A large room, obviously set up for a party. A long table holds a couple of large punch bowls, piles of ice, and assorted plastic cups. Another long table holds various hors d'oeuvres, plates, and napkins. A third table, not as long as the other two, holds a gigantic, three-layered, blue and gold cake, as well as plates, forks, and a slicing implement. Blue and yellow balloons hang from the ceiling, the words "Welcome back, FR!" written on a few of the larger ones. A large blue banner proclaiming "Freedom Reborn!" in gold letters hangs across the room. In one corner, a stuffed penguin sits, with the phrase "There Is No Penguin" written across its chest. A light layer of dust covers everything.
Suddenly, a costumed figure bursts into the room- it's none other than the Verdant Vowel! He poses dramatically in the middle of the room.
"Never fear, my heroic (and otherwise) companions! Though I have faced great odds, battled fearsome menaces, and braved great dangers to get here, none could stand before my vowelish might! Though I may be late, at long last, the Verdant Vowel is here!"
He stops, and looks around, noting the complete absence of people in the room. his demeanor changes, becoming more normal and less exaggerated.
"That's strange- I was sure I'd be the last person here, considering how late I am. I wonder where everyone is?"
(This is a freeform posting game, with no rules other than the basic Forum rules (http://freedomreborn.net/forums/index.php?topic=48894.0). Anyone if welcome to join.)
"Perhaps, sir, the more appropriate question might be, 'What are the party guests?'" The words, spoken in soothing tones (despite their sudden entry into Alaric's awareness), seemed to step deftly across the green champion's broad shoulder, reaching his trained ear as he pivoted to face his previously undetected interlocutor.
Seemingly no one proved to be the Vowel's company, save a swirl of dust and a pair of footprints left behind by size 10 1/2 (U.K.) men's dress shoes. Clearly, some game was afoot.
"One might say, Mr. Alaric, that, to a man, they have been unmanned." Performing a near pirouette, the hero spun swiftly to meet the blank but non-threatening gaze of a tall, middle-aged, black-suited, moustachioed man in a bowler hat. With a grace afforded by his slim form, he tipped his hat in respectful greeting and then doffed it entirely with his right hand whilst producing a small white apron and grey feather duster in his left. To his relief, Alaric recognised this individual at once as Mr. Cyprian Lane, The Phantom Bunburyist's gentleman's personal gentleman, who, some whisper, has often exhibited mysterious superhuman powers of semi-omniscience and who, all agree, has maintained the uncommon human qualities of convenient ubiquity, constant reliability, and obnoxious correctness. "It would appear, sir, that your companions have all been, for lack of a better word, ensorcelled by a handsome young woman who presented herself at the soirée under the name 'Mlle. Circe,'" he continued as his feather duster disturbed a legion of motes from the nearby dessert table. "They seem to have undergone a most distressing transformation into shapes very base, indeed. After Mlle. herded those helpless creatures--my employer included--into a lorry parked outside, she specifically instructed me to remain here to deliver this to you."
If Lane possessed a third hand, he must have used it to extract a small envelope the colour of a robin's egg from his right breast pocket and hand it to the astonished man in the green cape. In a charmingly flowing, delicate script, the envelope was addressed to "The Verdant Vowel."
ow_tiobe_sb
Phantom Bunburyist and Whirled Braker
OOC:
QuoteTo his relief, Alaric recognised this individual at once as Mr. Cyprian Lane, The Phantom Bunburyist's gentleman's personal gentleman, who, some whisper, has often exhibited mysterious superhuman powers of semi-omniscience and who, all agree, has maintained the uncommon human qualities of convenient ubiquity, constant reliability, and obnoxious correctness...
...and narrating in run-on sentences. :P
(sorry couldn't resist. :D Will try to post some actual content later but don't wait up)
OOC: For the official record (and in keeping with a certain "obnoxious correctness"), neither Lane nor I narrate events "in run-on sentences." While our sentences do run the distance, they do not run on, grammatically speaking. :P
I'd like to say thanks, Al, for kicking off this RPG. I'm bound to say I've missed this pastime almost as much as I've missed Glitch Girl's enchanting powers of misapprehension (Call it a "cognitive malfunction," if you will, which would fall neatly within her speciality.). ;)
ow_tiobe_sb
Phantom Bunburyist and Whirled Braker
"I'd check to see whether the punch has been spiked," remarked a well-projected baritone.
The speaker looks like he came directly from a Renaissance Festival, dressed as a troubadour all in blue. He's wearing a blue sleeveless tunic over a white shirt, a blue tricorner hat, a blue cloak, white tights, and soft blue boots. A very modern looking acoustic guitar is slung across his back.
