The World Assembly Strangers' Bar

[Wrapper]

"It is a sad day when the Stranger's Bar is found on the third page," the Master replied to the fourth wall. "I believe I shall use my TARDIS to bump the bar to the first page."

And with that he proceeded to move the stranger's bar to the first page, at least for the time being.

Ugh... WTF... oh crap, another TARDIS. Ohhh... Thanks a lot, you made us go from just walking in to hung over in the snap of a finger. WE WANT OUR DAMN HAPPY DRUNK STAGE!

[Snefaldia]

Into the bar walked two hitherto unfamiliar men, one hovering at an impossibly youngish middle age, and the other easily straddling youth and manhood. The elder had a book under his arm and the hint of epicanthal fold around his eye; the younger carried a leather folder and a fountain pen.

"There are, in every age, new errors to be rectified, and new prejudices to be opposed." the older said, sitting and waving for a beverage.

"Ambition, like a torrent, ne'er looks back." said the younger, unscrewing his fountain pen.

"Indeed, Alexander, if the intellectual ability of kings and magistrates were exerted to the same degree in peace as in war, human affairs would be more orderly and settled." was the response.

"But Xerxes, war is merely the continuation of politics by other means."

"Indeed, indeed! Very good. I am momentarily undressed, but I will rally soon. For the moment, enjoy your drink and taste your victory, knowing that I will harry you once more!"

Contented, they sipped.

[Polocatfan]

Into the bar walked a young teen who is wearing weird bright clothes.
"Do you guys serve water?" He asks as he sits down waiting for his water.

[Elke and Elba]

Ambassador Dzichpol sits, staring at the wall. Neville passes him Iced Tea - with an unknown mix of alcohol that he'd been so used to, he sometimes concocted it at home.

Dzichpol drinks in, and slumbers to sleep on the bartop for he had been reading 10 proposals in the last few hours. 14 proposals on the floor, including two which Ambassador Norrland submitted!

It's a wonder how we didn't need a TARDIS to bump the Bar from the third to the first this time, for this Bar languishes only on the second page, albeit the enormous amount of bills submitted.

For the love of goodness.

[Murray the Evil Skull]

Murray and his destructor bunny band finish up their C&W song and start playing a lively celtic air...

Oh Poor old Dicey Riley she has taken to the sup
Poor old Dicey Riley she will never give it up
It's off each morning to the pub
And she drops in for another little drop
Oh the heart of the rowl has Dicey Riley.

She walks along Fitzgibbon Street with and Independent air
Up and by the Summerhill and the people stop and stare
She says it's nearly half past one and it's time I had another little one
Ah the heart of the rowl is Dicey Riley

Oh Poor old Dicey Riley she has taken to the sup
Poor old Dicey Riley she will never give it up
It's off each morning to the pub
And she drops in for another little drop
Oh the heart of the rowl has Dicey Riley.

Long years ago when men were men
And fancied female love
And lovely Becky Cooper and Maggie's merry one
One woman put them all to shame
Just one was worthy of the name
And the name of the dame was Dicey Riley

Oh Poor old Dicey Riley she has taken to the sup
Poor old Dicey Riley she will never give it up
It's off each morning to the pub
And she drops in for another little drop
Oh the heart of the rowl has Dicey Riley.

But time is catching up with her like many a pretty whore
And it's out with you along the street before you're out the door
Their looks all fade in the bottom trade but out of that whole brigade
The heart of the rowl has Dicey Riley

Oh Poor old Dicey Riley she has taken to the sup
Poor old Dicey Riley she will never give it up
It's off each morning to the pub
And she drops in for another little drop
Oh the heart of the rowl has Dicey Riley.

[Invisible Wabbits]

Murray and his destructor bunny band finish up their C&W song and start playing a lively celtic air...

Oh Poor old Dicey Riley she has taken to the sup
Poor old Dicey Riley she will never give it up
It's off each morning to the pub
And she drops in for another little drop
Oh the heart of the rowl has Dicey Riley.

