"Right, then. Er...waiter? Two servings of bamhacon, please?" John raises his hand halfheartedly, and Cosmo grumbles and shuffles off to the kitchen to retrieve the food.
"So...how old are you? Do you know? It seems a lot of your memories are really vague."
__________________ Sergeant Scrabble slowly snuck up behind the pants militia...
"Do you know how many winters you've lived through? Or how many times the sun has gone up and down since you were born or made or whatever?" John asks as the smell of bamhacon emanates from the kitchen.
Dangit, John, robots don't smell things!
__________________ Sergeant Scrabble slowly snuck up behind the pants militia...
"Does it worry you at all that you know so little about yourself?" John asks.
Cosmo makes his way to the table, grumbling angrily, and sets down the two plates of bamhacon, snatching up the last of John's money and shuffling back to his secret breakroom outside of time and space to wait until somebody else needs food and can't remember the elven chick's name.
__________________ Sergeant Scrabble slowly snuck up behind the pants militia...
Nope! Most are just like "meh, gonna eat stuff". I think there's a super-giant type that likes to hang out in lakes and those guys are apparently pretty smart and can mess with weather.
But those are waaay rare.
This robotic fellow walks in, carrying a violin case and followed by a gentle drift of leaves that swirl slowly about his feet as he moves, ignoring any wind or lack thereof.
He may or may not be followed by a pinkish goo person.
The robotic person draws the attention of another person in the Tavern. It's Mia the Tech priestress, followed by her mechanical friend MDM. She will try to listen to the conversation the robotic fellow and the goo woman have.
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"I think there's a college somewhere nearby, or some sort of learning institute, but I think it only accepts admissions from-" John realizes he is being eavesdropped on and turns to Mia.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, am I bothering you in any way?"
__________________ Sergeant Scrabble slowly snuck up behind the pants militia...
Seeing that Mia's player has pulled the dreaded 'one post and then deadtime', John resumes conversing with not John.
"-but I think it only accepts superpowered sorts."
__________________ Sergeant Scrabble slowly snuck up behind the pants militia...
"There are also various organizations around the place that cater to people with different wants or needs or worldviews, and they all do different things," John explains, "Like HALO goes off to fight evil, while GLoG seems to focus on helping people, and AMEN does generally unpleasant things."
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John 'blushes' yet again.
"I don't know if there are any acro organizations that cater to musicians. If there were, I probably would have somewhere to sleep as it is."
__________________ Sergeant Scrabble slowly snuck up behind the pants militia...
A young, short drow female walks in with an electric bass guitar. She wears a tank top and jeans, but no shoes. She wears also a very striking hat. Her tousled, long, white hair reaches down to her legs.
She slings her bass over her shoulder and goes over to a table in the corner, raising an eyebrow at the violin.
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Quote:
This is the thief who likes to hoard,
That loves the bard with the puppet Lord
That admires the fighter with the green-hilted sword,
That employs the Wizard, whose bird is ignored,
That has the gender unexplored
That intrigues the Halfling, usually bored,
That slew a mountain of the goblin horde,
That follows the cleric,
That serves the lich,
That seeks the gate,
That guards the snarl,
That lives in the prison the gods built.
Both her eyebrows go up and down, one after the other, keeping time perfectly!
__________________ zimmerwald1915 made my avatar!
Spoiler
Quote:
This is the thief who likes to hoard,
That loves the bard with the puppet Lord
That admires the fighter with the green-hilted sword,
That employs the Wizard, whose bird is ignored,
That has the gender unexplored
That intrigues the Halfling, usually bored,
That slew a mountain of the goblin horde,
That follows the cleric,
That serves the lich,
That seeks the gate,
That guards the snarl,
That lives in the prison the gods built.
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Re: [Nexus] Trog's Tavern CCXLIV
