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[h2][color=0054a6]Richard Barker[/color][/h2]
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31 cents. The barkeep had taken the blink of an eye to scrutinise the hardboiled, fedora-wearing man who'd just entered the establishment, remember the correct bottle of booze by memory, and finally hand it to him with eye and all. All that, and he only asked for 31 cents. If he'd been out of town, Richard might have begun asking questions. 

Instead he pulled out his wallet, handed the barkeep the coins and gladly accepting the glass of whisky. 

[color=0054a6]"Thanks, pal."[/color]

Smooth and strong, that's how the alcohol poured down his dry throat. A sense of warmth slowly spread through his chest. Certainty, something he'd failed to find in this accursed case of his. Strange how booze helped with that. Sure didn't help his marriage though. 

Richard took the time to find a seat by the counter, taking off his fedora and placing it squarly in front of him as he calmly turned around. The strange gathering of people easily caught his attention...well, [i]mostly[/i] people. 

Scales, tiny flying fairies and...exactly how much had he been drinking? 

Turning back and leaning over the counter, Richard did his best to silently get the attention of...well...someone. [color=0054a6]"Uhm...pardon my ignorance to your patrons, pal, but...what kind of bar is this? Something like a studio bar, akin to Hollywoodland or something? I've got to admit, I'm stumped, my wandering into the mist like that."[/color]