He has to get out though. He can't stay here forever, and there are things he needs to take care of. If he can figure out how to take care of them, that is. He's not going to do that hiding away in his room, so he waits until morning to take Buster downstairs and try to solve his problem over breakfast. While Buster chows down on his usual breakfast of tuna and raw egg, Wilford has a quiet conversation with the bar. He suspects that maybe this place had something to do with the problem Jim caused, but he gets neither confirmation nor denial, and eventually gives up.
The problem — one of the problems — is that he can't keep Buster here. Too many people are prepared to snatch him up the second it looks like he's been left alone, which is what led to the problem with Jim in the first place.
Eventually, Wilford knows what he has to do. By then, the risk of having his hand bitten off because Buster is too laser-focused on his food to pay attention to where he's putting his teeth has subsided, so Wilford reaches down and untwists the tags from his collar, taking everything but the one with his name and giving them to the bar. That's only half of a solution though, but he has no idea what to do about the second half. So he sits back and waits for an idea to come to him.
So, how do your characters react to conflict within their social circles? For the ones who will put in more than zero effort, what will they do? For the ones who usually cannot possibly care less, what can make them care?
From what I can tell, Polish filk (for very wide values of filk) is small, but they have a core of performers that do concerts at their various cons, and they seem inhabit the intersection between LARP, fandom, reenactment, and folk music (though that might be based on the limited stuff I've found).
Some links on Polish filk that I've found so far:
- Barbara Karlik (in English), harpist, singer, and songwriter. She has songs by thnidu, Gwen Knighton, and Alexander James Adams in her repertoire. I can recommend "The siege of Hedgehogfurt".
- Polish filk wiki, has a small collection of Polish and some American filk.
- Liz Katrin (Soundcloud), Interview (in English)
- Kruffachi (Facebook), who seems to be the most "filkish" within Polish fannish music that I have found so far
Anyway, let's do some fic! Comment with pups you'd like to write for, we'll then comment back with prompts from which you'll write a short fic. And since AU week is sometime in the near future, how about the fic is a preview of the world you might be thinking of playing from?
I am pleased to report that I have finished the first draft of a new Penric & Desdemona novella. (For that peculiar value of "finished" that means, "still dinking till it's pulled from the writer's twitchy hands.")
Title will be "Penric's Fox"
Length, at this moment, is around 37,400 words. It is more-or-less a sequel to "Penric and the Shaman", taking place about eight or nine months after that story.
Final editing and formatting, arranging for cover art to send it out into the world nicely dressed, etc., will take some unknown amount of time and eyeball-endurance, but e-pub will likely happen in August.
My computer file tells me I started typing the opening on March 3rd, but of course there was lead-up to that. It is, in general, hard to tell or remember when a project segues over from "notion" to "planning", although the notion had been with me for some time. Story notions are like a collection of vaguely related objects rattling around in a box; planning starts when some key object that connects them all drops in, and things suddenly get interesting.
He stomps his feet, shaking his hair which shifts from a muted, almost greying platinum back to his usual gold. As he sheds the dun coloured outer robe, his face returns to his androgynous look, if tight with tiredness and ill-temper.
By the time he reaches the Bar, she has pot of tea waiting for him. "Thank you, dear one but I think I need something stronger." She adds a little glass of something clear and alcoholic with a smiley-face napkin.
For those who still look at Livejournal (I know most people are not on there any longer), the filk archive LJ account has been hacked a couple of times over the past few days and they are posting in Russian on there.
Its going to get migrated over to Dreamwidth for the history to be preserved before the account is closed.
The site itself is currently down for reprogramming and will eventually be put back online.
The LJ account has since been cleaned up and migrated to filkarchive here on Dreamwidth.
When he goes up to Bar to get water and hand wraps, she reminds him other people might be interested and he writes a quick note in Aurabesh that she translates on the notice board: Want to spar? Need to practice your accuracy. Come outside.
Instead of his name, he signs it with the Alliance Starbird.
Outside he starts setting up the firing range and finds the stormtrooper helmets he'd used before are still there. Then he gives the heavy bag a few good hits before stripping down to his undershirt and stretching to see who else comes along.
Tiny tag: Cassian Andor, Baze Malbus, Chirrut Imwe, Eden, Cassidy, Rose
(OOC: Unofficial fight club and firing range. I'll set up places below, so it can be treated like other fight clubs. Cassian won't be watching as closely as Sam. Let me know if you want a thread with me or not, treat this like a party post too, set up whatever you need, threadhop. Open as long as everyone wants it to be.)
ETA: Post is up here. I've set up a few subthreads, please add more, tag under. Let me know if you want Cassian anywhere if not I'll be tagging around. Have fun, channel the anger.
Which one of you is responsible for this? http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/
I had no idea that page existed, and I'm tickled at it! It's great!
And since I never did find the answer to my original question, I'll ask it here as well. What is the hotel that the bar's rooms are supposed to be modelled after? I know its rooms are weird, and that's all I can remember.
He saunters through the main room with a leather sack slung over his shoulder, making for a door that--isn't there? What? There's a paper napkin pinned on the wall where his door should be, and after reading it Loki stalks back to the Bar for a quiet but intense argument. "Look, you officious, glorified piece of wooden--"
Looks like Bar is flexing her muscles today.
Jim's been out in the forge all night, working on a Thing. He left in the morning, took a walk in the grounds and then went upstairs for a swim. Now he's down by the bar. He's tired. He's distracted. He's...still not getting anywhere with Bar letting him out of here.
'I already promised you I won't kill her.'
A napkin appears, which he reads and crumples in his fist (though he can't exactly argue with what it said).
'You know I could just tell Mycroft, and he'd do it for me? And I haven't. Let me out.'
Another napkin. More quiet rage. Jim sucks a breath in through his nose, and stretches his neck 'til it pops. But he (almost) sounds polite when he appears to give in, and sits down.
'Let me see some kyber crystals then.'
This, Bar will apparently oblige with, though they're as small as Galen said they'd be. And they come with an obligatory sandwich and glass of water, because even when denying him what he wants, Bar will apparently make sure people get fed.
[OOC: catch him anywhere (other than swimming, unless you have access to his room somehow). I may be occasionally sporadic due to work, but here for hours and this is open for a good few days. :)]
He walks to the bar, perches himself on a stool and removes his helm to reveal a handsome, if very pale and scarred, face topped with short black hair. With his eyes closed against the light of the lamp fixtures, he slips a pair of aviator sunglasses on. Once the sunglasses are on, he leans over to the nearest patron, and taps them on the shoulder.
"If you don't mind my asking, what is this place?"
Well. No. Not exactly.
He'd just been up in his room with a supply of spice, the good kind and the better kind. An embarrassment of riches, really.
Apologies to his neighbors who might have heard ceaselessly loud music and even louder, very enthusiastic one-sided conversations. And possibly arguments.
Late one evening, Cassidy finally comes downstairs, wearing a floral patterned bathrobe and blue pajama pants with an all-over Hello Kitty print (these were "borrowed" from the Lost & Found box). As he yawns and scratches himself, he flops down onto a barstool and orders a steak. Rare. Very rare. Like, it's still fucking moving rare.
Anyone who comes near him will catch a whiff of some vaguely pepper-like scent.
[tiny tag: Cassidy, Cassian Andor, Baze Malbus, Chirrut Imwe, Galen Erso, Bernard Black]