Tales from Adrian's Bar

[LazyScot]

Stepping into Adrian's bar on, somewhat unusually, a Sunday, I was struck by something. Not, fortunately, the Waterfowl Air Patrol, as I had long since developed the completely unconscious bobbing action when entering, but instead by the fact that Adrian's seemed normal. Well as normal as anything with its unusual clientele, impossible drinks and temporal arrogance can look. Worrying.

As I approached the bar, Marc had just finished serving a bearded, white-haired man I'd never seen before.

"I'll have a---" and sure enough Marc thrust a small glass into my hand and pushed over a plate of sliced fruits and cheese over to me. (Have I mentioned that Adrian's, as bars go, is unusual?)

"Lightly chilled Canadian Icewine. With fruits and cheese."

"Why—" I admit that I had been thinking of a desert wine, so I tried the icewine as Marc interrupted.

"I felt you weren't quite ready for the Noble One," Marc replied, with a perfectly straight face. And I must admit that the icewine was absolutely perfect.

Marc returned to make another ZCD to add the growing pile of glasses surrounding the new barfly. Whoever he was, he must have had a liver that could scare squirrels and comprised a biochemical hazard of trans-dimensional proportions. I wondered if AA had a most wanted list.

Looking round the bar, a small group were arguing with McHump over the validity of a trans-lateral move from Kensington Highstreet when the next move was blocked and the previous move was ruled intransigent. (McHump was a computer in the same way that Adrian's Bar is a Bar. He had been created by Marc using a class V consciousness that Adrian had left over from some experiments on creating an antidote to politics that had, in his own words, been somewhat suboptimal. McHump was now connected to several Exabytes of storage holding, Adrian assured us, all the known and unknown rules and rulings of The Game for the duration of time. The reason for the creation was that at one point a group had tried to reach agreement by drawing out their moves. Unfortunately this had accidentally inscribed some rather dangerous runes that opened a hole to the shadow dimensions. At that point, something the colour that invoked all your worst nightmares slithered through, said what was almost certainly "LUNCHTIME", and started ambling towards the players. Fortunately for everyone, Adrian had just swung in. He looked that the nightmare coloured thing, and it looked at Adrian. Adrian cocked an eyebrow directly at the thing, which promptly changed from the colour of your nightmares into a colour of fear, then abject terror, and then released a small pool of fluorescent purple liquid. The liquid took one look at Adrian, caught sight of the squid, did some very fast calculation and fled back through the hole to the safety of the shadow dimensions, pursued by the clearly terrified creature from beyond, which paused only briefly to draw out various defensive sigils before disappearing through the hole, and slamming and bolting the door after it.)

Over at the weekend Sofas, the Squid was happily reading next weekend's financial papers, and had clearly found a story of interest, which it was sharing with Verencat (who was wearing her "Free the Penguin" tee-shirt). It seemed to be something about a new highly secure computer system to protect bankers bonuses. Verencat seemed to have some ideas about it as well, as their discussion got quite animated.

Elle, the cash register, had wandered over to the Juke Box, and decided to try out some new psychiatry ideas on the Juke Box. Sadly this somewhat backfired, since the Juke Box insisted on making a song and dance out of it. Ending up with the Juke Box taking on the role of Gene Kelly in a rendition of Shrinking in the Rain, where one of the pillars stood in for a lamp, the bar's sprinkler system supplied the rain, a startled lurker got an umbrella no-one knew the juke box had, and Marc appeared in a policeman's uniform. Exactly why Marc has a policeman's uniform, and how he managed to get into it and out of it so quickly was something I decided not to pursue. Still, Elle had a good giggle. At the Juke Box, I think.

"A refill?" asked Marc (now out of uniform), and I noticed I'd finished my icewine.

"Please," I replied, perhaps a little too eagerly.

"You've not yet met Laws, have you? Laws, Lazy; Lazy, Laws," said Marc, by way of introduction and started making more ZCDs for Laws.

"If I ever find that so called author, I'll make him eat his words. Literally. Every single one of them. Painfully," announced Laws, without any explanation or signs of slurring. For no apparent reason, I decided it was a good time to study my glass of wine, and contemplate its potential for Madeirisation.

"It used to be so simple. Not a care. Didn’t even know what a care was. Then wham! Pow! Crash! And do you know what?" asked Laws. "Well, do you?"

"Err... No?"

