entrancelogs | Tavern Mingle (INSIDE)

Entry tags:

Tavern Mingle (INSIDE) | OPEN

Who: EVERYONE
Where: The Dark Lantern Tavern!
When: 1/15/16 -1/18/16 - The duration of the event!
Rating: Probably PG-13, will vary by thread.
Summary: Let's go to this creepy tavern and ask for some directions! A log for staying nice and dry inside.
The Story:

For the duration of the event, the mansion has become a dingy tavern. It has two floors, the bottom being the main tavern and the upper floor has six bedrooms with one bed and one magic closet in each room for everyone to fight over, unless they don't mind sleeping on the floor or in the tavern somewhere. With the amount of people in Wonderland, everyone is cramped together and it will be very crowded. The closets will work, however they will only provide clothing and items from time periods long gone (though they do not seem to be bound to any particular time period). There are no employees to be found in the Tavern, but there's a working kitchen with a wood fire stove and enough food and drink for everyone to last the entire event comfortably. There's even a stage with musical instruments to entertain yourselves with! There's no electricity, but plenty of candles and lanterns around.

For the entire length of the event, it will be dark outside. In addition to the never-ending night, it will pour for four days straight, and it will all seem rather ominous once it becomes apparent the sun isn't coming out. Pretty much all signs will suggest that everyone should stay in the tavern and eat, drink, and be merry with their stupid new names. But it really is tight quarters, and some might be curious to see what else is out there. Maybe there's another place to stay out there, or something. Maybe the Beast Alice spoke of is out there.

(Lost? Perhaps you're looking for the outside log or the event information.)

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Shit, right, she's an art-type too, isn't she. One of the reasons he hasn't displayed quite the same level of animosity he's been hitting everyone else with since ending up in this dump. He glances down at it in surprise, as though having forgotten it was even there in the first place.

"Wh - uh, no. Not really." He shoots a glance at one of the windows, glimpsing the tavern's darkened exterior. "Lighting makes getting any kind of shot hell. All these candles keep messing up the balance."

Which is much easier and less suspicious to say than, for instance, that he's saving up his film for something a little more dangerous.

[He can't remember his real name right now, but he's pretty sure this title suits him. He can certainly think of worse ones that Wonderland could have gone with. He'll take what he can get.]

[But holy crap, why did Wonderland have to shrink so much? The entire population is now crammed into a building the size of maybe two Grillby's pubs stuck together. There's barely enough room to safely navigate from one end of the room to the other. The Comedian doesn't like crowds. They're exhausting.]

INSIDE

[The Comedian spends most of his time at a table, either sleeping, telling jokes to whoever will listen, drinking ketchup, or eating actual food. He prefers it hear by the wall and the window, where at least there's a breeze coming in to remind him that there is indeed space nearby. Also this way he's not falling asleep in the middle of the floor and getting tripped over.]

JUST OUTSIDE

[The Comedian has absolutely no desire to go explore whatever's in that vast forest (he can hear the singing on and off and nooooo thank you, not dealing with that). Here's the thing though: The Comedian has never actually seen rain before, much less a thunderstorm. He's read about them, but there really isn't weather in the normal sense in the Underground. And thunder and lightning? Damn. That is some cool stuff right there.]

[He ends up outside on and off to watch the rain and lightning, and also just to get away from the crowds. There's a small stable where he can stay dry, but The Comedian is alright with standing in the rain every once in awhile, just to experience it. Who knows how often he's going to get to stand in real rain? It's kind of like Waterfall, only completely different.]

[Holy shit this is way too many people. Have you ever tried to do science when there's like two million people up in your grill tripping over your chemistry or asking what you're doing or poking the explosives? It's frustrating as FUCK is what it is.]

[Still, he is the Rickiest Rick, and that means Ricking it up to the extreme!! When he's not indoors shouting at people or finding alcohol, he's out in the horse stable, where he has set up a very small, shitty science lab, at which he is inventing umbrellas out of spare debris. Listen, it's raining, and people want umbrellas, right? He's trading umbrellas to any of the assholes who want to go out and investigate that godforsaken forest in exchange for food and liquor. This way he doesn't have to go inside! It's fucking perfect.]

