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Anywhere, USA
Marblehead Johnson
Registered User regular
Registered User regular
Cast of Characters
Marble: The Maxx (first post in)
Acid: John "Reaper" Grimm(first post in)
Zardoz: The Russian (with boobs)(first post in)
Fierce: Torgo(first post in)
Shamus: Errol Flynn's Robin Hood... he's a fancy lad!(first post in)
Draug: Lancelot(first post in)
Grimmy: The Invisible Griffin (pre-death at the hands of dock workers) (first post in)
I have done a sample introduction, showing how I ended up in the town. If you would like to handle how you mysteriously got there, by all means go nuts. If you want me to do it for you, let me know! Also, if you could add a picture of how you see your character, it might help. The Maxx is pretty obscure, so I'll do it for sure.
Interlude I
To a small slice of the human continuum, this place might have been home. The streets were wide, paved with dark, unmarked asphalt. There were ruler-straight sidewalks bordering carefully manicued lawns, framed in turn with white picket fences that surrounded quaint homes like necklaces adorning comfortably aged matronly women. Downtown could be considered contemporary by some, retro by others. Plate glass windows were festooned with colorful posters advertising mens hats and soda floats. The sun was shining in a cloudless azure sky, and a gentle breeze wafted through the utterly perfect silence of the little town.
And perfect it was. No birds twittered, no cars purred, no dogs barked... not so much as a hinge squeaked anywhere. The town was pristine, preserved, timeless. It would not be posible to tell if this condition was new, or if the town had existed in such immaculate preservation since the beginning of time, or longer still.
In this moment, however, there was motion. A figure in black moved slowly but surely down the main street, the perpetual noontime sun beating down on his hooded countenance and pooling his shadow at his feet. He was not rushed in his stride, and walked as if he had all the time in the world. Past storefronts and parked driverless cars, through intesections and crosswalks, and under streetlights that had never known illumination, he walked.
With the gentle click of a lock sliding into place, the timelessness was broken. The figure vanishd into a doorway, closing the door behind him, and almost imperceptibly, the sub above began to move. The breeze, formerly constant, now waxed and waned. There were no sounds of life, animal or otherwise, but the strangely timeless location had been itself brought to life. It's purpose, if it had one, was beginning to be fulfilled.
Had anyone been around to hear it, they might have heard a faint chuckle echo through the wide, clean alleys, into the streets, and up into the sky.
Introduction - The Maxx
NOTE: This takes place after Issue #11, and before Issue #12. Unfortunately, Viacom has copyrighted everything anyone's ever made so I can't link you to YouTube to see that issue, so I guess you'll have to figure out The Maxx as we go along here. Also, for those who have never seen the cartoon, the voice actor was the same guy who did the Warrior from the first Diablo.
--
In a moment, it was over. Julie's beat-up station wagon had managed to backfire it's way up to the speed limit, and three blocks down, it turned right, and out of Maxx's sight. He stood there long after the sound of the beat-up engine had faded, long after he stopped being able to smell the exhaust, and long after anyone in the area stopped paying attention to the purple-clad homeless man in the funny mask.
He could feel her tiny hands on his massive shoulders, feel her tears against his costumed skin, and the red lines her nails had dug in his flesh when the hug turned angry. He would feel them for as long as he lived, and he was beginning to realize that was all that was left of their friendship. With Julie, he was the Maxx... her protector in this world, and her loyal guardian in the other. He didn't know if he would still wake up in the Outback or not, with Julie leaving her life behind and moving accross the county. He didn't know if anything that he knew would ever be true again.
Sarah had walked off before Julie even reached the end of the block. Eventually, hours passed, and Maxx realized he was alone. With a shuddering sigh from his barrel chest, his posture slumped so hard that his knuckles truly did drag on the ground, he turned, and walked down the long, narrow alley, back to his box. Inside was the warmth and comfort of home, but for some reason, he couldn't feel them anymore.
"Julie took that, too," he grumbled. He wrapped his arms around his body, the tips of his claws resting against the back of his neck. Each breath caused the box around him to flex and sag. If it rained, he knew it wouldn't hold back the water anymore. Whatever had made it a home was gone. Now it was just a box.
"Julie." It was more of a whimper now... a deep, sad, baritone whimper. His white eyes closed, and he was asleep.
Time passed. Dreamless time. Solitude.
For the first time, he woke up with the sunshine in his eyes. The sun never shon in his alley... it faced the wrong way, and the buildings were too high. Why was there sunshine in his eyes?
