entrancelogs | Tavern Mingle (INSIDE)

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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.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Alistair jerks to a halt, shoulders hunching defensively like a child caught trying to sneak out.

"Outside?" The Bastard turns to face her, hands raised placatingly, his expression equal parts guilt and defiance. "I just need some fresh air. It's too stuffy in here. I won't go far." And he sounds like a child asking his guardian for permission to do something and promising he'll be good. He's a man and a warrior and he doesn't need anyone's permission to go for a walk in an ominous, rain-soaked forest on his own.

"Is that alright with you?"

The fact that he immediately goes on the defensive rather than offensive throws her — she usually doesn't expect appeasement over argument. He's right, too. It is stuffy. It almost makes her want to concede, but only almost.

"Best case scenario, you trip in the dark and there's no one there to help you. Worst case scenario, there's something dangerous out there." She isn't overbearing or angry sounding, but there is a little bit of bossiness evident in her tone. It comes from a good place, though. "Is that really worth it just to get a little fresh air?"

"Trip? Really? Do I look like I'm going to be in trouble just because I tripped?" Amusement is winning over defensiveness, the suggestion sounding absurd enough he just can't take it seriously. As for there potentially being something out there, that's a more reasonable concern. No matter how cramped and unpleasant as it is inside there's still something about the woods that make him think it's a bad idea to spend too long out there. Plus it's raining and he's not in the mood for tramping around in the wet and cold.

"Look, I'll just stay by the door. If there is something out there it's not coming in here so I'll be fine if I stay close." Hopefully. And if not, better that he's the one who attracts the attention of whatever could be out there than someone who might not be able to defend themselves.

"You can even watch me through the window and make sure I behave myself, OK?" Now he's just teasing her but what was she expecting?

She huffs, shooting an exasperated look at the ceiling. It's the only way she can shoot an exasperated look and not shoot it directly at him. He's too goofy to subject to one of her withering stares, too harmless.

"You could trip and break your leg," she interjects, because she's not letting that point go without an argument. Tripping is a real danger, god. Her arms cross as she pauses, in thought. A crease forms between her eyebrows and she purses her lips — that's how you know she's really focusing. Finally, she sighs, stepping in front of him.

"You're not going out there alone, at least." She reaches for the door, holding it open. With a quirked eyebrow, she says, "Go ahead."

Oh, that's a familiar look. People often find themselves making that kind of face around him. It's very strange.

"I could fall down the stairs and break my neck inside. Or choke on a chicken bone." Neither of which are particularly likely but he can't not give her lip over this. He's had plenty of experience marching through mud and rain if that were what he was actually intending. So long as there are no traps waiting for him out there he'd take his chances.

Looking between her and the open door Alistair shrugs and responds in his best 'good soldier' voice, "Yes, ma'am!" Drawing himself up straight he salutes mockingly and marches out the door, all crisp military discipline. It lasts until he's actually outside then he's back to his usual, cheerful self. He turns back with a grin to see if she's actually planning to follow him or just watch through a window like a fussy nanny.

She just got called ma'am. This is the ninth circle of Hell.

Clarke rolls her eyes, trying not to look amused by his antics. It's been a while since she could actually afford to be amused over silly things; it still feels wrong, and besides, everyone always sees her as the resident stick in the mud anyway. She can be fun. Look at this, she's spontaneously going out into eternal night to possibly be eaten by a Beast that's fearsome enough to have a capitalized name. That's fun.

"You could choke on a chicken bone," she says, crossing her arms as the door swings shut behind her. "But luckily, I know the Heimlich."

She is definitely fun, or the Bastard would say as much. He's clearly enjoying himself at least, still grinning widely as he turns away from the stuffy tavern to take a deep breath of the cold night air. It's pitch black, wet and there's a sense about the place that makes him feel like something might be lurking out there in the dark. But there's fresh air and he can stretch out his arms without feeling like he's going to hit someone in the face so it's still an improvement over inside.

If he stays close to the side of the tavern he can avoid getting too wet, making the rain almost pleasant. He'll regret it later when he's stuck in damp clothes trying to dry out but for now it's managing to be refreshing.

"Oh good, a healer is always handy to have around. He is an actual healer, right? Not one of those surgeons who always go for the leeches? If I have to pick between choking and leeches I'll take the choking thanks." Although unless the Heimlich was a terrible surgeon - and weird enough to be carrying around a jar full of leeches - he wouldn't try to fix choking with bleeding. He hoped.

