OPEN;

[wandbreaker]

When; Saturday, January 28th, nighttime
Characters; All are welcome! Open log, just specify if it's an open thread or not or if there are 4th wall rules for your character in the comment or subject line! (4th wallers also welcome~)
Summary; The Blue Light's one chilling hangout; good music, good food, and a spectacularly crabby owner who is even letting in under-18s for the 4th Wall weekend.
Log;

Edmund is actually at work tonight - he hopes a member of his family might show up, but he's also wondering who else might show up. He's made sure that he's well staffed for the extra crowds and well stocked, no less.

He just hopes nothing gets out of control.

And of course, that a member of his family shows up, looking for him.

Comments

[practicingforhell]

[After a few beers--"a few" being some nebulous number between three and six--Henry works up the nerve to approach the pretty blonde. He's never approached a girl in a bar before, but it suddenly seems like a really good idea.]

You cold?

[Not the best opener, but fuck, she should be cold, dressed like that.]

[and_identity]

Not generally.

[Cold knows better than to try to inflict itself on her. She always wins in the end.]

But it's nice of you to be concerned about me.

[practicingforhell]

Oh.

[Well, that's all he had. No, wait...]

Can I buy you something?

[and_identity]

I won't stop you.

[She smiles warmly.]

Sit down. I'd like the company.

[practicingforhell]

[He pulls a bottle of beer out of a coat pocket and slides it her way before sitting.]

Yeah? Well, fair warning... I'm not the best company.

[and_identity]

You underestimate yourself too much. Especially with me.

[She takes it and opens it expertly, still smiling.]

Right, Henry?

[practicingforhell]

You say that like you know...

[Weird things happen to Henry pretty regularly. This is slightly weirder than the normal weirdness.]

...me. Do I know you?

[and_identity]

You do, but you won't remember me. Which is okay, because I'm obligated to indulge in a given number of cryptic bullshit metaphors before I straight-up introduce myself, so I wouldn't worry too much about it if I were you. We'll get to that answer in the end.

[She knocks back a drink of her beer.]

You wanted to talk to me, though, right?

[practicingforhell]

Sounds good to me.

Yeah, I did. [Except his brain isn't providing any topics of conversation.] Anyone ever draw or paint you before? You've got a good face.

[Shit, that wasn't it.]

[and_identity]

A whole school of people have tried, but I'm not very good at holding still.

[Life, your puns are as bad as Death's sometimes.]

I mostly get poetry. Ever read Whitman?

[practicingforhell]

So you're a concept. Nice.

[See, thinking you're crazy and subsequently going crazy by thinking so has its perks.]

Poetry? Sure, I read him. More into art, though.

[and_identity]

I usually go with personification, but you've got the right idea.

[It's cute, really.]

"The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life? / Answer. / That you are here—that life exists, and identity..."

He was a sweet guy, Whitman. They said he was the great American poet everyone had been waiting for.

[practicingforhell]

You're the personification of life? Shoulda figured that one out quicker. Can't say I'd've looked for Life at the bar.

I might hafta give Whitman another chance. You make him sound good.

[and_identity]

That's me. I'm also always the most popular person at a party, but I like to pretend that's more to do with who I am and less with what I am.

I have a thing for poets. But I guess that's only natural when you figure a lot of them loved me a whole lot.

[practicingforhell]

Who you are's gotta be at least half of it.

[Because seriously, be more adorable.]

What, no love for the artists? Plenty of artists love you too. [beat] Even the ones who... y'know. [See icon.]

[and_identity]

Oh, I know. Trust me, just because I'm inclined to hang out with the poets doesn't mean I favor them over everyone else. It takes all kinds, you know? It's more than just the right-brain people, too. There are bankers who love me, and show it by being honest and fair and good at their jobs. Poets write for me. Dancers leap and cavort to express it. Artists paint, musicians compose, scholars ponder, historians remember. And the scientists, they'll try everything they can think of to get to know me and learn all my secrets. It's endearing, really.

You're a little tangled up with me and the person I'm waiting for, though, aren't you?

[practicingforhell]

Bankers? Lawyers and weathermen and shrinks too, probably. [Those are the worst. People. Ever.] Glad we don't piss you off with all the attention.

Depends on who you're waiting for.

[and_identity]

They exist. They're mine. Whether you like them or don't, respect them or not, they all serve a purpose in the grand scheme of things. I don't play favorites with the professions. Just with the people.

I'll give you a hint: it's not Godot.

[practicingforhell]

I didn't know Life could play favorites.

[He almost smiles. He knows his plays better than his poetry.]

Death?

[and_identity]

I'm a bitch to pretty much everybody. But I try to make sure good people get something back every once in a while.

Bingo. He's much better with time than I am, but that doesn't stop him from being late.

[practicingforhell]

That's sweet of you. [Even if, Life, it seems that you're okay with being nice to complete bastards, provided they give you beer.]

So does he show up late or was that just a pun?

[and_identity]

[And what she wouldn't give for a nice well-done steak to go with that beer, too, except that she's a forced vegetarian by nature. Dead things don't stay dead for long when they come into contact with her.]

Oh, no, he shows up late. Always knows exactly what time it is--it comes with the Death thing, knowing the hour, minute, and second of someone's demise?--but he's flighty. Knowing him, he's probably hassling some innocent kid asking directions to this place because he was too much of an idiot to jot down the address.

[practicingforhell]

[The correct response to this information about Death is an incredulous, "No shit?" There's no swearing in front of ladies, however, and Life might not be a lady but she certainly looks like one.]

Always figured Death knew where he was going. How's he know who to off if he can't find them?

[and_identity]

[Polite, Henry, but wholly unnecessary. Life at her finest has a mouth that would put sailors to shame.]

It's different when he's on the clock. At the moment, we're on vacation.

[practicingforhell]

[That would be something to hear.]

So, what? No one gets born and no one dies?