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.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Riiight. What do you want me to do, promise to take it easy on you?" Which he'd be OK with since 'taking it easy' would only mean not hurting him but still totally winning.

"If you'd prefer we could have a duel. You can even use my sword." Now he's just deliberately being an ass. But he was here first and the floor is pretty clean. He's slept in far worse places so why should the other man have any troubles doing the same?

Alistair's half-tempted to just lay down and try to get back to sleep but he's certain that won't be tolerated by his company. So if he actually wants to be able to rest - without needing to go find a kennel or somewhere else that would actually be free to bed down in and no one else would want to use - he needs to prove that this bed is currently his and staying that way.

"If you have a problem with it, come up with something better yourself. Otherwise I'm not moving." That's fair. Letting the challenger set the terms. Until they become terms he doesn't like, that is.

The Puppet opts not to answer immediately. He simply narrows his eyes, enters the room fully, shuts the door behind him, and sits down on the floor, leaning up against the wall directly across from the bed.

Then he raises his camera.

Then he starts taking pictures.

Click-snap. Click-snap. Click-snap. Golly, listen to that shutter go. Noisy thing, isn't it? Reallllllllll annoying, he'll bet. Click-snap. Gosh, these pictures aren't coming out well at all. Guess he'll have to take some more. Click-snap. Click-snap. Click-snap.

Hmm.

Nope, still not coming out. Shame.

Click-snap.

"Sorry," he says innocently, "is this bothering you?"

It was a little weird when they guy came inside to sit on the floor and point a thing at him but it didn't seem like a big deal. Maybe he'd just decided sleeping on the floor wasn't so bad after all.

Then the noise started. The first one made him jump, staring at the thing making the noise like it might be about to explode. Nothing bad happened though and his new 'friend' wasn't concerned by the sounds his machine was making so it clearly wasn't a bad noise.

Then it came again. And again. And again. And-

"Seriously? That is just- Ugh!" How immature could someone be? Did he really think if he was annoying enough the Bastard would just give up? That was so not going to happen. Folding his arms determinedly he glared at the other man, remaining firmly planted on the bed.

"What are you even doing? Besides trying to annoy me. Which isn't working, by the way."

Right. Not working at all. Yeah.

Edited 2016-01-17 07:54 (UTC)

"Hm? Oh, I'm sorry, have these not been invented your world yet?" The Puppet is just really making every effort to come across as a pompous asshole, isn't he. He holds the camera up in one hand as though presenting it to an audience, speaking deliberately slowly and emphatically. "This is a camera. People use them to take pictures. They use them to create art. Just - " Click-snap. " - like - " Click-snap. " - this."

He's getting a whole lotta photos of this guy, isn't he? Doesn't matter. If it pisses him off without riling him up enough to actually make good on his promise of arm-wrestling, the Puppet doesn't give a shit. Besides, it's honestly a little bit hilarious.

"I'm not an idiot." So he hasn't seen one of these cameras before, that doesn't make him stupid. Even knowing he's been deliberately provoked doesn't stop him feeling defensive over it. "Your definition of art just needs some work."

The noise is really starting to grate on him now and this guy's attitude just makes it more annoying. Alistair normally considers himself difficult to provoke but he's tired, the inn is packed with people and he just wants a few minutes peace, that's not too much to ask, is it? He could just get up and leave, let Mr 'is this annoying you?' have the stupid bed and find somewhere else to can nap. He could, if he didn't hate the idea of letting someone as obnoxious as this win.

Throwing him out and barring the door is still an option. Except he has a feeling that might just result in lots of yelling and banging on the door that won't be any easier to sleep through.

"If you keep that up I will tie you up and gag you, don't think I won't." He'll have to sacrifice a blanket to do so but it's a small price to pay for some peace.

