paixaorpg | Dinner Rush (Active)

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Dinner Rush (Active)

Character(s): Magic Carpet, Remy, Brain Gremlin, Mewtwo, and Sonic. @_@;;
Content: Okay, so, a rug, a rat, a cat, a hedgehog, and a gremlin walk into a ~~bar~~ restaurant.....
Setting: Cafe Eresatz (H4)
Time: Evening
Warnings: Random crack? Chaoticness? Man, I don't even know.....

After a hard day's work of searching the city, Carpet still had neither the need nor the desire for a good meal. Regardless, he had chosen to stop in a restaurant during dinner hours because he was assured a fair amount of people would be present, and somewhat a captive audience as well, until they finished or abandoned their food. It was perhaps a bit rude to interrupt humans' mealtime, he had to admit, but his considerable delay from amnesia had left him feeling unreasonably guilty already; he was willing to annoy a few humans if it got him the lead he was looking for. If nothing else, one couldn't fault Carpet for his loyalty and dedication.

They could, however, fault him for his exceeding difficulty in communicating with anyone, and the convoluted means by which he had to get any message across at all, misinterpreted or not. He had attracted the attention of a very confused cashier, and was now making an enthusiastic, if somewhat futile effort to ask him about Aladdin's whereabouts. Anyone watching might likely get the impression of an absurd game of acrobatic aerial charades: Carpet was doing the best he could to string a sentence together, pointing at the cashier and pantomiming looking around and listening, and maneuvering through complex loops and curves--if one paid close enough attention, they would be able to see the word "Aladdin" being written in the air with Carpet's body. e finished the question by curving his own body into a very serviceable representation of a question mark, save the absence of the dot, and waited expectantly.

The cashier stared blankly. Obviously, the two were getting nowhere fast.

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"My good fellow, I do believe that this unfortunate accent is trying to tell you something of some importance. The issue must be of some personal interest---otherwise the effort wouldn't've of lasted half as long."

This statement came from beside and below the cashier, where a small, suited, and rather reptilian figure was climbing to sit next to the register, pursuing a better view. Reaching the perch, he turned to watch with a marked interest of his own. "I'd like to apologize, but I didn't catch all of that. What came before 'aladdin?', if, carpet, you might be so kind as to repeat yourself?"

"I'm amazed you managed to pick up that much of it," said a voice from one of the nearby tables. The owner of the voice was actually standing on top of the table itself, next to a small plate loaded with a variety of bite-sized morsels - or rather, bite-sized by human standards. The dish contained more than enough food to satisfy the rat that was picking through the various offerings.

Remy nibbled the edge off a piece of carrot, watching the conversation with interest. It was an oddly familiar situation, except this time it was someone else trying to be understood and he was the one that was trying to figure it out. "Maybe it can write," he offered a suggestion. "You could try giving it a pen and paper."

Sonic had been running all day trying to figure out where the city was, who was in charge, and how to get home, all with no success. It was only when the (fake, he noticed dourly) sun set that he realized he was hungry. Following his nose in hopes of finding food (possibly a chili dog, were he to be so lucky), he wasn't running for long before he came upon someplace where a lot of people were eating...and something in the air was...dancing, it looked like. Or something.

Looked like he was getting dinner and a show tonight.

He leaned against the patio railing, hunger momentarily forgotten as he watched what looked like a flying rug perform a few arial acrobatics. It was only when he tuned into the running commentary that he realized it was trying to communicate. Oops.

"What about those journal things?" he suggested. "They oughta work." Never mind that he barely knew how to make his function - there had to be somebody in here that could make one work well enough for the rug to use it.

Mewtwo, meanwhile, had been minding his own business. Since losing sight of Roxas, he'd continued on his own, still somewhat amazed and more amused that the people of this place neither deemed him a threat or anything worthy of capture. At the same time, however, it was to be duly noted that they didn't know much more than that he simply existed, and were obviously far from caring about anything such as that, anyway.

The flashes of the carpet's acrobatics, however, caught the Pokémon's attention far easier than his watching the people wander by. After all, that was most of what he'd been doing the past days, and it all seemed to be the same.

