YOU MEET IN A TAVERN

roleplay for sickos
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dozens
honk if you love sickos and being a sicko
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Bags Truckmeet is a god damned sicko. He never quite learned how one dressed for polite company; nor did he have any idea how to fit into impolite company. Bags wore an oversized trenchcoat stuffed with whatever clothing or rags he happened to come across. Sometimes a sock would fall out as he shifted; sometimes he'd trail a moth eaten cashemere sweater for miles on one of his infamous Sicko Lurches.

He opens the bar door and pushes right past his colleague Mauve to reach the locals.


i smelled your pipe

i wanted to ask about it

do you only use it when you check these hinkeys

or other times too...

Bags stars at the checker game, not making eye contact
The two locals by the fireplace lean in close to hear Bags, and then alternately lean out as his voice modulates.

They cordially pass the long-stemmed pipe to Bags and invite him to join their smoking circle.

The one-eyed one chuckles and winks as the one-legged one bends down under the table to rummage around in his bag. He produces a long rectangular wooden case and sits it down on the table. A corner hinge allows the lid to open up on the diagonal, revealing a neat row of three compact meerschaum pipes with large bowls. All are already packed tightly with tobacco, and each one has a fine face carved into the bowl: a ram, a stag, and a whale.

One-leg thrusts the case at Bags, offering him a choice of the pipes.

One-eye flutters his hands indecisively over the checker board. Hinkey Checkers, as it is known on Natockete, is played on a board of three concentric rings connected by radial spokes in each cardinal direction. Both players have at this point already placed all of their men on the board, and are in the process of sliding their pieces around the board trying to capture their opponent's pieces.

You can see that One-eye is able to make a formation on this turn, and capture one of One-leg's pieces.
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dozens
honk if you love sickos and being a sicko
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I put on my robe and wizard hat
You are now dressed like a wizard.

The locals at the bar all slide away from you. There is still a greasy smudge on the ceiling here from the last time a wizard patronized this tavern and accidentally self-immolated themself after getting piss drunk on cheap ale.

Q. Are there stars and moons on your robe? YES/NO
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dozens
honk if you love sickos and being a sicko
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Stephanie Sorryblade once ate a god (it was an accident). She has struggled with this for 3 long years and wears it on her face. She trundles into the tavern in a cowboy hat, a Hawaiian floral print shirt, and orders the sliders.

She sidles up to the rest of you, begins eating her sliders and with a mouth full of food says “hi I’m Stephanie, and I ate a god”
The barkeep with the long face and the bristled beard narrows his eyes at Stephanie Sorryblade. He notices that she wears a little grease on her face from the sliders, but also something else. Perhaps a little spark of the divine? Just a faint glimmer? He feels a little wonder and a little dread when he looks at it. At her.

A serving boy with a tall sloped forehead and big buck teeth comes bustling out of the back room with steaming bowls of chowder balanced in his hands, up his arms, across his chest, and one on his head.

"HOWDA!" he bellows. "HOWDAAA!"

Not slowing down a bit as he darts and weaves through the room, he bumps a bowl and slaps it down, one in front in front of each patron. It is thick and creamy and hunks of something undefined float on top. It truly smells delicious.
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dozens
honk if you love sickos and being a sicko
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Raven Sidelong drips from head to toe for a moment as he stands in the door before the fetid rain sizzles off him, leaving him perfectly dry. He loves the rain, just not on him. He turns to inspect the rest of the room, but the blade embedded in his chest bumps against the door frame. He sighs, guess I really do have to go all the way in.

The fireplace is welcoming enough. He sidles up to the locals and smiles broadly, unsettlingly, his teeth much sharper than they ought to be. "Mind if I warm up?" he says. At that moment, the fireplace jumps from a meager flame to a blaze, the center colored a light blue. He smiles as he feels the warm air desiccate him, "much better."
A couple of patrons shrink away from Raven at the sight of the chestblade. And a few more from the sudden heat radiating from the blazing fireplace.

