Belle peeps inside, eyes wide as she takes in the scene. She starts to bite her nails nervously as she makes her way to the corner of the bar and asks for a Mountain Dew and a baggy of Skittles. Her favorite.
Brook walks in carrying her trusty blue notebook of secret awesomeness. She asks for a rootbeer and a waffle (yes you read that right, a waffle). Then, she retreats to a table in the corner to write in mock peace.
Jas stumbles in, drunk off too much popcorn, cotton candy and laughter.
'I need some misery', she says, before slumping in one of the conviently placed sofas.
I am nothing but a mouthful of 'sorry's, half-hearted apologies that roll of my tongue, smoothquick, like 'r's or maybe like pocket candy that's just a bit too sweet.
She entered the Tavern taking in the scene. She was glad for the cover that her cloak provided, she pulled the hood up just a little further. She walked past everyone and sat down at a lone table, pulling out a black pen and notebook preparing to write her piece...
"Me I'm dishonest but a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. Honestly its the honest ones you have to watch out for because you can never tell when they are going to do something incredibly...stupid." ~Capt. Jack Sparrow
Skis walks inside, wearing a long, dark overcoat. The red eyes peering from his mask sends shivers through the room. He turns around and walks back toward the door.
Talking resumes, only slightly. Skis leaves.
By nature, all language is flawed.
"Peace cannot be kept by force, it can only be achieved by understanding," - Albert Einstein
A tall, shifty looking man's eyes met Sop at the door of the Tavern. He stopped and studied her from head to toe with his scorching red eyes. Sop nodded cautiously at the man and he growled and clambered over the cobbles into the gloom, without uttering a single word.
Skis. Sop had heard the rumours about the villianous tyrant that went by the name of Skis. She'd only been living in the mystical land of YWS for a few months but she had already learnt about how much the localers feared Skis. She'd heard that he had never spoken a single word to one of the townspeople and the only time that anyone came into contact with him was usually at night, when he liked to come out and lurk the streets, seeing what was going on. At first Sop didn't believe the tales because all the friends she'd made so far in YWS had been so welcoming and well...lovely and so she thought it impossible that there would be someone so secretive living amongst these people. Sop didn't want to believe that Skis was evil. Surely something must have happened in the past to made Skis behave the way he did and to make the localers tremble whenever he was near. She was going to find out what his secret was.
As Skis had left the Tavern and the doors had swung open, a bustling scene had been revealed .
A dismal room the size of a vast lounge, filled with people was what hid behind the mahogany doors of the Tavern. Smoke swirled from pipes and cigars and hooligans fought to the front of the never-ending queue. Some people laughed excitedly whilst others frothed at the mouth whilst telling stories about their previous hard day of writing. Revolting lampshades covered the very limited badly lit bulbs and a group of hyper, sugar-filled youngsters slouched around a table, playing cards whilst singing (out of tune) about drunken sailors. Despite the hideous interior of the Tavern Sops found the whole vibe somewhat homely. In the end it was the warm scent of cinammon, milk and sugar cane that finally persuaded Sop to enter the room and leave the cold, wintery fog.
The heavy doors slammed shut with a thud and the people stopped their panic-stricken chatter. When they saw Sop they all sighed with relief and burst out laughing. They probably thought that it was Skis again but instead it was only Sop. They studied her dusty military boots, battered, ripped trousers, stained shirt and scruffy, chestnut hair. In her hand she was armed with a feathered quill. How could they be so stupid to mistake this ruffian for Skis!?
Sop walked up to the bar, ignoring the muffled whispering and searching eyes and was greeted by a polite, smiling man.
'Hey there!' said the man, 'You must be Sop. Welcome to the Tavern. Or I should probably say welcome to YWS as you've not been here too long. I'm Nate.' Sop shook Nate's hand, feeling self-concious about the state of her grubby, yellowed fingernails.
'What can I get you to drink?' he asked.
Sop scratched her head, anxiously.
'Well, thing is...I don't have any mon...' Nate raised is hand to stop Sop from speaking and chuckled.
'We won't be having any of that. You're new here. Everything's on the house until you get settled.'
Sop grinned, revealing her blackened teeth. 'Cool! Thanks Nate! In that case I'll have a strawberry milkshake, with whipped cream, marsh mellows, hundreds and thousands, chocolate shavings and a cheeky cherry on top!'
