The Pub ver. 2.0: Meta RP and Character Workshop (Always Open)

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Disasterchild:
Heh

"Aye, and lemme tell you, no easy feat in most cases. Names are sometimes very hard. Neil is based off of a clone kid from AHS that took to one of my characters, only...they shot him in the head when he did a bunch of TK. The girl I was using at the time got VERY pissed off."

And...regarding Massacre, the evil spirit clapped his hands together and grinned wickedly.

"Now, you're getting it! I'm not a nice guy. I'm the villain you root for 'cause he's so damn cool."

FalloutJack:
I can imagine

Mark nodded along with the story regarding names. He was also in the very same issue when coming up with names, though he had quite the database of names that he could user when it came down to it. Real names of real people that was, all there sitting in Active Directories.

"I've always had an issue with names. That's why I end up recycling names among my characters so frequently. Shifty McGee happened to be the name of my character that I was running around in when I was Beta Testing The Sims Online... what a waste of time THAT was." Mark said as he popped open a can of Monster.

"It's about as difficult to choose a name sometimes as it is to choose a color for their dialogue. Not that all of us have this particular issue." Mark chuckled as he observed Jake's style of writing, almost script like in its makeup.

"Which brings me to yet another question... besides Role Plays... do you do any other writing by way of trade?" He asked, crossing that line into personal life.

"Not my usual question but it's just the way you format things sometimes that gives me the impression that you write scripts."

Disasterchild:
Hmmm

The Writer sighed.

"I have the power, easily, but I haven't made the real effort to sell anything like I should. I require a steady support job to fuel life while waiting for the idea of a publishing to pay off."

FalloutJack:
Ahh the life of an artist.

Mark nodded in commiseration with the concept of requiring a steady job to ensure that life could go forward.

"Believe me I know the feeling... though art is about as cut throat as you can get when you look at it. Right out of college I made a digital piece that was essentially a web app that allowed a person to confess their sins online and an algorithm dictated what their penance would be. I submitted it to a few digital art galleries and received the response of I had no idea what I was talking about, due to my statement that the app was for the busy Catholic on the go. They could go out and party and sin but afterwards just log into the app and confess their sins. Fast forward a few years later... the Catholic Church releases their very own iPhone Confession App." Mark said, reliving the last time he had bothered submitting a "hard art" piece rather than going commercial.

"Anyways... I know the feeling. You gotta work to live and you gotta live to work on your craft." With that said, Mark seriously felt in need of a beer.

Disasterchild:
Woon:let me get for you.

"due to my statement that the app was for the busy Catholic on the go. They could go out and party and sin but afterwards just log into the app and confess their sins. Fast forward a few years later... the Catholic Church releases their very own iPhone Confession App." With that said, Mark seriously felt in need of a beer.

david giggles from imagining that as he sits down at the writer's booth with Mark with two beers in his hands "want one?" he said offering him a beer "that short movie Prue showed a moment ago, what was that? how did he get it like that?, i mean in my timeline we got no sound and no color and it's black and white" he said taking a sip of his beer "damn this is strong stuff" he said after realizing how strong it is

David Woon:
Beer? Strong?

As David spoke, Mark paused and the usually expressionless mask that he wore flashed a large question mark on its plasticine surface. After a moment, Mark looked down at the tablet computer that was in his lap and pulled up David Woon's file.

"So... what timeline are you from exactly?" Mark asked as he slid the beer in front of him and lifted the mask to take a drink. Apparently the Old West Sheriff wasn't big on drinking given that the average alcohol content of beer is less that 15% or 30 proof.

"A moving picture works by flashing a sequence of pictures in sequence at a rate of 29.9 frames per second for Television or 24 frames per second for traditional celluloid film. With a television signal, the audio signal is included in the overall feed. However with film, the audio data is added on the edges of the film itself." Mark said as he continued to drink the beer.

However, he had no desire to go into how color pictures were possible... he continued scanning David's file and found inconsistencies.

"If the Old West is defined as ending in 1910... how are you carrying a Colt Model 1911?"

Disasterchild:
no just never tasted it before

As David spoke, Mark paused and the usually expressionless mask that he wore flashed a large question mark on its Plasticine surface. After a moment, Mark looked down at the tablet computer that was in his lap and pulled up David Woon's file.

