The Bar In The Middle of The Multiverse (General In-Persona Chat)

[Zeppelin Kapitan Fritz]

     This is intended as a place to interact in persona for those of us who choose to have one. There will be no continuing plot or storyline, it is simply a place to converse with each other in the context of our personas. The idea is to have fun, and maybe develop our characters, their personalities, and their worlds as well.

     For convenience's sake, lets assume the setting is a restaurant or bar. This establishment is located in its own "bubble in time", simultaneously everywhere and nowhere, so characters from different steampunk universes can interact with each other (just make sure you exit via the same door you entered through if you intend to leave). The bartender/ waiter is some kind of non-entity and food and drink will miraculously appear on your table as soon as you order it (anything you like is available).

     If there is another thread similar to this one, I apologize. I am unaware if there is so I felt the need to create one.

     So with that being said, let us begin.

[Kieranfoy]

Orright, then.

Barkeep! Alcohol!

Don't suppose you get a band in 'ere or anyfing?

[Tiberius Montgomery Pratt]

Pratt enters the room still out of breath from his escape.

Carried with him, five out of the six copies of a loathsome book he went to great deal of trouble to keep out of the hands of a truly vile group of cultists.

Crossing to the fireplace Pratt tosses the books one by one into the flames. Faintly, a low moan echoed and dies as each book burns in a bright green burst of flame.

Pratt hates the idea of burning any book. Yet some things, some secrets, should never have been put to paper in the first place. The world is better off with this loss of "wisdom".

With a shudder Pratt puts the matter to rest. Then turns his mind to pleasant things, as the aroma of fresh baked bread comes from the kitchen.

Turning from the end of one adventure he sets off on a new quest, to fill his belly. He pulls up a chair and helps himself to the brandy on the table.

[Zeppelin Kapitan Fritz]

     Kapitän Fritz enters the room, followed by his German Shepherd Dog, Wolfgang. He removes his schirmmütze (peaked cap), his gunbelt, and his marschstiefel (jack boots) and stows them in a locker. Without saying a word, he then walks over to the fireplace and collapses into an armchair. Wolfgang follows and sits down beside him.

     Fritz notices the others and would like to talk with them, but he is not quite sure what to say. He helps himself to a stein full of pilsner and a plate of wurst and sauerkraut (a peasant dish, but he doesn't care much of what others think of him). He then removes a large book (nonfiction, of course) from his map case and begins reading. Reading (alongside his other hobbies), was one of the few things that could help his mind escape from the terrible war that was consuming his world.

[Tiberius Montgomery Pratt]

After decimating half a chicken and several vegetable dishes, Pratt sits back in his chair well refreshed. Ready to pass some time in pleasent conversation.

He was about to try the few words of German he knew when his gaze fell on the pool spreading around the Germans dog. Pratt was unable to suppress a chuckle as the master noticed the dog squatting beside him.

"No matter how well trained, a dog will allways be a dog.
 A fine beast nonetheless.
Tell me, is he trained as a hunter or a war hound perhaps?"

[Zeppelin Kapitan Fritz]

     He is Wolfgang, my dearest friend and companion. He is also quite a good guard dog when need be.

[Tiberius Montgomery Pratt]

Pratt reaches his hand out allowing the dog to take a tentative sniff, then when the animal was at ease with him he strokes his head. The Germans short answer seemed to indicate he was more interested in his book then conversation.

Pratt moves to the other side of the room were two men are in the middle of a game of chess. After a little small talk he sits and watches the game.

[Zeppelin Kapitan Fritz]

     Fritz watches the chess players intently (who had distracted him from his book). Eventually he asks "May I join in the next round? I am not the best player but I do enjoy the game.".

[Boston Jones]

Boston opens the door, the distinct smell of liqueur entered his nostrils along with another sent.  Dog.  This was the exact reason he never entered public houses but unfortunately the desire for a strong port overcame him.

"excuse me sir, shouldn't that, animal, be kept out side?

[Maxwell B. Cooper]

Maxwell enters the room, softly closing the door behind him so as not to disturb the other patrons. He takes out a device resembling a pocket watch and consults it before putting it back in his pocket. He then takes out an actual pocket watch, consults it and after a few moments looking around the room he orders a drink, then finds a quiet seat in the corner and removes his top hat.

Once he's settled, he removes a small notebook and pencil and begins jotting down what appears to be calculations of some kind, stopping every so often to check the device he consulted earlier.

