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rainbowlounge2012-04-19 01:55 pm
rainbowmods) wrote in rainbowlounge2012-04-19 01:55 pm
Entry tags:
The Bar At The End of the Universe
Things are shifting. Points in space and time are connecting in ways they’ve never connected before. Bridges are materializing where there once was nothing.
There are cosmic signs appearing across the universes. They’re all pointing to the same place.
OOC: Sorry for the delay! If any questions come up, remember there’s this post where you can ask.
There are cosmic signs appearing across the universes. They’re all pointing to the same place.
OOC: Sorry for the delay! If any questions come up, remember there’s this post where you can ask.
The Bar
Shaking his head, he glances around. A few patrons are at tables, sipping drinks, eating, and chatting quietly, and no one has claimed any of the stools at the bar. Nothing seems different or out of place. It’s all very ordinary for a Thursday afternoon.
So why can’t he shake that strange feeling?
OOC: Comment in reply to this thread to approach the bar/talk to Dan. Feel free to also start your own top-level threads for others to tag into.
Re: The Bar
"What the hell...?" she said aloud, looking at the bar. Then, she marched forward and accosted the guy standing behind it. "Hi. This is going to sound really weird, but can you tell me where I am?"
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She had her hand tucked through his arm, saying, "I like when it's just us for a night sometimes, it's fun." Then they pushed open the door...and were in Dan's, not the restaurant.
"You would have corrected me if I'd come here automatically, wouldn't you?" Not to mention that the street had been distinctly Manhattan, not Brooklyn.
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...going into a bar that looked like Dan's, apparently. Except outdated, and that was a much younger version of Dan behind the bar, not Dani. He could have been filling in, except, again, much younger.
Alexa pulled out a chair and sank down to contemplate what the hell might have happened.
Maybe she was dreaming. She read enough scifi, soft and hard, and fantasy, low and high, that this would fit a dream. (Blame her dad for those predilections.) Except she was certain she'd been on her way to that appointment.
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She scanned the tables, wrinkling her nose when she found they were mostly taken. There was one away from the door and the bar that was only occupied by a woman about her own age, frowning as she thought. Ahava went over to her.
"Hi," she said, smiling. "I'm Ahava, I live up the street. Mind if I share your table?"
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Maybe it was a joke, though the amount of energy that would be required seemed a little extravagant just for that.
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She got up from the stool and headed for her sister, saying, "I'm assuming you didn't mean to come here," when she reached her.
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She was due to meet Anna, too, about some scheduling and supply issues.
A slow look around reminded her vaguely of one of the bars in New York that she and her siblings had visited, last time they were all there; they'd mostly gone to annoy Augusto's children, a perk of being the older generation. She didn't remember the name, but...she did see several of his children.
Well then.
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Yet it had happened.
He scanned the bar, trying to figure out what the hell had happened. Nothing different about the bar itself, but there were Letta and Sable, Letta in what she'd wear to a meeting and Sable in casual clothes; Torey and Sam up by the bar with a woman he vaguely recognized, all of them dressed like they were going out for the night; Zia Emilia, who made Johnny sort of want to hide because she always made him feel like an errant child just by how she looked at him (and what the hell was she doing in New York?); a woman who looked sort of like the woman by the bar, sitting with another woman who had a laptop case; a redhead by the bar; a man in scrubs, of all things; another man in some odd outfit; and of course, now him, in his grease-stained t-shirt, old jeans, and steel-toed boots.
At least he wasn't anymore out-of-place than the guy in the weird outfit or the one in scrubs.
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He took a shower of indecent length, poured himself a glass of Coeval, yanked his desk chair up to the vanity and sat there to file his nails, blowing the steam off of his glasses while the glass sloshed emptier and emptier.
He hated having gun gunk under his nails.
Assured that this was no longer the case, he removed to the bedroom with intentions of drinking a bit more, rereading his favorite discussion in /Tranquility Base/ and dozing off before midnight.
