Building a bit upon the bar RPs I wanted to add a bit of my own twist and flavor. I cross my fingers that I make it compelling and interesting enough that we can over-look the fact that the bar room RP is dangerously close to becoming the beaten dead horse. Since you're still here and reading perhaps there is hope still. So let me make my pitch.
Welcome to the Whistling Wheelbarrow, an unusual watering hole somewhere between here and there. That imaginary point between point A and point B. It's everywhere and nowhere. It has no street address, heck it might not even be on a street since its hard to tell whats behind the swirling mist outside the front doors. What is known is they come when they need to, leave when they want, and never leave empty. The Whistling Wheelbarrow is a place where you can be anyone or anything you'd like to try your hand at becoming, and I encourage you to come as many times as you want, as as many different characters you'd like to stretch your RP mucles at attempting to become. Want to explore what would happen if a space marine and a wild wild west cowboy met for drinks and ended up in a showdown? Ever wonder what might be said if a mage debated with a dubstep pumping DJ? What would happen if a knight in steel armor played a game of poker with a talking unicorn? Come and explore the possibilites and maybe even be surprised by the outcomes.
It doesn't just simply stop there. Oh no, perspective participant. I have a few ideas up my sleeve as well. A few stories rattling around in my old noogin. Jame Bartelby has a few stories that need telling as well as a few other characters of the Whistling Wheelbarrow and I plan on trying to explore them. And I'd like to do this while, you dear fellow storyteller and role player, excercise the James and Jamie Bartelbys of your mind as well. The results might end up being something extraordinary. Each chuck of stories I have, I'll spit out and notation by labeling them as chapters. It is in no way a means to stop the stories and goings-ons that might be happening at the time, but merely a way for me to close one chapter and begin into the next one. Who knows, the actions that spill from one chapter to the next might even affect the story that follows as well. Now wouldn't that be a pleasant surprise? So without further ado, let me release my most recent inner demon - James Bartelby and the Whistling Wheelbarrow.
Idk what is going on but many things can happen at a bar.
Name: Cale Tren
Gender:Male
I walk into the bar looking for a good time and a nice drink. When I enter the bar I instantly have to go to the bathroom. I walk to the nearest place that looks like a bathroom. I walk in and run into this white sort of structure. I have a seat in it. I am about to use this when I realize that this isn't a bathroom. The doors close and I am stuck in there. While I pound on the wall I accidentally hit a button. I don't know what it is but I know it did something. I then hear a robotic voice "Random Ability Device activate" Then the machine fills with a blinding light. I open my eyes when I hear the doors open and the light isn't so bright. I walk out of the strange machine. I notice that everything is slightly bigger. I walk up to the stairs and definitly know something is wrong. I figure out that I have been shrunken by the machine.
A male walks into the bar with a swift deliberant stride in his step, rushes to a door toward the back of the bar. Benjamin looks up from his dirty mop to the man in a brisk walk then to his father, standing behind the bar slowly wiping a pyramid of clean highball glasses. With a shrug, James returns to his previous task of busy work and Benjamin resumes mopping.
A blinding light shines and flashes from underneath the gap between the door and the doorsill. The door slowly opens but no one appears to come out. Dinky the orange tabby cat perching atop the end of the bar stops licking its paw and cleaning its face and suddenly stops and stares intently at something on the floor at the base of the stairs.
A loud slap emanates from the double doors as they slam open and another fellow walks into the Whistling Wheelbarrow. Benjamin looks up from his mopping and rubs his hand with the white rag tucked into the waist of his pants.
"Good morning sir. What will it be?"
The man coldly ignores him as he strolls past to sit at a far table. Turning to follow the man with his eye all the way to the table, Benjamin looks to his father, still behind the bar polishing highball glasses and stacking them in a pyramid. Benjamin shrugs slightly and sighs, to return to mopping his little area of the floor.
Delilah pushes her way through the two swinging half-doors leading to the back of the bar with an expectant look. Noticing the newcomer sitting at a table, now tightening a screw on his arm with a screwdriver she walks over to his table with a sashay in her hips.
"What'll it be, cowboy?" she says as she rests a delicate hand on the edge of the chair opposite the male with the artificial arm. A pleasant feminine fragrance settles around the table, emanating from Delilah.
Whoops, I was a bit slow and the bar apparently sprung to life before I could squeeze the introductory info in - So better late than never, here it is.
The Whistling Wheelbarrow is an unusual of unusual watering hole. Established long before anyone remembers and quite possibly to remain long after everyone forgets. It is a vast bar with many accommodating tables and matching sturdy chairs. Against a wall sits a jukebox with nearly every song and selection know to man (and various other creatures, worldly and non). The bar itself is a somber mahogany structure with a utilitarian oaken top. Full of dents and scrapes, scratches and nicks, it bears witness to many a drink filled nights – some more violent than others. Behind the bar is a large etched mirror in which the etchings around the edges of the mirror constantly change with the mood of the bar and the patron gazing at it. Hung to the side is a single wooden plaque with the bars main rule painted in peeling red letters – “Don’t pet the Dinky”.
