The Bar at the End of the Universe

Sable's been around. In and out of the bar, back and forth on business... and somewhere in there he's been talked into doing a comparison taste test between his own nutrient-free Special Thick Whippy Double Chocolate shake and some sort of lowfat frozen concoction of Bar's. With soymilk.

Today he's in a designer velour track suit. He enters while talking on the phone.

"Damn it, Frannie, I don't understand how the hell the stocks can be showing 'slow growth' when I've just spent five and a half hours on a conference call with Soybean International. We're going to have to be proactive on this thing-- hey, are you there? Frannie?" He stares at his phone, then around at the bar as realization dawns. He storms up to the nearest waitrat.

"You. Triple espresso, no sugar. And make it snappy, I'm running behind for my workout."

As the rat scurries off he begins jogging in place, breathing in a regular (though rather unnatural-sounding) rhythm, two fingers on his pulse. The rat returns with his drink and he downs it in two gulps, slamming the cup back onto the tray.

"Put it on my tab," he barks, and jogs toward the door. As he exits the bar onto a busy New York sidewalk, interested patrons can read the word JUICY clearly emblazoned across his rear.

[OOC: I can't be around for tagging today, sadly, but I do hope I can bring tofu-ified Sable back before the plot ends!]

[OOM: Red and Black are both having bad days. Sometimes, apparently, two wrongs make a right.]

A painfully thin man in black comes in - by the door, for once - and takes a seat at the bar. He opens his razor-thin laptop and pokes a few keys, apparently at random.

In the meantime, Bar offers up a no-cal, carbonated water, flavored with twelve different kinds of chemical sweeteners. Sable smiles, pats her surface with an appreciation he probably doesn't feel, and settles in.

There's a man in a sharp black suit sitting at the bar, people-watching. Every few minutes he pulls out a wafer-thin black mobile phone, prods at the buttons, and allows a narrow smirk to slide onto his face as he reads the response.

His Perrier had bubbles in it tonight. Business must be booming.