[Feel free to catch him indoors, where he will be extremely frustrated and cranky, or outdoors, where he will be significantly less cranky but, yanno, still being The Rickiest Rick.]

(OOC: He mostly looks like a normal mourning dove, just larger. Bird sizes are never directly stated in canon, so I went with the theory that made the most sense to me.)

Having long since realized most visitors come from a time before birds gained sentience, the Ghost isn't surprised by this question. And since she doesn't wait for an answer, he doesn't give her one.

"It doesn't look like it will harm anything at least. I'm... the Ghost." He'd prefer to introduce himself with his name, but it doesn't look as though he can.

Edited 2016-01-16 01:09 (UTC)

"Tell me about it," she says. "I'm sure all my shots are terrible. I don't even know how to use this thing." She's smiling though. Still fun. But she'd also have to find a way to develop the film later on.

She's curious though, because she doesn't know anything about his artistic side except that he prefers film. Raising her voice slightly over the noise of the crowd, she asks, "Do you usually shoot indoors?"

"Are you sure?" Because now that she's outside, the storm seems stronger than she first thought. She actually finds herself talking to the bird for comfort. Bizzaro. "I mean, it could get stronger, right?" She can't keep the worry out of her voice or her expression as she looks farther out.

"Mm, sometimes." It's sure as hell easier to shoot inside than to sigh and sit on the curb and wait every time a car or a plane or a goddamn helicopter goes by. And that's not accounting for rainy weather, or police getting on your ass because "it's illegal to shoot near abandoned buildings," or some fucknut with a rifle asking you if you're a ghost hunter, or outdoor shoots that get ruined because there's something in the trees futzing up the camera with a spray of static.

He doesn't mention any of it. He simply shrugs, and flicks a bit of dust off the edge of his camera with a fingertip. "I like the look of an outdoor shoot more. Less cramped. More space to do your thing. Like hell I'm shooting out there, though."

Yet.

[The Loyal Friend has never felt quite so frumpy before. He can't even say what era these robes are meant to be from since he feels as if anyone in their right mind would realize how little one could do in them. Chiefly, looking good would be off the table. But then again, he did enjoy the flowing robes in the Saturnalia party. The Loyal Friend is not sure where his loyalties lie when it comes to robes, and this may be why he prefers muggle blue jeans and t-shirts. That and it's much easier to duel in them.

But it doesn't seem as if dueling will be happening here. At least, nothing instigated by the event directly. The close quarters could lead to a few tavern brawls, so The Loyal Friend is glad he's got his wand on him for once. At the very least he could hang some people from the ceiling for being silly. The Loyal Friend is fully considering "going outside in search of whoever is singing" a silliness.

To kill time, The Loyal Friend has conjured up a chess set. It's been a long time since he's played for...reasons. But he's happy to play anyone who might choose to sit down.]

[The Hybrid spent about five minutes outside, then nope'd right back in when he heard the song in the woods. It's warm and dry and there are no disembodied ghostly voices in the tavern.

What there are are people, and that has him worried right off the bat about eating. He should be okay, he thinks, since he's been eating regularly in the time leading up to the event, but he has no idea how long the event will last and that worries him. If it's more than three or so days, he might be in trouble.

It's hard to avoid people in the relatively small area inside the tavern, and at first, the Hybrid doesn't try. He can be found looking out the window or watching people or, if a book is to be found, reading. He will also happily make coffee if there seems to be a need or desire for it, because that is pretty much his only useful skill. Since his new clothes aren't all that different from what he normally wears at work, so it just feels natural (though he'd like to have his eye patch back, please and thank you).

But by the third and fourth day, he's visibly nervous and actively avoiding people. He's not a danger to anyone, really, but he feels like he's going to be, and he doesn't want to attack anyone. Even with all the super heroes type they have around, a ghoul could do a lot of damage in an enclosed space before anyone stops him.]

