02-28-2014, 02:54 PM
It just had to be the night of his shift when the Curious caring as bomb came into the area. Fang, not really one to judge, actually felt sorry for the little bot. Someone seemed to enjoy tinkering with the Curious and forcing them to follow out suicide missions. It was probably more common than one would think, only the agencies did a great job keeping it under wraps. Fang, being a dog of the military, knew that war was on the horizon. He refused to get back into it, but with the way things were, Fang knew it wouldn't be long before he was forced back onto the field.
Finding shelter behind and below the bar (it was built to be bullet proof as well as shock and flame proof, on the off chance unhappy patrons decided to blow holes in people or light a match over liquor). Within moments of spying the bomb, the canine was diving into the small nook below the bar and even managed to latch a door backwards to keep the licking flames from eating him alive. Some debris and shattered glass coated Fang's fur, but it was nothing compared to the oozing burns on his fur. Thank god for his concrete bunker-like bar. It really had saved his life! He would have to let his boss know the good news -- that the expensive restoration saved his best server. On second thoughts, maybe he wouldn't bring up such a sore subject. The concrete bar cost a lot, but it created a rich atmosphere that most enjoyed. There was something grungy and cold about it that really drew people in. Perhaps it was the fact that the bar was made of concrete and that the place looked like an old fallout vault? There used to be gas masks hanging from the wall and the door into the back was actually a giant bank-like locking door. Crates lined the walls and tables, each reading different brands of ammo and explosives. It was all for kicks though. Really, it was the best way to make the soldiers feel that good old sense of irony and war pride. After all, without their service, the world might be nothing more than underground vault systems. At least now they were high in the sky and surviving like no other! Guns, knives, and flags were tossed here and there, too. And, on the back wall, were pictures of every serviving veteran. It really was a classy place, but in an ironic kind of way.
Kicking out the door, the dog man scrambled to his feet. The pads on his feet instantly burned upon touching the hot coals and ash. Skipping across the floor, he eventually found a clear spot. It took a while to get there though, as the smoke made seeing hard and breathing even harder. Doubling over, he could have sworn black clouds of smoke were coming from his mouth. Perhaps he was on the verge of hallucinations? Carbon mononxide poisoning had the affect on people. Flopping over, he grasped for air and found himself belly crawling to what he believed was cleaner area. Paws sprawled outward, his hand gripped something strong and sturdy. Using at it as hoist, he pulled himself in to discover that he was actually standing below what looked like a black cat.
"Oi, I must be hallucinating," he choked up. And before he knew it, he was finding sleep beside the sturdy legs of the cat woman who was on the scene of the crime.
((Hope the description of the bar is okay.))
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