The Arms Hotel, Saturday

[gunslingerpose]

"I don't care if everything running from the taps is mulled wine. 'Mulled Wine Macaroni' is not a thing. Add it to beef or something. Chicken. Wine's good on chicken, right?"

Gunther was looking at Nikolai like he was an idiot again. Sometimes, Nikolai wondered if he was right. Maybe he'd just hit his head in that fall back in Greece, and he'd been knocked halfway to crazy and this was all some sort of absurd result of a concussion gone horribly wrong.

Welcome To The Arms Hotel!
Today's Specials:
Mulled Wine Everything
Everything. Try us.

Nick was going to just shake his head and ignore it. If he was crazy, at least he was apparently in good company.

[Open, OCD-free!]

Mooby Land, Saturday

[pandora-baddies.livejournal.com]

Saturday was no relaxing day off for the Hyperion Corporation. Far from it. A few of the workers trudging along through town into the wooded area were even wearing some heavy-duty construction attire, their mechanical exo-skeleton the same bright, unalarming yellow as the t-shirts of the people in Mooby Land and Taste of Thai.

And speaking of the restaurants, work had not ceased there, either, although most of it was taking place behind closed doors and back rooms, with beeping instruments and careful triangulations. There had been some commontion in Mooby Land early this morning, in fact, when a certain beeping instrument had finally hit the right calibration, and had begun to beep even louder. And louder still, when it had been brought out into the restaurant proper. And there had then been many comments in the general vein of "What, seriously?" before a certain item had been taken off the service counter. Sometimes the things you were looking for were much closer than you'd thought.

By late morning, after this breakthrough in beeping, there were only two people even pretending to man the fast food restaurant anymore, although others would pop out of the back room every once in a while to head out into town. The service, as consequence, was going to be even worse than before.

Also, all the drink options were now mulled wine. Enjoy!

[open!]

Caritas, Saturday

[hatesmoststuff.livejournal.com]

April was still kind of tired from her adventures in athletic activity yesterday, so she didn't have too much going on at the bar today. Just a whole lot of screamy "Christmas" music playing and the usual beer open in front of her with a bendy straw sticking out of it.

It was shaping up to be an ordinary, if moderately ear-splitting night.

Outside the Perk, Saturday Afternoon

[fix-it-guy.livejournal.com]

Mike stood in front of the vending machine with one hand in his pocket and the other one holding the handle of a Radio Flyer wagon.

The cold air made him sniffle.

He sighed, shrugged, and muttered "We're definitely not in Kansas anymore."

He didn't WANT to buy an assload of guns, cart them back, and stash them in conveniently accessible places around his apartment, his office, and the area behind the counter in Turtle & Canary. He was done shooting people. Guns caused more problems than they solved. They got you NOTICED. The problem was, he also didn't want to get caught with his pants down, here.

He didn't know what this Hyperion Corporation was doing on the island, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. But if they set up these machines, then they intended for them to be used, and if anyone used them, then Mike had better, too. Right now, he had a thirty-year-old nine-mil he'd picked up from a guy who knew he was desperate and the contents of Turtle & Canary's sporting goods aisle. It'd do against a few guys, maybe even against the police, but... Some of the crap in this vending machine looked like it could stop a tank.

So, he'd gone and found a number of those lockboxes the radio had talked about, and grabbed a few wads of bills from his own stash, and now here he was. Time to do some shopping.

[OOC: Open!]

The Devil's Nest, Saturday, December 7th

[nookiepowered]

Once she figured out that the taps at the Nest were running the same hot and cold substance that the taps in Bo And Kenzi's Hat Shack -- including the bathroom which had made for a weird if delightfully scented and kind of giggly shower -- were running, Bo felt a little creative. After all, by evening, people had probably had their fill of that, right?

Which was why the first lines of the specials board now read:

Holiday Specials
Mulled Wine: Free
Anything Not Mulled Wine: Regular price plus $1.00

After her third non-wine customer of the evening, though (the DJ, who was coincidentally also her first and second non-wine customer of the evening), Bo also started to feel a little guilty about taking advantage of the island's holiday spirit.

Which was why the last lines of the specials board now read:

(All profits to be donated to Furnado Animal Shelter. Buy a drink, feed a puppy.
Hell, if you're feeling really generous, buy a drink, then go buy a puppy. It's Christmas, people.)