The Bar at the End of the Universe

Tim is still in bar, and he's moaning in a booth. See, last night he went shot for shot with Indy.

And boy, is he feeling it.

And boy, is Jack taking advantage of it.

"WHAT's the matter, DAD? Drink too MUCH, last NIGHT?"

"Okay, okay, fine, you've been nagging me for long enough, here."

A long bronze key is handed from the elder Tim to the younger Tim. And Hellspawn looks quite delighted.

"You owe it to me."

Yup, both of them are here, if you want either of them. And Hellspawn is looking desperately for Agnes.

Both Tims are still in bar.

Real Tim is taking the time to write out some notes. Whether he'll actually send them out or not, well, that's up for debate.

And Hellspawn?

Well, he's still moping.

Now here is something you don't see everyday. In fact, it was supposed to be impossible. Guess Tim must a lied about that, too. Or maybe it's just that two REAL Tims can't be in bar at one time. Or not. Could just be Tim's decided to break the rules, for something important.

Either way, Tim and Hellspawn are engaged in a rather heated argument. Well, one side of it is heated. Tim is taking the abuse from his 'son' rather levelheadedly.

"You can't do this." Hellspawn rails. "Do you know what I have here?"

"I know." Tim replies quite calmly. "And yes, I can do this. And yes, I am doing this. It has to be done."

"Why? Why does 'it have to be done'" mocking his creator as only Hellspawn can.

"It is intrensic in a Tim to hurt people, the ones he cares about. The life of a Tim nessicitates that we do so, never meaning to. We bring harm just by living. And this place should be quite of it."

"I haven't-"Hellspawn begins to object

But he isn't allowed to get that far. "Molly. Ginny. Agnes. Need I go on? You hurt them without trying. We're both going. That's final. Be glad that i ahve given you time to make your goodbyes."

The masked boy stares at his 'father' for a moment, fuming, before he storms off outside, to get some air. Tim stays seated where he is, his eyes closed, a tear in the corner of his eye.

"It's for the best."

Hellspawn is still in the bar.

He's removed the suit coat, and loosened the tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons. Real Tim was supposed to be back by now. He promised he'd only be gone a couple hours, but it's been close to 24, and still no sign.

And he's stuck here until Tim comes back, because he promised.

But he'd really like to get back to that charity event.

((Slowtime thread: Important words are spoken.))

The Mitch has been having on of those days. You know the ones. And, while work gives plenty of time to plot, it simply isn't the same as real, good roleplaying. So, I find myself forced to do something I thought I never would, and pring you..a multi pup post. Which, thanks to the magic of milli-time, niether pup is actually in at the same time, cause that would be bad, mmkay?

Let's do the crack bit first.

You see, Tim has bait out today with him at his table. There is a strange carboard construction in front of him, four pieces joined so they would form a square if the tip were touched, but it is unfolded, upright, in front of him. The image of a falcon rampart is embossed across the front, and it looks like some kind of charts are on the back. Behind the GM screen, Tim scribbles away at a notebook, consulting froma variety of D20 books from time to time. But that is not his only bait!

For, before the screen, there are a variety of dice sets, made from all manner of substances, from bone to wood, from opal to ...well, no, out of deference to certain residents of the bar, the kryptonite dice are kept in a lead box. But all those are piled in front of the screen, a shiny, sparkly beacon.

And, if all these were not enough, Tim has invoked the most ancient of traditions. There are six two liters of mountain dew on the table, complete with blastic cups. And various bags of chips, doritos and cheetos. He had to make sure.

And, somewhen completely different, there is a Hellspawn, asleep ona couch by the fire, looking pale and tired. Healings do that to him.

((OOM:Slowtimed, Hellspawn and Robin V go talk to a monster in Hellspawns homeworld.))

H'es pacing, back and forth, his boots click clacking aginst the wood , gloved hands held behind his back. His cape flutters with his movement, mysteriously.

It helps him, really, to try and figure all this out. Bloody creations.

Hellspawn, have at.