She walks along Fitzgibbon Street with and Independent air
Up and by the Summerhill and the people stop and stare
She says it's nearly half past one and it's time I had another little one
Ah the heart of the rowl is Dicey Riley

Oh Poor old Dicey Riley she has taken to the sup
Poor old Dicey Riley she will never give it up
It's off each morning to the pub
And she drops in for another little drop
Oh the heart of the rowl has Dicey Riley.

Long years ago when men were men
And fancied female love
And lovely Becky Cooper and Maggie's merry one
One woman put them all to shame
Just one was worthy of the name
And the name of the dame was Dicey Riley

Oh Poor old Dicey Riley she has taken to the sup
Poor old Dicey Riley she will never give it up
It's off each morning to the pub
And she drops in for another little drop
Oh the heart of the rowl has Dicey Riley.

But time is catching up with her like many a pretty whore
And it's out with you along the street before you're out the door
Their looks all fade in the bottom trade but out of that whole brigade
The heart of the rowl has Dicey Riley

Oh Poor old Dicey Riley she has taken to the sup
Poor old Dicey Riley she will never give it up
It's off each morning to the pub
And she drops in for another little drop
Oh the heart of the rowl has Dicey Riley.

There is loud applause from several areas around the Bar that most people present would probably have assumed were unoccupied...

^_^

[Damanucus]

"It is a sad day when the Stranger's Bar is found on the third page," the Master replied to the fourth wall. "I believe I shall use my TARDIS to bump the bar to the first page."

And with that he proceeded to move the stranger's bar to the first page, at least for the time being.

Stephanie recovered her drink. Having a TARDIS go off was a problem from the very beginning; having it move a room you were occupying at the same time, on the proviso you weren't in the middle of a leap when the room disappeared, scattered your constitution at best, and your skeletal structure at worst. (If you were happening to be mid-leap when the room disappeared, it was worse, as you could very easily land in the hot tub of an ambassador, which would be problematic if said ambassador happened to be an invisible rabbit who had just come into contact with rabies or something akin thereto, or in the wrong end of a defenestration cannon—Stephanie really hoped that would never happen, at least not around her newly-acquired offices—or even in one of the many open black-hole generators that seemed to be scattered about the place.)

Reacquiring her seat, she asked Neville to refill her glass, before querying him on whether the Damanucan alcohol had arrived.

[Separatist Peoples]

Head and shoulders sagging as if under the weight of a billion suns, Ambassador Bell walked in and up to the bar. Leaning over the counter, he grabbed a bottle and twisted the top off expertly. With a gesture to Neville warding off a stammered protest, and not a glance to the label, he took a long drought-no, two,three!-before lowering the bottle.

"My tab, Neville...wait, damn, was that tequila? Shit."

Sagging against the bar, he looked around, "Don't tell me you people haven't felt like doing exactly this in the last bloody week. Neville, since I already owe you for the bottle can I bum a few limes? Ah, there's a good chap. And, to make up for taking your booze without asking, can I get a rare steak, and you can charge me for two?"

[Rotwood]

Felicia walks into the Bar "White rum, please. If I'd known how bad this place was, I would have stayed in Tai Lao." She looks over at Ambassador Bell with a smile. "Cheers."

[Defwa]

Angela takes a seat next to Ambassador Bell and waves to the bartender.
Leaning over in what could be called a salacious fashion, purses her lips as the she looks at the selection behind it, and says almost indecisively," I'm new here, so..." then quite decisively," Two shots absinthe, two vodka martinis and something blue- also with vodka."
With a smile, she guards the five drinks in front of her from anyone who might assume she was sharing.
"I'm sorry to hear that Benjamin- I feel great."

[Separatist Peoples]

Bell tipped his bottle to both Felicia and Angela, thoughtfully contemplating the worm at the bottom of his mezcal, improperly identified as tequila.

"I'm glad you find it so exhilarating. This past week has been hell on me and mine. And the week before." Bell blearily eyed the vodka drinks arrayed before Angela Landsfree, "No need to guard it from me. I don't touch clear liquor that doesn't come from a mason jar. Good idea, though"

Looking to Felicia, he added, "You've got the right of it. I'm kicking myself for ever complaining about being bored here. I decided to take it out on my liver."

