ways_back_room | Weekend Entertainment #1

Weekend Entertainment #1 - August Test Drive Meme

It's an

app_this_plz weekend! Belly up to the Bar and come test with us!

H O W T O P L A Y:

-->Reply to this post with any character, new or old, you wish to app into Milliways. Remember that they're entering the Bar from their homeworld/wherever they just were as if this were their first EP.
-->Scan the post and respond to any characters you'd like to interact with.
-->Milliways members: feel free to respond with your applied characters or post them
--> Have fun! Post is open until Monday's DE and/or until the next Test Drive Meme!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

A very large...well, it's either a robot or a cyborg, enters and pauses to the right of the door (after a quick side step).

"Well, either Two Horns has seriously cleaned up the place or someone's downloaded a virus to my OS," it says in a voice which sounds very deep and very male. He, if the voice is anything to go by, is dressed in an ammo/combat vest, digital camo pants, combat boots and not much else. He taps the side of his head with one hand (to seem like he's trying to knock his optics back inline) and rests the other on his hip, right near a pistol. He'd feel better with his rifle but it was a bar he had been entering and they tend to make you check those sorts of things in.

Edited 2015-07-26 04:18 (UTC)

Robot or cyborg, it doesn't make a difference - Sterling Malory Archer has a deeply ingrained fear of both.

(Blame Barry. And - Other-Barry, he guesses. God, what dicks.)

And so the $300 glass of Glengoolie Blue halfway to his lips is dropped when said robot/cyborg makes its entrance. Before it crashes to the ground, Archer's Walther PPK is out and leveled at the newcomer.

(He would go with a 1911, except they totally ruin the lines of his bespoke suit. Also, the Germans have some kind of Teutonic gnome magic going when it comes to gunsmithing.)

"Ohhhhh no! No! I am not letting your kind screw this up for me, dickwad! Out!"

Briareous draws his gun in a blink of an eye and has it trained on the crazy man. It is big, the gun. Big in the way that makes you wonder why ammo comes in that size.

"I think someone has had enough juice today. Why don't we just relax, go to different sides of the bar, and ignore each other?"

"I have a better idea! One, eat a bag of dicks, you - dick. Two, get the hell out of my bar, Skynet."

A beat.

"But - put like two grand on my tab with Bar first, because scotch stains are a bitch to get out of shoes like these. I'll probably have to book a flight to Italy to get new ones made. ...you dick."

"Gotta admit, I'm not to impressed with your negotiating skills. Why don't you get the fuck out of my face before my boot does it for you?"

Edited 2015-07-27 00:00 (UTC)

"Oh yeah? Well I'm not too impressed with your-"

How did Lana put it once?

"-jumping-up-your-own-ass-and-dying...skills.

"I totally had something for this. It's the Everclear's fault. -not that you'd know. What do you guys drink, anyway? Motor oil? Industrial lube?"

"Renfeild!" Shouted the count as he stalked the hallways of his new castle, "RENFEILD! !"

He was hungry and grumpy, and dressed to kill. That is when he opened a door and found a tavern full of peasants in his castle.

"RENFEILD," he shouted over his shoulder before he noticed the frozen servant on the other side of the door.

That Barways, meet The Count, now standing at the I entrance staring at the occupants with a quizzical look. He is wearing a pair of leather pants, a large bat shaped belt buckle, killer boots, a black buttoned shirt, and ab black leather cape lined in red silk. His long dark hair was brushed back from his face, and his fingernails were long and unpolished, but we'll kept.

Camille strides into the bar... and freezes, her eyes narrowing. This place isn't anywhere she's ever been, and she would swear she knows most places on Saint Marie. It isn't exactly a large island, after all.

So what is a bar doing here, where there should be a harbor warehouse? And why is it so cold?

The man who slides up next to her is well-dressed, we'll give him that much. He might even come off as tolerable, if he could ever keep his mouth shut.

"Hi, I'm a secret agent, would you like to have sex with me?"

(That's it. That's the pickup line.)

"You are not much of a secret agent, if you announce it." Camille retorts, not much impressed either by the man or his pick up line.

Archer gives a dismissive pshaw. "For your information, I'm actually the greatest. In the world. That tap-and-trace outside the Cuban embassy last year? My work. Colonel Gagarin's assassination outside shitty Siberian gulag number 433? Also my work. Stealing the latest on the Shkval torpedo's targeting systems? All moi."

Beat.

"There's more, but I think I'm starting to get drunk."

"No, I could hardly tell." The detective's voice is as dry as the Sahara as she scans the room. This place would cost a small fortune to set up, never mind what it must be costing in air conditioning.

"You say that, but it's actually pretty impressive. I drink enough to drown an Irishman daily and it's still been years since I've been impaired."

Beat.