"So... what timeline are you from exactly?" Mark asked as he slid the beer in front of him and lifted the mask to take a drink. Apparently the Old West Sheriff wasn't big on drinking given that the average alcohol content of beer is less that 15% or 30 proof. "If the Old West is defined as ending in 1910... how are you carrying a Colt Model 1911?"

"that's a very good question, this" he said pulling it out from under his arm and lays it out on the table slides it over to Mark "is a very old model probably the first model to be made i got given it by a government agent called who himself *Lynch* anyway i beilive my timeline is 1866 - whenever i die and i only thought it was strong because i never had this before" he said taking another sip

The Writer's head popped open and shot fireworks around all of a sudden!

"Jonesy got accepted into a Shadowrun game that's imaginative and not rule-nazi-like! YAHOO!!!

And...back to his hunched-over writing position.

FalloutJack:
Jonesy?

David Woon:
Da hell?

Mark looked over at Jake, an eyebrow arched underneath his mask before he uttered a few words.

"Who the hell is Jonesy?" He then went back to the David Woon file that he had in front of him.

"Okay... 1866 became Sheriff at 20... that would make it 1886 when you're a sheriff but the Model 1911 didn't see military use until 1911... hence the name 1911. Also... the around the 1880's the Colt Single Action Army or Peacemaker was the main product that Colt was pumping out at the time. The most prevalent revolver in the West. So... my question is... what in the hell man?" Mark looked at David Woon, shaking his head.


StormShaun:
Snip

As the argument over firearms continued over at the Writer's Booth, Puce looked over at Lucifer and Tomoya.

"If I even get that picky over firearms, their manufacturing dates and their use... shoot me." Puce said as he pours the Angel and the Devil a drink.

"You know... writer's like that should be given a swift uppercut." Puce continued... knowing that sooner or later, Tomoya would uppercut a Writer named Darren.

Disasterchild:
time travel -shudders-

"yeah didn't see *military use* until 1911 you see i was awarded that for my services of protecting the people i believe it was called *The High Power Pistol* back then and then they changed it to model 1911" he said taking another sip

David Woon:
Snip

Mark looked over at David with a slightly more intense look on his face, though no one would have known it. Looking at David, he jotted down something on the Tablet PC and the Main Door opened and a Neanderthal dressed in Plate Mail walked in holding a Plasma Rifle. It was slightly ridiculous considering the Neanderthal referred to himself as John Quincy Adams and mentioned that the toga underneath his platemail was chaffing.

However... no one understood him and frustrated, the Cave Man walked out of the Pub in a huff.

"It's like that."

Disasterchild:
More funny.

"Huh? Oh, sorry. I was getting Fallout ready. You're in now, BTW."

Pencils down. Time to explain.

"Jonesy is a Shadowrun character following an unusual shamatic tradition. See, many of those who get a calling of the totem, despite ancestry, normally default to the ones governing their personality, and Jonesy therefore was a Dog Shaman, being a determined, decent, loyal guy who doesn't like dirtbag assholes. He went a step farther, becoming an Awakened Animal Shaman, or rather a Bogie Shaman, Bogie being a monstrous hound that makes a bone-chilling sound and causes people to have...accidents. Jonesy has three monster hounds with innate powers, magic, and a swift mind. He's a cool character I've been meaning to work with."

A man dressed in a long black coat with a red Coyote shaped helmet walked into the pub. The right sleeve of his coat was missing, and his right shoulder was sporting a large burn mark. He was carrying a large assault rifle. Excellent I need a drink. The man, known as Red Coyote, dropped his gun into the umbrella stand and approached the bar. "Barkeep, I would like a very large tankard of some very strong beer." Despite finding himself in a pub suddenly, Coyote didn't show any signs of being at ease. If anything his new surroundings were relaxing him.

Realizing the futility of trying to drink with his helmet on, he reached to take it off. Fire he depressed two switches on the back of his neck, then slid them forward, there was a click, and then he pulled the helmet off his head. Revealing a head of strawberry blonde helmet hair and a young Caucasian man in his mid twenties.

FalloutJack:
Will Post there in a sec.

Mark looked over at Jake for a moment and excused himself, muttering something about "saving another Writer..." before he disappeared through the door.

After what seemed like 30 seconds, Mark returned, this time carrying an unconscious woman over his shoulder before getting a nod from Puce and allowed him to carry the unconscious girl into one of the back bedrooms.

