Roleplaying
2004 Archive
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Seminars
| When: | 4 December 2004 |
| Who: | Bronwen, Genevieve, Tyrr |
| What: | Why an exuberent artist should not be left unattended... although the results can be quite striking at the same time. |
Back Room - Fado's
Tucked back along the far half of the second floor of Fado's lies an oversized break room, decorated in what can only be described as a highly stylized hunting lodge, complete with rich birch and pine parquet pattern inlaid on the floor. A large hand axe, its grip wrapped in deep brown leather, hangs on a plaque above doorway in such a way that it can be easily unmounted for actual use. A few sturdy tables provided by the best of urban outfitters feature gnarled oak legs and frames, and between their forest green cushioned seats and the trio of black suede couches on the far wall, provide room for about two dozen people. The few modern amenities include a sink for washing up and a kitchentte, along with a six foot wide plasma flatscreen television. Trophies from ethereal spirits, ornamentation with traditional clothing, and even a decapitated gorgon's head line the wood panelled walls, with the gilt and lapis inlaid flail and shepard's crook of Osiris as a feature centerpiece.
Bronwen nudges the back door open with a foot as she balances a mug as well as a bag labelled with the name of a local pastry shop. Heading towards the couches closest to the TV, she gives the rest of the room a quick scanning glance.
Most things seem to be in place. Its relatively neat, quiet. However, something seems to be missing. Something seems to be wrong. Its then at that point that someone may notice not one, but two missing things. The first, which would be more obvious to strangers, is the empty glass case along one of the trophy wall. Closer inspection would see a small, museum quality placard discussing the Gorgon sisters. The second, which would be more obvious to those familiar with the setting, is Genevieve. Ah, yes, the tranquility and neatness CAN be explained.
There's a faint flicker of 'something' in the middle of the room. What is it? Who knows.
Bronwen's stride slows slightly as she realizes that Genevieve isn't here. She pauses for a couple of seconds to figure out why the room feels odd but then resumes walking soon afterward with a faint smile. Placing the items she brought along onto a nearby coffee table, she also drops down to the couch. The flickering motion catches her eye and Bronwen watches it wearily.
However, peace and quiet was to be relatively short lived. Even as Bronwen settles in, a rather heavy-sounding -clunk- can be heard, faintly stoney in timbre. And then a tell-tale, sylph-like giggle rings out from behind one of the counters. This thing is going to be the best birdbath EVER! A scraping sound can be heard, but stops immediately at the shimmering disturbance. Mussed chestnut hair, followed by a radiant, if somewhat smug, visage pops up into view, and with a naughty laugh, she darts over to a coffee table, chattering out, "HesGonnaKillMeIfHeSeesThisQuickHelpMeDistractHimSoICanFinishHisPresent!" She then gestures towards the narrow, long coffeetable situated in front of the sofa.
Bronwen blinks a couple of times at the sudden appearance of Genevieve as well as her rapid request. "I don't think he'll *kill* you, although the urge to do something vaguely aggressive might be there," she replies calmly and moves the bag of pastries to the couch and her mug to the floor. "You want me to move this somewhere?"
"Yes he will!" chimes out from Genevieve as she scuttles about, abandoning the project that had her rapt attention. Were one to look over the counter, it would become apparent WHY the area was still neat -- all the usual mess was concentrated in that one spot where she had been staying. Nonetheless, she doesn't even wait for Bronwen's response, instead scattering the magazines and tablecover to the winds, yanking the furniture towards the spot that incidentally, or perhaps intentionally, was the site where Tyrr left them earlier. "He never answered me either about the art, the big ol' jerk!" she says vengefully. The whole moving of the table takes very, very, little time.
There's more of a flicker, but now that a table is /in the way/ of where Tyrr was standing, something happens. Tyrr's vessel comes out of nowhere a foot above the table, dropping him squarely right into the middle of the thing and breaking it clear in half. At first, there was a slight smirk on his face as he 'materialized' but now there's a glower that could melt lead.
Bronwen winces as the table simply can't take the sudden impact. "I hope that wasn't an heirloom item of someone's... No broken bones, I hope," she comments as she stands back up and heads towards Tyrr and his incinerating gaze, pastry bag in hand. "Something to take your mind towards the realms of pastry delight?" The last is asked with the take-out bag held out invitingly.
Genevieve squeaks as the gaze is levelled towards her, and then scrambles behind a large, heavy piece of furniture. Another skulking dash is made towards her project in progress. Nothing is visible, except for one spread hand that is raised to the skies for a moment before the soothing sound of water gurgling can be heard. "Oh-kay, there it goes!" she says as she stands fully, beaming with pride as she plants her fists on her hips, looking down squarely at the item still concealed behind the counter.
Tyrr pushes himself up from 'sitting' in the middle of what use to be a table. He takes the bag of pastries, reaches in, and proceeds to throw one like a discus at Genevieve's head. As it flies toward her, he reaches in and grabs one himself. "Thankfully, it was just a normal bar table, granted a five hundred dollar one..."
