The World Assembly Strangers' Bar

[The Puddle Jumping Wads of Wrapper]

When the apparition speaks, it is with a combination of the buzzing of the bees, creaking wood and hollow whisper:
...THIS BELONGS TO YOU...

(Wad Ahume, body shivering and eye twitching, begins to mumble. After a moment he stops and holds up an index finger, mouthing, "One moment." He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, then slowly lets it out. He opens his eyes, smiles naturally, and takes the tablet.)

AHUME: Thank you. I'll be sure to turn it in to the proper authorities. I beg your pardon, have you seen Miss Leveret around, or perhaps Mister Milkus?

[Deropia]

"So, our impending doom aside, how's everyone holding up?" MacAlister asks the room.

"Well, I've got plenty of alcohol, so I'm not doing too badly," mutters Paulson. "Maybe I ought to try some of that methanol stuff that my employees told me about. They say it could leave me blind or, better yet, kill me."

"If it comes down to it, I just might join you in a shot of methanol..." he says solemnly

An unstoppable force rips one of the doors nearly off of its hinges, and then something pushes its way through the barricade. Some vicious-looking (and sounding) black wasps swarm around and above it, sounding like small buzzsaws. The... creature looks like someone crossed a tree with an octopus and a praying mantis and then turned it into an undead, glowing eyes and all. It walks slowly, but in the manner of an elemental force that will not be swayed from its path or mission by anything short of an extinction level event.

"HOLY SHIT!!" Jason exclaims, diving behind one of the tables and scrambling for his pistol.

[Herby]

Well the dots are vinyl but the paint is a water wait wait wait WAIT Wad Mumbles! How ya doin'? What the hell are you doin' here?

AHUME: Doing well. I'm here with a contingency of Wads to clean out our old office and retrieve the Stargate that no one knows about, wink wink. Oh, Arya sends her regards, as does Ari, although in his case I believe it was, "Say hi to the mechanical hosebeast."

Hosebeast, ehh? Sounds like Wad Gramps is missin’ his thesaurus, right Wad Roget? Okay okay ehhh lessee, Vic! We get it, we get it, seriously ehhh nice costume bud. Neville! Another drink on me, this one for Punkinhead over here! And ehhh lessee one for Christmas tree head and his little lady, one for the ehhhhh the giant scary tree thing over there, and oooh yeah one for the Wad who came dressed as a goddam geek, heh heh. Ooh one for J-Mac, nice zombie hunter outfit ya got there! Okay okay who else is in costume?

[Potted Plants United]

AHUME: Thank you. I'll be sure to turn it in to the proper authorities. I beg your pardon, have you seen Miss Leveret around, or perhaps Mister Milkus?

...YES, AND I HAVE PASSED ON... THE MESSAGE BUT NOW I MUST GO... BEFORE THE WASPS START ATTACKING THE LIVING...

"HOLY SHIT!!" Jason exclaims, diving behind one of the tables and scrambling for his pistol.

The tree creature turns to leave and starts towards the door again. However, it pauses to look at the armed human.

...DO NOT WORRY... BEINGS MADE OF LIVING FLESH ARE SAFE... FOR NOW...

The thing exits the Bar with the same steady pace as it had entered, its living halo of deathly insects following it out. Before its heavy footsteps have gone far from the door, there's a very human scream that ends in gurgling noises.

...WELL, MOSTLY SAFE...

Then there is just silence.

[Imperial Polk County]

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! Ohhhh Q-Bert you're a live one, ain't ya? Ho ho hohoho marvelous, just marvelous! Neville! The Polker gets a shot, no no no two shots on me too! Ohhhh that's awesome dude but ehhhhhhh no still not revvin' my engine if you know what I mean. Heh. Heh heh.

"Are you sure?" Drane twirls around. "Well then, should have gone for the lederhosen I guess. Bartender, two screwdrivers please. So... Number 53... do I get a ride later, or no?"

[WA Kitty Kops]

Okay okay who else is in costume?

The Chief Inshpekshuuner hadn't minded traveling with Herby and had certainly felt better at being on the inside when there was shooting happening on the outside, but this was a chance for free cream!