The proprietor of this unusual of unusual watering holes is James Bartelby. A hulking beast of a man, he towers in height over most but is as kind as a saint. His massive barrel chest and thick course haired arms intimidate most but James is the gentlest of gentle souls.
James’ son, Benjamin Bartelby also works at the Whistling Wheelbarrow. Benjamin is nearly the direct opposite of his father - an average height, skinny man with a cynical view of the world outside the double doors of the bar.
Also employed by James is Delilah Bartelby. She bares no relation to James or Benjamin, his son, but merely adopted the Bartelby name for some unknown reason. Sassy and curvaceous Delilah is often a favorite of the patrons, but she is quick to put a stray hand back in its place should the situation warrant.
In charge of security – though there are nearly no rules at the Whistling Wheelbarrow – is Bobo, an impressive specimen of an ogre if there ever was one and especially fond of Dinky, the resident cat. Loyal to a fault, and mentally slow as molasses, Bobo stands ever ready at the bars double doors with a huge spiked club in his meaty hands.
Lastly there is Dinky, an orange tabby cat, and permanent resident to the Whistling Wheelbarrow. Where it came from no one knows, but it keeps the vermin population in check and is allowed to stay.
The Whistling Wheelbarrow is now Open for Business – again.
Chapter 1: So It Begins - or The Grand Re-Openning Openning
Only a slight nod from Delilah and she is off towards the bar. She moves deftly between the tables. Each table she navigates around makes her hips swing as if in a sexy slalom event. Somehow, without a word, James already has the drink poured to perfection. Delilah scoops up the drink and balances atop a well-worn serving platter and returns to the mechanical armed patron.
Setting down a napkin slightly embossed with a wheelbarrow circled with musical notes and the establishment's name, she adds the drink centered on top.
"Sorry, the only mirror we have is the big one behind the bar." Delilah tells the gentleman. "Maybe you might like some company?" she asks, "You look like you have something on your mind. Or at least a few good stories."
"The Whistling Wheelbarrow", delilah responds, waving a hand dismissively to the bar room all around them. "I'm not really sure other than that. I go home when it's time to go home, and arrive when it's time to work... but for the life of me I don't really know where here really is." Delilah finishes with a shrug.
She pulls a chair away from the table and spins it around as to sit on it backwards. She lightly lays her hand on the man arm an smiles wryly. With her other hand she absently twirls silky strands of her hair around a finger.
"Name's Delilah. What's yours? And you tell me what you think has brough you here, to this fine establishment, and anything else you'd like to share."
"I've never met a Grim Reaper named Jeremiah before" she says. "A couple arch-angels stop in every so often to play dominoes off in the back corner, and Lucifer himself stopped in for a drink once... but no Grim Reapers. Sloppy drunk he is - Lucifer, I mean - he ended up playing "Piano Man" on the piano over there", Delilah gestures over to the up-right piano aganist the wall, "over and over again, until James made him stop. He then tried to challange Bobo to a fiddlin' contest or something; but Bobo can barely play a kazoo, let alone a fiddle. So you can only imagine how well that went over." Delilah gets up from her chair and points to the empty glass in front of Jeremiah and questioningly raises her eyebrows indicating if he wants another as she picks it up and heads to the bar.
"What makes you so sure you're dead or something of the like?" she asked over her shoulder as she set the empty glass on the bar. "Gotta say I do have a bit of thing for men with metal appendages - dead or not." Delilah grins wickly over her shoulder as James whisks the empty glass off the bar to dunk it in the sink of soapy water behind the counter.
Chapter 2: The Electric Blue Boogaloo - or Bobo Buys a Galactic Bible
Another loud slap emanates from the double doors into the Whistling Wheelbarrow. Startled awake from his peaceful dozing Bobo straightens at the loud sudden noise and eyes the newcomer with interest. The man enters, his baby blue cowboy boots echo against the hardwood floor of the bar. His matching powder blue polyester suit swishes with each of the man's steps. Perched atop his head is a comically large cowboy hat, it the same blue to match his rather loud suit. The man stops after a few paces into the bar and stops. Placing his suitcase on the chair next to him, the man sets his cubby fists on his hips to survey the bar. Benjamin sets his mop against a sturdy chair and while wipping his hands on the rag tucked into his waistline asks the man,
"What can I bring you sir?"
"A whiskey sour will do, I reckon", and the man considers for a moment. "Well, maybe make it two. I'm rightly thirsty."
Benjamin nods as he walks to the bar, where James already has two perfect whiskey sours sitting side by side. Benjamin places two napkins and the two drinks down in front of the man.
"Thank ya kindly. The name's Walter. Walter Finnly. And sales' the game." Walter says with a flourish of his hand and produces a business card that he extends to Benjamin.
