View source for Ribbeting Times at the Hope

'''From Tavissha:''' ''Thermal suits! How did I never think of that? What a wonderful idea! My kind is so brought to a standstill by the cold. So much so that I couldn't even hit the broad side of a barn this time... Sigh.''

<nowiki>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* A04: Theatre District *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-</nowiki>

While the area contains more than theatre, it is most known for its dueling play houses. Along the shanty and low-rent buildings of this part of Lower Alexandria, a number of theatres make their home, and each competes for an audience. Callers-out stand on street corners, announcing the latest play, with what's in production reflecting the tone of the times and often, current politics. A number of street artists also make their home here, playing instruments or offering portraits for a few coppers to silver. 

The center of the district is home to an open stage, an area raised a few feet from street level and paved flat. Anyone may perform here, and many do, though it's often an area for gatherings and general lounging. Tailors, seamstresses as well, make their wage largely in this area, given its reputation and cheap rent. So, too, do many more creative businesses, such as painters, sculpters, and writers.

<nowiki>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-</nowiki>

Abrahil         A valiant, gnomish slayer of paper demons.            0s   6d

<nowiki>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= Exits -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-</nowiki>

Hope Theatre <HT>         East <E>                  North <N>

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<Meet> You offer to meet Tavissha.

Tavissha has arrived.

<Meet> Tavissha joins you.

<Meet> You offer to meet Lash.

Lash has arrived.

<Meet> Lash joins you.


It's Ceriday, Vhast 05 17:55:59 1015. The full moon isn't up. The tide is high and slack.

The sky is grey-black, without moon or stars. The air is cold and wet, and there is little wind. Snow flurries fall. It is easier to feel the flakes landing than it is to see them, in the darkness.

<Meet> You offer to meet Zalara.

Zalara has arrived.

<Meet> Zalara joins you.

It is cold, but then it is winter. This is expected. With the cold comes the odd flurry of snow, all-but invisible in the evening gloom unless they fall into the light cast from windows and open doors and lanterns. Most sensible folk have wrapped up if they are coming out, though there is no lack of such people, watching street artists or moving between venues offering everything from drink to music to dramatic performances.

One such is Lash, though she does not care to wrap up warm. Cold? What is cold to one from the mountains? Hah. So it is that perhaps she stands out more for that than for her race, ignoring the fat flakes of snow that fall to melt on her skin or cluster in her hair, more interested in watching a gnomish man juggling balls that seem to be alight, though that is no doubt some arcane glamour.

What is cold to a Sith? Oh, it is /very/ cold. Blending with the snow, a particularly tall white lizard has curled up behind a makeshift stall, under a giant pile of blankets. A few odd trinkets sit here or there on her counter, but for the most part, Tavissha looks like she's half-asleep.

"Oh, oooooh my. Why, he stood up! He just stood up, if you can imagine...and toasted her right there! Oh, he had the most wonderful voice, and I don't say madam didn't deserve it, but the VOICE!" the speaker gives a small if dramatic shudder, a shudder accented all the more by the fact that once his jell-o form begins to wobble, it ripples not unlike the sea. The speaker is a small round gnome, rounder than he is tall, with a balding head and cheerful face. He stands next to a thinner, more elderly gnome, the two of them in the process of making their way away from the Hope. 

As they do, one of the callers-out calls out, raising a set of pamphlets.

"--why, it was so lovely. And oh! We'll take two of those, young woman, and--oh. Oh, my. Oh my stars..." The rounder of the pair stammers to a halt, the pamphlets momentarily forgotten. He glances around the street, and spotting the oruch, gives a frantic wave. "Oh, dear! You, there! You! With the muscles!"

Zalara smiles as she doesn't seem to mind the cold. She is nice and toasty in her thermal suit that she made. It keeps her at the optimal temperature and she moves through the theater distinct as she's giving the suit a test run. She hears the voice and she looks around for the source of it.

"Excuse me?" Lash's common tongue is strongly accented, but the words distinct despite that. Dark eyes track towards the pair of gnomes as she addresses them, the Oruch woman half-turning towards Abrahil, though one hand sinks to her belt. Not to her sword, which is peacebonded, but to her purse. Never can be too careful, after all.