"I's wearing a car that's painted like a ladybug!" he said loudly, knowing that Herby would probably hear him even if he'd whispered the words.

Also, he'd need to get out soon or there were going to be indoors puddles.

[Herby]

"So... Number 53... do I get a ride later, or no?"

Ya know what, you're my kind o' people, Q-Bert. A ride. Later. But first we party. Oh ehhhh Neville, one more on my tab, a dish o' cream for my feline passenger, pronto! Now ehhh lessee we need some music. Hey hey hey, whadaya say, Wad, how 'bout one last time on the karaoke machine before ya go?

[Imperial Polk County]

Ya know what, you're my kind o' people, Q-Bert. A ride. Later. But first we party.

"Okay, I need to ask. I don't mind a nickname, since you've given one to virtually everyone here, but why 'Q-Bert'?"

[Sierra Lyricalia]

Ya know what, you're my kind o' people, Q-Bert. A ride. Later. But first we party.

"Okay, I need to ask. I don't mind a nickname, since you've given one to virtually everyone here, but why 'Q-Bert'?"

"Obviously it's because you brought the funk. I'd just roll with it if I was you."

[Araraukar]

Johan Milkus entered the Bar, apparently so concentrated on the document in his hand that he completely failed to notice the smashed remnants of the barricades, or the numerous soldiers milling about, or the car painted like a ladybug, but he glanced up from the paper...

Drane twirls around. "Well then, should have gone for the lederhosen I guess."

...and stopped to stare.

"I wonder if it's Friday night in this world's calendar...?" he muttered quietly, shook his head and headed towards the bar counter.

[Glaeschland]

Jonathan Greene shambles into the bar and orders an intergalactic vodka-whiskey blend from the bartender, whose name he can't remember nor cares to at the moment. He takes his drink and shambles over to a booth, flops down in it, chugs down about half his drink, and massages his temples -- it's rather clear to anyone who looks that the man appears very worn out and exhausted.

[Allied Sapients]

Rirten tilts their head to the side. "What are the costumes for?" they ask the nearest person. Yes, that is what they chose to focus on instead of the giant walking wasp tree. For all Rirten knew, the walking tree was just another alien like they were.

[The Puddle Jumping Wads of Wrapper]

"So... Number 53... do I get a ride later, or no?"

Ya know what, you're my kind o' people, Q-Bert. A ride. Later. But first we party. Oh ehhhh Neville, one more on my tab, a dish o' cream for my feline passenger, pronto! Now ehhh lessee we need some music. Hey hey hey, whadaya say, Wad, how 'bout one last time on the karaoke machine before ya go?

(Ahume, distracted momentarily by Milkus's entrance, nods. First things first, he thinks -- which of course, in Wad Ahume's world, means karaoke before business.)

AHUME: All right. I know just the song for the occasion, a theme song from an old Tau'ri television series. Hang on.

(Wad Ahume, for one last time, approaches the karaoke stage. He finds the proper selection and, with a playful smirk, approaches the microphone, and ad-libs a couple of the lyrics to fit the setting. He then proceeds to pour his soul into every note, as if he were giving a Karaoke League performance.)

Making your way in the W-A takes everything you've got
Taking a break from the debate halls, sure would help a lot
Wouldn't you like to get away?

Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name
And they're always glad you came
You wanna be where you can see, our troubles are all the same
You wanna be where everybody knows your name

(Minutes later, when he finishes the song, he picks up an empty glass and holds it up to the room.)

AHUME: Cheers!

[Glaeschland]

Jonathan had relaxed a bit after taking a couple hour break; he now sipped on what little was left of his blended drink and looked to be attempting to make a dent in what seemed to be near-literal mountains of paperwork. He sighed a bit as he worked, but, as implied before, he seemed to be in a better mood than when he came in. He shifts every so often, his holstered pistol -- a very intriguingly designed pistol (of which its purpose and ammunition cannot be determined by looks), different from a conventional one and even from the Gauss pistol he brandished before -- moving comfortably and smoothly in-line with his waist and thigh. Had one not met him before, it would be apparent to them that he appeared more well-equipped for a gunfight rather than diplomatic relations. (OOC: I guess this would be as good a time as any to describe how he looks.)

