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[i_am_your_host]

Emcee is sitting crosslegged in a large, overstuffed armchair, with a glass of wine on the side table and a magazine in his lap, when suddenly the big, fluffy armchair cushions threaten to swallow him up.

"Oh!" he squeaks, startled at the sudden sensation and shift in perspective.

He looks at his hands. They're so small! He touches his face. Gone are the traces of stubble. He stretches his legs out. His little boots dangle over the edge of the chair, nowhere near touching the floor. His white tank top and knee-length trousers have also shrunk with him.

Sweeping his long black hair out of his eyes, he looks around the bar and notices the proliferation of children.

"Perhaps I should have stayed in my room today after all," he sighs in a delicately German-accented voice.

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[no_more_hiding]

 Hank comes in and feels a feverous tingle cascade across his body as he shrinks within his trench coat. Panicked, he doesn't think. Just leaps up into the shadows of the rafters. What was this, another mutation?!?!

Later, and somewhat nervous, he's down at the bar drinking hot chocolate and trying to figure out why everyone is a child and why his secondary mutation stayed in play when he was transformed as well.

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[adamantiumloner]

Logan saunters in from parts unknown. It's been a little while since he's been around the place and he could use a drink.

Heading for the counter, it doesn't take long for him to realize something is up.

All of the children roaming around get a distrustful glare as he settles onto a stool.

"Gimme beer. Lots of beer."

Bar immediately provides a pint with the promise of more.

Taking a long drink, Logan turns on his stool to survey the bar, grumbling to himself about the room full of pint-size patrons.



[ooc: Open to all. Logan is not going to be affected, but anyone who has been is welcome to come and bug him.]

(no subject)

[mogget_cat]

Yrael is perched on the armrest of the couch by the fire, tuning his violin. The days are growing shorter, the nights colder. The couch has sprouted a fresh seasonal crop of fuzzy blankets to wrap up in, and the fireplace is blazing merrily.

It feels like an evening in need of accompaniment, and he is here to provide. His violin has a warm tone, and under his deft fingers it sings sweetly through the autumn-scented air, with trills like fluttering leaves and chill breezes promising snow some day soon.

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[iprotectyou]

Baze Malbus did not expect to get drunk off of moonshine fumes, but, being trapped in a six-year-old's body, that's exactly what he did. Wilford ordered three whole cases of the stuff, needing it in a month's time, so Baze couldn't stop distilling, even though he'd shrunken. Now he's feeling euphoric and warm, tingly in the limbs and slightly light-headed, but not unpleasantly so.

He's currently standing on the bar top, ready to jump off of it. After all, he's a big boy now, and fearless--surely the landing won't be too bad.

He needs an adult.

(no subject)

[just_cant_lose]

 
Jim has been out of sorts since Halloween. Sherlock made things a bit better, of course, but the underlying sensation remains the same and he doesn't like it. This is probably why, as soon as the door opens from Los Santos, his sunny smile drops off his face and he allows himself to stop acting. He doesn't want Sherlock to see it's still bothering him, so maybe an hour or two in here is a good idea.

He's dressed for some kind of work, in torn old jeans and a cheap hoodie. Ideal for moping, really. He leaves two notes at the bar while retrieving a coffee, because he might as well do something useful while he's here.

( Yrael )

and then,

( X-23 )

He doesn't bother putting a name on the second, because X reads all his mail anyway. That done, he slopes off to a sofa by the Window, pulling his hood up over his head and curling up in the corner to watch the destruction. He does vaguely wonder why there are so many kids about, but very quickly decides he doesn't care.


[OOC: only the second link is new, and carries no warnings. Open until the weekend.]

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[cutting_edgex23]

X is settled at a corner table, in the middle of her Security shift, when she feels her center of gravity change.

Her perspective gets lower to the tabletop, as well.

Hmm.

This is unexpected.

So now there is an X wandering the bar, attempting to figure out what, precisely, made her inhabit her ten-year-old body again.

She is very grateful that she does not also have her ten-year-old mind.

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[freedom_is_grey]

Oh, not again!

Liranan is very tired of Ysalwen turning into other versions of herself while she is here.

"Oh, Andraste's ass!"

. . . maybe she is still the Ysa he knows, after all!

"Thank the Maker you're not a puppy, Liranan. At least one of us should be able to defend . . . . "

Wait, her magic is still just as available as ever.

"This is a very strange spell. I wonder why anyone thought to try it?"

Ysalwen is ten, and this time she will remember it! Though she could wish her staff were a little bit smaller, too. Ah well.