The Bear and Barnacle

Gaav decides to fuck with the tourists. It's a small source of amusement but still amusing for the jolt of surprise then high fear when they see the large man on the beach one hand grasping a mostly empty whiskey bottle and the other his sword. He can taste the range of emotions as they roll over him in increasing numbers like nourishing waves. When one gets too close to him he twitches, his sword glints in the dim English sun but it is enough of a movement to send them squeaking and scattering like the damn birds that Val gets in fights with.

He doesn't actually count on Val and Dora showing up, but the taste of Val's desperate fear is unmistakable and still sustaining. Gaav doesn't move as Val comes barrelling at him until that last moment when he gives a loud snore. It's so atypical for Gaav that Val starts in midstride and comes tumbling at him, wing over foot with a cry. Gaav catches him easily before he hits the sand and brings affectionately to his chest. "Easy Val." He strokes one hand over Val's back then smirks into his ear, "Want to help me fuck with the tourists?"

It's not until he visits the pub later than he sees Dora has snapped a picture.





This was so hard! I didn't think it would be but I kept coming up with ideas and HE kept staring at me like "You stupid human, what sort of Lord do you think I am?" Thanks to C and Val or I wouldn't have even managed this.

1.) All dialogue in the following was cleared with the players of the characters in question.
2.) While Iago acknowledges the incident depicted, he still says that is SO not him. (PhotoShop Fu cannot accommodate for the later-years Kenneth Branagh Chubby Bunny effect. Observe):


( One of Those Nights at the Bear and Barnacle )

Minerva considers herself well aware of her own character flaws. She thinks this is a virtue. She is aware, for instance, that she will do almost anything on a dare. She thinks this is probably a major reason she was sorted Gryffindor despite her noted tendency to Machiavellian morals; Slytherins are often interesting, intellectual, kind individuals, and the presence of one in their common room who can be induced to do anything just by telling them they don't have the balls for it arouses killer instinct like a small, furry animal arouses it in a more literal viper pit.

And Minerva, congenitally, will go to great lengths to prove that she does, in fact, have the metaphorical reproductive organs for anything and everything.

This is probably stretching it.

“Might I ask just why you had this lying around?” she asks archly. She's behind the counter at Ici, Amour, having been left in charge while Victoire is away giving birth.

“The girlfriend liked it,” says John, referring to his two-year-old Alsatian, Mary Ann. “I buy her anything to keep her in style.” John is a Muggle chemist who started flirting with Minerva in a store a couple of months ago. Minerva reciprocated the flirtation once he proved himself able to make a clever and subtle pun on “encyclopedia.” They're now casually seeing each other as Minerva rediscovers the numerous joys of being theoretically young enough to keep her dignity in situations that were unthinkable this time last year.

“How exactly did she demonstrate liking?”

“Looked at me with longing eyes?”

“You've got to be joking,” Minerva says, as her eyes slowly travel further down from the hanger he's holding.

“At least I didn't bring the naughty schoolgirl outfit.”

He has no idea. “When I asked if you would help me come up with something for a fancy dress party this is not at all what I had in mind.”

“You said you wanted something you're usually not.” This had, in fact, been Dora's specification for letting Minerva into the pub tonight.

“Touche. The answer is no.”

“Well, if you don't have the courage ...” John sighs theatrically.

“Give me that.”



She turns up at the Pub on the night of the thirty-first with her soul cringing, though she is outwardly composed if a bit ironic of countenance.



Minerva is aware of her own character flaws, but as she self-consciously adjusts a fluffy pink maribou angel wing, she wonders exactly how he knew about them.

Upon entering the pub, Holmes naturally noticed the cork board with its new display of pictures. Curious as always, he strolled over to examine them. Recognising Dora’s handwriting, he nodded and smiled at some, nodded and frowned at others. When he came to the one of himself, he froze for the briefest of instants.

“Oh, what place is this?” he murmured. Trumbull would have to tighten his security. Shaking his head, Holmes turned away. He decided not to tell Iago and Xellos that their ward had been visiting a funeral parlour. He did wonder how she had done it though. He was fairly sure he hadn’t been followed. Holmes knew that Dora could alter her appearance, but not to the extent that he wouldn’t recognise her. And he knew that some witches and wizards could change into animals. But he hadn’t heard anything about Dora being able to do such a thing. Still, he couldn’t rule it out. But where would she keep the camera? Unless the child could change into a kangaroo. Further investigation was called for.