Jonathan Greene's short, dark brown hair, its length looking to be a few weeks past a buzzcut, adorned the top of his head. There seemed to be nothing significant about his face or his very dark brown eyes reading the paperwork before him other than what appeared to be faded acne scarring here and there. Jon's body, though, was a somewhat different story. Due to his nation's compulsory military service, along with the flexible yet nigh-ruthlessly efficient physical training programs that were integrated to some degree or another throughout its branches of armed forces, Jon was a stocky, toned man, his muscles -- though not on par with a bodybuilder's, they still proclaimed great physical fitness and strength -- snugly stretching the short sleeves of his ashy gray shirt. What seemed to be a slim, flexible body armor vest, bearing the design of his nation's flag, covered much of the rest of his shirt. Below, he appeared to be wearing dark-colored blue jeans, his aforementioned pistol holstered on the right side of his waist. Finally, his footwear consisted of what looked to be a pair of short-top combat boots.

[Alantuff]

Brandon Jupiter entered the bar, hoping to recover from the Security Council's latest abnormality. He hadn't slept in two days, and just finished a meeting about a proposal of condemnation. His strained red eyes screamed sleep, as he stumbled through the crowded bar. "Uhh, Security Council... chamber... no more... too much..." he stuttered, before falling to the ground in front of about fifty ambassadors from well-respected nations.

[Glaeschland]

Brandon Jupiter entered the bar, hoping to recover from the Security Council's latest abnormality. He hadn't slept in two days, and just finished a meeting about a proposal of condemnation. His strained red eyes screamed sleep, as he stumbled through the crowded bar. "Uhh, Security Council... chamber... no more... too much..." he stuttered, before falling to the ground in front of about fifty ambassadors from well-respected nations.

Jon looks up from his papers at the dull thump and decides to get up and help the fallen ambassador up.

[Tinfect]

"... Security Council..."

Unfortunately for Ambassador Jupiter, the Gnomes do not take kindly to those would dare to violate their most holy of laws. As he uttered those cursed words, the Bar became filled with the sound of a rhythmic stomping. Seconds later, a deep, monotone chanting none could hope to identify joined it.

The Bar shook with every step, the chanting growing ever louder. The lights began to flicker, glasses rattling on their shelves. And then, as the sound reached its peak, silence.

Then the Bar's doors were flung open and the March began anew, the horrid chant revealing it's true form! "There is no Security Council! There is no Security Council!" The voice of a thousand diminutive creatures boomed.

And then they flooded into the room, hoisted Ambassador Jupiter above their pointed caps, and threw him out the window into the reflecting pool.

And then the horde fell silent, and slowly shuffled out of the Bar.

[Wallenburg]

"Huh," wonders Paulson, watching the gnomes leave the bar. He looks to a nearby Wallenburgian soldier. "Are the zombies gone then? Soldier, get out there and clear the area."

"Yes...sir." The young man exits the bar and looks around him. "Well, I'll be. They are all gone."

Paulson's eyes brighten with a bit of hope, and his grim demeanor lightens for just a moment. "Excellent! All of you, back to the office! Shut down that portal and check the office for hostiles or survivors."

[Skylus]

I am now lost...

"...There's a portal? And Herby, am I ever going to get to check out your dash and stuff? No? I actually like this dress, I'm going to keep it,
maybe get some more."
Madi then took out a phone and answered it.
"Yeah? What?! Yeah, yeah, I'll be over there. just don't freak out when I show up wearing a German dress. Why am I wearing one? Long story. See you in a few minutes."
Madi put the phone away, carefully moved herself around the horde of gnomes, and paused at the entrance.
"I happen to know people in South Park...and...They're dealing with a Nazi Zombie invasion so...Guess I'm going to go help them?"
Right on cue, as soon as she opened the door, a zombie reached for Madi, but one swift stroke of her sword killed it.
"That was easy. Later."
A second later, she poked her head in the doorway.
"Anyone else want to come?"

[Herby]

Ya know what, you're my kind o' people, Q-Bert. A ride. Later. But first we party.

"Okay, I need to ask. I don't mind a nickname, since you've given one to virtually everyone here, but why 'Q-Bert'?"