One eye cracked, and he looked out into what was most definitely not his alley. For several long minutes, he stared with one baleful eye, willing whatever Hell his box had moved to to disperse. It did not, and with a shuddering sigh, his damp box disintegrated around him.
He lay on his side, unsheltered, arms wrapped around his body, claws against the back of his neck, one eye open and staring at an unfamiliar, sunny, low-buildinged alley.
"Shit."
Marble: The Maxx (first post in)
Acid: John "Reaper" Grimm(first post in)
Zardoz: The Russian (with boobs)(first post in)
Fierce: Torgo(first post in)
Shamus: Errol Flynn's Robin Hood... he's a fancy lad!(first post in)
Draug: Lancelot(first post in)
Grimmy: The Invisible Griffin (pre-death at the hands of dock workers) (first post in)
I have done a sample introduction, showing how I ended up in the town. If you would like to handle how you mysteriously got there, by all means go nuts. If you want me to do it for you, let me know! Also, if you could add a picture of how you see your character, it might help. The Maxx is pretty obscure, so I'll do it for sure.
Interlude I
To a small slice of the human continuum, this place might have been home. The streets were wide, paved with dark, unmarked asphalt. There were ruler-straight sidewalks bordering carefully manicued lawns, framed in turn with white picket fences that surrounded quaint homes like necklaces adorning comfortably aged matronly women. Downtown could be considered contemporary by some, retro by others. Plate glass windows were festooned with colorful posters advertising mens hats and soda floats. The sun was shining in a cloudless azure sky, and a gentle breeze wafted through the utterly perfect silence of the little town.
And perfect it was. No birds twittered, no cars purred, no dogs barked... not so much as a hinge squeaked anywhere. The town was pristine, preserved, timeless. It would not be posible to tell if this condition was new, or if the town had existed in such immaculate preservation since the beginning of time, or longer still.
In this moment, however, there was motion. A figure in black moved slowly but surely down the main street, the perpetual noontime sun beating down on his hooded countenance and pooling his shadow at his feet. He was not rushed in his stride, and walked as if he had all the time in the world. Past storefronts and parked driverless cars, through intesections and crosswalks, and under streetlights that had never known illumination, he walked.
With the gentle click of a lock sliding into place, the timelessness was broken. The figure vanishd into a doorway, closing the door behind him, and almost imperceptibly, the sub above began to move. The breeze, formerly constant, now waxed and waned. There were no sounds of life, animal or otherwise, but the strangely timeless location had been itself brought to life. It's purpose, if it had one, was beginning to be fulfilled.
Had anyone been around to hear it, they might have heard a faint chuckle echo through the wide, clean alleys, into the streets, and up into the sky.
Introduction - The Maxx
NOTE: This takes place after Issue #11, and before Issue #12. Unfortunately, Viacom has copyrighted everything anyone's ever made so I can't link you to YouTube to see that issue, so I guess you'll have to figure out The Maxx as we go along here. Also, for those who have never seen the cartoon, the voice actor was the same guy who did the Warrior from the first Diablo.
--
In a moment, it was over. Julie's beat-up station wagon had managed to backfire it's way up to the speed limit, and three blocks down, it turned right, and out of Maxx's sight. He stood there long after the sound of the beat-up engine had faded, long after he stopped being able to smell the exhaust, and long after anyone in the area stopped paying attention to the purple-clad homeless man in the funny mask.
He could feel her tiny hands on his massive shoulders, feel her tears against his costumed skin, and the red lines her nails had dug in his flesh when the hug turned angry. He would feel them for as long as he lived, and he was beginning to realize that was all that was left of their friendship. With Julie, he was the Maxx... her protector in this world, and her loyal guardian in the other. He didn't know if he would still wake up in the Outback or not, with Julie leaving her life behind and moving accross the county. He didn't know if anything that he knew would ever be true again.
Sarah had walked off before Julie even reached the end of the block. Eventually, hours passed, and Maxx realized he was alone. With a shuddering sigh from his barrel chest, his posture slumped so hard that his knuckles truly did drag on the ground, he turned, and walked down the long, narrow alley, back to his box. Inside was the warmth and comfort of home, but for some reason, he couldn't feel them anymore.
"Julie took that, too," he grumbled. He wrapped his arms around his body, the tips of his claws resting against the back of his neck. Each breath caused the box around him to flex and sag. If it rained, he knew it wouldn't hold back the water anymore. Whatever had made it a home was gone. Now it was just a box.
