@flosalatus -- closed starter
Few and far between are the opportunities to take a break, take a breather, collect themselves. Sorely needed, one presents itself after days of driving in near-silence broken only by pressuring their Preacher into handing in the bounty on some raiders they'd left tied up and alive in the government's hands.
Courtesy of Roberto's encyclopedic knowledge of watering holes scattered throughout the wastes, this one is special in its own right, the dusty jewel of a lively settlement called Opryton.
The proprietors of Fiddle Me This Saloon probably didn't consider how suspicious the colloquial name of the business sounds. Or maybe they did, considering the clientele and the agreements necessary to keep a place like this safe and operational.
Either way, they have salvaged some lost technology, kept it operational since the Big Fall, and leverage it to create a sonic landscape that flows along with drinks and food, the benefits of being along a big city road. Speakers line the walls and strut supports, glossy stacks thoroughly at odds with the scrap nature of the building, old space-faring parts lovingly welded together against the punishing environment.
Someone had a sense of humor. The building is curvy like a violin. A small scratch of truth in advertising, maybe, making room for two above-ground stories of music and dancing.
Wolfwood retreats to find a seat along a wall - not like there are any corners to be had here, of course - and takes up a post to people-watch with a bottle of whisky and a fresh supply of good cigarettes. They'll be crumpled before long, probably.
Not that he cares as he lights up.
Roberto, within earshot of Vash, nudges Meryl, muttering something about loud enough, drunk enough, and could leave their dubious con-man murderer tag-along in the dust. Meryl breaks away from her superior, scurrying up to the bar counter, gleeful at the notion of eating somewhere with a menu.