Blackstaff Travel (
travelagency) wrote in
the_last_resort2015-03-07 09:05 am
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4th Wall Event
Who: Various
What: 4th Wall Event
When: M12 D3-D5 (on Mar 7 - 15)
Where: Around Blackway and Blackstaff
Notes & Warnings: Please attach any warnings necessary to thread subjects. This does count for game canon. All 4th wall threads go here, and information is available on OOC and news. The game's navigation is here.
Welcome, ladies, gentlemen, intersexed, androgynes, robots, energy beings, and life forms of all kinds. I am Jeffers, your servant, host, and resort AI.
Let me extend gratitude to you all on behalf of the entire community for agreeing to come and render service in the wake of our unfortunate incident with spontaneously frictionless surfaces. Your assistance in rebuilding is greatly valued.
Visitors, I encourage you to speak with the other Imports. Imports, I ask you to help our guests enjoy their stay.
Please consult with any terminal or one of my android drone avatars if you have any questions that cannot be answered by the residents. I most sincerely hope you find your time at Blackstaff a pleasant one.
And with Jeffers announcement to the population, the town was opened up to anyone willing to help. Some of the citizens who had tended towards suspicion towards imports for some time (an as-of-yet unidentified one took part in sabotage against the town) have changed their views and are now extremely welcoming, offering whatever they can to in return for the help they're getting from the visiting imports.
While the guests are here, they have free rein of the village, and even visiting the wilderness if they have a permit. First they must be instructed on how to defend themselves against the planet's hostile species. A guide is still recommended, but with the busy schedule one is not absolutely essential.
What: 4th Wall Event
When: M12 D3-D5 (on Mar 7 - 15)
Where: Around Blackway and Blackstaff
Notes & Warnings: Please attach any warnings necessary to thread subjects. This does count for game canon. All 4th wall threads go here, and information is available on OOC and news. The game's navigation is here.
Welcome, ladies, gentlemen, intersexed, androgynes, robots, energy beings, and life forms of all kinds. I am Jeffers, your servant, host, and resort AI.
Let me extend gratitude to you all on behalf of the entire community for agreeing to come and render service in the wake of our unfortunate incident with spontaneously frictionless surfaces. Your assistance in rebuilding is greatly valued.
Visitors, I encourage you to speak with the other Imports. Imports, I ask you to help our guests enjoy their stay.
Please consult with any terminal or one of my android drone avatars if you have any questions that cannot be answered by the residents. I most sincerely hope you find your time at Blackstaff a pleasant one.
- For those of you who enjoy “fun” [Jeffers says as if he’s not sure that any of this really qualifies as fun in his book], Mr. Jellicles’ Emporium requires extensive repair. There are broken windows and bottles hither and thither, and do be careful of the broken glass; we wouldn’t want any further injuries. Broken arcade games must be fixed. Furniture repaired, or, if it is beyond hope, taken away. And small, colourful plastic balls are scattered asunder and must be gathered up to be relocated into a “fun cage,” but worse and far more deadly are the skiballs and bowling balls. I must insist no one drop one of those on one’s own or another’s foot
- The local restaurants require new food to be brought in. Because of the quarantine, food shortage is somewhat of a danger, therefore any food will do, but I for one would especially appreciate champagne and truffles. In addition, new dishes must be unpacked, furniture repaired, and cooking areas cleaned. I expect the cooking areas to be able to pass the most rigorous of health inspections once the cleaning is finished. Not that we have a ministry of health and safety here, but it is the principle of the thing.
