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The tavern was crowded, greasy, and reeked of beer, peanuts and fast money. The wood panelling was fake, the TVs were ancient CRT monstrosities, the lighting was bad and the clientele were scum.
Or at least, they affected the aesthetic of scum. Some of them were probably actual scum, but the Carnivale had gone to so much trouble to provide an authentic dive-bar experience as one of the options for spectators that it really was hard to tell the posers from the genuine article.
As the challenge rang out over the staticky, authentically janktastic sound-system and the air filled with flying beer-cans and shouted wagers, A penguin stood on the bar and raised his flippers to the heavens, tears streaming down his face, running rapidly across his dapper and sleekly-oiled coat.
“Yes, business-dressed-boobs-d00d! YES! Avenge me, d00d! Vengeance for … no, actually screw that, mang. I’m fine.”
He patted his little button-up satchel affectionately, once again affixed to his tummy by a belt.
“Acausal cognitive-uplink to a bioprinter in my fanny-pack. Cash-cash money, d00d.”
Rory sighed inwardly. It *had* cost cash-cash money – or at least the raw inert carbon/nitrogen gel-cubes and assorted additives that his luggage needed in order to make him a new body had.
The penguin shook himself, remembering that he was having a moment. Both the tears and his righteous fury rose once more.
“Still though…VENGEANCE! VENGEANCE FOR FRANKY-SHOGUN!”
Rory honked his towering anger at the heavens, thrusting one flipper at one of the grainy TVs.
“I LOVED THAT ROBOT, MANG! THAT CRIMSON DOUCHE-LORD GAVE ME SOMETHING I LOVED and then his MC-Hammer looking superpowered hair-gel enthusiast TOOK IT AWAY!”
He turned to the crowd, many of whom had already bought him drinks, and many more of whom were staring at him.
“VENGEANCE, D00ds! I hope that regal landshark bites his legs off, mang. And the pretty-boy steals his lunch money, and the big guy in the loud suit slaps him until he forgets the taste of his favorite crayons, and the lady-d00d makes fun of his suit and the scary-looking one-eyed runway-model eats his stupid, stupid mask.”
Rory coughed once, clearing his throat. “For Franky-Shogun.”
Rory paused, hopping back down on his bar-stool. “And Peter.”
The resurrected Penguin turned back to the television as a random patron handed him another beer.
He didn’t want to miss a thing.
The Man in Red was about to get his.
“And maybe actually a little bit for me too, d00d. I had a really bad time. All my friends freakin’ died for real, mang. I’m allowed.”
Or at least, they affected the aesthetic of scum. Some of them were probably actual scum, but the Carnivale had gone to so much trouble to provide an authentic dive-bar experience as one of the options for spectators that it really was hard to tell the posers from the genuine article.
As the challenge rang out over the staticky, authentically janktastic sound-system and the air filled with flying beer-cans and shouted wagers, A penguin stood on the bar and raised his flippers to the heavens, tears streaming down his face, running rapidly across his dapper and sleekly-oiled coat.
“Yes, business-dressed-boobs-d00d! YES! Avenge me, d00d! Vengeance for … no, actually screw that, mang. I’m fine.”
He patted his little button-up satchel affectionately, once again affixed to his tummy by a belt.
“Acausal cognitive-uplink to a bioprinter in my fanny-pack. Cash-cash money, d00d.”
Rory sighed inwardly. It *had* cost cash-cash money – or at least the raw inert carbon/nitrogen gel-cubes and assorted additives that his luggage needed in order to make him a new body had.
The penguin shook himself, remembering that he was having a moment. Both the tears and his righteous fury rose once more.
“Still though…VENGEANCE! VENGEANCE FOR FRANKY-SHOGUN!”
Rory honked his towering anger at the heavens, thrusting one flipper at one of the grainy TVs.
“I LOVED THAT ROBOT, MANG! THAT CRIMSON DOUCHE-LORD GAVE ME SOMETHING I LOVED and then his MC-Hammer looking superpowered hair-gel enthusiast TOOK IT AWAY!”
He turned to the crowd, many of whom had already bought him drinks, and many more of whom were staring at him.
“VENGEANCE, D00ds! I hope that regal landshark bites his legs off, mang. And the pretty-boy steals his lunch money, and the big guy in the loud suit slaps him until he forgets the taste of his favorite crayons, and the lady-d00d makes fun of his suit and the scary-looking one-eyed runway-model eats his stupid, stupid mask.”
Rory coughed once, clearing his throat. “For Franky-Shogun.”
Rory paused, hopping back down on his bar-stool. “And Peter.”
The resurrected Penguin turned back to the television as a random patron handed him another beer.
He didn’t want to miss a thing.
The Man in Red was about to get his.
“And maybe actually a little bit for me too, d00d. I had a really bad time. All my friends freakin’ died for real, mang. I’m allowed.”
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