Returning to the Writer's booth, Mark shifted uncomfortably in his seat as Jake looked at him.

"Sorry about that... I had to save another one of my fellow writers from Red Mage." Mark explained as the door opened, revealing the man known as Red Coyote.


Puce looked over at the new patron to the Pub and welcomed him after a moment of examining him.

"Welcome to The Pub, a beer you say?" Puce the Barkeep asked as he looked over the beer selection and served up a cold Dark one in a Pint Glass.

"So... you look like you've got quite the story." Puce said as he poured himself a drink as well.

Disasterchild:
Oh my.

There was a pause, then...the writer jumped on up.

"BRILLIANT!"

He looked over at Mark.

"All you have to do is remove all the writers TO HERE and Red Mage's plans will falter because we're in the bar, getting drunk, with him unable to do a thing about it!"

FalloutJack:
That was the idea

Mark looked up from posting on several things at once and smirked underneath the mask of his and he chuckled.

"I have to pull the old rag and chloroform trick on them though. I don't want them to post the route that I take to get to them, thereby tipping off Red Mage's writer as to how to get here. The good thing though is that we're on par with the Mage while we're here, if not more powerful." Mark said while explaining why it was that his fellow Writer was brought in unconscious.

"Even if he does show up... if he manages to kill someone, they can just re enter the Pub. It ends up being a stalemate unless I get the death function enabled."

Disasterchild:
Hmmm

"Why don't you invite him here and then I erase his character sheet?"

He was now sporting a Tom Baker grin.

Red didn't respond to Puce right away, instead he took a hearty gulp from the glass. He let the cool taste of hops and barley wash away the sweat and stale spit that had been sitting inside. Then he took a second sip, just to appreciate the taste. This one he held in for a split second, it was quite bitter, with a hint of orange and something else he couldn't quite place.

"Well, I was just going down clinic to pick up some medicine for a 'sensitive' situation I've got going on. So I'm there, I try to pick up my prescription, and suddenly theres these three super-powered belligerent thugs, roughing me up, shooting at me, and trying to take my meds. One of them, shoots a bolt made of, I don't fucking know, that ruins my coat and it burned like a bitch. Do you know how much this coat cost? Neither do I frankly. Any-ways what the fuck has New York come to, a man can't get some anti-bios to stave off the cock rot without these vigiliantic zealots thinking I deserve to kiss the curb." He took another hearty gulp and swallowed, while his left hand searched inside his coat. "It's like what I always tell ya, society is crumbling." From his left pocket he retrieved a small black tube with red rubber stopper, "So things are finally starting to look up for guys like me." He chuckled as he unstoppered the test-tube and removed a hand-rolled cigarette. He reached into his into the right side of his jacket and produced a ruined Bic lighter.

"Shit, that's why it wouldn't stop burning. Hey Puce do you got a light?" He asked, pointing the end of the cigarette to the Barkeep.

Puce looked over at the Old West Cowboy that was seated at the Writer's Booth to ensure that he wasn't about to try something silly, such as summon raining fire onto the place before he reached underneath the counter and produced a brass lighter.


*CHICK!*
*CHICK!*
*CHICK!*

A moment later a flame sprung to life and Puce brought the lighter up to the man's cigarette. Waiting unto the tip glowed a bright red and watching as Red inhaled deeply, Puce finally closed the lighter's top, the flame gone.

"The Cock Rot?" Puce asked, hoping that the man was some sort of traveling farmer and the Antibiotics were for a under the weather rooster of his. Somehow, he thought that this was not the case.

"Sounds like a rather interesting verse that you come from. Zealot Vigilantes you say?" Puce asked.


FalloutJack:
Meanwhile at the Booth

bluerocker:
Snip - The Pub: Unsure if this will work but...

Mark looked up from staring down as his chest for a couple hours, a look that said that he had been sleeping was plastered all over her eyes.

"I guess we could erase his character sheet out of existence but the writer that controls him would just bring him back in the original dimension. Speaking of dimensions... I wonder what happens to the laws of physics when you have to dimensions merge. If science says that you can neither create matter nor destroy matter and the amount of matter in the universe is constant at the time of creation... what happens when you get a dimensional merger. Two Verses become One. The breaks those laws... though it makes sense but it still break that particular law since you're introducing twice the amount of Mass." Mark wondered as if he had been thinking something that made sense in his own mind. There were a bunch of thing brewing that that noggin of his before he looked over towards the Bar where Ton Ton, a Tonberry and Teri the writer's charactger, had exited the back bedrooms up and was talking to Puce and Kurumu, despite them being their future selves from the time point that she was from.