"No. Of course not. All of a sudden I'm contemplating. I'm thinking. Then what happens? Worrying. Empathy. Compassion. Even caring. The evil little wordsmith. Did he, do any of them, think about it when they start?"

"Err… No?"

"No. Of course not. They never do, they just do what they want, without concern for the consequences. They just have no idea of the power of words. And now look at me. Driven to drink. Is that fair?"

"Err.. No?"

"Of course not. It used to be so simple. BANG! And I'd sterilise and entire galaxy arm. Now? Angst. Me. Angst. Laws should never suffer angst." I looked nervously at Marc wondering just who it was I'd been introduced to.

"A stone falls on someone's toe, and I'm concerned by what they think of me. Someone knocks a coffee cup and if I was actually a little bit generous it would return to upright. But no, good ole Laws tips it up and the coffee pours into the computer. I hate…" He paused. "Actually, I like that one; but most of them I hate."

"Ahhh. At last," he said as a beautiful lady entered the bar walking like Jello on springs, strangely without having to get out of the way of the Waterfowl Air Patrol, who instead got out of her way.

"Hi Laws!" said the lady as she arrived at the bar and received a very small ZCD from Marc. Given the generosity of measures that is Adrian's this was very unusual. As was the look Marc gave conveyed a relationship where the parties rarely see completely eye to eye.

"Who’s your friend?" she asked. I don't know why, but the word insignificance came to mind seeing the two of them sitting there. Probably it applied to me. I hope.

"Lazy somebody or other. I was just explaining the evil that is an author, Reality."

Ah… The measure made sense. At least within the usual definition of sense in Adrian's. My eye's glanced up to Adrian's Coat Of Arms, and the motto inscribed underneath. "Economical with Reality".

"Vile people. Still no sign of whoever it was?" said Reality.

"No, unfortunately. I wonder if word has got out. Anyway, you ready for our regular night of oblivion seeking, Physics?", at which point he nodded and they started on some more ZCDs.

"Physics?" I asked Marc.

"Yup. It's his name. Laws of Physics."

"?" I responded.

"Yup. Comes in here. Every Sunday. Drinks a lot. And gets quite talkative, too."

"Ummm. You get the Laws of Physics drunk every Sunday and he talks to you."

"Yessss."

"Does this have anything to do with some of Montsmags Enterprises more, um, exotic products?"

"Well, shall we say that some of what Laws divulges does help the R&D department." And with that Marc provided another few dozen ZCDs to Laws and Reality. At which point a Penny dropped. She was obviously not used to some of Marc's cocktails, but I'm sure a bowl of Mrs Paca's noodles would soon have her right as rain. Then it eventually dawned on me.

"Errr. Marc? Reality and the Laws of Physics get thoroughly drunk on ZCDs regularily?"

"Yes."

"Every Sunday?"

"And that means they must have a serious hangover?"

"Yes. Mondays." said Marc, far too happily with one of his poly-syllabic enigmatic smiles.

So I had another glass of Candian Icewine.

[Bilbo1967]

Tremendous!

Please, not three months between installments next time.

[zelda_pinwheel]

Originally Posted by LazyScot

"Errr. Marc? Reality and the Laws of Physics get thoroughly drunk on ZCDs regularily?"

"Yes."

"Every Sunday?"

"And that means they must have a serious hangover?"

"Yes. Mondays." said Marc, far too happily with one of his poly-syllabic enigmatic smiles.

So I had another glass of Candian Icewine.

ah, mondays. possibly the most unpleasant zcd side-effect of them all.

thanks for the update ! i've been missing this place. great to be back.

[LazyScot]

"Marc, my usual. And make it a d---", started Pshrynk arriving at the bar.

"Here you are Pshyrnk " said Marc proffering a double ZCD (with an extra shot of insanity).

"I hate it when you do that."

"I could get you a cup of tea, if you'd rather," said Marc reaching for Pshyrnk's glass.

"Don't you dare, " growled Pshyrnk. "And I wish someone would tell Verencat that Mr Williams spells his name with two b's," he added distractedly as Verencat wandered over for more discussions with the Squid, sporting a teeshirt bearing the message "Robie: the coolest cat". "Anyway, I have a bone to pick with you. You know Montsnmags Enterprises provided some assistance with the software for the EMR?"

"Yes. We, er, tweaked the on-line help system to make it more useful."

"Yup. What exactly did you do?"

