In possession of your green ticket to the festivities, you are beckoned to meet in Coastside at the Westwall Arms Pub by 8pm. There is no doubt as you make your way in that today is St. Patrick ’s Day. Shamrocks are plentiful and nearly every patron is wearing at least one green item. Signs direct you to a side room where you and other crawlers are gathering to find out what is in store for you this evening.
As the clock finishes striking eight, an obviously intoxicated man dressed much like a leprechaun stumbles into the area making his way to the front. He gestures for you and the others to be seated at the round tables festooned with green tablecloths. Green carnations in green glitter vases are seared in the center of each table. Once everyone is settled, he begins to read from prepared cards.
“Welcome to the Westwall Arms Pub, the first stop of our St. Patrick’s Day crawl. I’m Shamus O’Malley and I’ll be your guide for the night, lads and lasses. Unlike your traditional crawl, our stops will not all be pubs and bars. Instead, we will be seeking out the Irish in the city.
Our first cultural experience is a pint of Harp lager paired with a traditional boxty. For those guests whom have differing needs, an Irish alternative is available.”
At this, servers begin to bring out trays of food and drink to offer to each patron. Plates of silver dollar sized boxty are set on each table so one may help themselves. Drinks, in nearly identical opaque glasses, are individually offered to each guest whom may choose between the lager and an Irish blood as they prefer.
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OOC Notes:
A new prompt with a new location and experience will be posted approximately every 24 hours.
All RP will take place in this thread; there is no need to go to the grid location (if it exists).
So it was the Feast of Saint Patrick, the man who drove the snakes from Ireland. Funny thing was, the snakes that he drove out were less of the serpentine kind and more of the treacherous sort, though no less reptilian. Ironically, green was the color of the holiday though, when one clan fell there was always another ready to step into its place. Jack had been a fan of the holiday since first becoming accustomed to it as a young teen. He wasn’t certain if he had any Irish blood in him. Truthfully he really knew nothing of his heritage, though May had often declared that she was of Gaelic stock and, by default, so was Jack. It wasn’t so much birthright that caused him to hold a special place in his heart for the holiday, but more the excessive consumption of alcohol. Not that he drank copious amounts, but the general crowd did. And a drunk crowd was often much more generous to a young, street musician. The atmosphere also made the acquisition of wallets, jewelry, watches, and other potentially high-priced and pilfered items much easier. A man could set himself up for a month or two on a single Saint Paddy’s Day.
A ticket had been shoved into Jack’s guitar case. No doubt, a gift from his sire. Maybe it was a hint that he had been working too much? The green slip screamed take a night off, not just from the gallery, but from the crypts where he was finding himself more often than not. Get out of the gloom, live a little, you know while you’re dead. So Jack didn’t carry his guitar with him tonight. Sure he was potentially missing out on a lot of green that folks so casually threw out in observance of Ole Saint Pat, but there were always pockets to pick. And besides, he still had his harmonica tucked away in the pocket of his worn, black leather jacket. He could always pull it out, take off his patchwork ivy cap, and play a few jigs if he felt so inclined.
Jack wandered into the Westwall Arms just after 8pm and just as he had suspected, the color green was ever present. Never the gaudy type, Jack wore a simple green tee under his jacket. The rich scent of hops mingled with the acrid odor of bodies whirled up his nose as the door of the pub shut behind him, sealing off the night’s cool air. Upon picking out the signs, he began weaving his way through the sea of patrons towards a room off to the side. A clearly intoxicated, older woman, with green painted hair stumbled in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. She made a high pitched chackle that seemed to be lost in the general roar of the bar as she tossed a set of green plastic beads from her neck to Jack’s neck, “You just got laid, hunbun!”Jack was pretty sure that the joke only worked when one had an actual lei, but he wasn’t going to argue with a woman who had been at the sauce for at least half the day. He tipped his hat to her and briskly made his way to where the crawl was set to begin.
Jack stepped in halfway through the leprechaun’s speech. It wasn’t a slur, the old man was legitimately dressed as one of the creatures of legend and cereal boxes. Jack liked the man already. "Oh Jack, how fun! We so loved this holiday.” He snuck over to an empty seat, May was right, this day had always been a highlight of their year. So many laughs shared and then there was the dancing...there was a unique pain in fond memories. Mr. O’Malley announced the first cultural delicacy as servers entered the room. The distinct smell of fried potatoes wafted through the air followed closely by an aroma he had become quite fixated with, sweet, coopery, blood.
