Waitrat Strike plot

[iprotectyou]

It started small.

Holly, overworked, collapsed. The tray she was carrying clattered to the floor, causing the drinks balanced on it to soak the wood. She tried to push herself up, but Ivanhoe came running over, squeaking with alarm.

That night, the rats had a meeting.

Today, two dozen of them march around the main bar room, brandishing signs: "An Injury to One is the Concern of All," "2% Is Good for Milk, Not Raises," and "Bosses Beware--When We're Screwed, We Multiply."

Led by Rizzo, the waitstaff of Milliways chants in loud rhythmic squeaks, pumping their fists in the air as they stomp their little rat feet. Even the undead--excuse us, living-impaired--rats join the fight.

Baze, seated at Bar, watches the procession along with the sleepy and infirm Aesclepius Sr., who carries a sign labeled, "Please Excuse the Inconvenience, We Are Trying to Change the World!" The Jedhan is torn between amusement--which he knows is wrong--and sympathy.

(OOC: The rats are on strike! Please use Waitrat Strike plot as your post titles. Reactions welcome, as are threads with Baze.)

(no subject)

[just_cant_lose]

 
Jim, circa 1992, enters the bar from somewhere where it's obviously raining. Like, a lot. It's not Ireland, judging by the language briefly heard before the door clicks shut. He looks up from shaking his umbrella off, and his previously neutral expression twists into something like ugh. But, fine. Whatever. His neat jacket-and-shirt ensemble is horribly damp, so here's as good a place as any to dry off a bit.

'Just a coffee, thanks,' he says to Bar, and takes off his (fake) glasses to polish the steam away. The briefcase he was carrying is placed carefully on a stool, and he runs his hand through his neat swoop of hair to mess it up a bit. Everything about him today is artfully preppy. A tidy young man going about a productive life.

Bar gives him his coffee. And a basket of bright and shiny Easter eggs in a wicker basket. Jim pulls a face at it.

'I don't get to go hunting for them like a five year old? Seems unfair.'

The basket remains despite his ungratefulness. He shrugs and picks it up, and finds a sofa near the Window. Five minutes later he's deep into a Crème Egg, and the hollow ones are being rattled for hidden sweets. What? Even teenage genius assholes like chocolate.


[OOC: Open all weekend, and probably beyond. Yay for holidays!]

Waitrat strike

[coral_sandhu]

There's a lot of worrying going on at home, so Coral is currently sitting on the floor in solidarity with the waitrat strike, and a small guitar.

"We've been expecting you to stand alone
To bring our food before it gets cold
So if we don't take advantage then we can move mountains

So you can complain today
Or we'll forget it all again
So we must hear your proclamation
When you speak of your exploitation

Cos if you tolerate this, then the rat pups will be next
Yes if you tolerate this, then the rat pups will be next
Will be next, will be next, will be next..."