"GNARV'S GNU PLAZA PUB" reads the sign above the door. "NOT AFFILIATED WITH THE RESTAURANT AT THE END OF THE UNIVERSE."
Stepping inside, you find a seedy, dimly-lit establishment, filled with an assortment of odd-looking individuals. These are the Plazarians, divested of their IC robes. They sit, listlessly cupping drinks, or tossing peanut shells at one another with frantic looks upon their faces ("ALL PEANUTS AT GNARV'S GNU PLAZA PUB CERTIFIED ALLERGEN-FREE" a disclaimer above the bar informs you.)
Behind the bar is the redoubtable Gnarv the Gnu himself, ready to serve you with dexterous cloven hooves.
Come on in. Have a seat. Have a drink. Stare into the placid eyes of Gnarv the Gnu.
You're home.

(Godmoding of Gnarv the Gnu is not only encouraged, it is required, I am NOT hanging out here to play a bovine bartender, that is on YOU)