The potato was a simple food and one that Jack had always enjoyed. Being that he was a vampire, he had no plans on eating boxty tonight. Even though he was slightly certain that he could still consume food, there would be no point in doing so. Jack had never been prone to excess. When one lived how he had, one couldn’t afford to be. Still Jack pulled one of the small plates just in front of him. There was a certain delight to be had in just letting the aroma play with his senses. A waitress tapped him on the shoulder as Jack, distracted by the effects of fare he no longer had the desire to eat, gave a bit of a start. Surely, he looked every bit as foolish as the woman he encountered just minutes before. The server was a pretty, little thing, with dark hair and bright eyes. She giggled a bit at his embarrassment and Jack’s dark, blue eyes lit up when he realized just why she smelled so much of blood. She was offering him a glass of it.
Jack thanked the pretty waitress kindly as he held the glass of blood in his inked, right hand. The motto, by which he lived, was ever present on the fingers through which he lived, for the world to see. The desire the drink the blood was burning like a torch inside of him. He still found the odor maddening and it was sending shivers down his spine. He held off for a few moments though, considering the situation he now found himself in. Clearly this would out him as a vampire, really his selection of drink already had, yet no one seemed perturbed. The fact that blood was offered at all indicated that the crawl had been designed with the notion of both human and vampire attendees. “Oh just enjoy yourself, for me...everyone is too drunk to care anyway.” May was right and she was standing to his right now, adorned in a fancy, forest green dress. Maybe floating was the better term as her auburn curls were blowing behind her as if pushed by some phantom wind and her bare toes seemed to nearly scrape the ground. She looked as Irish as her claim, with that fair, freckled skin of hers. She reached out a spectral hand to his scruffy cheek. Jack leaned into it, expecting to feel her touch, but she was gone almost as quickly as she had arrived. “Cheers to you, kid…” he said a bit solemnly as he tipped back the glass of life liquor, savoring in its sweetness, getting heady off its power. There was no doubt now that the blood of the Irishman was flowing through him.
The distributor for the new craft brews she was planning to start offering at the bar in her shop seemed to have all the time in the world to get ready and make up his mind. On a lark, Alexandrea had offered him first pick of the custom made hats she had been working on all week for the St Patrick's day celebrations. That had been an hour ago. And they said women took forever when they shopped.
The luck of the Irish was smiling down on blonde that evening, however, and soon enough Kitty had arrived for her shift, taking over the store from Alex who quickly grabbed her coat and made her way out the door. She still could make it to the crawl if she hurried. Thankfully, she had the celerity of being a vampire at her disposal and she walked into the Westwall Arms soon enough to stake out a quiet corner in the back and to hear the end of the host's introductions.
She happily sampled a little of everything that was being offered, watching the crowd and keeping as straight of a face as well as she was able to at the sight of new newest childer as he toyed with a small plate of boxty. He didn't try to sample it, for which the Allurist was grateful. It had taken her months to hold down a potato and even if Jack was far more gifted in that skill than she was, she couldn't recall if she had warned him about just how unpleasant the adjustment process had been.
He seemed at ease in his skin, even drinking of the blood that was flowing freely. A thing that was still so new to Alexandrea that she couldn't bring herself to really enjoy it. The entire idea of no longer having to hide what they were, still seemed so new and uncertain. The blonde still wasn't sure she wasn't having some kind of walking dream sometimes, and the rest of the time she felt like she was just waiting for the proverbial 'other shoe' to drop...
Still, it was wonderful to see Jack was out and about, getting his 'sea-legs' and she entertained the thought of joining him but was asked for her ticket before she had made up her mind.
To her dismay, she found she had given all the ones she had already bought away and was required to buy another one... this time at full price. She even tried pouting but the gentleman with the purse seemed to be made of stone, which completely baffled Alexandrea. She was totally unused to being told no.
With a dramatic sigh, the blonde coughed up the cash and stuck her ticket stub into her shoe. She waited until the man had turned to collect more tickets before sticking her tongue out at him, blowing as loud of a raspberry as she could.