Genevieve yeeps at the toss, and then ducks, half-tumbling backwards, and with a sullen look towards the pair, actually heads for the entry way to the bar. She pouts some at the danish as it lands top, gooey side down on the floor, and mutters a faint "Sorry. I think I'm getting out of here before you see what else I did, I figured you'd like it, but you're being a cranky butt right now."
Bronwen snatches back the bag. "Hey, no pastry casualites allowed," she grumbles at Tyrr before turning towards Genevieve. "Would you like one? I can tell you that I won't throw any at you... it's a bit of a mixed bag as to what's available." The sound of water has her gaze straying towards the concealing counter.
Failing a successful pursuit of Genevieve, looking around the back room itself would reveal a large, fluted concrete bowl situated squatly on the floor, shaped much like the birdbath she alluded to earlier. In the center, serving as a magnificently grotesque fountain, is a shape that normally resided in the trophy case -- the gorgon head. Water streams out, not only in gentle cascade from the main mouth, but in festive, spurting arcs from the tiny holes poked out of the individual serpent heads.
All 36 of them.
Genevieve looks towards Bronwen, expression similar to that of a cornered animal. For a brief section, she looks like she's considering it, and then an accusatory finger jabs out towards Bronwen!
"NO! Because even if you're gonna be nice, it'd still be a trap! I'd go for the food, and that's when the attack comes! NOT from the front, from the Malakite of War in front of you, but ZIP! From the side, from the OTHER Malakite of War that you didn't know was.... was..." She trails off, looking towards Tyrr, and finishes weakly, "Standing right there, blue eyes darting back and forth from here to the door, judging how fast he could get the axe and snatch me up at the same time..."
She cringes visibly.
Tyrr already has his pastry, so takes a bite and shrugs as he watches Genevieve move toward the door. "Oh, yes, a 'cranky butt'. Not that I don't have a good reason," he looks toward the now broken bits of table. It's then that he notices the Gorgon headed water fountain/bird feeder. His eyes twitch, not just once, but continually. He does exactly what Genevieve states, looking back and forth from that, to Genevieve, wondering if he could get his axe before she managed to get out of the auto-locking door.
Bronwen shrugs at the refused offering of sugary goodness. "What reason do I have for an attack? I have few trophies and those that I do have aren't on this plane," she replies as she lightly tosses the closed desserts bag towards the abandoned couch. "The fountain is very creative... and to my knowledge he can't divide himself to be in two places at once."
Genevieve whines out, and points at the surly foot and a half taller person. "See?!! He doesn't like it! I'll fix it, okay?" She then look towards the door, but at the point, instead flings herself towards the window.
Roll by Genevieve: (4) (6) (2)
Tyrr doesn't chase after Genevieve, afterall, the windows are plexi-glass. They don't break easily. Actually, they don't break at all when hit by someone as small as Genevieve. He instead moves over toward the fountain and looks over it, "Actually, it isn't so bad. I just won't put this out in public. Its one of the few corporeal trophies I have."
Bronwen closes her eyes and tilts her head to one side. "You know, the sound is quite soothing. It can take the sharp edge off of bloodlust at least to allow some logical thoughts," she muses. Cracking open one eye, she adds, "Although I'm not considering to walk the Novalite path by saying that."
-*CLONK*-
Genevieve clatters to the ground, faintly dazed. "No fair, that's CHEAP. Whatever happened to energy-saving double paned storm windows?!" Then sniffs some, still splayed on the floor, as she looks up at Tyrr. Whether or not the compliments have sunk in or not is unclear. The rather skittish, crazed look on her face suggests that she's more interested in getting the hell out of Dodge, and with a cheerful wave of farewell to Bronwen, she skips over towards the door itself, and begins poking at it with a recurved hairpin.
"Sharp edge off bloodlust..." Tyrr looks over at Bronwen with an incredulous look to his eyes, "There is a thing called self-control as well." Tyrr's old, very old, so he's had time to perfect his own way of doing things. "I'm just amused at the fact something good has come from the 'hag's' head." Tyrr then heres the clonk and subsequent fiddling with the lock, "You could just... you know... just turn the lock."
Bronwen simply sighs at Tyrr's response. "You're no fun at all. Maybe you should let Kurgan relax back here... but hiding the actual source of the sound. I wouldn't want to find a new bartender and manager if he takes off."
Genevieve huffs quietly. "I could hide it. Hmmph, in fact, I'll put it back the way it was, since fun is not in your vocabulary." The 'useful' compliment seems to have gone over Genevieve's head, but considering that Tyrr's mouth was a foot over her crown, could anyone really be surprised?
Tyrr again can't help but glare at Bronwen, "Kurgan's no slouch. As a soldier he's seen his fair share of hack and slash for the side of Heaven. He's just been stuck with me for awhile now in Austin and only just able to pull out the blades in this city." He begins to look around the backroom for where the fountain could go. "I figure we could always stick it next to the private bar back here, and setup sometype of valve... not set in the head but beneath it in the fountain, to serve different types of drinks for us."
Bronwen glances upwards with faint traces of exasperation. "He's been stuck with you? Poor Kurgan," she teases. "I'll have to give him my regards on my way out. Which, sadly, is pretty well right now -- I've got a shift over at the precinct to cover. Welcome back to the plane, Tyrr. I'll see you both later."
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