Across the Island, Wee Hours of Saturday Morning

[glacial_queen]

It was still dark out when the change hit but not quite dark enough. There were still stars twinkling in the sky and the moon loomed large and silver. Soon, however, clouds rolled in, thick and heavy. They brought rain with them; a cold, spitting rain that covered the pavement with a cinematic flair and set the perfect emotional tone. There was even a hint of music on the wind, just a few notes as it blew down suddenly seedy back alleyways and over buildings where people with secrets slept poorly.

[So begins Noir Weekend! Have fun!]

The Chilly Pipes (Formerly Groovy Tunes), Saturday

[furnaceface]

Jonothon 'Lips' Starsmore frowned to himself as he settled in behind the counter of the music shop, surrounded by instruments (mostly of the musical variety, but he had a few of slightly more questionable legality tucked away just out of hands' reach at all times) and opened up his morning paper. There on the front page was a headline that made him wince. Tommy Ramone, the last surviving punk in the band of brothers (by blood or by choice, they had been notorious as a group of trouble boys who made their own definition of family) to run one of Jono's favourite drums in New York, was dead. Jono had never had any direct dealings with the Ramone brothers, not personally, but their speakeasy had a sort of ambiance about it that plenty others tried to imitate, and few actually successfully managed to. Hell, a lot of the somewhat more legal drinking establishments he'd frequented back in London had owed a certain sort of something to the way the Ramones ran their business, and to Tommy's own unique style of management.

And there was something to be said for their reputation for using baseball bats in the dealing of brats they wanted the hell out of their bar, too.

Lips took a moment of silence to reflect on that, then shrugged it off, set his paper to the side, and went to dust off the merchandise. That was, the merch he had out front - the musical instruments and accessories, a small display of records, the Edison record player he'd gotten in just the other week that had seen more use by him playing Rhapsody in Blue than it would likely see from any potential customer any day soon.

People didn't tend to come into Lips' shop for the music, after all.

[Open!]

Caritas- Saturday

[throughaphase]

It hadn't taken very long to figure out that something was going on this weekend, and Kitty was just glad she was unaffected. When she noticed that some places had changed, though, she decided to head in to Caritas and see if there was anything she would need to deal with, and... nope, not really.

Well, aside from Tino going on about dames and smoking in the bar, at which point she'd had to yell at him about this being a non-smoking establishment no matter how weird he was today, and ordered him outside if he was going to light up. There was a chance that if you passed by you'd see him standing ten feet from the door (as ordered) doing just that.

Otherwise she was normal, the bar was normal, the alcohol was normal and the zombies were normal and also still selling T-shirts. Kitty didn't trust any of it.


[Caritas is unchanged for the weekend, meaning people are totally invited to come in and wtf, or bust the place up or what have you.]

Dite's Decadent Delights

[doesdoctorstuff.livejournal.com]

Navaan was once again behind the counter of Dite's Decadent Delights, where hand-crafted chocolate and pastry confections could be bought. They were expensive, but they were worth every penny.

Or so Navaan had been told. She didn't really find herself craving much of what could be found at Dite's. At least, not what could be found out front. But then, the expensive treats out front were hardly what drew people to Dite's anyway. They just made for an excellent cover and a reason why a pastry shop wasn't crawling with customers.

She shuffled about the display, making it look like there had been some legitimate customers yesterday, keeping an eye on the door and a hand by her weapon. In a town like this one, you never knew what kind of trouble was going to walk through those doors.

Seventh Street Bar and Lounge [Saturday Afternoon]

[teashopconman.livejournal.com]

Like many other things around the island, Cafe Fina had undergone a bit of a change. Gone was the rather boring name of the past replaced by a new name that proudly advertised what Mr. Hatter's establishment was all about (even if his place didn't reside on Seventh Street).

Inside, the air was filled with a constant haze of perpetual smoke. There were small, rounded tables covered in dark tablecloths with a single lit candle in the center. The chairs were all solid, black teak and the walls were covered in the finest of paintings and portraits.

In one corner of the shop, there was a beautiful baby grand piano with a pianist sitting behind it. He was joined by a jazz trumpet player and they together filled the bar and lounge with the sweet sounds of smooth jazz.

Mr. Hatter was dressed in his finest white tuxedo and was overseeing the running of the place. Everything seemed to be going well and he couldn't help but be pleased. He'd just have to make sure things continued on especially if any important characters came by and gave him some patronage.

[Open and Noir for your fancy restaurant needs]

Luke's, Saturday

[locointhecoco]

Who was Luke? Luke was a smoky bar on a rainy summer evening filled with the wail of a lonely sax. Luke was a classy dame with a box of matches and a story to tell. Luke was money to burn and living with regret in the light of a sun that never, ever rose.

. . . Okay, honestly, Pinkie had no idea who Luke was. The name was already on this joint when she bought it, and she thought it gave the place an aura of mystery, so she kept it.