Tavissha stirs as there seems to be hubbub, her head lifting. She blinks, and bundles the blankets closer as she watches from her spot.

"Oh my...oh dear. Miss!" the round man hurries over, though it's impossible to see his feet. Only only may tell that he moves by the bobbing up and down of his jell-o like form, for the feet are quite hidden. And by the time he reaches Lash, his face is quite flushed and concerned--he reaches up with a handkerchief and wipes at an aged and balding brow. 

"Oh MY! Oh dear...miss, I am Abrahil Fizzletorque Brindlegear...Ambassador of the Valley! I do wish we had met in better circumstances! But oh my. I just REALIZED! We at the theatre have always provided for our members, our visitors, and I am APPALLED, APPALLED at the state of things!"

Deep breath. "That poor sith'makar over there. A visitor to our city!" he leans forward and whispers, "They're quite rare, you know! And oh, the poor dear is FREEZING! We cannot let this happen. I would employ your assistance to move some very large logs and otherwise terribly heavy things so we might build a...a hobofire," he finishes. And tucks the handkerchief away, sweating now. "I will authorize it! Oh, I shall...but We Cannot Let This Continue!" The last is said in theatrical tones, a man upon the stage. But the gnome in front of Lash is ancient. He coughs immediately after, and waves to Zalara. "You there! Oh, you as well, I have seen your work! If the young lady here might secure the logs and can--and I shall pay you some handsome silvers--you might start the fire! Oh the poor dears, the poor dears..." and he wrings his hands and looks concerned as he looks over at Tavi. And indeed, a number of others on the street are quite cold. It IS winter, after all...

Zalara hmms as she is called out by this Abrahil and she nods, "I do have a contraption that can help once we have some wood I can start a fire, although you might all want to step back when I do it can spread all over if you aren't careful." She looks at the others, "Well if they had my suit they would be fine. I just made it."

"..if she is cold, she should go inside," is Lash's perhaps more logical response to the idea of the lizard-woman being cold. Her attention moves towards Tavissha, studying the shivering stallkeeper before looking back to the gnome with his.. idea. Still, she is looking around for any sign of an unattended wood pile, as if expecting such a thing to be readily available.

Tavissha blinks slowly. Really, she'd be more apt to get up and help, but...y'know. Lizards. Cold-blooded. She's feeling awful slow at the moment. Still, she stumbles to her feet and wraps the blankets around her tightly, tail twitching as it tries to keep her from just toppling back over. "I can...I can help!" she stammers.

And then falls on her face.

"Oh, my dear...it is about hospitality. Hospitality in our dear city, THE city--oh!" the round little gnome looks about as the crash occurs, his expression quite concerned and frantic! His eyes are bright, his features flushed. He wears the clothes of a gentleman, though in horribly clashing colors that only a gnome might do--his jacket a bright, fuzzy orange and the pants pink...bellbottoms, atop goodness knows what...

No one's seen his feet in years.

And so he bip-bip-bip-bumbles over towards the sith'makar, though he is old and round and not very fast. He will not get there in time.

Zalara nods a little bit, "Why might want to go inside rather than to start a fire out here. I'm sure there are plenty of warm taverns we can go into. I like the Fernwood Pub myself."

The oruch woman, quicker than Abrahil by virtue of being young and with longer legs, takes a few long steps over to the lizard. Then, without so much as a by-your-leave or even a greeting, leans down to pick her up. Intending to hoist her over one shoulder, mind you, rather than in arms hero-style.

"Oh, my last crumpet for a hero! Why, in my day we had heroes...heroes that wouldn't stand by to let this happen--!"

"You're right, m'dear! Old Wrinkle-Eye and his band...why, they'd fleece their pockets..." calls out the thinner, old gentleman who'd been accompanying Abrahil from before. He stands amid the snow smartly, in a pinstripe suit. He calls out cheerfully, and adjusts his cane, the fondness in his tone suggesting a long friendship. He nods to Lash and Zalara, "How-do-you-do."

Abrahil shakes a sausage finger at him, however. "Oh, but it doesn't make it RIGHT! Why, this City's been a home to heroes. The fall of the Blarite temple, the conquest of Void daemons! All of it--!!" and huffing and puffing he arrives near the fallen sith'makar. Who has faceplanted in the snow. And has to stand there panting a few moments to regain his breath, for he is very old.

