absimiliard
Posts: 759
10/31/2016
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We have no rights, FBG is awesome, etc, etc, etc.
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This is intended to be a moderately private, time-limited RP. The scene is a dinner at the NiteBrite's Super-Chill Hallowmas Party (1894). What we're looking to do is just have some fun RP-ing the dinner at Table Four. Mostly we'd like to keep it to people at the table, though if you wish to stop by and say 'Hi' to someone feel free to ask them and if they're cool stop by -- just keep it to a quick exchange. In real-life time we'll likely go longer than NiteBrite's party, I'd like to say two weeks, but if we feel we're good earlier then we're good.
We're going to try to keep it all quick, light, airy, and conversational. I'd like us to bring out courses and push the evening onwards that way, I'll advance the evening's time by bringing out courses myself if no one else does. I'll kick us of with an introduction for myself. I'd like Vavakx to get a chance for the next introduction. Then the other players can just jump in, and we'll let stuff flow.
So, I think that covers it. There really aren't any rules that matter beyond "It's just for fun," and "It's a social even, be social."
edited by absimiliard on 10/31/2016
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"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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A Dimness
Posts: 613
10/31/2016
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"Yes," a hoarse voice intones, "Masks and faces, terribly exciting. My, awfully posh, aren't we all?"
The Mirthless Colonist slowly walks up to the table, a large ornate goblet in his left hand, a bottle of stolen wine in his right. The guests at table eleven jeer at him, angry looks are directed at his back, he ignores it all. The man himself -as close as a Tomb-Colonist can get to being a man, anyways- is dressed unusually dull. A neat, brown overcoat is draped over his shoulders, the buttoned shirt underneath pitch black. His bowler hat and shoes share the same hue of black, but mirror-polished to perfection and reflection both. In fact, the only jewellery on him today is a simple rostygold ring worn on a small chain around his neck.
He was dressed dully. Bandages, however, do not constitute dress- his polythremic linen, as he always wore, quivers cheerily, adorned with small bright ribbons in hues of marmalade, purple, and the kind of scarlet that some would consider indecent was it worn on a more, ah, revealing kind of clothing. He wore not only ribbons- small bells cheerily jangled from loose ends, poking out all across his body, making a shrill noise, as if to be a constant reminder that he was dressed beyond the point of ridiculousness.
"Hang on, that was quite unfriendly of me. Give me a few minutes while I digest the contents of this goblet. Yes, we can still digest things. Tell me, how've you been doing, lovelies?"
edited by Infinity Simulacrum on 10/31/2016
edited by Infinity Simulacrum on 11/1/2016
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A truth so strange it can only be lied into existence
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Evangeline Ingram
Posts: 37
11/1/2016
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A red-haired woman sits quietly at the table, cleaning beneath her fingernails with a skyglass knife. Her suit is dark - but not the blackness of thirsty bombazine. A surface dye. A scar crosses just over her right eye, marring her unmasked face.
She looks up idly at the mention of 'awful poshness'.
"Sounds like my employer. Always one to insist on a dress, no matter the occasion. Swears by a whalebone corset for physical activity. I suppose if one is lucky enough to no longer have to do fieldwork..."
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A Dimness
Posts: 613
11/1/2016
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The Mirthless Colonist snorts. "What a larf. I'll tell you, I've done my fair share of field work in dresses, they can be very useful when you need emergency tissues, or handkerchiefs, or rags. Oh, where are my manners, this is a masked occassion, isn't it?"
He produces a crude, wooden mask from his overcoat, decorated with bright patterns of blue, red, and green around the eyes. From its nose, a carefully-engraved ring hangs; from that ring, another.
(Drawing with estimation of mask's aesthetics to be provided soon.)
"So, what is it you do for a living then? I'm going to say, oh, what about pirate-hunter!" the Mirthless Colonist snickers at that. "Could you imagine? A pirate hunter in a dress? No, but really, what is it you do for a living?"