"... this will be interesting..."

Disasterchild:
Ah, so you drag me kicking and screaming into this RP too, eh?

Ton Ton was explaining what was going on to the duo in as great of detail he could manage, "...So apparently this Red Mage guy is trying to go around and kill all these normal people! Sure, it's a little weird that they sort of tell us what to do, but Ms. Teri says she tries to... er, how'd she put it... 'Let us write ourselves' or something like that. I think that's a good thing!"

Disasterchild:
Boooooth!

"Then scribble something permanent and debilitating on it in Writer Ink. My pen is more binding than Dwarfstar Alloy. Do I have to think of everything?"

Just then, Dr. Bastion exits the off-limits area.

Dr. Bastion: Eureka! I am king! I am awesome! And now, I will go back to Wild Wasteland and CONQUER THE WORLD! MWA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAA!!!

Massacre: I like him. He's silly.

Oho...so, Evil Plan #23 is cooking?

bluerocker:
Of course. There's interesting enough discussions in here about life, liberty and the pursuit of not dying at the hands of Red Mage.

StormShaun:
Snip


The Pub: The Main Great Room
Time: ???

The couple regarded Ton Ton with an air of amusement and smiles. It had been quite some time since they had seen the little Tonberry and knew that sooner or later that he would get it. For now, they were just happy to see a face that they hadn't seen in quite some time.

"Hi Ton Ton! I'm so happy to see you here... notice anything different about me?" Kurumu asked as she held out a flesh and bones hand in the air, which was strange to Ton Ton since Kurumu, at least the last time he had seen her, was made of wood and sometimes metal or stone. But this... he had never seen her like this. He also noted something in her arms. It looked like some sort of shiny pink lizard but with wings.

"Oh... and this is Rin... short for Trina." Kurumu said as she pet her little dragon hatchling that had broken out of its shells only a few weeks earlier. Rin, a female dragon, was taking a nap, though one eye opened to regard the newcomer before it closed.

"I think I should let you know that whatever you and Teri are going through... you'll get through it okay. That's all I can really tell you at this point since we've already gone through it and to tell you what happens would ... ruin the ending." Puce said though what he really meant was corrupt the timeline and make it so that things might not end up the way they were supposed to.

"Hey Tomoya... look who it is!" Puce called to the Archangel of Lightning who was busy talking to Lucifer


FalloutJack:
Snip

"You know... the most simple solution might be the answer. Rather than bind Red Mage or do anything of the sort... I'm just going to find HIS writer and kill him. Put Red Mage on the defensive. According to the rules that were written for this arc... if the author dies then the character goes back to their realm of origin or simply ceases to exist." Mark said with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Just how many evil plans does Dr. Bastion have anyways?" Mark asked as he looked over at the manically laughing doctor.

"He reminds me of a Dr. Cortex." He continued knowing that sooner or later Neil would be coming into the picture.

Deciding that now would be an appropriate time to wake up the kidnapped writer in the back room, Mark called for Fenris and handed him a vial of smelling salts.

"You know what to do..."



The Pub: Backroom

Teri's slumbering form breathed in slowly and rhythmically as she was still knocked out from the Chloroform that Mark had dosed her up with. However, that would change as a vial of smelling salts was broken and placed underneath her nose, causing her to gag and wake up in a panic.

Thought the panic wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the fact that there was a 10 foot tall Alpha Male Deathclaw looking down at her.

"Time to wake, Ms. Teri. Mark has called for you."

Disasterchild:
Bonk

From behind a big curtain with the word CENSORED written on it, a red-haired figure with a black enlarged claw-arm and a partial mask - an Arrancar to you Bleach fans - leapt out and bonked the Deathclaw in the head.

Roy: Dammit, what are you doing back here? Privacy, remember?

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"I like that plan. If you need anything from me about it, let me know. As for Bastion...I never met Dr. Cortex. He simply is a mad scientist of my creation who was fed up with the Enclave - in that universe - and struck out on his own to take over the world and...I suppose he had a sock drawer full of plans. Why?"

Are you pondering what I'm pondering?

FalloutJack:
What?