One of the diners nervously clutches a medicine bag tightly to his chest as reluctantly approaches Raven Sidelong, muttering something to himself about professional oaths and obligations. "Erm, sorry, excuse me, but, ah," he stammers and gestures toward the blade embedded in his chest. "Do you, uh. Need help with that?"
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momf
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One of the diners nervously clutches a medicine bag tightly to his chest as reluctantly approaches Raven Sidelong, muttering something to himself about professional oaths and obligations. "Erm, sorry, excuse me, but, ah," he stammers and gestures toward the blade embedded in his chest. "Do you, uh. Need help with that?"
[/quote]

Raven smiles at the medicine man, but his attempt at being pleasant comes off as unsettling instead; his grin is just a little too broad, his eyes, which flicker a dull red beneath his jet black and teal hair, are just a little too crinkled. "No, no, this happened a long time ago. She wasn't done with me, so I got back up." After a moment he looks at the townie, his face markedly more serious. "Say, have you seen any angels around here? You know, white wings, holy robes, chorus of horns, that sort?"
Last edited by momf 1 week ago, edited 1 time in total.
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vilmibm
brb
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The two locals by the fireplace lean in close to hear Bags, and then alternately lean out as his voice modulates.

They cordially pass the long-stemmed pipe to Bags and invite him to join their smoking circle.

The one-eyed one chuckles and winks as the one-legged one bends down under the table to rummage around in his bag. He produces a long rectangular wooden case and sits it down on the table. A corner hinge allows the lid to open up on the diagonal, revealing a neat row of three compact meerschaum pipes with large bowls. All are already packed tightly with tobacco, and each one has a fine face carved into the bowl: a ram, a stag, and a whale.

One-leg thrusts the case at Bags, offering him a choice of the pipes.

One-eye flutters his hands indecisively over the checker board. Hinkey Checkers, as it is known on Natockete, is played on a board of three concentric rings connected by radial spokes in each cardinal direction. Both players have at this point already placed all of their men on the board, and are in the process of sliding their pieces around the board trying to capture their opponent's pieces.

You can see that One-eye is able to make a formation on this turn, and capture one of One-leg's pieces.
Bags takes the case. He takes each pipe out in turn, carefully sniffing at the tobacco in each one. He presses the tip of his left bony, long index finger into each little bowl to test the compaction of the tobacco.

it's just that i was wondering

maybe the tobacco was a game playing aid

i wasn't sure because i'm not smoking it but i can tell that you are about to lose a piece

but i am going to smoke this pipe and try and observe its affect on my chess acuity

Bags selects the whale pipe and moves over to the fireplace. He rummages briefly through the front of his coat, pulls out a brownish crew sock, and uses it to catch some of the fire in the fireplace. He lights the pipe, aggressively pulling so as to create a large cherry, then shakes out the sock and stuffs it back into his coat. A smell like sweaty old plums lit with butane wafts from the smoke seeping out of his outermost layer.

He returns to the game and stares at it intently, puffing the pipe steadily.
. .--.
.'| |__| _.---.._
< | .--. _ _.-' ''-. /\
| | | | .' '-,_.-' '''.
| | .'''-. | | ( _ . :
| |/.'''. \| | '._ .-' '-._ \ \- ---]
| / | || | '-.___.-') )..-'
| | | ||__| /\__ (_/mjp
| | | | .--.----' - \
| '. | '. / ) \___/
'---' '---' | '------.___)
`---------`jgs
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mrcattears
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Pattrick Stonepants has never once in his life arrived anywhere on time, and he's never once been bothered by it. He shoulders through the door of the Sudden Pig trailing a smell of pipe tobacco, wet duck feathers, and something else .... (Smoked Mayonnaise???)

Observes the people in the bar, and puts 2 silver coins on the table.
I'll have whatever these get me.
Refresh these pages! (Drops a bag of marbles)
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owl
雨の嵐の中で生まれた
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"So, uh, Marie," he said, turning to Mauve, "How'd you end up with the Third Watch?"
Mauve chuckles to herself, happy despite herself to have Biggs on this assignment with her. Basic competence was a tall order at this rung of the ladder, let alone effectiveness. The man had a reputation for being aloof, and that served her purposes just fine. They needed to trust each other, but they didn't have to be friends.