As Lady Ingram responds, the colonist tilts his head and stares at nothing in particular for a few brief moments, before looking back at Evangeline, "By the sound of it, those toffs at table eleven are wanting to avenge their bottle of wine. This is bound to be fun."
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A truth so strange it can only be lied into existence
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Vavakx Nonexus
Posts: 892
11/1/2016
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"Dear, this tendency towards utter secrecy you mention lays at the core of London society..." They begin their reply to the Bird of Paradise, as bread flies by at a dangerously short distance from their befanged top hat. A grazing shot. They dust off and adjust their aforementioned headwear, glancing at their opposition. A shout. "Bring out the side dishes! If this primate wishes to fight, then we will give it what it wants!" Their hand slams upon the table. The maskless individual rises, a bowl of mushroom salad in hand, already preparing to fling fungus upon the monkey. A wicked grin plays upon their face.
edited by Vavakx Nonexus on 11/1/2016
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Amets Estibariz, the Moulting Eidolon: Cradled by a sun all their own.
Blabbing, the Hobo Everyone Knows: The One Who Pulls The Strings. A Clarity In The Darkness.
Charlotte and the Caretaker: A family?
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Vavakx Nonexus
Posts: 892
11/1/2016
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"The Despicable Simian over there..." They point towards the impish figure over at Table Two, whilst holding a fistful of food. "Has dared to assault my headgear with a thrown dinner roll. And an already bitten one, might I add, covered in saliva and other unpleasant substances. It deserves punishment for it's misdeeds upon the dinner and coffee house in general!" Their voice rises to a scream, and an unlucky batch of cut mushrooms leaves their hands for the ape at Table Two.
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Amets Estibariz, the Moulting Eidolon: Cradled by a sun all their own.
Blabbing, the Hobo Everyone Knows: The One Who Pulls The Strings. A Clarity In The Darkness.
Charlotte and the Caretaker: A family?
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A Dimness
Posts: 613
11/1/2016
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malthaussen wrote:
The ape at table two lets out a roar. "Monkey? You dare insult my species?" Instantly, a handful of arugula from the salad is airborne in the direction of Rose.
-- Mal
-(Posted from Table Four)
The Mirthless Colonist stares on at the fracas impertinently for a while, biscuits and morsels are flung both-ways throughout the room, guests join or take cover, or try to ignore this outburst of deranged stupidity and immaturity.
Finally, something cracks in the Mirthless Colonist. Literally, that is. A stuffed crab-claw hits him right on the mask, leaving a nasty split through the right eye. Carefully, he takes off his mask and puts it on the table in front of him, puts his wine-bottle on the floor, and empties out his goblet.
Now, he throws over his chair and pulls a derringer! He stares at the ape and empties the derringer's cilinder into the ceiling above it. The sound is deafening, and the room quietens as white dust and small ceiling-debris settle on Malthaussen's figure. As all attention is upon him, the Mirthless Colonist gracefully picks his chair up and stands it at the table, sits, wipes his mask off, and puts it back on.
"Now," he continues, "Where were we?"
The food fight continues, and several laughs are thrown in the humiliated ape's direction.
edited by Infinity Simulacrum on 11/1/2016
edited by Infinity Simulacrum on 11/1/2016
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A truth so strange it can only be lied into existence
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Evangeline Ingram
Posts: 37
11/1/2016
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Soph claps twice in the quiet after the gunshots.
"Yes, yes, let's escalate the food fight to a gunfight, that's a wonderful idea. It's not as if this room isn't filled with the sorts of people who participated in the Underground Leagues. It's not as if our hostess knows ingenious tricks with a pair of tailor's shears. Can we all please act like civil individuals?"
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A Dimness
Posts: 613
11/4/2016
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The Mirthless Colonist makes a dissatisfied grunt as he looks on at the sad display. You'd expect a Tomb-Colonist to be able to hold his liquor.
He hoists the Ticking Scientist up by the armpits and settles him in his chair, hoping he won't have too bad of a hangover when he wakes up.
Who's taking the next swig?
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A truth so strange it can only be lied into existence
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