maskormenacelogs | open | a home for assorted things in june

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open | a home for assorted things in june

WHO: Rupert von Hentzau, Ruritania's worst eligible bachelor
WHERE: Maurtia Falls & Jeopardy but open to other prompts/places if needs be!
WHEN: Throughout June
WHAT: An open log for assorted bits and bobs. There are two open starters within but feel free to hit me up on plurk (

fizzier) if you would like something different or just chuck your own starter in the comments below.
WARNINGS: NSFW language and themes, probably

Bad News Bar, late at night
The filthiest little whiskey joint in all Maurtia Falls

Just as he had said, Rupert is a habitual client of this particular bar. He’s not a problem client, far from it – Rupert is a gregarious patron and is just as generous with his filthy jokes and ridiculous stories as he is with his tips for the servers. He’s there most nights without fail, steadily maintaining a light to middling level of pleasant drunkenness, and makes a point of talking to very nearly anyone and everyone he happens to make eye contact with, for better or for worse. Usually worse.

Tonight Rupert’s in fine form and holding court in his usual booth at the far end of the bar, with a good line of sight for both the entrance and the kitchen door (with the back exit beyond it). There’s a deck of cards in his hands and a half bottle of his favourite red wine on the table, and he laughs brightly as he sends another losing patron away with less money than he’d had five minutes ago.

“Ah, bad luck, my friend!” Rupert calls as the man sourly slouches away, shaking his head. “You know what you say, don't you? Winning at cards is like sex - if you don’t have a good partner, you’d better have a good hand!”

Rupert laughs, mostly to himself, and shuffles the deck as he awaits his next challenger.

Jekyll Park, Jeopardy, early afternoon
Get fucked, squirrels!

The problem with visiting a place like the Bad News Bar so often was the inevitable fall-out the next day. Rupert wakes the next day feeling worse for wear, and spends a good few hours lounging around Jeopardy #001 feeling delicate. But before long hunger and boredom drives him out of the house and out into the world, bundled up in designer sweatpants and a 100% imPure t-shirt, in search of a deliciously greasy hangover cure.

He settles on a hot dog stand in the local park, a firm favourite, where the vendor has even less of an idea of what goes into the hotdog meat than Rupert does. Spiders probably, given how everything in this town seems to involve spiders somehow. Spiders or not, Rupert buys two and settles on a park bench looking pleased with himself.

A curious squirrel joins him on the bench, edging its way closer to Rupert and his hotdogs. Distracted, Rupert stares intently at the creature for a few quiet moments, then barks a sharp laugh.

“Oh, no, I'm afraid not. I deserve these. Both of them,” Rupert replies dismissively, shaking his head at the squirrel. “Now do fuck off and let me enjoy this in peace.”

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[ It's common for all of the wrestlers to abscond on the nearest bar able to hold them all at a single table after a particularly big match, which is where Magnus finds himself now. They're not the most inconspicuous group in the world; even the ones that have bothered changing out of their uniforms into street clothes still have the remnants of makeup smeared across their faces and are made far too loud and cheerful thanks to the high of a successful show and the help of a little too much ale. Even in that crowd, Magnus is the least conspicuous of them all, head and shoulders above everyone else, a large furred coat draped over his shoulders and a hearty boom to his voice. There's some chatter - go on, Mags, you gamble, right? - before he gets to his feet and ambles over to Rupert's table, the thick soles of his boots heavy against the worn wooden floors. ]

I hear you're looking for a new challenger!

Oh, always.

[ Rupert beams brightly as Magnus approaches and notes that he's certainly an intimidatingly large kind of chap, not that Rupert has the sense to be intimidated by anything. He gestures at the vacant space opposite him in the booth with one hand and lifts his bottle of good (by his standards at least) red wine enquiringly. ]

Please do take a seat, sir! And may I offer you a drink?

We-ell, I'll never say no to a drink, [ Magnus says. The chairlegs scrape noisily against the floor as he flops in the seat, idly popping his knuckles and cracking his wrists as he looks at the little assembly Rupert's collected amongst himself. ]

Always a good way of meeting new friends! [ Wine's rarely his first choice, but it's like he said: he never says no to a drink. He reaches across the table to shake Rupert's hand. ]

Hail and well met! The name's Magnus Burnsides. Annnnnnd you are?