A healer— Clarke is a little baffled for a moment, struck speechless as she tries to figure out what in the world he's talking about. Cultural differences are more than a little jarring for her, especially when someone doesn't even know what the Heimlich Maneuver is.

"Oh, no," she says, trying to hide her amusement. She's already having trouble pushing her wet hair out of her face — that's what happens when you don't see rain for most of your life — so she struggles with it, a little annoyed, as she speaks. "The Heimlich Maneuver. When someone's choking, you administer abdominal thrusts to expel the food."

The Princess might as well be the Nerd. If she had glasses, she'd push them up her nose. "I was studying to be a doctor."

"'Abdominal thrusts'? That sounds... odd." That wasn't the first word that had come to mind but he wasn't going to say what he was really thinking. Even if the phrase really did sound a bit dirty. "I'll try not to choke."

Seeing her struggle with her hair in the rain and knowing he's the only reason she's out here in the first place, Alistair moves so he's shielding her from the worst of the rain. He can't keep it off her entirely but it's the least he can do and he doesn't personally mind being wet when he knows he can go back inside and dry out by a fire later.

"No leeches in what you were studying, right? Or magic?" Which is a pity because magic healing is something he's gotten used to and really helpful. It has limits but it's still far more convenient than seeing a herbalist and hoping for the best. Or leeches.

Abdominal thrusts are the proper name for them, okay, Alistair, don't make it weird.

"No leeches," she confirms, grinning a little at the thought. "We don't do blood letting anymore. We usually try to keep it inside the body." She thinks of the mountain, how they'd harvested blood from their captives. She thinks about how her people are still inside the mountain. Suddenly, she doesn't want to think about blood anymore.

"And no magic. Where I come from, magic is just the word people used to use to explain things they didn't understand. Fairies, witches, they don't exist." Wonderland has been a pretty harsh wake-up call. It seems like she's the only one who doesn't come from a background with magic, these days. "As it turns out, I'm the odd one."

It's just a harmless observation! Maybe if she didn't bring up weird stuff in the first place.

Was it just him or had something gone wrong there? She'd seemed amused at first then all traces of a smile had vanished as she started talking about blood letting. A bad experience of some kind he'd bet. Not something he should be prying into.

"A little odd, yeah. But that's not just because of the 'no magic' thing." He grins at her pointedly, fully expecting an elbow in the ribs or something for his trouble. In truth it is a little odd to know that there are places out there where magic is unheard of. It seems inconvenient even if it would remove a lot of problems too. And often these places are so different from his home in other ways too. He wouldn't believe any of it if he weren't in Wonderland already. He's not sure he won't dismiss it all as a dream if he ever goes home either.

"Sooo, the Princess? Are you really?" She doesn't act like he'd expect a princess too... but then, he doesn't act much like a prince or potential future king.

Edited 2016-01-19 06:50 (UTC)

That's the question of the night, right there. It's awkward, but admittedly, it actually makes her heart a little warmer to hear people call her that. Nostalgia, she supposes. It makes her miss the people who first called her that. What she wouldn't give to hear looking to you, princess again.

She sighs, an exasperated action, but her smile says that the name has become more endearing than frustrating these days. "Not exactly. We haven't had princes or princesses in over a century. We had a Chancellor." The operative word being had. "But a group of us, we..." She trails off for a moment. It's not exactly fun to admit you were a criminal who was exiled to an inhospitable planet to die. "We got separated from our people."

It's not a lie. Technically.

"It was a nickname. No one else was going to do it, so... I took the lead. And the name sort of stuck."

"Huh. Sounds like you earned it to me, Princess." As soon as the words leave his mouth he winces, hands coming up defensively to ward her off.

"That wasn't- I did mean that. Honestly. Leading is a tough job. Leading a bunch of people when you're stuck out on your own would be even tougher. You deserve respect for it. Which is what I meant."

He huffs and shakes his head at himself. Some things never change and his ability to shove his foot in his own mouth is one of them. "Ignore me. I should really be the Idiot with the Big Mouth." He's not sure that would be better or worse than what he actually got. At least that's something he has some control over. Sort of. He could always just not talk if he wanted to avoid blunders, it was about the only way to do so.

Alistair's stumbling over his words is beyond amusing, enough to make her let out an actual, full-fledged chuckle. It's definitely not the most insulting thing she's heard. Respect is good. Respect is a thing some of the strange, twitchy residents of the mansion don't often give her. "It's only a little big," she says, shaking her head. It's only an... above-average-sized mouth.