"Julie." It was more of a whimper now... a deep, sad, baritone whimper. His white eyes closed, and he was asleep.
Time passed. Dreamless time. Solitude.
For the first time, he woke up with the sunshine in his eyes. The sun never shon in his alley... it faced the wrong way, and the buildings were too high. Why was there sunshine in his eyes?
One eye cracked, and he looked out into what was most definitely not his alley. For several long minutes, he stared with one baleful eye, willing whatever Hell his box had moved to to disperse. It did not, and with a shuddering sigh, his damp box disintegrated around him.
He lay on his side, unsheltered, arms wrapped around his body, claws against the back of his neck, one eye open and staring at an unfamiliar, sunny, low-buildinged alley.
"Shit."
It's human nature to derive meaning from that something that actually lacks it in order to suit your goals.
Dismayed By Humanity Since 1992.
Marblehead Johnson on
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John "Reaper" Grimms
He hated these fucking doors. He had always hated these fucking doors. Who makes solid steel doors you have to fucking push to open anyway?
Reaper sighed, it was probably just the Corp being cheap. I swear if they didn't have pennies to pinch, the bean counters upstairs would curl up and die. With one final sigh, he took a step back, then with a little force behind him slammed into the door, instantly opening it and stumbling out into the bright sunlight.
"What the fuck!?" he said in surprise. This isn't the mess hall, what the fucking hell is going on!? He turned around to survey the door behind him. A plain glass door, with the words, "Cidney's Dinner," written on it.
After a moment's hesitation he opened the door and stepped inside, hoping the setting would change with him. Unfortunately he just found himself standing in a empty dinner.
"Hello...? Helloooo?" He looked around the dinner then out it's large windows at the completely empty street, and other shops similarly devoid of life. "Where the fuck am I...?"
The Invisible Man
Griffin shut the door quietly and turned, listing chemicals in his head. Aether. The list went on and on in his head as he mentally indexed the compounds he still needed in order to jolt his refractive index back above zero. Carbamide. He adjusted the bandages that encircled his head and face, and began to walk along the hallway of The Coach and Horses. It was still early in the morning, and the small-town inn was quiet. Griffin had no desire to disturb the stillness. Sulphur. He shuffled down the hallway, his leather-soled boots making little noise. He had learned, over the last few months of his existence, the art of moving silently. Mercury.
He smiled to himself. A few more heists and he'd have everything he needed. This hellish half-life would come to an end, and he would return to a normal life. Or at least, he would dip in and out of normalcy at will, shedding his very visibility with the same ease of another man shedding a layer of clothing. Nothing would be beyond him then. Nothing.
Griffin stifled a sudden urge to laugh, and reached for the handle of the common-area door. He pushed it open and stepped through. And stopped. The tables and chairs of the Inn's main room were nowhere to be seen. Neither was the ceiling, or any of the walls. Instead, an unfamiliar and somehow un-English street stretched off in either direction. Moreover, the sun was in the wrong place -- much higher in the sky than it should have been at this time of year. Especially as, according to Griffin's watch, the sun shouldn't even be poking over the horizon yet.
Hurriedly, the invisible man spun. The door was gone. He was trapped.
Bollocks.
Lancelot
With a jolt, Lancelot realized realized he had fallen asleep in the saddle. He had been riding all night through fog-shrouded woodlands. He had been doing so for days, putting miles between himself and Camelot. Between himself and his liege, friend and enemy, but – more importantly – his love.
Guinevere. Fate was cruel.
There were some wounds that time could not heal, and he prayed fervently, night and day, that this was not one of them. Yes, he had a lady, now. It did not matter. The woman may have had his child, but she did not have his love.
He hunted the Grail now. It had been the best excuse he could think up to get out of court. The secret falseness of his piousness stung his honour, but there was nothing else he could have done. He had to get out of Camelot.
Clearing the woodland, he looked up to spot the rising sun, and realized with a jolt that it hung high in the sky. Before him, golden crops swayed gently in the wind. It had been early winter when he set out. What was this sorcery?
'The Lady'. Of course. It had to be. Cursing his own aimlessness, he realized where he had ridden. Where his pathetic heart had steered him. In the lands of the Lady of the Lake, it was always summer.