Bell takes another gulp of the fiery liquid.

[Applebania]

There is a knock on the door.

[Rotwood]

Felicia thinks about taking another swig of her drink, but grabs the bottle instead "Ah well, might aswell try and catch up."

[Separatist Peoples]

There is a knock on the door.

"Come on in, the bar is always open!"

Felicia thinks about taking another swig of her drink, but grabs the bottle instead "Ah well, might aswell try and catch up."

"That's the spirit! Hehe, spirit!" Bell chuckled at his own wit, making the mezcal worm dance a bit in the bottle. "I couldn't spend another minute hearing old Floodiepoo wheeze on about noncompliance. I can't honestly tell if that's his name or not. I heard it and it stuck! And don't get me started on Ambassador Tung and that cow he keeps dragging in to hold his place. I can't keep destroying microphone cables without somebody in Facilities getting angry."

[Rotwood]

Felicia stares vacantly at her bottle "Well now that they have res.. resin... given up their membership, they hold about as much water as what's in this bottle. As for that cow... Last time I made a comment about a species I ended up here!"

[Separatist Peoples]

Felicia stares vacantly at her bottle "Well now that they have res.. resin... given up their membership, they hold about as much water as what's in this bottle. As for that cow... Last time I made a comment about a species I ended up here!"

"That got you sent here? Did you follow that up with an attempt at murder? I got sent here for punching another diplomat after something of a cross-cultural misunderstanding regarding his amorous advances on a young diplomatic aide. Anyways, cow or not, I'm worried they'll confiscate my pruning shears at this rate, and at the increasing rate of the drivel the debate floor has been receiving, we're gonna need 'em."

[Defwa]

Am I the only one who enjoys my job?
Well- floodypoo seems to have fun with it but for the strangest reasons.

[Separatist Peoples]

Am I the only one who enjoys my job?
Well- floodypoo seems to have fun with it but for the strangest reasons.

"I do. Usually. When I'm here, at least. But, its hard to enjoy the debate floor when its as cluttered with dreck as it has been. And, when you're sent here as punishment, and then promptly forgotten about...well...yeah..."

[Applebania]

The Applebanian delegate walks in.
"Don't tell my bodyguards I'm here!"

[Defwa]

Am I the only one who enjoys my job?
Well- floodypoo seems to have fun with it but for the strangest reasons.

"I do. Usually. When I'm here, at least. But, its hard to enjoy the debate floor when its as cluttered with dreck as it has been. And, when you're sent here as punishment, and then promptly forgotten about...well...yeah..."

"I suspect the worst is over. The queues are clear, the only problem with some of the new members is over enthusiasm."
Having finished the martinis, she starts working on the unidentified blue thing.

[Wrapper]

Am I the only one who enjoys my job?
Well- floodypoo seems to have fun with it but for the strangest reasons.

It's another Saturday night. The poor bastard from Wr-- er, the, distinguished (at least in his own mind) Wrapperian Ambassador, his face drooping and unshaven, his fourth Methanol Cocktail partially drained, and his glasses sitting crookedly on his face, thanks to an unplanned encounter with a very enthusiastic rest room stall door just moments before, suddenly listens intently to the ongoing conversation across the bar. At the mere mention of the Floodian delegation's meaningless resignation, he rolls his eyes, snorts a bit, and mumbles loudly to himself in the mistaken belief that no one can hear him.

Floodians. Pffffft. If we had our way....

The Ambassador likes to refer to himself in the first person plural, thinks it sounds regal or some shit like that. Alas, his mumbling is cut off, as the final results from Security Council voting are announced on the closed circuit television. The Ambassador tries not to notice when a group of delegates in the corner toast the results with what looks like glasses of sangria.

The poor bast... er, the, Ambassador rubs his temples. He runs different scenarios through his mind -- strike this clause? add this clause? campaign more? -- but they all lead to the same conclusion. The Security Council is the wrong place for him. He mumbles to himself again, this time in a much lower voice.

Argh... why couldn't that TARIS... that TARDISH... that phone booth come crashing through here today instead of last week?

The Ambassador sighs, and checks his watch. Ten minutes until the next wormhole home.