Fenris looked confused, an absolutely comical look for a 10 foot killing machine. His task however was to wake up Teri, otherwise known as bluerocker on the Escapist and bring her back into the realm of consciousness, Mark having doused her with some chloroform.

Checking his surroundings, he walked into the correct Backroom bedroom and waved the smelling salts in Teri's nose, causing the author to wake up in a panic... blah blah blah



The Pub: Writer's Booth

"I think so Jake... but where are we going to find a chest full of rabid Koala's this time of night?" Mark mused as he read Jake's latest post.

"I'm just curious if he's the Cortex, Egg, crappy scientist type or if his plans have ever come close to working. Just for Shifty's... erm... my edification."

Disasterchild:

Roy sighed, returning to the room in question.

Roy: Damn Deathclaws...

Elsie: Yeah, he almost got to see what was going on back here.

This room was dark except for a green glow belonging to the irridescent liquid inside of a frankly tube-shaped machine that was to be some kind of combination stasis and incubation machine. Inside of it? A growing infant. Roy and Elsie watched the thing intently.

Elsie: What'll we call 'im?

Roy: I think we'll name him...Neil.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Jake was amused by the referencing done here.

"No no no...his schemes get done. Dependent on what world he's on, some machine or creation of his is at large and...well, he's already figured out how to make Behemoths out of regular super mutants. What do you think Natsuki was complaining about? Who do you think gave those Behemoths weapons?"

FalloutJack:
SNIP

Mark chuckled at a reference from better times past and gave the topic at hand some thought before looking at Jake in the eye.

"So ... you're talking about a geneticist with and a penchant for big brutes and arming these brutes with 'state of the art'," and here Mark made air quotes as he spoke, "weapons that are nothing short of nuclear and in the hands of something that regenerates in the presence of nuclear radiation." Mark paused dramatically as he took a drink of whatever happened to be on the table at the time.

"BRILLIANT!" Mark said, discovering that the drink in question just happened to be Guinness.

"But hasn't just taken over the world... tragic. Of course... the question is... did Bastion happen to take some of that Arrancar DNA back into the Wastes with him?" Mark wondered aloud... sure that any villain worth his salt wouldn't have passed up THAT particular opportunity.

Disasterchild:
It's not the lizard that scares her...

Teri was still reeling from remembering being knocked out in chloroform, given the recent reports on campus of student assaults and the incoming threat of deadly mages, and was beginning to flail about, not even caring that the giant lizard speaking to her, "Miss, please calm down."
Teri glared at the Deathclaw dead in the eye, and rage poured from her lips, "NO! You shut the FUCK up! I will not calm down! You think I'm going to be calm when I'm pulled out of my dorm room right when I'm paranoid about some ass-hat in red who wants to kill me! Not to mention a student just died back home! Mind you, they ruled out foul play, but still! What's your deal, pal?! I need you to answer two things for me right now: Where the hell am I, who are you and where is Ton Ton?!"

"Ton Ton? Also, that was three questions, Miss..."

"DOES IT LOOK LIKE I CARE?"

(The Deathwing took the abuse well...)

----

The trio was having a nice conversation, with Ton Ton still marveling at the changes his friends had gone through, when they began to hear the angry screams of a 19 year old woman come from the door behind them. Ton Ton immediately perked up in alarm,

"Oh dear! I hope she's alright!"

Disasterchild:
SNAP

The Writer bolted from his seat and out the pub door. A moment later, he was dragging something back inside, which was Dr. Bastion's sample of Arrancar essence in a tube-shaped safety container.

Dr. Bastion: NO NO NO! I DISCOVERED IT! IT'S MIIINE!!!

Feet and fists of Jake came outta nowhere and smacked him around a few times despite his limbs being occupied with the pulling. The Doc flew back into his dimension with a loud cuurse and the Writer pocketed the sample before sitting down.

"Could I get more Surge over here? And a Dr. Pepper? Ironically, it was an Author in the habit of breaking the fourth wall alot who got me on the DP kick. Didn't know her personally, but still... Uhh, why is there screaming?"

FalloutJack:
SNIPE?


The Pub: Writer's Booth
Subject: Dafuq!?!
Time:???

Mark chuckled as Dr. Bastion was thrown through the Pub's main doors and back to the Really Wild Wastes where he belonged.

