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Visions
Sept 15, 2005 18:34:52 GMT -5
Post by Catriona on Sept 15, 2005 18:34:52 GMT -5
If we shadows have offended Think but this, and all is mended: That you have but slumbered here While these visions did appear; And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding than a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend; If you pardon, we will mend. And, as I am an honest Puck, If we have unearnèd luck Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue We will make amends ere long, Else the Puck a liar call. So, goodnight unto you all.
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Visions
Sept 15, 2005 18:40:26 GMT -5
Post by Catriona on Sept 15, 2005 18:40:26 GMT -5
"Wake up."
Puck wakes up. A man, quite probably the bartender of the bar he visited last night, is poking his arm. The man has a bushy moustache and a big wart on his left cheek. He does not seem unfriendly, if rather gruff and a bit suspicious. He is wearing a dirty white shirt and a stained apron over brown and white striped breeches.
"Wake up."
He pokes again Slowly, it starts coming back. Puck did not leave the tavern last night. He finds himself lying on his arms on a dirty table. The room smells heavy like smoke and alcohol. It is empty of people except for him and the bartender. The walls are covered with pictures of more or less nude women. The beams of the ceiling are hanging quite low. There are many empty tables and chairs all around the cramped room, and in the corner is the bar with its many bottles. Empty bottles are lying around on and under some tables.
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Puck
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Visions
Sept 15, 2005 18:55:38 GMT -5
Post by Puck on Sept 15, 2005 18:55:38 GMT -5
Puck slowly draws himself back into the world of the waking, muttering something about leaving him the Hells alone. When poked a second time, the Tiefling gives a heavy, long suffering sigh... and then bolts up and out of the chair in a moment's notice, grabbing a chair and swinging it around himself as he dances the sleep out of himself.
He let go of the chair, which sailed off in a random direction. Puck didn't really take note of the direction or any damage caused by the thing. He took a seat again and sighed happily, stretching his arms to the side.
"Goodmorning! ...or is it already night again? Or in between? Oh well, it doesn't matter, please don't answer, no real fuss. I'll find out in all due t- hey, no one here, must be morning."
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Visions
Sept 15, 2005 19:06:28 GMT -5
Post by Catriona on Sept 15, 2005 19:06:28 GMT -5
The bartender steps back in amazement. His surprise quickly turns into weariness, though. His eyes follow the chair as it soars through the room, lands with a perfect arc, and breaks off a leg upon impact. The man sighs, and shakes his head.
"... yeah... You're going to pay for that one."
He wanders back to the bar, picks up a dirty rag, and starts polishing a glass with it.
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Puck
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Visions
Sept 16, 2005 9:05:58 GMT -5
Post by Puck on Sept 16, 2005 9:05:58 GMT -5
Puck brings his hand up to his face and waves it from side to side, smiling.
"Sure sure, whatever you say my good man. Oh, that reminds me, do you have any relatives in the bar business? I suspect that all bars in the world are truly owned by a single family with many many relatives, which is why many barkeeps look similar or have similar traits or obessesive compulsive behaviours, such as cleaning dirty glasses with dirty towels that make it more dirty.
So? What is the family name? Hm, hm?"
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Visions
Sept 16, 2005 9:26:35 GMT -5
Post by Catriona on Sept 16, 2005 9:26:35 GMT -5
The bartender raises an eyebrow and shakes his head exasperately.
"It's the trade, friend. You either turn become an obsessive-compulsive depressive alcoholic, or you go shrieking insane."
He holds the glass up and inspects it.
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Puck
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Visions
Sept 16, 2005 9:37:03 GMT -5
Post by Puck on Sept 16, 2005 9:37:03 GMT -5
"Hm, well insane sounds far more pleasant than an obsessive-compulsive depressive alcoholic. At least then you could be happy, even if the world explodes or implodes or deplodes or any other form of plode that you can imagine... and shrieking insane! Oh, that must be fun! How does that go? Does it go something like this?
Is there a whispering insane?
So many interesting concepts. Oh, drink drink! ...clean glass?"
Puck smiles pleasantly.
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Visions
Sept 16, 2005 9:38:41 GMT -5
Post by Catriona on Sept 16, 2005 9:38:41 GMT -5
The barkeep jumps when Puck screams, and groans.
"You know, we are really supposed to be closed right now..."
He glances at the door, gives Puck a significant look, and sighs a long suffering sigh.
