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A Gathering, of Sorts
[Immediately after the trial, to absolutely no one's surprise, Juno makes a beeline for the bar. He spends about a half hour alone, wallowing in his self-pity before he gets it in his head that people would probably try and seek him out. Punch him, or maybe pity him. He welcomes the punching, not so much the pitying. And, God, he doesn't want to deal with that right now.
So, what better way to redirect people than by giving out an invitation? He gathers about three different whiskey bottles in his arms before setting off on his quest. The survivors will find a haphazardly scribbled note slipped under their cabin door that reads one word -- BAR. When people start to gather at the bar, they'll find some varying types of alcohol sort of just...haphazardly strewn about on the tables. There's no host in sight--at least, not currently. Juno, himself, can be found elsewhere about town, trying to avoid everyone.
It's an apology, of sorts. He wishes he didn't have to make it.]
So, what better way to redirect people than by giving out an invitation? He gathers about three different whiskey bottles in his arms before setting off on his quest. The survivors will find a haphazardly scribbled note slipped under their cabin door that reads one word -- BAR. When people start to gather at the bar, they'll find some varying types of alcohol sort of just...haphazardly strewn about on the tables. There's no host in sight--at least, not currently. Juno, himself, can be found elsewhere about town, trying to avoid everyone.
It's an apology, of sorts. He wishes he didn't have to make it.]