He was about to turn his horse around, leaving as unannounced as he had arrived, when he spotted the glimmers between the hills. Walls that shone like silver. He had not seen these before. The Lady had worked new magicks, it seemed.
Anything that would take his mind of his heartache, if even for a moment, was good enough for him, and this strange place might just do that. It was pathetic, but it was true. Gently urging his horse on, he rode forward.
“Just a few more miles, my friend, and we shall find you a place to rest and feedâ€.
He did not ride far before he made another strange discovery. The road was wide, easily fitting 20 men abreast. A road to march the armies of an empire. Was it Roman, perhaps? But it looked so new! And black as night. He halted at its edge, unsure whether to plant the hooves of his steed upon it or not.
No, had his spurned love made him a coward? Squaring his jaw and gripping his lance, he rode out. The Lady would let him arrive in style, and by all things holy, he would. No more sneaking. The sun shone brightly in his eyes as he conjured up some pride. A white stripe led down its centre, and he followed it vigilantly.
The heat battered down on his armour as he rode, and by the time he reached the city gates, he was sweating profusely. His problems with the heat were quickly set aside though, as he marvelled at the town's extravagance. The road when on straight through. There were no walls, no gates, not even guardians. What was this place?
“Hail! I am Lancelot of the court of King Arthur! I come in peace!
Silence. Nothing stirred. Accompanied by the jingle of his armour, Lancelot rode further into town, looking for a suitable place to tie up his horse.
Where were all the people?
(Sorry about the pic. It was the best I could find...)
TORGO
Keep running.
Keep moving.
Get away from him.
Away from the "Master"..
A tired-looking man hobbled as best he could down a sidewalk, it could have been any sidewalk in any town for all he cared. All that mattered to him was getting away from the one he once served. Away from any power he wields. As far away as his crippled legs can take him.
Torgo looked at the smoldering stub where his right hand used to be, before the Master took it away, after he gave Torgo to his useless harem of zombie-wenches. Who tried their ineffective best to kill him, but really only gave him a crappy massage. w-wHat the heLL waS tHaT EVeN aBOut? thE mAsteR saID tO KiLL me, bUt wHat wERE theY acTuaLLy trYINg tO Do?
Best not to dwell on such things. Just keep moving. Get away.
The odd man fell to his knees underneath a streetlight. His crippled satyr legs could move him no further. It's about at this point that he realizes that, as far as he could see, he HAS gotten away.
For the moment. For the moment, he could rest.
It was all to quiet for Robin of Locksley. He awoke suddenly, his hand clenched around a knife drawn from underneath his pillow. His eyes focused to the darkness of the room. A room!?
The leap from bed to floor, in a position to take on any number of attackers with his trusty dagger, was full of the flourish that was his calling card. But unfortunately, nobody was around to see his acrobatic and martial skill. The guards of the corrupt Prince John did not appear to put up a laughable challenge to Locksley. Nor was that bumbling oaf who held the office of Sheriff.
"Where in the good Lord's name am I?"
He scanned the room, turning around as he did so. It was sparse in furnishings. A bed, a table, and a small desk next to the bed. But these items were of a foreign taste to the lordly outlaw, who now cautiously approached the small desk. Upon the slender table was a strange looking vase, with some sort of covering over it. As he moved to touch it, his fingers grazed the glass and light filled the room.
"Good God, sorcery!"
The movements he did after his curse were nothing short then amazing. But again, there was no sorcerer to witness them, no witch to fail in her attempt at murder. His heart was beating fast and he slowed his breathing.
Whatever manner of sorcery had taken him to this place, it had brought with him his effects. He was still clad in resplendent green, and the feather tucked in his cap was never looking so good. A full quiver of arrows and his favorite bow lay against the wall. No sword, unfortunately. Whatever danger he would face in this sorcerous realm would meet his uncanny skill with the bow, not his god-like skill with the blade.
He opened the strange door in the strange room, leading to an even stranger home. There were other foreign furniture and he came to the conclusion that he was not in England anymore. Not willing to touch any more artifacts of questionable power, he found his way to what seemed to be the exit.
Another strange door, he doubted he could ever get used to that click, and before him lay a new, frightening, and unfamiliar world. No matter, as a slick grin spread across his lips.
He was Robin Hood.
How does that little man always do this to me? Maybe it was time to start praying. After all this was my second chance. At What? Being half a man? What good is it? Falling ever faster Ivan spun around until he could see the expanding streets below.
Shit. The ground.