Benjamin stares at the card coldly.
"No thanks", Benjamin says flatly. "Whatever you're selling I don't want any."
"Fair enough", replies Walter. Without missing a beat he turns toward Delilah and Jeremiah sitting at a distant table. Delilah softly shakes her head and then eyes Jeremiah.
Walter's face lights up at the invitation extended by Jeremiah. Noisily sliding his chair back from the table he grips his suitcase and quaffs one of his whiskey sours. Dabbing his mouth with a napkin, and then straightening his suit Walter strides confidently over towards the man with the mechanical arms.
"Don't believe I caught your name, good sir" Walter says as he plops his rather large suitcase on the table and clicks the latches open. "What I have here, is THE greatest purchase you will ever have the chance to make!"
As Walter opens the lid to his suitcase he reaches in and pulls out a thick, hardcover book with gold embossed letters on the cover.
"You there", Walter exclaims as he points the thick book at Bobo sitting next to the entrance door. "You too, come over here. This is possibly the greatest opportunity you'll ever receive!"
Bobo straighten with the surprise of someone other than the Bartlebys actually talking to him. He blinks and glances to each side of himself and questioningly points his thick ogre finger at his own chest. Nodding yes to the ogre, Walter continues his sales pitch as Bobo lumbers over to the table.
"What I am able to offer you fortunate folks is the greatest of greatest books of all time. This book explains all the mysteries of life - and death - and everything in between. This wonderful book will be your shelter from life's storm, your ray of sunshine in the darkest of nights, your water in the parched waaaasteland of this present day of trials and tribulations!" he finishes with a vocal flourish. As Walter gains more excitement in his pitch it seems his baby blue cowboy hat glows with more and more intensity.
"I present to you, good sir - and ogre", Walter adds to include Bobo who stands slack-jawed behind Delilah wringing his club with earnest desire and apprehension, "the Holy Galactic, Emperor Yugo Issue, Version 5.8, Unabridged, Bible!"
Walter caresses the crimson red cover like a showgirl presenting a new appliance on an old-timey game show.
Name: No one knows. He always introduces himself with his nickname of 'Shovel'
Age: Also unknown.
Shovel stood, staring at the bar which sat in front of him. He didn't know how he arrived. He didn't know where he was. He didn't even know where his wallet had gotten to. All he knew, was he wanted to get out of the exposed air, and into the relative shelter of the establishment. Shovel walked inside, the double doors left swining behind him. As he looked around, he scratched the back of his neck, shifting the straps of his white, featureless mask out of the way to do so.
Shovel wasn't tall, standing at a modest 5"8". His hair, or whatever he had, was always hidden by a black, woolen beanie, clearly newer than the white, button up, long sleeved dress shirt that he wore over his plain, black, long sleeved tee. His small, nimble hands were sheathed in gloves of darkest black leather, and the Dark grey jeans, which were clearly a little long for him, were thread bare at the knees. His shoes, which would've once been black, were now covered in years of accumalated dust, and were a dirty brown.
He spotted a relatively dark corner, within which a table and 3 chairs sat, and made a beeline for it. Shovel didn't hate the light per-say. He was just more relaxed in darkness.
As Walter's sale pitch reaches a feverish crescendo, he could see he was losing Jeremiah’s interest. Quickly shifting to Bobo, Walter's hat glows almost blindingly. Bobo stares slack-jawed at the throbbing glow of Walter's hat as a thin sliver of drool hangs from the corner of his mouth.
"Well!? Whatdaya say, partner?!" Walter's brash exclamation snaps Bobo from his stupid trance.
"No worries! The Holy Galactic, Emperor Yugo Issue, Version 5.8, Unabridged, Bible does the reading for yuh!" Walter offers with a broad smile. "See look et here!" Walter drags a sturdy chair up next to Bobo and guides him to sit. The side arms of the chair prevent Bobo's massive girth from sitting so Walter desperately glances about the bar for a larger, more accommodating piece of furniture. Grabbing the thick stool Bobo usually sits on near the door he guides Bobo to sit again, this time atop Bobo's own thick stool.
"Now all you hafta do is draw your finger across the words!" Walter says as he places his hand over Bobo's hulking paw and places it on a page of the book. "Now just follow the words!"
"And den he said to da he-banly hosts, take joy - I bringed-ed yous tidins of great joy. A spaced ship is builted in the space station of Betheledhem." Bobo's eye widen with shock and delight as the words utter from his own mouth, in his own words simply from running his finger across the words on the page. "Dis is so awsomest!" Bobo exclaims, as he looks from Delilah who is still gripping the back of a chair standing near Jeremiah.
Walter's hat glows brilliantly as his smile reaches from ear to ear and wrinkles his old cheeks. "That's right! And for 7 easy payments of $52.95 you can have your own Holy Galactic, Emperor Yugo Issue, Version 5.8, Unabridged, Bible. Now whatdaya say, partner?!"
