the_last_resort | Wander Log

The hotel lobby is filled with guests chatting, moving out to town and back in. There are some complaining about small objects going missing or ruined clothing, but nothing exceptional until you notice something small and orange dash through the crowd. It doesn't take long for you to realize it's Wander, who seems to be trying to get to the door as fast as he can, dodging suitcases and feet while keeping his face hidden.

He'll eventually reach the exit and waste no time opening the door and running through it, though he'll turn around take a quick peek behind him to check for guests that need the door held open. You might catch a glimpse that he looks a bit off...

When Wander gets back, he'll rush through the crowd the same way as before, this time clutching a paper bag and making his way to the rooms.

The little orange... thing is enough to catch Emilia's attention, as well as the hulking, cloaked figure beside her, who reaches a clumsy hand out to try and catch Wander.

"Gale, no," Emilia snaps, not looking up from the map she's peering at. "Leave it."

Wander notices a large hand reach towards him from the corner of his eye, but seeing it as someone not paying attention to where they were moving, he swiftly sidesteps while muttering "sorry" more loudly than he wanted to.

He does glance towards the voice, drawing a sharp breath between his teeth when he realizes that someone actually saw him and might start asking him what he was doing. Wander takes a couple of large steps away from Emilia and Gale before turning back towards the door.

Wander is back to exploring the town: visiting shops, chatting with the locals, or sitting by the fountain. He's wearing a thin shawl wrapped around his body and covering the bottom of his face. While he's as cheerful as ever, he mostly likely won't be running up to greet familiar faces.

Wander rests on a tree branch in the gardens, mostly hidden from view. He's been playing a slow song on the banjo for some time now, trying to divert his attention from the noticeable lack of fur on his body. It's difficult, though, and he's resisting the temptation to pull out any lone strands of hair out of frustration.

Bertie sauntered up. He should probably wait until Wander finished his song before he starts speaking, but Bertie has a difficult time not talking. And as he frequently babbled on while playing piano, he assumed that talking and music were not impairments to each other.

"What ho, Wander. Did you know, I play the banjolele a little."

In truth, he didn't play banjolele. He attempted to learn to play banjolele and was so atrocious, so ear-torturous, so unbearable that Jeeves temporarily handed him the mitten over it and it took Bertie's cottage burning down for them to reconcile.

Wander jumps at the voice from below, striking a disharmonious chord before stopping. Oh, it's just Bertie; Bertie's nice, if a bit confusing in his explanations. Wander relaxes and goes back to playing.

"Sorry 'bout that, you kinda startled me there," he says while adjusting his seat as to hide as much of his body from Bertie's view as possible. Hopefully the banjo covers enough of his face.

"Banjolele? Never hear of that." What was that even? A banjo and...ukelele? That has to be it!

He stops his playing. "Oh! So it's like a mix between this and a ukelele, right? That thing that's like a small guitar but sounds different. Sounds like that would be mighty hard to learn. Banjo's different enough from other instruments as it is!"

Edited 2014-08-24 03:24 (UTC)

"Quite so, quite so. Just like your whatsits, only diminished." He spreads his hands out to indicate the size. "It was dashed hard to get the fingers on one hand to do one sort of movement while meanwhile the fingers on the other hand are doing something completely unlike what the afore mentioned first fingers are doing. To be honest, I gave it up as a non potest after a few months and returned to the welcoming ivory bosom of the pianoforte."

"I say..." Bertie peers around the instrument. "Are you...?" He lowers his voice and leans in close. "Getting in the negative on the ledger where hair is concerned? Because man to...mannish orange person...I've noticed that I've been getting a little thin up top myself, and I've been trying out this hair tonic that Tuppy Glossop recommended to me. I would be more than happy to share, if you're interested."

Wander takes a few minutes to get his head around Bertie's wordy explanation. So the basic handling of stringed instruments is what he found difficult? That's what he guesses from that odd phrase Bertie used.

"Well, I'm glad that you still enjoy playing your...pianoforte. That a special kind of piano?" He hopes it's an alien piano unique to Bertie's planet.

He leans away from Bertie as he gets too close for comfort, almost slipping off the branch and flailing his arms before grabbing it with his hands. However, this lets the banjo fall onto his lap, exposing his entire fur-deficient body. Most of it is still covered, but with a rather thin layer, and small bald patches the size of coins show easily show through. His head seems to be fine, but a few orange strands fall from under his hat when he jostled it.

"Um," He rubs his arm. "I've been havin' a bit of a predicament with the props," he says, enunciating each syllable slowly. "Mostly them comin' at night to take some hair, even when I left a pile of ones that fell out jus' for them on the table. I didn't know they needed so much."

Wanders looks eager to take Bertie on his offer, but stops himself a second later. "I don't wanna take anythin' that belongs to you, but thank you. I can go there later. An' it's not botherin' me too much." He puts on a grin to show how entirely unaffected he is by having his furn ripped out.

Totally convincing.

"No, just a standard baby grand." He frowns. "I'm not rightly sure what the difference is between a pianoforte and a mere piano. But Jeeves referred to mine as a pianoforte, and Jeeves is always correct, so I assume that mine is such."

Bertie's eyebrows raise in alarm as the extent of Wander's fur-theft is revealed. He listens to Wander's explanation with a sympathetic face.