Whoever he was, Luke's name was on one classy establishment, boasting live music and the highest quality caviar and bubbly (soda, that is, at least 'til Pinkie knows you ain't a squealer). If you're feeling lucky, there's a poker game or two to be had -- at least right up until the moment the cops show up.

Trooper Station: Saturday

[fracknotfrak.livejournal.com]

Vic Morretti, the last honest cop in Fandom sat at her desk as the sound of raindrops hit the windows like the soft patter of morse code being sent from a beatnik on LSD.

She let out a long sigh. It was a tough beat to walk in Fandom. The only thing that kept her going was the nine slugs she had. Six were the lead bullets she kept in her revolver and the other three was the rotgut she kept hidden in her desk drawer.

She pulled on her shoulder holster, put her badge on her belt. "Mount up, Ralph. Time to bust some heads."

The Magic Box, Saturday Night

[angelo_wings]

Showtime. Rita couldn't keep the nervous shiver from her spine, every time that curtain went up. The band was warming up, and the tables were starting to fill.

She held her cigarette holder out (in one elegant gloved hand) for the nearest gentleman to light. Her dress was perfect, and so was her hair. She herself didn't take the stage until last, which gave her time to mill about the crowd and mingle.

The bubbly being poured was just soda, unless you knew the right palms to grease, and the lookers on stage were just singers, unless you really knew the right palms to grease.

Welcome to the Magic Box: where the magic happened.

(Wait for the OCD!)

Abe's Drugs, Saturday Morning

[fix-it-guy.livejournal.com]

Sure, you could get yourself a coffee and a plate of eggs just about anywhere in this town, but Mike E always took his at the drugstore counter. It was a strange thing to see a gal as a soda jerk, but Bobbie was the best in the biz. She wasn't a looker, and she didn't have a winning personality, but man oh man it was a pleasure to watch her work. It was an art the way she made a soda, she could man the grill without getting a single grease spatter on her apron, and she'd help with your groceries, too -- the gal was a machine.

Then again, so was Abe. Mike was pretty damn sure the man never slept. Maybe it came from being foreign -- always having to work twice as hard to be treated half as well. Maybe it came from being half nuts. Mike didn't judge. The place was a haven -- a little corner of the city untouched by the madness outside. A place where a man could relax a little. In this bleak existence, this endless series of days passing one after another into the cold depths of the past, could anyone ask for more?

Today's soda fountain flavors: Cream Soda, Root Beer, Cola, Cherry, Lime, Strawberry, Blueberry, Grape, Spearmint, Red

The Black Swan Theatre, Saturday all day

[bluhblahbluh.livejournal.com]

Unlike many of its fellow theatres, the Black Swan had resisted the modern trend of changing over to a 'movie house'. Unfortunately it had also resisted that whole 'air conditioned' trend as well.

Welcome to the Black Swan Theatre.



One of the finest stage theatres this side of the Atlantic. Especially if you ask the mysterious foreign Count who owned it. Which you could only do if you could find him. For some reason, the handsome and charming man rarely appeared before evening, even if there were early shows playing.

And speaking of shows, this weekend the Swan was still running, The Screen Door. Though for the third time this run there were changes in the leading ladies. Odd how many female company members seemed to disappear when they came to play at the Swan.


[The Boards is now the Black Swan Theatre. Still a stage theatre, just very luxurious. Enjoy the show!]

A Pay Phone Under A Street Light Under a Dark Sky In a Dark Town, Saturday night

[craftyladyparts.livejournal.com]

Jessica picked up the receiver and dropped her two bits into the slot. The wait for her contact with the government agency felt like it took two forevers. Finally, she was ready to talk.

"Things are getting bad here, Johnny. The low-lifes are getting lower and the high-lifes aren't near as high as they used to be," she explained. "Get this, a guy wanted me to marry him, torture him, or probably even both this morning. Sure, he was cute, but he wasn't even worried about Lady D, Johnny, not at all! Th deeper into this I go, the worse it smells, and I'm running out of nose plugs."

"I gotta admit, Johnny, I can even see why things are the way they are. It's fun to act like a tough broad, quick to love and even quicker with a knife. I'm worried, Johnny, worried that I'm even starting to enjoy it. Well, not the stabbing part so much, but I think that may just be because I'm stabbing to wound, not to kill!"

"But things are escalating like a set of those moving stairs. Lady D's gonna do something big, soon! I can feel it in my bones and I'm running out of time to stop her."

"You're right, Johnny. I just gotta do what I can. Tell the chief that he can count on me."

And with that, Jessica hung up, never realizing that the phone wasn't connected to anything because what the hell, it's the year 2014 and this was a pay phone. Do those even exist anymore?

[OOC: Open if you need to talk to Jessica or use a pay phone that I must stress is non-functional, but is SUPER dramatically lit. The contents of the, um, conversation are NFB please.]