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

"See, that's the advantage of armour." Besides offering protection from getting stabbed or taking an arrow to the knee but that's clearly a secondary concern. "No one wants to hug you when you're in mail. And it doesn't wrinkle."

Not that he's wearing anything of the sort now but then people don't hug him out of armour either, so maybe it's just him and this stranger would have done the same thing if Anders was in full plate. Which would have been a sight to see for so many reasons.

Anyway. He's got the important business of laughing at Anders to think about right now. Laughing and gloating. Just a little. It's not like Anders found out he and this stranger were a 'them' so Alistair feels he is still in the more awkward position. So he can laugh a little before they commiserate.

"So you believe me now, right? About not having seen the end of the Blight yet? And there being multiple Warden Couslands?" He'd like to get this absolutely clear and he's still not tired of hearing that he's right.

"It can't be helped--robes suit my figure better," he returns, shrugging in helplessness. "But this is the first time in recent memory anyone's been compelled to give me a squeeze like a life-sized teddy bear while I've been in them." The ability to channel destructive energies with their minds keeps people from seeing mages harmless and huggable, generally speaking.

"First you with the intimations, and now this--soon I'll have to start beating people off with a staff."

He puts on a smirk, though it doesn't last. Pouting about his encounter would only give Alistair ammo, and Anders is on steadier footing when he can put a teasing spin on a situation. In truth, his run-in with Hawke isn't much of a laughing matter. He's not sure just what it is, other than an uncomfortable incident that casts the possibility of time not yet lived and people who are similar but not the same in a stark new light. What it could mean would change everything he'd thought he'd known about this place... which hadn't been all that much to begin with.

"Remembering different things is freaky, no doubt about that, but there could still be a reasonable explanation for it..." Maybe. If they squint. "But you don't think believing that two Hero of Fereldens are alive out there is a tad greedy? One was a miracle. Killing an archdemon inside a year is something the bards'll be singing about for years more to come. But two? It feels like stretching my luck to me. How sure are we this feminine embodiment of heroism isn't just a distant cousin?"

"Somehow I don't think that's really going to be a problem." Unless this stranger was to Anders what Cousland was to not-him-Alistair. And it was awkward enough the first time he asked anything like that so Anders could just beat people off on his own.

"Maybe because I spoke to her?" He rolls his eyes. Like he just heard the name Cousland and figured it was some weird double of the Warden he knew? "She knows things that no one else could. Unless Aedan gave her his life history since joining the Wardens - and I've met the man. He wouldn't unless there was something in it for him. So she must have been there. With me. Or- someone like me who knows her."

Alistair looks away, scratching at the tabletop as he recalls the image of the Warden and his 'twin'. "And the magic here showed me- I saw... her with the rest of us. From the Blight. At camp, just like normal and- Look, just believe me when I say I know, alright?"

Because that is the far more unsettling part of all this in his opinion. The two different Couslands were, well, different. Different people with little in common besides a family name. But he'd seen that memory of the Warden here, with a man who looked exactly like him and sounded like him and said and did things he'd never said and done and it's unnerving. He wonders if that might not be a little bit like what it's like to get possessed. Seeing someone with your face doing things with your body... It doesn't even matter that it was nothing untoward, it was still strange to see and he's not going to think about it.

"I need a drink." This conversation was much better when Anders was complaining about people being overly friendly.

Edited 2016-01-28 12:13 (UTC)

A particular part of Alistair's answer raises Anders' curiosity. "Are you saying the actual Hero--the manly one--wasn't some incorruptible saint? Ah, I'm disappointed, I had such high hopes. It's like finding out unicorns aren't real." Joking, of course.

As for the identities of the two Couslands, Alistair makes him sound like a cynical old curmudgeon unwilling to hang his hat on the premise that there could be different people stemming from the same source. Maybe having known the Hero of Ferelden personally and having already spent so much time in Wonderland makes it easier for Alistair to believe its magic is real and not an illusion. Whatever the case, Anders can agree to keep an open mind, but as of this moment he's not sure he's ready to become a true believer.

He passes a scrutinizing glance over Ferelden's once-and-future king, not failing to notice the change from spirited humor to moody pensiveness. Someone's thinking heavy thoughts. "Are you having an existential moment thinking about your place in the universe? I have those sometimes. Mostly after the beer has started to flow." Pushing his chair back, he stands and looks to the tavern bar. "I'll get some, but if you see anyone trying to get me in a bear hug along the way, send help."

"Not even close." He snorts, rolling his eyes at the idea of Aedan Cousland being some kind of saint. It's probably breaking some unspoken rule, criticising someone officially called a Hero. But they're not in Ferelden right now and somehow he doesn't think Anders is the type to be all that bothered by it.