Home.

He smiles to himself. He needs a day off after this debacle. Besides, it will give him and his delegation time to work on their next proposal. He leaves the bar, with a little, somewhat wobbly bounce in his step.

Dish... dish is the one they'll remmber us for.

[Applebania]

The Applebanian delegate orders a non-alcoholic beverage.

[Defwa]

Am I the only one who enjoys my job?
Well- floodypoo seems to have fun with it but for the strangest reasons.

It's another Saturday night. The poor bastard from Wr-- er, the, distinguished (at least in his own mind) Wrapperian Ambassador, his face drooping and unshaven, his fourth Methanol Cocktail partially drained, and his glasses sitting crookedly on his face, thanks to an unplanned encounter with a very enthusiastic rest room stall door just moments before, suddenly listens intently to the ongoing conversation across the bar. At the mere mention of the Floodian delegation's meaningless resignation, he rolls his eyes, snorts a bit, and mumbles loudly to himself in the mistaken belief that no one can hear him.

Floodians. Pffffft. If we had our way....

The Ambassador likes to refer to himself in the first person plural, thinks it sounds regal or some shit like that. Alas, his mumbling is cut off, as the final results from Security Council voting are announced on the closed circuit television. The Ambassador tries not to notice when a group of delegates in the corner toast the results with what looks like glasses of sangria.

The poor bast... er, the, Ambassador rubs his temples. He runs different scenarios through his mind -- strike this clause? add this clause? campaign more? -- but they all lead to the same conclusion. The Security Council is the wrong place for him. He mumbles to himself again, this time in a much lower voice.

Argh... why couldn't that TARIS... that TARDISH... that phone booth come crashing through here today instead of last week?

The Ambassador sighs, and checks his watch. Ten minutes until the next wormhole home.

Home.

He smiles to himself. He needs a day off after this debacle. Besides, it will give him and his delegation time to work on their next proposal. He leaves the bar, with a little, somewhat wobbly bounce in his step.

Dish... dish is the one they'll remmber us for.

"Its too bad about your SC condemnation. The bastard deserved it for all these shenanigans," She offers the Wrapperian the neighboring barstool, "I'll buy you a drink for trying."

[Rotwood]

Felicia stares vacantly at her bottle "Well now that they have res.. resin... given up their membership, they hold about as much water as what's in this bottle. As for that cow... Last time I made a comment about a species I ended up here!"

"That got you sent here? Did you follow that up with an attempt at murder? I got sent here for punching another diplomat after something of a cross-cultural misunderstanding regarding his amorous advances on a young diplomatic aide. Anyways, cow or not, I'm worried they'll confiscate my pruning shears at this rate, and at the increasing rate of the drivel the debate floor has been receiving, we're gonna need 'em."

"I referred to an Iridean member of our parliament as being salad. They are kind of a humanoid plant thingy. Anyway, suf-suff- It didn't go down well. Well, not like dish rum. Dish good rum."

The Applebanian delegate orders a non-alcoholic beverage.

Felicia stares at the Applebania delegate blankly "Wait... What?!

[Separatist Peoples]

"I suspect the worst is over. The queues are clear, the only problem with some of the new members is over enthusiasm."
Having finished the martinis, she starts working on the unidentified blue thing.

"Repeal GAR#2 is still on the way. We don't have the same Secretariat protection from that shitstorm as before. As for the new guys...its C.D.S.P. ambassadorial policy, as laid down by my predecessor, Ambassador Dezzoram Sa'Diablo, to hate, without mercy, all new delegations until such time as they prove themselves, or cover our tab for the evening. Fortunately for you, Ms. Landsfree, you proved yourself competent rather quickly."

As the good, but tired, ambassador speaks, his steak is placed in front of him. Tucking in with vigor, Bell watches the Wrapperian stumble a bit as he enters out of the corner of his eye.

"Haven't seen somebody stumbling around here that bad since I introduced Stephanie over there to Asgarian ales with gold coins in them. I suspect we'll all be that way before long. I doubt you really think everything will be fine in the Snakepit with an array like that," he observed, watching the level of the blue stuff drop rapidly.