"Yuroi... nevermind." Mark said as Yuroichi, the Pub's server had delivered the Dr. Pepper and Surge in one half a blink of an eye. There was still something a tad disturbing about the method of beverage service around the Pub. As if they materialized out of no where.

"Well ... I'll be honest that there have been quite a few Author's that I've written with that have ... oh shit." Mark said before he too left the booth and headed towards the Bedrooms in the back.


bluerocker:
Should be noted that you're not actually hearing the Deathclaw speak so much as hearing it in your mind... like Caim... this is an intlligent Deathclaw.


The Pub: The Bedrooms Behind the Bar Counter
Subject: Point Insertion
Time:???


Fenris looked at the Writer in dismay as she called him everything in the book and then some before the door opened once again. This time a human walked through it. At least Teri thought it was human because he was wearing what looked like one of those Drama Masks, made of porcelain, except it seemed that the artist who had crafted it forgot to mold the opposed expressions of happiness and despair on the mask's facade.

The figure was also wearing a black short sleeve button up shirt, a red neck tie, black cargo pants and black suede Etnies Skate shoes.

"Would you mind panicking out in the Main Pub room... it's not as comical in here as it would be out there." The figure stated as he regarded Teri in her state of panic.

"Sorry... I didn't hear about that student that died but I assure you that I mean you no harm. Hence why you're not strapped to the bed BTK style nor are you dead. I simply needed a method in which to cover my trail and keep you from writing about how you got here." He continued...

"Also... Welcome to the Pub, T. I'll be your host, Disasterchild a.k.a. Mark." Mark continued with a dramatic bow before leading Teri out to the Main Pub room and to the writer's booth.



The Pub: Writer's Booth


Mark lead the apparently disoriented young woman to the Writer's booth, after showing her that Ton Ton was safe and talking to a restored Kurumu who was holding a baby dragon.

Having borrowed the laptop from Ton Ton, Mark set it up at the Writer's Booth so that Teri could continue posting in EAA as well as converse.

"Bluerocker... this is FalloutJack. FalloutJack, this is bluerocker. She's in the same boat as I am... trying to keep herself from getting killed by Red Mage." Mark explained to Jake as Yuroichi, a shinigami from Bleach appeared next to the table to take Teri's drink order.

bluerocker:
Welcome!

Disasterchild:
Ah, you know snipes don't exist.

Mark brought in a new author-type to him, the man with glasses and red-and-silver armor on, and he - with his drinks in hand - saluted her arrival with both hands and drank from both drinks.

"Welcome to the bar. Your safety is moderately-assure here as here you retain power. Please excuse the demonic text, as I am suppose to be evil."

He put down his drinks and rubbed his hands together in a 'Let's get started' fashion.

"So, I heard about your problems, of course, and Mark here was just talking about killing Red Mage's author."

Disasterchild:
Blue needs a hug...

FalloutJack:
Thankfully, Authoring skills remain

The Writer numbly sat down and quietly typed on her computer for a moment, and a Tonberry plushie appeared, similar in shape and style to the living Tonberry before her, and gave it a tight squeeze. Ton Ton tilted his head in confusion of his stuffed doppelganger, but shrugged it off in knowing his writer was alright. She did tell him that he was based off of that plushie after all, and the 'original' served a similar purpose to his own, even at the young woman's age. After coming from the realm he did, who was he to judge?

From Jack's and Mark's perspective, what they saw was a young woman clad in jeans and a simple tee-shirt (which, true to her name, was a dark blue), with a red robe covering the whole outfit and a pair of slippers that looked like lizard feet. Simple lounging gear, more or less. Her long brown hair seemed to be a bit disheveled, especially after being lifted and moved about.

After cuddling the stuffed toy for a few more moments, she looked back up at the two, and finally spoke, her voice slightly shaking, "I'll have a Mountain Dew; A chilled bottle of water; Fresh cups of Tension Tamer, Lady Grey, and Irish Breakfast; a small pot of coffee with plenty of French Vanilla cream and sugar; and a glass of wine, preferably one not dry. Also, if you guys serve food here, I'll have some beef, preferably rare, corn on the cob and mashed potatoes."

As the waitress dutifully wrote everything down and began to walk away, the writer muttered, "Just trying to calm down, is all..."

She coughed a little, and began to speak again, "I know Meh is a dick and all, but do we really need to kill him? I mean, I know I write for a mass murderer and his dragon friend, but I don't know if I can really kill anyone..."


