ph_memes | [Special Test Drive] Villain's Lounge

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You find yourself in a lounge.

You're not sure how you got here, or when you got here. The phrase "pulled from the mouth of Hell" springs to mind, unbidden. Assuming you have hands, there's a drink in one of them. A drink you like. If not, then perhaps something else will strike your fancy. Some lavish treat that is to your tastes. Someone has spared no expense making you comfortable.

"I'm so glad you all could make it," croons the Deer-Headed Man. He wears a business suit and carries a cane. You know him. He offered you something, shook your hand (or whatever you have) and promised you exactly what you wanted. All you had to do was "what you do best..."

"The casino will be open to the public before too long, and we'll begin assigning you prey," the Deer-Headed Man continues. "But for now, please enjoy this VIP lounge. I'd love it if you all took the chance to mingle, get to know each other. The bar is open, as is the kitchen. Anything you want is on my tab. I've got a lot to do, but I'll try to swing by later to answer any questions."

He disappears, leaving you and a strange collection of... colleagues, ostensibly, alone in the lounge. Deep blue plush furniture. Wood stained a deep black and polished expertly. Gold trim tastefully slipped in where appropriate. This place is classy. And you have the run of it.

What will you do?

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[ The Villain's Lounge is a special test drive meme for guest villains for our Halloween Special. You do not have to apply officially to test drive, but you must apply officially in order to participate in the Special. Applications are due October 1st and can be done here. This is just an opportunity to test and practice! Have fun, and stay spooky! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Not yet- keep your composure, not yet, his weight isn't properly on the stool. Just a bit more. He juuust needs to feel comfortable enough to sit down entirely. Every not-muscle in the stool's chassis is tight as a coiled spring, except for the soft cushion at the top of him. Perfectly Ordinary Stool That You Can Trust To Hold Your Weight.

He's not sitting.

But he does ... just a little at first ... lean on the stool. Like he's supporting an increasing amount of his weight on it. Enough that he might take a tumble if the stool were to suddenly not be there? Perhaps.

OKAY FINE IT'S TIME GO-

The stool unceremoniously collapses under his weight.

And down he -- wait, what?

His center of mass does drop, but only briefly, as he takes a rapid double-step to absorb the momentum. He ends up standing a few feet past the stool's position, one elbow leaning (lightly) against the bartop, still holding his unspilled drink.

From which he takes a sip, just to make the point.

"You might have told me you were here," he says mildly.

......................

The stool, which is now a person on the ground, looks up.

"Methinks t'would've torn the gag to tatters, announcing it afore t'was ripe."

...

He tries to swat the drink directly out of Xanatos' hand unexpectedly.

He frowns sharply at the voice, or perhaps at the dialect; why are you talking that way?

But the attempt to swat his drink out of his hand takes him completely by surprise, and while he does manage to jerk the glass away, it's at the cost of sloshing about half of the remaining contents onto the bartop, spattering his cuff.

"What the --" he starts, and cuts off with a look of alarmed surmise. This situation, says that look, is not at all what he has been assuming.

Puck is already fleeing, having been made by someone who knows him (???). Unfortunately for him, the enchantments that let him move unseen by people unless he wills it simply don't seem to apply here.

"Puck, get back here, I'm not --" -- mad, he was going to say, but actually he's not sure that's true.

(The voice is wrong. The shape could be just another disguise, the apparent failure to recognize him could mean anything, but ... the voice is wrong.)

He kind of stops and skids on his heels. For a second, he looks distinctly more goat-y than he did prior to his name being said, but it seems to flicker away just as quickly.

"Aye, I am that merry wanderer of the night," he says, voice slowly creeping with dread, his form elongating and growing more spindly.

"But thou'rt not my Lord, nor art thou kith or cousin to me. By what art hast thou wrangled my name from the aether?"

"We've ... met," he says slowly, in a tone oddly similar to the growing dread in Puck's. "At least, in my time we have. Possibly not yet in yours."

"Oh! An issue of time and thread of Wyrd tangled into a knot! Saying as much could have saved us both the effort."

Zwoops back into looking mostly Puck shaped and ambles back over, leans against the bar.

"Is the me known to thee a charmed knave just the same? Dost he have mine eyes?"

Blinks once or twice, flickering between the compound eyes of a fly and the rectangular pupils of a goat.

"Oh, I'd have led off with that if I'd had any idea." Said just slightly sourly, as he wipes the spilled alcohol off his hand.

"A charmed knave? Yes, you could say that. A master of mimicry. Very fond of pranks."

So fond, in fact, that for the sake of the joke he's maintained a straight face for literal years.

"Tis a relief to know that one is oneself when oneself is not oneself."

His eyes flit from Xanatos to the glass and then back to Xanatos again. Then back to the glass. Then back to Xanatos. This is a particular game he likes to play with those fey who know him, which is 'am I going to knock that over or am I just tricking you into thinking I am'. There are usually no winners except Puck.

"I'm shamed to say I haven't had the pleasure in any version of thee."

"David Xanatos," he says, and remembers in time not to offer a handshake.

He watches those flickering eyes, and decides to see for himself how this plays out.

This is now just fully a staring contest, with Puck standing motionless maintaining direct eye contact with Xanatos.

His tongue darts out to lick at his own frog-like eye.

All right. Okay, a staring contest he can handle, no trouble, let's just see how thiOH SWEET JESUS.

He doesn't say that last part out loud, but he definitely does lose his poker face in suppressing the full-body recoil.

There we go- Puck barks a laugh and tries to take advantage of the moment to steal the glass entirely, an arm reaching out to wrap a tentacle around the glass as the rest of him schloops into guise of an octopus. Even if he isn't successful in his theft, he fully intends to give this fellow a merry chase, should he try to pursue. Did you know an octopus can fit into any space where their beak can fit? Good luck removing him from whatever glass or bottle he finds to squeeze into at the bar.

...

You know what, the Puck (or whoever the Puck he is) can have this one. David's just gonna ... order a fresh drink.

And find a chair that he's damn sure is a chair.

Puck spends the rest of the curled up in one of the mixing glasses under the bar, waiting to be found, giggling to himself.

Eventually he gets bored and forgets why he was hiding and slinks off to menace someone else.

[Special Test Drive] Villain's Lounge

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Aaand wrap!