"Oh, the tonic is something I brought from home. But I wouldn't mind sharing it with a friend, not at all. Let it never be said that Bertram W. is stinging to friends."

"...There's baby pianos?!" Or a baby grand piano, which might mean a smaller sized piano. He wasn't too familiar with those instruments.

"Oh, well. I could take a little, but the tonic's all yours, really. An' I'll be fine once the props leave; my fur grows back pretty fast." But not fast enough to go out in public recently.

"Not in the sense of a stork bringing a little bundle of joy to mummy and daddy piano. But it is smaller than the not-baby pianos. But still larger than an upright or a console or a spinet."

Bertie waves his hand, unconcerned with how much Wander might take. Bertie is used to having plenty of whatever he needed. Money is nice like that.

"Oh pish, take as much as you like. I can always buy more from old Tuppy. He says he has crates of the stuff that he's trying to sell off."

And that should probably be a warning in itself, but Bertie doesn't pick up on those sorts of things.

Wander hesitantly holds out a hand towards Bertie. It's awfully nice of him to offer one of his vials, and to be honest, he's been getting worried if he'll go bald in a few more weeks.

And it's not like he's stopping the props from taking any more hair, if they might need it for their nests or something, right? He's just growing it back at a faster rate.

"You sure 'about this?" He knows that Bertie's going to insist, but Wander can't help but keep asking.

"Absolutely! Tuppy says it's guaranteed." He wrinkles his nose in confusion. "Although guaranteed how, he didn't quite specify."

And he reaches into his jacket pocket where he keeps his kerchief and pulls out a little vial of hair tonic.

"Help yourself to as much as you want."

The bottle is so small compared to Bertie, Wander wonders how much he would actually need.

"An' how exactly do I use this?" He says as he accepts the vial.

"You dash a bit of liquid into your hand, like so." He mimes shaking a vial over the open palm of his hand. "And then rub it into the spots where you want the follicles to grow like wheat upon the well-tilled field. It tingles a little bit; that's how you know it's working, Tuppy says."

Wander turns the vial a few times in his hands before stuffing it into his hat. As much as he appreciates the gift, he's a little worried how well it will actually work. He's never had any experience with hair growth products, mostly relying on his fur to grow back naturally if it was gone.

But then again, this type and cause of furlessness was news.

"Thank you, Bertie," Wander says as he rests against the tree once more, picking up the banjo. "I'll get to it once I go back inside."

Bertie tips his hat in acknowledgement of Wander's thanks.

"Anything for a chum, old bean. I'm only too happy to help a friend in need. It is the Wooster Code, you see, and I abide by it faithfully."

Wander tips his hat back.

"I like that Wooster Code of yours. Sounds like your family knows what's important."

"I don't actually remember my parents very well. There's my Aunts, of course, but they're now all Traverses and Crayes and whatnot. And cousin Claude and cousin Eustace, but they aren't heir to the name and do not feel the heavy weight of upholding the family honour so the Wooster who fought at Agincourt would not look down from heaven upon his descendants and go 'I say now, that lot is load of rubbish.'"

Heirs? Family honor? Those sound like intimidating responsibilities for the younger folks. If he remembered correctly, this Bertie fellow was from a rich family, and they usually put a lot of emphasis on these sorts of things.

"So you're the next in line for the family, uh, inheritance? That's what you folks pass down right? I'm not real familiar with those kinda things. Mostly we jus' share things with all our relations and pass down houses an' such.

...What's an Agincourt? Another country on Earth?" Because learning about new places is very important, and helps take his kind off of this fur problem.

"Just so. Uncle George avoided the old ball and chain his whole life, so now he has no sons to pass down old Yaxley title. Wooster B. is next in line. Uncle George is fit as a fiddle, however, and isn't likely to top off any time soon, thank goodness."

Bertie is much happier not having any responsibilities, and owning a drafty old country manse looks like work.

"Agincourt is in France, I think. Except it was supposed to be part of England, and people were dashed mad about it and arguing about who was king of what so they fought a war." Bertie's grasp of history is shaky. He mostly knows that Agincourt is Important because it means that Woosters are an old family, and that matters to the Aunts who constantly told him about the Wooster at Agincourt while he was growing up.

"Oh, I'm glad that your uncle is doin' fine. I think he appreciates your kindness." Bertie is such a good nephew if he cares so much about his Uncle George.

"So, lemme get this straight: France is another country on Earth, and England is too? But they're fightin' over someplace between them? Hopefully everthin' turned out alright."

Though the best thing would have been to never fight a war over a piece of land. Why use large-scale violence when diplomacy would also work? Sure, Wander admits that at time, you need to use force against an individual or small group (but he left that part to Sylvia), but never pit two armies of uninvolved civilians against each other. The first Wooster must have been one of those who was dragged into the war.

"They're allies now. They decided that they both dislike the Germans more than they dislike each other and now everything's boomps-a-daisy between those two, but not so hot with the Huns, which is odd because the King of England is a German."

Wander Log | The Props

Starter | Resort

Starter | Resort

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Starter | Various locations around the town

Starter | Gardens

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I half imagine that the tonic accidentally does something ridiculous, like turns their hair blue...

It's totally going to happen

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