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[Yoink]

Speak to Bartender.

[6] At the mention of outlaws, the young fellow looks up, inspecting you for a moment before saying, with an exaggerated shrug, "I wouldn't know anything about that, ma'am," He continues wiping the glass as  he speaks, "But I hear that Harvey Camerna feller's been whackin' folks left and right Uptown. Oh, and I heard tell "The Magnificient" Francesco was seen back in town, robbin' a bank the other day with his magic powers and such. They say he levitated all the money right outta the place and into his flying car."
He shrugs again and scoffs, "Not that I believe that kinda nonsense. What can I get you, anyways?"
How unhelpful.

Jacob could not shake his habits from a lifetime of grifting, he ordered a drink and sat back, watching the goings on and observing people gauging their moods and motivations

You follow that scarf-wearing dame over to the bar, [6] smoothly motioning to the barman for a drink. He quickly obliges, forgoeing the large, familiar looking bottles lining the shelves and producing a simple, dark glass bottle from beneath the bar.
He sets it down before you along with a small shot glass. A glance at the yellowed label on the bottle proudly proclaims it as 'O'Dolan's Homemade Mystery Brew'.
You look at the barman uncertainly. "House special," He says by way of explanation.
Glancing about the room, [4] you see the nutty black fellow you came in with selling what appear to be little baggies of... flour?... to a few people down the bar from you, you notice a new guy head over to the band- maybe he was running late?- with a guitar and start to play before quickly stopping again, and you hear what sounds like a drunk crashing into some furniture back near the entrance. 
Finally, you take a closer look at the guy sitting at the end of the bar, keeping to himself in a dark, finely-cut suit and with a narrow-brimmed fedora pulled down low on his head. He doesn't seem to be touching his drink, and he doesn't really seem all that drunk, either.
[4] Despite learning all that, you manage to be fairly discreet in your inspection. Sure, the bartender notices you gawking at the surroundings, but he's probably used to that.

Show off to the gang by making a deal.

Feeling immediately at home in this seedy dive, [5] you saunter over to the hardcore drinkers at the bar, along with a few other newcomers. Smiling softly, you give your speech to these hopeless-looking individuals, perking their interest before opening your jacket.
You get a couple of takers straight away, down-and-out, poorly dressed types who look like they'd smoke just about anything they thought was narcotic. Another goes to an older, thickset guy who takes the package, slits it open with a switchblade and expertly tastes the contents before grunting with approval.
"Hnh. Good stuff. Can you sell it bulk?"
There's still one other man, seated at the end of the bar with a hat pulled down over his eyes, taking no notice of you as he nurses a drink.

Sit down in a corner, and observe all the happenings and shenanigans in the room.

You go to do just that, watching your footing carefully in the dark as you make your way over to a table. [1]
You bark your shins on a chair or something which you didn't spot, curse loudly and stumble fowards onto the tabletop. You spill some butt-ugly overcoat-clad fat guy's drink. He doesn't look too pleased. [3] He doesn't do anything about it just yet, although one side of his thick upper lip curls up into a grimace of annoyance.

Clayton waits for the right moment to join the house band with the melodic stylings of acoustic geetar

Bobbing your head appreciatively at the music, you approach the band on their small stage [2] and slide the strap of your beloved guitar off your shoulder, waiting for a moment before joining in with-- Ohwait, shit, you're out of tune! Now that just puts a dampner on a guy's mood. The band glance at you with expressions ranging from annoyance to amusement as you emit a few off-key plinks. You hear a few murmurs of laughter from the nearest tables. Dang.

[Draignean]

Waitlist

Spoiler: Marion Mcburney (click to show/hide)

Name: Marion Mcburney

Appearance: Marion is a tall man, hiding most of his face under a fedora and a surprisingly sparse attempt at a red beard. His shoulders are a little thin for his height, but he walks longstrided. What little hair that emerges from under his hat is the same red as his beard, and his eyes are a cool grey.

Bio:Marion is a fairly traditional Irish-American man. His mother is a poor woman, his father is long gone- dead probably. Before he got pulled into the life his future was as dull and grey as the water his mother spent her days up to her elbows in, now... Well there was a chance, a splash of a color in a life of grey. Blood in that dishwater future, blood that only he could provide.