"And I didn't do it alone." If not for Bellamy, she would have had the ideas, but no influence. She formulated the plans, but he inspired them. After saying her piece, she drifts her thoughts away from faraway people she may never see again. It's too sad to dwell on.

She pauses for a moment, raising an eyebrow. Bastard had been pretty much exclusively an insult on the Ark; it was less important how many babies were born out of wedlock, and more important how many babies were simply born. Far worse to be a second child than an illegitimate one. "I'm guessing whoever picked the names didn't like you very much?"

"You know, I think that is the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." He makes as if to wipe a tear off his cheek at the compliment, smiling and giving her a side-long glance.

He can't help squirming at the look on her face as the subject of his own title comes up, looking away into the night to avoid her gaze. "That's one way of looking at it." And he's tempted to leave it at that way. Someone doesn't like him and that's all there is to it. Simple. But he likes her enough not to want to lie to her and it's not exactly a secret, even here. And he's a terrible liar.

Alistair shrugs and resignedly explains, "Another way is that I am a literal bastard." It's always mattered in Ferelden. That he's a bastard - and whose bastard he is - has shaped most of his life. It's easy to forget that most people here are from places so far removed from his home that the things that are important for him might not be for them.

Clarke's eyebrows go up, her mouth forms a little 'o' and then... she squeezes her eyes shut, pressing her lips together, looking completely embarrassed. She feels like she's just been a complete ass; she hadn't even thought to consider that bastardry mattered where he comes from, even though he's clearly used to a culture far different from her own. Now she's the one who feels awkward.

"Looks like I've got a bigger mouth than you," she remarks half-heartedly, hoping not to offend. Not knowing where he comes from, she can't tell if making light of it would be welcome or an insult. "Sorry."

She forces a small smile, a bit too sheepish to be entirely sincere. "I didn't— we don't think of it that way, where I'm from. It's not like that. All that matters is that you're the only child."

Funny, normally he's the one doing that sort of thing, fumbling around and embarrassing himself.

Alistair is quick to smile reassuringly at her, the tension leaving him again just as quickly as it appeared. "Nah, I don't think anyone has a bigger mouth than me. Not possible."

He waves the apology aside, happy to forget the - it hardly counts as a slip if that sort of thing really isn't important where she's from - the misunderstanding. It doesn't matter to her, knowing hasn't suddenly changed how she sees him so he's more than happy to forget and move on.

"Why the only and the not just the first-born?" The first-born - if a legitimate child - stood to inherit their family's land or business or whatever but even with that being the case, having more than one child was hardly considered a problem in Thedas. They could choose other paths or inherit if for whatever reason the eldest couldn't. It wasn't a problem to have a big family.

First-born. It's strange to hear, since everyone is a first-born on the Ark. (Except for Octavia, but things hadn't gone well for her.)

"We had a one-child rule," she explains. "It was because of resources. We didn't have enough to support more children." Sad, perhaps, but she'd never really questioned it. It was the way things were. There was never a reason to wonder what happened to second children. To her, they simply hadn't existed.

This isn't the first time she's explained this to someone, but it never gets easier. It's a strange idea to them, that families would be denied a second child. In the past, people would have many children without repercussions. To everyone else in Wonderland, it seems that's still their present.

"There was a girl. A second child. They hid her under the floorboards for sixteen years." It still sounds insane to hear it now. Octavia Blake, wild child, cowering under the floorboards during surprise inspections. Her brother denying any extra visitors. "They found her and arrested her. Her mom was floated."

"Under the floor? Maker and I thought it got cramped with the dogs!" Growing up in hiding would be a terrible fate. Even when things had been at their worst for him there had always been other people around to talk to, even if they weren't always friendly. And he'd had the option of escaping off into the nearby village or the surrounding countryside. But to be kept hidden for such a long time, presumably forced to most other people? He can scarcely imagine what that would be like.

"And she was arrested, just for being born second?" That is something he can empathise with, being blamed for something you have no control over. It's a familiar enough tale, given his own status growing up, although the reasons are different. And no one had ever thought he deserved to be arrested just for being a bastard.

Alistair shakes his head in disbelief. It's difficult to imagine a place where such strict rules would be necessary. Or able to be enforced. The farmlands of Ferelden are more than capable of supporting large families and even if they couldn't, the people are independent enough that any ruler would have his work cut out telling them how many children they were allowed.

"Where are you from, the middle of a desert?"

