At The Steakhouse

Copperfox

Well-known member
Not far from the Dancing Lawn Insane Asylum, a restaurant opens for business. It is the latest franchise of the Emmett's Gunslinger Steakhouse chain. Managing it is none other than Charles Bingley right out of Jane Austen's novel Pride and Prejudice. Despite the crash of a P & P roleplay thread long before the thinning out of roleplays, Mr. Bingley here IS married to his beloved Jane; and, observing the migration of literary characters out of the Dawn Treader zone, he has brought his bride into the Duffer zone. He trusts in the word of Evening Star that some spoof-ish semi-roleplay can be tolerated here--and hopes it will be silly enough if a stuffy Jane Austen character tries to manage a cowboy-themed American restaurant.

As the doors open for business, escapees from terminated roleplays come in. Jane Bingley's calmly sweet manner helps matters as she explains to them all that they can exist here provided they DON'T take themselves too seriously. She concludes: "For any of you who were involved in anything gruesome, I understand that a nice fellow called Bat-Bat is creating something he calls a De-Nastyfier."
 
I wonder if the Ancient RPG's are still considered welcome here in the Emmett's Gunslinger Steakhouse's Dufferland Location.

If so, then Lady Ava, the elf from one of those above said Ancients, just walked into your Steakhouse, Mr. Bingley, and would appreciate a well-done steak.
 
"As long as benign chaos is the rule," remarks Mr. Bingley, "I trust the Magister to be tolerant of our doings here." And he summons a waiter to attend the Elf-lady...this waiter being Shangpo the Talking Orangutan from a discontinued former Narnian roleplay.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Shangpo asks, hanging by his hands from a trapeze and writing the order with his surprisingly-clean feet. "And perhaps an appetizer? The spinach-artichoke dip is very good."
 
"Yes, may I please have some water and some bread. How long do you think it will take, the other IA staff don't like me being away from my duties to long."
 
A female Talking Swan called Lakemist, actually from a Narnian fan-fic, flies out from the kitchen almost before Ava has finished speaking, bringing the requested bread and water. Shangpo remarks, "We can make your meal a carryout order if you wish."
 
Very slowly and cautiously, Puffy, the Shroom from another discontinued RP thread made it to the steakhouse. He didn't want to really walk in until he had a written promise from Mr. Bingley that he would not be confused with regular fungi and be tossed with onions over a well-done brisket.
 
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Mr. Bingley wrote a calligraphy sign to warn people not to harm the intelligent fungus. But he took so long doing it (he really enjoyed doing elaborate calligraphy lettering) that before he was done, Jane had had to step in and stop several customers from trying to eat their new friend.
 
Puffy's reaction of course was to want to dance a jig but since he was really scared, he couldn't do it. Besides, he could not hear any music in the background or anything.
 
"I've made it!" Smerdy burst through the door of the steakhouse, "I was so afraid that I'd cease to exist from lack of Roleplaying, and that I'd be confined to the recesses of Bethany's mind. It's cluttered in dark in there, don't you know?"
"Why am I still in this freaky *bad word* alternate reality?" Holden Caufield had appeared, in his usual bad temper.
"I don't know. But, *bad word*, that was weird." An old man dressed in a torn suit answered him.
"We were fighting a monster-thing and now I'm here. This is the weirdest thing ever." He sat down at a table across from Holden, and guessed that he and the boy would get along very well.
 
A huge Viking-like man came in after the tattered man, handing him some gold pieces. "I figured you could use these, Ivan. I found them in that mystery castle. Now that our work there is done, I'm heading back to my own world, and my dear bride Shamleth. I hope you find love someday, my friend."

Just then, the evil quasi-elf who had once tormented Ivan charged in the door with a long knife. But the big man whipped out a sword, cut the evildoer in half, and explained to Mr. Bingley that the halves must be kept apart until they were completely incinerated.

