[center][h3]The Hole[/h3]
May 13, 1947
[sup]Another typical tuesday[/sup][/center]

In a secluded corner of the dingy bar sat a tired-looking maned-wolf, who'd occassionally peer at the dartboard whenever he [i]felt[/i] a dart go [i]*THUNK*[/i] into the wall. Instead he focused on the feet of a content little rummy ferret tapping his feet against the barstool as some sort of noise that probably counted as music played over the radio. Even deaf he could tell the tin-box sound of the speaker hardly did the young musical performer any justice... Frank... something...

Looking up, he saw Sully, working behind the bar trying to keep the happy people happy and eager to pay tips, and keep the unhappy people from bottling their anger up until they'd explode and ruin it for everyone. It was a art-form in action to watch, really; a bit hard to watch without subtitles, but lip-dubbing whatever words seemed to fit was often more entertaining anywas.

He tipped his glass from side to side, trying to see if there was anything left in the bottom that could be swirled-out as he contemplated going up for another drink, at risk of barging into the middle of a private and closely gaurded conversation. Of course, it was then something interesting had to happen.

Apparently the ferret was starting to get flirty, and wasn't pulling enough charm for the lady, but too drunk to realize it. He'd lean-in, she'd lean back; he'd slide his drink closer to hers, she'd pick hers up and set it down further away. Twombly got up and strode-over just as the ferret was getting handsy, pulling a dart from the wall along the way.

[color=8dc73f]"What's a fine little flower like you doing up on the rocks amongst the moss when there's such fine music to dance to?"[/color] He enquired, [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v2JU_j-8h6s]he was taking a gamble on the song of course[/url], but the rhythmn seemed slow enough to keep up with. (1941 edition)