Rupert of Hentzau, at your service! [ Rupert declares with a winsome smile and a firm handshake. ] Although lately I suppose I've become Rupert of Jeopardy. Not sure it has the same ring to it...

[ He's generous with his red wine as he begins to pour a healthy amount in to a spare glass; Magnus looks like the kind of man who can take a drink or two, and Rupert's generosity isn't entirely altruistic. While pouring he gives the man opposite an assessing look before pushing the resulting glass - very nearly brimming over - in Magnus's direction. ]

So! You're a card-player, yes?

Rupert it is! As for cards? Ehhhhh. [ He waggles one hand in mid-air. ] I dabble. Buddy of mine, now he was the card player. Always walked away with people's shoes. And money, of course, but mainly the shoes. He'd set up a table kind of like yours.

[ Magnus takes a swig of the wine, then leans forward, one hand braced on the table and the other curved over his mouth like he's telling a secret. ]

Tell you why: he always cheats.

[ Which he's not putting past this Rupert fella either. Lucky for Magnus, he tends to get on just fine with cheaters. ]

Oh, you don't say! [ He beams brightly in response, knowing now that Magnus must surely have guessed that Rupert has a card up each sleeve, quite literally. ] The cad. How on earth does he sleep at night, I wonder.

[ Shuffling the cards idly between his long fingers Rupert lets his gaze wander the room, inspecting the footwear of the many and varied gentlemen he has already taken money from tonight. He shakes his head thoughtfully, announcing: ]

Forcefully removing the shoes of this lot would be an act of charity, I say. Have you heard of such a thing as Crocs? I discovered them quite recently. Simply terrible.

He sleeps with very warm feet, I'll tell you that much. [ And then: ] I have heard of crocs! I love them!

[ Which really oughtn't be a surprise, with how gaudy Magnus' general appearance is - though, for his part, he's wearing big stompy leather boots with reinforced soles and thick laces, more medieval in nature than not, and the sort that you wear while either doing quite a lot of physical labour or have a habit of kicking people. Magnus is in the merry circumstances of having both of these traits.

He places his hands flat on the table, leaning forwards a little. Does he figure that Rupert's cheating? Yes. Will he play around anyway? Eventually, yes. What can he say? He likes cheaters. He's always got on well with them, so long as they've got a good enough sense of humour to back that shit up. ]

They've come up with the weirdest shit here. You see shutter shades yet? Dumbest things I've ever seen.

[ He owns five pairs. ]

Never heard of them, [ He replies breezily. ] But here's an idea...

[ It’s his turn to lean conspiratorially over the table now. ]

If you win a hand against me then I’ll give you my boots, how about that?

[ He extends a leg from beneath the table and shows off the gleaming black patent leather riding boots – not his favourite pair, but a damn fine set that had cost him an eye-watering amount of money to have made to his exact size. ]

And if I win... well, I'm not so sure about the 'shutter shades' if they're anything like crocs. What do you think would be a fitting prize?

[ He absolutely does not want your boots, Magnus, no offence. ]

[ Magnus leans over, looking at Rupert's boots. They are very nice boots. If he won them, Taako would be proud - in spirit, anyhow. Will he win? Probably not. He's pretty sure he's got Rupert pegged.

But he's never been one to back down from a fight he's been pretty sure he's going to lose. ]

Well, Rupert, I say you've got yourself a deal! But you're not taking my boots. I need these stompers. [ He stomps them against the worn wooden floor of the bar, as though to make a point. ]

Tell you what. You look like a man who appreciates the arts. If you win, I'll carve you something. Around boot-sized, let's say.

A carving, you say? [ Rupert grins in pleasure at the idea, openly enchanted with the idea of a carving of his own; for all his card-playing (and -card-cheating) skills, he's generous with his emotions. ] Delightful! Why not!

[ He returns to intently shuffling the cards, his gaze dropping down to his hands as he passes the cards expertly back and forth between his fingers. ]

Do you play Brag? I'm open to other games if you prefer something else...

Brag? Never heard of it. [ Magnus scratches at his cheek. ] Most of the games I know from back home didn't make it over here either. How about you and me start with Blackjack? Nice and simple.