'Course, you could only bleed so much before it was the end of you.

Lucky number: 22

[Spinal_Taper]

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Name: William Dunn

Appearance: Tall with windswept brown hair and restless hazel eyes. His face usually is decorated with a goofy, devil may care expression, fitting his attitude towards life. His chin is dotted by stubble the same color as the hair on top of his head.

Bio: One could say William was insane. Once could say he was nothing more than a deluded fool. In fact, most say that. William, on the other hand, says that he's the true American dream, never giving up and never surrendering.

His early life wasn't pretty, as can be expected of someone who lives in Poortown USA, as he and his friends took to calling it. The greatest escape from life like that was the cinema. There, he could forget his troubles and instead focus on dastardly villains tying damsels to train tracks, cowboys hunting down bandits, and ace pilots saving America from Bismarcks german reign of terror. He never forgot those days. Even when he grew up, he still thought back to the cowboys justice, simple justice, not corrupted by the mob, or held up by officials.

When he met Ambrose, he didn't know what to think. Sure, the man was a criminal, but he was better than most of the cops. He stole from people, but mostly the rich. William knew what he was. He was a modern cowboy, or the closest thing. Ambrose was on the wrong side of the law, but the law was on the wrong side of William. Using whatever money he could scrounge up, William bought twin .357s, and fitting ammunition. With those in holster, he ran off after Ambrose, looking to bring true justice to this city.

Lucky number: 81, a year of great justice on the old frontier.

[TCM]

"Sure cat!"
Head out to car to get some larger packages. Come back in and sell them.

((Does the money Elixas gained get saved to his inventory?))

[agentorangesoda]

Aint dat just beat all. Clayton get's mighty angry and calmly puts his guitar away before flipping over the table next to him and stomping around in a huff

[wolfchild]

Siddle up to the fedora guy, and talk about how crushing the laws are these days

[Yoink]

((@TCM: You know, I think I'll mostly abstract money. I'll make a note in your inventory, though.
One problem, I'll have to roll to see if you even have a car with a big stash of the stuff.

@Tiruin: Could you explain what kindof scarf Aerie actually wears? It's been bugging me. At first I figured 1930s+woman's scarf=This, but now she's "Tossing it over her shoulder nonchalantly", so I'm guessing it's not.

Finally, Draignean and Spinal_Taper, I guess I'll waitlist you. Don't worry, I doubt it'll be long before these mooks get themselves killed. ))

[Tiruin]

((Just a scarf, a...short cloth scarf tucked in the opening of my coat, which is out of the current time period - colored like sandstone.  ))

"Hmm, nobody is doing anything about them outlaws?

"I'd like to hear some rumors, like on "Pianola" Ambrose, heard that he's...alive."

Ask.

[NRDL]

"Whoops, sorry there."

Apologize to fat man.

[Yoink]

"Sure cat!"
Head out to car to get some larger packages. Come back in and sell them.

[5] With a carload of opium (boosted off some of your once associates before you did a runner) waiting just outside where you parked, this seems to be quite the money-making opportunity. You head on back towards the entrance, ignore both the creepy guy at the bar and some big guitarist feller knocking over furniture, and head outside.
[6] Yep, your car is still parked just outside, the beat-up wreck that it is, paint flaking off and tires bald and much-patched. You walk over and pull open the trunk(with some effort), revealing the large pile of bagged drugs heaped inside. You grab as much as you can carry and turn to head back inside, when you are confronted by the doorman. Or guard, whatever he is.
"'Scuse me, mister."
He speaks fairly politely, although he eyes you (and the load of powder you're struggling to carry) with distaste, "I'm gonna have to ask you to move your car," He waves a hand towards the sad sight of your crappy old car, "It ain't really in-keeping with the respectable atmosphere we're trying to establish, here."
You wouldn't really class the O'Dolan as respectable...

Aint dat just beat all. Clayton get's mighty angry and calmly puts his guitar away before flipping over the table next to him and stomping around in a huff

[5] Always careful with your instruments, you ensure your guitar is safely strapped to your back before flipping the fuck out.
Quite literally, in fact, as you flip the nearest table over, spilling drinks, fish stew, assorted cutlery and the salt and pepper shakers over its occupants, [3] a young, well-dressed couple. As you begin stomping around in a temper, the young feller is shedding his suit jacket and rolling up the sleeves on his shirt, scowling heavily at you whilst shrugging off his girlfriend's attempts to restrain him.
It's hard to tell how anyone else in the dark room is reacting to your tantrum, but both kids are liberally splashed with foodstuffs.
Neither look very happy with you.
Also some big guy seems to be pulling a gun on someone over by the door. Huh.