Oh the stars! Thank Coyote! Do you see? Do you see! I TOLD you there are heroes! HEROES!" Abrahil says smartly to his friend, who just lifts his hands and shrugs. And he looks at Lash with bright, shining eyes. THERE ARE STARS THERE.

HERO!

Tavissha blinks owlishly as she's hefted up. "I-- hello, s-sorry," she stammers, blinking a few more times. She doesn't seem much inclined to fight being sack-o-potatoed, although being slightly taller than the oruch, her tail drapes waaaay down and irritatingly in the way. "I'm f-fine," she tries to offer. "Eh...erm." Abrahil is...a mystery to this particular sith. Blink.

Zalara nods to the person that asks her how she is doing, "I'm doing all right." She looks over towards the Sith'makar, "You sound like you should get inside before you get any colder."

It is towards the theatre that Lash turns now, the closest of the doors behind which there is likely to be an increase in warmth and no perceptable increase in thrown items or curses. She doesn't seem to notice Tavissha's tail dragging a little, though does at least not step on it as she goes, largely ignoring the gnome in favour of getting the sith indoors. Drama, it can follow later.

The round gentleman looks out into the street, and then rushes ahead towards the Hope. "Open the doors! Oh, open the doors, m'dears! We've an injured citizen! A visitor! Oh dear--" he reaches up to pat the sith's dangling noodle-tail. "Just you hold on a while longer, m'dear. Why, the Hero will get you there..." and here the elderly gentleman wrings his hands as he looks into the theatre, whose doors are now being opened by a group of confused and concerned practitioners, artists, actors...!

Tavissha blinks a little more. "I am not...injured," she manages. She is quite confused, and her tail twitchs at the pat. "It is not ... so cold," she adds to Zalara. "It is no p...problem." Still, she supposes it would be nice to warm up, but being the center of attention is nerve-wracking, to say the least. She sighs.

Zalara nods, "Well still if you are too cold you won't survive long that's why I've made my thermal suit, it keeps me warm even in the coldest weather. It's powered by magetech."

Lash has left.

<nowiki>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* A04: Flame's Hope Theatre *>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-</nowiki>

Laughter, the scurry of feet along scaffolding, the flash of costume and bright color composes the well-known Lower Alexandrian theatre, Flame's Hope. Performers in street clothes lounge about with red-faced writers being chased by their editors, and everyone on the look-out for a noble patron or five.

The opening to the optimistically named theatre is humble, and once inside, its skeleton shows well-used, loved insides. Rows of wooden benches (kept mostly in repair, when funding permits) line the aisles. They all look towards the center stage, whose heavy curtains have seen better days...much like everything else within the district. The worn look adds to the life of the place, however. Few places in the city are as colorful, or during after hours, as busy. The Hope is a favorite of the working Alexandrian, merchant, and noble alike.

<nowiki>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-</nowiki>

Lash            Oruch woman, armored and carrying a drum.             13s  2h

Abrahil         A valiant, gnomish slayer of paper demons.            0s   6d

<nowiki>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= Exits -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-</nowiki>

Out <O>                   

<nowiki>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-</nowiki>

The doors do open, and Lash does not seem at all deterred by the throng of theatre-staff. She is quite prepared to shoulder her way inside if they don't get out of her way, too, the oruch making shooing motions with her free hand, the other arm still holding on to Tavissha's legs. Only once inside does she set the sith woman down - on a bench, even!

Tavissha has arrived.

Zalara has arrived.

The doors do open, and Lash does not seem at all deterred by the throng of theatre-staff. She is quite prepared to shoulder her way inside if they don't get out of her way, too, the oruch making shooing motions with her free hand, the other arm still holding on to Tavissha's legs. Only once inside does she set the sith woman down - on a bench, even!

"Oh, dear...oh, you'll be alright. Why--might I get you some tea? You do like tea, don't you?" Here the aged, tiny ambassador looks about to cry. He wrings his hands again and glances over at Zalara--then hurries off to speak with one of the actors. There is much waving of hands and wringing of hands! Lash is pointed at a number of times.

