A week & a day’s mooch: part 8

OK – I know I’m crap at marketing, but I’m great at re-cycling!😀  Treat this as ‘another chance to see’ the recent blog tour that launched the eBook, only in it’s spiritual home (well at least where it was written, since it’s permanently on display on the actual book blog). The printed edition is now well and truly out there, sailing down that big ole river and out onto the oceans of literary consciousness, so let’s mooch around in style for several days worth of freebooting-related postings. Well -as  we’re coming back in to port I think it’s high time we got down to brass tacks…. Navy neaters (just rum – lots of it…) anyone? And for the long-suffering ladies and gents who like that sort of thing, perhaps a few pink gins… Bottoms up!!!😛

Day 8 ~ The roleplay’s the thing…

Back to the Karaoke Chaos Party in downtown Minas Tirith for a little masterclass in setting up your (undercover-cop) characters ‘foo-fun’ personas as impersonators of the late, great and famous bard stars…
 

Lesson 1 – How To Make An Entrance!

“Whadya mean he’s… I mean I’m… dead?!”
The seven-footer elf roared at the pub doormen, who had quite naturally assumed he was a Telvis Parsley impersonator, was causing more trouble at the cloakroom after first refusing to hand over his silk lamé iridescent oyster-coloured cape (with diamante detail on the high collar naturally). The bigger of the two doormen eyed the tall personage warily as he had a very loud and carrying voice and he had already been slapped off rather rudely when he had tried to take the cape away… The way this great fella was windmilling his arms about he was going to take someone’s eye out with the flouncy cape: not to mention the rather lethal-looking creases in his matching bell-bottoms, a far too figure-hugging pants-cum-jumpsuit affair… The doorman quickly averted his eyes here, suddenly feeling quite demoralised by so many well-defined and shiny muscles.
“I’m sorry Sir, but whether or not you’re dead, you can’t bring your cape into the bar – there’s not enough room for it there, and there are candles and such-like… It’s a… a… safety hazard, that’s what it is!”
The poor mortal shrank back as the well-built impersonator positively loomed over him curling his lip expertly. Quite frankly the doorman was actually grateful when a rather tall lanky female with a very nasty expression in her blazing silver-blue eyes; dark hair, with ill-applied blonde highlights that seemed to match her belligerent attitude; and… frankly looked like she’d just got out of a bed – backwards – which may or may not have doubled as a hedge, judging by all the leaves and twiggy things that were stuck all over it…
“Oh for heaven’s sake Tellee… I mean Telvis! Take the stupid thing off already! You can put it on again when you get onto the stage with the mic! Honestly, can’t you do anything without making a freaking song and dance about it… Cheese Louise!”
The shorter of the doormen watched with some admiration as the rather tatty velvet-clad harridan, also wearing too tight bell bottoms that had somehow forgotten the way to her waist and hung, or rather clung rather fetchingly, in a kind of gravity-defying way, in the vicinity for her hips – kind of… grabbed the showy cape off the longshank’s impressive shoulders, and thrust it aggressively under his arm with practised ease.
And then things began to deteriorate again as the doorman looked at his taller partner in a stunned, horrified, slow-motion ‘oh my gods! – don’t do it’ manner as he looked ‘kindly’ at the female, who might have looked like she had been a lady once, but was taking tonight off come hell or high water.
“Erm… Miss?”
 Shorty closed his eyes and tried to look as though he wasn’t there…
“Same goes for your long coat… it’s very… flouncy…”
“Excuse me?”