[Boston Jones]

Sitting down, Boston notices a man consulting what appears to be a watch.  Curious of the time himself he checks his own pockets but discovers his man has put his compass instead of his watch in his pocket.  An easy mistake as Boston keeps them in similar fashions as to not distract.  The man appears to be doing calculations, something Boston Jones has a mind for.

To Maxwell
"Pardon me Sir, what is it your doing and do you have the time?"

[Maxwell B. Cooper]

Upon hearing a man's voice, Maxwell looks around to see if the question was aimed at him. He notices a gentleman looking at him expectantly.

'One moment sir.' He remarks as he starts rummaging around for his watch. ' It's almost 11 o'clock.' He pauses to consult his device while returning his watch to his pocket. 'I'm currently in the process of calculating the mean aethereal flux of this location as well as many others. If I may pontificate: I propose a theory of aethereal attraction, resulting in dense pockets scattered throughout the universe accumulated around large concentrations of matter.' He punctuates his words by vague hand gestures. 'Of course the prevailing theory is that of aethereal uniformity but I seek to overturn that simplistic notion.' He stops and looks at the gentleman for a moment. 'My sincerest apologies my good man, I am Maxwell B. Cooper, foremost Aetherologist at the Britannic National Institute for Research and Progress.' He finishes by extending his hand.

[Boston Jones]

-Very nice to meet you Mr. Cooper, I am Boston Jones, Shipbuilder, your research is astounding, however at first glance I fear we are at odds.  The air-pirates have a typical standard of raiding my sea-boats and I fear your research will only advance them more.  However, if I ignore your hypothesis I fear I will lose a great deal of money and perhaps I will miss out on the next great invention.

May I ask you to tell me more?

[Maxwell B. Cooper]

Maxwell smiles broadly. 'I would be delighted to, however I believe some context is in order.' He makes himself comfortable before continuing.

'About five years ago, my team and I succeeded in harnessing aethereal energy (AE) to use as fuel for our machines, meaning we no longer relied on coal or wood to heat the water.' He paused as an expression of exasperation appeared on his face. 'Of course the first to see the "true" applications of this discovery was the military, who have been rather unsettled after it was discovered that the Loch Ness monster was in fact an alien life form. They keep harping on about defending the planet or some such.' He paused to compose himself.

'They wished to build a spacecraft to facilitate the construction of a lunar defence base and suggested AE as a fuel source. Owing to the gravitation effects of the Earth and the moon the proposal would be possible, however other less enlightened individuals have now devised notions of exploring deep space using AE to fuel the ships.' He rubs his temple slowly with his forefinger and thumb.

'I've have tried to explain that in deep space the level of AE is just too low to fuel ships since there is no material body to attract it, but apparently they know better.' He sighs despairingly, 'Hence all this.' He points vaguely in the direction of his calculations. 'I apologise if I've waffled on a bit, hope I haven't bored you.'

[Boston Jones]

--My dear sir, you haven't bored me at all.  Recently I have made deep sea a reachable goal, the exploration of underwater ...a reality, and yes this is a little known fact, AE is not so aethereal as you had imagined...  hopefully the energies are the same.  .... We first started calling it Deep Seed, as the power generated was extra ordinary but I fear that is all I have.  Perchance your dealings on land ...co-inside with my dealings under the sea?

Boston Jones stood up to stand next to the man who may yet may make his real fortune.

--May I sit and continue our chat my dear fellow?

Before the man could object Boston Jones ordered another port for the both of them and sat down at Mr. Cooper's table.

[Maxwell B. Cooper]

Maxwell raised no objections as Boston sat down across from him. 'I have no doubt your Deep Seed is related to my work. AE would appear uniform from the prospective of a planetary observer.' He stopped for a moment.

'You've made deep sea exploration a reality? As have we, although it was severely hampered by fuel concerns until AE was widespread.' He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. 'What I would like to see is underwater habitation, I think such an enterprise would be splendid. In fact it has been considered as a possible solution to overcrowding, once the population reach that point obviously.'

[Boston Jones]

-Yes Mr. Cooper, I have made deep sea travel in small amounts a possibility.  Most of our efforts for anything more usually ends up poor for the good men stuck on decks as coal is a dangerous thing to burn underwater.  Now if we where to use your underwater ship technology that harnesses AE, I would be more than happy to build a small fleet of submersible ships and together, why we could work out how to use Deep Seed to power this underwater habitation operation!

Boston looked excited but as he finished his last words a certain meekness showed, realizing Maxwell Cooper had already come to that conclusion.