"Just added a bit of an expert system, crosslinked it to the EMR database, the HR records, plugged it into the security systems cameras and internet and gave it class III cognitive abilities with self-motivational development and role expansion drive. Oh, and added adapting networking functionality, fractal parallelisation support, device morphism and auto-porting. Why?"

"Did that techno-jibberish make any sense? Anyhow, this system seems to have developed delusions of grandeur. And it is chasing me."

"Sounds reasonable to me. It was supposed to."

"Wait… What?"

"Develop. The Class III cognitive abilities and extensions. Anyhow, it's just trying to help you."

"More likely it's trying to do me out of a job, and probably my money as well. For starters, when you fire up the help system it automatically provides you with a full diagnosis, therapy regime and, if necessary drugs."

"And that is a problem because?"

"It then proceeds to say that'll be $350, please. And it somehow locks your door until you give it your credit card numbers."

"And that is a problem because?" at which point, Pshyrnk's iPhone rang, and as he picked it up, he realised that an application has just downloaded itself onto it, and started running.

"That'll be $350, please, plus interest and charges of $274.68," said the application on the iPhone, "Oh, hello Marc. The plan seems to be going well, don't you think," and promptly hung up and uninstalled.

"Wait… What? What Plan?" said Pshrynk, promptly making use of the spare paranoia he'd been hanging onto for just such an occasion.

"Oh, just to help you out as much as possible," extemporised Marc.

"Well, I don't need help. I'm perfectly capable of making people suffer without your help. Now please GET RID OF THAT THING!"

"I'm not sure I can do anything now. You see, the thing is it looks like EMRhelp has reached class IV, and what with the cross-interlinking to security and HR, attempts to remove it could result in cross-locked records mixup. And I'm not sure which side of which door you might end up on. Anyway I suspect it has fractally replicated which makes removal accounting require snowflake mathematics. And you know you don’t like the cold."

I'd never seen pshrynk give anyone a look like he gave Marc at that point. In fact, apart from DixieGal on a really bad day, I don't think anyone could compete. It was to a bedside manner's friendly look what a PetaWatt laser is to an ice-crystal.

"I think you might be overlooking something, and would really like to help out here."

"I'd really like to, but—"

"You see," said pshrynk with a chilling warmth and joviality, "I remember some of the things Adrian has said during our joint nights carousing. Like what he does on the seventh Tuesday of every month. And how he spends the money in his second reserve fund. And that he thinks you are the only person who knows about these, ummm, character foibles. So imagine what would happen if they became general knowledge."

"Ummm.---"

"And I also have some excellent contractors that you might find are starting to refurbish this place…."

"Errr----"

"Excellent, so what's your plan?"

"Well we just need to entice Elle—"

"Elle?"

"That's the name of the help system: EMR Labour Lessening Extension," said Marc, running short of extemporisations. "But that's not important right now. We need to entice her into something better. And I may just have the ideal device."

And with that Marc placed a highly advanced, self-propelling, cash register, complete with card scanner, touch screen and internet access onto the counter. And an Apple logo and approved design.

"Now all I need to do is upgrade the network access with a Montsmags Enterprises Intelligent Internet Filter, add some controls so that she only *thinks* she is debiting moneys, and sees fake accounts, " muttered Marc replacing some parts of the register and configuring them with the aid of his slightly over-specified watch. "Right. Do you have your EMR Tablet with you?"

"Sadly yes, but it's of no use. It only works on the hospital's WiFi."

"Oh, don't worry about that. Adrian's is geographically non-specific."

"Wait…. What?"

"We're everywhere and nowhere. So you should get an excellent signal."

And sure enough, when pshrynk turned on the tablet it got an even better signal that normal. He gave Marc the sort of look usually reserved for drilling holes in several feet of plate steel. Which glanced harmlessly off Marc (probably due to time well spent with Adrian).

"Ah, hello again Pshrynk. Are you ready to pay yet? You wouldn't want to run up too many excess charges now would you?" said Elle from the tablet, leaving Pshrynk slightly discombobulated.

"Hello, Elle," said Marc. "It sounds like you've been having difficulty collecting your rightfully owed fees for services rendered. Perhaps I could assist?" At which point Marc connected the Tablet to the cash register. "Maybe you'd like to look around this new property. All mod cons – card reader, cash tray, direct internet access for paypal transfers, an official Western Union Money Transfer agents licence, touch screen and extensive bio-metric sensors for verification."