Bobo's attention is once again stolen by Walter's glowing hat.
"Ida want da hat." Bobo says mesmerized.
Snapping his fingers in front of Bobo's eyes to bring him back to reality, Walter offers Bobo a kind smile. I'm sorry, but it was an award for selling my entire stock in record time..." Walter stops himself to consider. "But I suppose I could get another one if I sold all these Holy Galactic, Emperor Yugo Issue, Version 5.8, Unabridged, Bibles I have here." Walter says patting his old weathered hand on the suitcase lid.
"I do's want da hat. And da reedin book!" Bobo pleads. He turns to James standing behind the bar propped up on his two massive arms. "Can I has da reedin books and hat baws?!"
James nods slightly. "Bobo I have all of your pay since you started working here for me. You are free to spend it on whatever you'd like."
"Oh boys, I do's want da hat and reeding books! I can reeds to Dinky!" Bobo says as he grins and claps his meaty hands together. "Ode happy daze!" Bobo continues to gush as he stands up, knocking his thick stool over with a loud clatter.
In the back corner, Shovel grimaced at the loud clatter of the chair, and the shouts of the excited ogre. He hated loud noises. After pondering the bar tenders question for a moment, he finally responded. "Lemon juice, Lime cordial, and a bottle of bitters, if you have them. If not, a shot of Vodka." His voice sounded heavy, as if his words carried weight as well, and his slow pronunciation would label him as being unfamiliar with the english language.
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In the back corner, Shovel grimaced at the loud clatter of the chair, and the shouts of the excited ogre. He hated loud noises. After pondering the bar tenders question for a moment, he finally responded. "Lemon juice, Lime cordial, and a bottle of bitters, if you have them. If not, a shot of Vodka." His voice sounded heavy, as if his words carried weight as well, and his slow pronunciation would label him as being unfamiliar with the english language.
Pausing to observe the commotion Bobo was creating with his excitiment, Benjamin appologizes to the stranger for the ruckus. The man responds after a brief pondering. Benjamin pauses for a slight momment as he silently recalls the requested drink. With a questioning glance towards James behind the bar, he sees that James has already crafted the drink perfectly and it waited atop the bar. Giving a slight nod to the stranger, he weaves his way to the bar and scoops up the drink. Placing down a napkin and then the drink on top. in front of the man he nods a second time. Cold beads of sweat from the cool glass roll down and begin to form a wet ring in the napkin.
"Right, there you are. I don't think there is a drink out there my father can't make...", Benjamin revels. "Where you from, sir, if I may ask? I am curious of the different places out there beyond those doors, but my father keeps me down right busy." Benjamin groans as he jerks a thumb slightly towards James behind the bar.
Shovel held his hand up to the bottom of his mask, and rested his elbow upon his knee, in a pose similar to the statue 'The thinker'. "I originally came from a Planet called 'Terra Firma', but i left soon after a war broke out. The war was horrible, it pitted friends against friends, animal against man, Children against Adults. No one knew what the fighting was over, only it was important. As soon as i was born, i was bundled onto a shuttle, and flown deep into space, where scientists and such tested me." He adjusted his gloves, pulling them further up his arm, and took a sip from his drink. How it managed to go through the mask without spilling all over him, is a mystery. "I almost forgot to introduce myself. My names Shovel." He held a hand out for Benjamin to shake.
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"A pleasure, sir", Benjamin says as he grips the offered hand and gives a firm handshake. "Benjamin, Benjamin Bartelby. And my father, James", Benjamin offers, thrusting a thumb over his shoulder towards James idly wiping the bar top. "What brings you to The Whistling Wheelbarrow? Can't say I've heard of Terra Firma... not that that prevents Terra Firma from knowing about us though. We get people from all sorts of strange parts in here. And of course sorry to hear of your unfortunate circumstances and such..."
Benjamin pulls a study chair away from the table and gestures to it in a motion indicating he wished to know if Shovel minded him sitting to join him at his table.
Meanwhile Bobo dumps a fistful of currency into the outstretched hands of Walter, the Galactic Bible salesman.
"Bobo can't count gooder. Bobo don't hafta nough fingers and toeses", he stammers.
Walter nods understandingly and comforts the ogre while he smoothes and stacks the currency. Eyes wide, Walter stands back and appraises the stack of currency and then eyes Bobo.
"Are you sure you really want to buy ALL of my bibles?" he asks. "While I do appreciate the sales, I do just want to make sure the customer is always satisfied, and such."
"Uh huh, Bobo wants da hat." Bobo extends a thick finger towards the now unlit hat resting on the top of Walter's suitcase. With a resigning sigh, Walter picks up the hat and offers it to Bobo.