-Well.  I would have to discuss it with the board and of course they would want to mount an expedition to discover more about Deep Seed and whether a colonies is even advisable.  I believe the science is far past my capabilities...  ...  What do you mean, overcrowding?

[Maxwell B. Cooper]

Maxwell sips his drink, then places it on the table. 'The overcrowding scenario is simply a hypothesis based on projected population growths relating to ease of living. In short, daily life is made easier - people live longer - the death rate drops below the birth rate and population increases.' He pushes his glasses back up his nose, 'It is simply a long term contingency, nothing to concern yourself with too much.'

Maxwell leans back in his seat and seems to be considering something. 'In regards to your proposed joint operation. The idea has merit and would certainly prove useful to both our goals.' A sly grin creeps over Maxwell's face momentarily. 'However I must consult with the Institute in order to authorise such an undertaking, best to stay in their good books after all.'

[Daedalus Forge]

Captain Daedalus Forge stood silhouetted in the doorway, and, whilst shaking the rain from his oil-cloth duster, surreptitiously surveyed the room: two comatose drunks (one recumbent, on the floor; the second wedged onto a stool, and half draped across the bar); two 'engineer-looking' chaps (one constantly fidgeting with something in his pocket [keep an eye on him]; the second oozing the cool confident air of an American); a fifth man apparently badgering the landlord about building a stage and booking The Men That Will Not Be Blamed For Nothing; and two more chaps sitting by the fire, engaged in quiet conversation: one patting the head of a dog, the second with his back to the door, and only the top of his head, showing a shock of wild, curly hair, showing above his wing-back chair.

Forge pulled of his gloves, removed the pith helmet from his head, stuffed the gloves inside the helmet, and stepping over the drunk on the floor, approached the bar.

"Large brandy and a pint of Bitter, please Landlord", he said, whilst pushing the second drunk sideways off the barstool, and taking his place.

From the bar, he was able to see the face of the man in the wing-back chair.  "Good lord!", he almost uttered aloud, "Tiberius Pratt!".....

[Tiberius Montgomery Pratt]

"Tiberius Pratt!".....

“Not guilty!”
Pratt quipped with a smile, before he even looked up.

In truth the accent of a fellow Welshmen was enough to warm his soul. It had been so very long since Pratt had been away from home. Ages ago and worlds to numerous to count since Pratt had been to his Wales.

Tiberius Montgomery Pratt, a traveler of the Roads Between Worlds, had seen marvels and wonders that men can only dream of. In spite of all he had experienced, Pratt longed for the small comforts of home and hearth. The land of his birth.

Looking up to the bar at the man who called his name Pratt was struck near speechless.

“Daedalus Forge!
It, It, cant be you man!
My eyes are deceiving me!
I believed, we all believed you DEAD!”

[Ginny Blundy]

At a corner table, Ginny Blundy sits with a half-drained mug of ale, which she has been ignoring for nearly an hour. Two hours prior she occupied a nearby rooftop, hunting air kraken, when the firing mechanism on her Blundybuss locked up. Now the rifle is fully disassembled on the table, and she's staring at the scattered pieces intently. She picks up the trigger assembly and looks it over, then jabs at it with a screwdriver. She frowns and drops it back on the table.
She picks up the mug and sips at the ale, then pushes back the hair that has escaped from her loose braids. She looks around the room at the gathering of drunks, dandies, and dogs (well, dog).
Suddenly her face brightens, and she pulls the ethanol tank towards her. She begins poking at the ignition device with the screwdriver. As usual, she forgets to put her protective goggles on first.

[Daedalus Forge]

"...we all believed you DEAD!"

"And, indeed, I very nearly was." replied Forge.  "Rightly or wrongly, however, it suited my purposes to allow the world to believe me dead; at least until those who had contrived to kill me met with, shall we say, unfortunate accidents."

Forge picked up his drinks and approached the table at which Tiberius Pratt and the gentleman with the dog sat.  "May I?", he asked, whilst gesturing to an empty seat.

"So what of you, Tiberius?  News of your exploits reaches beyond the grave, as it were.  You've been nearly killed, killed, resurrected, and killed again more times, even, than I; are you still waging your private war on 'the things that should not...' Good lord, there's a filly field stripping a kraken gun, in the corner; I musht be dreaming!"

[Ginny Blundy]

"...Good lord, there's a filly field stripping a kraken gun, in the corner; I musht be dreaming!"

