MrMopp
Two Thousand Club
Walking in through the revolving door of the Diner, Dons place looked pretty much like any other resturaunt. Except not in the least.
Theme alone seem to be the theme here. Like, all the benches, chairs and tables were where they ought to be- in two neat rows wrapping halfway around the bar in a J shape- but were all mismatched. The bench might anything from paisley, to plaid, to a super intelligent shade of blue. and the "chairs" ranged from boxes, to barrels to kingly thrones, to something made of evil silver that would convince you were the Lizard King if you sat in it too long. Tables might be cut from tree stumps, or polished marble, or might hover the air with a Superman symbol painted on it for giggles. And all around, trinkets from different dimensions from glowing battle axes, to alien swimsuit catalogs, to a sentient Big Mouth Billy Bass, to the steering wheel of a sky pirates airship, littered every inch of wall like the hoard of a draconic packrat (though only sparsely and orderly in the lounge corner, which had no lack of character on its own.)
Every other wall-table had a nice, scenic view outside. Or someone's outside anyway, since each window peered into a random scene in a random dimension ( and then there's that one on #5 with the curtains tied closed and the hand written sign saying "OUT OF ORDER. DO NOT PEEK. Seriously. Don't say we didn't warn you." Frankly, you're better off not knowing). But the real show you'll find inside, where dozens of people and creatures from different times and places gather to drink, dine, and for a while, leave their stories troubles behind.
Or find new kinds of trouble all together.
This was something Don, the surly, bald, ram-horned bartender, was always prepared for, surveying the room out of the comer of his eye for the glint of a knife or suspicious finger twiddling. It was still fairly early in the day though, about 10:00 SDT (Standard Diner Time), with only a trickle of customers, most of whom not looking to get plastered (yet). The most troublesome ones so far we're a sleepy silver furred fox with the penchant for pranks, napping atop the pie warmer, and his own psychotic cook who was thankfully too drowsy to throw a cleaver yet.
Oh $#%&. Don forgot about the cat.
Theme alone seem to be the theme here. Like, all the benches, chairs and tables were where they ought to be- in two neat rows wrapping halfway around the bar in a J shape- but were all mismatched. The bench might anything from paisley, to plaid, to a super intelligent shade of blue. and the "chairs" ranged from boxes, to barrels to kingly thrones, to something made of evil silver that would convince you were the Lizard King if you sat in it too long. Tables might be cut from tree stumps, or polished marble, or might hover the air with a Superman symbol painted on it for giggles. And all around, trinkets from different dimensions from glowing battle axes, to alien swimsuit catalogs, to a sentient Big Mouth Billy Bass, to the steering wheel of a sky pirates airship, littered every inch of wall like the hoard of a draconic packrat (though only sparsely and orderly in the lounge corner, which had no lack of character on its own.)
Every other wall-table had a nice, scenic view outside. Or someone's outside anyway, since each window peered into a random scene in a random dimension ( and then there's that one on #5 with the curtains tied closed and the hand written sign saying "OUT OF ORDER. DO NOT PEEK. Seriously. Don't say we didn't warn you." Frankly, you're better off not knowing). But the real show you'll find inside, where dozens of people and creatures from different times and places gather to drink, dine, and for a while, leave their stories troubles behind.
Or find new kinds of trouble all together.
This was something Don, the surly, bald, ram-horned bartender, was always prepared for, surveying the room out of the comer of his eye for the glint of a knife or suspicious finger twiddling. It was still fairly early in the day though, about 10:00 SDT (Standard Diner Time), with only a trickle of customers, most of whom not looking to get plastered (yet). The most troublesome ones so far we're a sleepy silver furred fox with the penchant for pranks, napping atop the pie warmer, and his own psychotic cook who was thankfully too drowsy to throw a cleaver yet.
Oh $#%&. Don forgot about the cat.
Last edited:
