A woman in an oriental-style robe hesitantly approaches the table, following the distant voice of the tomb-colonist. She eyes the ongoing food-fight skeptically.
"… Are you quite certain?"
A piece of the chandelier has bounced off the ape’s head, leaving a noticeable bump. With a roar of displeasure, he grabs it and hurls it, but his eyes are so obscured by dust from the ceiling that his aim is right out, and it goes sailing crookedly in the direction of Table Eleven.
– Mal (XPost from T2)
[quote=Evangeline Ingram]A woman in an oriental-style robe hesitantly approaches the table, following the distant voice of the tomb-colonist. She eyes the ongoing food-fight skeptically.
"… Are you quite certain?"[/quote]
(OOC) This sure messes with the continuity.
The Mirthless Colonist takes the lady Ingram by the hand and points her to a free seat at table four. "Quite the certain, have a seat."
-Time skip to the monkey, er- ape business-
The Mirthless Colonist quietly sits at the table, working a tiny morself of food beneath his mask, between his bandages, to his mouth.
(OOC) Here’s a quick sketch of my mask.
edited by Infinity Simulacrum on 11/1/2016
Returning fire from the broken chandelier, a Blemigian Secretary is hurled towards table four.
[quote=Infinity Simulacrum][quote=Evangeline Ingram]A woman in an oriental-style robe hesitantly approaches the table, following the distant voice of the tomb-colonist. She eyes the ongoing food-fight skeptically.
"… Are you quite certain?"[/quote]
(OOC) This sure messes with the continuity.
The Mirthless Colonist takes the lady Ingram by the hand and points her to a free seat at table four. "Quite the certain, have a seat."
-Time skip to the monkey, er- ape business-
The Mirthless Colonist quietly sits at the table, working a tiny morself of food beneath his mask, between his bandages, to his mouth.
(OOC) Here’s a quick sketch of my mask.
edited by Infinity Simulacrum on 11/1/2016[/quote]
(OOC: Treachery of Clocks!)
The lady in Japonisme looks over at Soph, and blinks.
"… Fancy meeting you here."
Soph sighs. "She’s playing silly buggers again, isn’t she."
The newcomer shrugs. "I won’t speculate as to her motives. She has a message for the table." She holds out a violet-dyed envelope to the tomb-colonist.
"Well. It seems we haven’t missed the festivities eh?"
"So it would seem. I do believe that table over there is ours."
“It DOES say four on the card, doesn’t it.”
He takes a seat.
“Greetings, mortals, for I, am the magnificent, majestic…”
“Impotent ham in a small box. Pay him no mind, he’s quite harmless.”
“What, can’t you wait to see if they at least catch on first?”
“Our fellow guests are not easily amused street urchins, we went over that when discussing the terms of me bringing you here.”
“Fine, fine. Now, are you going to introduce yourself?”
“Oh, very well. The name I go by these days is “The Ticking Scientist”, and it is a pleasure to meet all of you.”
(OOC)The Ticking Scientist is wearing a dull grey suit and moth-mask, with a rather talkative striped box he brought with him. The bold font would be the “Box” talking.
[quote=Arcanuse]"Well. It seems we haven’t missed the festivities eh?"
"So it would seem. I do believe that table over there is ours."
“It DOES say four on the card, doesn’t it.”
He takes a seat.
“Greetings, mortals, for I, am the magnificent, majestic…”
“Impotent ham in a small box. Pay him no mind, he’s quite harmless.”
“What, can’t you wait to see if they at least catch on first?”
“Our fellow guests are not easily amused street urchins, we went over that when discussing the terms of me bringing you here.”
“Fine, fine. Now, are you going to introduce yourself?”
“Oh, very well. The name I go by these days is “The Ticking Scientist”, and it is a pleasure to meet all of you.”
(OOC)The Ticking Scientist is wearing a dull grey suit and moth-mask, with a rather talkative striped box he brought with him. The bold font would be the “Box” talking.[/quote]
"Oh, I like your box! Nice to meet you, mr. Box!" The Mirthless Colonist stares into the Ticking Scientist’s soul, through the masks of them both.
"You’re a fellow colonist. How about…" his hand slowly goes down to his pistol-belt, and then reaches for the bottle of wine on the floor. "A contest of alcohol-endurance!"
The Light, fittingly enough, lights up at the sight of the Scientist and his unusual box. Yes, lights up. The red light of their parabola-linen false-scales grows from a muted glow to a positive radiance. "A wonderful and unexpected occasion for a meeting, dear." They briefly extend a scale-gloved hand to the new arrival, before stopping. "Oh, yes. You probably shouldn’t-" They take off the glove. Their skin is significantly paler than it was the last time the any of the people present near the table have met. "Some Suns allow us to avoid little discomforts, you understand. Little discomforts such as any darkening of skin." The Light are even determined enough to give a diligent pat to the unorthodox murmuring box.
A ferret rockets towards table four and makes a go for the tomb colonist’s wine. Glasses are overturned and the tablecloth collects a few additional blood stains in the ensuring scuffle.
edited by pillbox on 11/1/2016
“A drinking contest, you say? I’m afraid I must decline. Time has not been… Kind, to my body, as it were. “
“Understatement of the year, you ask me.”
“Shush. That aside… what the?”
“First an Orangutan starts a brief food fight, now ferrets snatching our wine. I do believe you were right, this IS going to be an interesting party.”
"Bloody ferret!" The Mirthless Colonist utters. The wine bottle is dropped, it doesn’t smash, but it makes a very unhealthy thunk against the tiles. The ferret scurries off, leaving the colonist scratching his head.
"I could go fetch my Lurcher, she’s keeping vigil outside and hasn’t had a decent hunt in a few days. But… no, better not do that. Not yet, anyways. Maybe after I’ve downed enough wine, though."
-From table 4, kind regards.
The Mirthless Colonist proceeds to drink some of his personal absinthe calmly, but when he spots the folk at table eleven laughing cheerily at a piece of his flesh being set upon by one of the b____y ferrets, he decides to get his Lurcher inside. When he returns from his brief absence, the room seems to have settled a bit more. Not for long, Lupaazr (don’t ask how that’s pronounced, not even the Mirthless Colonist knows), his loyal Perspicacious Lurcher, sits patiently at his side, until he releases her collar with a satisfying ‘clack’. The hound is off in a moment.
Soon, brutally executed ferrets and parts of ferrets are found spread throughout the room.
"Can’t have vermin infesting this place, can we now?"
"Well this has been rather interesting so far" he says.
“To be honest, it was a bit surprising that it took this long for the fun to start.”
A… Ceramic(!?)arm reaches out of the box, pours itself a glass of wine, and snatches the glass back inside its box. There may be faint slurping noises.
“I thought I said to stay IN the box, hmm?”
“That was then, this is now. And right now, I fancy enjoying myself by drinking some fine wine.”
“How can you… Nevermind.”
He turns to his fellow Tomb-colonist.
“Impressive, if somewhat on the violent side. Where did you find such a dog?”
One of the women at table eleven glares at you and calmly begins to circulate the room, whispering to people as she goes. Her eyes sparkle with unshed tears, her lip trembles. Some of the people to whom she speaks look over at the Mirth less Colonist with disgust.
A Harried Maître D’ approaches the Mirthless Colonist, clutching the leash of a bloodied hound. "Your pet, Sir. Unless you’d prefer the company of a Tomb-Hound, please keep him in check. Same goes for your derringer."
He glides away to instruct some men in the swift replacement of Table Two’s chandelier.
"B____y Hallowmas," he hear him grumble.
edited by Ginneon Thursday on 11/1/2016
“Not exactly what I’d hoped for,” the White Tiger offers, "though perhaps I should have expected such.
They rise, “If you will excuse me I must check on my friend, I hope to return anon.” With a quick curtsey they are off.
“What’s in that box anyway?” he says, while looking at the box.
“A good question. Not an easy one to explain over dinner, however.”
“For you, maybe. The short answer is I am a tiny slice of the very edge of…”
The Scientist slams the box shut.
“What my associate means to say is that he happens to be travelling incognito, and can’t afford to be identified. All the same, he could hardly bring himself to miss the festivities, never mind the things that could go wrong.”
You hear the sound of a gong, seemingly emanating from everywhere (you suspect a clever cook with a very large soup pot). A space on the floor has been cleared, and a nervous looking string quartet begins to play.
(The dance floor is now open in a separate thread to anyone who wishes to dance)
edited by pillbox on 11/2/2016