Scenario Entitled: How To Make Friends And Influence PeopleCharacters:
Lirre
Renco
Location: Freedom Plaza
Date: Late Autumn, 108 P.A.
The plaza is jam-packed with what must be a couple of thousand people, all going about their morning activities. The marketplace is a mess of shopper traffic, waving signs, and noise pollution. The parking area is clogged with vehicles moving in and out. Some sort of circus act is going on over in the bandshell. The park area seems less hectic, but still contains spots of lazy activity. Near the large statue, a large table set-up blasts a strange brand of music that consists of string instruments and four-four time. People dressed in the most outlandish outfits wander the park, striking up conversation with the citizens and handing out flyers.
Renco moves agilely through the crowd a little uneasily. He mutters quietly under his breath, but still finds cheer enough to touch the brim of his hat to some of the passerby.
A brightly dressed performer dashes suddenly in Renco's path, a man dressed in a velvetty blue waistcoat, odd puffy dark trousers that cuff just below the knee, white stockings and heeled black shoes. He seems youthful, but the ghastly white makeup encrusting his face, accented by red cheek blush, lipstick, and eyeliner, makes his age indeterminate. A poofy white wig with ugly curls and ties tops his head, wobbling precariously. He carries a pommeled walking stick and a sheaf of parchment-style paper.
Renco jerks to a holt and eyes the oddly attired man with a touch of suspition, "Can I help you partner." His voice is polite but has undertones of annoyance.
Lirre also jerks into a short spin to face him, appearing to have recovered from a stumble. He flushes, not that it is particularly noticeable under the make-up, and peers at Renco curiously, oblivious to the suspicion and irritation in the other man's tone. "Excuse me! It's these shoes, I'm not quite used to them yet.. and they pinch!" Friendly young male voice he has, as he continues, "I beg your pardon.. I'm supposed to be acting the part, too." He flourishes an arm, the sleeve of his waistcoat ruffling with lace. "Permit me to introduce myself.. Baron Fawnley." He executes a slow, teetering bow.
Renco shakes his head slightly and smiles. Anoyance starting to give way to amusement at the other man's instability in the costume. He touches the brim of his hat, "'S nice to meet you sir. I'm Renco." with a casual grin he extends a hand up towards him.
Lirre takes the hand to be one of offered support and waves it away brashly, returning his own hand to the side of his mouth, as if conveying a secret and intimating, "Actually, my name is Lirre, but the research technicians decided that Fawnley is more appropriate for an.. an.. 'English baron holding many lands, attending court'," he recites like a parrot. He sways out of his bow and pokes his walking stick down for support, examining your own clothing. "Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Renco. You're from out West..!?" he exclaims with a grin.
Renco retacts his hand unbothered by the brashness, a grin touches his face again, "'S right. And what would an 'English Baron be?" the smile seems to suggest that he is looking to have a little fun with the off balanced man.
Lirre leans on his cane and strikes an affected pose of nobility, looking off at a higher point beyond Renco's shoulder and reciting again, "He's a part of the aristocracy of England, which is in Europe, which is across the east ocean. The year is... oh blast, what was the year? It was a long time ago Before the Rifts came anyway," he flusters a bit agitatedly. "And he had pots of money and land," he finally adds in a less noble tone. "Fascinating, is it not? This is what a rich man looked like back then."
Renco grins at Lirre's attempt to remember the perticulars of his persona. He looks him over again, "'T definatly seems unpracticle. How was you suppost to run in that if you needed to?" shakes his head, "Must have been a diein' breed."
Lirre looks blank for a moment, then falters, "I... I don't know.." He blinks and repeats indignantly, "Yes, you're right, how /did/ this Baron Fawnley run from the dangers of the land, are these the best shoes that money could buy??" He takes a step and winces, then glances at Renco's apparent mirth over the situation. "Pistols. I remember, he probably carried that ancient thing in his waistcoat.. he wouldn't need to run so much then, wouldn't you say? I'm having a representation made, the real one could not be taken from the museum," he adds helpfully to save face.
Renco glances to his own waist. Then looks up, smiling, "I know pistols, and just 'cause you have them doesn't make it less of a need to run." Renco definately seems to be enjoying himself now.
Lirre sighs and concedes, "Yes, true sir, very true." He considers, leaning on the walking stick and scratching idly around the lace ruffle at his neck. "But.. when you're as wealthy as Baron Fawnley," he declares defensively, "you have servants to do the running for you! Armed bodyguards, a carrier escort, air lifts..." Air lifts? Lirre scratches more urgently, wishing he had taken more time to study his role. "Maybe this make-up is like a second skin when dry... enamel armor or something.."
Renco looks up at him and smiles, "Perhaps. Even then dancin' would look pretty odd. He'd have to be a nimble one to stay up there."
Lirre looks forlornly down at his sore feet, and blushes under the weight of the challenging statements. But he's not a businessman for nothing. Straightening up, he taps his walking stick against the ground authoritatively, and regards Renco shrewdly, "Baron Fawnley is a superb dancer, Mr. Renco.. who but a man of greatness could dance in these things and live? Perhaps you would like to make a friendly wager on my success?"
Renco laughs softly unable to resist, "I'm sure Baron Fawnley was able to handle him self on a floor. A wager in not what I live for. Too many risks require more than money." smiles, "But I'm willin' to say you'd do yer best to show me."
Lirre tilts his head, a tad disappointed. The effect on his cosmetics-plastered face is nothing short of grotesque. "You mean... I don't profit anything if I succeed, except for the joy of winning, and mangled feet?" he asks indignantly. "Hardly seems worth the pain." He smiles as he grumbles, though. "How about this, sir: If you will attend the ball in costume, then I will risk my life to entertain you further then."
Renco still amused raises an eyebrow questioningly, "What ball would this be then? And whats the costume code?"
Lirre looks a bit disturbed at the admission of ignorance from him. "Why.. it's only the biggest thing since.. well.. the Victory! The Saturnalia Festival's coming up in three weeks or so, and there will be a costume ball based on historical dress before the rifts. There's food, dancing, drinks, and prizes to be had, Mr. Renco.. did you just walk into town today?" he exclaims, restraining his hand from scratching at his flaking make-up, by grabbing a parchment paper from under his arm and thrusting it towards Renco. "The libraries and clothiers are participating in this to provide citizens with research and almost-authentic costumes," he enthuses.
Renco looks at the profered flyer with a touch of distast, then shrugs, "Some things just don't filter through. Is that any Pre-rifts costume?" a glint appears in his eye, "'Cause I got a few of my own I'd like t' try if that was the case. I'll take the offer." He smiles.
Lirre tucks the paper away again and grins horribly in his 'mask'. "Any Pre-Rifts costume, sir.. as long as you can back up its validity with some informational tidbits about it and the era it hails from.. though.. I wouldn't say that any of the English Barons are particularly comfortable choices," he grunts, succumbing to a scratching fit. "What is with all these ruffling things, anyway..."
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