Sat, cross-legged, atop the well-polished bar counter, a young gentleman was in the midst of having a rather frantic conversation with somebody over the telephone. With the telephone wire wrapped around an index finger, he tugged and tussled with the unruly, twisted black electronic cord that connected the old-fashioned handpiece to a rather sturdy looking black box. The age of the apparatus was clear to see, as it seemed to be one of those telephones that dialled a number with a rather complicated series of drags, before noisily resetting itself to continue inputting a number. It looked to have been repaired so many times over the years, it was honestly surprising that the solid antique was still able to contact somebody in this day and age.

"Bar Exam. Yes, that's the name".

With his free hand, the boy ran his fingers back through his messy, long stream of dark hair. Staring at himself in the mirror so intently, the conversation taking place seemed that it really wasn't able to grip his interest. Twirling a few locks that stuck out from place to place, he then batted his hand downward against his shirt and pants, as they'd inexplicably gathered dust somehow. From the way he was dressed, in a tidy combination of a black dress shirt and black pants that had so many creases it would be impossible to count over a casual glance, and a set of sparkling black office shoes, it seemed this fair, prettyboy slacker was a simple bartender at this place.

"Don't ask me. My Boss named this place a hell of a long time ago! - He said, at the time... yeah? - I know, I get it! It's obvious! - But, he said at the time... uh-huh... Exactly. It sounded cute! - It was popular, or something. Is what...? - What's that?"

Whoever the person on the other end of the phone was, they didn't seem to be holding back. The truth was, this boy worked most shifts at this place, tending bar. He didn't look old enough to buy a pack of cigarettes, let alone serve drinks, however, he continued to casually satisfy the caller at the other end of the line. Leaping up from the counter, he stood up on both feet, leaning back into the edge and prepping his slender frame up with a pushed out elbow against the surface, riling up a mat that was supposedly used to rest drinks upon.

"Mm. Well, mostly legal types, drink here. Real dicks, some of them. Don't even tip! - Uh-huh. We don't get much trouble, but last month, a defense attorney and a prosecutor, real greenhorns... yeah, you heard about that? - They ended up locking horns. The guy bottled him, right on the noggin! - Ha-ha-ha! - Yeah, can you believe it!? - It even ended up on the news!"

Giving a sweet, dry little chuckle, the fresh-faced boy made his way to the wall, leaning up against it with one hand, and nodding his head as though to agree with everything this person was telling him. The conversation coming from the other end was inaudible, but, seemed to be rather pleasantly amusing.

"You're a Detective? Sure, sure. Just don't expect any favours, 'kay? We're open all day, pretty much. You'd be welcome here. Hell, if I have to serve another prosecuting attorney this week, that'll be... well, more than a dozen! - Ha-ha. Directions? - Sure! - We're not too far off from the Prose--..."

The look of the place simply screamed class, in a tacky sort of way. Private tables with dividers, regal colour-schemes of rich scarlet, gold and bronze. There was even several rooms for Karaoke that could be hired out, as a huge, gaudy display made great detail of showing against the huge mirror at the back of the bar. The entire place had one of those Western, old-timey charms that could only ever be replicated at cheap resort bars in Foreign countries, or expensive hotels that needed that extra edge to attract customers.

The dim lighting really set the mood, and the flicker of concealed candles seemed to give the place that hot, burning intensity that so many of the regular clientele seemed to embody. This was no ordinary Bar, after all. This was the watering hole for most of the legal minds in the area. The last resort for all lawyers, officers of the law, and other such likeminded folk to either drown their sorrows, or celebrate a fantastic personal victory.

"--... Mm-hm, lovely to speak to you, Sir. And, yes. I'm sure we'll be seeing you soon! Have a wonderful day! - Bye-bye!"

Slamming the reciever down against the phone, the boy gave a heady sigh. A soft shrug took itself upon his shoulders, and he snatched a polishing rag up into his fingertips that lay sprawled across the surface of the serving area. Making his way around the large obstacle with a sudden leap across the counter, he landed with a cat-like agility about himself. Almost stumbling, but in the end, making the landing out really well with a nervous grin childishly lining out his features.

"That's Detectives for you, huh! - Always gotta' know the facts!"

---

Davic walked in, already stoned. BEfore he got in the pub.

"David Starr, detective. Current status: Stoned."

HE then sat down, and grabbed a cigerette.

"Listen, Chief." Benjamin Jacob Credable said as he held the bar door open for his boss, defense attorney Athena Cross. "I'm sure you'll love this place. I think it opened only a few days ago."

"Ben," Athena interupted, pulling back a strand of her blue hair. "This bar has been around longer than that. I come here often."

"Er," the P.I. began, then slung his head in sorrow. He could never impress his boss with anything he does. "We'll I knew that." He glanced around and pointed over at an empty booth, and the two sat down.