He glances back up, a smile creeping across his face. It's not too far off the mark and even if Anders doesn't really believe him so long as he's willing to distract him - or listen to him whine - then he won't complain. About not being believed that is.

"Deal. If anyone tries to snatch you up and squeeze the life out of you I promise I'll come to your rescue, milday." What? He's already wearing a dress. Or near enough. And wears it much better than Alistair himself could.

Milady. He's spent too many years of his life wearing robes not to have heard a skirt joke or one of its myriad variations. Hazards of being a mage, much like how the Wardens are inseparable from the image of grizzled warriors who wouldn't know what fun was if it pinched them in the backsides. What's surprising is that he's hearing it from the king.

Somehow he hadn't thought the man in the golden armor from Vigil's Keep would be capable of making a joke. At least not to him in his lifetime.

"I'll be sure to recount your heroics to my grandchildren." There should be no question that he's joking when everyone knows most mages don't have grandchildren to tell stories to. "I'll be back."

He makes his way through the crowd without mishap, taking the liberty to help himself to what's stocked behind the bar. When he returns, he has two cups safely balanced in his hands. One ends up at Alistair's side of the table, the other at his. "You want to see a real magic trick?" he says as he slides back into his seat. "I'll make this pint disappear."

Now he's wondering if Anders doesn't have children - not grandchildren at his age but children - out there. Wynne had a son, even if she had said it was rare in the Circle. Those potential grandchild will sadly be lacking in heroic tales though as the man manages to make the dangerous journey unscathed. Which is a pity. It would have been fun to see someone decide to crush Anders in a hug. He'd have kept his word and helped of course. Eventually.

Alistair scoffs as he gratefully claims his own mug. "It's only magic if you can wiggle your fingers and refill it too. Do that and I'll be impressed." People would probably have a lot less problems with magic if it could do that too. At the very least mages would always be welcome at parties.

Despite his criticism he's perfectly happy to take it as a challenge and see which of them can magic their pint away faster. Or is un-magic away in his case?

Thumping the mug back on the table he looks around the crowded room thoughtfully. "You know, I'm surprised there hasn't been any trouble. All these people here and not a single fight or drunken song?"

"Now that's a spell I've been trying to figure out for a while. Alas, perfection takes time," he says on a mournful note. Lowering himself back down into his chair, he stretches his leg out, one ankle resting over the other. "This places already makes it look easy, and anyway, according to you I'm an oracle with prophecies of the future. I could have a divine gift. That's pretty impressive, isn't it?"

Anders would be the first to admit that the future has outgrown simple omens and tea readings, however. If he hadn't thought so before, the last few hours have definitely had him rethinking his stance on what it means for multiple people from Thedas to remember different events in time.

What if those differing events actually existed? It's unthinkably crazy, and his will to drink the implications away has him bringing his mug down on the table just a second or two slower than Alistair. "I let you win that!" he protests before he can process Alistair's comment. He laughs under his breath. "That's because there's no dwarves here. Where would the rest of us take our brawls? Outside with the monster who supposedly turns people into oil?"

Creepy.

"Oh yes, tell me all about my future, oh wise one. Just if you try to tell me I'm going to grow to be an old man and die peacefully surrounded by my many children I'll know you're lying."

Grey Warden and all, that's not happening. Even knowing for a fact now that his future is going to be a lot less Wardeny. Which hasn't come as a huge shock so much as a confirmation of his unavoidable fate. And a little bit of a relief in the case of the Blight. It's got to be a lot worse when you're not expecting the stuff people tell you is going to happen. Or even expecting to be told your future without even having to pay a fortune teller for it.

Alistair pulls a face at the mention of the monster, glancing at the ominous darkness visible through the window. "You have a point."

Turning back to Anders he grins. The monster is being obliging enough to stay out there and leave them in peace, they may as well take advantage of it and enjoy a little friendly competition. "Let me win? Ha! You want to try again? Because I bet I can predict the future too and you'll 'let' me win the next round."

Edited 2016-02-06 11:46 (UTC)

"Okay, okay, that might be a bit far off to say for sure. My powers of perception have a limited range, but I can tell you Ferelden hasn't burned to the ground in the last eight or months. That's an improvement." Anders, ever the eternal optimist.

He avoids mentioning Anora or the throne. True or not, he doesn't have much of a stomach left for hearing about his own future. He can only imagine what someone who hasn't been crowned with a kingdom's worth of responsibility must think of bearing a weight they can't remember. In Anders' experience, dead-end choices are as depressing as they sound.

