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

Arthur walked in dressed in track pants, a t-shirt, and sneakers, slightly sweaty from his morning run. Rubbing his face a little, he found a seat an unobtrusive distance away so that no one would really have to smell him, then called quietly to a server. "Four egg omelette? Ham, cheese, spinach? Half pound of bacon? Toast and orange juice?" Receiving a satisfying answer, Step grinned broadly to the girl. "Thank you very much Ma'am."

Elder stirred awake, snorting, opening his eyes lazily. ''Hrm?''

He is quiet for a moment, but doesn't look at Arien. He seems to be worried about something. Then, very suddenly, he turns to Arien and gingerly takes the helmet from him.

"I'm sorry, but I think I'd rather be alone for the moment. I have just now sensed something coming...someone which I had no idea was even still alive. I will return in a little while, if the strange feeling passes, and we may speak again."

He grabbed his drink and walked quickly, if painfully, to a table right next to the entrance and sat down.

Arien watches Mig leave and then notices the other newcomer at the bar. He finishes the rest of his meal, taking his time while waiting to see what Arthur ordered. The tabasco sauce did have one good thing going for him--it kept him sober longer.

Elder stretched, eyes looking at reddened poster still in it his hands. He hissed and threw it at Arien, not caring if it hit. A wadded up paper, of course.

The teenager found a screwdriver after all, thanks to one of the working servers, and went to town on the jukebox. He unscrewed the front portion and peered into the interior. Several wires had been sliced and cut and it was a miracle that whoever had done it hadn't been electrocuted in the process.

He went around to the back to unplug the jukebox before getting to work on fixing the wires.

Arthur probably wouldn't have paid much attention to the armored man, save that he happened to have been talking to what appeared to be a swordsman, and Arthur was always interested in swordsmen. But Arthur's attention stayed upon the blue man, watching the stiffness of the gait. The Norseman's brows furrowed deeply, and he rose, signalling to the serving girl that he was not leaving, but moving tables.
Approaching the armored giant, Step stopped a respectful distance away, then cleared his throat and spoke with the sort of voice he hadn't used in almost 400 years. "Hail, good sir. Might I join you?" The antiques dealer wasn't sure why he decided to address the man like he was in The Court, but he decided to back his hunch, knowing that he would look a bit odd at worst.

Arien felt something strike his shoulder and he spun to see who threw something. A wad of paper fell to the floor and he picked it up to look at it. A poster of some sort. He arched a brow and then stuffed the poster into a pocket. Not because he wanted it, but because he wanted to avoid getting hit with it again. He'd much rather return the favor.

Of course he was in luck when Arthur's food was placed at his spot--though the man had gotten up to talk to TMIG. Arien produced another vial of Tabasco sauce and carefully added some to the other man's food before ambling back to his spot and settled down to watch.

The Man in Gold looked up at the man who had addressed him and snorted. It'd been a long time since he was called sir. Too long, maybe. He slowly, painfully, raised his leg under the table and gave the chair across from him a push. It jolted out from the table, rocked on its legs for a moment, and then stabilized again.

"Sit down if you wish, human. I'm waiting for someone else, but we can talk until he gets here."

Chris finished fixing the wires, replacing them really, and then checked the discs in the Jukebox. They were okay, unscratched, and he fit the front of the jukebox back together. He tightened the screws once more and then plugged the jukebox in.

Standing back he pressed a button or two and then waited. Music began to filter through the room. He grinned and then headed outside with his screwdriver and the spare wires to the car that bled oil.

"Alright, I'm back. Let's fix you up, now, shall we?"

CD stirred once more, oil sputtering out from the cut lines. She was flat out of oil now, her gears scratching against eachother loudly and noisily. The hole in her hood had also cut the gas line, but thankfully no gas was spewing out everywhere. For now, at least. Her eyes opened slightly as she turned to look at the human boy.

He got to work, sliding under the car to check that the oil leak wasn't from beneath the car. He didn't think to check the windshield and so missed the eyes watching him.

