Happy Hour!

[singthesong]

The Balladeer had quite enjoyed himself ever since he found the bar. But he'd been here for a while now, and he did have a job to do. Even if time was waiting for him on the other side, he couldn't just let himself put it off forever. It was getting about time to go a few more rounds.

"It's been a great break, anyway," he commented. "Thanks for that."

A second later, he tilted his head to read the napkin lying in front of him. And then flipped it over to read the back. "Oh yeah? Don't have to ask me twice. You just take a load off...or, whatever it is you do."

He can be found behind the bar for the rest of the day, whistling merrily to himself as he leafs through the specials book or looks through the bottles. Making drinks isn't something he's ever done before, so for now all the specials board has to say is:

Specials

20% off if you tell me a story from home
30% if you put it in song

Comments

[never_misses]

"Any sort of story in particular?"

It'll be a while before Sam actually places an order. (It won't be alcohol. He's not feeling down enough to need it, and isn't much good at holding his liquor anyway.)

[singthesong]

"Not at all!" The Balladeer is amusing himself by trying to identify all the contents of the bottles. They aren't all alcoholic, but more importantly he's fairly sure that the ones on this particular shelf do not exist on Earth. "Anything goes. It doesn't even have to be true."

There were shards of truth in every story, even the ones they spun out of whole cloth. And normally his range was much more specific. It'd be good to hear about nice, non-murder-related things!

[never_misses]

...Well, if he wants stories about non-murder-related things, Sam's probably not the best person to ask.

Anyway, he considers his options for a while. "I'll have some cider. And in return, I'll tell you about my encounter with the Gnifty Gnomes. I won't be singing about it, though."

[singthesong]

"Fair enough." Just because he's musical doesn't mean everyone is. The Balladeer fetches out a glass and the cider - which is definitely from Earth, though he wants to try that blue stuff sometime - and pours it out, looking at the man properly for once. "Y'know, you look a little familiar."

But the Balladeer sees very few people in his regular life, and he never forgets them. He must just have one of those faces, right? Dismissing the thought, he slides the drink over. "So, really, the 'Gnifty Gnomes'? G beginning both of those?"

And honestly if he really wanted non-murder stories, he should have specified that to begin with.

[never_misses]

Sam shrugs. "Can't think why, especially if you're from an Earth." He decidedly is not, you see.

"Yes, unfortunately. They lived in some mushrooms in the woods and were... unbearably cute. We trampled their houses by accident and they wanted to throw a party."

(Though the one hitting on Arcie was kind of funny.)

[singthesong]

The Balladeer frowns a little, moving a hand in a 'more or less' gesture. "It's close enough. Probably Earth-adjacent." Certainly he doesn't know anything about any other planets.

Whatever, doesn't matter. This isn't for him to tell any of the stories he knows - he does that often enough anyway. "To celebrate their houses being trampled, or just in general?"

[never_misses]

"I doubt they're that closely related." If they are, it's getting into dimensional theory he's not equipped to grapple with (nor is he interested; that's much more Valerie's thing).

"Because not doing so wouldn't have been nifty." Sam rolls his eyes. "Needless to say, we got out of there before giving them the chance."

[singthesong]

"Close enough that they run into each other every now and then." The Balladeer is also not that interested in dimensional theory, however, at least not beyond the native level of understanding he has of his own place. He knows how it works, he knows his own role, and that's plenty good enough.

Besides, he has fun not explaining anything to the assassins.

"Oh, I don't know. A gnome party could be fun." He thinks about that for a second, leaning against the bar. "It'd be an experience, anyway."

[never_misses]

"And what if arranging for a rotten tree trunk to fall on most of them was more fun?"

It also meant that bloody twee singing wasn't going to haunt them for the rest of their time in the forest.

[singthesong]

The Balladeer's posture doesn't change an inch, but he raises an eyebrow. Oh. Is this where we're going now?

"That sounds a little more unnecessary." Honestly, is it him? Does he just attract people with violent tendencies?

[never_misses]

"So was the party, one could argue."

Hey, all Sam did in this case was spot the tree trunk. Blackmail took care of the rest, and Sam probably couldn't have stopped him if he wanted to. Guy was imposing. And you could argue, at that point in time, that it was good for the balance of the world.

[singthesong]

"Parties don't usually result in deaths." Usually. It really depends on the kind of party, and the people in attendance. But his point stands!

[never_misses]

"Usually," Sam allows.

Not that really anyone in their group was inclined to put up with that much sustained cuteness.

[singthesong]

Well. He supposes that does mean more if you accept the basic premise that death is not a desirable outcome.

"It makes sense. I mean, most people don't need to kill small, defenseless creatures to enjoy themselves."

[never_misses]

"Who said it was for enjoyment? Besides, I didn't do it, and I certainly don't think Blackmail took any pleasure from it. Valerie would have been another story."

[singthesong]

"Blackmail?" Seriously, that's someone's actual name? Nickname or not, that is just bizarrely blatant. "Did he name himself that?" Please say yes, please say yes, that would be hilarious.

