The Bear and Barnacle

Hey, all --

You may have noticed that we haven't done an event post this month. Actually, we were sort of wondering if someone would notice. We've gotten crazy busy with school, work and cross-country moves, and we know everyone else is equally swamped.

Let us know your thoughts. Would someone like to make another effort to jumpstart the comm? Or have we hit the point where we should just disband? The RP shelf life generally is about a year to eighteen months, and we're well into Year Two, so we've certainly had a good run.

If no suggestions are forthcoming, we're thinking we'll just leave the comm in place and let things run their quiet course. And of course, there's always YM threading!

So, thoughts?

Tell us about your favorite book. Or your least favorite book. Or your only book. Or a book you once tore to pieces. Anything, really, about books.

This month, everyone comes down with a case of any disease of your choice, from hiccups to the common cold to the Black Death.

It's a temporary, nonfatal, noncommunicable affliction. Fantasy ailments (spattergroit, temporal dislocation) are acceptable, provided they are from somewhere (i.e., a disease from an existing canon though not necessarily your own).

Margate is united in self-pity.

The tag is "diseases." Have fun. Or, y'know, something.

Ed sits at a table in the pub, peering out the nearest window every so often, then turning back to his writing. It takes him a while to finish the letter as he keeps having to stop and rethink what he's putting down so he doesn't end up sounding completely crazy.

Tane-san,

Hi there. I know I don't write very often, but the last time I talked to Riu-nii-san he said I should. I don't know why he did, but it seemed like a good idea because there's some really weird stuff going on here right now. Margate's pretty weird anyway - I mean you already know that - but it's really really REALLY weird right now and not the kind of freaky stuff I'm used to.

There's all these crazy weirdos around, like I saw this big green guy the other day? He was huge and at first I thought he might have automail because it looked like there were these big bolts in his neck? But he was really stupid and he couldn't really talk and then he kind of tried to smash me. I transmuted a wall and got away, but there were these other things too. I think they're still outside. They're all gross and rotty and they smell REAL bad. I got away from them too. One of them ripped my coat because it was trying to bite me. It was my right arm, though, so it was OK, but how weird is that? Biting me? They kind of reminded me of the dolls at the Anyway, I fixed my coat and I'm OK and everything, but what I wanted to know was, do you have weird guys like that in London too? I mean, like biting people? Just wondering.

Anyway, I should probably go. There's a guy outside all in bandages now and I should see if he needs any help. Maybe the biting things tried to eat him too or something. OK. So say hi to Riu-nii-san and stuff.

Bye

ED.


He looks out the window again as he seals up the letter, then tucks it in his coat pocket, intending to send it off by owl as soon as he can scare one up. Sighing, Ed pulls on his gloves and makes sure his braid is tight before heading for the door.

"No," Jack says firmly as he pursues Val to drag him back from the dining room window.

"Wanna see!" Val protests with a hint of whine.

"You can see from back here."

"Phbbt," says Val.

They sit at the table -- well, Jacks sits at it, Val sits on it -- and watch over the hedge as the bodies shamble past, stiff-kneed, arms out straight and wrists limp.

"Zoooooombies."

"Put it in a sentence," Jack tells him automatically, as one of the stiff figures trips over a bottle in the street, goes down like a sack of rocks with no attempt to catch itself, and rolls out of view.

Val sighs dramatically. "They are zoooooombies."

"You think so?" Now that he thinks of it, he supposes they are a bit like that terrible Bela Lugosi picture Danny loved so much when they were in their twenties ... the blank stares, the directionless gait.

"Yup. Like berserkers only more rotten."

"They sure look rotten." Val scrambles off the table; Jack catches him and puts him back on it. "And just where do you think you're going?"

"To the roof to throw things at them."

"Fat chance," Jack says firmly, and redoubles his grip, avoiding a bash from Val's wing. They sit and stare through the window as the odd, morbid parade continues past.

Val says he will answer the door for alive people if anyone wishes to brave the zombie pub crawl.

August's topic is morality, with the tag as you would expect. Encounter a moral dilemma, rethink your morals, observe someone else's morality or stand your moral ground.

She's been groping in the lower desk drawer for nearly thirty seconds before she tears her eyes from the article she's peer-reviewing for Transfiguration Today and realizes the ginger biscuits are gone again. How does this keep happening?

Also, when did she last remember to eat?

