A prompt from /r/worldbuilding: corporate logos in your fictional world.
‘I’ve always been enthralled by the real-world 17th century example of graphic design present in the logo of the Dutch East India Co. (“Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie”). Almost everyone in the Star Wars fandom knows which of these is the Empire and which is the Rebellion, though probably not as many would recognize Kuat Drive Yards (the Empire’s contracted builder for Star Destroyers) and their obvious Triforce-ripoff logo. And don’t forget taverns and their fine ales, both of which often have clever names and logos to go with them. Good logo design pops up all the time in fiction, so let’s talk about “Logos”.
‘Tell us about an organization in your world and what their logo looks like. Where do people see this logo? Does it have a special meaning behind the symbology? What does the average person think of when they see it? I think you’re more likely to win if you can work up a logo in Photoshop or even MS Paint, but if you’re restricted to text, be sure to paint a vibrant word picture! And if you want to come up with a tavern name to make up a logo for, there’s /u/drouu’s tavern generator at http://donjon.bin.sh/fantasy/inn/.
My response? Let’s go to the pub!
Leo Henderson gave up all pretence at sleep, and got up and put on his greatcoat in order to go out for a smoke. Out on the street the air was still chilly, but at this northern latitude the sun still poked through from behind the looming tenements of Syevirmetyevo. Drunk soldiers, the liberating army, staggered down the street, stumbling over the cobbles and swearing in five different languages.
“Nice night for a walk,” came a voice from behind. “There’s a nip on Kubitskaya which has some pale ale in from the south.”
Leo indicated that he was still in his pyjamas and slippers.
“So? It’s not exactly cold or wet. We’re not on the Kila now.”
Nev Haymarket would have got naked out of a bath if there was booze in the offing. “All right,” Leo agreed.
Nev allowed him to at least get boots and outdoor trousers on, but agitated for Leo to hurry up before the supplies were scavenged by the hundreds of other soldiers in the city.
Kubitskaya was off the beaten track a bit, in an area of working class housing badly hit by the original attack on the city three years before. Every other building was uninhabitable, but nevertheless, smoke indicated that people were trying to bring old stoves back into use. Women were dressed in gaudy silk dresses that didn’t fit them, and some men, both military and civilians, mistook one or two younger women for prostitutes. A well-timed punch from an angry husband laid one man low as they passed. Grizzled old peasants, seeking the safety of the city from the lawless countryside full of bandits, had scavenged top hats and tail-coats from the wardrobes of the Lenks and were showing off, parodying their occupiers and liberators alike. The nip itself was crowded with their compatriots thirsty for their own tipple after months of standard-issue vodka that could have stripped paint off a wall and samogon that had caused a fair few non-combat injuries.
On arrival at the pub, the ale ended up, disappointingly to the beer connoisseur Nev, to be kegs of a commercial brand, Green Goblin. He grumbled and called it “horse piss” but still drank willingly. A group of hungry Krovot civilians, probably displaced peasants, hung around the entrance, beseeching the eager drinkers for a shield to buy a few slices of bread.
Bottles of vodka were also on sale in the nip, the sister brand produced by the same concern, Golden Dragon. This crate was labelled Zloty Smok, the Salvat-language version. Like most mass-produced brands, it lacked the punch of samogon, but was less likely to make you blind.
Nev dug him in the side as Leo fished his coins out of his pocket. “Don’t give it ’them. They’ll just spend it on booze.”
As far as he was concerned, why shouldn’t they get drunk? Better than their current, rather horrifically sober, state.