"No? Could've fooled me," the Puppet says in his best condescending, get a load of this guy tone. Now he's definitely trying to piss him off. Art can be whatever you make of it, Guy. Did someone name you the universal decider of What Constitutes As Good Art? No? Then who are you to judge. He bets this asshole's never seen good art in his entire life. He bets he hasn't even seen Pulp Fiction. Wow, guy. Wow.

"What's your name, anyway?" He makes no move to stop, though he does slow down a bit, now studiously taking pictures of pretty much any subject in the room that grabs his interest: the closet, the beams on the ceiling, the carpet, the dust bunnies under the bed, whatever. "The Killjoy? 'Cause you're doing a great job living up to it."

He's still making that noise, still taking his stupid pictures with his stupid camera and acting like Alistair is some kind of moron. Is it too soon to start tearing up the blankets to make some bindings? The snapping sound is coming a little slower though. And he'd rather not have to give up his blanket if 'Look at me I'm an Artist' is getting sick of his game too.

Fine. A couple more minutes to see if he'll stop. Then Alistair's going to sit on him and shove a dirty sock in his mouth.

"No, of course that's not my name." But he can't say what it actually is - or what he'll give it as if he tries. He knows exactly how that will go and no thank you. He got enough of that back home, telling this guy he's the Bastard? No. Not happening.

"You tell me who you are first. Because I can think of plenty of names that will fit you. The Pain-In-The-Neck. The Irritator."

"I asked first, Killjoy." He scrambles for an adequate lie, an excuse to keep from uttering the awful name he's been saddled with for the duration of the event which, in all honesty, is more likely than not to breed all kinds of curiosity that he doesn't want to deal with. Not to mention that it's utterly ridiculous on principle, and doesn't even describe him properly.

Still, Killjoy - he's just always gonna be that until the Puppet can think of a better pseudonym, because the Puppet can be a petty little son of a bitch when he wants to be - and his general reluctance to spill the beans on his title is pretty indicative. That probably means it's not something cool, like The Dragonslayer or The Hero or whatever the hell.

"C'mon, don't make me keep guessing." He settles his camera in his lap for a moment, arching an eyebrow. "It's just gonna get worse, you know."

Wait a minute. He can just lie, can't he? It's not like he has to give his real name. Title. Thing. He could say he's the Lord of the Griffons and his current problem won't know it's not true.

"Fine. I'm-" He should have though of something before he opened his mouth. This why he's a terrible liar. He doesn't think, he just talks.

...What name should he give? Actually, that's blindingly obvious now that he thinks about it. If he wants to make Ser Obnoxious shut his mouth- No, if he wants to give a name Ser Obnoxious can't make fun of. He's sure that there's not a single name he could give that would actually shut the man up so the best he can do is avoid the obvious source of mockery.

"I'm the Prince of Ferelden, happy?" And it's not technically a lie even. So there.

"Right, and I'm the Queen of Sheba." Hey, technically that's true too because he told that one guy, who apparently took the joke at face value, so from that soldier dude's standpoint, he is. So there.

The Puppet grins, the sort of self-assured, cocky grin he hasn't had the mental state to relish in forever. Not since he showed up, definitely. Harassing Killjoy is definitely ending up on his List of Fun Activities, at least unless it turns south. Which, given the circumstances and the fucking sword at his side, is pretty possible.

But hell, he's not keeping track. Nothing wrong with a little light-hearted barb-trading animosity, right? Right. That never hurt anyone.

"I am! I'm going to be the king in fact." Maybe. One person has said he will be so that makes it true enough for him to shove it in Big Mouth's face.

Trying his best to look royal and imperious - and feeling like he comes across as petulant at best, constipated at worst - the Bastard points at Ser Annoying.

"I told you my name, now tell me who you are. Or better yet, don't and just go." That's not going to work but it's worth a shot. Because frankly he prefers his barb-trading when he knows how to get under the other person's skin as much as they do his. Which isn't working so well here.