How long before Ivan was firmly on the ground where he belonged?
Twenty, maybe Twenty-five seconds.
I'm glad mother didn't see me this way.
Ten seconds.
Levis? What the-
FHHHWWOOOPPP!!!!!
Fuck? What is this?
Ivan lay face down in a pile of something sickeningly soft. The stench was so horrid, had his guts spewn all over the street, only to survive? He sat back and examined his hand covered in the slimy entrails. That smell was the putrid stench of decomposing pig guts. Wiping the innards on his blue jeans, Ivan stood up and looked around. He was in an ally way surrounded by low buildings. This was not New York City. Perhaps hell? It's too quiet for that, just find a place to rest, gather your thoughts.
Cover your breasts. Breasts! Damn this probably is hell afterall. Will I ever be rid of these overblown sweater puppets? Ivan spotted a dumpster and rummaged around until he found an old red beach towel that someone had thrown out. He didn't dare think of what the dark stains were from. Fastening the large cloth around one shoulder he tied it off in a make-shift bra. He slowly started making his way down the ally.
OOC: Already, you're playing two characters. Maybe three... and they all scare me.
IC:
Maxx was still laying on the damp remains of his box, now more of a cardboard area rug, when he heard a familiar sound... something falling, and landing in a dumpster. He knew the sound well, but not so good from a ground-based listening location... more from getting thrown off a rooftop and hearing it first-hand.
"Sounds better the old way," he grumped, relaxing his arms, and stretching his back, until, still laying on his side on the cold cardboard, he could see down the alley more directly.
And see the..... whatever it was, getting out of a dumpster. She was an ugly guy... or he was one butt-ugly bitch. And he was shiny... he'd seen wierder, but never while he was awake. This kind of awake.
"Oh," he said, and closed his eyes again. "Maybe it will go away. I hope I thought that..."
Dismayed By Humanity Since 1992.
IC:
Reaper took stock of the small dinner. The make of the appliances was outdated, and whatever the tastes of the people who'd decorated, it just felt old to him. He walked in to where the grills were. One ws on, giving off a fair bit of heat.
He immediately looked back over his shoulder and pulled his pistol from his belt. Where is everyone, grills don't jsut turn themselves on... With a slow pull he opened the fridge area, ready for an assault which never came. It was rather typical actually. It reminded him of the fridge at boot camp where'd had to store the potatoes he'd spent many long hours peeling.
His countenance dropped slightly. This is too confusing. Just too confusing. After a moments pause he reached up and grabbed a package of buns. If he hadn't missed his guess the good meat would be under the counter accross from the grill. No reason to worry about this on an empty stomache.
Within a few moments he was cooking up some hamburger for a simple mean.
AAAAAAAAAAA.........AAAAAAAAAAAH!"
The fire. The unnatural, unholy fire.....
Torgo didn't know how long he had slept, or care, for that matter. He knew that he had been jolted awake by a nightmarish vision of his past, and he knew he was hungry. Then again, he had been hungry more or less nonstop since entering the service of the "Master", his food limited basically to whatever unfortunate creature he could manage to catch, which wasn't much.
Still, now that he had left the "Master" behind, he could probably manage to find something of substance to consume.
The crippled man got up, a laborious undertaking in and of itself, and went off in search of a meal.
He soon picked up the telltale smell of cooking meat, and headed towards it like a ballistic missile.
A ballistic missile that, for some reason, had 3 yaks attached to it. But nevertheless, he was off!
Torgo stood outside where the smell was coming from, a small diner. There was a man moving about inside, apparently dressed in a bulky vest. He didn't seem hostile, as far as Torgo could see, at least.
*ring*
"hELLo, mIsteR. couLd yOU sPAre a BiTE?"
..Crap, that didn't come out well in any way, shape or form.
Still, there was no response to his greeting. No village folk peered from behind closed shutters. No smoke rose from the chimneys. Who lived here? Perhaps they had all died, victims of their own lack of defences? No, there was no trace of carnage. No smoke either, not even from the chimneys.
It was eerie.
As he road down the main road, he marvelled at the town's constructions. Many of the walls were of pure glass, clear as air and thinner than any he had seen before. Certainly, only a people in possession of powerful forces – magicks, perhaps – could afford themselves such a luxury, not to mention master this craftsmanship. This street alone probably held a hundred times more of the material than all of Arthur's realm, and of higher quality too. Lancelot knew little of the making of glass, but he knew it was arduous work. What it took to make these windows – no, walls – he could only wonder.
