[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/znGuxJk.jpg[/img]
[h2]Meaford's Mead, Old Downtown[/h2][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jKuGxCXTtcU&index=8&list=PLRMcXkadosW43B18ZSbYFqBnFn2myQwRw]Music[/url][/center]
[hr]

Meaford's Mead was a quiet little bar situated in the southern Detroit, and a regular watering hole for a most of the DPD owned by a man named Ray. A small dive bar built out of the remains of an abandoned R&D Building, refit with an industrial-and-tech aesthetic. Plas-steel panelled walls were browned with a mix of stylistic artificial rust, and real rust, for a very worn in look, and adorned with purely old-style air vents and gaudy neon lights. A couple framed pictures of old deceased cops hung on a memorial wall, and there was always an extra cop hanging around the bar as security. The small main room of the bar itself was populated by a mix of traditional synth-wood chairs and tables and jukeboxes alongside game tables and holodecks- some in better conditions than others, and some with chairs pulled up to them and turned into a pseudo table itself. The bar itself rested against a wall, with a rusted sign plainly stating 'First Aid & Alcohol'- an acquisition from the old R&D building's medical ward, and a big shotgun leaned next to one of the bartaps to ward off any hostile intentions.   

Ray himself was an old hand: a retired military with the battle scars and missing limbs to prove it. With most of the left half of his body destroyed by a bomb, Ray's left eye, arm, and leg were all cybernetics, shiny black and grey steel holding hefty glasses as a flesh and blood hand wipes it down with a rag. Ray worked the bar he owned. There was no kitchen here, just shitty synth-alcohol. With only a few other staff members, Ray mostly ran this ship by himself, every day. 

Currently, the bar had only a small crowd- only about half a dozen other patrons, mostly off-duty cops. The tattered jukebox in the corner played some sort of country blues type music, that only helped to make this place feel older than it was. Ray's bar wasn't really much for night life as it was for stiff drinks and shady deals. Of the people at the bar, only one sat at the counter- a man with white hair, a big cyberarm, and the look of a complete lack of empathy for his surroundings. Ray poured the man a short tumbler of cheap whiskey- about as real as it got around this part of town. 

[color=firebrick]"Jack."[/color] 

[color=cyan]"Ray."[/color]

Jack exhaled a short plume of smoke as he propped a still burning cigarette against the lip of the nearby ashtray. Switching the cigarette for the glass, he lifted the tumbler to his lips and downed half of its contents. Ray reached back over from behind the bar with a half empty bottle of whiskey and filled the glass back up to the brim before putting the bottle back behind the counter- more specifically back into his leg. Ray always kept the good stuff close to him. Jack lifted the glass back to his face and took another sip, enjoying the strong kick of the alcohol and flavor before he put the glass back down and picked the cigarette back up.

[color=firebrick]"Those'll kill you, you know?"[/color] Ray chuckled as Jack pushed the pack of cigs across the bar. He pulled one out and lit it, taking a deep drag before he pushed the pack back over to his patron. Jack slipped the pack of cigarettes back into his pocket.

[color=cyan]"Probably."[/color] Jack replied as he took another drag. [color=cyan]"But I don't think they'll be putting me in the ground tonight."[/color]

Ray gave the man a sad smile- a sort of exchange from one vet to another. [color=firebrick]"Things have been getting rough for the DPD huh? Haven't been getting as much business lately."[/color]

[color=cyan]"Yeah."[/color]

Almost in response to Ray, Jack's pocket made a ringing sound. He pulled out his phone and looked at it with a bored glare. The caller ID read as the Detroit Police Department. He let it ring a few times, not really wanting to answer. Finally, he pressed the accept button and raised the phone to his ears.

[color=cyan]"Today's my day off."[/color]

[i]"Not anymore its not, get to Central, ASAP."[/i]

With that, the phone clicked off. Jack grimaced for a while before he slid the phone back into his pocket, taking another drag from his cigarette. [color=cyan]"Maybe some other time, Ray."[/color] Jack said as a way of saying goodbye as he stood up and fixed his jacket. He picked up the whiskey glass and downed the rest of its contents.