No Strips 2016-08-01 or 08-02

[jwhouk]

Per FB post by Pablo:

Hey everyone. Sorry for no WapsiSquare for this Monday and Tuesday. We're getting things sorted for our old house to go to market. Wapsi Square will be back Wednesday.

[AmriloJim]

Damn! I get ninja'd even when there's no update... the same message is sitting on my clipboard.

[oldmanmickey]

dont you just hate when real life comes between us and our favorite fantasy world

[AnotherFairportfan]

How DARE he have a "Real" Life?

[Dave]

How DARE he have a "Real" Life?

It's mathematically inevitable. His writing life has an extremely-high-value imaginary value, and we know he's a complex guy, and that means his life must necessarily have a non-zero real component.

[FreeFlier]

*twitch*

*twitch*

[Sgt. Howard]

In a dank, old hall, somewhere between here and there, a long table with an ill assortment of metal and plastic chairs sat in a deplorable state of dust and rust. The floor it stood on was a cheap linoleum forty years ago- time had not been kind to it. A smaller card table of questionable capacity held a coffee maker that had been percolating since Regan was in office. Spider webs adorned the cornice spaces, but were unoccupied- nothing living remained here. A single lightbulb, of the incandescent type, hung from it's wires in the middle of the ceiling. It's light was muted by a thick layer of dust. There were no windows, only one door- a six panel wooden structure that sagged like an old woman's breasts. It's now greenish rectangular lockplate had the one hole beneath... but it is doubtful that the ancient lock would work.
Suddenly, the door swings open. An older Gent in black 5-11s and black 'T' shirt with a stone grey driver's cap and silver antique glasses looked about, sizing up the situation. Momentarily he heads back to his Suburban and pulls out an OD green satchel and a leaf blower. Opening the satchel, he pulls out a full MOPP level 5 suit and dons it. Then he fires up the leaf blower- all 20 horsepower of it. In no time, a minor sandstorm is evacuated from the premises and the table is reduced to bare wood finish... along with some of the wallpaper. And ceiling. And floor. The coffee pot alone remained unblemished... or perhaps, un refinished? Regardless, the fellow then doffed the suit, stuffed it and the blower back into the Suburban. Upon re-entry, he notices the appearance of many old stalwarts from another dry spell. With a sweeping motion, he extended the hospitality the meager setting offered.
"Hi... my name's Greg, and I'm a Wapsiholic,"
In unison sotto voice, the group replied, "Hi Greg,"

[GlytchMeister]

OH BOY, HERE WE GO...

A young man, quite obviously among the youngest in the room at little over twenty, strode in wearing a red hood, black cargo pants, and a black pack slung diagonally across his back. He seemed... Grown... Since the last time he had visited. His back was straighter, a roguish smile replacing the nervous expression, his gait smoother. He was also unarmed. "Been a while, hasn't it? I'm Glytch, and I'm a wapsiholic." From his backpack, he drew an empty glass bottle of Vanilla Coke, swirled it with a deft flick of his wrist, and set it down. Onlookers stared at the now full and perfectly-chilled bottle.
"Well... That's new."
"A lot's happened since the last time an interruption happened." Glytch grabbed a chair and swung it around to sit, resting his arms on the backrest. "Fun times."

[Cortanis]

Per FB post by Pablo:

Hey everyone. Sorry for no WapsiSquare for this Monday and Tuesday. We're getting things sorted for our old house to go to market. Wapsi Square will be back Wednesday.

Hope all goes well with his sale. The market can be pretty harsh right now. Took me about a year to get my home and we went though about 50 or so homes that looked good, but banks weren't willing to deal with on because of stupid reasons... like not having a stove installed in the first place. >.>

[Dave]

"You're right, Glytch... a lot has happened," says a balding fellow about three times Glytch's age, who ambles in holding a large brown paper shopping bag. "As I recall, this merry crowd managed to rip quite a few holes in some dimensional barriers, the last time we were here. The Fourth Wall looked like a piece of Swiss cheese in a shrapnel factory, and I'm not sure it's entirely healed up since then."

