@gods-away-on-business answered:
(original post here)
The world outside of the bar was in chaos and disarray, but for the most part there was an unspoken truce in this tiny corner of the world. Citizens of the town, people of every shape, color, and size and covered head to foot in all sorts of clothing and weaponry, were scattered about the room, with a rather large man standing at the bar itself leaning on the back counter. Of all the people in the room, he dominated the most of the atmosphere.
an old record was playing on an equally ancient player, and it had been easily worn down by continuous use. just as the new arrival had opened the door, the large barkeep was just then turning to tend to the record as it scratched. From the angle it was difficult to see him, and yet there were clearly robotic hands tending to the relic. Those hands moved with odd grace and care as it worked on the old record player.
The barkeep quickly turned his head at the sound of the door closing. The machine part of this man’s face was now in clear view, especially as his eye was clearly zooming in on the guest. No one even flinched at the new arrival, and as the Barkeep fully turned to address the guest it became more and more clear that the outsider fit right in. The barkeep gave the record in his hands- one simply robotic and the other more akin to a claw- and placed the record back into the player. He turned to the back counter and started rummaging through some things.
“Take a load off somewhere, mate. Be with ya in a minute.”
The visitor didn't even notice him tending to the record until he spoke. Until then, he had been looking around and taking in his surroundings curiously. The peacefulness was to be expected in a bar, he found, but compared to the rest of the world just outside that door it was surreal. It felt as though this room was the most normal part of this place... It was disheartening to think this was what Australia had turned into in just twenty years.
At the sound of the barkeep's voice, though, the masked man's attention snapped back to the now to spot him rummaging through his belongings. A quick, thankful nod followed, following by a small verbal one before making his way to a stool and getting comfortable, though not without a deflating sigh pushing out through those filters upon relieving his feet of their burden. The stranger held an upbeat air around him as always, but it had been a...rough day. That was a way to explain it. It was to be expected, but, while he anticipated no smooth ride, he didn't plan on having a bad run-in and a rough tussle both over his own bag and using his own bag in the tussle. He was just lucky those Junkers weren't very organized -- and that he had Day with him.
With that thought, a gloved hand moved just below the belt of his waist to check if the trusted revolver was in place, then turned his attention to his gloves and sleeves for any cuts and tears. Countless, of course. Comes with getting ambushed by folk with knives. A few stings on his face told him of more wounds, but thankfully none of these were anything major. Just small slices that would heal in time and tears that only needed some stitching. He would have to reload Day before leaving, but first the man's luggage was lifted up, set on the counter, and clicked open for him to weed through his papers and things inside for the little sewing kit he had brought along. It was well-kept briefcase, clearly tended to with great care through the years until that rather large blood stain covered one of its corners, but he was more concerned about the contents inside; if any blood leaked through, he would have to re-write quite a bit... Blood on documents wasn't exactly considered professional in his line of work.