Dumbledore chuckles, eyes twinkling, when he sees the picutures. Some are certainly more interesting than others.

"I'm afraid mine is rather a mundane story, after all!" he says. "When in Rome, and all that. I found clothes, and the bicycle, secondhand shortly after arriving. While I could spend my time in robes, I thought to blend in a bit more. And I really am a bit old to be walking everywhere. Well, certainly I could apparate, but it seems a bit silly. And I find I actually enjoy the bicycle immensely."

Jack takes an idle glance at the board, almost going right past it, until he stops all of a sudden. If he was in a cartoon, there'd be a loud screech from his shoes. "What?!"

After some spluttering, he starts hurriedly explaining for anyone who might be listening. "I can explain, really! I really don't ever go around dressed like that! But those brownies, I mean, it gets you a little loopy, y'know? And I got dared... who the hell was it... Whoever it was, I was saying how I'd look totally ridiculous in drag. I mean look at these arms! This jaw! These big hands! And they said, no no, there are people who go for that— and c'mon, not like I don't know that, but it's not a look I like on myself, yeah? So I said no way would anyone go for me if I was in drag, and they said they bet someone would, and so I asked what they'd bet, and well... Uh, they provided the clothes and makeup assistance and everything and, uh, to get to the point, I lost. I lost big time. Had to tell the folks who hit on me that it was just a bet and they weren't going to get anything but a look out of it. I forget how many pounds I lost, but I went home with an empty wallet. Thankfully not still dressed in all that. The eyelashes were a bitch to remove. Who was that..."

He casts a suspicious look around for whoever might've been the one to put him up to it, then grumbles and takes in the other photos, understandably getting distracted by the more suggestive ones.

When Spike arrived at work that night, and saw the picture on the board, he rolled his eyes and smirked. Just great. He’ll have to make sure doors are more well locked in the future. Luckily, the picture only featured him, and from the waist up. No need to show off to the whole pub who else was there. How (and who with) he gets his rocks off is no ones concern. He wonders if Dora is at all traumatized from the things she’s possibly seen, based on some of the other pictures.

But then he had a thought about that. If she got pictures like this of people she didn’t live with…

So he hunted her down at her table, and made a deal. A deal with a six year old. A deal which will give him access to certain photos, if he fulfills her request. And really, it’s not so much to ask. Might work out rather well, actually. He wonders about exactly how her mind works sometimes…

Which is how he now finds himself entering Ici, Amour this evening, looking for something very specific...

Dora sneaks into the pub, but not very successfully for her obvious attempt to sneak past everyone while wearing dark glasses and a button-down white shirt ("borrowed" from Jack's laundry basket) she's belted around like a trench coat. Her hair is slicked back and pitch black, and her lips are vivid red.

She glances about then drags a chair over to the cork board on the back wall. It doesn't take long before she's pinned up a whole series of Polaroid pictures, each labeled with a name (occasionally spelled right). She's made frequent to obsessive use of the camera Iago gave her in the last few months and these are only the tip of the photographic iceberg, but they're some of her favourites.

( View Dora's... Handiwork? With Update. )

This month's event is Dora's brainchild. Your job is to take the picture (hotlinking is encouraged) and provide a post in which your character explains what they were doing when she snapped the picture. Since Dora took them, they must have occurred IN Margate at any point since this past Christmas. Feel free to post this as a Margate memory or an actual explanation to... someone? :P

We encourage everyone to play and to have fun with this distinctly silly event. However, for those who simply can't make it work or don't want to demonstrate their sense of humor or creativity, if you do not post about the picture, it does not exist. Come on, be brave! Have fun!

For those and only those characters who Dora has not yet met (including our two newest characters and Teddy), you may add in your own picture to the mix.

The tag for this is polaroids.

Credit to Mairelyn for Dumbledore's picture, jamew85 for Rincewind's, and DarkJediPrincess for Xellos'.