"Well good sir, you have made me the most successful salesman that has ever walked the halls at Beedmont Sales Incorperated, and I surely do appreciate it. A deal is a deal. Do take good care of that hat", Walter says nodding towards the hat now delicately gripped between Bobo's thumb and forefinger. "And I do appreciate the drinks... they were the best I've ever had," Walter finishes nodding to James behind the bar. James simply nods and raises his massive hand in acknowledgment. With a final nod to Bobo and the surrounding partons, Walter steps out through the doors out of the bar.
A wide grin spreads across Bobo's simple face as he carefully lowers the hat onto his head. While the hat was comically large atop the head of Walter, it looks comically small atop Bobo's. The smile slowly fades as the hat sits, failing to illuminate.
"Bobo's hat don't glowin", Bobo sighs dejectedly.
"Don't fret Bobo, you'll figure out how to make it glow soon enough." Delilha offers while she comfortingly pats Bobo's arm. "Why don't you take your books and put them somewhere safe, and maybe you can read to us later..."
Bobo's eye sparkle once again as he nods dumbly - making his too small hat teeter atop his head.
"Oh tay", he says as he scoops up his stack of books and lumbers to the back of the bar.
Shovel shrugged. Everywhere he went, he got people pitying him. If it wasn't about not having parents, it was about the living conditions of the ship he was raised in. They needn't have worried. The scientist knew how to take care of him perfectly, and were parents to him. Wanting to change the subject, he gestured to the large ogre, and asked " Where is he from? I was sure ogres did not exist."
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"I have no clue where Bobo came from. He's just always been 'here', as long as I can remember. You know, come to think of it, I don't think he's change a bit since I remember him whenn I was a little tyke running around the bar. Do ogres even age?" Benjamin asks, turning to Shovel with raised eyebrows.
"Bobo, how old are you?!" Benjamin calls out to the over-sized ogre.
"Bobo is dis manys", Bobo replies with a broad grin as he holds up all his fingers on both his hands.
Welcome to the Whistling Wheelbarrow, an unusual watering hole somewhere between here and there. That imaginary point between point A and point B. It's everywhere and nowhere. It has no street address, heck it might not even be on a street since its hard to tell whats behind the swirling mist outside the front doors. What is known is they come when they need to, leave when they want, and never leave empty. The Whistling Wheelbarrow is a place where you can be anyone or anything you'd like to try your hand at becoming, and I encourage you to come as many times as you want, as as many different characters you'd like to stretch your RP mucles at attempting to become. Want to explore what would happen if a space marine and a wild wild west cowboy met for drinks and ended up in a showdown? Ever wonder what might be said if a mage debated with a dubstep pumping DJ? What would happen if a knight in steel armor played a game of poker with a talking unicorn? Come and explore the possibilites and maybe even be surprised by the outcomes.
It doesn't just simply stop there. Oh no, perspective participant. I have a few ideas up my sleeve as well. A few stories rattling around in my old noogin. Jame Bartelby has a few stories that need telling as well as a few other characters of the Whistling Wheelbarrow and I plan on trying to explore them. And I'd like to do this while, you dear fellow storyteller and role player, excercise the James and Jamie Bartelbys of your mind as well. The results might end up being something extraordinary. Each chuck of stories I have, I'll spit out and notation by labeling them as chapters. It is in no way a means to stop the stories and goings-ons that might be happening at the time, but merely a way for me to close one chapter and begin into the next one. Who knows, the actions that spill from one chapter to the next might even affect the story that follows as well. Now wouldn't that be a pleasant surprise? So without further ado, let me release my most recent inner demon - James Bartelby and the Whistling Wheelbarrow.
Explanation to follow.
http://www.minecraftforum.net/forums/minecraft-discussion/survival-mode/2372609-journal-the-ballad-of-dirtdog
Name: Cale Tren
Gender:Male
I walk into the bar looking for a good time and a nice drink. When I enter the bar I instantly have to go to the bathroom. I walk to the nearest place that looks like a bathroom. I walk in and run into this white sort of structure. I have a seat in it. I am about to use this when I realize that this isn't a bathroom. The doors close and I am stuck in there. While I pound on the wall I accidentally hit a button. I don't know what it is but I know it did something. I then hear a robotic voice "Random Ability Device activate" Then the machine fills with a blinding light. I open my eyes when I hear the doors open and the light isn't so bright. I walk out of the strange machine. I notice that everything is slightly bigger. I walk up to the stairs and definitly know something is wrong. I figure out that I have been shrunken by the machine.
A blinding light shines and flashes from underneath the gap between the door and the doorsill. The door slowly opens but no one appears to come out. Dinky the orange tabby cat perching atop the end of the bar stops licking its paw and cleaning its face and suddenly stops and stares intently at something on the floor at the base of the stairs.
http://www.minecraftforum.net/forums/minecraft-discussion/survival-mode/2372609-journal-the-ballad-of-dirtdog
"Good morning sir. What will it be?"