"I told you, pal. Queen of Sheba." He shrugs and makes no attempt to wipe the shit-eating grin off his face. "Really, just call me Sheebs if you're having such a hard time with it. It's tough out there for us royal types, you know. Assuming we ever get back. And assuming we don't die here. I hear that really sucks."

Looks like his general policy in not disclosing his past in the public sense is paying off. He's still something of an unknown variable, one that people don't know how to play. He silently resolves to keep that pattern going for as long as he can.

"So you really do do all that crazy fantasy shit, don't you? Slaying dragons, making out with damsels, the whole nine yards, yeah?"

"You're ugly for a queen." Petty yes but given how obviously 'her majesty' is laughing at him it's totally justified. Throwing something at him would be equally justified but all Alistair has to hand is a pillow and his boots. Neither of which he wants to lose.

"Oh, now we're going to be friendly and talk about home?"

"Fine, Queen. Yes to the dragons. And monsters. And bandits." It's not a very good threat, given he hasn't once reached for his blade and it must be fairly obvious he's not about to change that. He can't just run someone through for annoying him. But it's worth a shot.

"And what does her majesty do besides take pictures and try to find a dress that suits her?"

The Puppet's smirk simply widens. This guy's sheer annoyance is frankly fucking hilarious. He also has a sword, though, and he hasn't forgotten that. If things get hairy, he can always fuck off and disappear downstairs again, get lost in the real sucker of a crowd down there.

"I make movies." Again he adopts an insufferable tone of voice that might best be equated with a preschool teacher explaining that two plus two equals four. "Mooooo-vies. Moving pictures, to you. Don't suppose you have anything like that back home. That's real art, you know."

Maybe he can sacrifice his boots and get a new pair from the closets. If they're still working. Or just go barefoot. It wouldn't be so bad.

What's worse is that the whole 'moving pictures' thing is impressive and, as guessed, not something that exists in his home. He's seen one of these 'movies' before and it had been amazing but at the moment Alistair is determined not to be impressed by that kind of thing.

"Art," he snorts dismissively. "Is that all you can do? I'm sure it's very hard work, really. Do you have someone to run around after you and take care of the hard bits for you? Making sure you don't ruin your make-up?"

"Oh, yeah, I had a whole cast and crew at my beck and call," he says lightly, before he can pause to consider the...complications of what he's just said.

Namely, the fact that most of that cast and crew is dead.

He made sure of it.

It doesn't last long, but the Puppet's expression of amused unconcern definitely wavers, slipping, warping into something that lands between regret and distaste.

They're dead. They're all dead. He checked. He had to. He had to. He had to.

He forces another grin, trying valiantly to recover. "They were all dicks."

That hadn't been what he'd been aiming for but he clearly hit a nerve somewhere. He doesn't know the Irritator's story but he can make a wild guess from what is said and the reaction that comes with it.

"Let me guess, your charming personality convinced them they'd rather be anywhere else but near you?" This crew of his were clearly gone somehow and it wasn't a welcome absence, not entirely at least. It's probably cruel to mock someone about missing friends or comrades or whatever the case is when it's something that troubles them. And he so doesn't care.

"See, your problem is you have that last bit the wrong way around. And you meant 'are', as in 'you are'."

"You don't know the half of it." He narrows his eyes, the facade of false friendliness sliding away by increments. "You want the short version? They're dead. And thank you for your monumental sensitivity over the issue, Prince Ferrari."

(~~Because he killed them.~~

No he didn't. They walked into their deaths and he made damn sure of it.)

He's not terribly interested in turning this into a questioning scenario about himself, so he rides that line of thought all the damn way to its logical conclusion. "Any friends of yours I can shit on while I'm at it, huh?"

Alistair winces and looks away, all his irritation wiped away by the blunt confession. He hadn't meant- But he had, he'd wanted to upset the other man. And then he'd gone and put his big foot in it.