"...Tea!"

"...must...somewhere..."

"...but..."

"...green!"

Tavissha perks a little. "Ohh? How did...you make it? Can I s...see?" She tries to sit up a little, but eh. Tired. Slow. "Oh, no tha..." Off the gnome goes. She blinks again, and finds herself set on a bench. "Er... th-thank you," she says to the oruch woman, her tail curling around herself.

Zalara follows the others in and she moves over to help with Tavissha, "If you like I can measure you for a thermal suit, it should keep you warm enough, although it's still experimental."

Her job done, Lash stands back a little bit, lest she be offered tea as well. To the wall, standing away and eyeing the gnome and throng of drama-workers, her concern for Tavissha well and truly used up by this point!

The conversation continues a while, before one of the actors, then two! rush off towards what presumably might be the direction of a mess hall to get the tea. The inside of the Hope is crowded, warm, and cheerful. And that's when there's a blood-curdling SCREAM.

Lahar has arrived.

Abrahil goes Out <O>.

Abrahil has left.

<nowiki>-=--=--=--=--=--=--<* A04: Flame's Hope Theatre(#2384Rh) *>--=--=--=--=--=--=-</nowiki>

Laughter, the scurry of feet along scaffolding, the flash of costume and bright color composes the well-known Lower Alexandrian theatre, Flame's Hope. Performers in street clothes lounge about with red-faced writers being chased by their editors, and everyone on the look-out for a noble patron or five.

The opening to the optimistically named theatre is humble, and once inside, its skeleton shows well-used, loved insides. Rows of wooden benches (kept mostly in repair, when funding permits) line the aisles. They all look towards the center stage, whose heavy curtains have seen better days...much like everything else within the district. The worn look adds to the life of the place, however. Few places in the city are as colorful, or during after hours, as busy. The Hope is a favorite of the working Alexandrian, merchant, and noble alike.

<nowiki>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-</nowiki>

: Tavissha        A very tall lilac-white sith with a stylin' vest      1m   1h

: Lash            Oruch woman, armored and carrying a drum.             2m   2h

: Zalara          Red Haired Human Female with Goggles                  4m   1h

: Lahar           A bumbly, four-legged beagle.                         0s   6d
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Out <O>                   

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Tavissha blinks again, slowly. "Oh, no, I ... I ... work with artifice too," she stammers. "I would like to t...try my claws at..." She trails off at the scream, blinking again. "Za?"

Oh, a scream. A scream? Lash's attention sharpens immediately, and she begins to head off in the direction of the scream. Which perhaps more than anything marks her as one of those strange 'adventuring' types, since your normal sane and well-adjusted person would be going /away/ from the scream. She briefly tries to draw her sword, then mutters something gutteral and uncomplimentary when the peacebond prevents her from doing so.

The scream continues again! Peaks! Breaks off! And then a terrified, beyond-all-reason-but-I'm-going-to-be-calm voice, "SEVERUS! SEVERUS! YOU'VE GONE TOO FAR THIS TIME!"

And then the sound of children crying.

Zalara smiles, "You are an artificer too? Have you made your titan armor yet? I'm working on redesigning mine I'm trying to find mithril so that I can keep the armor light so I can retain my natural dexterity." She hears the screaming and she frowns. She gets out her death ray and looks around, "What's going on?"

Tavissha stumbles to her feet, shedding the blankets and revealing her vest made of bone and leather, specifically constructed. As if in answer, she tugs on one of the bones and it tightens around her, and she lifts the dragon-maw contraption constructed of interlocking bones that straps to her hip. She's slow, but she's heading toward the screams at a slow clip.

The scream continues. It's coming from the back of the Hope, and as the group of you rush there, there's a woman and three children pressed up against the wall. "SEVERUS! You and your reptiles!" she gasps, as she presses the children behind her. "This time you've gone too far!" she repeats, and this time she does not shout. Terror colors her tones. 

"But Henrietta..." whines the man who must be Severus, a thin man with blackened hair, his face seems perpetually in a sneer. Behind him sits a great, fat toad...its skin flashes psychedelic colors, and smoke pours quietly from its nostrils like two tiny chimneys. Sludge oozes from its skin...and indeed, also, the two, ratty faerie-wings that protrude from its back.