The man coldly ignores him as he strolls past to sit at a far table. Turning to follow the man with his eye all the way to the table, Benjamin looks to his father, still behind the bar polishing highball glasses and stacking them in a pyramid. Benjamin shrugs slightly and sighs, to return to mopping his little area of the floor.
Delilah pushes her way through the two swinging half-doors leading to the back of the bar with an expectant look. Noticing the newcomer sitting at a table, now tightening a screw on his arm with a screwdriver she walks over to his table with a sashay in her hips.
"What'll it be, cowboy?" she says as she rests a delicate hand on the edge of the chair opposite the male with the artificial arm. A pleasant feminine fragrance settles around the table, emanating from Delilah.
http://www.minecraftforum.net/forums/minecraft-discussion/survival-mode/2372609-journal-the-ballad-of-dirtdog
The Whistling Wheelbarrow is an unusual of unusual watering hole. Established long before anyone remembers and quite possibly to remain long after everyone forgets. It is a vast bar with many accommodating tables and matching sturdy chairs. Against a wall sits a jukebox with nearly every song and selection know to man (and various other creatures, worldly and non). The bar itself is a somber mahogany structure with a utilitarian oaken top. Full of dents and scrapes, scratches and nicks, it bears witness to many a drink filled nights – some more violent than others. Behind the bar is a large etched mirror in which the etchings around the edges of the mirror constantly change with the mood of the bar and the patron gazing at it. Hung to the side is a single wooden plaque with the bars main rule painted in peeling red letters – “Don’t pet the Dinky”.
The proprietor of this unusual of unusual watering holes is James Bartelby. A hulking beast of a man, he towers in height over most but is as kind as a saint. His massive barrel chest and thick course haired arms intimidate most but James is the gentlest of gentle souls.
James’ son, Benjamin Bartelby also works at the Whistling Wheelbarrow. Benjamin is nearly the direct opposite of his father - an average height, skinny man with a cynical view of the world outside the double doors of the bar.
Also employed by James is Delilah Bartelby. She bares no relation to James or Benjamin, his son, but merely adopted the Bartelby name for some unknown reason. Sassy and curvaceous Delilah is often a favorite of the patrons, but she is quick to put a stray hand back in its place should the situation warrant.
In charge of security – though there are nearly no rules at the Whistling Wheelbarrow – is Bobo, an impressive specimen of an ogre if there ever was one and especially fond of Dinky, the resident cat. Loyal to a fault, and mentally slow as molasses, Bobo stands ever ready at the bars double doors with a huge spiked club in his meaty hands.
Lastly there is Dinky, an orange tabby cat, and permanent resident to the Whistling Wheelbarrow. Where it came from no one knows, but it keeps the vermin population in check and is allowed to stay.
The Whistling Wheelbarrow is now Open for Business – again.
Chapter 1: So It Begins - or The Grand Re-Openning Openning
http://www.minecraftforum.net/forums/minecraft-discussion/survival-mode/2372609-journal-the-ballad-of-dirtdog
Setting down a napkin slightly embossed with a wheelbarrow circled with musical notes and the establishment's name, she adds the drink centered on top.
"Sorry, the only mirror we have is the big one behind the bar." Delilah tells the gentleman. "Maybe you might like some company?" she asks, "You look like you have something on your mind. Or at least a few good stories."
http://www.minecraftforum.net/forums/minecraft-discussion/survival-mode/2372609-journal-the-ballad-of-dirtdog
She pulls a chair away from the table and spins it around as to sit on it backwards. She lightly lays her hand on the man arm an smiles wryly. With her other hand she absently twirls silky strands of her hair around a finger.
"Name's Delilah. What's yours? And you tell me what you think has brough you here, to this fine establishment, and anything else you'd like to share."
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"I've never met a Grim Reaper named Jeremiah before" she says. "A couple arch-angels stop in every so often to play dominoes off in the back corner, and Lucifer himself stopped in for a drink once... but no Grim Reapers. Sloppy drunk he is - Lucifer, I mean - he ended up playing "Piano Man" on the piano over there", Delilah gestures over to the up-right piano aganist the wall, "over and over again, until James made him stop. He then tried to challange Bobo to a fiddlin' contest or something; but Bobo can barely play a kazoo, let alone a fiddle. So you can only imagine how well that went over." Delilah gets up from her chair and points to the empty glass in front of Jeremiah and questioningly raises her eyebrows indicating if he wants another as she picks it up and heads to the bar.
"What makes you so sure you're dead or something of the like?" she asked over her shoulder as she set the empty glass on the bar. "Gotta say I do have a bit of thing for men with metal appendages - dead or not." Delilah grins wickly over her shoulder as James whisks the empty glass off the bar to dunk it in the sink of soapy water behind the counter.
