Dave, though only vaguely aware of the true potential of the spell he is about to cast, begins channeling his mighty power once more - it is a bit of a drag to need to wait before unleashing massive power upon the unsuspecting, but what can you do?
In fact, he finds it a legitimate question. Thinking on the matter, he dares say there isn't really anything he can do about it, at least not until he gets some more magical power. He could maybe get some kind of music to set the mood, or maybe some form of- wait, why is his pig-leg squealing? What's the... oh, that underwear master sure seems to be coming his way fast. Look at it go, leaping over the rivers in single bounds, punching mold horses out of the way! Were it not coming to murder Dave incredibly hard from the looks of it, the sight of it would be almost admirable!
* * * * *
Finding a bar to be a sensible second choice after magical booze attraction,
THE DUNKER goes along with Nigel's plan. And thus the three quickly head down the stairs and out the back entrance, walking out into the streets and off to the location of Nigel's choice, which just so happens to be a bar by the name of the Malloy-McCoy, as the man explains on the way. It's definitely not the seediest establishment around, and appears to be sorely lacking in any credentials or, indeed, any sort of signage. Indeed, it just looks like somebody's townhouse, although there are a few people drinking on the porch. As the group approaches, they - a very young woman who may in fact actually be a teenage girl with an empty glass in her hand and a very hairy teenage boy with horrendous cystic acne - wave immediately.
"Nigel in the house!" the girl says, laughing.
"Bringin' in the whales as usual!" the boy adds.
"Cheeky fucks," Nigel mutters as they walk inside, where they are met by a first floor evidently undergoing renovation, judging by all the knocked-down walls and debris lying about. An impromptu bar appears to have been set up in the middle of the floor out of cinderblocks only barely covered up by particle board. Behind it stands a very shaggy, small individual wearing a welder's mask and mixing a mean drink for a nearby woman in her twenties. A whole lot of ratty couches line the walls, populated by a friendly-looking, rather varied crowd, all of who seem to fairly young people.
The three walk up to the bar and sit down on what are probably stolen barstools - after mixing the drink for the woman, the bartender turns to the three newcomers.
"Nigel. Who are your two new friends?" he asks, sounding very much like an upper class Londoner with a basso voice.
"The girl is Joanie.""Hey.""And the other guy is... fuck if I know. Who are you, anyway?" Nigel asks of THE DUNKER.
"And more importantly, what will you have to drink?" the bartender adds.
* * * * *
Being on the giving side of exposition is quite a pleasant experience for
Larry, and he provides it very freely. After all, the Oldthinker's kind of a cool guy.
"This is what the fat guy gave me; just stare into it and the spells go in your head. Give it a crack if you like," he says, handing him his binder. The Oldthinker looks at it carefully, putting the mag he had on the floor.
"Huh," he says, leafing through it.
"It'th like thome kind of connecting thing. With a relay on the way. Cool. Putth thpellth in your head, huh? Well, I'm not gonna meth with it, jutht in cathe. I've been known to break thethe thingth," he explains, handing it back to Larry. Just then, the angel that brought him here returns, followed by a strange creature - a vaguely humanoid shape, made entirely out of buzzing bees. Its surface undulates as the bees move about, and Larry kind of wonders if it has anything other than bees in it, like a skeleton or something. There is a beehive-ish look to some of the torso, Larry guesses.
"Hey, look who's up!" the angel triumphantly declares.
"I have no idea how you do that," the Oldthinker replies, and the creature's monotonous buzz grows in intensity for a moment. All these bees make Larry a bit nervous, in all honesty. He's not allergic or anything, of course, but still.
"It's all in the- hey, hats!" the angel says, picking up a fine chapeau from the pile and offering it to her bee friend, who immediately puts it on, looking a little comical as the bees struggle to hold its weight uniformly, causing it to shake a little as the creature moves around.
"And smut! You put all this here, Larry?" she asks, moving over to examine the gentlemen's literature on the ground.
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Topic: The Forgotten Art: Approaching the Nexus (Read 273332 times)