He needed to find food and drink, both for himself and his horse. Looking around, he tried to spot a suitable place. Strange words – “gasoline”, “bar”, “garage” – passed before his eyes, before they came to rest on the word “Cidney's Dinner”. The name was unfamiliar, but he knew a taverna sign when he saw one. Riding up to the place, he dismounted, tied his destrier up to an oversized metal flagpost – with no flag, strangely enough.
He stood a second marvelling at the sharpness of his reflection in the glass door, before his eyes caught movement inside. So, there was life here after all. Smiling, he opened the door.
“Saluta...”
Then his eyes saw the legs of the creature in front of him. The beastly creature, part man, part beast. His sword was out in a flash.
“Demon!”
"Put the sword away or I turn your fucking chest inside out." What the fuck, first a mutant of some sort with insanely big knees and now a feiry in dark ages gettup. As much as he didn't understand either of these characters, he knew one thing, one of them was armed and that made him the primary threat. His days from boot camp had made sure he never forget that, kill things in the order they can kill you.
"Now somebody is going to start explaining to me who the hell you all are, and how you got here."
Things were really starting to bother Griffin. The emptiness of this town, the unnaturally straight and smooth streets, the lack of horse-shit.
He was starting to wonder if he'd been somehow pulled into an area where everyone's refractive indexes were at zero. He moved his head constantly, trying to catch the telltale movements of doors, dust, and plantlife that would indicate the presence of more Invisible Men.
Nothing.
Nothing except (he was startled to notice) a horse in truly antique getup tied to a lamp's post. A lamp's post outside what a shop of the type that the French called a restaurant, if he was correct.
Griffin quickly stripped down to nothing (the procedure of becoming naked no longer caused him even a moment's hesitation) and stuffed his clothing under a handy shrub. He wanted to see whoever owned that horse -- before whoever owned that horse saw him.
He scampered toward the food-shop on silent feet.
He was about to open his mouth and hurl a rude retort at the innkeep, before he realized the man's violent reaction was fully justified. Here he had come in unannounced and drawn his sword on a complete stranger, simply for being deformed. He should know better! Swallowing his pride, he sheathed his sword.
“My...my apologies, master innkeep”. It was a start, anyway. “And my apologies to you too, good sir”. He offered the cripple a rather deep bow.
“I have travelled for days, and I am afraid I do no longer know where my horse has carried me. I sought the harbour at Londinium – London – but must have ridden astray in the foul weather. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Lancelot of Benoic, son of Ban, friend of King Arthur of Camelot, and a Knight of the Round Table”. He could not bring himself to say faithful.
“I seek food and shelter for me and my mount, and can pay with coin of the realm”.
I aM TorGO, I......i....."
The satyr sighed, remembering a past that held no good memories.
"I aM.. a moST unFORtunatE Man.... I dO noT waNT to BURDen yOU witH thE deTailS.... OnLY ThaT I Am currEntly ouT oF woRK. I meAN nO HaRM."
"Take a seat at the counter... and you've got your choice, cheeseburgers or chicken sandwiches."
So they think I'm the proprietor... I'll wait and see what they have to say. You know this could have all been an ansible error. It's supposed to be foolproof but I never trusted that damn thing anyway. Only question is, where did it pick up the fucking boy wonder here. King Arthur and his round fucking table may be a good story, but thats all it is, a story.
"It's on the house, though I don't know if I've got anything but carrots and apples for the horse. Just tell me something, not to go too far into details," he said looking at Torgo for a moment before continuing, "how the fuck did you get here. What directions were you following that brought you this far?"
He would wait and watch, oh yes. Perhaps these three oddities were foes, perhaps not. Perhaps these three could even be useful to him -- allies, or servants. Whichever. Oh yes, he could play the spider.
"Ah-heh-heh." Griffin clamped his mouth shut before the laugh could become louder than a sigh. Damn giggles were coming over him at the most inopportune times.
The man was rude, but that did not matter. He seemed like a decent fellow, despite his rude mouth. Of course he was, having stood up to a knight – himself acting rather knightly, in fact – in order to protect the weak. Walking over to the counter, his armour rattling with every step, he sat down on one of the high stools, placing his helmet so it's roaring lion snarled into his own face.