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Puck
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Visions
Sept 16, 2005 9:43:45 GMT -5
Post by Puck on Sept 16, 2005 9:43:45 GMT -5
Puck gives a mortified gasp.
"A closed bar!? But but but... that defies everything, anything, allthing! Oh woe, OH WOE, WHAT HAS THIS WORLD COME TO, YE G- ok. See you later."
Puck stands and makes his way to the door, happily humming on his way out. He doesn't walk. Walking is boring. Now dancing to the door, that was far less boring. When he got near the door, he thought how fun it would be to roll out. So he did.
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Visions
Sept 16, 2005 16:57:17 GMT -5
Post by Catriona on Sept 16, 2005 16:57:17 GMT -5
The bartender breathes a sigh of relief. He closes the door behind Puck, and the Tiefling can hear the key being turned in the lock.
Outside, the grey cobbled streets are terribly foggy, much as usual. Through the silent white haze, it is hard to even see the other side of the street. All that shows through is a wall of high, dark buildings, much the same as this side of the street, which, too, quickly becomes invisible when Puck looks right or left. The fact that it is morning only shows in the light colour of the fog, because the sky is invisible. The fog smells like smoke and city filth, like something rotting.
Off in the east, to Puck's right, he can see the dim light of the top of one of the tall towers of Tal-Harat, probably one of the lighthouses. It forms an at once bright and dull spot in the fog.
The mist warps all sounds, and though Puck can hear footsteps, the cries of hawkers, the rhythmical thuds of various building projects, a bell- maybe of a temple, maybe of a factory, or even from down at the harbour- all those sounds are muffled, faint, far-off, and somehow very alien, as if originating in another world.
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Puck
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Visions
Sept 17, 2005 7:19:18 GMT -5
Post by Puck on Sept 17, 2005 7:19:18 GMT -5
Puck liked this city. He didn't have to do a thing to it, because all the mists already obscured things. You could hide in plain sight. Course, the fog could smell a little better. He wondered what everyone would think if it smelled like roses, or vanilla or something. Hm... something to attempt in the future, perhaps?
He stood up and grinned at the locked door. Well, he didn't have to pay for that chair, did he! Funny, he got out of more things that way...
Now what to do? He had nothing to do, and that would not do at all. So he randomly turned off to the left and started wandering around.
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Visions
Sept 17, 2005 7:46:51 GMT -5
Post by Catriona on Sept 17, 2005 7:46:51 GMT -5
The street leads further into the fog. At times, Puck can see no more than two feet ahead. Figures emerge from the mists and disappear into it again, silent and fledging like ghosts. It is hard to see where he is going, and once or twice he almost walks into a wall, a dry fountain, a street lantern. There do not seem to be any trees to run into here.
At one point, he can hear running footsteps, echoed and strangely warped by the fog. The street turns a corner- and someone comes running around it. They would have smashed straight into Puck, but he can easily sidestep the collision.
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Puck
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Visions
Sept 17, 2005 7:51:11 GMT -5
Post by Puck on Sept 17, 2005 7:51:11 GMT -5
Puck's ear twitches, and he grins happily while he remains exactly where he is. Someone running, eh? That must mean an interesting story was in pursuit. If that was the case, then it was his duty to delve into it and figure out what trouble he can get into.
So he hops around a bit and waits for the fellow to smash into him, bracing against the impact to avoid being hurt. Oh this should be fun.
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Visions
Sept 17, 2005 8:01:30 GMT -5
Post by Catriona on Sept 17, 2005 8:01:30 GMT -5
A moderate-height person emerges from the fog not an arm-length away from Puck, and in the split-second before impact, Puck can see a young, dirty face under a much-too-big brown workman's cap. The brown eyes under that cap go wide, and then SMACK! Puck, having braced himself, can stand there happily, but the kid bounces off against him, slips on the cobble stones, and rolls to the ground. From under the brown workman's jacket, about half a dozen apples roll over the street.
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Puck
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Visions
Sept 17, 2005 8:04:04 GMT -5
Post by Puck on Sept 17, 2005 8:04:04 GMT -5
"Oops, so sorry, didn't mean to get in your way little fellow, and- hey, apples!"
Puck grabs an apple. Then two, then three. He starts snatching them up and walks over to the kid, who he lifts up by the collar if he can, handing him random apples.
"What's the rush?"
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