The gauntlet being thrown down on a drinking challenge perks him up because this, at least, is one future he feels confident about grabbing with both hands. "After the afternoon I've had? I think I'll be able to keep you on your toes." Is it bad form to tell one of the Hero of Ferelden's companions and your king you'll wipe the floor with them? Probably.

"It's a start, I'll give you that." Actually it is pretty reassuring. It's not like Alistair has any practice at kinging whatsoever or even any training for that kind of thing. If he doesn't manage to destroy the kingdom in the first few months then maybe he'll do OK. Somehow.

Although it could be that anything looks better after a Blight, even a terrible ruler who can scarcely manage to dress himself right. And proposes drinking contests in crowded taverns with monsters outside. But it's not like he's going to be getting the chance for this sort of thing when he's king so he should enjoy it. And if he doesn't distract himself he's going to try and pester Anders into telling him more about what this stranger predicted for his future, which seems like an unwelcome topic.

"We'll see who keeps who on their toes!" Challenge accepted Alistair bounces to his feet and goes to retrieve them a couple more mugs each, shoving his way through the crowd and back with only a few dirty looks sent his way. Two in front of Anders and two for him before he drops back into his seat with a grin. "If we're going to do this we should make a wager." It's more fun that way!

A wager? Considering who he's talking to, that's an interesting prospect. Or a dangerous one, depending.

Taking his mug in his hands, he answers with a smile. Despite the whole confusing memory mess, Alistair seems all right so far--not a maniacal, mage-fearing, spoiled aristocratic too good to hold a normal conversation with the likes of Anders. For that, he can't see a harmless wager doing much damage. "What sort of wager? Winner gets a hot meal and a portal back home?"

Hm, setting the bar too high?

Edited 2016-02-11 07:10 (UTC)

Just a little high, yes. Is he forgetting which one of them here is magic?

"I can arrange a hot meal but you're on your own with the portal business." And frankly if Anders expects a hot meal prepared by him? He'd be better off going hungry.

"How about if I win you have to.... Go around and hug every person in the room." Since he'd had such a problem with strangers grabbing him earlier it should be plenty entertaining. "And if you win-?"

He blows a resigned note when Alistair proves unable to snap his fingers and provide a miracle. "I had to try. Memory manipulation is already outside of my pay grade without adding in mansions that turn into creepy, haunted shacks."

Taking a drink, he inwardly grimaces. That's not even mentioning the handsy huggers out there who apparently know more him than he knows about himself. Alistair expects him to share the love by getting handsy with more people?

"That's very funny. You know every person in the room includes you, right? If you want a hug, you just have to ask. It'd save you some trouble." The observation comes with a smile and the personal knowledge that there's no way in all of creation that he's following through on the terms of this bet. He wouldn't expect Alistair to, either, which leaves him with a clean conscience about his end of the bargain. "If I win, I'm looking forward to seeing you take the stage and singing the most bawdy tavern song you know. And you can't you don't know any, you already said you travelled with Oghren."

"Really? You mean it? I didn't know you cared." Sniffling dramatically he wipes at his eyes. "I'm holding you to that. Next time I'm feeling lonely I'll come right to you." And demand a hug. Don't think he won't!

...Alright he probably won't unless he's already had a few drinks. He does have a reputation to maintain and he's too manly for hugs. Really.

He just has to hope his reputation can deal with some public embarrassment if he loses. Some more public embarrassment. Given his usual grace and brilliance at handling things though? It won't be an issue.

"Oghren and Zevran. An Antivan. I know plenty." Alistair sounds faintly resigned with the admission. He knows the words to some incredibly bawdy songs. Some of which he only understands half of what they're talking about despite numerous offers to 'educate' him on the subject.

"I'm warning you right now, you might want to throw this. Even in the monastery they let me off singing. I think they were scared I'd cause the end of the world with my screeching." To put mildly he has a terrible singing voice. Even the kindliest of the brothers couldn't find anything nice to say about his attempts.

But if he does lose maybe it will scare the monster away for good.

Anders rests his hand over his heart for a brief moment. This mage is full of caring. Also resentment, self-interest, and an endless supply of comebacks, but there's some caring in there, too. "I never forget a person who offers me cheese during a rough day so I'm willing to make an exception to my no-bear-hugs-in-public rule for you. Anytime, anytime."

At the news Alistair has some Antivan culture under his belt, he gasps, looking as pleased as an eight-year-old about to blow out the candles on his birthday cake. "Antivan tavern songs! Oh, I hear those are in a league of their own--now I definitely can't back out. Look at it this way, your dulcet tones could be the key to shattering the walls to this magical luxury prison and sending us back to our proper homes."