[ Easy to cheat too, especially if you can count cards. Which Magnus can't. But he'll participate quite enthusiastically anyway. ]

Blackjack! Yes, a fine idea. Best of three rounds, say?

[ An even finer idea considering the literal aces up his sleeve. Not that he's going to try and cheat his way through the first round - it's almost certainly better to let the first round's cards fall as they may. Rupert makes swift work of giving the cards a dilligent, thorough shuffle before dealing out two pair of cards - one card face up, one face down - to each of them. ]

Forgive me if this is an impertinent question - [ He says conversationally as he glances furtively at his face-down card. ] - but you don't seem quite as modern as the rest of the crowd in this bar. What time are you from?

[ Magnus slaps the table. ]

You're on!

[ He looks at his card, a little less subtly than Rupert did. Here's the thing about Magnus: nothing about him seems to be subtle, and his recklessness shines through in everything he does. He will keep asking for more cards past the time he ought to. When it works, it works swimmingly. When it doesn't, he's more a fool for it. ]

You got that right. I'm an imPort. Where I'm from, we don't have... [ He waves, a little vaguely. ] Most of this. Phones, cars, TVs and what have you. Less of that, more magic. But the question ain't when. I'm not even from Earth.

Oh! You're one of these marvellous voyagers from across the stars? [ Rupert lifts his brows in delighted curiosity. It never gets old, that strange thrill of knowing that the galaxy is far brighter and more overflowing with life than he (or any of his close-minded kin back home) could ever have possibly imagined. ]

Go on, you can't stop there - [ He crosses his hands over his cards, happy to briefly forget about their game in favour of learning more about the ridiculous amount of things in the universe that he knows he'll never, ever see with his own eyes. ] Tell me more of your home world! I live for these stories.

Nah, different thing! It's not that I travel through space, though I guess that would be cool. It's just that the planet I'm from isn't like this one. Ain't even called Earth. The place I'm from is called Faerûn.

[ ...which is a continent, not a world. But his world also, very conveniently, has never been labeled. Weird how that works! ]

The world as I know it is magic. And it's filled with way more critters than the ones you see here. More races, too. I'm not talkin' skin colour. Well, sometimes skin colour! But we got elves, dwarves, orcs, dragonborn... that sort of thing.

[ He leans in, voice 'dropping' to a stage-whisper. ] No offense, bud, but this place is a little dull in comparison.

[ Faerûn! It sounds exotic. Rupert can practically hear the circumflex. He laughs brightly at the stage whisper and waves an elegant, dismissive hand. ]

Oh, none taken, I assure you! Imagine how boring it was here two hundred years ago without all the gadgetry they have today. Awful.

[ Elves and dwarves sound far too fantastical but at least he has an idea what they are. He cants his head, birdlike and inquisitive. ]

Dragonborn, you said? Is that a literal name?

Not easily offended, eh? A man after my own heart! [ Magnus beams, relaxing back in his chair, managing to sprawl even more than his considerable bulk would already take up. ]

It's like this place is, uh... it's like missing a different sense. You don't know it's there if you weren't born with it, but if you were? Phew, do you ever notice it was missing. [ He props his ankle up on his knee. ]

Yeah, it's literal. Pretty literal. One of my best friends is a Dragonborn, she's, uh, this high? [ Pretty short, actually. Far shorter than him, by at least a foot. ] Covered in blue scales, she's got a snout, and these big ol' pointy teeth. I keep asking her if she can breathe fire, but she never says shit. She probably just likes surprising people. Rogues. You know how they are.

[ ... does he? ]

His sight commanded two things, and in a very specific sequence: Rupert's handsome face, and then the deck in his hands. Chilton paled, his stomach surging with a fresh anxiety; even he couldn't pretend a crown of competent card playing, he lack a certain degree of deftness. And fortune. Mostly the latter, Chilton would conclude, even if he lacking might have weighed in equal measure.

No matter, he thought steeling himself with a whiskey neat in hand. He'd begin gently, easily. He would come into this naturally -- that's what he repeated to himself in his mind again and again, with every step closer towards Rupert.

Just act naturally.

Chilton approached the corner booth, so carefully positioned, armed with his drink and a sharp little smile. A man whose luck (and skill) surely couldn't compete with Rupert's brushed past Chilton, shouldering him roughly on the way out.