Oh. Apparently, he'd already gotten to most of that. Shame he didn't recall the reading part. That should have been the highlight of this evening. But no. Fingernails. That's what he remembered.
But, at least he'd had this dream before. Funny thing though, this wasn't his usual dream bar which took after the tavern where he'd gone with Natalie but bigger and brighter and never out of lambic beer. Cases in point, this particular dream bar lacked in accordion players, danceable tables and Natalies. Well, that and he usually managed to show up at the dream bar with pants.
But, a lucid dream was a lucid dream. He hadn't gotten to enjoy one of those since he'd been a newlywed novice shepherd who still nodded off in the fields. And woke up with a bunch of lambs trying to snuggle him. Funny, this one hadn't brought him any lambs either.
Siebenkas mentally shrugged off these omissions, hitched up his towel and took a seat at the bar.
Come to think of it, the dream people in his dream bars were usually... cleaner, than his immediate right. He blamed the gun gunk in his nails.
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"I take it you did not intend to appear in a bar wearing..." Her eyes flicked over him. "That little," she finished. It wasn't disdainful. If he'd come here similarly to how she had, then he probably hadn't planned to end up in a bar wearing a towel.
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With a sigh, Matt drops his pen and rolls out of bed, stretching until his back gives a few satisfied pops. He'll be glad when he's turned in this project and doesn't have to hink about it anymore-- of course, he's still got three papers and a few labs hanging over his head.
Scratching his bare stomach and twisting his pajama pants back the right way around, Matt heads for the kitchen and his long-promised coffee.
Ending up in the center of Dan's instead is unexpected, to say the least.
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Scratch that, who was a twenty-years-younger version of Husband Two, if Nicoletta's memory served correctly.
She sauntered over to him, heels clicking on the floor, and smiled. "You forgot your shirt," she said, or maybe purred.
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He walks backward through the doorway, guiding her into his office. The moment they cross the threshold, though, David's hit by a sudden burst of noise and dimming of lights. He snaps his head up, glaring around at the sudden appearance of Dan's bar.
"Fuck no," he says, grabbing Angela's wrist and tugging her toward the door. "We're trying this again."
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Angela groans in frustration. She's fucking soaked, and she just wants him in her already. "Bathroom," she nearly orders, and it wouldn't be the first time they fucked in the restroom of the bar. Against the wall is fucking amazing.
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And that was when he realized he was not inside his fathers' house. He was in a bar. Dan's, apparently, although Dan look noticeably younger than when he last saw him. And...wait, there were both his dads and Eileen, also looking noticeably younger.
Okay, maybe he was more sleep deprived than he thought.
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It reminded Johnny so much of when Torey would come home from Cornell that he had to ask, "Comin' home on vacation?"
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"Setsuko," she says, pushing open the infirmary door, "could I have some-"
This isn't the infirmary, and Setsuko is nowhere to be seen. Neither is Ansheng, or Wallace, or Harold. In fact, Yuyan realizes, panic rising in her gut, she doesn't know where this place is. There are lanterns without flames, women and men in the oddest clothing, and a strange, tinkling music playing from somewhere far off. People are gathering at tables, chattering in a language that sounds like Common but not quite.
Yuyan slowly sits down in a chair, softer than a cloud, softer than anything she's sat on before, and touches her fingertips to the table.
pink wine flowing into a glass goblet/a man smelling of something greasy and bitter/a manicured thumb pressing a lighted silver block
Well, that certainly wasn't helping.
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"Are you all right?" she asked in careful English.
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"Where am I?" Tsukino walks over to the nearest booth and takes a seat, trying to figure out where she is.
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What could have happened? This isn't like Yuyan. Yuyan is meticulous and organized to a fault, and never the sort who would come late to the infirmary.
...unless something had happened.