OOC: I wonder who's going to volunteer to be one of the captured heroes? Circe's going to be very dismayed if it turns out she missed 99% of the Reborners...
Quote from: BlueBard on August 25, 2011, 05:49:24 PM
OOC: I wonder who's going to volunteer to be one of the captured heroes? Circe's going to be very dismayed if it turns out she missed 99% of the Reborners...
OOC: We already know that TPB has volunteered to apply his expert idling skills to this task. With a cast of thousands (6,190, to be exact) to choose from, I doubt we'll lack sufficient extras/NPCs to fill those roles. ;)
ow_tiobe_sb
Phantom Bunburyist and Whirled Braker
Hearing the blue-garbed man's voice, the Vowel started and turned. Then, realizing he now had an audience of at least two to play for, he resumed his earlier exaggeratedly-heroic pose, and once more shifted to the over-the-top dramatic voice he had used when he first entered the room.
"It seems our friends have come under some Homeric hex, transformed into forms most... foul..."
His eyes fell on the stuffed penguin in the corner. He walked over and picked it up.
"I wonder..."
"Careful there, Vowel. There might be some booby traps left behind."
*POP*
Out of thin air, a blue, unknown but seemingly familiar form appeared, directly above the aforementioned punch bowl. The creature pedaled comically in the air for a few seconds, then dropped into the bowl, nearly soaking a nearby Ren Fair employee. As the individual raised himself out of the now-empty punch bowl, it became clear that he was, in fact, a pig with sunglasses.
"Oink?*"
[*translated: "'Sup?"]
"Hey! Watch it!" shouted BlueBard. Then his mouth dropped open as he realized the splash of punch came from a blue pig.
BlueBard closed his mouth and rolled his eyes. "O-kaayy... Blue pig appears out of nowhere. The Circe from the ancient stories turned men into swine. So who is this? Who do we know that's blue and can teleport?"
He then glanced at the envelope in the hand of the stately butler. "Maybe that message might tell us something useful?"
"Message, Bard? What mess- Oh, of course. I was distracted for a moment."
The Vowel walked back, and accepted the envelope from the waiting Lane.
"Thank you, Lane. Hmm. I had assumed our friends' captor had left the note addressed to me because I was the only one missing at the time, but if you were also absent, Bard... Good Lane, do you by any chance have in your possession a message addressed to Mr. Bard, as well?"
"Alas, sir, I do not! However, the gentlemen of the Smythe Bakery and Confectionary did leave this invoice in the amount of £48 3s 2d addressed to a 'Mr. B. Bard,'" explained the valet, proffering the document to the appropriately blue party whilst filling a hitherto unnoticed trough with slop for the inappropriately blue swine.
ow_tiobe_sb
Phantom Bunburyist and Whirled Braker
BlueBard stares at the invoice.
"But I didn't-- Why is--? I didn't order anything! Pounds and shillings? Seriously? This isn't exactly high tea in London!"
"Fine," he growls. "I'm going outside to look for clues."
BlueBard stomps out, dropping the piece of paper into a handy trash can on the way.
"Oink*"
[*Translation: "Sweet, thanks dude! Didn't have a chance to finish my waffles before the wackiness went down. Wouldn't happen to have any syrup on you, would ya?"
"Yes, my porcine friend. Oink, indeed."
The vowel sighed, and looked down at the unopened envelope in his hand, then suddenly back at the pig.
"Blue, wearing sunglasses... Now, where have I seen that combination bef..."
He started.
"Hitpig?!?"
"As you wish, sir," Lane replied stiffly with jaw clenched before hesitantly giving the pig a clout on the ear.
ow_tiobe_sb
Phantom Bunburyist and Whirled Braker
"Oink!*"
[*Translation: "Oww! What the heck, man? You're lucky that chick took Lil' Zappy after the change, 'cuz if she hadn't... I still wouldn't have the thumbs to shoot you wit it."]
"NO! That's not what I meant! I meant Hit MAN!"
Realizing what he had just said, the Vowel quickly raised his hands over his face.
"WAIT! That's not what I meant...!"
OOC: I may need to request a brief leave of absence as my family and I attempt to weather Hurricane Irene. Silence on my part does not mean that I have lost interest in the game; however, it may mean that I have lost power.
ow_tiobe_sb
Phantom Bunburyist and Whirled Braker
Blue Bard dashes back in, dumps the trash onto the floor and scatters it around.
"Where is...? A-Ha!" He holds up a piece of paper in triumph.
"I nearly threw away a clue!"
OOC- I'm more or less in the process of moving, and won't be able to personally take part in this thread for a week or so. Feel free to keep it going without me, though.