[never_misses]

"No, Arcie did. Blackmail wasn't a very talkative sort, and - well, he was wearing full plate mail."

Black, of course.

[singthesong]

"Black plate mail," he says, completely rhetorically. Of course it was black. Why wouldn't it be? "That is almost amazing. It's like a walking cliche."

[mogget_cat]

A young-looking man(-shaped creature) wanders through, looking up to read the specials board, which puts a sudden grin on his pale face.

"I rather like those terms," he chuckles, claiming a bar stool. His hair is as starkly white as his clothes and teeth, his lack of color almost harsh to the eye, in the otherwise colorful bar room.

"Any particular kind of song for preference?" he asks the bartender, his leaf-green eyes bright.

[singthesong]

Oh, he likes this one. Nearly-alarming paleness aside.

"I'm more for ballads myself," he replies, as he's never actually introduced himself to this man, "But anything's fine! I'm always up for a change of pace." And if he wants to badly enough, he will just adapt it for one of his instruments anyhow. Because he can.

[mogget_cat]

"Hmmmm," Yrael considers the person before him, tapping twice upon the counter with a fingertip.

The tone of his voice when he sings is as sweet as cold, fresh water upon the tongue. The surface shine of the song is that it is about a stream. But it is not merely that - it is a traditional song, a story of the relationship between Life and Death in the world from which Yrael comes. The lilting melody twines together the threat and promise of change, of life, of death. Of loss and peace together. The living fear Death, oblivious to its kindness. None fear the rush of Life while resting in its current, though it is from Life that all harm springs.

"I come from haunts of coot and her'n,
I make a sudden sally
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorpes, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.

By lonely barrow hills I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling,

And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel
With many a silvery waterbreak
Above the golden gravel,

And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows;
I make the netted sunbeam dance
Against my sandy shallows.

I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars;
I loiter round my cresses;

And out again I curve and flow
To join the endless river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever."

[singthesong]

By the song's conclusion, the Balladeer is leaning with an elbow against the bar, rapt. His fingers are rather itching for his guitar - that would be best, he thinks - but that can come later. If he has a mind for anything at all, it's music; he'll remember the tune and the words, and there will come a time when he has more need of them than here.

It's good, back home, to have songs not his own. It makes him feel a little less like the only sane man left.

"Thank you," he says, after a bit of a pause. "That was perfect. Now - did you want a drink with that, or just the pleasure of performing?"

[mogget_cat]

"Oh, an appreciative audience is its own reward, most certainly," Yrael grins, pleased by the attention. "But I would have a glass of Atlantean wine, if there is a bottle near to hand."

[singthesong]

"Nothing like one of those," the Balladeer agrees, leaning down to have a look. He wouldn't know Atlantean wine on first sight, but he's sure it's around here somewhere. What isn't around here? Raising his voice a little as bottles clink, he continues: "And this is such a good place for finding them, too. I've been enjoying it - oh, here."

Yes, that label definitely says Atlantean. Now, is that another planet, or actually literally the sunken city? Either way, he pours two glasses; while he's not a big drinker generally, it's just so interesting to try things from such diverse places. "There we are!"

[mogget_cat]

The pale man laughs, accepting his drink with a nod to the second glass. "I say this as no insult - but beware: the wine of the lost land is deceptively potent. Those with no more than human constitutions - and livers - are advised to drink no more of it than a small glass. Even then, the hangovers are quite spectacular."

[singthesong]

"How is that an insult?" It's a warning is what it is - the Balladeer doesn't value his potential ability to hold his drink enough to take offense. It's also somewhat questionable how entirely human he might be, but he never dwells on that.

Still, he takes a very small sip of the wine. "I'll be careful, thanks. It's really Atlantean, then?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Um," says the newest patron to approach. She's... oh, early twenties somewhere, maybe, if you go by her face- her hair's steel grey but her face is still pretty young, although there's plenty of scars to break that up somewhat. "Did you prefer a story that happened to me, or a historical story, or just a story that I read in a book or a comic back home? Because I can do any of those, although setting it in song isn't something I'm good at."

[singthesong]

"That's okay," the Balladeer says, waving off the need for a song. "Speech works. And..."

Oh, that's an interesting question. He's more accustomed to the first two, himself, but that doesn't mean the latter wouldn't be interesting. There's a distinct lack of reading material back home... "Which do you want to tell the most? Some things need to be told." If she had anything like that, she'd know what he meant.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Now you sound like Three Dog," Ellen says with a bit of a smile. "He's a radio broadcaster back home. I think, maybe... well, I think if you want a story that needs to be told, I should probably go with the story of the Vaults. They're the kind of thing no one believes until they have to, and then they don't want to- and you never want them to happen again."

"Could I have a Sam Adams first? I'll pay ou when I'm done."

[singthesong]

"You know," murmurs the Balladeer as he moves to get her drink, "that is exactly the kind of story I meant." How quickly people want to forget the worst things.

