D.E.W.

D.E.W. (#154)

(an instance of Generic Room with Seats made by legba)

     They were the latest in high-tech defense equipment and automotive engineering once, the shiny and scorched assymetric sheets of scrap metal, plastic and tinted glass from which the walls of the D.E.W are made. The place is a twisted welter of obsessive assemblage. The walls are decorated with the speakers from old radios and once-expensive stereos, some of which occasionally emit strange sounds. Bright, coated wires are strung everywhere, and the walls are lined with relays that click and clatter. Despite all the random electronic gadgetry, the lights seldom work, and the sound system, though patched together from the finest of stolen equipment, works only sporadically.
     There's tables made from slightly warped solar panels, around which are scattered various odd items of furniture: a tattered loveseat, a blue, wingback chair, a naugahyde recliner and several vintage chrome dinette chairs. Amidst the postapocalyptic clutter, the antique bar gleams from Luce's constant, loving polish. Lined up in a row along the bar, by way of barstools, are several oilcan capacitors which seldom explode.

You walk over to the bar and climb up onto one of the capacitors.

You notice some details:
      A once-plush, burgundy velvet loveseat, circa 1920, with three mahogany legs. The fourth leg seems to be made from a hastily chopped broom handles. The lower lefthand corner seems to have been clawed by a cat, as tufts of horsehair stuffing and shredded burgundy threads are clearly visible.
      A once-plush, burgundy velvet loveseat, circa 1920, with three mahogany legs. The fourth leg seems to be made from a hastily chopped broom handle. The lower lefthand corner has clearly been victimized by a cat, as tufts of horsehair stuffing and shredded burgundy threads are visible.
      THe bar is a wing of an old WWI Albatross DVII, about 20 feet in length, gleaming metallic gold chipped in only a few places, and gaudily decorated with what appears to be a frieze depicting a scene from the Nibelungenlied. You can just make out the wings of valkyries around where the shiny, brass beertaps are.
      Oilcan capacitors make handy barstools, once you saw off the poles with a hacksaw and put some kind of cushion on the top to prevent residual shards of metal from tearing at clothing and tender skin. They're rather festively colored as well, red and yellow and gray, and stenciled with interesting messages such as: Danger, High Voltage. 2F at 1000VDC. When they do explode, which isn't all that often really, their main drawback is that the electrolytic oil, jelly and metal shrapnel they spew creates a bit of a mess that Luce has to clean up. No worse than a few Saturday nights with frat boys though.

You see Thatcher's Grave, Luce, Sal and The Lady of Shalott here.

EXITS:
      [ out ] Outside the D.E.W Drop Inn.
      [ curtain ] Backroom.

This place has a certain ambiance...
     Somewhere, you hear the sound of shattering glass.
     You hear a strange, humming whine that becomes quite high-pitched and resolves into a low buzz before becoming inaudible again.
     Sal languidly buffs his nails.
     You hear yelling outside, and the sound of smashing glass.
     At another table, a small group of people are arguing loudly about how _they_ would have saved the whales.
     A small, dish-shaped antenna seems to be tracking you everywhere you go.
     One of the radio speakers embedded in the north wall begins to crackle. Through the static you hear a voice that sounds like someone yelling for help. Luce strides over to the speaker and kicks it neatly with the toe of her black boot. The noise stops.
     Suddenly, one of the capacitors at the bar explodes! Everyone at the bar ducks and covers, while the guy who was sitting on it gets blown out the door.
     You hear the clicking of relays.
     Sal yawns, stretches and adjusts his g-string, after making sure that he's being watched.
     Luce drags an empty keg out from behind the bar and outside, and noisily rolls another one in to replace it.
     Luce drags in another capacitor from the storage shed outside to replace the barstool that exploded. It's still warm from the sun.
     You hear an air raid siren! It's only a drill. Too late to worry about all of that.
     Luce polishes the bar again, flicking her dustrag irritably.
     You see Abigail, wandering in after a hard day's exploitation, looking great in tight leather pants and bustier. Luce grins, hands her a drink and gives her a significant wink.
     The room is suddenly suffused by a weird green light emanating from several points on the ceiling.