Blundy's concentration is broken by the sound of someone shouting "kraken". Her eyes scan the room and settle upon the quartet at the table: the three men and the German Shepherd. She fixes her eyes on the man in the duster, certain that he is the one that cried out. She gives him what she imagines is a steely stare. Physics allows for a theory of parallel universes, and perhaps in one such universe there is a fictional serial that people watch on small moving picture screens in their homes. That serial includes a tough female Corporal named Zoe who travels around on a spaceship, and can command a very cool, steely stare. If Blundy knew any of this, she would be trying very hard to mimic that notorious stare. Which is not quite the same thing as achieving it.

Blundy decides that the man in the duster means her no harm, based on no evidence whatsoever. She decided some time ago that it's best to begin all unplanned interactions with men with a glare, just to establish that she is no one to be trifled with; she is a woman with the ability to not blink for short spans of time, and she's not afraid to use it. She lifts the flared muzzle from the table and waves it in the air. "Yes. I call it the Blundybuss. It's my own design, customized for better ground-to-air hunting. I've added my own special propellant for greater distance. It's really quite a nice little improvement over the standard design, but, uh..." she slouches down, realizing she's taken on a tone of pride that isn't quite deserved at this moment. "The trigger is stuck. Can't seem to figure out why."

This interaction draws the attention of the proprietor, who rapidly approaches Blundy and sternly reminds her of "the rules." "Oh yes," says Blundy. "Sorry." She begins reassembling her gun, sheepishly. There was that incident with the fire. And of course One Legged Pete, the bartender. Back when he was simply Pete. She looks back over at the man in the duster, nodding in greeting. "Ginny," she says. "Nice to meet you."

[Tiberius Montgomery Pratt]

                       ( Feeling the Universe shifting out from under him ), ( or Verse if you rather)

Pratt looks off in the distance aware of the young women's response but distracted by the feeling that he had just shifted in space.
A rather large shift in fact, he resists the urge to run out side to see if this building was still in the same place were he had found it earlier.

"I do think a new round of drinks are in order. Young lady, if you would accept our company I would be pleased include you as well."

                 ( One of Pratt's rules, allways try and stay on the good side of dangerous people with big guns. )

 Turning back to Forge

"Well, as for myself I just concluded a bit of nasty business in America. I had been rather fond of New England, but after this trip Ill be most pleased if I never have a reason to set foot Arkham again.
A totally dreadful place!

 Looking forward to a nice quite holiday, now that its cleared up."

[Zeppelin Kapitan Fritz]

"...Good lord, there's a filly field stripping a kraken gun, in the corner; I musht be dreaming!"

Blundy's concentration is broken by the sound of someone shouting "kraken". Her eyes scan the room and settle upon the quartet at the table: the three men and the German Shepherd. She fixes her eyes on the man in the duster, certain that he is the one that cried out. She gives him what she imagines is a steely stare. Physics allows for a theory of parallel universes, and perhaps in one such universe there is a fictional serial that people watch on small moving picture screens in their homes. That serial includes a tough female Corporal named Zoe who travels around on a spaceship, and can command a very cool, steely stare. If Blundy knew any of this, she would be trying very hard to mimic that notorious stare. Which is not quite the same thing as achieving it.

Blundy decides that the man in the duster means her no harm, based on no evidence whatsoever. She decided some time ago that it's best to begin all unplanned interactions with men with a glare, just to establish that she is no one to be trifled with; she is a woman with the ability to not blink for short spans of time, and she's not afraid to use it. She lifts the flared muzzle from the table and waves it in the air. "Yes. I call it the Blundybuss. It's my own design, customized for better ground-to-air hunting. I've added my own special propellant for greater distance. It's really quite a nice little improvement over the standard design, but, uh..." she slouches down, realizing she's taken on a tone of pride that isn't quite deserved at this moment. "The trigger is stuck. Can't seem to figure out why."

This interaction draws the attention of the proprietor, who rapidly approaches Blundy and sternly reminds her of "the rules." "Oh yes," says Blundy. "Sorry." She begins reassembling her gun, sheepishly. There was that incident with the fire. And of course One Legged Pete, the bartender. Back when he was simply Pete. She looks back over at the man in the duster, nodding in greeting. "Ginny," she says. "Nice to meet you."

     "And it is very nice to meet you Miss Ginny." Fritz was distracted from his nearly completed chess match by her heavy weapon. "That is quite the custom firearm. Are you trained as an engineer?" "I have the greatest respect for engineers, but I am not among their kind. My name is Kapitän Friedrich Konrad Ulrich Boelcke, but I would prefer you call me Freiherr (and that means young lord)."