as the Zeppelin Graveyard, squats the city of Sky Haven. Not a small City by any stretch of the imagination, It has come a far way from the days before the splintering, when it was a small town used by Rail employees travelling across the country. Dozens of small pirate gangs operated out of the Haven, raiding into The former state of Utah, collecting 'protection' from the rail lines, and growing stronger. Now, it was the de-facto capital of Colorado, in power, if not in name and fact.<br/><br/>Large Zeppelins and fighter squads from major pirate groups have, ofer time, decided that the Sky Haven would be neutral ground for them, and so congregate at the City for rest and relaxation. At any one time, onlookers and spies could likely see at least one Zeppelin from the Red Skull Legion, Several squadrons of Fighters from the Black Hat Brigade, and, until their destruction in the Kingdom of Hawai'i, the All-female gang calling themselves the Medusas based themselves out of the Haven. At the moment, a dozen zeppelins in various states of repair were docked in the massive hangars that dominated the City's skyline, the massive, rounded structures completely able to enclose all but the largest of the vessels.<br/><br/>Nearby, on what was jokingly refered to as the 'Only flat piece of land in the country' was a massive airfield, built to accomodate the needs of nearly four hundred planes at any time. Thankfully for those of a non-piratical bent, the airfield was only at a quarter of its stated capacity, with only a hundred multihued planes of all makes and models stored within low, cavernous hangars. Naturally, wherever people landed to rest their legs, refuel, and get some food in them, a whole crop of side industries would pop up. Surrounding both the Airfield and Massive Hangars were dozens of shops, greasy spoons, bars, brothels, And more, all well-frequented by aircrew desperate for a change of pace, or even just a hot bath and a clean bed.<br/><br/>Within the massive Hangars, one Zeppelin stood out from the rest; painted a dark blue, it was, until recently, a cargo ship, the newly-detached external bays resting on the floor of the hangar, while its crew worked upon the ship, the flares of welding torches acting like pinpoints of light in the gloom. Nearby, several damaged cargo containers were being hauled off by flatbed trucks, money having changed hands for the contents, despite the apparent damage done.<br/><br/>Not too far away, about fifty feet from the side of the hangar, a small, but well-lit building stood, a simple painted sign hung over the door declaring it to be an Irish-themed bar, the sounds of laughter, and music coming from the cigarette smoke-filled interior. Being the closest bar to the Zeppelin Hangars afforded a unique opportunity to the owner; just inside the doors, he had put up a corkboard where pilots could hang their tags if they were looking for work; the idea seemed to work quite nicely, as, over the years, pilots kept coming, as did Zeppelin crews that needed escorts, or longer-term protection. The fact that it put extra money in the bartender's coffers due to the increased number of patrons was just a happy byproduct.<br/><br/>(OOC Edit: Link to the OOC Thread is here. http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=99096.0 (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=99096.0) )