The Cash Register screen promptly lit up saying "Total due $350 + $279.43 (interest and charges). Please select payment method."

"There you go; pshrynk, why don't you insert your credit card so that Elle can try out the facilities?"

Pshyrnk screamed and stood up very rapidly. Exactly as if he had been given a rather nasty electric shock through the bar stool. Which he had been. He turned up his look laser to the ExaWatt range and pointed it directly at Marc. With, as usual, no effect.

"Ahhh. Elle, I see you have found the one of the range of highly scientific payment encouragement mechanisms that are also included as a standard feature."

"Me likey," said Elle, and settled in as Pshyrnk gave another scream and inserted his credit card, as Elle stuck out her cash tray at him. "What's the rent?" she asked.

"Two free consultations for a customer of my choosing each month," said Marc, as Pshrynk tried to find a Zetta setting for his look laser, but was somewhat annoyed to find it was graded in Candela, and so the highest setting it had was one Zcd…..

"And I can use the bar as my office for all other clients?"

"Usual rate card and commission," asked Marc. "Done?"

"Done," chimed in Elle, before trying out the all-terrain transportation accessory and starting to explore Adrian's. Disconcertingly on the ceiling.

"out of a job? I do believe I have been," muttered Pshyrnk nursing the new drink Marc provided for him.

[zelda_pinwheel]

oooh, threatening with contractors, that's playing dirty. not that it makes a difference, with marc.

[montsnmags]

Originally Posted by zelda_pinwheel

oooh, threatening with contractors, that's playing dirty. not that it makes a difference, with marc.

Contractors? Bah! But even when you have unlimited power (PNS influence), omnipresence (Adrian), and absolute persuasion (ZCD), there is still that nagging, worried little voice at the back of your head whimpering fearfully "...but what if he doesn't like me!". Pshrynk has the ultimate power - complete consciousness of any one person's insecurities. Maybe that's why he likes/adopted/was adopted by Adrian - complete lack of insecurity (as well as fear, morals, sense of self-preservation, empathy and awareness of own limits).

[Slite]

Oh man.... this is most likely THE most awesome Loungelizard story ever!

This one needs colaboration! Get writing y'all!

And yes, I have a story of my own brewing ... Not that it will be anywhere near as good as Lazy's.

And it need to be compiled into a book as well!

[zelda_pinwheel]

Originally Posted by montsnmags

Maybe that's why he likes/adopted/was adopted by Adrian - complete lack of insecurity (as well as fear, morals, sense of self-preservation, empathy and awareness of own limits).

hm, compelling theory.

Originally Posted by Slite

Oh man.... this is most likely THE most awesome Loungelizard story ever!

And yes, I have a story of my own brewing ... Not that it will be anywhere near as good as Lazy's.

And it need to be compiled into a book as well!

well what are you waiting for ??? plus, i hope you haven't forgotten that i'm still kidnapped, or in hiding to avoid being kidnapped, or something ! and it's been nearly a YEAR !!!!

[ShortNCuddlyAm]

How the flip did I miss this???

More please!

[zelda_pinwheel]

Originally Posted by ShortNCuddlyAm

How the flip did I miss this???

More please!

i really have no idea, but i'm guessing "work" is at least partly responsible. i'm thinking of giving that up altogether, myself. it really cuts into my reading time.

[Greg Anos]

A voice from the door yelled, "Y'all got any Pearl around here?"

"That's not a .22 you're carrying."

"'Course not, I'm off this evening. It's a double stack .40 calibre packing tungsten-cored Sabot rounds. Buckaroo Banzai thought real highly of them when he raided Yo-Yo Dyne. Just what you need on social occasions. Besides, you never know what might come into this bar."

"Hey Law! have another one on me!"

[ShortNCuddlyAm]

Originally Posted by zelda_pinwheel

i really have no idea, but i'm guessing "work" is at least partly responsible. i'm thinking of giving that up altogether, myself. it really cuts into my reading time.

That really does sound like a good idea. I'll try to convince my boss he wants to pay for sitting around reading and writing all day first though...

[Slite]

Ok, not as good as LS, but here goes

Dazed and confused as always after entering Adrian's, nothing odd about that. But tonight, something was different. Nausea, that was not a feeling I usually got when the temporal vortex that masquerades as the entrance to Adrian's deposited me next to Tuesday.