"I like to think I'd make a decent radio voice." He speaks up in a more cheerful tone as he hands her the drink. No reason to get all historical on her. "Here's your Founding Father." Well, except for that.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen nods and takes the glass. "Thank you," she says. "I should probably start by saying this happened something like two hundred years before I was born. Maybe more than that, but... as far as I know, the whole thing- the Vaults, Vault-Tec, everything else about them- that all started back in the twenty-first century, before the Resource Wars. Red China was already America's enemy by then, but from what I remember, things'd been that way for a very long time. Ever since Stalin's failures let the Chinese consign the Soviets to the ash heap of history, Communist China was the enemy of the United States, and the only other real nuclear super-power of any note at all."

That's usually a good place to start. If he doesn't recognize words, she'll know what kind of explanation she has to give from here.

[singthesong]

The Balladeer leans against the bar, full attention on her. This sounds like it's gonna be a bit of a complicated one. "The twentieth century is about as far as I've ever gone," he comments at her pause. "If history even runs together at all, where we both come from. But sure, I know about Communist China."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"All right," says Ellen. "Both the Chinese and the Americans had had the atomic bomb since the twentieth century. There were other countries with it, sure, but nobody else had nearly as many as those two countries did, and nobody else really hated each other quite the same way or competed with each other for quite the same amount of control over the rest of the world's resources as they did. So you can understand why people might've gotten nervous about having an enemy like that, especially as time went on and resources started getting fewer and fewer. People wanted to avoid an atomic war, sure, but they wanted to know that if one happened, they'd survive it somehow."

"So along came a company called Vault-Tec. They had plans for underground shelters- big ones- that could be locked for years and years, and maintain themselves self-sufficiently. They'd hold a thousand people, maybe more, maybe less, and they'd take good care of them and their children for as long as necessary before it was safe to open the door and send everyone back into the post-nuclear world. The government liked them, the American people liked them, and pretty soon they were building Vaults in rock formations and other deep-buried places all over the country. People all over the United States were competing for spaces in the Vaults, because it was better to pay money for something that might never happen than to be caught in the open when the bombs finally did fall."

"And when that happened, it was October 23rd of the year 2077. If the clocks I find in the ruins of what used to be Washington, DC are right, it happened a little before ten, and I'm pretty sure it happened in the morning, because there was a local elementary school on a field trip to a cave formation in Virginia that day. So the warning was issued and everyone who'd reserved berths in their local Vault ran for their lives, and the doors closed behind them. The instrument readings say the Great War lasted for two hours, in which time more destructive energy was unleashed at once than in all other armed conflicts of human history combined- but the people in the Vaults survived."

"Mostly, anyway. And a lot of them started wishing, very quickly, that they hadn't, because Vault-Tec and the government had deceived them all..."

[singthesong]

The Balladeer listened quietly, nodding along when it seemed appropriate. She was almost definitely from a different world than his own - he wasn't always on top of everything that happened back in real-time, but politics was the one thing that always filtered back around to him. He was quite sure he'd know if things were that bad with China.

And he'd know if the country died at some point in the future, wouldn't he?

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"It turned out," Ellen says, "that some of the Vaults worked just fine. They stayed closed for a few years, and when the rads dropped far enough, they opened and let their residents out into the world. There's a place called Vault City out west where they re-established themselves and did just fine, from what I hear- I've never been there. That was Vault 8, I think. But they were one of the lucky ones, because most of the Vaults weren't that simple. Some of them were places where the residents were subjected to behavior-altering gases. Some of them had a sound system that included subliminal messages. Some of them were testing human cloning, or mutagenic viruses, or virtual reality imprisonment- all kinds of things. One Vault was designed never to open at all unless it received certain codes from the outside."

"It turned out, you see, that Vault-Tec was running an experiment. They called it the Societal Preservation Project, but that was a nice name for a foul thing. They'd been paid by people within the Federal government who had shelters of their own, far away from the strategic targets of the United States, to test all kinds of conditions that might potentially exist on the way to colonizing the Moon or Mars or somewhere else entirely. Or just that might exist if they were somehow able to rebuild somewhere clean on Earth. The gases, the subliminals, they were meant to see how easily a captive population could be controlled until they were somewhere more useful- the cloning was an emergency way of reproducing- the locked Vault was to see how long they could get away with absolute authority over people who could never leave."

"Civilization survived in spite of the Vaults, not because of them. The Vaults were never really meant to save anyone."

[singthesong]

The Balladeer considers himself an optimist. Very, very staunchly, because someone's got to be. But yeah, even he could've told you that that story wasn't leading anywhere especially pretty.

"But it did survive," he prompts.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen nods. "Some of the people in the Vaults lived," she says. "Some of the people who didn't get into the Vaults survived in other places. I was born in the Jefferson Memorial's basement, and my dad got us into Vault 101 when I was a few days old- I grew up there, didn't see the sun until I was nineteen. When I made it out there were settlements and towns on the surface, and I'm told a whole New California Republic out west. I'm a member of the Brotherhood of Steel now; they're descended from the remains of the United States Army, mostly. They're the closest thing the Capital Wasteland has to an active government beyond just the towns. There's civilization. It's not much, but it's there, and it's getting stronger over time."