“Ham...burgers? I'll have one of those, thank you, and ale. If you have it”. He had never heard of either of these foods, but new meals were always interesting. “I must insist on paying, though. Anything else would be unseemly for a man of my stature. Also, would you please ask your stable boy to take care of my horse? Carrots and apples would be perfectly acceptable, but he needs some barley too. I can pay whatever is needed. The poor creature has gone without a stable for many days now. Just as I have,” he added with a small grin.
Twisting on the stool, he turned his attention to the cripple. “Torgo, my good man, would you join me in a meal? If would be the least I could offer you. Please, I insist,” he added, tapping the wood with a gauntleted hand before swivelling so he could address them both.
“As I told you, I was headed for London, but must have gotten lost on the way. The weather was quite foul, and I probably took a wrong turn at some point. I merely followed the road, and ended up in your beautiful town here. On that note, would you mind telling me where here is, good sirs? At first I suspected Avalon, but this architecture I have never seen in the court of the Lady, nor heard Merlin speak a word of”.
As FOR hoW I gOt heRE, I wAs fLeeING mY ForMeR.... EmplOYeR. I KnOW NoTHIng moRE thAN ThaT, noR dO i KnOW whERe I aM nOW, otHER tHan thAT I aM, HoPEFULLY, sAfe froM fuRTHer ReTRIbuTion..."
Dismayed By Humanity Since 1992.
It might have been as much about the food as anything else, really. Griffin was very hungry -- he'd meant to purloin some food from the Inn's kitchen -- and he'd never really liked apples anyway.
Griffin quickly donned his clothing and rewrapped the bandages that hid his face. Pulling his wide-brimmed hat onto his head, he checked once again that his goggles were firmly in place and set out towards the diner.
As he shouldered the door open he turned and tossed his apple to the massive horse still tethered to the lamp's post.
A-heh.
"Afternoon, gentlemen. Any chance of some food for a famished and bewildered traveler? I've got coin, of course, although from the looks of things it's hardly the local currency."
Griffin liked his little jokes. Oh yes. This time the laughter was silent.
Ah-heh-heh.
[OOC: For the purposes of this game, I'm going to have it so that anything Griffin eats or drinks becomes immediately invisible. Don't want to have to watch an increasingly digested sandwich go through the GI tract for several hours, right? I don't, anyway.]
He rolled onto his side, placed his hands on the ground, and stood up. Hunched over as he often was when he woke up first thing in the morning (or afternoon, or as was more likely, evening) his hands were still quite able to reach the ground. Julie had always pressured him to see a chiropractor, but Maxx was afraid that the mask might harm the man... plus it was unlikely any human pair of arms could wrap around him, as chiropractors were supposed to do. Torture devices, those tables...
He thumped to the end of the alley just in time to see a darkly-dressed man vanish into.... a diner.
Not his diner, either. Sal, with the greasy apron and greasy hands, serving greasy coffee from clean decanters (Sal insisted his coffee decanters be spotless), with chili dogs and toast waiting for him when he was able to pay with money lifted from formerly-living muggers. No, his diner wasn't there. This one was glassy, and well-lit... and not greasy. It wasn't right.
"Maybe they have toast," he grumped, and started to walk accross the street. He looked over at the horse, not surprised in the least. "Hi, horsey. Have you seen my diner?"
Dismayed By Humanity Since 1992.
Dismayed By Humanity Since 1992.
IC:
Reaper just sighed as the next person came in. He set a few more burgers on the grill to fry and handed the cheeseburger that he had just finished for himself in front of Torgo. "Well, Lancelot, I'll have your burger in five. And how about you bandages, cheeseburger or chicken sandwich?" He waited for a moment for his reply. "Chicken eh, good enough. As to the horse, I don't exactly have a stablehand. I don't even own this fucking place, last thing I knew I was about to enter the mess hall in Pearl Harbor. But someone left the grill on and some burgers ready so I thought I'd help my own damn self. Was going to leave credits to cover it, but if you feel the fucking need to pay, just leave it on the counter. "
His eyes ranged over three people in front of him, then out the window at the fourth who hadn't entered yet. A man in a purple super-hero costume, well this day just gets better. "So my primary concern is what happened to the people here. If their dead then I don't fucking want to meet whatever killed them if I can fucking help it, and if they all just left, why did they leave, what was so god damn important they forgot to even turn the grill off."
"I'll take the chicken. I don't like Dutch food." Ah-heh-heh.
