Forums » General Roleplay » The IC Chat. Come One, Come All!

A waypoint of thought and imagination, where the ley lines of brilliance and creativity meet in interesting and unpredictable ways. Creatures of all time, space, and reality can convene here with as much effort as it takes to dream. A common room of sorts, with warm fires, free wi fi, plentiful drinks and food, and plenty of space. Serving boys, girls, and amorphous, ephemeral being provide all the needs, though help is never discouraged.
Come, sit, shake the dust from your clothes and relax.

Sam sat quietly at a corner table, her good eye nervous about the people as she scanned the crowd, her fingers moving deftly and without prompt as she cleaned the cylinder of her revolver.

Sat in a dark shadow, cast at one end of the table. She was biting her tongue, keeping herself from speaking out rashly, though how many would speak the druidic tongue here, she wondered to herself. She chewed her lip for a moment, watching the others.

CD pulled in silently somehow, careful not to run over anyone. Her headlights dim as she pulled up a holographic computer screen and read the latest news from online. Her brown eyes scanned it silently, as she silently read what was going on in the world without speaking. Though her engine idled silently as she was alao watching the crowd whilst reading the news.

Sam watched the car roll in, somehow not truly surprised, as she was sure that dreaming. The scarred drifter had chosen a seat nearer to the silver-blond woman, probably for the same reason of sharing an affinity for privacy and darkened corners

Nis watched the car, trying to figure out what it was. Her time travelling the mists had given her a chance to see that nothing was impossible (the boom-sticks were terrifying at first and then second hat the longer she stayed around that horrible Mordentian woman), but this was a sight indeed. What manner of creature was it?

She snorted at some headlines, usually those about sentient cars being evil. Once she relized she was being stared at she glared back. ''What are you looking at?'' She asked, putting the screen down. Honestly, it seemed like anything that caught sight of her freaked because it seemed no one had seen a talking car with eyes.

Sam's hackles rose as she felt like she was being address, something that looked like half a defiant sneer coming to her face, her hands freezing upon her pistol. "I think I'm looking at a rolling bucket of rust that looks almost as bad as I do!" The outburst was almost instantly regrettable, but the drifter wasn't prone to backing down, despite frequent evidence that she should.

Nis was dumbfounded at the outbursts. While she normally looked for a fight, she was tired now and just wanted to sit and be quiet, "What are you?" Her common was a little rusty, with months of non-use.

''Rust means I age unlike humans who get wrinkles.'' She retorted. ''I am generic standard issue sports car. 290yrs old and still running good.'' She replied, still glaring. She'd pull the screen up again. Her right side was rusted out, showing a machine gun tucked tightly within. She needed a drink, but was unsure of the place had a gas station.

Sam snorted at the car, shaking her head as she mumbled to herself, tucking back into her own business. "Nothing runs good after three hundred years." With careful consideration, the scarred woman reached out with her left hand, taking the cup that the serving boy had left her. The drink had barely touched her lips before she sputtered and spat, her right eye wide in shock while her left caught up slowly. "I think I got your drink, claptrap." Thoroughly wiping her lips and tongue, Sam pushed the mistakenly poured cup of gasoline away and watched as the serving boy panicked and brought her a fresh drink, this one the proper glass of cold cider.

CD chuckled, throughly amused and shifted to her human form. She sat in a seat near the cup of gasoline and drunk it, still smiling lightly. Her fingers were rusted, but still able to hold cups. She easily guzzled the gasoline without sputtering at all, despite having to use her humanoid form to drink it. Once she finished, she just bursted into laughter, amused still.

Sam glowered at the now-woman-car-thing for a moment before taking a swallow of her cider, the savory-sweet concoction making the scarred woman experience a moment of happy. It was a pleasure she didn't get very often, most times being far from people as she could, but cold cider... Every once in a while, she got a craving strong enough to bring her into civilization, and she had to admit, her cup was some of the best she'd had in a long while.

CD chuckled afterwards, just smiling lightly still. Rarely was this cranky-set spy car laughing at all. She had serious buisniess to do, but for now she just sat in place, giggling. ''How was the gasonline?'' She daringly asked.

Sam's glower turned into a grimace and she very nearly didn't answer, if for no other reason than to be contrary. But with another sip of cider, she found the fire in her mellowing and she considered her options. Option one was to be mean, get in a fight, and possibly be touched by someone she didn't want to. That was always an option. Option two was to ignore the car-woman, but that could lead to option two. Also, always an option. Option three would be to be civil. Rarely ever an option, given the drifter's temperament, but today it was... "Better than diesel."

The Captain walks in, heading straight to the bar and ordering a full, unopened bottle of rum. She sits with her back to the room, though upon entering, had taken full account of every being present; their location, body language, and most importantly to her, what they had on or near them that could be used as a weapon. Open her bottle, she took a deep drink before pulling a small case from the pouch at her waist. She opened the case, removing one cigarette and placing it between her lips as she reached for a book of matches from the bar.

''Glad to hear.'' She giggled. CD changed back to a car after getting out of the seat. She pulled back to where she had been before getting a drink. Or rather she tried. She bumped into the radio playing music and toppled some chattering folk by accident. Oops.

Sam watched the pirate woman enter the bar, and felt a vague sense of satisfaction as she finished cleaning her pistol. Reloading and holstering her revolver, the drifter reached down to her pack upon the floor and withdrew her shotgun, which she never kept loaded, Sam broke open the barrels and started scrubbing the inside, using a small bit of oil from a dilapidated bottle and the same small brush she'd used for the firearm at her waist. When the car ran into people, her right brow quirked slowly, a small smile of bemusement causing a brief and quiet chuckle. "Heh."

CD left quickly, embarassed. Soon after she left a dark purple ferarri pulled in, shiny and sleek with only the slightest amount of rust to be seen. And the headlights were shining brightly, purple from reflecting off of the metallic hued build. This car appeared to be more intact then the one that had fled. ''Hmph.'' She grumped, pulling up to a lift, which lifted her off the ground slightly, just enough to let her see the area better.

The pirate sat silently, lighting her smoke and inhaling deeply, the mint that laced her cigarette giving her the familiar taste and smell to which she was accustomed. She shifted her body so that she could see the room, watching the other patrons with her whiskey eyes. Her eyebrow raised at the entrance of the newest contraption, however, and her muttered to herself, "Hmm... shiny."