After his conversation with Utena Robin felt distinctly in need of a drink. Well, several drinks. As many as possible. And, perhaps, a nice soak in the sauna
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Dieter came in, wearing only a Speedo, with a towel slung over his shoulder. "Ah, it is the wonderful dancer from the other week! I never did thank you for the rose." As Dieter walked over to the bar, it became fairly obvious that the Speedo was very black, very tight, and the water still trapped in it made it very shiny, so that light danced around all the curves it contained.
Robin was suddenly feeling better. He grinned at Dieter, "Oh, my dear prince, the pleasure was all mine. Join me for a drink?"
His gaze lingering on the speedo, winding it's way up Dieter's chest, and finally resting on Dieter's lips, Robin felt a certain amount of reverence for the nventors of Speedos and made a note to send an appropriate gift.
"Of course. Do you think they have a decent lager here?" He poked around the back of the bar. The drink he was looking for was on a low shelf, and he bent over to reach it. The can tipped over when he tried to grab it, and he bent a little farther, with his bum still high in the air. He retrieved the can, stood back up and stretched, giving the Speedo's elastic a good workout. "Swimming feels so good in the lake, but it always makes me tight in the shoulders," he said. "Not like dancing or tennis. They make me feel very loose."
Robin enjoyed the view with a wolfish grin. "Well, sweet Dieter, if you're tense we should do something to loosen you up. Can't have you staying tight all night - you may burst."
Picking up his drink, Robin looked around the room in apparent deep thought. "Now, what could we do to relax you?"
Miss Woodhouse descended from the stairs to greet her newfound Housemates. In between her being kidnapped, catching up on her studies, visiting Highbury, and trying to discover the source from her sporadic bouts of amnesia, she had somewhat retreated from public life. It was an occurrence she hoped to amend.
Although she believed a nice drink made a perfect compliment for a delightful dinner, she could not approve for the way it seemed to be the sole diet for many Ravenclaws. Therefore, she carried with her a dish of finely decorated pastries, baked by the House Elves. But it wasn't necessary for anyone to know that.
She placed it on a blank area at the bar, looking towards the two other gentlemen. She did not recognize them, and immediately her interest was peaked.
Robin turned and looked at her, then smiled very charmingly. Standing in front of Emma, he gently took her hand and bowed deeply over it. "I am Robin Goodfellow, at your service, My Lady Woodhouse."
"I believe you are newly admitted, are you not? I lament not having the opportunity to greet you at your sorting." She gently removed her hand and smiled back. "And while I am one of manners, I am not a Lady of title quite yet."
Robin's eyebrow arched ever so slightly and he fell nearly immediately into the speech patterns and manners he assumed would be appropriate for addressing a woman of Emma's period. (Pucks are nothing if not versatile.)
"My pardons, Miss Woodhouse, I merely assumed..." he trailed off, looking embarrassed and a bit shy. "I have not had the opportunity to meet many people in my short time here, and I'm afraid I made a careless error. Please excuse me."
He smiled at her, looking quickly at her eyes and then slightly over her left shoulder, as if too enraptured by her beauty to turn away but too afraid to take the liberty of looking directly at Emma. "I have, indeed, been newly sorted into your good House." Another quick glance to her eyes and a hopeful look came over his face. "Perhaps, if it is not too bold, Miss Woodhouse, you would join me for a cup of tea?"
The first thing that Commodore James Norrington noticed about Ravenclaw House the first time he set eyes on the place was the alcohol. So the legends were true: they did have a bar.
The second thing was the (in his eyes) woefully underdressed wet man who did not seem the least bit ashamed by his state. So the whispers proved true: this school was basically a rainbow of sin with a pot of rum at the end.
Well. Damn. And this was the House that he was counted among the numbers of? But no, he had to really concentrate on the task before him, and not get too wrapped up in righteous disgust to note that this was exactly the sort of den one had to expect Sparrow to inhabit. That he was doing this for a good cause, and if all went well it would be worth it in the end. At any rate, he still needed to get alcohol for the - his lip curled in disgust - bribes he had offered. He may have been shaken with revulsion by the charade of a system that was used to gain entrance to this...this 'school', but he had made promises, and he would
( ... )
The bar had more than alcohol -- it had a perpetually percolating pot of coffee, meeting the requirements of one Special Agent Dale Cooper, who was presently refilling his mug. He looked up at the bewigged man with amiable curiosity. "What can I do you for?"
What a bizarre way to say something. "I am attempting to find," he began, choosing his words carefully, then looking down at his hands to consult a list, "...two bottles of rum, a bottle of grog, and a bottle of Scotch whiskey," he practically sighed, with resignment.
Robin grinned at both the men and held out his hand. "Robin Goodfellow, at your services, gentlemen. Did I hear someone say Scotch? There are a few good bottles under there," he paused, then laughed. "Unless of course, I've already finished them. Though those little House Elves seem to do a fine job refilling the bar." He took a drink of his rum and let his eyes wander over Cooper and Norrington with interest.