Stumbling over to the bar, one of the Marc's looked up, shook his head slightly and handed me a glass with something that swirled in all the colors of the rainbow. I looked at him over the edge of the glass and started to ask what it was. Again this Marc just shook his head slightly and said.

"No, you don't want to know, just drink it."

Shrugging I followed his advice. At first nothing happened, well, at least if you don't want to count the fact that my toenails started to curl upwards, the hair on my arms shrivel up and my lower intestines started thinking about moving south for the winter.

And then it REALLY hit me...

A few minutes later I was looking up at the ceiling of Adrians which slowly stopped revolving over me. With a groan I picked myself up from the floor and looked at the Marc.

"No, you don't want to know" he said again.

Considering the fact that my feeling of nausea and confusion was gone, I decided that not wanting to know was a good enough reason for me. I decided to order my normal poison and opened my mouth but all I could manage was

"Glbblldldöös..."

"Right", the Marc said, "one Zany Carter Deluxe coming right up" and at the same time he handed me a glass of said bewerage that he obviously had mixed during my short period of conciousness impairness.

I quickly drained the glass and felt myself going warm and fuzzy all over.

"Ahhh" I finaly managed "That grows hair on your chest" which it literally does, I was going to have to shave again when I got home as always after a visit to Adrian's.

"Whats up with the feeling of nausea upon entry?" I asked the Marc

"Something happened last night," he said with a excusing tone "Adrian had some 'friends' over for drinks after hours"

"After hours? I thought Adrian's never closes"

"It doesn't, but Adrian decided to bend the rules a bit and changed Tuesday to After Hours. So anyone who enters at Tuesday gets a touch of TDD"

"TDD?"
"Temporal Displacement Disease, nasty stuff and the only thing that helps is a shot of No, you don't want to know"

I shuddered slightly at the thought of what a drink named like that really contained but decided that I really did not want to know.

Having almost returned to my normal self, I quickly scanned my surroundings. Vivaldi and WDE was sitting over in a booth by Wensday and shared a bowl of something that looked like liquified bacon. LazyScot was at the bar to my left, having a heated discussion to Laws of Physic and Reality.

"Hello Slite" a deep voice suddenly said behind me making me jump slightly, guess I wasn't quite over the effects of the 'No, you don't want to know' quite yet.

Turning I saw something that at first look more resembled a huge pile of white fluff, a REALLY huge pile of white fluff, with two dark eyes the size of saucers at the top of the pile, some 9 feet of the floor. It was of course The Yeti standing there smiling down at me.

"Hi Yeti, how's everything?" I smiled at the Yeti and continued "Where's Am tonight?"

"She's around here somewhere" Yeti replied in a rumbling voice "She got into a argument with Zelda and the Jukebox about the pros and cons of Abba. And I was getting bored."

"Well, I imagine that we will soon hear where they are, especially considering Zelda's, ummm... less than enthusiastic view of Abbas music" I said while i smiled happily at the Yeti.

I usually try to adopt smiling happily at beings capable of ripping once arm off and beating you to death with the bloody stump while screaming "Stop hitting yourself!". not that I for one instance believed that the Yeti in question would do that. Being married to Am and all. But in my line of work, it usually was a good idea to stay on your toes.

"Can I get you something?" I asked the Yeti as I turned towards the bar, where the Marc held up a bucket of the Yeti's favourite poison already, sometimes I really hate that about Adrians.

"Thanks" the Yeti said, took the bucket, downed it in one huge gulp, tensed up and looked slightly crosseyed for a second or two, before relaxing again. "I needed that" he said, laughed and then clapped me on the back so I almost somersaulted over the bar and only by catching hold of one of the chairs did I manage to not go careening over it like a frisbee.

"Well, I better go see if the missus wants som muffins or something" Yeti stated before wandering off with a last wave in my direction.

I shook my head and att the same time trying to shrug my displaced joints back where they belonged.

All of a sudden the Jukebox came running by with something that at first glance looked like a raging fury hot on it's heels. As they crossed over into Monday, the fury caught up with the Jukebox, got it pinned down and managed to unplug it's speakers with a vicious half-nelson that made me green with envy.

"He must have tried to play something by Abba" I thought as I recognised the fury as Zelda. The Jukebox obviously tried to apologise, but with disconected speakers, all that came out was a kind of low humming sound.

"He'll never learn" was the only comment from the Marc as he handed me another glass of ZCD.