- With the clinic having been overwhelmed by recent events, they are currently understaffed to handle the full scope of injuries. Assistance treating the wounded and the ill would be a very great help. Do note that only persons with appropriate physician or nursing qualifications will be able to assist patients with direct care. It would not be at all appropriate to have, for example, vehicle mechanics performing surgery. Unless perhaps the patient is a sentient robot car. Then the clinic will make an exception. Many other tasks are available for other volunteers who desire clinic duties, however. In particular, wounded patients may require assistance retrieving personal items, sending messages, or returning home. Furthermore, as always, the clinic would be grateful to receive donations of medicines from your homeworld
- The loss of friction created an extensive mess around town and I so dislike messes. I would like it very much if knocked over displays were righted, broken glass cleared, and disabled vehicles removed from the streets. Let’s have a nice, tidy village, shall we? Furthermore, some residents misplaced pets during the hullaballoo and would very much like them found and returned. (Not to mention the havoc stray beasts are having on the songbird population.) Shelves in various shops must be restocked with new, unbroken merchandise, and many storefronts and signs are in need of general repair.
And with Jeffers announcement to the population, the town was opened up to anyone willing to help. Some of the citizens who had tended towards suspicion towards imports for some time (an as-of-yet unidentified one took part in sabotage against the town) have changed their views and are now extremely welcoming, offering whatever they can to in return for the help they're getting from the visiting imports.
While the guests are here, they have free rein of the village, and even visiting the wilderness if they have a permit. First they must be instructed on how to defend themselves against the planet's hostile species. A guide is still recommended, but with the busy schedule one is not absolutely essential.
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"If I were only in this for money, I doubt I would be volunteering my services to this. I am a doctor, so..." And a little dismissive wave.
"Don't trouble yourself over it. I have enough to get by. That's all I need." He picked up a few more things.
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"I don't—" He faltered again, punctuating with another fleeting smile—a childish smile, and one that he'd have chastised himself for, were he aware of it. Especially given how it completely undermined the suspicious twist of his eyebrows. "Shit," he said bluntly. "I mean... you never even told me your name!"
I replied to this yesterday. I must have closed the window.
Nay worries, buddy!
Whether or not he realized it, that was an honest sentiment for once. Stopping for a friendly conversation had been a semi-calculated move, sure, but the doctor's generosity had dragged him away from that. He found himself actually liking the guy.
Not that he had any intention of hanging around though. With a broad smile, he stepped back and tugged his collar out, stuffing the card deep inside his shirt. "If you running out of time, head to Pugsy's one evening instead, okay?" He pulled the shirt straight again and flapped a hand over his shoulder. "Downtown," he added. "Enough hard work, a man's throat starts to dry up."
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"I could do that. If you have a particular day, anyway?"
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"Just keep an eye out for a very handsome man sat at the bar." He flashed a toothy smile, before using his chin to gesture up to Visscher's hair, adding, "And if not, lucky for you, you're pretty easy to pick out, eh?"
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As promised, a slightly built (but taller than Tuco) blond German showed up at the bar. The patronage wasn't foreign to him; rough and gruff types, people that he had encountered the like of when he worked aboard some of the stations he had, served during some disasters.
But that didn't mean they didn't make him nervous. For every thug with a heart of gold, there was a genuine asshole that just enjoyed being important and working his way up. In his opinion, life had provided him with half and half as far as temperament went, but that latter half was extremely dangerous when they put their mind to it.
Tuco seemed to be pleasant enough though (Ha... haha..... ha) and when he saw him he went over and perched primly on the chair beside of him.
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"Hey!" he cawed, reaching across to clap Visscher's arm. "Doctor Fish! You showed up, huh?" He sounded genuinely surprised. "...Who knew? I thought maybe you'd take one look at the, uh..." He stopped and waved back towards the entrance. Beamed with the blissful idiocy of the slightly drunk. "You want something to drink? Some, uh... some not-whiskey, right?" His eyes flicked over to the bottles behind the bar and he opened his mouth as if he were about to list every possible alternative.
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"I wouldn't want you to spend any extra money on me. I'll just take water for now." He didn't know that, in requesting just that, he was already attracting some attention.
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...When it became apparent that this wasn't the case, he laughed. Loudly.
"Water?" he repeated, shaking his head grimly. "Jesus." He scrubbed at his jaw for a second or two (ample time for that judgmental air to settle in) before flopping his hand across the bar, waggling his outstretched fingers. Having managed to get the bartender's attention, he first motioned to his own glass, ("Another!") and then to Visscher himself. "And a glass of your finest water!"
