☼ Wing ☼ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
winged_knight) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
re_alignment_logs2012-10-30 08:06 pm
winged_knight) wrote in re_alignment_logs2012-10-30 08:06 pm
[OPEN] Worry not everything is sound...
WHO: Soundwave, Wing and EVERYONE.
WHERE: The as-of-yet-unnamed bar at Haven’s Hub. (the rec center)
WHEN: Today until of the Calling event ends.
WHAT: It’s the Calling but in stereo, so we’re having a love-in at the bar.
WARNINGS: Umm, booze. And WEH. And maybe bad renditions of Kumbaya.
NOTES: Communal log: make a post to show you’re there then tag around!
Soundtrack: 1, (more later when there is less brain death)
The bar’s double doors open into a lofty room, easily comfortable for Cybertronians of any size, an arched bank of skylights letting in light from Prima’s temple. Directly ahead sits a “U” shaped bar that can vary in height, from sections that fold down to be more accessible for humans and minibots to taller sections in the back from larger frames.
To the right sits a small stage and DJ area plus a small dance floor, with a few tables with stools scattered around the edges. When the dance floor is not in use pleasant music makes for nice backdrop for conversation. The left wall is lined with more secluded mech-sized booths. The corners house larger curved booths with round tables, save the far left where there’s a human sized spiral staircase that leads to the second floor mezzanine.
Yet this is no normal mezzanine. Affectionately dubbed “The Loft” it sits at about the 15 foot mark, making it easily between chest and eye level on most mechs. The Loft wraps around more than half the outer edge of the room, creating a haven for humans and other smaller statured inhabitants away from the stomping, shuffling feet of drunken robots. An odd mix of appropriately sized tables and chairs are scattered about with a few secluded booths in the corners.
There’s a door at the very rear of the main room, closed, but with a sign that reads “Workers Only.” This is pretty obviously the bar’s back room for service and storage.
The place is decorated--what there is of it currently--fairly eclectically, a far cry from stark metal contruction of what most might consider contemporary Cybertronian design. But much of it is an exemplary exercise in how to make junk into art, and cheery, energetic art at that. Among the decorations include a placard near the door with all the names of those who help build the place by way of thanks, and a second, smaller placard is hung over the back of bar that reads “The Score Zone.” The decor might not be to everyone’s tastes, but it is reflective of the bar’s strange mish-mash of clientele, which is mostly the point.
*****
It seems they've brought in more lights for this--in the form of many odd lamps placed on any flat surface--so the place is brightly lit, as if trying to chase away the shadows. All through the night and following day, Soundwave chooses upbeat or uplifting music to play, sometimes even loudly if people want, other times encouraging people to sing along. Wing takes the occasional opportunity to tell a story, old Cybertronian fables or human fairytales. He encourages others to tell their stories, especially of the lost, sharing positive memories of those that have departed. There’s an odd assortment of pillows and blankets for any who wants them, and mechs--if they like--are welcome to find a spot out of the way to recharge if they need to. (At some point, Wing will likely be seen doing this, as he’ll be going on four days without sleep).
As the Call gets more and more intense, and it seems like people might wander away, the doors are locked and someone is assigned to door duty on the inside. Anyone may enter of course, but those that wish to leave must answer the doorman’s queries first. This should keep most people from absently straying,since few know about the back door.
WHERE: The as-of-yet-unnamed bar at Haven’s Hub. (the rec center)
WHEN: Today until of the Calling event ends.
WHAT: It’s the Calling but in stereo, so we’re having a love-in at the bar.
WARNINGS: Umm, booze. And WEH. And maybe bad renditions of Kumbaya.
NOTES: Communal log: make a post to show you’re there then tag around!
Soundtrack: 1, (more later when there is less brain death)
The bar’s double doors open into a lofty room, easily comfortable for Cybertronians of any size, an arched bank of skylights letting in light from Prima’s temple. Directly ahead sits a “U” shaped bar that can vary in height, from sections that fold down to be more accessible for humans and minibots to taller sections in the back from larger frames.
To the right sits a small stage and DJ area plus a small dance floor, with a few tables with stools scattered around the edges. When the dance floor is not in use pleasant music makes for nice backdrop for conversation. The left wall is lined with more secluded mech-sized booths. The corners house larger curved booths with round tables, save the far left where there’s a human sized spiral staircase that leads to the second floor mezzanine.
Yet this is no normal mezzanine. Affectionately dubbed “The Loft” it sits at about the 15 foot mark, making it easily between chest and eye level on most mechs. The Loft wraps around more than half the outer edge of the room, creating a haven for humans and other smaller statured inhabitants away from the stomping, shuffling feet of drunken robots. An odd mix of appropriately sized tables and chairs are scattered about with a few secluded booths in the corners.
There’s a door at the very rear of the main room, closed, but with a sign that reads “Workers Only.” This is pretty obviously the bar’s back room for service and storage.
The place is decorated--what there is of it currently--fairly eclectically, a far cry from stark metal contruction of what most might consider contemporary Cybertronian design. But much of it is an exemplary exercise in how to make junk into art, and cheery, energetic art at that. Among the decorations include a placard near the door with all the names of those who help build the place by way of thanks, and a second, smaller placard is hung over the back of bar that reads “The Score Zone.” The decor might not be to everyone’s tastes, but it is reflective of the bar’s strange mish-mash of clientele, which is mostly the point.
*****
It seems they've brought in more lights for this--in the form of many odd lamps placed on any flat surface--so the place is brightly lit, as if trying to chase away the shadows. All through the night and following day, Soundwave chooses upbeat or uplifting music to play, sometimes even loudly if people want, other times encouraging people to sing along. Wing takes the occasional opportunity to tell a story, old Cybertronian fables or human fairytales. He encourages others to tell their stories, especially of the lost, sharing positive memories of those that have departed. There’s an odd assortment of pillows and blankets for any who wants them, and mechs--if they like--are welcome to find a spot out of the way to recharge if they need to. (At some point, Wing will likely be seen doing this, as he’ll be going on four days without sleep).
As the Call gets more and more intense, and it seems like people might wander away, the doors are locked and someone is assigned to door duty on the inside. Anyone may enter of course, but those that wish to leave must answer the doorman’s queries first. This should keep most people from absently straying,
no subject
Helpless.
There was somewhere he never wanted to be again. When he had been abandoned to the streets so many years ago simply for looking anything other than human, he'd survived then by the metaphorical skin of his teeth and not much more, until Rex had come along. But that was then. Now, the situation wasn't much different, but the world was.
He'd felt so small and insignificant and unable to do anything about this world ever since he'd been brought here. What could he do about any of it, other than weather the storm?
He had come because he hadn't wanted to be another body to drag back to the Haven, another burden for someone else whose time was better spent contributing to... whatever, but it didn't make him happy. He loathed it all more now that he was out of the way than he did the thought of him being out there anymore. With that, he stuffed himself into the farthest corner he could find after bringing a few cans of string beans and asparagus he had found on a forage one day - it was all he had to offer - and sat there, waiting. For what, he wasn't sure.
The music was interesting enough. At any other time, he might be dancing to the strange rhythm, but his heart just wasn't in it.