Charles wasn't the most knowledgable individual about Saint Patricks day's history and origins, except the occasional day he decided to take advantage of it in some way or another. So he knew little bits here and there, but for the most part was in the dark. However, as he did own a business, there was a good deal of profit to be made from it. Wonder Works, Charles food delivery service, would have brought out samples and stations with a variety of Gaelic themed assorted foods and treats, Shepards Pie, Irish Stew, Irish Coffee, and of course, potatoes. Because what would it be without potatoes. Besides, he found it funny and he didn't seem to be the only one.
Personally however, sitting down in a green shirt, Shamrock Cufflinks, and even a pair of green pants. He had decided to go all out on that part. And he was very clearly amused at his own choice, knowing he looked somewhat comical. But hey, a drunk leprechaun just explained what everyone was going to do on a stage, so who cares? Plus, he stood out way less then the people actually painted green. He felt that he had to have a little bit more class then that.
He looked at the drink in front of him chuckling, raising it to someone who seemingly made eye contact with him on accident and taking a swift drink before moving onto the food. He had to admit, he rather liked some of the irish dishes and drinks, perhaps mostly the latter, but that was not particularly important.
His eyes wondered around the place, looking for anything particularly interesting. He didn't imagine he'd get to do all that much today. But he still wanted to at least enjoy himself. Whatever that would end up meaning he didn't really care.
It was almost suspicious how easily Marisol had given her the night off. Between the vampiresses boyfriend leaving for wherever and opening her business, the allurist hadn’t really been the most social of creatures. She was annoyed, of course, at the printer on a regular basis and the merger between Sanders Modeling Inc and Belmonte modeling was taking longer than she wanted. Of course, it didn’t help that Logan’s death had put a damper on things. It had helped even less when it had been revealed by Mariah, too, that her deceased husband was a murderer.
“The only thing he had was his name on the company. It was all mine.”
The amount of anger she’d felt radiating had been too delicious for the ginger and as she’d heard Marisol slam the phone down, she’d left the office. It was a decent drive from Clocktower to Westwall. The idea of Mariah going along with the pub crawl had been almost ridiculous, but as it had been pointed out to her by the allurist, it would be fun. “Try to see if you can get along with vampires other than me telling you to.” She’d been instructed.
Once she was parked, she adjusted her jacket and began to follow the crowd of green inside the pub. She took her seat beside a man who smelled strong of Jameson, declining the boxty, but accepting the pint with no issue. “I almost forgot how strange the individuals in this city are.” Mariah muttered to herself as she took a drink, watching as a man dug immediately into the boxtys. Instead, she turned her attention to the others around her. A blonde woman, a man near a waitress dashing away, and the one whom seemed to be distant to the others.
It wasn’t a large crowd, but at least not everyone seem buzzed off their rocker.
do you like my cookies, they're made just for you,
a little bit of s u g a r, but lots of p o i s o n, too.
At a seemingly random predesignated time, Shamus returns to the front of the room.
Laddies and Lassies, if you’d make your way out of the pub, you will find a coach out front that will ferry us to our next destination.
Once all crawlers had departed the pub, he follows along and joins them on the bus which brings them across town to 8th Dimension Mall.
Step lively, so you don’t get left behind! Words were said as he descended from the bus to lead them into the mall and their next stop.
Lads and Lasses, welcome to Quartermaine Custom Creations. I’ve been told the proprietor of this fine establishment has gone all out for the holiday and that they have a rather lovely selection of hats. Don’t forget to visit the bar while we’re here for some more of that delightful Irish beer. I also believe she’s arranged a special surprise for each of ye.
There was just something about blood. Yes, for the vampire it acted as a source of nourishment, but there was much more to it then that. The warm tingling began in the center of the chest, but expanded outwards and straight up to the brain. There it seemed to explode in a rush of sensation that shot down the spine where it snaked through the remainder of the body. It not only left him feeling all the subtle energies of his being, but also it mellowed him out. Each sensory perception was enhanced at least three fold, but the blood created a peace that allowed him to enjoy it rather than be overcome by it. For Jack, there had never been a better high.
By the time the old leprechaun returned to the front of the room, Jack was halfway through savoring his second glass. He cracked a joke to the patron to his right, about giants, replacing englishman, with irishman. That vampire was also enjoying a spot of blood, so Jack thought it’d be relatively safe, but he quickly found the guy rather stuffy for a pub crawl. Maybe he just didn’t get the reference. As Mr. O’Malley announced that it was time to be heading out, Jack quickly downed his blood. He sat for a few moments longer, just enjoying the experience, appreciating the atmosphere. He hoped the effect wouldn’t fade with time.
