NationStates

The feathered lion alien flicks out a long, prehensile tongue and uses it to flip their respirator up so its only covering their nose instead of both their nose and mouth. They then delicately dip their tongue in the cup. "It contains ethanol, what I assume is some form of sugar, and what I assume is a mild acid," they say after setting their respirator back to rights and retracting their tongue. "So no, it is not pure ethanol. Though, the amount present would be enough to cause me some problems were I fool enough to actually swallow it. I suspect the bartender misheard me when I ordered."

"Thank you for clarifying." James grabs his glass and swallows some of that carbonated beverage. "Perhaps the best way to get over the headache is some pure water, then. To alleviate the intercranial vessels."

Dolor Mortis wrote:"To alleviate the intercranial vessels."

Artorrios mis-hears this.
"Intercranial weasels? Is that where the Kryozerkians disappeared to?"

Bears Armed wrote:

Dolor Mortis wrote:"To alleviate the intercranial vessels."

Artorrios mis-hears this.
"Intercranial weasels? Is that where the Kryozerkians disappeared to?"

Drane presses gently against his throbbing temples. "Could be."

Bears Armed wrote:

Dolor Mortis wrote:"To alleviate the intercranial vessels."

Artorrios mis-hears this.
"Intercranial weasels? Is that where the Kryozerkians disappeared to?"

Checkauv mishears this.
Noocleeah wessels?

Looking around at the miss-heard statement. "I mean pressure in the head." He says.

Imperial Polk County wrote:

Bears Armed wrote:Artorrios mis-hears this.
"Intercranial weasels? Is that where the Kryozerkians disappeared to?"

Drane presses gently against his throbbing temples. "Could be."

HEY there you are, Q-Bert! Whassamatter, you fall asleep in the middle o’ tellin’ your Christmas Story? Don’t bother bub, I filled in all the details, about you leavin’ a houseguest all by herself, in a hot garage with no AC in the middle of a green Christmas heatwave, an’ how your wife came in an’ kicked me in the fender, claimin’ it was dark and she forgot I was there. Psssshhhh. Oh oh and ehhhh spoiler alert: YOU SUCK! YO! Neville! Hey how ‘bout some octane booster? I need a pick-me-up. Christmas spirit. Bleeeeaaaahhhhhh.

"...." Jones just goes back to his strange concoction.

The feathered lion alien stares at the talking car, fluffs their plumage in the equivalent of a confused gesture, and then climbs down from their seat, trots over, and stares some more.

"...are you an AI?" they ask, cautiously.

Brassington continued to drink, and see the feathered lion drinking. "Ahh." "Here's S/600 for more, if ya want." "I like a bacardi vermouth, with a little ethanol mix. I have a cybernetic liver." "It's expensive, but it does." "My third tonight." He'd look around and see the car, asking for some Octane booster. "Hey, ah, here's S/300 for that from me." "Take it as a prize."

Allied Sapients wrote:The feathered lion alien stares at the talking car, fluffs their plumage in the equivalent of a confused gesture, and then climbs down from their seat, trots over, and stares some more.

"...are you an AI?" they ask, cautiously.

"More like an A-S-S," Drane deadpans as he swallows a handful of pills.

A tall, pale-skinned, barrel-chested man, a piece of blonde hair on his head, pushed his way into the bar. The former Progressive Party senator from Brightwater, Exodia scanned the room calmly.

He stared in complete surprise for a moment, seeing the feathered lion and VW Beetle at the bar, his confident air seemingly broken at a shocked sight.

He walked over to a deserted spot on the bar, away from the commotion, and called over the bartender before hunching over his phone. “I’ll-I’ll have a Voodoo Tiki margarita. My name’s Gerald Reclus, from Exodia.”

Madi appeared with a crack from nowhere.
"Hello, everyone! I'm back! Although I don't know how much time has passed here...Oh well, time passes differently on every world/plane so...."
She spotted Herby and a feathered lion creature and she headed over to say hello.
"Herby! How are you?"
She said hello to the lion creature and took a seat nearby it.
"You new?"

Noticing Herby's continued silence, Drane raises an eyebrow. "Hmmm." He walks over and peers into the driver's side window. "Wonder if she's out of gas. You know, she...."

A sly grin slowly creeps across his face.