"It'll make us thou--"

And just-like-that, the psychedelic toad, crafted so obviously from one too many nights "smokin' in the boy's room" opens its great, big mouth...shoots out a long, sticky tongue...

And ZLURP! Severus vanishes into the Belly of the Beast.

Dropped.

ATTENTION!!!

Lahar has dropped a Timestop. Please +init, then cease all roleplay and actions immediately and wait for Lahar to instruct you further. For additional in-combat commands, please type: +thelp.

<pre>
===== Current Initiative Order =========

----------------------------------------                     
 19                  Zalara
----------------------------------------  
 17                  Lash
----------------------------------------        
 9                   NotAFairy
----------------------------------------     
 4                   Tavissha
----------------------------------------              
========================================</pre>

Zalara reacts first as she activates her titan armor. The octagon shaped metal backpack lights up and starts to unfold over her. It covers her torso and along her upper arms and legs adding to her natural dexterity. She has her death ray all ready and takes aim at the frog. She flips the switch to the frost setting and she fires on it. At this close a range she can't miss it and the beam of freezing cold energy hits the frog. The effect is immediate temporary giving the frog the worst case of frostbite it will ever have.

A few heartbeats behind Zalara, Lash takes a moment to curse her peacebonded sword, drawing the bow. Moving up to stand beside the artificer, she nocks an arrow and fires at the toad, the arrow striking true though only sinking in a little. The oruch.. frowns.

Tavissha fumbles with her gun a little and lifts it... and blinks a little at the toad. Maybe she's just a little slow still, because her shot of electricity zips off by a wide margin.

One hand still holding the bow, Lash does not nock another arrow. Instead, she takes a step or two backwards and begins beating the palm of her hand against the drum at her hip, a deep and rumbling sound. Her voice lifts also, gutteral Yrch-speak words beginning to invoke some spell or incantation.

Zalara sees the toad coming towards her and she back up five feet so that she has some room to fire. The death ray has finished recharging and she hits the button so that it will reload. A cloud of steam goes off and she fires again. The cold ray goes off and it freezes the toad again.

Tavissha squawks in surprise and fires again! ... and /really/ misses that time. Whimper.

Zalara barely manages to duck past the tongue and she frowns as she doesn't want to get hit by the tongue. She reaches to activate one of the contraptions, this one is a bracelet on her wrist. She hits the button and nothing happens. She hits it again and nothing happens. She presses it a third time and sparks sputter out of it.

Tavissha watches it go for the eagle, blinking again. And fires! And fries the eagle's tail. "...S...sorry," she stammers.

Zalara winces as she sees the eagle get just eaten after the attack. She takes the opportunity to back up as far as she can and she fires again at the fairy fog. It hurts and hurts the frog, but it seems that repeated exposure to the cold has made it at least partially immune to being frozen in that spot.

However, Zalara's zap-spot makes a perfect target for Lash! She brings her sword down right there where it already hurts, and ends up cutting the frog but good! Still, she isn't prepared for the gush of slime and summoner, making various noises that transcend language barriers, a universal 'EWW'.

Taken.

Lahar summons Remethaer.


<nowiki>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* A04: Flame's Hope Theatre *>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-</nowiki>

Laughter, the scurry of feet along scaffolding, the flash of costume and bright color composes the well-known Lower Alexandrian theatre, Flame's Hope. Performers in street clothes lounge about with red-faced writers being chased by their editors, and everyone on the look-out for a noble patron or five.

The opening to the optimistically named theatre is humble, and once inside, its skeleton shows well-used, loved insides. Rows of wooden benches (kept mostly in repair, when funding permits) line the aisles. They all look towards the center stage, whose heavy curtains have seen better days...much like everything else within the district. The worn look adds to the life of the place, however. Few places in the city are as colorful, or during after hours, as busy. The Hope is a favorite of the working Alexandrian, merchant, and noble alike.