Edited 2016-01-16 02:46 (UTC)

[The Loyal Friend isn't really up for getting his picture taken in his current outfit, but he can't help but be amused that the girl behind the camera-- he's vaguely aware that she is currently going by The Subject here --looks so intensely excited by the prospect. When she realizes he's caught her, though, she looks embarrassed, so he waves a hand.]

It's fine. I just wasn't expecting a portrait. I haven't even started the game, though, so it might look a little silly-- me just sitting there, twiddling my thumbs.

[He's referring to the chess set he's conjured in front of him, and to the fact that he is imagining the camera will produce moving photographs. He gestures to the chair across from him.]

If we started a game, I could at least pretend to look deep in thought as I lose horribly to you.

[ ... well, even if it's super crowded and nobody can say anybody's names, this tavern thing is already way better than the Christmas jail was last month. So when it comes down to it, The Fool isn't going to complain all that much.

Actually, this feels like a really easy situation to get through. It's ideal purge-planet rules all over again: hole up and stay holed up until the event passes. Go out into the rainy, creepy forest and probably die. The best thing to do seems pretty obvious to him?

The Fool's main activities of choice will be starting tentative conversations with strangers, especially if they look to be around his age, and occasionally gravitating towards windows/the stable when things start feeling a little too claustrophobic. Fresh air is fresh air regardless of how many people are standing in it or how rainy it is outside, right? Gives him the freedom to reflect on how much he misses his usual yellow t-shirt. He's also more than willing to try his hand at arguing with people who want to go exploring in the woods, however ineffective those efforts ultimately are. ]

[The Comedian waits till Wirt has come down from the stage.]

your world sure is weird.

[The Loyal Friend can't help it. It's rude, but he can't help it. So he wanders over and just, er, stands there for a moment before managing:]

Hi. Uh. Mind if I ask you a question?

[He sort of wishes he could go back to when he cared less about hurting the feelings of non-wizard creatures. This would be much easier then.]

"It could. The building appears rather sturdy though."

The last rain he'd seen before Wonderland had appeared because a button quail had been sad about losing his name. It had cleared up immediately after the Ghost had given the other bird a new one. The mourning dove doesn't think such an easy solution will work this time.

[ This is his first time witnessing the kinds of events that people talked about when he first arrived, and the Handyman takes it very well in stride. When he thinks about it, he's not sure there's much of an option but to take it in stride, though. Everyone sure is here and there sure is crazy stuff happening out there, after all.

But that's just the turn of life.

Helpfulness is the name of the game with this one. That could mean anything from legitimately nailing down a loose board, to sitting down next to someone who looks like they could use the company, to helping pass out closet-created blankets and pillows at night, volunteering to sleep over that one weirdly drafty spot on the floor... potentially to trying to get people on board for a pillow fort in the stage area. He's friendly and generally at ease for the most part, though his cheerfulness might wind up waning towards the end of the event.

All in all, the Handyman is doing what he typically aims to do in times of strife: see something that needs fixing and fix it. ]

Wow, that is a lot of frustration going on inside his head. Good thing she can't read minds. The Subject's style of photography is to just shoot whatever, whenever- anything that catches her interest, really. So there's not much frustration involved. Although the Puppet seems a little uptight usually, she doesn't yet realize how involved with photography he actually is- or what he uses it for, for that matter.

"Definitely not. It looks crazy out there. You heard what that kid said, right? About the Beast and getting turned into oil?" Because seriously, what kind of death is that? The Subject doesn't want her last moments to be wandering around lost and afraid, and then being turned into someone else's fuel! Now we know how the dinosaurs felt, she thinks.

[Guy in fancy over-sized bathrobe, with a chess set pulled out? Yup, definitely deserves a picture. The Subject is going to run out of film before she catches every good shot. Better head back up to one of the closets soon- oh shit he's looking at her. Quick, look innocent.]

Me? [Chess? She isn't dumb but she's not exactly a complex thinker. She's still pleasantly surprised though, and her embarrassed smile stays.] No way. I'd be the one losing horribly. I haven't played chess since I was tiny. And I'm sure you'll look great in the picture. [Not that the picture itself will look good, because it's mass produced 1920 technology after all.]