Robin was wearing simple grey slacks and a neatly pressed emerald green silk shirt. It was his conservative, successful mortal look. Cooper and Norrington, though dressed extremely different, both had the air of someone who worked for a bureaucracy. No matter, Robin had experience with both time periods their attire pointed to. It had been a while, though, since he'd seen a wig like that. His smile grew wider as he remembered one time, with this lovely bar maid, and two sailors with wigs very much like Norrington's...
At this point, it's just second-nature to be constantly looking for sources of cheap free beer. Bender gets mean when he's sober; Fry's developed a finely-tuned radar for liquor. I am the ninja of booze. A booze-seeking missile, or maybe some kinna alcoholic bat, Fry thinks. Heh heh. Wonder if Batman drinks?
Plus, he's bored. Who ever thought that a magic school would be so BORING? And those little elf guys don't know anything about Star Trek.
Noticing the Ravenclaw dorm door is open, he grins shiftily, pulls up his collar, and shuffles in, whistling loudly in an attempt to whistle casually.
At the sound of harsh whistling Robin winced and turned around. "I will give you alcohol to stop that," he said, waving the bottle of rum around to illustrate his point. Nothing annoyed a Puck faster than bad music. (Which could be why, point of fact, that Pucks were mysteriously absent during the Spice Girls' rein...)
Raising his eyebrow slightly at the pajamas, Robin nevertheless gave Lain a brilliant smile and a slight bow. "Hello," he said. "Robin Goodfellow at your service, my dear. Looking for a bit of a nightcap?"
Re: Pumpkin Juice!robinthepuckJuly 30 2006, 00:46:43 UTC
"Pleasure to meet you, Lain. I'm relatively new here, myself." Smiling gently, Robin reached over the bar, rummaging around until he found the plate of cookies he'd noticed there earlier. Offering them to Lain, Robin took one of his own and bit into it. Chocolate chip...not bad.
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His gaze lingering on the speedo, winding it's way up Dieter's chest, and finally resting on Dieter's lips, Robin felt a certain amount of reverence for the nventors of Speedos and made a note to send an appropriate gift.
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Picking up his drink, Robin looked around the room in apparent deep thought. "Now, what could we do to relax you?"
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Although she believed a nice drink made a perfect compliment for a delightful dinner, she could not approve for the way it seemed to be the sole diet for many Ravenclaws. Therefore, she carried with her a dish of finely decorated pastries, baked by the House Elves. But it wasn't necessary for anyone to know that.
She placed it on a blank area at the bar, looking towards the two other gentlemen. She did not recognize them, and immediately her interest was peaked.
"Hello. I am Miss Emma Woodhouse, of Highbury."
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((Reposted because Lily =/= Robin. *facepalm*))
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"My pardons, Miss Woodhouse, I merely assumed..." he trailed off, looking embarrassed and a bit shy. "I have not had the opportunity to meet many people in my short time here, and I'm afraid I made a careless error. Please excuse me."
He smiled at her, looking quickly at her eyes and then slightly over her left shoulder, as if too enraptured by her beauty to turn away but too afraid to take the liberty of looking directly at Emma. "I have, indeed, been newly sorted into your good House." Another quick glance to her eyes and a hopeful look came over his face. "Perhaps, if it is not too bold, Miss Woodhouse, you would join me for a cup of tea?"
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The second thing was the (in his eyes) woefully underdressed wet man who did not seem the least bit ashamed by his state. So the whispers proved true: this school was basically a rainbow of sin with a pot of rum at the end.
Well. Damn. And this was the House that he was counted among the numbers of? But no, he had to really concentrate on the task before him, and not get too wrapped up in righteous disgust to note that this was exactly the sort of den one had to expect Sparrow to inhabit. That he was doing this for a good cause, and if all went well it would be worth it in the end. At any rate, he still needed to get alcohol for the - his lip curled in disgust - bribes he had offered. He may have been shaken with revulsion by the charade of a system that was used to gain entrance to this...this 'school', but he had made promises, and he would ( ... )
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Robin was wearing simple grey slacks and a neatly pressed emerald green silk shirt. It was his conservative, successful mortal look. Cooper and Norrington, though dressed extremely different, both had the air of someone who worked for a bureaucracy. No matter, Robin had experience with both time periods their attire pointed to. It had been a while, though, since he'd seen a wig like that. His smile grew wider as he remembered one time, with this lovely bar maid, and two sailors with wigs very much like Norrington's...
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Fry's developed a finely-tuned radar for liquor. I am the ninja of booze. A booze-seeking missile, or maybe some kinna alcoholic bat, Fry thinks. Heh heh. Wonder if Batman drinks?
Plus, he's bored. Who ever thought that a magic school would be so BORING? And those little elf guys don't know anything about Star Trek.
Noticing the Ravenclaw dorm door is open, he grins shiftily, pulls up his collar, and shuffles in, whistling loudly in an attempt to whistle casually.
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She walked over to the bar and started hunting through the fridge to find something to drink.
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"Yes, it’s a bit of a bad habit though."
Lain turned back to the fridge for a second and grabbed a bottle of pumpkin juice before she turned back around.
"I can't say I've met you yet. I'm Lain Iwakura; I was just sorted over a week ago."
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