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He got a laugh from some ruddy, salmon skinned alien at the end of the bar. But even if mockery could occasionally coax frowns out of Visscher, he wasn't rising to the bait just yet.
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There was a soft clink as his rings met the glass, and having paused just long enough to take a sip, he continued: "You wake up with your head splitting? Curarse la cruda." A brief pause, and then he leaned right in, cheek inches from Visscher's shoulder. With his voice at a low, conspiratorial whisper, he added, "It draws a little less attention, too."
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"Hey," he said loudly, shifting his eyes from the mocker back to the mocked. "You think Pinky over there's okay?" He drew his face into an exaggerated parody of concern, and turned to point. "I mean, I don't know... he looks a lot like he's choking." A beat. "He doesn't sound too good, either."
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But then another man was staring, and feigned generosity by ordering both him and the reddish man another. Visscher just sighed, looked down at it with a puff of breath, and swallowed with the slightest wince of face. Always an unpleasant drink.
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"That wasn't so bad, huh?" he said brightly, glancing from one badly lit face to another. It wasn't like the place had gone silent, but the energy had changed. For every few men lost in the bottom of their drinks, there was another staring in their direction. And maybe they were just curious... but maybe they were thinking what he was thinking, too.
"You think you can keep going?" he asked, voice now a hushed half-whisper.
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Another drink was slid at him, and to the other man. It was of a different sort. Not poisonous, he knew, the bartender knew what to vend to whom, but still...
He sniffed it and downed that as well, as if he weren't worried about mixing at all. "However, I don't feel entirely guilty about drinking at their expense." He sort of almost quirked a half smile. Not devious, but enough to say that he could still appreciate a man making his own bed, despite having a good heart.
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Not that he was in any hurry to down whatever colourful concoction a stranger would wish upon him, of course, but that didn't mean he didn't feel peculiarly jealous. It was like their chance encounter earlier had awoken some primitive part of his brain, and now he just wanted attention—all of the attention, good or bad.
Still, he supposed there was money to be made in being a spectator. If the situation continued to escalate, he was sure there'd be some profit in it.
"Just don't get too cocky, okay?"
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"But I can keep drinking, yes."
His hesitance, though, seemed to encourage his 'opponent's' bravado, and he took it upon himself to order them both another.
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It wasn't a profession he'd have paired with a bottle of bourbon. It wasn't a type he'd normally have readily associated with, either. Sitting there, elbow-to-elbow, he realized how different the two of them must have looked. How destitute he must have seemed for the man to have given him that handout in the first place.
"I probably shouldn't have brought you here, huh?"
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"I realize people look," he didn't point at his face, but he supposed Tuco could guess, "And then I don't want to talk anymore." He would never suppose Tuco would have been suggesting they shouldn't be drinking together for any other reason.
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"That's too bad," he said weakly, letting the words hang there for several uncomfortable seconds. "But I, uh... I just meant this place, it's a pigsty. Maybe you used to somewhere with fewer pricks. Something... I don't know..." He sat up and reached for his shirt collar. Mimed straightening some kind of tie, then let his hands drop again, fingers curling in on each other.
"Sorry." He actually looked away as he said it, as if meeting a man's eyes and apologizing at the same time was a step too far somehow.
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He did have a good heart, even if he was a little afraid of talking, and the last thing he wanted was for someone to feel guilty for being nice to him.
As if to make it up, he downed those next two drinks and shook off the bitter taste, as if to prove his point.
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His words had barely settled when he shook his head with a kind of bovine twitch, eyes snapping up again like he was worried. Only he didn't exactly look worried, a convincing half-smile having fallen into place as he leaned his head to gesture across to their florid companion. "I tell you one thing, friend: you keep drinking like that, puerco over there is going to need plenty of mending."
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And, bewildered, someone from the other end of the bar is ordering Visscher yet another drink. Which he throws back thoughtlessly. And he only looks the slightest bit tipsy, like he's storing the stuff to use over time like a camel.
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