Drane approaches the port to get to the gas cap, tries to open it with his fingers, but is unable to do so. "Hey, Neville! My, umm, my friend here seems to be out of gas. Do you know how to get this gas cap open?" He looks down at the feathered lion's claws, ponders, but then shakes his head. Instead he looks to the Skylusian. "Ambassador... Madi, yes? Any chance I could borrow a long fingernail?"

Imperial Polk County wrote:Noticing Herby's continued silence, Drane raises an eyebrow. "Hmmm." He walks over and peers into the driver's side window. "Wonder if she's out of gas. You know, she...."

A sly grin slowly creeps across his face.

Drane approaches the port to get to the gas cap, tries to open it with his fingers, but is unable to do so. "Hey, Neville! My, umm, my friend here seems to be out of gas. Do you know how to get this gas cap open?" He looks down at the feathered lion's claws, ponders, but then shakes his head. Instead he looks to the Skylusian. "Ambassador... Madi, yes? Any chance I could borrow a long fingernail?"

Steph re-enters the bar just in time to see the ugly rictus plastering the front of Drane's skull, and raises an eyebrow. As he approaches Herby's fuel cap, Steph sighs and drops her satchel on the nearest chair.

"Ya know, buddy, I've seen this movie before... and, well, let's say I'm a film critic."

She sheds her coat and drapes it over the back of the chair she just plopped her satchel on, and draws the CDSP-issued M37 from her rear waistband. She keeps her weapon arm straight at her side for the moment.

"It probably says something unflattering about my diplomatic skills that I keep havin' to haul out the hardware. But whatever. I'm gonna have to go ahead and object to whatever it is you're doing there, ambassador."

Sierra Lyricalia wrote:Steph re-enters the bar just in time to see the ugly rictus plastering the front of Drane's skull, and raises an eyebrow. As he approaches Herby's fuel cap, Steph sighs and drops her satchel on the nearest chair.

"Ya know, buddy, I've seen this movie before... and, well, let's say I'm a film critic."

"No no, I'm just-- Oh, hey, Ambassador! Haven't seen you around in awhile, how have you been?"

Sierra Lyricalia wrote:She sheds her coat and drapes it over the back of the chair she just plopped her satchel on, and draws the CDSP-issued M37 from her rear waistband. She keeps her weapon arm straight at her side for the moment.

"It probably says something unflattering about my diplomatic skills that I keep havin' to haul out the hardware. But whatever. I'm gonna have to go ahead and object to whatever it is you're doing there, ambassador."

Drane frowns for a moment, then smiles again. "What? Awww, I thought we were friends, Ambassador! Okay, okay--" he holds out his hands, then points at Steph's weapon "--I know you can't hurt me with your, umm, your 'hardware,' but you're right, in spite of the amount of hostility she and I have for each other right now, she's still a fine machine, and it would be a mortal sin to do anything to hurt her. That said...." He looks down at the car, then back at Steph. "Haven't you wondered what might happen if we gave her a shot of an energy drink or something like that? You know, the sugar-free kind, won't muck up her combustion engine."

The alien considered the scene in front of them, and then with the flexibility only seen in cats and cat-like creatures, turned around on their axis, flipped up their respirator, and opened one of their saddlebags with their tongue.

“What do you need?” they asked after retrieving a leather case and nosing it in Drane’s direction. “Would an awl work? I’m just a hobbyist so it’s a cheap one- you don’t need to worry about ruining it.”

The tools inside the case were sized for a voleo (who at their maximum might be able to reach 60 lbs) and made to be used to with jaws and a prehensile tongue instead of hands, so they would probably be very awkward for human to handle.

Drane looks into the bag, then looks at Herby, then into the bag, then at the alien. "No, I'm sorry, but I really don't want to scratch her finish. That would be... just not right. If you know what I mean. But next time I need a back scratcher or a nose picker, I'll know who to talk to. Thanks anyway."

Imperial Polk County wrote:

Sierra Lyricalia wrote:Steph re-enters the bar just in time to see the ugly rictus plastering the front of Drane's skull, and raises an eyebrow. As he approaches Herby's fuel cap, Steph sighs and drops her satchel on the nearest chair.

"Ya know, buddy, I've seen this movie before... and, well, let's say I'm a film critic."

"No no, I'm just-- Oh, hey, Ambassador! Haven't seen you around in awhile, how have you been?"