<nowiki>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-</nowiki>

: Remethaer       Alexandrian-born Xian. Nervous smile.                 4m   1h

: Tavissha        A very tall lilac-white sith with a stylin' vest      2m   2h

: Lash            Oruch woman, armored and carrying a drum.             2s   3h

: Zalara          Red Haired Human Female with Goggles                  6m   2h

: Abrahil         A valiant, gnomish slayer of paper demons.            0s   6d

<nowiki>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= Exits -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-</nowiki>

Out <O>                   

<nowiki>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-</nowiki>

Tavissha blinks owlishly again, and decides...now is a good time to faint. THUD goes the lizard, dragon-maw death ray skittering away from her.

Tavissha has disconnected.

Oh dear, oh dear, all is calamitous at the Theatre, and for once it isn't the stage show causing drama. In the back of the room, there is a mess. An oruch woman with a slime-covered sword, a fainted Sith, and a human woman with powered-up armor and a raygun. The mess is mostly comprised of an oversized and dead psychodelic toad which has just disgorged the unconcious form of its maker, equally slime-covered. The actual fighting seems to be over, now it is time for cleanup.

"Oh! I JUST found the tea! Oh, it's so wonderful, you know. They didn't have the strawberry marmelade, but...oh..." The small, rotund gnome comes to a halt as he arrives at the back of the theatre. His normally cheerful and reddened face pales and the hand holding the tea service begins to SHAKE.

*rattle rattle clank*!

"Water. Get water!" Lash barks an order to some of the cowering theatre staff, lifting the hem of her cloak and trying to wipe the worst of the gunk from her sword before it eats into the metal. It may not be a fancy sword, but it is the only one she has! "You. Get us some water," she directs in specific to Abrahil now, motioning to the mess. "And whoever cleans up for you here."

"...eeeeeeee..." comes the panick'd noise from the gnome's mouth. Sort of like a broken teakettle. Stuck on one setting.

Zalara takes a deep breath and she deactivates her titan armor. She puts her death ray over her shoulder with the harness strap that she has for it. She moves over towards the fallen person, "Are you okay?"

"...eeeeeeeee..."

Leaving Abrahil to get water - or not, as the case may be - Lash takes it upon herself to deal with the unconcious Severus. Carefully choosing a bit of clothing of his that may be less soiled than the rest, she picks the man up by the scruff of his clothing, and carries him outside, to be dumped unceremoniously into a snowdrift. No point wasting good water on him, her expression seems to suggest.

Abrahil stands there for some time. His features look in shock, the poor gentleman. His face is pasty-pale and his hands shake and the tea service-clatters. In fact, it's doing a clatter-walk-dance right to the edge of the platter. "Eeeeee..." *breathe* "...eeeee..."

Hands deep down in the pockets of his duffel coat and faced wrapped up in his scarf, Remethaer pushes the house doors open with a shoulder to peek in from the lobby. The box office is unattended! The scandal! He blinks a little at the scene he finds and disappears back into the lobby. A few moments and he's walking through into the house and takes a seat at the back. 

He wants tickets but he refuses to be the guy to interrupt dress rehersals.

*deepbreath* "...eeeeeeeeeeeeee..." Abrahil clears his throat and starts again, except...CUSTOMERS! He scrambles to straighten up the tea set, which makes more a clatter and clang! than anything resembling civilisation, and hurries over. His movement may only be noted by the way his blobular body bobbles up and down, or the bouncing of the light atop his balding head. "Oh dear...oh my...oh...is everyone--er..." think, think.

"Everyone! Thank you...to the Hope's...dress rehearsal! For the...for the Faerie Prince!" he pauses after that, and whispers hurriedly to Zalara, "Oh, please go along with it...with the rumors of that Azure Bitch about...oh my goodness. We'll have a terrible panic!"

Zalara winces as she sees the man's eyes, "Did you try to open your eyes when you were in it's stomach? That's not good I hope you didn't get stomach acid in your eyes." She looks at Abrahil like he's crazy, but she shrugs and goes, "Tada!"

Dumping the unconcious Severus in a snowdrift outside, Lash comes back in, just in time to hear the 'tada' and comment about this being a dress rehearsal. Stuck for just a moment, she then addresses Abrahil with an entirely fictional, "This costume still isn't quite right. Needs more spikes."