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Another loud slap emanates from the double doors into the Whistling Wheelbarrow. Startled awake from his peaceful dozing Bobo straightens at the loud sudden noise and eyes the newcomer with interest. The man enters, his baby blue cowboy boots echo against the hardwood floor of the bar. His matching powder blue polyester suit swishes with each of the man's steps. Perched atop his head is a comically large cowboy hat, it the same blue to match his rather loud suit. The man stops after a few paces into the bar and stops. Placing his suitcase on the chair next to him, the man sets his cubby fists on his hips to survey the bar. Benjamin sets his mop against a sturdy chair and while wipping his hands on the rag tucked into his waistline asks the man,
"What can I bring you sir?"
"A whiskey sour will do, I reckon", and the man considers for a moment. "Well, maybe make it two. I'm rightly thirsty."
Benjamin nods as he walks to the bar, where James already has two perfect whiskey sours sitting side by side. Benjamin places two napkins and the two drinks down in front of the man.
"Thank ya kindly. The name's Walter. Walter Finnly. And sales' the game." Walter says with a flourish of his hand and produces a business card that he extends to Benjamin.
Benjamin stares at the card coldly.
"No thanks", Benjamin says flatly. "Whatever you're selling I don't want any."
"Fair enough", replies Walter. Without missing a beat he turns toward Delilah and Jeremiah sitting at a distant table. Delilah softly shakes her head and then eyes Jeremiah.
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"Don't believe I caught your name, good sir" Walter says as he plops his rather large suitcase on the table and clicks the latches open. "What I have here, is THE greatest purchase you will ever have the chance to make!"
As Walter opens the lid to his suitcase he reaches in and pulls out a thick, hardcover book with gold embossed letters on the cover.
"You there", Walter exclaims as he points the thick book at Bobo sitting next to the entrance door. "You too, come over here. This is possibly the greatest opportunity you'll ever receive!"
Bobo straighten with the surprise of someone other than the Bartlebys actually talking to him. He blinks and glances to each side of himself and questioningly points his thick ogre finger at his own chest. Nodding yes to the ogre, Walter continues his sales pitch as Bobo lumbers over to the table.
"What I am able to offer you fortunate folks is the greatest of greatest books of all time. This book explains all the mysteries of life - and death - and everything in between. This wonderful book will be your shelter from life's storm, your ray of sunshine in the darkest of nights, your water in the parched waaaasteland of this present day of trials and tribulations!" he finishes with a vocal flourish. As Walter gains more excitement in his pitch it seems his baby blue cowboy hat glows with more and more intensity.
"I present to you, good sir - and ogre", Walter adds to include Bobo who stands slack-jawed behind Delilah wringing his club with earnest desire and apprehension, "the Holy Galactic, Emperor Yugo Issue, Version 5.8, Unabridged, Bible!"
Walter caresses the crimson red cover like a showgirl presenting a new appliance on an old-timey game show.
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Age: Also unknown.
Shovel stood, staring at the bar which sat in front of him. He didn't know how he arrived. He didn't know where he was. He didn't even know where his wallet had gotten to. All he knew, was he wanted to get out of the exposed air, and into the relative shelter of the establishment. Shovel walked inside, the double doors left swining behind him. As he looked around, he scratched the back of his neck, shifting the straps of his white, featureless mask out of the way to do so.
Shovel wasn't tall, standing at a modest 5"8". His hair, or whatever he had, was always hidden by a black, woolen beanie, clearly newer than the white, button up, long sleeved dress shirt that he wore over his plain, black, long sleeved tee. His small, nimble hands were sheathed in gloves of darkest black leather, and the Dark grey jeans, which were clearly a little long for him, were thread bare at the knees. His shoes, which would've once been black, were now covered in years of accumalated dust, and were a dirty brown.
He spotted a relatively dark corner, within which a table and 3 chairs sat, and made a beeline for it. Shovel didn't hate the light per-say. He was just more relaxed in darkness.
"What can I get for you, sir?" He asks the stranger sitting at a table in the shadows of a corner.
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"Well!? Whatdaya say, partner?!" Walter's brash exclamation snaps Bobo from his stupid trance.
"Bobo can't read gooder. Bobo can't reads for no-ting." Bobo dejectedly replies.
"No worries! The Holy Galactic, Emperor Yugo Issue, Version 5.8, Unabridged, Bible does the reading for yuh!" Walter offers with a broad smile. "See look et here!" Walter drags a sturdy chair up next to Bobo and guides him to sit. The side arms of the chair prevent Bobo's massive girth from sitting so Walter desperately glances about the bar for a larger, more accommodating piece of furniture. Grabbing the thick stool Bobo usually sits on near the door he guides Bobo to sit again, this time atop Bobo's own thick stool.
"Now all you hafta do is draw your finger across the words!" Walter says as he places his hand over Bobo's hulking paw and places it on a page of the book. "Now just follow the words!"