The cobalt porcine powerhouse immediately started rooking around the dumped trash.
"Oink!*"
[*Translation: "Whoa, somebody threw away and entire bag of Oreos. Sweet! Also, I think my transformation has enhanced my sense of smell. Hint hint."]
"What'd you say?" BlueBard asks the pig, then shakes his head. "Nevermind. I don't speak pig."
He holds up the invoice.
"Obviously, since I didn't order anything, this whole party was a set-up. I bet if we go to this address, we'll find a lead to where the rest of the ani-, uh, people were taken!"
[OOC: Anybody else feels like jumping in here, feel free. Hitpig and I can't carry this looney toon all by ourselves. Man, talk about dull parties... I hate when all of the guests leave early. OTS, you got us into this plot; Do something!]
Quote from: BlueBard on September 27, 2011, 06:26:15 PM
"What'd you say?" BlueBard asks the pig, then shakes his head. "Nevermind. I don't speak pig."
He holds up the invoice.
"Obviously, since I didn't order anything, this whole party was a set-up. I bet if we go to this address, we'll find a lead to where the rest of the ani-, uh, people were taken!"
[OOC: Sorry, gents, I've been busy with RL. :(]
Setting aside his implements of mass detergency, Lane replies, "Very good, sir. Shall I telephone ahead to inform the Agents Smythe that they should expect you at their temporary office in Langley or at 'the Bakery' in Millbank?"
ow_tiobe_sb
Phantom Bunburyist and Whirled Braker
[OOC: I did not realize a new posting game was going on! I might join in once I catch up things. Also, as a villain, I will be inclined to attack Hitman. Obviously.]
Quote from: ow_tiobe_sb on September 27, 2011, 06:55:34 PM
Setting aside his implements of mass detergency, Lane replies, "Very good, sir. Shall I telephone ahead to inform the Agents Smythe that they should expect you at their temporary office in Langley or at 'the Bakery' in Millbank?"
"Um. Agents? Could you elaborate on that for me just a little bit? Or a lot?"
Quote from: BlueBard on September 29, 2011, 01:14:57 PM
"Um. Agents? Could you elaborate on that for me just a little bit? Or a lot?"
"Gladly, Mr. Bard. As you intuited, the invoice you received was not, in actual fact, a catering invoice but, instead, an encoded message from Agents Richard and Antony Smythe, who are brothers and officers of MI5 and MI6, respectively. Agent Richard has been monitoring Mlle Circe's activities in England for the past fifteen months, and Agent Antony's involvement leads me to believe that she has acquired high-powered, villainous allies beyond the isles conspiring to execute an international plot. The Agents Smythe suspected that a kidnapping of this calibre might take place, but, without sufficient evidence, they were powerless to act with state-sanctioned force, hence the encoded message and distinct lack of jackbooted military operatives armed with automatic weapons.
Alas! Those gentlemen do not seem to have provided us with a means of decoding the message; however, if I were to venture a guess--with your kind permission to air my untested hypothesis--given that the bill is listed in currency common to the United Kingdom and that 'immediate payment is urgently requested' on an initial invoice, I would place my bet on finding our missing companions within the confines of the U.K.
Agent Antony has been granted a temporary office in Langley, Virginia, as a courtesy extended to SIS by the Central Intelligence Agency (He never receives civilians at his office in Vauxhall.). 'The Bakery' is one of many guises assumed by the Security Service's headquarters in Westminster. At which location do you wish to make contact with the Agents Smythe, sir?"
[OOG: The door is open for PC villains to jump on board very soon, if the RP takes that direction.]
ow_tiobe_sb
Phantom Bunburyist and Whirled Braker
"Ah, before we go that far, I think we'd better find out what's in the envelope the Vowel got."
BlueBard plucks the envelope from the Verdant Vowel's fingers, startling him. BlueBard opens it and starts to read.
As the oversized Brit expounded on the possibility of a future base of operations, the Azure Avenger of Ham danced with glee.
"Oink!*"
[*Translation: "Hey! A Bakery?! Sound like my kind of place!"]
During his clip-clopping about, he jammed a series of seeming random keys on a discarded cellphone.
On the roof of a nearby building, a dark figure stood looking out into the distance. His tattered cowl waved in the wind violently. However, this did not detract his harsh gaze from the horizon. It was as if he wished to pierce a hole in the sky with his eyes.
A sudden light appeared on his wrist. Its irriatiing presence made him look down at once. Even with his black mask, you could clearly see how the anger weighed heavily on is brow.
Damn that Vinny. I told him not use this number unless it was an emergency, He thought to himself.
Quickly, he maneuvered from roof top to roof top, skillfully avoiding the gaze of others. He then walked towards the roof windows of the hall and silently watched the unfolding scene.
