(no subject)

[deadman_pirate]

One vampirate, relaxing in a chair by the fire and working on some bone-carving this evening.

It'll probably end up being made into the handle of a knife; the scene depicts the wreck of the Morning Star, unable to fend off the tentacular horrors from the deep. He'd met a man once in Perrick Nigh who claimed to have been the only survivor of that battle, besides the sea creature of course; this carving is how he'd described the scene.

No one expects much truth from stories of the sea. That's not the point of them. If he'd learned one thing from a youth spent having older men buy him drinks and tell him stories, it's this: people get what they want from stories. If the sea is in their blood, they'll get reassurance that they've chosen the best, the freest life. If it's not, they'll get a vicarious thrill while staying comfortably sure that land is the place to be.

If he'd learned two things from that youth, it's that if you buy people drinks, they're more inclined to believe your stories.

Totally botherable.

Happy Hour, Victorian Bros Edition!

[timelessinventor]

Helena has had a busy week, so to escape a bit of the chaos, and frankly, to eat something that is not leftover Thanksgiving dinner, Helena wanders into the bar.

With her drink, she receives a napkin. "If you say so, darling...." She gets another. "Oh, that is a good idea."

Looking up, she catches Wooley's eye. "Oh, Wooley, darling, come help me, will you?"

He protests, but she wins out in the end. As he goes upstairs, she writes on the board:

Happy Hour!

Half off your drink if Wooley doesn't have to mix it.

"Really, Helena?" David returns with a menorah with five candles.

"Well, darling, we have to have a bit of amusement here."

"Oh, alright."

Two Victorians tending Bar, no waiting!

[ooc: Tag one or both! Just let us know!]

(no subject)

[poins]

Ned Poins is by the lake, out wandering
Near to the shore, the brittle grass of fall
Crushed underfoot with every step he takes.
The air is cold and grey, and Ned Poins' mien
Is likewise, as the waning year grows dark
And Poins' mood follows suit. He kicks a stump
And curses as his toe is stubbed by it.

(no subject)

[father_chris]

Looks like it's going to be another blooming awful year.

The pile of letters has spilled into the bar again, and Chris has spent the last ten minutes just gathering them all up to process.

He has the Naughty/Nice book on the table. It seems to be glowing slightly, and if you listen to it, you can hear the sound of a pen scratching inside it. He glances at it once in a while, with a slightly worried frown, before going back to his work.

"Bloomin' furbies! No no, not again, they all woke up last time..." he mutters, putting all these letters into the 'Unsuitable/expensive present' pile.

[ooc: SEE BACK ROOM POST HERE.]