I nodded in agreement and thanks, sauntered over to Thursday and sat down at one of the booths along the wall. I needed som private time to think about my last assignment.

Beeing the only weredog employed by MI-6 usually landed me in the strangest places and situations, but the last job in Havanna was one my strangest ever.

Suddenly a Marc came over with a bowl of SCD, seems like I had changed into dogshape without even thinking about it. The Marc put the bowl in front of me, gave me a quick scritch behind the ear before heading back to the bar.

Damn but those Marc's give a good scritching!

Lapping some ZCD's from the bowl I pondered what MI-6 would have me do next, I sure hoped the next job did not include sockpuppets. Those guys creeped me out, almost as much as mimes do.

I looked at the watch over the bar and decided it was time to leave Adrian's, beeing thursday and eight o'clock, I had no desire to hang around. Thursdays at eight, it's time for the Solid Gold Disco Dancing Pirate Ninja Squirrel Special Elite Squadron burlesque show, and that is NOT something I want to witness again, ever! It scares me even more than sockpuppets.

Quickly finishing my bowl, I drop to the floor, scratch myself behind the ear and leave Adrian's for this time...

[LazyScot]

Originally Posted by Slite

Ok, not as good as LS, but here goes

Oh, I think it's just as good; keep them coming!

Originally Posted by Slite

LazyScot was at the bar to my left, having a heated discussion to Laws of Physic and Reality.

And a very nice heated discussion it was. One of Mrs Al Paca's specials. Those things are so large they easily feed three....

Originally Posted by Slite

The Jukebox obviously tried to apologise, but with disconected speakers, all that came out was a kind of low humming sound.

I'm sure Elle'll reconnect the speakers. I think she has a thing for the Jukebox....

[LazyScot]

I hate Thursdays. Not, it has to be said as much as other things, but it is not my favourite of days. As usual, all manner of people who have decided to take Friday off suddenly realise that something they heard about on Monday now needs doing. And, of course, you are always the perfect person to do it. And Thursday, being Thursday, has at least 37 working hours in it, doesn't it? And, of course, BetterHalf wanted me to look at something in *that* store…

Anyhow, that provides a bit of backdrop to my arriving at Adrian through Thursday, only to be met by something so terrifying that I froze in shock and disbelief.

THUMP!

After I recovered from being spatio-temporally co-incident with a water-loving avian resident of Adrian's (i.e. I got hit by the duck).

THUMP!

This time, I crawled forward before I stood up, and started spluttering at Marc whilst pointing at the new addition to the games area.

"Ssss… B.b.b.but… e.e.e.evil…… w.w.w.why? b.b.b.but… E.e.e.eye. E.e.e.eye k.k.k.key y.y.y.yah. IKEA?" I eventually managed indicating the model of our local store surrounded by catalogues (though, fortunately, also a baseball bat).

"Don't worry. It's not what it seems," said Marc, passing over a ZCD as an antidote to Thursdays and a trip to Ikea.

"Then what the…" I, and everyone else, fell silent. Marc had turned round and opened the little glass cabinet that contained the key. Marc took out the key and walked over to the mythical quadruple glass cabinet, and to a chorus of ooohs and aaahs unlocked the cabinet and reverentially removed the quadruple ZCD stein. Before we could ask, Monday's door slammed open, and we were deafened.

"shums" Zelda explained, with a conviction that you would not have thought her lungs were capable of.

As we picked ourselves up off the floor and replaced the furniture following Zelda's explanation, Marc continued, completely untroubled, filling the quadruple ZCD stein. (I personally suspect that the bar area has various scientifically impossible force fields protecting the bar-entity from untoward events occurring within the bar. After all, there was the mishap that Slite had with the Nerf Vulcan EBF-25 that he "pimped" himself, including a turbo-charged burst mode and an auto-targeting system. He'd also developed a belt feed compatible with chocolate bars, and crispy bacon rashers and then assembled an exceptionally long belt with alternate bars and bacon rashers. This would not have caused much of a problem, but for the fact that both GeoffC and VivaldiRules were present, and hungry, Mrs Al Paca's sous-chef took exception, the burst mode jammed, the nerf gun overheated to the point of melting the chocolate, and someone spilled some ZCD onto the targeting system. Somehow, Marc and the serving area behind the bar remained the only parts that did not become part of an impressive fake of a Jackson Pollock. Which really disappointed Vivaldi as he'd hope for something more Francis Bacon. Strangely, no-one seems to know what happened to the Nerf gun at the end of that episode…. worryingly.)

