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.)

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[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

Sahaal comes down from his room, fully intending to take the Saturday Happy Hour slot. He's not been working as much recently, and he's got quite the tab to pay off.

So, it's quite the surprise when he sees all the waitrats marching in protest. Confused, he spots Baze sitting on one of the bar stools.

"What in the warp is going on here?"

[iprotectyou]

"Hoi, Sahaal! May the Force of others be with you! They're on strike. They want raises," Baze says, first turning to the Night Lord and then motioning to the signs.

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

Sahaal peers at the signs, reading the scrawled, handwritten slogans.

"A raise? They want to be paid more?"

A pause. Then: "Wait a moment. They get paid?"

[iprotectyou]

"Apparently so," Baze says, shaking his head.

"I didn't know that they did, either. But a population boom has given them too many younglings and not enough workers, and communication has broken down. At least, that's what I've been able to guess at, anyway, my grasp of the language isn't the best."

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

"Alright." He shrugs, still a little uncertain. "That's reasonable, I suppose. It's not as if they have any other source of income to go to."

Sahaal frowns. "But, then again, who are the protesting against? Bar? The Landlord?"

[iprotectyou]

"Probably the Barmen, if I had to guess," Baze says, resisting the urge to scratch his beard, as he'd have to wash his hands again.

"I don't know who else would give them raises, or even who's involved with paying them in the first place."

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

"Heh. Welcome to Milliways. No one knows exactly who is in charge, but we know someone is. By the Warp, I don't think I even know who the Barmen are, I just get told when to come down here and fill in."

The Night Lord sighs, leaning against Bar. "Don't misunderstand me, I hope they get their pay rise. I just have no idea how they're going to go about getting it."

[iprotectyou]

"Me neither," Baze says, shrugging. The rats pace in circles around the barroom, chanting their protests and waving their placards.

"The Barmen are two people, actually, named Mike and Sallie."

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

"Ah. You learn something new every day."

"I'm sorry," he says, "this isn't really what I expected to happen when I came down here tonight."

[iprotectyou]

Baze cracks a smile.

"What are you apologizing for? Milliways catches us all off guard sometimes," he says, folding his arms as he watches the rats split into two groups and march around.

"What were you expecting?"

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

Sahaal returns the smile.

"I expected to come down here, pour some drinks, make a few hot meals, and have a conversation or two. Certainly not this."

[iprotectyou]

"Oh, bartending," Baze says, nodding thoughtfully.

"Well, you can still bartend. The rats won't get in the way of that, I hope."

Aesclepius Sr. chitters at Baze, and he squeaks back.

"Well, most of them won't."

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

Sahaal leans over to the older waitrat. "Don't worry, I know the meaning of solidarity. Besides, I don't get paid anyway."

To Baze, he says: "I really don't mind. I can take another Happy Hour slot."

[iprotectyou]

"Good for you, Sahaal," Baze says, clear approval shining in his eyes.

"I think most people will support the rats."

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

"I'm sure most people will. This is Milliways, two-thirds of the patrons are bonafide heroes. They won't get in the way of bar staff wanting better pay for their young."

He reaches over Bar into the liquor cabinets, and pulls out a bottle of bourbon. "Would you like a drink?"

[iprotectyou]

"There are a lot of heroes around here, aren't there?" Baze muses, cocking his head. At Sahaal's question, Baze beams.

"No, thanks! I'm abstaining for the next few months."

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

Sahaal shrugs, twists open the bottle, and raises it to his lips. Then, he thinks better of it, and pours a measure of the bourbon into a glass.

"I always suspected that the amount of heroes here was Bar's doing." He pats the hardwood surface. "I believe that, in the common parlance, she has a type."

[iprotectyou]

"Oh, so you think that Bar has control over who comes and who doesn't?" Baze says, blinking at Sahaal. The Jedhan cocks his head at the rats, and their protests.

"Hmm. That's an interesting theory. I have no idea who or what controls the door. I'm just glad that Milliways brought both me and Chirrut."

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

"I don't know who controls it either. Bar makes the most sense, seeing as she seems to control most other aspects of Milliways. But equally, it could be this Landlord we never see. Or perhaps whoever built this place."

Sahaal takes a slug of his drink.

"Really, I don't care. Like you said, I'm just glad it opens for us."

[iprotectyou]

"Well, technically it doesn't open for me, as I'm dead, but I understand the sentiment," Baze says, flashing a grin.

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

Confusion flashes across Sahaal's face. On instinct, his fingers drop to the hilt of the combat knife sheathed on his belt.

"You... You're dead?"

[iprotectyou]

"Whoa," Baze says, holding his hands up.

"There's no need for that. Did you not know that the dead here walk amongst the living?"

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

Sahaal glances down at his hand, and quickly jerks it away from his blade. He didn't mean to do that.

"No. No, I did not know that. But," he says with a crooked, uneasy smile, "we have gods and monsters here. Why not the dead?"

[iprotectyou]

"Exactly," Baze says, grinning back, with none of the unease Sahaal seems to feel.

"If my being dead creeps you out, I can leave."

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

"I am a warrior of the Legiones Astartes. I do not get 'creeped out'."

Given that he downs the rest of his glass of bourbon after saying those words, he's not entirely telling the truth.

"No, I don't want you to leave. Dead or alive, I don't want to drive you away on my account."