"There are but they'd all agree that I'm just an idiot with a big mouth." Scrubbing a hand through his hair uncomfortably he turns back to his companion, guilt clear on his face.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." He gets to his feet, grabs up his blade and moves over to settle on the floor in a corner of the room. It's not much of an apology but it's the best he can offer at the moment. "I can keep my big mouth shut if you'd prefer."

"Nah, it's - whatever, man. I'm over it." Clearly not, or he wouldn't be withdrawing the way he is. Now he's definitely not gonna say the name he's been hit with for this event. That would raise way too many questions, ones he doesn't want to and in some cases can't answer.

Good thing he knows how to lie easy as breathing.

"Alabama. It's a dangerous place. They knew what they were getting into." This guy's a Tolkein-esque champion-type, near as he can tell, so maybe he'll assume they were all devoured by dragons or whatever the hell.

It's a fair guess that. Maybe not dragons - they're still thankfully uncommon - but if this Alabama is anything like Ferelden there's plenty of ways for the unwary to get themselves killed.

"Still." Someone knowing what they were getting into didn't make it any easier to accept when they died. But he can guess it's not something the other man wants to talk about.

Leaning forward, Alistair offers a tentative smile. "I'm the Bastard. And before you say anything, it means the illegitimate kind." After his earlier mistake though he'll take a dig or two over the title. He's heard it all before.

Wow. Looks like they both drew the short straws in their respective titles. He can't suppress his skeptical look, then a faintly amused snort. That's gotta really suck.

So if they're going for honesty -

No. No way. "The Puppet" just sounds shady, and it's not like he can think of a good justification for it. Does he look like a Geppetto type of person? Not particularly. That'd be a stretch.

Unfortunately, he can't scramble for an adequate lie in time.

"All right, you got me. I'm not the Queen of Sheba." Though with the suit and tie he might be able to fool someone into thinking he's more important than he actually is. "The Puppet. That's the shit name I get. What does it mean? Don't ask me. I've got no clue."

"You're not a queen? I can't believe you lied to me!" It really doesn't take much for Alistair to forget prior disagreements and make friendly with people he's just met once his temper has settled. It does help in this instance that they have something they can commiserate over.

"The Puppet? That's a bit worrying." It implies there's a Puppeteer around somewhere and no one would ever make out that that was a good kind of relationship. At least he knew where his title had come from, even if he doesn't get why he has to use it.

"So long as nothing bad has happened to make it make sense. Just warn me if you think you might be about to get possessed or something, OK? I hate people springing possessions on me, it's just rude."

He arches an eyebrow. "Is this a common thing where you come from?"

Maybe that makes it a little less creepy from Prince Ferrari's perspective - he's stuck with that nickname for now, though the Puppet's of the mind that he'd probably prefer it to his current given title in any case - but it doesn't change the fact that it sheds a lot of uncomfortable implications in terms of what he had to do to get the proverbial puppeteer off his damn back.

It also makes it a hell of a lot easier to bullshit his way out. The Bastard might be friendly-ing it up now that they're not at each other's throats, but that's not gonna get the Puppet divulging his entire life's story, particularly since it doesn't cast him in the most flattering of lights.

"I mean, I'm as stumped as you are." He shrugs. "I figured I'd get something like The Director or The Movie Guy, but this? It just kinda came outta left field."

"People getting possessed? It's not common but it does happen. Don't worry, it mostly only happens to mages. So unless you have magic you should be fine.... As far as the kind of demons I'm used to go." Which is not the most reassuring of answers. But there's probably not going to be any possession happening tonight. He hasn't seen a single actual demon in Wonderland so they should be fine, weird titles or not.

"Could... it be about something that is going to happen to you?" Again, thinking back to the whole king business if that had actually been his title.

"Actually, you know, maybe it's better not to go there. If you come from a place with no demons you can't get possessed so what am I talking about? That's just crazy, right?" Asking someone if they think they might end up getting possessed? Brilliant idea. So very helpful there Alistair.

Tavern Mingle (INSIDE) | OPEN

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