Well I damn well can't call you Herby, can I? No no see you ehhh you said it yourself you're the fourth, right? A quadruple Herbert? A Q-Bert. Right? Right!

AHUME: Cheers!

Very nice, very nice! Neville, one more for the Wad on me before he goes!

And Herby, am I ever going to get to check out your dash and stuff? No?

Sure just ehhhhhh okay never mind bye bye.

[Glaeschland]

"... Security Council..."

Unfortunately for Ambassador Jupiter, the Gnomes do not take kindly to those would dare to violate their most holy of laws. As he uttered those cursed words, the Bar became filled with the sound of a rhythmic stomping. Seconds later, a deep, monotone chanting none could hope to identify joined it.

The Bar shook with every step, the chanting growing ever louder. The lights began to flicker, glasses rattling on their shelves. And then, as the sound reached its peak, silence.

Then the Bar's doors were flung open and the March began anew, the horrid chant revealing it's true form! "There is no Security Council! There is no Security Council!" The voice of a thousand diminutive creatures boomed.

And then they flooded into the room, hoisted Ambassador Jupiter above their pointed caps, and threw him out the window into the reflecting pool.

And then the horde fell silent, and slowly shuffled out of the Bar.

Jonathan watched as the horde of gnomes snatched the ambassador from him and threw him out the window. Greene frowned at the hostile gesture, but decided to return to his seat. There was no reason to start a fight...yet.

[Alantuff]

The day after the gnome attack, Brandon Jupiter attempted a second visit to the bar.

"Can I get a nice bottle of Barry-Cola please?" Jupiter asked the bartender, who was surprised at his choice. While diving into his delicious drink, he saw the gnomes sitting at a booth close to him. He quickly closed his drink and ran out the door.

[Glaeschland]

The day after the gnome attack, Brandon Jupiter attempted a second visit to the bar.

"Can I get a nice bottle of Barry-Cola please?" Jupiter asked the bartender, who was surprised at his choice. While diving into his delicious drink, he saw the gnomes sitting at a booth close to him. He quickly closed his drink and ran out the door.

Jonathan had already returned to the bar by then, seemingly with much less paperwork. He noticed Jupiter and thought to go after him, but wasn't sure if it was wise to pander in the dealings of other nations.

[Whovian Tardisia]

The gnomes, in their wisdom, had happened to open the window when they defenestrated Ambassador Jupiter. This came in quite handy, as not long after, a familiar Blue Police Box suddenly flew through it, skidding across the floor to come to a halt in its usual corner. But the Ambassador who stepped out was not his usual cheery self. He stumbled out of the box, his shirt bloody and his hand over his neck, and collapsed to the floor. A woman unfamiliar to the other patrons followed, paying no mind to the strange environment around her, immediately coming to the Ambassador's aid. "Rupert, please! Hang in there! I can't lose you, not like this!" She was on the verge of tears, cradling his head in her arms. He looked her in the eyes. "I wish I could tell you that you won't, but..." He trailed off as his hands began to glow with an orange light. "In a way, that would be lying. Help me up." He continued. Slowly regaining his strength, and with the unknown woman's help, he returned to his feet. "It is with much regret, I must say," He began, turning towards the rest of the bar, "that the Ambassador Pink you see before you now is not the one who will be standing here in a few seconds. However..." He paused as the orange light began to intensify, and spread to his neck. "However, if those gentlemen have done their job right," He added, gesturing towards the gnomes, "It shouldn't be too much bother. So long, and-" He was cut off as the orange light overtook him completely, his arms being thrown out to the sides as it began to burst forth from his sleeves and his collar, the excess becoming a fountain of Cheetos thanks to the nullifiers. A yell was let forth from within the glow, slowly changing to a slightly different pitch, before the light faded. The unfamiliar woman stood in shock, as a new man stood in the center of the bar.

[Glaeschland]

Jonathan finished his paperwork with a great sigh of relief, then got up and ordered another intergalactic vodka-whiskey blend from the bartender. He glanced over at the orange glowy guy, but his interest was piqued when he noticed piles of Cheetos (Jonathan's favorite snack chip) around the man.