[Nexus] Trog's Tavern CCXLIII

[Lex-Kat]

{In a Corner}

Originally Posted by McBish

"I'm glad you decided to come into the city with me. I know it may seem crowded. But I imagine it was pretty lonely out in the woods."

He sits back drinking his ale.

Occasionally. Judy visits me often. Occassionally with Mint. I would babysit their little girl, Xerina, so they could spend some quality time together. Hui shrugs. They used to have an adopted son, Rocky. But he... he disappeared. She looks sad about this. He was just starting to learn to control his anger, too. He was a Gray Render.

[McBish]

{In a Corner}

"Sounds like a nice family. Too bad about their son."

Even though a gray render with an anger problem sounds like he could be quite a handful to Calvin.

[Lex-Kat]

{In a Corner}

Hui nods. They are. Judy used to be an Assassin, until she was sent to kill GLoG's president, long ago. She never talked much about why, but she gave herself up to them, and risked her life to become a fighter for the Good.

Hui takes a drink. Her wife Mint fell through a portal of some kind. They had to fight Mint's father for her freedom, or something.

[McBish]

{In a Corner}

"Really? It's usually pretty interesting to find out how people came to this place. Sounds like they had quite the exctiting time settleing down here."

He has heard a little bit about GLoG but doesn't know much about the orginization.

[Lex-Kat]

{In a Corner}

Hui nods, taking another sip. How'd your family come to be here? Or are you native to the Nexus?

[McBish]

{In the Corner}

"I moved here with my uncle just a few years back. He came here because of buisness. This place is a bit crazier then where we were living before, but a lot more interesting.

[Rebonack]

Nothing of any consequence takes place in this post.

[Lex-Kat]

{In the Corner}

Originally Posted by McBish

"I moved here with my uncle just a few years back. He came here because of buisness. This place is a bit crazier then where we were living before, but a lot more interesting.

Hui nods. Yes. Interesting is the right word for it. she takes another drink.

When the waitress walks past, Hui waves for her attention. Do you have grilled oxen? I'd like a nice big steak, with onions, garlic, and well done, please.

[The Bushranger]

Meanwhile, the door opens, and in walks BR. It's been awhile since the muscular, well-toned, white-haired young man has been out and about, and he looks around curiously before taking a seat at the bar.

[Rebonack]

*cough*

And now for something different.

Okay.

Well.

A new person arriving at Trog's isn't exactly different.

That happens all the time.

Though in this particular case the mode of arrival is... unique. To say the least.

Where once there was an empty seat at the bar there now sits a toaster. A toaster plugged into an electrical socket that doesn't appear to be attached to anything. Just sort of... sitting there.

With a DING! a piece of toast pops out of the top! A peace of toast with... a message burned into it?

Originally Posted by Toast

Please Ask Me a Question
~Telsa

[The Bushranger]

The toaster gets an odd look.

The toast, another odd look.

As Cosmo grumbles in the background, the half-ghost takes the toast, and reads the message upon it.

Raises his eyebrow at the name...

...and then gets what can only be described as an evil smirk on his face.

"Is it not true," he asks, "that Thomas Alva Edison was the greatest inventor of the late 19th and early 20th centuries?"

[Rebonack]

There comes a hiss. Then a faint crackling. Then the barest hint of the odor of ozone.

The toaster splits open, revealing a mess of incredibly complicated mechanisms inside, and begins to rearrange itself into a new shape! In a matter of only a few moments what was once an appliance smaller than a loaf of bread is now a gynoid of polished steel and brass.

She regards the ghostly fellow curiously as the delicately crafted components of her face pull into the faintest hint of a smile. "You don't have to take my word for it," the machine replies in a synthesized voice with a rather odd reverb to it. "If you can't see something you don't have to believe it is true."

...

What's that supposed to mean?

There comes a distinct pop from inside the machine. She glances down curiously, pulls back a compartment on her chest, and extracts another piece of toast.

The gynoid regards the blackened slice of bread curiously as though she isn't sure how it go there.

[The Bushranger]

The sudden transformation of the toaster into a Cylonfembot merits a further raise of the eyebrow.
Before, with a shrug, BR takes a seat.

"Seeing isn't necessarily believing. If I turn invisible," he asks, "does that suddenly mean that I'm no longer here?"

And he motions for a Dragon's Liver Buster.
He suspects he'll be needing it.

[Rebonack]

There comes a slight whirring noise as the machine blinks at the slice of toast in her hands.

She looks up at BR.

Then back down at the toast.

Then closes the panel in her chest and carefully places the piece of toast on the counter. Her motions with it are both ginger and caring, as if she is afraid that she might harm the bit of food. And as if the bit of food were an object of truly immeasurable worth.

She fixes her eyes on BR.

Then tilts her head to the side ever so slightly and says, "The art of what."

[The Bushranger]

"Art is what you make of it. That," for instance, John says, pointing at the toast. "Or that." He motions to a poker game going on in the corner, a Mallkop Ork tossing in his chips with disgust as a Creeper hisses delightedly. "And this." He accepts the Dragon's Liver Buster, raising it as an example.

"The art of the possible."

[Rebonack]

One can almost hear the gears grinding in her head. She's trying to figure out how to respond to that. Has she talked about subjects like this before? Telsa really isn't sure. It is a lot easier when people just decide to sing some songs with her instead.

"I am the art of the possible?" she finally concludes after a good minute and a half of staring blankly at BR.

"Does that mean you are as well?"

She moves the slice of toast on the bar exactly Pi centimeters to the right.