One of the things she misses most about Hogwarts is -- shockingly enough -- mealtimes. For one thing, they were regular. More importantly, they were not cooked by herself.

And most importantly, they were social. She never expected to regret leaving those noisy family-style meals, but sometimes the kitchen seems terribly silent ...

She'll review the article later. She sets it down with a smack that makes It hoot rebukingly from Its cage and goes to the telephone. Maybe Ed's free, or Mina, or Jack and Zelgadis, and would like to come eat with her ... provided she tells them up front that she isn't cooking.

At some point this month, your character will be encountering a classic horror-movie monster.

Let it be an Alien, a Vampire, a Horde of Zombies, a Pod Person, a Crawling Mutant, whatever you like.

Remember that you can't affect other characters without permission. This doesn't have to be something your character is familiar with, but it absolutely can be! And you don't need to be pursued through a cemetery by it, but you certainly may.

Tag is "movie monsters."

This month the topic is missing things. Miss something. Miss someone. Miss the point. Miss a meeting. Go missing. Find something missing. Miss a bus. Miss a train. End up walking in the rain.

Tag is, bizarrely enough, missing things.

Faramir is completely unfamiliar with the entire concept of pickup lines.

His contact with remotely acceptable romantic possibilities has been nil despite his brother having once bribed the cook's daughter to corner him in the library. His contact with unacceptable ones has been slightly more extant but still not what one might call ... educational in the ways of romance.

The closest Faramir has ever gotten to a pickup line is a wine bottle brought too often near the target of his affections' cup. But he would be the first to say that it works surprisingly well on a surprisingly large percentage of the people he has tried it on.

“I can see the desire in your eyes.”

Nothing.

“You wouldn't want to leave a gentleman hanging, would you?”

Eyeroll.

“Perhaps that was a poor choice of words but the sentiment remains. You have far too much integrity and sense of fair play to ignore me.”

Ignoring.

“Miiiiina.”

( More Whining Within )

Brought to you, under duress, a fine selection of Ed's smoothest verbage with the ladies (mostly):

( Oh, dear God, please shut up...PLEASE... )

Missed it around here! Please excuse my absence. Crazy work + multiple extended illnesses = 1 very useless lady.

You wake up on the morning of June 15th to a town convinced that Christmas is only days away.

Ornaments and tinsel in every window, Christmas music on every radio station, people can't understand why it's so uncomfortably warm in their bulky Christmas sweaters and reindeer scarves. Everyone seems terribly festive and are discussing when they'll get their shopping done and what their plans are for Boxing Day. The schools have gone on holiday. It's true at home too. Acquaintances are sending you cards. Perhaps you have a tree.

It's still June. But it's also Christmas. If you point this out to one of Margate's normals, they'll understand both facts -- and look at you like you're perhaps a bit slow for thinking this is a problem.

Use the occasion to laugh at people in sweaters, to talk about your character's holiday traditions (since we've forced everyone to do the Pub exchange the last two years), to make obscene gingerbread men, whatever you like.

Tag is "christmas in july." We know it's June, but it's traditional.

Also, we are very sorry for disappearing of late; we were recently suddenly informed that we were going to have to make a cross-country move very soon. Everyone congratulate preraphaelite1 on her awesome new lectureship on the East Coast, while we return to our irregularly unscheduled running about like beheaded chickens!

Your topic this month is pick-up lines! Use one, hear one, compose one, or tell us the best or worst one you've heard.

On the doorstep of every household of the less mundane residents of Margate, on the morning of the fifteenth, there is a wicker basket.

Inside the basket is a baby.

The baby is small, vaguely shimmery and ethereal-looking. The baby cannot die. However, it must be taken care of or it will cry. Piercingly. Endlessly. And no throwing the baby out with the bathwater or leaving it for someone else to deal with, either; it'll just show up again when you least expect it. And cry. Piercingly. Endlessly.

[Insert your own bad meme joke here. Suggestion: "In Soviet Russia, baby makes you!"]

Inspired by high school health classes everywhere.

As always, participation is optional -- hence, since we have a lot of multi-player households, unless it's cleared with the other residents in advance, whoever chooses to find the baby is responsible for its care.

Tag is "changelings," though this mod held out for "enforced parenthood."