So that there is an invitation to sneak up on Anders when he least expects it and give him the most bone-crushing hug imaginable. Good to know.

Especially given the sinking feeling he gets to the mention of Antivan tavern songs. Why does he get the feeling that Anders and Zevran meeting would be a terrible thing? And up until now he wouldn't have minded seeing the assassin again just to have a familiar face around.

"Right. Only if you don't mind me maybe shattering your eardrums along with them. But it's your loss." Assuming Alistair himself loses this competition. Which he's really hoping he doesn't now. Surely he can beat one mage when it comes to drinking.

...Unless Anders can put away ale like Wynne can. In which case he's already lost. But nothing ventured!

"Did I mention my specialty is spirit healing?" he informs Alistair with an unrepentant grin. "That's nothing I can't handle. Now--"

He turns the untouched mug around so that the handle faces him, leaving the mug he's already touched alone. Fair's fair. Wouldn't want to compete with a drink already missing some of its contents.

"How do you want to do this? Fastest wins? Most drinks wins? Don't let this willowy body type fool you, I can put them back like the best of them."

A healer. That's actually really handy to know. At least now he knows if he gets hurt there's someone he can go to for help. Even if there's a fair chance of Anders laughing at him too.

Making a show of sizing up the other man, Alistair considers the question. "If you're that confident, let's see who can drink the most." He's pretty sure the last time he got absolutely passed out drunk it was with the other Wardens, well before Ostagar. So it's about time to try again. And he still has a good chance of winning, given he outweighs Anders for sure.

"Wait - can your magic do anything for hangovers?"

"The best of them" had involved the men at Vigil's Keep and he'd lost horribly then, but he's not about to say that. He likes to think he's learned a thing or two since that crushing defeat; certainly being in the Wardens has helped improve his alcohol tolerance as well as his fighting skills.

Maybe he'll stand a better chance when it's just one Warden (or should he still be thinking of him as the soon-to-be king?).

"Hold on just a second, you want hangover cures now?" Anders injects some of the Circle's high-and-mighty values into the judgmental arch of his brow. "Didn't they teach you magic's supposed to be used responsibly and not for everyday aches and pains?"

One of those men had presumably been Oghren which renders all drinking competitions void. No one can compete with that dwarf and any man who tries deserves to be praised. Or have his head examined.

And look at that face. It's a perfect imitation of the look one of the old Chantry sisters got every time he opened his mouth. "Sure, they taught me that. They also taught me that quiet obedience was something to aspire to and look how well that turned out. But if you're going to be stingy like that I expect to see you looking just as miserable as me tomorrow."

If they're being too responsible to use magic to avoid the consequences of their actions then there's no way he's suffering alone.

In reply, Anders waves his other hand. "I didn't say I wouldn't use a cure on myself. The Chantry's second favorite thing to lecture about is how we mages are irresponsible and reckless with our own power."

He's a power-hungry demon farm waiting to happen, remember?

"Enough stalling. I want to see how well the real man lives up to the legend. I might forget by tomorrow, but... eventually it'll trickle back, and we'll scarcely notice any pounding in our heads over the pounding rain."

Well can't he direct some of that demon-attracting power a fellow Warden's way? It's a bit greedy to keep it just for his own comfort.

"Fine, fine. But if something terrible comes to eat us tomorrow and I'm too hung-over to fight I'm feeding you to it first." For not curing the hang-over from the drinking contest Alistair himself proposed. A perfectly reasonable response.

Hefting his first mug he downs it as quickly as possible, setting it to the side once done to keep count. He's not about to lose this competition because one of them misremembered what number they were up to.

"Well, so much for gallantry." He starts to count them down, a glint of mischief apparent in his eyes. "Three... two... one..."

Later, he may have to thank Alistair for suggesting something that requires his full focus. There's no room for thoughts of Kirkwall, or unfamiliar mages, or missing memories when he's doing his utmost to choke down a drink that goes straight to his head. With a narrowed-eyed look that dares Alistair to try and outperform him, he slams his empty mug down on the table only half a second or so behind him.

"Ha, you'll have to do better than that! That was refreshing."

Wiping his mouth against the back of his fist, Alistair smirks back at the other man. "Oh-ho, is that you asking me to dig up something stronger? Are you sure you can handle it?"

...Because he's not sure he can. Heavy drinking hasn't exactly been a regular part of his life. But he's made the challenge now, there's no backing down. Besides, all he has to do is remind himself that they've both downed darkspawn blood and nothing can compare to that. Clearly he will be able to handle whatever stronger might be hanging around.

Tavern Mingle (INSIDE) | OPEN

fine but just one and it better be house-trained

he'll train it to do tricks, it'll be great

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