"Oh, I heard it." He remembers that weird little gnome kid, the one whose ass he pretty much rescued from getting frozen if he recalls correctly. The pointed red hat works really great as a signifier, and it's not so difficult to pinpoint where he is in the tavern just based on that alone. The Puppet eyes the Pilgrim with obvious distrust. "I'm not really sure I believe it."

Not that he's about to propose, hey, why don't we check this out for sure, because he's already got that plan set well in mind and he intends to do that alone, thanks. The camera's an adequate barrier between himself and the so-called Beast waiting to make them all into fossil fuel or whatever the hell.

For all the mingling that goes on here, he's grateful that no one can tell what specific Beast his apparel has him resembling. "Things like that just like to watch you lose your mind."

"Yeah..." The Subject has nightmares about the storm from back home. The way that tornado descended on the town... She shifts her weight uneasily, before noticing that the Ghost is getting caught up in the downpour. Shifting the objects in her hands, she covers him with the umbrella as well. "So, uhh, what kind of bird are you?"

[He hasn't set out on his ill-advised trip into the woods just yet, but he's getting close. Just his luck to run smack-bang into a jerryrigged lab that would make his high school science department look like the goddamn Exploratorium in comparison. The Puppet pauses, intrigued despite himself. The owner of said lab can only be the guy with stick-up hair and a general "fuck-off" demeanor, as befits a mad scientist.

He hesitates, torn between that and trees that beckon, then tucks his camera safely into the folds of his coat and steps closer.]

Wouldn't happen to have a gun lying around in all that junk, would you?

[He looks up at the stranger. Well, not the Stranger, just a stranger. As in, someone he doesn't know.]

huh? sure. what's up? aside from the amount of random titles around here. [He grins.]

[The Rickiest Rick doesn't even look up from the latest umbrella he's cobbling together.]

If I had a gun d-do you really think I would waste my time making umbrellas?

Just figured I'd ask.

[Is it deadpan or is it a genuine justification. The world may never know.

The longer the stays, the more he risks having to introduce himself and deal with that awkward fallout, but he's curious nonetheless.]

You got anything in there besides umbrellas? I'm asking for a friend. [Of course he is.]

The time period represented by the tavern is more similar to Ferelden's than dissimilar, and perhaps that's why Anders' mage robes don't look very different from what he usually wears. Instead of blue and silver Grey Warden armor, he slips through the crowd of people in lighter robes of a dark green.

Anders' first event isn't going so well. Although he likes a busy tavern as much as the next person, it's too busy in here for someone with mild claustrophobia, and his raging thoughts keeping him from settling anywhere comfortably for long. He rambles around the length and breadth of the tavern for a bit, twitchy nerves compounded by the press of bodies until he finally decides a peek outside might do him some good. Pounding rain and danger are starting to seem more appealing than staying cooped up.

Pulling on a thick wool cloak, he picks a path toward the door where a sharp-eyed woman stands sentry. "Is that look for me?" he asks as he fastens the cloak strings. If looks could draw blood, he'd need to do some emergency first aid on himself before heading out.

Edited 2016-01-16 06:44 (UTC)

_{[This is going to be one of those dreamlike events that seems more fantasy than reality, Victor can tell. The dark, atmospheric tavern, clothes slightly older and rougher than what he's accustomed to, a Beast whispered about with the same gravitas reserved for the one from biblical roots...

It's an allegory given form and life. The Creator doesn't fail to miss the irony of just such a metaphor.

His small stature gives him an advantage in squeezing himself into a space against a wall, but he abandons his resting place to snag Wirt sometime after the boy steps down from the stage.]}

So, The Pilgrim, was it?

_{[Do elaborate.]}

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Page 2 of 51

Tavern Mingle (INSIDE) | OPEN

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THE COMEDIAN | OTA

THE RICKIEST RICK | OTA

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THE LOYAL FRIEND | OTA

The Hybrid | OTA

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THE FOOL | OTA

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[inside]

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THE HANDYMAN | OTA

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