fandomtownies | Quark's, Thursday Evening

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Quark's, Thursday Evening

Quark had no idea why, but the nagging feeling that he needed to tend bar had somewhat overtaken him this evening, and so holographic Morn has been switched off, and Quark stands behind the bar in his place.

Serving some drinks to a couple random townsfolk, he gets that smug feeling he used to get back on DS9, whenever he'd get a truly satisfied customer. Who knew who might walk through the doors tonight, eh?

[ooc: Mostly for someone who knows who they are... but anyone is welcome to stop in.]

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Pamela was a good bartender in the Peacock lounge...until she and Bobby started fighting. Then all she wanted to do was talk...talk...talk. The demon needed a drink away from yapping women altogether, so he headed down the street to the mew place that went into the old pub.

Sitting at the bar he flashed a charming grin at the bartender who looked frighteningly like someone from Below.

"Good evening, mate."

"Good evening, good evening," Quark says, polishing a glass as all bartenders are known to do. "What'll be your pleasure this evening?"

"Just give me a pint and I'll be happy. Preferably a dark one. British if you please."

His grin grows at the small fellow, so very polite. That's something lacking in service anymore...thanks to him.

"How's business of late?"

"Business is good, in Hoo-mon terms," Quark says, punching in the right codes into the replicator. "Personally, I find the local color to be a little displeasing some times. Present company excluded, of course."

He then grabs the pint glass filled with a fine dark British stout and places it in front of Crowley. "You run the hotel, don't you?"

"That I do, pet. Anthony J. Crowley at your service." He bowed his head slightly before taking a long sip from his pint and slithering his forked tongue through the foam on his upper lip. "Ruddy dull around here to tell the truth."

"You'd think the Dominion had taken over," Quark nods, leaning in. "It's my name above the door, by the way." Quark leans back and smiles. "Sometimes I think the town could use a bit more... color, don't you, Mister Crowley?"

"Color, culture...it needs some bloody cars touring around is what it needs. Too much law inhibits people's natural tendencies. That's my thought, anyhow."

"Laws can sometimes inhibit opportunities for profit," Quark smirks. "Of both monetary and intellectual kinds." Quark tugs at his right lobe, suddenly deep in thought.

"Laws are for those who don't have any common decency or manners. Now, I'll admit I've done my fair share in helping those qualities along...but for pity's sake, you'd think people could get on in less of a dictatorship."

He's just idly chatting, no real passion behind his words as he drinks down his stout.

"Dictators are bad for business," Quark says. "Unless you're the dictator." He chuckles. "Sometimes, I wonder if there aren't some similar minded folk out there in the universe who might want to get together and chat about these sort of things."

"Oh, most definitely. Wicked folk all over, really. I know a couple myself. They don't work too well together, but they have one Hell of a competative streak. Always trying to outdo each other."

"Now there's an idea," Quark says, looking off into the distance. "Gather up a bunch of the more... intuitive minds in this universe, and see what happens. A convention of some sort," Quark smirks. "We'd make a killing. Figuratively, of course."

"Make a killing literally if we played our cards right. But what would get them to come here? They're not swayed by free continental breakfast, I can tell you that much."

"Please, if there is one thing I learned from two occupations, it's that these types like to posture and brag. Throw in free drinks, and we'd have to beat them off with a Klingon pain-stick." Quark scratches his chin. "Of course, we'd need a place to play host."

His pint drained, he pushed it forward for another. The light buzz was just enough to relax him and make him compliant. He put on a cheeky grin and laughed softly, "Too bad you don't know anyone with a hotel or something, mate."

Quark shoves the glass back into the replicator and produces a fresh one in a flash, placing it in front of Crowley with a smile. "Pity I don't know anyone who might want to make a small fortune, and possibly just a little bit of... color around here."

"I've no interest in a fortune, small or otherwise. Color I'll go for though. What say you handle the funds, I'll handle the function, and we'll see what kind of fun there is to be had, right?"

Quark nods. "Let me know when you need a check," he says, tugging at his right lobe. "And the drinks are on the house tonight."

"Smashing. Free drinks are always appreciated. You let me know the number of, erm, guests. I'll cut you a very. Good. Deal." he smiled broadly, his poited, sharp teeth glistening in the low light.

Quark's teeth are equally as pointy, so he doesn't react adversely to the smile. "You're a good businessman, Mister Crowley. Remind me to introduce you to a friend of mine, if Brunt ever shows his ugly face around here."

"I'm quite a bad businessman actually, Quark. But I know the finer points of the deal...that helps."

"That's all business boils down to, deals," Quark says with a knowing nod. "And profit, of course."

He raised his glass and nodded, "Here's to business, deals...and partnership, yesss?"

"Partnership," Quark says, pulling out a small mug from behind the bar and raising it as well.

"And color. I have a feeling we're embarking on quite an endeavour, Quark."

He drained his glass in one long draw and grinned.

"It'll be a spot of fun if nothing else, what?"

"If nothing else," Quark says with a nod. "And this town could use a bit of fun, really. I saw Bajoran slave workers that brooded less than some of these school kids."

"I understand it's called 'emo' and they do seem to fall victim to it quite often. They need a good scare to help them remember life is worth living. Broody little bastards."

"Need a good day with an Orion slave girl, all of them. Or a slave boy, depending on their preferences," Quark nods. "Pity no one thinks to indulge in the vices I offer at the holosuite at the apartment building."

"I bet they think, they just don't act. This town. It's too nice. A seeping would of nice. That? That needs to stop."

"Kick things up a bit. Spur things. Exactly." Quark nods. "You're a smart one, Mister Crowley."

"And flattery will get you everywhere, Mister Quark."

He drains his glass again and pushes it forward, rising from the stool.

"I'd best leave before I take advantage of the free drinks. I could be a distinct loss for you if I put my mind to it. I bid you goodnight, sir. I'll be calling on you again. Count on it."

A mock salute and a wicked grin and he heads back to the hotel to begin making arrangements.

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Quark's, Thursday Evening

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