Setsuko decides to take matters into her own hands, and pulls open the infirmary door, off to search for her-
-and finds herself not outside, but in a room that's brighter than day, with soft patterned carpets and low murmurs of Common, or what sounds like it at least. She can see Yuyan out of the corner of her eye, looking confused and anxious as she speaks to an old woman with a glass of wine in one hand.
Setsuko tries to wave to Yuyan, but unfortunately she's too far away. And when she tries to return the way she came, she ends up in this exact same place.
This won't do. This won't do at all.
It might be best, she decides, to try and investigate until Yuyan is done. Maybe she can figure out a way to return before then.
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His stomach decided on that moment to remind him why he'd been walking into his kitchen into the first place. Perhaps he ought to get something to eat.
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Silly scenarios aside, she suspected it was much more probable that it was what it looked like, which was to say, a bar. The coronas of surface thoughts she saw around the other patrons ruled out this being someone's mental architecture. It could potentially be a constructed space for conferencing, but no one else here looked like a sihara, or a mindreaver.
Quite a few of the patrons' thoughts whirled around them in the disorder of confusion, which suggested she wasn't the only one who'd taken an unexpected sidetrip today. The man wandering around in a towel, of all things, would seem to bear that out. Even if she was going to miss her morning appointments, she had at least been given the opportunity to clothe herself.
Well, while she waited for silent priests to realize their mistake and fetch her back, she might as well take advantage of the chance to meet new people. She unbuttoned her overcoat, straightened her cravat, and wandered into the crowd.
(OOC: I'm going to default to Naveed not touching others' thoughts or architecture unless given the ok. Going poking around in other people's heads isn't good manners, after all. Feel free to let me know what someone's corona would look like, or if you'd like me to take a guess based on what I've read in rainbowfic, let me know. Coronas can be abstract - ribbons or sparks of light, sound, scent - or concrete, like leaves, glass, or leaves of glass. Architecture is usually modeled after a building or place central to someone's life, unless they've guided their mind into a specific shape.)
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The way the ground swallowed the sound of her boots fascinated and unnerved Yuyan at the same time. They always rustled against the strewn rushes on the ground or tapped out against wood or stone.
Everyone else seemed comfortable in this place. Everyone, that is, except her. She could stand here stupidly for hours and marvel at the lanterns, the tinkling music, or the little...things that the others had, like an inkstone you could write on by pressing little studs. If only Iseult was here to see this. She'd know what to do.
Maybe she should unstrap her sword from her back? She'd been coming back from practice when she'd ended up here, but nobody had stared at it or started a fight. Yet.
A woman in an overcoat was coming this way, and Yuyan skirted aside with a deferential bow of her head.
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Addendum
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The room was far too large and warm and bright, full of people the likes of which Isshiri had never seen before. He couldn't be dreaming--it was too abrupt a shift, one minute he was outside the cell door getting his collar reactivated and the next...
At least his new handler was letting him keep his prosthetic--though the floor looked soft enough to fall over on, he supposed.
I have no idea where the hell I am, but it's better than where I left. Focus on that, and figure out the rest as it comes.
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Joy blinked, then headed for the most confused-looking person who didn't already have someone with him. He looked hurt as well, and weary. "Hey," she said, slinging her purse off her shoulder. "You okay? You look stressed."
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"If you'd just stop being an uptight bitch all the time..." Jack was saying, as she strode away from him to her office, her heels clicking against the marble floor. Ten more steps and she could flip him off and shut the door in his face. Soon he'd be gone, soon...
"Shut the fuck up, Jack," she snapped, without turning to face him. "I'm not uptight, you're a ridiculous party boy without one ounce of responsibility!"
She reached her office and yanked the door open as he snorted, and said, "Oh, sure, I have fun. What's the matter, Andy, jealous that you don't get any?"
"Why, you little..." She stopped, abruptly, and Jack, hard on her heels, slammed into her back.
Her office had suddenly turned into a bar. What the fuck.
Jack, peering over her shoulder, said in admiring tones, "I take that back. You do know how to have fun."
