Prologue - O'Dolan's Speakeasy
Somewhere out in a forgotten stretch of Lower Doughside, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst a few weed-choked vacant lots, is the O'Dolan's Speakeasy.
On the ground floor of a crumbling old brownstone building, the O'Dolan doesn't receive much in the way of natural light, something often appreciated by those choosing to do business there.
And despite its isolation(or perhaps due to it), the place does receive plenty of custom. At all hours there are at least a few big sedans and coupes sat around the back in the yard, and the wood-panelled door is watched over by a couple of suits.
Stepping inside, the scruffy doorman cocking an eye at you- the rogue's gaze lingers especially on Aerie for a moment- you move down the worn steps (the floor is somewhat lower than street level) and into a cavernous, dimly-lit common room. Apart from the dark, slightly dungeon-like feeling, the place is surprisingly well-appointed after seeing its outer appearance.
(Well ventilated, too, it seems; despite the number of red ciagrette-ends glowing throughout the room, the air isn't too bad)
You feel eyes on you, briefly, from tables about the room, people apparently judging you not a threat before returning to their discussions as you move past.
Along one wall you see the bar, a real artifact decorated with what seem to be a few down-and-out, near-comatose heavy drinkers, with a rather standard-looking bartender type standing behind it. Yes, he's wiping down a glass.
The other main attraction of the room is a stage in the far corner, occupied by the house band, doling out some slow, mournful jazz.
To Jeremiah's ear the pianist sounds either rather drunk, half-asleep or both, only hitting half his notes right, while all Clayton can hear is the sad, sad lack of any guitars. To the others, though, well it just sets the mood perfectly.
So here you all are, this is the Pianola's dive, or so you're told. You've come this far. What now?
Do you belly up to the bar, scowl, and shout out your intent to join said crook's little band? Do you inquire more discreetly, with a knowing wink at the bartender? Do you just sit, watch the comings-and-goings and try getting a feel for things yourself?
Or am I just talkin' out my ass here and you've got something completely different in mind...?