He walks to the back of the room, picks up the coffee pot, looks, shudders, and steps over to the sink to give it a good scrubbing. "Everybody OK with Peet's Dark Roast House Blend? It's not Tina's, but at least it'll be freshly brewed. Oh, and I got ambitious yesterday, and tried making baba ghanoush from scratch for the first time. There's enough of it, with some farmer's market bread, for people to have a taste if they're not afraid of eggplant and garlic. I thought of bringing along some honey-locust beer, but I understand Glytch is allergic."

[Akasha]

For a moment, the growl was almost too soft to hear, but it's volume rose quickly, like thunder. For a moment all talk subsided, with a head or two turned towards the entrance, and the odd eybrow raised.
"It isn't supposed to rain today, is it ?", a questioning voice raised, as the noise suddenly almost died down to a kind of hungry gurgle, of a large bike engine idling, then dieing down with the crunch of gravel, as a sidestand hit the ground heavily. Inversely to the thunder of the engine, the steps towards the door were almost soft and lithe. As the door creaked open, a tall but graceful figure entered the room, the shape of the matte black biker leathers definitely showing a female silhouette.
"You think it's ... " a toned down voice suggested, only to be silenced with a soft hush from another surprised patron. A gloved hand deftly undid the helmet's clasp, dark auburn, curly, unruly hair spilling out. She walked to a closet, next to the door, unlocked it with a key she procured from a breast-pocket, took off the thick leather jacket, to reveal, and not only, a black matte tank-top, and started removing the extra hardware, the most prominent a spine sheath, with something that looked disturbingly like a sword, and wrist sheaths, along with other hardware, which took, at least in the perception of some of the patrons, a small eternity. She was about to close the closet, then opened it again with a wry, almost goofy smile, saying, i almost forgot these, and pulled some throwing knives from the tops of her boots, placing them in the closet, then locking it.
"I hope i won't need these tonight, will i ?" she asked with a soft laughter in her voice the very attentive mass of patrons, where lots of heads suddenly shook themselves almost involuntarily.
"By the way, my name is Akasha, and i'm a wapsiholic.", she said, and walked to one of the empty chairs, sat down and grinned into the room, showing not very pronounced, but definitely slightly elongated canines.
"So what does a girl have to do, to get something to drink in here ?", she said with a teasing voice, but a certain added tone, which definitely suggested that the answer better be a polite one.

[Sgt. Howard]

"... and immediately several males pulled bottles and flasks that were previously un-noticeable..."

[Sgt. Howard]

Another form appeared at the door- a tall, lanky fellow with a shock of dark blond hair that formed an 'S' wave over his forehead. Mid twenties, a bit on the 'rawboned' side, wearing jeans and Hawaiian shirt. A quick glance at the fellow who opened the place would convince you that the newcomer was his son- in fact, the exact opposite was true. "Neil?" Glytch asked in surprise as the fellow so addressed found a seat.
"Well... yes... I'm Neil and I'm a wapsiholic," ("Hi Neil,")
"Well, well... the Centurion has joined us! Fine company indeed! Is your pretty lady in attendance as well?"
"Not any more than yours is, Sargent. No, I think that amongst us fictional types, only the men are showing up... unless our two shadowdancers make an appearance,"
"HAH!! I would not shun their company for the world... but let us see who is and isn't here, eh?"

[AnotherFairportfan]

How DARE he have a "Real" Life?

