Haradhere - Locals

Bonnet and Rackham entered through a scrap metal made double winged swing door what looked, and called itself via big neon lights, a "Caribbean Bar". The place was stuffed to the brim with local tourists that were easily identifiable by their over sized sunglasses and air of impeccable inability to do anything themselves. A swarm of waiters and hovering tablets, carrying a diverse range of colorful fancy cocktails and even some that looked agreeable to Bonnet, whizzing about to the orchestral sound of dissatisfied muttering and outspoken complaints about all matters service related. At the heart of it stood a man that had the true grit of a professional. His smile never even twitched, and with a calm and friendliness otherwise reserved for gods personal caretaker he seemed to be able to just pass through or plainly deflect any of the hundreds of complaints and rants that hit him any minute.

They watched him for a while, took the next free table in a corner of the room, and joined the general waving and shouting that seemed to be common among the guests.

At the table next to them sat a family of blobs. They were having a heated debate that Bonnet and Rackham overhead but understood absolutely nothing about.

'Margret I told you fifteen times this week that I want my shirts ironed and not mangled. You are taking your nostalgia hobbies too far.'

'I Have told you fifteen times that it is bad for the planet to abuse energy when you can just do it by hand!'

'Yes Margret , but this thing is so stiff its like i'm wearing plated armor.'

'Well at least you are a knight in shiny! armor. And if you want to remain so you will have to wash your shirts yourself, i'm afraid, my dear.'

'Oh no no, its perfectly fine this way, I like it already for the extra protection it offers'

'Daddy can I have my shotgun yet' their little blob of a daughter cut into their conversation, very much to her fathers pleasure.

'Sure sweety, here you go, and remember no shooting people!

He handed her what looked like a massive toy bazooka and send her on her way to find someone to play with.

Rackham grew increasingly annoyed at the noise level coming from their conversation, turned over and barked at them:

'OY, keep it down will you.'

Daddy's little girl turned the bazooka around.

'well, would you kindly lower your voices a bit, my friend,. My friend and I here we would like to be able to have our own conversation without having to scream at each other.'

Blob daddy activated something on his terminal and answered in perfect English:

'I would kindly not, thank you for your time Mr.'

Rackham felt something in his guts tie itself up. He stood up and in one sweet motion grabbed the little girls toy bazooka and immediately opened fire, wildly missed the blob man, and hit a massive chandelier made from more neon lights and old surfboards that came crashing down.

The head waiter took a moment to free himself from the encirclement of guests that pestered him and made his way over, in the manner exclusive to people who dodged literal bodies as a job, while holding up a tray and balancing drinks on it with one hand, swiftly and with purpose.

'What seems to be the problem?'

'The gentleman on the table next to ours had the audacity to call us 'Bipedal vermin' and on account of this blatant violation of etiquette we had to defend ourselves' Bonnet delivered.

'Ah I see, and how can I be of service here?'

'Well you see we came here to look for this kid' Rackham said as he pulled up a picture of the noobmaster on his terminal and shoved it in the waiters face.'

'Ah, yes, I think I might know of someone who would have this 'Man's'' his nose twitched 'contact information.'

'Dude we lucked out!'

'Ye man!'

'Would you like me to take you to him?'

'Let's go, stop wasting our time penguin man' Rackham said as he was already on his way out of the bar. People had started to look at them and the blob had gathered a few supporters and was fervently arguing with them.

They made their way outside. Ran to their mining drone and dragged the waiter along. Quickly threw the poor man, who considered many things in a very short amount of time and made some serious headway to his big questions in life, such as; 'Who am I, why am I working here, will I wake up tomorrow', fired up the engine, and left the parkinglot just in time to escape from a mob of coalescing blobs.