Remethaer seems to have entered during a scene change. Or perhaps a hold. He's no expert. He shifts and pushes back his hood, pulls the scarf from around his face and stuffs it down half-into a pocket. He twists his neck to consider the catwalks and grid, the mana-spots and the drops hanging over the stage. Idly wondering, perhaps, that the faerie prince will be suspended and engage in mid-air sword duels. The last show was all weepy-eyed weepers and sob stories about star-crossed lovers. What he'd give for a good row or two in place of the long soliloquy about what it means to be alive and in love.

Blink. Tink-tink-BLINK behind those gaudy, my-grandmother-died-and-this-is-all-she-left-me rose-tinted lenses. His mouth forms a little 'oh.' "Oh...oh dear. Well, we'll have to get to work on those, won't we..." he says, his features terribly pale. Flushed. And then he holds up the tea service, hands shaking HORRIBLY. "WOULD ANYONE LIKE SOME TEA. IT CALMS THE NERVES."

Zalara looks over to Abrahil, "That sounds like a good idea." She nods, "Yes it's not finished yet let's go." She'd rather get off stage right now as she starts to shimmy her way across stage. Exit..Stage Left even.

The oruch woman shakes her head at the gnome's offer of tea, resuming wiping the goo from her sword. "Tell the prop makers, this slime needs to be less difficult to get off things," she grumbles, quite happy fabricating with the best of them.

"Oh, my! It IS calming..." Abrahil has put the service down, now, and is downing the tea he'd poured for Tavissha, who seems to have passed out again. And who cam blame the poor dear? He blinks a few times and settles the teacup back down, in a rattling sort of way. Gulp. "Oh dear...oh my! That was...that was...realistic!" he says. "...I may need something a little stronger..." he says in lower tones. And, "There's a spot of ale underneath the stage, m'dears..."

(New BB message (1/32) posted to 'Announcements' by Lahar: Ribbiting Times at the Hope)

Zalara move sover to get some tea after she makes sure that Taviassha is covered with the blankets. She sits down for some tea and takes a sip, "Mmm this is very good." She smiles, "So tell me Master Abrahil, have you heard of any places with mithril in them?"

"Oh!" Abrahil looks up from where he's pouring more tea. TEA!!! "Oh dear...well, there's always Silver in the Valley, you know. But oh! You know what's EXCITING? Why, there's all these khazad ruins running beneath Alexandros. Very dangerous, of course...but with a bit of exploration..." he gives out a sigh, and all-but-collapses into one of the chairs... "Oh! It could be an ADVENTURE!" *hic*

"I am going to get this cleaned." Lash sounds faintly disgusted now, glaring briefly at the theatre in general before stepping out, to get her cloak and sword properly de-slimed.

Lash has disconnected.

Zalara hmms as she opens up a notebook where she keeps her ideas and she starts to write down what Abrahil is saying. "Really I didn't know that. I'll have to check. I'm trying to find some mithril for my armor."

"Oh, it's all the rage these days...so pretty, you know! Why, the Elunites have this special thing for it, always have...I suppose because it looks like the Moon..." Abrahil trails off and looks down at the teacups. And, "Oh! Would you like one?"

Zalara hmms, "Well I only want some so I can make armor out of it. I want to use it in my next version of titan armor so I can keep it light and flexible."

Abrahil pours the tea anyhow.

"Oh, it's quite nice...though theirs usually has a bit of red--red to offset the silver, I suppose..." the gnome clears his throat. "And it makes a gorgeous armor. ...oh dear."

Zalara smiles as she all ready had some tea, but she'll drink some more. She sips it. "I would like mine in the natural mithril color, although if I find it in other colors I won't complain."

Abrahil gives a weak chuckle, his mind clearly on what makes the mithril red to begin with! Oh dear... "It's...oh, my. Oh! I do believe I left my friend outside..." and hands still giving a bit of a shake, he swings his legs a few times on the seat, until he can get enough leverage to stand up on his old, creaky bones!

Remethaer's seat is empty. Likely, he'll be back to buy those tickets when things are a little less hectic.

Remethaer goes OOC.

Remethaer has left.

Zalara nods as she finishes her tea and she goes to get up, "Yes I still have to test of my Thermal suit, more walking around."

Abrahil goes OOC.


[[Category:Logs]]