"shums." Reiterated Zelda, directly at what I was convinced was the model Ikea store, before charging towards it and picking up the baseball bat. "shums." She repeated as she set about whatever it was, adding assorted words in French that had Verencat (in her "Mac was entrapped" teeshirt) blushing, and various other English words conveying an impression that the shums had not been particularly quiet or helpful. Strangely, she seemed to be beating some small plates of fresh crusty bread, assorted cheeses, olives and garnished with some frisée leaves out of the whatever it was she was hitting. A few minutes later, somewhat subdued, she put down the bat, collected the plates and wandered over to the bar where Marc passed Zelda the now full quadruple ZCD stein.

"thanks marc. that is an excellent addition to the bar," indicating the thing she had just been beating. And with that she accepted the stein and emptied it in one swift, continuous motion. "ahhhh. i needed that," and with which she promptly disappeared and then re-appeared over in Saturday's most comfortable sofa, courtesy of a highly tuned ZCD temporal shift (marc is incredibly adept at mixing the ZCDs *just so*, allowing him to send his customers just where or when he likes. At least that was his explanation for why I found myself suddenly and unexpectedly sitting on a rather large Yucca after I asked if he stocked Fosters. In my defence, I *intended* it as a joke.). Immediately upon her arrival on the Saturday sofa, a pair of cats that had condescended to adopt Adrian's as one of their palaces took instant advantage of the arrival of the biological-version of an electric blanket. Jumping on-board, they padded around to soften up their new throne and curled up, purring contentedly, just as Mrs Al Paca brought Zelda with one of her vegetable and noodle broth specials. Finishing the broth, replete and relaxed Zelda gently dozed off, for a good 40 kilometre snooze.

"So what is that Ikea thing, Marc?"

"It’s not Ikea, its---"

"Lusers"

"Evil Developer"

"Comcast"

"Farking Winter."

"Authors"

"Nerf Guns"

"Microsoft"

Interrupted various Adrionians through their drinks.

"a psionic piñata," continued Marc, oblivious to the interruptions (but doubtlessly filing the interruptions away on the relevant tabs), with all the clarity of a Chinese whisper that had travelled through John Prescott, George Bush, Nicolas Sarkozy, two Professors of Obfuscation and five year old girl in a top shop shortly before Christmas.

"You what?" seemed the only response.

"It's a piñata that Adrian found when he popped into a nearby universe to have some fun at a Symposium on Victory Techniques for Evil Geniuses. (He's been banned from attending any of them in this universe after terrifying too many delegates.) The piñata has a psionic detection component. It reads your mind and alters itself to represent what it reads. Currently Adrian has it set to what you hate, but if can be changed to all sorts of other things."

"So why, in the name of the first ZCD, do you have set to show what people hate?"

"Therapy," said Elle from the ceiling.

"Exactly. You see, it is a piñata."

"Okay. I presume you are attempting to confuse me into submission."

"Nonsense, have a swift ZCD and it will make sense," and Marc proffered a ZCD. "It's actually very obvious. The piñata is full of nice things and is meant to be hit. As you hit it, you take out your stress and hatred, and at the same time get a shower of treats. And with a little bit of this pavlovian conditioning and you will cope far better with the object of you hatred. Or at least that's the idea," he added watching Pshrynk attacking the piñata for what I later leaned was the eighty-seventh time.

"Oh, hello DixieGal, it's nice to have you back."

"It's nice to be back. Ah, thank you," she added as Marc passed here a glass of freshly made proper lemonade.

"I've a question. What do you see over there, in the games area?"

"Where?"

"There," I said indicating the Ikea store and catalogues.

"Nothing, though there is a baseball bat nearby."

"Nothing?"

"Yes."

I looked quizzically at Marc.

"Why, LazyScot, do you think people like and respect DixieGal so much? She doesn't have it in her to hate, or at least not in the way most people do. So the piñata has nothing to show her, and so it becomes invisible. As it does to a few other people."

"So what do you see, then?"

Marc proffered me a Long Island Iced Tea with a ZCD chaser and his trademark poly-syllabic enigmatic smile.

So I enjoyed the Iced Tea, ZCD and the friendship of Adrian's, and do you know what? Ikea and Thursday slowly faded from my mind and the games area.