His feet stuck out the front end as he worked and checked the undercarriage. "Well, doesn't look like and undercarriage damage. Lucky." He climbed out and began to repair the immediate damage.

CD cringes, and backfires again, rattling her systems and causing a few tiny bolts to fall loose.

Chris frowned at the backfire, even as he popped the hood. "What, are you still on?" He turned to look at the ignition, intending to turn off the car's engine.

He saw no one in the drivers seat, only keys.

Arthur collected his food from his table, the serving girl having failed to catch the hint that he was moving tables, and set his plate and his drink down, giving a deferential nod towards the giant, studying him more deeply for a moment before his eyes widened in surprise. The Norseman crossed his arm over his chest and gave a bow before sitting down, a giving his very best charming smile. "I hope I did that right. I saw it once, not terribly long ago, in this very bar from a gentleman that... Let's just say that he was a younger gentleman than yourself."

He stood up in a hurry, which was going to hurt in a moment due to his arthritis, and placed his hands on the table as he leaned in close to Arthur.

"Who was it, what was his name? Tell me, by Tharyn's wrath, tell me who he was," he growled.

He didn't care if he was drawing attention from the other patrons, he didn't care if he might have just killed his chances with resuming his conversation with Arien, and he didn't care if he had just upset his new guest; the fact that this human had run into another like him was the only thought in his mind. Besides that thought, there were impulses, emotions: worry, loneliness, isolation...hate, always hate. He wanted to shake the memory out of this man, drain him like a dying man would drain a water jug in the desert.

Arthur reacted as he hadn't reacted in a long time, hands grabbing his fork and knife and having them ready for some in close and dirty play with the giant, while his face held the same pleasant expression. "Please sit down, Sir. And I'll be glad to answer your questions. I have been alive for a very, VERY long time, and I have learned patience. I would think that someone of your stature would have learned a similar lesson, if not the same one."

He snorted, the anger already leaving him. He'd been confronted with lasers, phasers, swords, arrows, maces, doomsday weapons, alien creatures and various mythological creatures. A fork and knife were hardly the most dangerous weapons he had been confronted with, but he didn't like the way the man had been holding them; ready to jab them at nearby exposed pressure points, he guessed. He already had one blind eye thanks to a sword, he'd prefer not to be fully blinded by something so humiliating as...tableware. He sat down.

"I have been patient, sir," he grumbled in tone of mock deference, although his gravelly voice made it difficult for the mockery to transmit, "for over thirteen thousand years. That amount of time is enough to make anyone grow eager...hungry...for some news of others."

He let his breathing return to normal and sipped his drink. He took a moment to glare across the table at the man.

"Tharyn's mercy, that was hell on my knees.... In any case, you could have kept your fingers in a fist, it shows that you're only showing respect because you have to; you only extend them if you're showing true, voluntary respect to someone. I don't know you, and if you know of me, then you wouldn't be volunteering to show me respect."

What happened to my body. Neva thought looking down, mind running a million miles per hour. She lifted her hands to look at them, wiggling her fingers. The sensation was odd, "Only two?" Neva muttered though not in English. Her cold blue eyes glanced around the contraption she was in. "Very Primitive." The contraption was a car wrecked not far from the Inn, smoke billowing out of the hood.

Neva reached for the door, it was stuck. another slight push knocked it free with ease, as Neva stepped out of the car. She looked down at her clothes, at her feet. It's memory barely there. "Things are not how they should be. Somethings wrong." Her eyes looked forward over the car to the Inn. The around the area. She popped her jaw, and began to walk... it was clumsy at first. but soon turned into a more of a strong stride. "This form is lacking.." She thought to herself, heading more toward the inn.

Neva Stopped at the entrance, getting a glance at herself in the reflection on a window. Her hands went to her face. "I'm a primitive..." There was an anger building up as what had happened to her was coming to the surface. "They turned me into a human..." She jerked open the door violently and gave a quick glance around... so many of them, like vermin crawling everywhere. "Earth...."