"And den he said to da he-banly hosts, take joy - I bringed-ed yous tidins of great joy. A spaced ship is builted in the space station of Betheledhem." Bobo's eye widen with shock and delight as the words utter from his own mouth, in his own words simply from running his finger across the words on the page. "Dis is so awsomest!" Bobo exclaims, as he looks from Delilah who is still gripping the back of a chair standing near Jeremiah.
Walter's hat glows brilliantly as his smile reaches from ear to ear and wrinkles his old cheeks. "That's right! And for 7 easy payments of $52.95 you can have your own Holy Galactic, Emperor Yugo Issue, Version 5.8, Unabridged, Bible. Now whatdaya say, partner?!"
Bobo's attention is once again stolen by Walter's glowing hat.
"Ida want da hat." Bobo says mesmerized.
Snapping his fingers in front of Bobo's eyes to bring him back to reality, Walter offers Bobo a kind smile. I'm sorry, but it was an award for selling my entire stock in record time..." Walter stops himself to consider. "But I suppose I could get another one if I sold all these Holy Galactic, Emperor Yugo Issue, Version 5.8, Unabridged, Bibles I have here." Walter says patting his old weathered hand on the suitcase lid.
"I do's want da hat. And da reedin book!" Bobo pleads. He turns to James standing behind the bar propped up on his two massive arms. "Can I has da reedin books and hat baws?!"
James nods slightly. "Bobo I have all of your pay since you started working here for me. You are free to spend it on whatever you'd like."
"Oh boys, I do's want da hat and reeding books! I can reeds to Dinky!" Bobo says as he grins and claps his meaty hands together. "Ode happy daze!" Bobo continues to gush as he stands up, knocking his thick stool over with a loud clatter.
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Pausing to observe the commotion Bobo was creating with his excitiment, Benjamin appologizes to the stranger for the ruckus. The man responds after a brief pondering. Benjamin pauses for a slight momment as he silently recalls the requested drink. With a questioning glance towards James behind the bar, he sees that James has already crafted the drink perfectly and it waited atop the bar. Giving a slight nod to the stranger, he weaves his way to the bar and scoops up the drink. Placing down a napkin and then the drink on top. in front of the man he nods a second time. Cold beads of sweat from the cool glass roll down and begin to form a wet ring in the napkin.
"Right, there you are. I don't think there is a drink out there my father can't make...", Benjamin revels. "Where you from, sir, if I may ask? I am curious of the different places out there beyond those doors, but my father keeps me down right busy." Benjamin groans as he jerks a thumb slightly towards James behind the bar.
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Benjamin pulls a study chair away from the table and gestures to it in a motion indicating he wished to know if Shovel minded him sitting to join him at his table.
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"Bobo can't count gooder. Bobo don't hafta nough fingers and toeses", he stammers.
Walter nods understandingly and comforts the ogre while he smoothes and stacks the currency. Eyes wide, Walter stands back and appraises the stack of currency and then eyes Bobo.
"Are you sure you really want to buy ALL of my bibles?" he asks. "While I do appreciate the sales, I do just want to make sure the customer is always satisfied, and such."
"Uh huh, Bobo wants da hat." Bobo extends a thick finger towards the now unlit hat resting on the top of Walter's suitcase. With a resigning sigh, Walter picks up the hat and offers it to Bobo.
"Well good sir, you have made me the most successful salesman that has ever walked the halls at Beedmont Sales Incorperated, and I surely do appreciate it. A deal is a deal. Do take good care of that hat", Walter says nodding towards the hat now delicately gripped between Bobo's thumb and forefinger. "And I do appreciate the drinks... they were the best I've ever had," Walter finishes nodding to James behind the bar. James simply nods and raises his massive hand in acknowledgment. With a final nod to Bobo and the surrounding partons, Walter steps out through the doors out of the bar.
A wide grin spreads across Bobo's simple face as he carefully lowers the hat onto his head. While the hat was comically large atop the head of Walter, it looks comically small atop Bobo's. The smile slowly fades as the hat sits, failing to illuminate.
"Bobo's hat don't glowin", Bobo sighs dejectedly.
"Don't fret Bobo, you'll figure out how to make it glow soon enough." Delilha offers while she comfortingly pats Bobo's arm. "Why don't you take your books and put them somewhere safe, and maybe you can read to us later..."
Bobo's eye sparkle once again as he nods dumbly - making his too small hat teeter atop his head.
"Oh tay", he says as he scoops up his stack of books and lumbers to the back of the bar.
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"I have no clue where Bobo came from. He's just always been 'here', as long as I can remember. You know, come to think of it, I don't think he's change a bit since I remember him whenn I was a little tyke running around the bar. Do ogres even age?" Benjamin asks, turning to Shovel with raised eyebrows.
"Bobo, how old are you?!" Benjamin calls out to the over-sized ogre.
"Bobo is dis manys", Bobo replies with a broad grin as he holds up all his fingers on both his hands.
Benjamin smirks. "I guess he's that many."
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