He’s not sure what possessed him, other than the thought that it would be amusing and funny. It’s certainly not that he’s bothered at all by Holmes and his pipes. In fact, quite the contrary, he’s even joined in on occasion. But after all, it was April Fools Day, and he just simply couldn’t sit idly by and not play a single prank. Unfortunately, being a bit old and moderately distracted at times, he simply forgot to remove the charm after April the first came and went. And it is very likely, until he is in the same room with Holmes when he takes out his pipe, that he will continue to forget that as soon as flame touches the tobacco in said pipe, it dissolves into an endless stream of multi-colored and rather large bubbles.

Spike has felt a bit off all day, so sitting at the bar once he’s off work and drinking seems like a good idea. It’s been a weird night, where he finds he’s been telling patrons exactly what he thinks of their orders (“Why would you want to eat something so disgusting? Do you know what we put in that?”) to telling them exactly what he’d like to do with them (“God, your skin looks like dark chocolate and I’d love to taste it.”). He’s pretty sure, based on some of the responses he’s gotten, that there is some sort of truthy-weirdness going on in town.

Since his other option is to lock himself in his house till it passes, which sounds boring in the extreme, he’s decided that drinking is the best way to handle anything potentially embarrassing to tumble out of his mouth. And so, he’s sitting at the bar, deep in his whiskey, as he continues to blather on to whatever poor soul had asked him about being a vampire with a soul. “Angel had it wrong. Having a soul doesn’t bury the monster within. The monster is always there. Always part of you. You can’t ignore it. Maybe Angel’s soul works different, curse and all. And yeah, there’s guilt. I had lots of guilt at the beginning. But only for the innocents. But some people…they deserve to die. Not gonna waste any shame on them. Don’t feel sorry for them, don’t regret ending their lives. But I don’t go around looking to murder anyone. And yeah, I mostly stick to animal blood. Tolerable, at best. But, anyway, I won’t feel guilt, not anymore, for being what I am. And if that means that occasionally, I want to participate in some consensual drinking of human blood, then who the fuck cares? Angel can sod off and fuck himself, wherever he is.”

There was no denying it, the Joker was bored. Is bored. Will continue to be bored. There is simply no challenge to be found at the moment. And really, there were only so many little insignificant jokes and pranks one could play before they become fed up with the meaninglessness of it all. Because just plain fun, be it harmless or harmful, just isn’t the point at all. The point, the POINT is to mess with the status quo. Get into people’s heads. Create chaos out of order. Open people’s minds and eyes to new ways of thinking. And frankly, right now, his own mind was one big annoying, frustrating, angering BLANK. After a very lengthy conversation with himself and a rather one-sided fight with a wall, he decided on a new course of action – a new form of joke. That maybe, just maybe, it’s time for a partnership. Discreetly, he leaves messages where he knows Gaav and Rodolphus will get them. The notes themselves are short and simple.

I'm not laughing. It’s time for a new order. – Mr. J

It lists a date, time, and location at the bottom. And then all he has to do is wait…

Victoire hangs up the phone, frowning. That certainly didn't go as planned. She fully had intended on telling the supplier that his product was disappointed for the cost. Instead, she told him outright that wasn't worth a third of what he was charging and unless he made a dramatic improvement in price or quality (perhaps making it in silicone) she would not be purchasing the Slithering Snake Sleeve again and would be cautioning her customers away from the two in the store.

Definitely not a Slytherin moment for Victoire. Or a profitable one. Words are a means to an end and when the words seem to come regardless of intention, Victoire is at a loss.

When she answers a customer's query about a vaginal pump by telling her that they don't really make them large enough suit someone over the 15 stone she must be instead of tactfully and sensitively commiserating on the product's limitations, Victoire promptly closes shop after giving the woman an apology in the form of a very expensive vibrator.

She notes the date and decides to make a few phone calls to other Margate imports to find out if this is a wider problem or isolated to her.

This month, your character can only speak the truth.

Yup.

There's a general compulsion to answer any question or remark with the complete truth. They will work out eventually that there are ways to stop it - keeping one's mouth shut will do it, usually - but it works a bit like the classic truth serum, sodium pentothal, is usually depicted in films, in that "verbal tap turned on full blast until you've spilled the beans" sense: Chatty, cooperative and not quite grasping the necessary complexities of lying.

So on the morning of the fifteenth, if asked "How are you today?", your character might open their mouth to say "fine" and come out with "Tired but cheerful because I stayed up all night having sex with inappropriate people."

Fun, right?

Iago will be the one in the corner not talking.

Tag is "truth."