"Shut up, you cretin," Miranda said, but her heart wasn't in it.
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Or maybe the Board, she supposed, as she took in her surroundings, but nothing about this seemed overtly, demonstrably evil, and if there was anything the Board of Demons wasn't known for, it was subtlety.
Clearly, this deserved further investigation. She bet The Big Guy knew what was happening, the enigmatic bastard. It was just ridiculous how He never shared the good stuff.
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"Wan' a drink?" Yeah, definitely not drunk. He probably wouldn't be confused about Matt's world if he was drunk, honestly.
He'd like to get drunk at this point.
She'd need a glass, though, if she did indeed want a drink.
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Can vampires get drunk? The alcohol in the colonies is all trade goods - therefore expensive - or medicinal and therefore tasteless. Now seems like a good time for Allison to find out.
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"Hi," he said, hitting her with his best blazing smile. "I'm Jack. Can I buy you a drink?"
H was fond of that approach: showed off his looks, kept his family name out of the picture, and let the girl say no without repercussions if she was so inclined. And also didn't get him laughed at nearly as often as cheesy lines.
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"That's the last of the scheduled meetings, sir," he replied softly. "We've had another message from your wife, though."
"Does she have a confirmed arrival date?" With her separate responsibilities here and now as Crown Princess in her mother's kingdom, he and had spent less than eight months of the two years of their marriage actually in the same place. It had been nearly six months since the last time she'd been here, and he found himself oddly looking forward to her arrival.
"Sometime next week, she couldn't be more specific. She'd just left the mountains and expects to make good time, weather permitting."
Andrell nodded. "All right, then. If that's all, you're done for the night. Anything I need to sign is on my desk?"
"Yes, sir." The secretary bowed. "Good night, sir."
"Good night."
Andrell opened the door to his study, and stepped through into--
Something that was very definitely not his study.
"What the hell?"
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"We seem to be in a tavern," she told him. "I wouldn't try to leave. You'll just find yourself back in here again."
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Helen grinned as she checked her appearance one more time. She checked her jewelry and made sure nothing was out of place. Helen grabbed her purse, phone, and keys on her way out the door. She blinked when she didn't see her car. She raised her eyebrow as she looked around.
"Where am I?" Helen looked around and took a seat at the nearest table. "Figures this would happen when I finally get time to see him."
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He never makes it, finding himself stepping off of the plane and into Dan's bar instead. Eyes widening, he mentally reviews the status of his consciousness (yep, seems normal) before listing any possible mind-altering substances he's been exposed to.
"I told him that second-hand smoke is bad for me," he mutters, glancing around.
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...or she could step out of the shower and land, bare-ass-naked and dripping wet, in Dan's. Again.
When she got home, she was going to look into a doorless house. For the time being, she slapped one arm across her tits, her hand across her crotch, and decided they'd buy Dan a new chair, dammit, she was sitting down.
His fault or not, she was making David make up for this.
She'd probably care less about the nudity if she'd been expecting to be naked in public. And wasn't all wet.
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What the hell, not like the night hasn't been weird enough.
"Hey," Matt says, sliding up to her. He refuses to allow himself to look anywhere but her eyes. "You look like you could use some help."
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Unfortunately, when Lady Viola opened the door to the Paloma, she stepped into an entirely different room, smaller and danker. Not that it's bad, mind, simply that it's not quite what she'd expected. And yet she recalls quite clearly having seen the glittering electric lights of the Paloma before walking in.
How strange.
So she stands there in the doorway, wavering a moment and feeling oddly overdressed in her evening finery, auburn wig, and shawl, trying to decide what precisely to do now that she seems to have wandered someplace entirely other.
((OOC: Please consider this icon Sebastian's appearance for these purposes. The others are here for matters of facial expression and because one also plays him in non-drag, non-turn-of-the-century contexts. Please keep in mind that Sebastian's a fairly fishy queen in drag.))
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"You look rather shocked by your sudden entrance."
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