It seems, he offered in his mindvoice, only to the carpet after it had stopped moving, that none of those who you've asked either understand or know the location of this Aladdin. I would suggest another method of interpretation. Becoming frustrated is not likely to help the situation.

Of course, to the casual observer, there would be no voice, no movement. Mewtwo simply continued to sit at the small table he had occupied, as if there were no one else in the world.

Carpet hovered in midair for a moment, some mixture of defeat and frustration stirring in the back of its mind; there was always something about the futility of trying to communicate beyond the simplest concepts that made him feel..... well, he wasn't exactly sure how to describe it. Not quite a person, perhaps, though that much was obvious just to look at him. It made him feel inferior and stupid, however intelligent he might be--for all his autonomy, free will, and independent thought, what else was there for him to do but let people ride on him and gesture to get his points across? That was made for, and that, really, seemed like all he was good for about now. He was a one-trick carpet, as it were. Even the Cave of Wonders could talk, and it was a largely immobile geological feature....

He perked up a little at the fact that the oddly-dressed little lizard-monkey--or whatever it was; he'd never seen anything like it before--climbing up onto the counter seemed to have understood him in part; so there was hope after all! Even if the rat--or was it a mouse? Either way, he knew what it was!--or the spiny-blue-thing--it reminded him a little of Stitch, the other blue thing he'd briefly met here--weren't really getting it, hopefully the lizard-monkey could translate for them. He nodded vigorously, or rather, offered the equivalent of such, top edge bobbing up and down; the motion made the gold journal he held in one (considerably duller) gold tassel flash in the light.

And so his aerial acrobatics began once again, at an angle so that Brain Gremlin could get a good view. There was a little jerk of surprise at Mewtwo's mental contact, unoccupied tassels frizzing up like a startled cat's tail; he couldn't tell who had spoken to him, though. Not like that. So how on earth could he answer back? The best he could do was think, and hope it somehow found its way to whoever had addressed him. But I haven't asked everybody, and the lizard-monkey sounds like he understands. And it's harder to show writing on my journal to people, when everybody around can see me moving.... That was one unfortunate aspect of writing, he had found; it was the equivalent to whispering to someone, not speaking loudly enough so anyone could hear you. He didn't want to have to go to each person in the city individually and stick a journal in their face....

"I've always been accustomed to body language making most of a point; my brethren, although it saddens me to say so, aren't a terribly articulate lot." Brain raised and eyebrow---it was a ridge, really---at the rat that had spoken and shrugged before turning his attention back to the carpet. The second speaker was answered without a glance---he was watching, now, little orange eyes entirely alight behind his frames, because here he was, faced with something new. (Nevermind that there were always a great many new things; few seemed as out-of-place as this.) "The journals are an option, I would suppose, but we'll see if this doesn't work, before we turn to typing. I imagine it's difficult, with tassels."

A moment passed as the miming concluded. "I'm afraid I haven't met any Aladdin..." Brain twisted to blink at other interested individuals---those that had said something out loud, anyway. "Have you?"

"Sorry, but no," Remy set aside the food he was nibbling at, a little more interested in the conversation now that they had someone who could apparently interpret. He had also managed to catch a little more of the question the second time through and was fairly certain that he could probably understand the magic carpet with a little bit of effort. The rat felt a little bit of sympathy for this odd visitor to the restaurant. He knew exactly what it was like to lose people he cared about and not be able to find them again.

"Was he here in the city with you, or is he someone you left behind when you came here?" he asked curiously. If it was the former, it was more likely that someone would be able to help find this Aladdin person... If not, it was entirely a matter of chance. He had heard of some people finding other people they knew from their home country, but there were plenty of others who never found the ones they left behind... and he was one of the ones in the second category himself.

"Nope! Never heard of him," Sonic replied to the question the...the...he didn't know what it was, but at least it could understand the carpet...asked. "Sorry."

"I can go look for him if you want," he offered, figuring he could at least try to help. "What's he look like?" The question was out of his mouth before he realized it would require one long, complicated answer from the carpet that he probably wouldn't understand. Oops.

