Charleson Mambo
2012-01-01 23:32:19 UTC
The old neighborhood had that haunted feeling of mostly abandoned
places. Rundown buildings with broken windows occupied by a handful of
graying diehards.
The denizens peered from their hidden nooks and crannies at the dark
figure boldly stalking down the street. A billowing cloak trailed
behind him.
The old red plastic door still opened easily at his touch as he
entered the darkened bar.
Mambo looked around the empty place, a few malfunctioning ad-bots
desultorily bumping around trying to sell each other on exciting
business opportunities and all natural physical enhancers. The space
behind the old scratched bar was empty. A few scattered tables and
chairs, a mere four corners clad in ordinary grubby darkness.
'Humph, looking worse than I expected', he thought.
He moved to the back of the place, kicking an ad-bot that wandered too
close, and felt along the blank concrete wall. A hidden panel is
pulled off the wall revealing strange mechanisms and little blinking
lights.
Mambo reached into the morass of suggestive greebles and with a half-
twist and a jerk he pulled out a dull metal cylinder, as tall but a
bit thinner than small keg. A shake only reveled a slow sloshing and
soft thump.
'Way past its service life.'
Reaching into the dark folds of his overcoat he pulled out a new
cylinder, of slightly shinier metal. On its side was emblazoned:
Venture Industries Purity-type esoteric power cell (mk2).
After plugging in the cylinder and pressing a large red button he
waited for the first lights of the boot sequence to flash before
replacing the camouflage wall panel.
Mambo turned around to face the now more excitingly dangerous bar,
festooned with its escheresque multitude of elegantly mysterious dark
corners highlighted by the green glow of neon, the fancy armored
jukebox, the genuine antique mid-80s chairs and tables with their
sharp black shapes and scratched chromed.
Ratz looked up suddenly, startled by Mambo's sudden appearance at the
bar.
"Ah, I didn't notice you coming in Herr Mambo, again. Will you be
having your usual?"
"Sorry about that Ratz, force of habit. I think today calls for
something a bit stronger than root beer. Got anything worth the creds
in a single malt?"
"Ah, yes I think I have just the thing." said Ratz as his grubby pink
claw pulled a bottle of the shelf behind him.
As Ratz pushed the drink across the bar his face turned sourer as he
eyed the metal cylinder Mambo was still holding. "Humph, another
orphan, Herr Mambo?"
"Well, not a whole one."
------
If there are any Regulars still around: Happy New Year!
Charleson Mambo
places. Rundown buildings with broken windows occupied by a handful of
graying diehards.
The denizens peered from their hidden nooks and crannies at the dark
figure boldly stalking down the street. A billowing cloak trailed
behind him.
The old red plastic door still opened easily at his touch as he
entered the darkened bar.
Mambo looked around the empty place, a few malfunctioning ad-bots
desultorily bumping around trying to sell each other on exciting
business opportunities and all natural physical enhancers. The space
behind the old scratched bar was empty. A few scattered tables and
chairs, a mere four corners clad in ordinary grubby darkness.
'Humph, looking worse than I expected', he thought.
He moved to the back of the place, kicking an ad-bot that wandered too
close, and felt along the blank concrete wall. A hidden panel is
pulled off the wall revealing strange mechanisms and little blinking
lights.
Mambo reached into the morass of suggestive greebles and with a half-
twist and a jerk he pulled out a dull metal cylinder, as tall but a
bit thinner than small keg. A shake only reveled a slow sloshing and
soft thump.
'Way past its service life.'
Reaching into the dark folds of his overcoat he pulled out a new
cylinder, of slightly shinier metal. On its side was emblazoned:
Venture Industries Purity-type esoteric power cell (mk2).
After plugging in the cylinder and pressing a large red button he
waited for the first lights of the boot sequence to flash before
replacing the camouflage wall panel.
Mambo turned around to face the now more excitingly dangerous bar,
festooned with its escheresque multitude of elegantly mysterious dark
corners highlighted by the green glow of neon, the fancy armored
jukebox, the genuine antique mid-80s chairs and tables with their
sharp black shapes and scratched chromed.
Ratz looked up suddenly, startled by Mambo's sudden appearance at the
bar.
"Ah, I didn't notice you coming in Herr Mambo, again. Will you be
having your usual?"
"Sorry about that Ratz, force of habit. I think today calls for
something a bit stronger than root beer. Got anything worth the creds
in a single malt?"
"Ah, yes I think I have just the thing." said Ratz as his grubby pink
claw pulled a bottle of the shelf behind him.
As Ratz pushed the drink across the bar his face turned sourer as he
eyed the metal cylinder Mambo was still holding. "Humph, another
orphan, Herr Mambo?"
"Well, not a whole one."
------
If there are any Regulars still around: Happy New Year!
Charleson Mambo