Turtle & Canary; Sunday [08/05].

[special_rabbit]

The machines at Turtle & Canary were truly a technical marvel, from the cash register to the freezing units to the devices for sale that lines the shelves--really, no wonder, with a proprietor like Amaya always ready to tweak a gear or strap on a hose or whatever else needed doing--but none of those machines were so wondrous and spectacular as the Squishy machine. Gleaming chrome, twists and turns of copper pipes and little nests of gears, the one machine she had yet to truly master.

But today was another day. And Amaya felt very good about this particular day, indeed. With Apu there to help, fetching for her tools and parts as needed, limping along and barely even bothered or hindered by his hunchback, heavy jacket, and ornate, precariously perched top hat. She clattered and clanked, sent steam blasting into the air, springs and gears, oil and grease, until finally...finally!

"It's ALIVE! It's ALI_-errr, I mean, I've done it!" Amaya announced as she stood back from her work, a wild manic delight in her eyes. "I've done it, Apu!"

She released a rich, almost cackling laugh of mad delight, pulled up from deep within her and rolling through the shop....right along with a peal of thunder and a flash of lightning.

"Finally! It's not red!"

Today's Squishy Flavors
Raspberry
Watermelon
PINK

"Er...but...Miss Amaya..."

"Not red, Apu. It's. Not. RED."

Considering the wild laughter rolling out of her again, Apu decided it was best not to argue, limping off again to sweep something while Amaya....felt her moment.

Turtle & Canary is open!

Demon Marcus, Sunday

[myownface]

When he stepped through his portal today onto the island, it had actually taken Sparkle a few minutes to be absolutely certain that he was in the right place. Sure, the streets were laid out the same, but he'd almost been run over by the most horrifying rickshaw on the planet while he was busy staring up at the airships drifting lazily overhead.

And then, deciding it was one of those weird-ass weekends it was better he not let himself worry about, he made his way to the Demon Marcus.

... Where, of course, his key wouldn't fit in the door's lock, because why the hell would it? When he'd finally managed to pick the damn thing with a mangled paperclip from his bag and he stepped inside, it took him a few minutes to figure out how to turn on the lights, but all the effort and confusion had absolutely been worth it.

He gasped. All of the clothing was a costumer's dream come true, and it was possible that he was going to be spending just as much time trying things on today as he was going to be spending serving customers. By the time anybody showed up to shop, he was already decked out in an outfit that made him feel like some cross between a magician and a rockstar, and was quite happy to continue on trying on hats with increasing amounts of extraneous cogwork crap stuck on just for giggles.

[OOC: Heat exhaustion knocked me out pretty much all yesterday, oops. Have a normal Sparkle enjoying the heck out of this event, instead.]

Luke's Saloon, Sunday

[uncertain_dume]

True enough, Kanan was a drifter right down to his very soul. The fact that he had his airship docked in a place he could easily access at all hours of the day or the night was a testament to that. But even a drifter lifestyle, moving from one town to the next with a gun on his hip and his eye always on the next destination, needed funding. And, while the lovely lady Hera often had enough work to keep him busy, the pay for working with her was less about money and more about the satisfaction of her company, the sound of her voice speaking in that French accent that drove him halfway around the bend all on its own, and, he supposed, the knowledge that he was doing some right in the world, for a change.

And so he had a job at the local saloon. It wasn't anything fancy. The wages were decent enough to get by on and it kept him in food and drink for those days that he was tending the bar. And, if he was being honest with himself, he had a respect for the owner that came almost as much from the other man's experience as it had from the fact that he'd been willing to give him work here in the first place.

Today he was standing behind the bar, casually wiping down drinking glasses with a rag, listening to something rag-timey on a player piano across the room. He'd glance up and offer a casual nod to anybody coming through the batwing doors, William Bass puttering around the room courtesy of his little jetpack, keeping a glowing eye on the patrons.

Today's Food Specials:
Chuckwagon Stew
Baked Beans
Roast Loin of Mutton

Today's Drink Specials:
Whiskey
Claret Sangaree
Sarsaparilla

He had almost poured himself a whiskey, but a moment's thought of Miss Hera and the job that she was arranging for him had him putting the bottle back down and reaching for a sarsaparilla, instead. The sticky bubbly stuff quenched his thirst in this heat just fine, anyway.

[OOC: Open old-timey saloon is open!]

T42 - Sunday - Steampunk

[hernando_fuentes]

{Opened by req.}

The store was still stylized in steampunk; if anything, it had doubled down. The tables now had starched linens on them, each hosting a three-tiered tray containing delicate sandwiches cut into diamonds, puff pastries filled with cold salads and warm baked centers, frosted petite fours, gilded chocolate balls, and miniature battenberg cakes.

A train of ceramic teapots lined the counter. It seemed the store wanted people to take their time today.

The sign rattled impatiently. Hernando went to read it.

SPECIALS
Afternoon tea: Bottomless pot of tea for two & tray of sumptuous snacks £9


He walked the sign out to the sidewalk and set it up. The outside seating had changed as well, all of it white-enameled iron.

When he went back inside, he found that more of the quokka had gotten into the spirit of the thing. One had a wee monocle, another was wearing a pink straw hat with a confection of ribbons and plastic fruit around the band. Dave was still wearing his top hat.

Shaking his head, Hernando took his place behind the counter. Something twinkled at him. When he looked, he found a gleaming metal name tag with his name engraved across it. Smiling, he attached it to his vest and patted the counter fondly.

{Open!}

Enthuzimuzzic (Groovy Tunes), Sunday

[furnaceface]

As was his usual Sunday ritual these days, Jonothon made his way into the music shop bright and early. He spent some time dusting, straightened the sheet music, paused to slowly and very deliberately tune the string instruments, a small black kitten playing underfoot the entire while.

Every so often, he would pause, lower his head, and put a hand to his chest. Something in there just wasn't ticking right, these days. Not a surprise, all things considered. His great granddad, god rest his soul, had warned him of the family luck long before he'd ever experienced his own taste of the family's power, but there hadn't been anything to be done about his own. Now all he could do was take things a day at a time, take care of himself as best he could, and, god willing, keep his more unique abilities to himself.

Easy enough to do when the family gift had robbed him of his words, as well.

The shop straightened out, Jonothon settled in with a violin. He'd once had a voice that would've made angels weep. These days, he settled for letting the strings sing for him, the occasional mew of the kitten making him pause and smile.

[OOC: Come in and peruse our fine selection of fine instruments and whimsical music boxes! Or visit Jonothon, if you wish. He's maybe a touch on the able-to-read-minds side, but feel free to specify if your character has mental walls up or some other such defense if you don't want him twigging on to thoughts in the narrative.]