The Blue Note has changed again!
The winter wonderland is gone and the bar has gotten back to basics. Right back; and where possible, back to the brickwork. The dive has an underground, raw, feel to it. Furniture, either keyed to the period or simply an evocation of it, complements the booths and that could not be swapped out. Period posters have been purloined. Barrels have been tactfully positioned and lights are down low
In all but name, the Blue Note is a speakeasy from the roaring 20s. Unless someone figures out time travel, its the best that can be done with the resources available.
At least someone has appropriate music pumping from cunningly crafted speakers.
The Gristlegrinder known as Tobias Yazgad tends the bar. Somewhere, somehow, someone stuffed him into a shirt and trousers. He snatched the bowler hat himself and its its precariously on his head, red bandanna poking out like a shock of hair from under it. Tobias looks bored and terribly upset - no doubt he thinks he's on the wrong side of the bar.
Malcolm Green sits at his booth. He has managed to find a shirt that fits, a collarless one like they had back in the day. A pair of dark trousers (that fit) cut in the style of the day with suspenders reaching over his shoulders and a pair of chunky working boots complete his appearance. The whole look is completely ruined by the spats - they fit his immense size... but they were went for a richer garb than he is waring tonight.
The Mountain is reading a very modern paper. A jug of ale sits by his left hand.