A blue pig...No.It couldn't be...
The large eared man let out deep sigh. "I guess it's gonna be a long night."
(OOC: This is a very slow moving game. How is one to keep interest if the game takes over 6 days to even read a letter? Consider this a bump.)
(OOC: Tell me about it. If I had the time, I'd do a little creative redirection of this plot. Maybe we should just let this one die? I'll stick with it a little longer and if I get some time later on I might just run with it a little.)
(OOC: Yeah, I'd have no problem with a do-over. Kinda wrote myself into a corner with the whole "pig" thing.)
To pass the time while Blue Bard prepares to read the letter, Lane resumes his general tidying up by removing a silver mirror framed in gold filigree from a nearby wall and placing it upon the ground. At this low level, the glass frames the blue swine but reflects the rather surprised human form of The Hitman (crouching on his hands and knees), whose voiceless lips move to the sound of guttural grunts and squeals. Lane bends to replace the mirror after dusting the wall, spies something in the glass, and, with a sharp though exceedingly discreet intake of breath, utters, "Goodness!" The valet changes the angle of the reflective surface, seemingly attempting to get a better view of seven hitherto unseen men clad in tight-fitting black clothing and brandishing footlong blades. Turning to face this apparent threat at the entrance to the grand salon, Lane is suddenly dismayed to find no trace of these men. A quick reexamination of the glass reveals the intruders maintaining their swift, silent approach toward the assembled partygoers. "Goodness, indeed! Gentlemen, it appears we have uninvited and rather invisible company."
ow_tiobe_sb
Phantom Bunburyist and Whirled Braker
With a shake of his head, the Verdant Vowel refocuses on the problem at hand.
"Sorry, my heroic friends, I was distracted for a moment. I believe that was adressed to me, O Troubadour of Azure."
Taking the note back from the Bard, he begins to read. The others see his face go white.
"it seems our friends are being held at the Plush Stuffed Stuffplush Animal Store, on Toocute Avenue. I have been invited to negotiate for their release. Alone. obviously, it's a trap."
Blue Bard puts on a pair of specially polarized glasses he picked up on one of his adventures. He takes a long hard look at the invisible men, then relaxes.
"IT is okay, Lane."
A chorus of disembodied voices cries out in horror.
"Those are the Ninjas of Ni. We can handle them. IT will be easy."
Screams are heard, the front glass window explodes outward, and then there is silence.
"Go ahead, Vowel. You were saying?"
Before the Verdant Vowel has a chance to reply, his eye catches on a small brass insignia, printed quite unobtrusively at the base of the note. Turning the note about in his hands to try to better make out the stylised shape, he eventually asserts it to be:
"A rabbit!" he mutters aloud, certainly more to himself than to anyone else.
"A rabbit?" comes a reply more felt than spoken. "What a cruel accusation! – And how dreadfully inaccurate! How – how – how rabbit-brained. I'm Wounded. Offended even. Shocked to my very core, is what I am. However will you learn to live with yourself knowing that you have misrecognised such a fine Hare as I?"
And with that, the Hare that had once been an insignia pulls himself loose from the note, as if he has never at any point been anything more than a flesh and blood animal, and proceeds to take a diving position on the paper's edge. Balancing there as light as a lock of hare, the animal quickly dismounts to the ground, to land in a surprisingly ungainly fashion considering his previous aplomb. To all sights and sounds, a Hare indeed he is. Yet this Hare wears a knitted cardigan, coloured in brassy hues and set atop buff fur, and beneath which can be glimpsed a pair of elastic braces (though with no trousers in sight, so who knows what they may be holding up).
Reaching one tiny paw into the pocket of his cardigan, the Hare pulls forth a shiny pocket watch. Any observant onlooker may well note an engraving on its reverse: a simple scene depicting a man in a boat surrounded by the outline of an eye. Suddenly, with a start caused by shock alone, the Hare slips the watch back into his pocket and bolts at full haste across the floor in the direction of the exit, leaping on and over the blue pig in its dash, and trailing panicked thoughts in its wake:
"Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late! Oh! The Sorceress, the Sorceress! won't she be savage if I've kept her waiting!"
BlueBard stares a moment.
"Totally not going down the rabbit hole or through the looking glass," he says. "I think I'll go find a nice, sane bank robbery to foil."
He walks out.
OOC: Sorry guys, I've totally lost interest in this one. I'll remove myself so as to get out of the way.
"I DECLARE A DO-OVER!" Hit-pig exclaimed in a particularly non-sequitur moment.
*POP*
(OOC: I'm out. When thew next one of these rolls around, I'll be back.)