"Do you like music? I am fond of music. It is my favorite kind of art. Is that possible as well?"

Telsa then watches BR expectantly.

[The Bushranger]

"Indeed we are. We are all art, and also artists. We paint the canvas and are its subject.

And I do indeed enjoy music," he adds, taking a sip of his drink. Ah. Not bad. Unless you're a dragon. In that case it'd bust your liver.

[Hyozo]

At a place like Trog's, people appearing in a bright flash of light accompanied by some manner of distinctive sound is practically a common occurrence. In addition to being the favored method of transit among certain members of the regular clientele, such a spectacle is practically a tradition among newcomers.

This particular flash and noise is rather unimpressive, as if reality wanted to provide its usual announcement but couldn't muster up the effort. The flash isn't bright enough, and in an unpleasant shade of green, while the noise is barely noticeable above the usual tavern chatter. At the center of this unspectacular spectacle is a robed, childlike figure clutching a scroll who seems likely to fall down at any moment. "Not... not what was supposed to happen." he mutters.

[Rebonack]

The machine kicks her legs a bit, pondering that reply.

Hmm...

It raises so many interesting questions!

Though her addled mind takes a rather odd route to find them. It is clear enough that someone was trying to mimic human thought and speech with this golem, but just as clear is the fact that they didn't do the best job imaginable.

"What kind of subject are we?" she asks curiously.

And then someone else appears in a flash of light!

Telsa peers at him, blinks, and then says, "I can't allow you do that Dave."

[DoomITP]

Evan steps into the tavern and walks around to find an empty table.

[The Bushranger]

"Why, the subject we are is: CHAOS! Glorious chaotic and unpredictable things," the half-ghost says -

Then, suddenly, 2001: A Hyozo Odyssey.

"Open the pod bay doors, Hal."

[Hyozo]

"What?" the childlike figure asks flatly "My name isn't- oh right, I remember. That's just one of those things robots say. No clue why." He seems to ponder this for a moment, then suddenly acts startled. "Robots? that's not right either. Hold on"he then snaps his fingers, sending a blue spark into the air. "Thaumatic signature is... everything? Lousy spell must have dumped me at a multiversal nexus."

[Rebonack]

The machine smiles cheerfully at BR. "This conversation has been productive! I have learned a great deal today already."

At the second comment she blinks curiously. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Dave."

Why did she say that?

She has no idea.

It just seemed like the right thing to say.

Attention turns back to the child with the scroll. "Is that a good idea? And I didn't say your name was Dave. I said your name is Hank. Hello Hank! I am Telsa and I am not a robot."

Says the robot.

[The Bushranger]

"Always glad to help out." BR grins back, chuckling. "...and I'm afraid I didn't catch your name? John O'Connell, at your service." And she's offered a hand.

[Hyozo]

"Name isn't Hank either, it's Tyrone." he says, setting down the scroll and taking the nearest available seat "Fine then, "Tesla" If you're not a robot, what are you?"

[Rebonack]

"Hello Mister O'Connell!" Telsa replies brightly. "What is your favorite Naruto pairing?"

...

Seriously? Not only does she refuse to introduce herself she jumps to anime-shipping?

Rebo has no idea where this stuff is coming from and apologizes for Telsa's weirdness. As it is oft said, 'What the hell, Cleverbot?'

Attention is quickly turned to the newcomer!

"Okay," she replies with a nod. "I will remember your name, Hank. And I am a pretty young girl! Father says so. And everything Father tells me is true."

[The Bushranger]

"Can't say I ever watch the stuff. Not my style. More a Space Battleship Yamato kinda guy."
The half-ghost chuckles, deciding to roll with the clearly slight coo-coo in the coco notarobot.

[Hyozo]

Tyrone's jaw drops for a moment. He quickly catches himself, and after a moment says. "Sure, why not? In infinite multiverses, I guess robots MUST be little girls somewhere."

[Darklord Bright]

[Just Outside]

Annabelle had not been very active of late. In fact, one could say she had been very distinctly inactive. Between eating small rodents at GLoG and wandering the streets of Inside doing the very same, the ghoul had not truly done all that much since she had crawled out of her grave what felt aeons ago. Her grave which, as she remembered a few moments ago while dining on a rat, had been buried beneath the floorboards of a rather well known establishment.

"Trog's... Tavern." she spoke aloud, chewing a finger nervously. The ghoul had been given the ability to understand all writing, it was true; but that hardly meant she was sure of herself about it. Half the time she wondered if people were just nodding along because they didn't want to embarrass her.

Even so, those were hardly the chipper thoughts that a girl like her was supposed to have running through her head on such a fine... evening? Morning? Afternoon? It always seemed impossible to tell, for some odd reason. Almost as if each person's perception of night and day was entirely different here. No matter! She did not need to know the time of day to enter a fine establishment such as Trog's Tavern! She was a ghoul, and by golly she was going to get a drink, and be happy about it!

[Through the doorway, with a smile!]

"Hi Annabelle! I'm Trog's Tavern!" Wait, no! That was already wrong! Blasted undead vocal chords, betraying her at a time like this! "I mean, I'm Annabelle! Where are all of those things that people drink here?" The ghoul's cheerful smile was somewhat hampered by the stitches that ran a course across it from ear to ear, but surely people in the Nexus were a charming bunch who would be able to look past such silly little things!

[Dark Elf Bard]

Originally Posted by DoomITP

Evan steps into the tavern and walks around to find an empty table.

A tiefling girl, in her twenties, steps nervously through the door. She's wearing a skirt and a simple blue shirt.



She looks around, not sure where her blind date is.