Nate grimaced playfully and began pouring the drink.
'Hey Sop,' said a friendly voice. 'I'm Jas.' Jas sat down on one of the barstools next to Sop. Sop nodded in acknoledgment. 'Is Ski's still out there?' There was a hint of terror present in Jas's voice.
Sop shook her head.
'I think he's gone,' she said in a broad Lancashire accent. Jas grinned at this.
'Ahh, thank goodness for that!' There seemed to be less tension in the room after that.
Sop frowned. 'Why are you all so scared of him. He's one of us, isn't he? I'm going to try and talk to him, find out what his problem his...'
'No,' growled Nate, suddenly angry. 'Sorry Sop, I don't want to scare you but you're new here...you don't understand.'
Sop took a sip of her milkshake and slammed it down on the bar, standing up.
'Don't tell me 'I don't understand.' she yelled. 'Just 'cos I'm a newby doesn't mean I don't get to know all the local secrets. Tell me what you know!'
'I don't think that's a good idea...' Nate begun.
'Nate, she's right she does deserve to know about Skis,' said Jas. Sop's eyes were fixed to Nate like glue.
'Okay, okay.' Nate said finally. 'Shh everyone. Let be begin the story of the myterious Skis...'
Skorp began to puzzle over the mysterious aura suddenly present in the Tavern. Oh well, she thought. Maybe there'll be appropriate madness, and anyway, a plot is a plot, and I desperately need material.
I've learned so much from people who never existed - Unknown
Heedless of the impending story, a coal-black dog bursts into the room, its lithe body moving in effortless leaps and bounds. He was closely followed by a flustered girl, who was obviously trying to retrieve something from the animal.
"KOJIROOOO!!! GET BACK HERE NOW!!" she bellowed.
Koji, amused by his master's antics, merely leaped over the bar, knocking mugs and plates everywhere.
"Sorry! So sorry!! KOOJIRROOOO!!!" the girl yelled as she continued to chase him around the room.
"Ok, Lolpup. You can be a girl worth fighting for." --Pengu
Tex leaned closer, ignoring the rampaging dog. As an investigative journalist for the Shakespeare Digest he was always interested in tales of mystery and imagination. And Skis was a character with a dark past if ever he saw one. The crowd drew around Nate to hear the legend of the mysterious Skis, and to embellish it where they saw fit. They were writers after all... Nate took a seat on a bar stool, fiddling with the dish cloth in his hand. "It all began on a dark and stormy night in December. Twas' 10 seasons ago, and I was still a young lad, unaware of the cruel ways of the world. That night, a gentleman walked into this tavern, accompanied by a pale, troubled youth."
A lie can run around the world before the truth has got its boots on. - Terry Pratchett
Si non confectus, non recifiat - If it ain't broken, don't fix it.
Nate paused at the sudden commotion outside. Everyone looked to the door expectantly. It was torn from its hinges as two black figures tumbled into the room, scattering patrons like bowling pins. One of the figures was thrown into the wall and was revealed to be some demonic gargoyle. The other figure appeared to be a wolf with human characteristics. It stood in the doorway and snarled at the demon, obviously planning to attack the demon once again. "Stop!" Yelled Nate, "That's my best Foulard tablecloth and we're trying to tell a story here, so order your drinks and save it!" The wolfman sheepishly ordered pomegranate juice and the demon tried to order the blood of innocents, but settled for coffee. "As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, the man was trying to find his boy passage to Naacet, but he wasn't sure who to go to. I, being a young lad with a sheltered childhood and no thoughts in my head save for ones about the pretty barmaid who tended table six, had no idea, so I directed him to a seedy-looking side character at table three." With each mention of specific tables, everyone turned to look for them, paying special attention to the seedy side character at table three, who did not look up from his mug of beer because he's a very flat side character with no lines save for these: "'Aye, I can get you safe passage to Naacet...for a price.' He said. I knew not then what horrible thing I had done. The boy's father, after securing passage, bought some dandelion wine and told me about his son. 'His name is Skis.' He said, 'He has been experiencing night terrors the likes of which I do not know what to make. He wakes up with glowing blue eyes and I can heard singing when I look into them.' I nodded and questioned him studiously, saying, 'So how do you pronounce Skis? Is it like "Skees," or "Skiz," or "Skiss"?'"