Shouting only stands to reason if those around you are listening, Mewtwo said, fairly unamused at this point. Or, he added, can understand you.

Really, he mused, closing off his own thoughts, the only reason he was staying close to the city was to hear any passing thought, to find his clones. It was, however, becoming more and more bleak of a prospect, as either no one had heard of them, or they had taken his advice and stayed far away from anyone around here.

I know....

Carpet drooped a little in disappointment at the return of the varied and sundry negative responses; nobody even seemed to know who he was. He shook his--well, not quite head, but rather the end of him that was highest in the air right now--at the rat's question, holding up a tassel that looked remarkably like a peace sign; the second, as he was trying to indicate, punctuating this point by bending a tassel back to tap at what would count as his back, then suddenly allowing himself to plummet; Carpet hit the ground with a muffled thud, wondering if they'd quite get his explanation as he rose back into the air. He'd been flying with Aladdin on his back, after all--and Jasmine, for that matter, but that would just complicate things--before he'd come here, and had fallen because of coming to Paixao. Maybe the lizard-monkey thing would be able to explain it to the others, if he was used to reading body language....

If he could have groaned at Sonic's question, he would have; describing things was far more complicated than just actions, for the most part. Regardless, he tried gamely, pulling the very surprised and confused cashier out from behind his counter. First a tassel sweeping across the top of his head, then moved down an appropriate amount--Aladdin wasn't quite that tall, after all--and then the harder part began.... It probably would have been funny, if it wasn't so ridiculously frustrating. He made a good effort to shape imaginary clothing and features with tassel gestures, then point to the thing with the closest matching colors he could find, before moving onto the next thing. It wasn't even possible to get all the colors right; the best he could do for skin tone had been to poke the man's arm and point to a tabletop, and the best way he could think of to describe bare feet was to simply point to the man's shoes and shake the end of him that stood for a head.

As he was about to give up though, he spotted a few gypsies walking past in the street--they were still as fair-haired and skinned as the rest of the citizens, but their clothes were far better for his description than the poor cashier's.... The excited Carpet zipped over to intercept them, bowling the group over and whirling around them in a series of blindingly fast loops. They were left stumbling, disoriented, and missing several articles of clothing, as Carpet flew back over with his prize. The baggy white pants (unpatched, though that was a minor detail) were pulled over his lower end so the legs could dangle and flap, while a purple vest was pulled on over the two higher corners that he used as arms, and a small red cap was perched on his upper edge. It wasn't the best cosplay in the world, but it'd have to do; he simply didn't have the shape to pull off anything better. As for the gypsies, they'd just have to be patient; he'd give the clothes back when he was done.

Brain continued to watch, sitting still on the counter with his hands laced together in his lap, until one rose to prop his chin, claws tapping thoughtfully at that cheek.

He folded his hands again and leaned forward a little at the effort at description, impressed at the enthusiasm and as empathetic as any gremlin was inclined to be; while his vocabulary was certainly sufficient, there had been a time before any difference from the others (with their fragmented sentences and two to three word statements) had been established. Incomplete communication, he suspected, would be worse than a complete want...

The theft was a welcome interruption from more serious musing; Brain brightened briefly, entertained and amused at the irony of it now, as opposed to the street crime he and his fellows had hoped to observe (and applaud, and add to...).

Back to what it was all about. "Noone by the name and noone dressed in such a fashion, I'm sorry to say---or, noone as far as I've seen."

Sonic watched the carpet move, increasingly confused. He managed to catch the guy's basic height and a few other things, but a lot of what the carpet did was completely foreign to him.

Until it grabbed the clothes, that is. With that, it clicked for Sonic. All he needed to do was find somebody who was wearing clothes like that and called Aladdin, right? Easy!

"All right!" He gave the carpet a thumbs up. "Lemme see if I can find him." With that, he was off. He could eat later - right now, he had a guy to find!

[Consider this Sonic's exit - he'll probably make a journal post later to keep Carpet updated.]

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Dinner Rush (Active)

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