Shen'Hanigans of now-ish.

[--Pappa Cricco--]

@ mods same as future but for more present day based.

@ thread, know that bar in every town regardless of where you are, that's here. its almost as if every one is wormholed to this one. giant one eyed string vest wearing cigar smoking Irish man again

[Stan]

A gloomy figure nudges the great door open and shuffles into the main foyer of the bar.
He looks around, feverishly, surveying his new found surroundings.
Catching sight with the large man behind the bar he stands awkwardly, like a pillar in a hallway, dripping wet from the snowstorm outside.

[--Pappa Cricco--]

eying up the person entering Shen asks, "got any ID snow white?" he chuckles nastily to himself apparently pleased at his 'joke'.

[Stan]

Teeth chattering, partly from the cold, partly from shock at the large man's demanding bravado, the pedestrian character snaps to attention, unable to process a proper, intelligible response.

"I-ID? N-n...No-ss-s-si-n..nosir, l-lessin' this-countsfer ID," the melancholy adolescent managed to sculpt a half-baked statement through chattering teeth and quivering, numb lips. Plunging his hands deep into the pockets of his soggy wool pea coat, he produced a bloodstained canvas wallet, bearing the crest of the ARC.

the unremarkable youth cautiously walked up to the bar and carefully placed the wallet on the reflective polished counter, flipping it open, revealing the credentials and dossier of one Stanley Leviticus Bradshaw.

"I-I'm-I mean I was-I-... I am a... Zombie Hunter?" Stan sputtered out, stammering like a mentally handicapped lawnmower engine trying to turn over. "W-which is to say, I was a part of a team, there were six of us, yeah? All about my- uh, age? Right? Well, except Roger, but he was driving, anyway, about half an hour in, just along the perimeter of the green zone, we get- w-we got- there was green acid shit- and I tried to save him- a-an-an..andan-andan-" Stan's rambling was cut short by the tears pooling in his eyes and the grief caught in his throat. A staccatto apology managed to escape following a Stan collapsing on the bar, tremoring and deeply sobbing, the grief and lament he was holding back finally becoming too much for his small frame.

[--Pappa Cricco--]

at a loss for words Shen poured a "healthy" measure of whiskey into a tumbler and placed it on the bar. he walked round and helped the lad up.

"alright lad, calm down now. knock this back lad. it'll warm you up"
*ooc: just to let you know stan this is cheap nasty shot hes giving you. it will burn.*

[Stan]

Stan clapsed the glass with two shaking hands and brought it to his lips, taking a long, deep sip.
The burn activated quickly, as Stan managed to force little whiskey down before a coughing fit ensued.
A couple layered deep breaths later, Stan thanked the large man for the drink.