"Seriously, someone should give Bar a medal for that. -oh, yeah, standard entrance spiel - you're not in your world anymore, this is Milliways, blah blah blah, the waitstaff sucks infinitely less than my butler. You'd think he'd learn how to poach a goddamn egg properly after the third time I threw his shoes off the roof."

Camille blinks at him, slowly.

So, this fellow is:
a) rich
b) drunk
c) an asshole
and
d) painfully chatty.

"Your life is one of unending trial and toil." She rolls her eyes, "Now, if you'll excuse me." She needs to find out who's running this place - this just doesn't feel right to her.

"Oh, hello," Autor says, tilting his head at her from his seat at the bar. He marks his place in his book and adjusts his glasses. "Are you new? You look new."

Camille had hoped to find someone a little more... official, but she can handle a teenaged boy. She unclips her badge from her belt as she walks over, eyeing her surroundings warily.

"Detective Sargeant Camille Bordey - do you know who is the owner here?"

"Well, technically it's the Landlord, but no one has ever seen them as far as I know," Autor says, shaking his head. He orders up a guide and offers it to her. "This is Milliways, the bar at the end of the universe. There's the Window, and time stops here."

She's about to give him grief for his answer, feeling that her chain is being well and truly yanked... but she looks in the direction the boy points, it's a reflex, really.

Autor, don't you know it's not nice to confront newbies with the Observation Window?

The guide is dropped from nerveless fingers as she stares, slack-jawed.

"It's a doozy, isn't it?" Autor says, not unsympathetically. "Detective Sergeant? Are you quite all right?"

Camille Bordey is a smart woman. A logical woman. A practical woman.

After a long moment she turns around, takes a deep breath, and announces:

"I need a drink. Several drinks, actually."

"You're in luck, your first drink is free," Autor says, gesturing to the bar. "She'll get whatever you like for you. She being the bar, that is."

He slides off his stool to retrieve the guide, which he offers to the startled woman again.

She must be getting her wits back about her - that last comment earns a side-long look of 'you need to start being less difficult or your life is going to get immeasurably harder'.

"Come again?"

Autor has been the recipient of such looks for quite some time now; it doesn't even make him flinch. "The bar," he repeats, "will get you anything you like, except for magical items and living things. Here. Like this."

He turns to order tea, which appears in a cup with a gold rim.

It has to be some sort of trick, a gimmick to lure in the rubes... somehow done with mirrors? She doesn't understand it, but she's willing to go with it for now.

"Something with rum? And whatever else you have in there. Throw it in a blender, set the whole thing on fire, and bring it out."

Bar obligingly offers something pink in a tall glass with a little pineapple wedge on the side.

Camille knocks back half before pausing. It is, thankfully, strong enough to give her something else to think about.

"Feel any better?" Autor says, tilting his head at her again. "Like I said, this is the bar at the end of the universe. The wait staff are rats. Big ones. And if you ever want to go back to your own world, you can usually head through your door--unless you're bound and it has disappeared, that is."

"I think it will take much more alcohol before I feel better." She snaps, downing another fourth and wincing. "I must have hit my head. Or gotten a fever."

Autor's eyebrow twitches. "A common reaction," he says, and turns back to his book. "You'll see, the bar's real enough. Few people have hallucinations this complex anyhow."

"I suppose I could always handcuff you and take you back to the station - that would prove if you were a hallucination or not." Camille agrees, reaching for her back pocket.

Autor holds up his hands. "There's no need to be hasty. Plus, you don't have jurisdiction here. Security does. It's a volunteer force."

"I see no evidence of that, and besides. A bar's security does not carry more authority than the police." She assures him, reaching for his hands.

Autor hops off his bar stool and skitters back. "There's no reason to handcuff me," he says, and pulls a patterned rag out of his pocket. "Effugium."

The rag expands outward at the corners into a flying carpet, which the boy hops on. "Here, now. Why don't you have another drink and read the guide, and settle down to the point where you don't want to arrest anyone."

Camille stops short, eyeing the flying carpet.

...

"Now I know I'm hallucinating. Fantastic."

Autor sighs. "You're not hallucinating, I promise. Not that you'll take my word for it, but still," he says, tapping his toe, a nervous habit. "I'd offer you a ride, but I'm afraid you'll drag me off and try to handcuff me again."

She waves a hand at him while heading back to her abandoned drink - if she can possibly drink herself into unconsciousness in a hallucination, it seems worth a try.

"Why would I handcuff a hallucination?"

"I have no idea," Autor says, folding his arms. "You seemed pretty set on it not five minutes ago, so you tell me."

"Because you were insisting you were real and I, for some reason, believed you. Don't worry, it won't happen again." Camille snorts. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...

"So your first reaction to my being real was to arrest me without probable cause?" Autor says, scoffing. He sits on the edge of his carpet, legs dangling. "I am real, for the record. But I can already tell that I'm not going to be able to convince you."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Weekend Entertainment #1 - August Test Drive Meme

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'

Re: DS Camille Bordey, 'Death in Paradise'