He half-listened to the man behind the counter as he inspected his other luncheon companions. "Should I assume that none of us are actually natives of this strange town? I've yet to see anyone else around, and I was hoping to ask some questions. I seem to have misplaced an Inn -- not to mention a mid-sized town." Ah-heh.
"Quite why everyone would just disappear..." Griffin trailed off as he saw a man dressed all in purple standing outside, talking to the horse. He blinked behind his thick goggles. "Errr. What was I saying? I'm not sure where everyone is. Nor why they left. Nor why I'm here."
“Dutch?” It was all he could utter as the leper with a misplaced inn sat down beside him. He shifted uncomfortably on his stool as the man sat down beside him. No-one else seemed to molest him, and Lancelot decided not to speak too soon against yet another stranger. 'The Son of God showed compassion for the sickly, and so shall I. At least I shall not chase him off like a scared peasant.'
Averting his attention from the leper, Lancelot turned back to address the false innkeep. That he was false no longer struck him that odd. Here, everything was odd, but he decided to play along. Perhaps it was all some kind of dream, or a test. “In...five? In five will be fine, thank you.” 'A test for what?'
Lancelot just sat there in silence for a moment. It was all too strange. A false innkeep, a cripple, a leper, and a knight. He was almost to the point where he began wondering what game fate – or whoever manipulated it – had placed him in when he saw the looming, purple figure outside. Mouth almost agape, he took in the sheer volume of the man.
“That, has to be the biggest jester I have ever seen.”
"Are you one of thems?" he asked the horse, before strolling slowly over, and opening the door to the diner. He poked his head inside, briefly forgetting that, since everything was glass, they could still see the rest of him. He sighed, and stepped inside. There seemed to be nothing like a normal diner... tired waitresses, Sal in his greasy apron. There was burgers, though. That was good.
"Hi."
"Said the man in a dress," Maxx retorted.
Dismayed By Humanity Since 1992.
*BELCH*
"ThanK yoU. I neEDed thAT."
Swiveling around, he jolts somewhat at the sight of the very large purple man, but relaxes quickly.
Don'T bE a mORon, ToRGo. thE maSTer Can'T Get yOu heRE, And EveN iF he COuld, He Wouldn'T uSe a PurplE GiANt.
"GrEETings. I aM TorgO."
Griffin drummed his gloved fingers on the countertop and continued to watch Lancelot for a moment. "Something making you uncomfortable, is it?"
Griffin waved affably along the counter at the purple-clad giant. "Afternoon, Mr. Giant. Come have some food. They only serve Dutch, but it still should be edible."
Ah-heh-heh.
"I am The Maxx," Maxx said before thumping over to the friendly fellow in the head-to-toe bandages. He'd seem some of the bums under the bridge dress like that. Sometimes there was blood on the bandages. He often wondered why they just didn't use duct tape.
"Got any toast?"
Dismayed By Humanity Since 1992.
"Sure I can get some toast on." Reaper had already had time to adjust to the strangeness of the purple clad giant while he was outside. I don't think there is much of fucking anything that would still surprise me around here. Weirdest fucking dream I've ever had or the Ansible really fucked up this time...
He set a couple pieces of bread on the grill to start toasting, and finished up plating the hamburgers. He slid one to Lancelot and one to Bandaids, as he was coming to think of him.
OOC:
Reaper has probably never seen a leper before in his life due to advanced medical tech, so he doesn't have any discomfort over the bandages, or even opinion on them other than that the guy might have burns or something.
(OOC: Anyone paying attention can tell that Torgo is less shaky than he was before he ate. At least some of his problems are probably due to profound malnutrition.
oh, and post some, you guys.)
"Ahem. Hate to break up our most salubrious picnicking, but does anyone have the faintest God-damned idea what we're doing here or how to get home? I was right in the middle of certain ... delicate experiments, and I hardly relish the idea of beginning again."
Still, the bandaged man raised an excellent point. Where WAS this place, anyway? Although it was, matched against his former location, a veritable paradise, that doesn't take away from the fact that it's still an odd area.
The man in the dress talked funny, the man with the knees talked wierd, and the man in the bandages talked like a Limey. Only the guy who looked like a space marine was making any sense, and he was also operating a grill like he owned the place, but he was as out of whack as everyone else.
"I saw someone walking around... big, ugly guy. Chick. Something. There might be others wandering around."
OOC: Stupid subscription didn't let me know someone posted.
Dismayed By Humanity Since 1992.
Dismayed By Humanity Since 1992.