Sierra Lyricalia wrote:She sheds her coat and drapes it over the back of the chair she just plopped her satchel on, and draws the CDSP-issued M37 from her rear waistband. She keeps her weapon arm straight at her side for the moment.

"It probably says something unflattering about my diplomatic skills that I keep havin' to haul out the hardware. But whatever. I'm gonna have to go ahead and object to whatever it is you're doing there, ambassador."

Drane frowns for a moment, then smiles again. "What? Awww, I thought we were friends, Ambassador! Okay, okay--" he holds out his hands, then points at Steph's weapon "--I know you can't hurt me with your, umm, your 'hardware,' but you're right, in spite of the amount of hostility she and I have for each other right now, she's still a fine machine, and it would be a mortal sin to do anything to hurt her. That said...." He looks down at the car, then back at Steph. "Haven't you wondered what might happen if we gave her a shot of an energy drink or something like that? You know, the sugar-free kind, won't muck up her combustion engine."

"Yeah, water's not so good either. Hmm..." Steph re-holsters her weapon and sticks a fist under her chin, other arm supporting her elbow. "My rule for hazing is it has to not do any, y'know, damage. Let's see... Ha! You got a tarp?"

A computerized female voice (one that sounds just like Siri) emanates from Herby.

Software update in progress, 78 percent complete. Please wait for update to complete before administering a hazing or tarping.

/skip

The alien made a surpised noise- something like a rather squeaky “chirr.” “What kind of an AI gets software updates in public?” they ask no one in particular. “Maybe we could decorate her, make her all pretty? I have little colored lights you can use.”

Ambassador Pink stirred from his slumber, mentally kicking himself for falling asleep in the bar again. You're going to make yourself look like a drunk one of these days. he thought. He was comforted slightly, then, when he noticed Sarah had taken a seat next to him, and was also slowly regaining conciousness. "What was that?' She mumbled, still a bit bleary. "Nothing to worry about." Rupert answered, stretching. "Happens a lot. Probably a side effect of the temporal mess this place is. Speaking of which..." Ambassador Pink scanned the room. "Wherever has Paulson got to?"

Herby wrote:A computerized female voice (one that sounds just like Siri) emanates from Herby.
Software update in progress, 78 percent complete. Please wait for update to complete before administering a hazing or tarping.

Allied Sapients wrote:The alien made a surpised noise- something like a rather squeaky “chirr.” “What kind of an AI gets software updates in public?” they ask no one in particular. “Maybe we could decorate her, make her all pretty? I have little colored lights you can use.”

Rupert's ears prick up at this. "One moment." he says, walking over to the as-yet-unidentified creature. "Are you seriously suggesting defiling a woman while she sleeps? Mechanical or not, I hardly think that's good manners!" He scolded.

Whovian Tardisia wrote:Rupert's ears prick up at this. "One moment." he says, walking over to the as-yet-unidentified creature. "Are you seriously suggesting defiling a woman while she sleeps? Mechanical or not, I hardly think that's good manners!" He scolded.

“Oh, no! It’s all in good fun, no manners broken!” said the alien. “We won’t do anything permanent. And I still think we should make her pretty. Everyone deserves to be pretty.”

As if unfrozen from a great temporal disturbance generated by two months of an unknown, extrauniversal mover taking a vacation from a collaborative narrative, Ogenbond and Paulson continue to talk.

"It has been good talking to you, Representative Ogenbond," says Paulson, drawing his pistol. "Now I must return to my own time. Do what you can to prepare yourself for the coming storm."

Paulson vanishes, and Trevanyika appears in his place. She swivels her head around, getting her bearings. "Something has changed. Everyone is in different places." She sees Ogenbond and her confusion gives way to anger. "You. Explain yourself. What have you done to the EKI?"

Ogenbond bites his lip. "Damn. Well, um, Miss Trevanyika, first you need to understand that the EKI has been under performing for several--"

"Oh, do not give me that. Explain why I shouldn't throw you out the nearest window right now for dismantling our only means of enforcing compliance in Wallenburg?"

Ogenbond raises his hands defensively. "It's only temporary! I'm going to restructure it!

"Oh, no you aren't. I'm doing that myself. I'm going to build it back to exactly what it is supposed to be, since you clearly can't take care of it yourself."