milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Belar is not a puppet! But if he were, he would totally look like a big fuzzy polar bear puppet right about now. Just because.

Anyway, not a puppet. Just a big blond guy in the Bar, back to the dark blue and turquoise clothes he got in Canada, with the ANSWERING PRAYERS- BACK IN 15 MINUTES sign up on his table. Although the sign is down to about five minutes by now, because he's been extra busy today and he kinda wants a drink.

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Puppet! doc giving the god the evil eye from across the Bar 'cause Cliff has suspicions as to who's responsible for this. The fact that his brain is made of felt doesn't help with logical thought processes, yanno? But. God, powerful, sense of humor? Uh huh.
It's the Mount Everest investigative method: "he did it because he's there."
Cliff's looking for something. Ammunition, something to play with; he's fidgety.
Oh God. Please don't let those be flying fish on the Bar counter.

Belar's not the kind of god to interfere with what appears on the Bar top. Besides, he's answering prayers, so he's not really paying attention.

Makes a tempting target, doesn't he?

Puppet! and Sane!Cliff have a moment of disagreement.

Don'tdoitdon'tdoit, he'll smite you!

His inner Fozzie laughs in the face of danger.

And then he lobs a neatly aimed mackerel across the room. It's not as good as when the Muppet Show performers do it in their act, but it's the thought that counts.

Or maybe it's the tartar sauce. He's not sure.

This? This is Belar's WTF face.

"... the hell?" he wonders aloud as the goop starts dripping down and has to be pawed out of his eyes. "Who the hell throws fish any more?"

Cliff is peeking around a chair that hides him from view.
This whole 'a quarter of my normal size' thing has some advantages.

Belar picks up a napkin and starts trying to wipe the goop out of his eyes. "I see you over there," he says without looking. "Do you mind explaining what the heck you were thinking just now, dude?"

Innocent look. " Me?"

"Yeah, you. You've totally got fish goo on your fingers, you know."

Cliff looks down at his paws. "Ooops."

"Yeah, oops," says Belar. "Do you mind telling me what that was for?"

"Dessert?" Sarcasm.

And he's eyeing the plate next to him. Not the best attention span, or survival instincts.

"Don't go there, dude," Belar warns. "Seriously, you do not want to go there."

"Why not? You did." This makes perfect sense on SOME planet. He waves randomly at the puppet swarm with one hand. The other...

"I most certainly did NOT," Belar protests. "Dude, don't make me angry, okay? You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

"Riiiight. Now you're the Incredible Hulk?" He mutters something about 'his act was better'.

No. Just the Bear-God, and that means ALL bears.

Including the ones that're a good nine or ten feet long and weigh nearly fifteen hundred pounds.

Do NOT make me come over there, dude.

Including Muppet bears? Would that make him a beretic?

Cliff looks way, waaay up.

"I'm not scared...of polar bears..."

He's unarmed except for a salmon.
Also looking for escape routes, since he isn't altogether braincooked.

Belar?

Just ROARS.

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