"That shall be no problem, sir," said Bingley. "We have a dragon visiting us out in back, Saphira by name; she'll attend to cremating this distasteful creature."
 
Smerdy looked at the pieces of the elf and then at the sword.
"Nice weapon dude!" he shouted, "Where'd you get it?"
Ivan ignored him.
"You got lucky, Vissy," said Ivan, "You survived being friends with me." He stood up and walked over to the large man and shook his hand.
"Thanks for....Just, thanks." And he smiled sadly.
 
A long line of young hedgehogs trailed through the restaurant, following the lead of thier patriarch, the Bald Hedgehog as he migrated his now rather extended family to their new home under the hedgerow around the restaurant's back patio.

He tipped his toupee to the proprietor as he waddled past.
 
A distinguished looking badger came in and pounded on the bar with a paw for service. "I say, laddie. Nip along smartly and fetch me up some fajitas and hot tea. Now there's a good chap..."
 
The badger was waited on by the swan Lakemist.

Meanwhile, Vissarion told Ivan, "You're welcome. I'll remember you, and pray for you. I believe that there are others hereabouts who can help you on issues of faith; I wouldn't be surprised if that talking badger over there were one of them."

Then he departed through a dimensional portal to where his bride eagerly awaited him, while the air was filled with the ruggedly joyful ending music to "The Man from Snowy River."

And in that other world, as Vissarion dropped his weapons at last and ran to embrace and kiss his beloved Shamleth, there was indeed great rejoicing.
 
Ivan watched him go and shrugged, pretending not to be bothered by the depature of his friend. He looked curiously at the talking badger, wondering how much weirder his week would get.
He had not yet met Smerdyakov the purple duck who wore a shoe on his head. Smerdy, as the purple duck was called, was busy building a replica of the dark tower of Modor out of napkins, playing cards, and glue.
"When this is finished," he mumbled, "The thread will me mine!
 
A 13-year-old girl came in and loudly announced, "I am a princess on a lonely quest which no one else understands! Admire and adore me!"

But everyone there only yawned at the overworked gag, so the girl went home crying and resigned herself to having to deal with actual life.
 
EveningStar munched on his fajita, occasionally sipping tea. "Sometimes it's not easy being cute as a button,' he lamented. From time to time a patron in the Inn would come up and muss him between the ears. "Garn, I have a sore scalp! Stow it, peasants!"
 
Another bratty thirteen-year-old girl appeared, and demanded that she be allowed to keep the badger as a pet. She would name him "Snookums".
"He's so CUTE!" she squealed as she tweaked his nose.
Luckily for the badger, Smerdyakov the purple duck's Mordor Replica fell over and sqaushed the girl.

And there was much rejoicing.
 
Just then, a new sight diverted all eyes away from the Badger: a tall, impossibly perfect blonde woman came in the front door. Since she was NOT actually wearing a Muslim burka over a Catholic nun's habit over a deepsea diver suit over long farm overalls, the Mod-Cam operators frantically shut off their cameras, lest anyone be allowed to think that women DID exist below the neck.

But all the panic notwithstanding, the Nordic beauty was in reality a pure-hearted and respectable married woman: Mrs. Queenie Frankl, wife of about seven weeks now to Emmett Frankl, the Western gunslinger who had found his way out of the 19th century via Monologues time-space to become the originator of the Gunslinger Steakhouses.

"Hi, Charles; hi, Jane, hi, everyone," she said in a rich voice. "I'm glad to see the new location's doing well. I just wanted you to know that my brother-in-law Jake and his fiancee Trinity will be managing business for the chain until further notice. Aslan Himself has called Emmett and me to go on a mission--with NO thirteen-year-old Amazon princesses included. Emmett is making preparations right now. You should eventually be able to see reports on our progress in a new thread at the Professor's Writing Club. And anyone who doesn't know who Emmett and I are, should look in a roleplay thread called 'Emmett and Queenie, Continued,' while it can still be seen."
 
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