Siddle up to the fedora guy, and talk about how crushing the laws are these days

[2] You take a stool beside the mysterious blue-suited figure at the bar, launching right into a speech on the evils of the law.
The guy stiffens up, turning to eye you sharply from beneath his hatbrim. He seems... A bit twitchy, his teeth bared in a nervous snarl.
"Th'fuck? Laws? What is this bullshit, are you a cop?!" You notice his hands remain very still on the bartop. He stares at you with a kinda creepy intensity, the whites of his eyes showing clearly amongst his sallow, greyish face. You have a feeling you better talk fast.
[5] You're just starting to sweat when the bartender makes his way over, distracting the fellow. "Lou! Go get Mister A for me, wouldya?"
For a moment, the way "Lou"'s head snaps around at the voice, you half expect him to throw down on the bartender. Thankfully though, he gets to his feet, glares at you for a second, then nods in response and shuffles off towards the back of the room. 
You breath a sigh of relief, and the bartender grins knowingly at you. "Er, don't mind Lou, there. He's a bit... Highly-strung."
He places the bottle and glass from before infront of you on the bar and goes back to chatting to the scarf-lady.

"Hmm, nobody is doing anything about them outlaws?
"I'd like to hear some rumors, like on "Pianola" Ambrose, heard that he's...alive."
Ask.

[5] As you speak, he looks up from the glass and raises an eyebrow at you, seemingly assessing your intent with the seasoned eye of a bartender. At length he sets down the glass and leans on the bar. He's really not much more than a boy, and has a full head of coppery hair, both of which are surprising in a world where bartenders are usually fat, middle-aged and bald.
"Alright, I reckon I see what this is. You jus' wait here, miss."
He heads down the bar a little, interrupting an apparent confrontation between the long-haired guy who followed you in and some creepy figure seated at the bar.
"Lou! Go get Mister A for me, wouldya?" 'Lou' gets to his feet somewhat reluctantly, then heads off. You hear a loud crash from somewhere over by the band stage, but the bartender doesn't seem to notice as he returns to his previous place, nodding to you as he goes back to cleaning.

"Whoops, sorry there."
Apologize to fat man.

[1]((WHAT IS WITH YOU AND ROLLING ONES?!)) Fatso doesn't give you a chance to apologise, one beefy hand reaching inside his jacket as he heaves himself to his feet. Time seems to slow as a big, long-barreled revolver slides out of a hidden holster. You start to wonder what was so bad about your career as a pianist...

Spoiler: Notes (click to show/hide)

Jeez NRDL, why have you been getting all the bad rolls?  Blame RANDOM.Org. It's like it saves the worst rolls til the end of the turn.

[agentorangesoda]

Clayton furrows his eyebrows and glowers, grabs the man brusquely, pulls him within a few millimeters of his face and snarls, "I'm sorry about yer suit." He turns his head and continues, "and the missus."

[TCM]

Elixas smiles that se grin again and says, "Alright, I'll shake it."
Head back to the car and move it somewhere else. Then take the stash back inside and sell it off to the bar patrons.

[wolfchild]

Put some extra money on the bench, enough for the drink, and then some for the help, then start being unobtrusive again

[Tiruin]

Spoiler: Aerie Rivian (click to show/hide)

[...]
Status:
Inventory: 1 scarf of ambiguous description.

((Oh, you.  ))

Aerie glanced at the one called Lou, seeing one of her 'accomplices' right by the man as he strode off, and then turned back and nodded to the bartender.

"So much for non-chalancy and the like. I'd like to give a tip, but forgot to bring anything worth such.

"Do you take amateur singers?"

Sing for the nice man, as my gesture of thanks! Probably include any other object of musicality in the deal.

If not, then sidle up to the next person and start inquiring about the state of affairs with the economy or general living.

[NRDL]

"JESUS!"

Dash to the left, avoid the bullet.  Kick out with feet as much as possible.