Mark looked over at Jake, the mask that he wore took on the exaggerated expression of being surprised. This was further reinforced by his his voice which was of course one of absolute surprise.

"You know... I would have never taken you for evil, despite text colors being what they are. I prefer to think of you as morally unaffiliated with any alignment on the scale." Mark said before Yuroichi came back with all of the things that Teri had ordered. Shinigami from bleach being what they were... the food and drink appeared in a flash, without so much as a rustle due to the speed at which Yuroichi was moving.

"You know... since you control Yuroichi... perhaps she needs a bell around her neck so that we known when she's coming... damn that Caramel Frappe." Mark said, pointing to the fact that Yuroichi was originally Caramel Frappe's contribution to the Pub.

"Of course you can't kill anyone the same was that I wouldn't be able to kill anyone under most circumstances... however... we've got characters to do that. We've got characters that should be willing to do this... but what still I'm not sure if Red Mage would be stopped if we killed his author or if his author would just up the ante by making Red Mage more dangerous." Mark said approaching the issue cautiously.

"However... if we make like we're going to kill the Author... we'll at least force RM into a more defensive posture... lest he stop existing as well. It's a gamble."

Disasterchild:
But was love Frappe.

bluerocker:
Now, watch this.

ZWOOP! No sooner had the order been taken down than said waitress was suddenly off in a flash. There was some super-fast rummaging and working behind the bar before...her drinks appeared almost as if by magic, followed by the plate of food in question.

Yoruichi: And if you require anything else while in the bar, be sure to ask and it'll be along almost instantly.

And...she was gone to serve others.

"Shun-Po masters. Go figure."

He looked at Mark, then.

"No, I am NOT belling her."

That said, he snapped his fingers and drew the black gargoylian demon that had been hanging upside-down in the bar - gazing at it with glowing red eyes - to him now.

"As for killing, and INDEED the question of evil, let me just note that I am far better at creating villains than anything else. So saying, this guy here is an abomination of darkness, lord of his kind, an empire, and a very large conglomerate. It would not only be fun to kill things with him, but highly-effective. We send a dark weapon able to fight on next to any field of battle there can be, and this author and Red mage will 'castle' faster than you can say 'checkmate'."

FalloutJack:
Snip

Mark looked at Massacre and chuckled. As well as Jake wrote it would be an interesting match up between him and Themehkingdom.

"We'll have to keep that in mind of course. Having Massacre appear out of the blue is kind of like getting in a 21 year old pinch hitter at little league game." Mark said wanting to see if they could handle this issue internally before outsourcing the project to the lowest bidder.

"Would be interesting too to see have Shifty take that particular author's measurements before disappearing." Mark continued as he wondered what to write in the Really Wild Wastes... not that Sully had responded mind you... but Shifty would have kept talking even without a response from Sully.

"Thank you kindly." He said as Puce lit up the end of the cigarette.

Red Coyote then took several minutes to enjoy his beer and his smoke. Letting the two slowly but surely relax him and ease his pains. He took a look around and noticed the Pubs clock was busted. It seemed every time he tried to tell the time all he read was ???, which was odd because there wasn't a single ? on the clock face. He decided to let the proprietors know of this, "Hey, Hey Barkeeps." He beckoned, but they were all cloistered in a single booth, eagerly discussing a totally different matter. "Screw it, I'm good with machines, I'll do it myself." He declared, before storming off to the clock and opening it's body.

From his belt he produced a precision mulit-tool and he began poking around the clocks inner workings. Everything seemed in order, the gear were in line, the mechanism was wound up, it was lubricated and balanced, but it simply wouldn't move properly. As he poked around he found a switch, with two settings: "Absolute" and "Relative". And it was currently pointing at Absolute. Red took a moment to ponder the notion of Absolute time, and the what it would mean in a place like this. Then stopped when he realized he did not have all day. So instead he hit the switch and moved it to "Relative". And suddenly the motion of the clock skipped. It took a second, then began ticking again. Brass gears and weights circled about in harmony as it counted out the seconds. He tried to read the time, "12:00, alright let's see if it actually starts counting minutes later."

Satisfied with his work, he went back to the bar, grabbed his Beer, and headed over to the booth to see what was such a hot topic.

"Hello there, my name is Red Coyote, I over-heard you guys were having some trouble with a certain scoundrel?" He asked as he squeezed himself a seat

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