When the old leprechaun said the word ‘coach,’ Jack’s imagination ran away with him. He was picturing a caravan of antique, horse drawn carriages delivering the crawlers to the next destination of tonight’s journey. Seeing the bus parked out front was a bit of a disappointment. Truly, carriages weren’t a very pragmatic thought, but sometimes one can get caught up in the magic of a holiday. May was beside him also considering the bus. They hung back for a few watching as the patrons began to board. “It’s a celebration, Jack, don’t let modernity spoil the mood. It’s a bus. How many of them have you been on?” That was just the crux of it, he’d been on too many. They were a sort of symbol of packing it in and starting again. “Or running…” May let the words hang there as if she had been reading his mind. She vanished as Jack caught sight of Alex. He shot his sire a smile and a simple wave as he approached to board the bus.
Jack was hoping take the bus with his sire, but alas, the luck O’ the Irish wasn’t with him in that regard. The rather humorless vampire, whom Jack was sitting next to in the pub, took the place next to him on board. Jack wasn’t the type of guy to say ‘you can’t sit here’ and besides maybe the guy felt lost in the crowd and Jack’s was the only voice that had been directed towards his ears tonight. Or maybe he was just drunk and saw empty seat.
Jack was surprised when the bus brought them to the mall. This was where he had started his night! Though he had to admit, he was a glutton for a nighttime walk so he wasn’t bothered too much by it...just slightly amused. Mr. O’Malley, ever in his Irish spirits, led them off the bus and inside. Jack, again, hung a bit back in the crawler crowd, looking for his sire or a friendly face to have a pint with. He didn’t want to spend his evening with old gloom and doom. He could go hangout with a zombie at the mausoleum if he had been interested in that sort of thing.
And the leprechaun led them into Alex’s shop. Jack’s amusement at the ironical nature of the situation grew. But not even had the word ‘bar’ escaped Shamus’ lips before Jack made his dash towards the counter. He shot the girl behind the bar a charming smirk before ordering the ichor of the evening.
After a bit of time in the shop, Shamus stands by the door, clapping his hands for attention.
Lasses and Lads, please make your way to the coach at this time and will depart for our next stop on this tour.
Following the patrons down to the bus, they head for the next stop. Pulling up in front of the Saloon, he stands at the front of the coach of patrons.
Laddies and Lasses, welcome to High Noon Saloon. I've been told the proprietor of this establishment has an exquisite backroom for brawling, if any are so inclined. Plenty of Irish spirit to be found as well. Enjoy!
Watching through Kitty's eyes as the young human woman tended to the QCC bar, Alexandrea couldn't help but smile. She was alone on the bus, having decided to sit out the stop at her own shop. She had seen the inside of it before.
It seemed that the new menu of craft beers seemed to be a hit, and the thoughts of her thrall were loud in Alex's head, hardly requiring any effort at all the be heard by the Allurist. Kitty's thoughts were practically screaming 'I told you so'. The blonde chuckled and broke off the contact, leaning back in her seat to wait for the rest of the party to rejoin her. She didn't mind admitting that she was resistant to change.
One recent 'change' in particular came shambling down the block towards to bus from the direction of the Quarantine Zone. With an exaggerated sigh, Alexandrea Quartermaine quickly jumped from her seat and made short work of the zombie, popping into the mall to give it's remains to Orin as a treat. She was careful to not be seen, still doing whatever she could to shield the humans as best as she could.
A part of the blonde wished she knew for sure who to 'thank' for the more frequent undead appearances outside the QZ. There were rumours as to who was to blame... but Alex just couldn't believe them, yet. She wasn't ready.
The sound of clapping drew Alex's eyes across the mall to her own store, where Shamus was ushering the rest of the crawlers back out to the bus.
The blonde melted into the small crowd, giving Jack a wink before linking arms with the drunk she had noticed had attached himself to her childer earlier. The man was so far gone that it was easy to sit him down into a seat at the back beside one of her own decoys, and then left him there chattering away at it.
Softly chuckling, Alexandrea Quartermaine made her way back up to the front of the bus and took the bench behind the driver. She put her hat down on the seat beside her, marking it saved, in case Jack wanted it.
She was looking forward to the rest of the crawl and hoped she might get a shot at riding the mechanical bull, once the got they High Noon Saloon. It was one of the few things the blonde could honestly say that she had never done before.