The temperature in that doorway fell rather rapidly below frost level, although it was a relatively warm autumnal night.
“Sorry Miss – same as the gent here. It has to come off… And we have to take your name as well Miss – for the Kara…Oooo… keee… ooooo my giddee Aunty!” Mr Big finally caught on
to the wisdom of seeking back up, but Shorty had already skedaddled into the bar and was hiding behind one of the bartenders.
“Never seen spaghetti straps before, MrPicky…?”
She laughed rudely as she continued to peel off the distressed patchwork leather coat that reached to the floor past very curvaceous and soft puce and yellow velvet legs. The doorman’s eyeballs moved up, almost popping out of his skull as he took in far too much midriff, not to mention an excessive amount of ribcage and a rather skimpy – in fact gratuitously skimpy – black silk undergarment, of a description normally called a chemise, except there was far too much ‘eez’ in the amount of material that failed to pass the bit that was supposed to be covering her… chest area.
The aforesaid spaghetti straps, two very thin silver chains, were in fact woefully inadequate for the function of holding this scrap of clothing in place… In fact, he couldn’t look to make sure whether that was a safety pin, or some kind of paper clip trying to keep one of them attached to the main garment, if one could call it that. As for the other side – well that appeared to have some kind of badge embossed with some slogan that might have read as ‘Ban La Bamba’ keeping things up, but was also failing to keep a rip in the material completely in place, and so he very wisely tore his eyes away and tried to concentrate on her furious face, which was just about the best option, although he wasn’t too convinced when she turned the full wattage of those brilliant glacial eyes on him.
“Well, make your mind up, bozo! Does the coat stay on or off – I’m easy either way.”
“You certainly are mada… erm. Well… better keep it on for now… hummm – it can get quite chilly in there… sometimes!”
He smiled at her nervously as a very long and business-like blood-red elf-steel nail extension knuckle ring flicked towards him and ‘chucked’ him very expertly under the chin without breaking his
trembling skin, although her eyes were telling him this could change really quickly.
“Cool – I’ll make sure not to flounce it around too much, sugar!”
“Will you tone down the floozy stuff for the love of…! Sheesh! What’s that cockamamie stench you got on! Fwaaaah!!” Telvis hadbeen upwind of Janus on the way over
and hadn’t quite grasped the industrial strength of her 
eau de toilette…
“Oil of pat-chooo-lee, I think the man said… Does ’ooo like it Tellee-wellee!”
She smiled irritatingly around the equally annoying lisp and started for the bar.
“C’mon on then your King-ship – Momma needs a drinkie!”

“Ahhhh! Lady… Miss! Your name…. please?” The doorman gave out a last desperate gasp.
“Has he gotta death wish or what! – can you believe this guy?!” Telly was getting hot and fed up and whipped off his big black wig with beautiful matching bushy sideburns, and fanned his face with prejudice for a few moments.
“Nawwwww! He’s just doin’ his job – aren’t you luvveeee?”
Mr. Big had seen nicer smiles on some alligators and was seriously thinking of changing his name to Mr Eyemoutta-Here… but he held his ground, which under the circumstances was pretty wise as this lady looked like she could run real fast. The nail was out again and this time was point on to his heart, then travelled over and up, trailing lazily up his breastbone and lingered like a shard of very hard ice on the hollow of his throat.
“I’m Jan-ussss, sugarrrr…” Her voice was a soft honeyed hiss and behind her Telly rolled his eyes impatiently. This did not help. Janus Droplin… you’ll have heard of me for sure – ’cos I ain’t dead, hon…  I’m a legend! Justlike ole Telvis here.” Another nasty wide white smile. “Don’t worr-eee! We’ll be good! You can count on it.”
“Claaaasssseee Jano – I don’t know what Silen will say to me, if he catches sight of you in that get-up!” Telly swept into the bar in a thoroughly bad mood now. “What is it with the vest thing
anyway?”

“I didn’t have time to change it, big guy! It was part of that costume you said wasn’t appropriate – you know the one – the Cunning Stu……”
“Ai! Enough already!” Telly turned quickly and clapped a huge mitt over her mouth and then tugged her over to the bar whilst she giggled her head off.
“What is it with you and these foo-prevention gigs these days in this crazy manor? Gimme a Mai Tai chief”
“And the Lady, Sir?”
“Where? Oh, her. Give her anything that takes away the power of speech for the night, wilya, huh?” He looked around the bar grumpily. “Not many people in yet.”
“Well Miah’s a popularlady – place’ll be humming soon enough!” Jano smiled a little more nicely as the barkeep handed her a triple whisky.
*Too late! Your skunk oil grossed it out first!*
Telly was a very intelligent foo-fighting cop – he didn’t say that bit out loud.

AFFA coverA Freebooter’s Fantasy Almanac back blurb

This is poetry, wrapped in fantasy, within a memoir… Or, to put it another way, it’s a true tale that might well apply to many fantasy fans and gamers who can’t be bothered with keeping their realities separated from their more lurid imaginings.

In my case, this is a sort of ‘real’ cyberspace profiling, during a phase of my life when roleplay truly did need to be therapy, because what was happening around me for real was not what I wanted to participate in. So, buckle up your swash and prepare to witness a titanic battle played out on the field of sanity – where what happens in your head is the only truth that matters.

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