The middle of the desert. Clarke can't help but scoff a little. She's barely seen sand even now, much less an entire desert of it. She's seen a lot of dirt, and a lot of trees, and a lot of people that want to kill her — but sand, not so much. Her knowledge of deserts comes entirely from the books they read in school, back when classes were something she could afford to care about.

"Not exactly."

Although she knows little about it, she knows enough to realize Alistair's world and culture are entirely unlike her own. She wouldn't be surprised if there were no space travel at all, no nuclear weapons to devastate the world, no grounders waging a meaningless war. Explaining it to someone who isn't familiar with it, the Ark seems... strange. (Maybe it was — her months on the ground have shown her a different way of life, in complete opposition to her life on the Ark.)

"I was born in space," she explains slowly, raising her eyebrows as if to ask if that makes any sense to him at all. If not, it's going to be a long conversation.

OK, so not a desert. It was his best guess. Deserts aren't known for having lots of resources - besides sand - with which to support people. At least Clarke is quick to explain the kind of place she's actually from. Sort of.

"Space, right. Clearly." Is it immediately obvious he has no idea what she means? If not, his next words should fix that.

"Of course you were. It's hard to be born where there isn't space. Because. There's no space.... Just how is that different from anyone else?" So no, it makes no sense at all as far as he's concerned. She can't just mean there was room for people to live and have children. That's just ridiculous since if there was said space to live then why limit the number of children people can have? It wouldn't make sense even if the land was poor. So she must mean something else by space like...

Like. Something else.

It's going to be a long conversation.

Just how is that different from anyone else?

Clarke grimaces, already foreseeing a difficult explanation ahead of her. He knows even less of space than she'd expected; she'd hoped for some knowledge, but it appears he doesn't even understand the meaning of space. She takes a deep breath, preparing herself for what feels like a lesson.

"No, outer space," she corrects him, pointing upwards. Remembering how the grounders had referred to it, she adds, "The sky." It's technically incorrect, their identification as skaikru, but it's the easiest way to explain it.

She grits her teeth, dreading saying the next sentence.

"I was born in a big metal box floating in the sky."

Alistair follows her gesture, looking up into the impenetrable gloom of the night sky before slowly looking back down at her dubiously.

"Ooookaaaay."

Where does he- How does he-

"Why?" Also what and how and, again, what but first- "That would take some serious magic - if it were even possible - so why would anyone want to live in a box in the sky?"

Are Clarke's people just crazy? Powerful and crazy. Putting boxes in the air and living in them, hoping they don't ever just come crashing down?

...He can almost see it happening somewhere like Tevinter maybe, where all the mages are supposed to be power-hungry and happy to sacrifice the lives of slaves to further their goals or get their chores done faster. It could be a status symbol, having the magic to keep a box - or a house - floating in the air. But it's still crazy. And if where she's from they have so little of everything that they can't let people have too many children then why do they still live in their boxes? Why don't they all just come back down?

Oh, god.

"We built ships that could stay up there — a man even walked on the moon. Twelve countries had operational space stations."

She feels like she's a kid giving a Unity Day speech. Long ago, when the Earth was on fire, 12 stations floated through space, all alone... It had all seemed so simple, just a basic fact of life, that she'd never thought she'd have to explain it like this.

"97 years ago, there was a war. A nuclear war—" She pauses, realizing he may not know the meaning of 'nuclear' either. "Nuclear weapons... they're extremely powerful. They destroyed everything."

Clarke stops, taking a breath. She may not have lived through it, but near-extinction of the human race isn't fun to talk about. "Some people escaped. They went into space. It was called the Ark; that's where I was born. We couldn't go back down because the radiation would kill us— or, at least, that's what we thought."

If she feels like a child reciting history he feels like the slow pupil struggling with his lessons while his teachers sigh in exasperation. It's a lot to take in - people on the moons, ships in the sky, a war that destroyed the world. It sounds like some fantastical tale from one of those Tethras books he always saw people reading back home but Clarke talks about it like it's as real as anything.

"These ships fly up near the moons? And people hid on them so the war didn't kill them?" He feels even more dim-witted, repeating things back to her but it's such a strange tale and he wants to be sure he understands her correctly, even if he's not sure he really believes it.

"That's why you can't have too many people on the ships? There's not enough room?" That made a little more sense now. Even the biggest ships he'd seen sailing from Denerim were too small to hold the population of all but the smallest of townships. Living your life in such cramped conditions to start with would be hard, no wonder they wouldn't want people having too many children.

Tavern Mingle (INSIDE) | OPEN

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