"Same way as everyone else, Biggs," she gave him a wink. "First and Second were already full."

Mauve grabs the empty seat at the end of the bar and raises her hand to the walrus. "Hey, tusks. I'll take a pint of your cheapest swill, so long as it ain't made from that devil water I'm here to dry out."
The barkeep shudders at the mention of the dark water.

He opens a tap behind the bar, fills up a glass, and slides it down to you.

He leans against the bar and regards you, twirling his prodigious mustache thoughtfully. "So I take it you're here about the devil water as you so aptly put it. I shure do hope you can get rid of it. It's a curse on our village, I tell you it is! Ships cain't arrive nor part for fear of the dark water. Ain't no fish left in the harbor, I tell you!"
Mauve catches the mug and takes a swig with a single, messy motion. The resulting splash of beer on the counter and on the front of her leather jerkin confess this not as the act of a hotshot but the act of a slob, an impression she punctuates by a crisp belch.

She gives a lazy, sarcastic little salute to the man.

"Third Watchman on assignment and at your service. Let me tell you straight, back on the mainland we had a fair few skeptics about this report. A creature eating your birds and your fish is one thing, but sinking ships, well," she takes another swig. "Let's just say there's a reason they sent this team to investigate," she gestures over her shoulder vaguely at the hodgepodge of new arrivals behind her.
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neonio
pistachioed user
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He sets both down, slides the mug across the bar to you, and stands the micro cow up on the bar. It wears a tiny halter, and he loosely ties the loose end of the reigns to a rail running along the other side of the bar. The pocket cow looks up at you with its round eyes and lets out a small plaintively moo in a small high register. It sounds kind of like a cat's meow. You eye its swollen udders.
This whole act succeeds in breaking through my facade, and my smile un-twists itself into a mix of amusement and curiosity at the small cow, then friendliness as I beckon the small thing over. "Here, girl. Here," I half-whisper, trying to keep the cow relaxed. It isn't a hard cow to milk, given its size; what is lacking in dexterity is made up for in sheer size difference. The small cow lies down, relieved, as I cautiously drink the raw milk, and stare at the... chowder?... that appeared next to me while I was preoccupied with the cow. Service sure is quick here, unlike my employer... who am I even looking for? When the barkeep seems to have a moment, I ask. "I'm supposed to meet someone here. Do you know a Beryl?"
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curio
(,,゚Д゚)
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I put on my robe and wizard hat
You are now dressed like a wizard.

The locals at the bar all slide away from you. There is still a greasy smudge on the ceiling here from the last time a wizard patronized this tavern and accidentally self-immolated themself after getting piss drunk on cheap ale.

Q. Are there stars and moons on your robe? YES/NO
I doff my incredibly cheap Temu-quality blue wizard hat w/ poorly stitched yellow stars and moons, placing it on the bartop. Looking around the tavern, it's seen better days. "Been quite some time, barman." I saunter to a display of arms and armor, two swords crossed with explicit vacancy between the hilts - an empty nail hammered above.

I reach shoulder-deep into the purse-sized bag magically, and hoist out a shining blue shield with a white chevron pattern. "Old friend..." I say under my breath, lifting the shield to its home above the crossed swords.

Dusting my hands, back at my barstool, I eye the greasy smudge on the ceiling and shake my head, scoffing while downing the last half of my 8th warm ale. "Novisch...", I slur under my breath, lighting a match and setting myself aflame, blowing a hole clean through the roof, and wounding a barbarian who was acting too tough to take heed. Among my ashes on the floor the barman finds 2 gold coins to cover my tab, and a USB drive.

The barkeep looks around the back side of his Stripe iPad console, realizes there's no port for such a thing. He trudges to the back, opening an old broom closet where the bar's CCTV rig has been running on a legacy Windows 300AD beige tower for hundreds of years. Interrupting the "Pipes 3D" screen saver, he plugs in the USB drive, and the system hums to life. AUTORUN.exe executes, the screen fills with a pleasant blue gradient, two white chevrons and a swoop. A green progress bar fills a white vacancy. The barkeep shakes his head fondly...

"...The InstallShield Wizard"
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