"Oh! Making friends already?" Chilton asked the man he had known about, but never formally met until this hour.

"But of course! Taking men's coins earns me many friends here..."

A silent chorus of dirty looks were directed at Rupert but he gamely ignored them, focusing instead on the man who has approached him. There wasn't much in Rupert's mind to make him put two and two together, to realise that this was the same anon he'd spoken to before. Such was his life that being approached in a bar by attractive older gentlemen - looking a little nervous, maybe - was out of the ordinary. He gestured invitingly at the now-vacant seat opposite him in the booth.

"Come, won't you join me, sir?" Rupert appealed with a winning smile. "Are you a card player?"

[He really didn't plan on running into his roommate today, but he was looking for a quiet place to read for a few hours. Instead, upon seeing Rupert, he knows that's not going to happen.]

Fighting with squirrels now? You really will fight anything.

And a good morning to you too, my dear Mr. Crane! [ Rupert grins and gives his housemate a cheerfully inspecting look from tip to toe. ] Enjoying the day, are you? Good, good. But don't you bother asking me to share either, I've had enough of that from the squirrels.

[His inspection will find he's dressed casually in jeans and a simple short sleeved button up, with a hardcover library book tucked under an arm.]

Somehow I think you're about to lose that battle.

[He motions to the squirrel trying to take advantage of the distraction by making off with a hotdog.]

Oh?

[ He turns idly and watches as the squirrel disappears with a disapproving tut beneath his breath. ]

Rudeness. [ He watches a moment before conversationally adding: ]

I could make him choke on it, you know. But I won't, the poor hungry bastard probably needs it more than I do...

[ Still. He takes a bite of his remaining hotdog and chews in thoughtful silence for a moment. ]

So, what's your business about town today, Crane?

Oh, the great lord earl and count viscount marquis Rupert Von Hentzau... feuding with a squirrel. How the mighty have fallen.

[Thanks to his long and storied career in politics, he actually does know the difference between those titles. It doesn't mean he can't pretend he doesn't.]

I was hoping to find a quiet place to read. I'd do it in the backyard but I was worried you'd try to stab me.

[ He can feel it, Roland's attempt to needle him. But he grins brightly in reply and waves an elegant hand, repaying the other man's insults with nonchalance and carelessness. ]

Oh, I've duelled - [ he means killed ] - humans who were more verminous than those squirrels. Beastly little shits. By comparison to those lot, the illustrious squirrels look rather noble.

[ It helps too, having that Porter-given mental link to all animal kind. It's made hunting quite a challenge. At the mention of backyards and stabbings Rupert shrugs. ]

Have you done anything requiring a stabbing lately, Crane? I must have missed it. But I'm happy to oblige if you'd like me too...

True, but they don't pose a challenge, and we both know how you feel about that.

[The beauty of his armsband, he can immediately pull out a sword whenever Rupert tries something.]

I didn't seem to think I was the problem. I thought that honor belonged to your ego and the fact you haven't beaten me yet.

[ Roland dives in on the attack, but whether or not he scores a hit... Rupert is trying not to show. It's annoying, completely and utterly fucking annoying, that he hasn't managed to best the other man yet. And on any other day perhaps he'd throw down right here and right now in the park, before the entire world. But he's hungover and full and enjoying the sunshine a little too much to be so easily nettled today. So instead he wags an elegant finger in chastisement. ]

Perhaps mine isn't the ego in danger here! Words like those betray your perilous pride, my friend.

[ He pauses to take another bite of his food, then adds: ]

You should mind them more carefully lest someone challenge you to a duel right in front of this poor hotdog merchant.

I've got nothing to prove. [An easy answer.] If I should lose, it's only a lesson on what not to do next time.

[He grins.]

Honestly, I wouldn't mind having a go against some squirrels with toothpick swords.

[ Roland backs off in his attack, which means it must be Rupert's turn to dive in with a cut. He finishes off the last of his hotdog, licking his thunbs with relish, then remarks: ]

No, that's a terrible idea. You'd just step on them, what with that inelegant footwork of yours.

Perhaps. But when your life is on the line, no one is watching where you place your feet.

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open | a home for assorted things in june

bar!

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Bad News Bar

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Get fucked squirrels

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