It's mathematically inevitable. His writing life has an extremely-high-value imaginary value, and we know he's a complex guy, and that means his life must necessarily have a non-zero real component.

hsss

[Gyrrakavian]

A flat black and cerulean dot appeared in the middle of the room. The black half and the cerulean half started moving in opposite directions from one another, creating two short lines. Each suddenly made a 90° angle clockwise and continued until each had reached the edge of the other line's turn. The, both lines repeated this over and over again until a 2m x 2m square was formed.
Once the portal had completed, a short stocky bespectacled man with broad shoulders and unusually wide feet stumbled through the portal. He appeared to be in his late 30s and had brown hair s dark it was neary black, save a few strands of light silver and gold. He had a short chin-strap beard and a small soul patch, each flecked with gold and silver as well as copper hair. He wore a black t-shirt advertising 'Rube Goldberg and Associates' in a goldenrod yellow, with the tag line "round about counsel you can trust". He also wore a pair of plain blue jeans cuffed up at the ankles and white walking shoes with navy highlights.
As he picked himself off of the floor, a black messenger bag shot out of the portal, narrowly sailing over his head. He picked the bag up, then dusted it and himself. With a quick look around, a look of recognition came across his face.

"Here? Again?" he said alloud, more to himself than directed at anybody else.

He quickly walked over to the nearest chair as quietly as he could and waited for his turn.

"Hi, I'm Gyrre and I'm a Wapsiholic. I haven't heard anything about rain, but I did just pop in to this `verse. I certainly hope this has nothing to do with that Murphy Bill passing the House of Representatives. It seems a bit much."

Gyrre looked around the room. "Just tell me it hasn't made it through the Senate wherever you all happen to be from."

[Just Old Al]

"Oh, bugger. Not a-bloody-gain."

"Hi. Al here, and yes, I am a waspiholic." The old gent strode in, his gait and manner belying the white hair on his head and the portliness of his middle. Unfolding a wood and leather camp chair he set it at the table, nodding to the other habitues met since the first dry spell. Then, walking over to the coffee machine and its rickety stand, he opened the shoulder bag slung diagonally and pulled out several cylinders, each bearing colourful printing.

He tore the tops from each of these, and the savoury smell of chocolate filled the air.

"Sorry about the mix of brands, you lot, but this is the supply of digestives I had in the cupboard. I knew there were many habitues who'd bring coffee, but not sure anyone would remember the biccies." Turning back to the table after depositing his gift, he sat in his camp chair almost bonelessly, pulled it up to the table and nodded to the other occupants.

" Gyrre, hello! Dave, salutations. Neil, long time no see, mate...Sarge, as always. Glytch, mate, still with the carbonated goodness, I see. Dear lady, well met, and no, your weaponry will not be needed. Some of us don't have the willpower to doff them, though." As he moved his mottled leather jacket swung open, revealing a shoulder holster and a truly enormous and equally ancient revolver of obviously archaic design.

"So, what's everyone been up to?"

[Akasha]

"It's one of these days, indeed", she said, sampling one of the more interesting offered beverages in a small glass.
"Whew, that's a good one. As for the day ... You wake up, go to work, wrestle the one or other daemon in the serverroom, and suddenly you find yourself void of intellectual food, you open the wapsiverse and... you know the rest. I felt drawn here. Have armory, will travel", she added with a sweet smile.
"By the way, if one of the gentlemen knows where to procure a griddle or an gridiron from, we can put some bandersnatch steak on, later - or sooner, if anyone's hungry."

[Just Old Al]

"Say the word - I have such an apprarus in my truck outside the...reality, so getting it is mere steps. However, for now, a cup of coffee and a biccy or two is in order."

Al turned to Dave, who was carefully monitoring the progress f the bubbling coffeemaker.

"Dave, me bucko, coffee?" Turning back, he snapped his fingers, reaching again into his shoulder bag. Two stainless-steel containers emerged and a step or two got them to the card table.

"Forgot the condiments. Cream and Demara sugar - might have a packet or two of natural stevia about, but it's not my normal tipple. Do give a shout when it's ready."

[Gyrrakavian]

If i might be a bit of a bother, whatcs a 'biccy'?

[AmriloJim]

Biccy (n.) British -- Colloquialism for "biscuit'. USAians call 'em "cookies".