Doldrums

[Troubadour]

Troubadour wandered in through the one of the other Charlies... You
know one of the other back doors, trapdoors, root kits, entrance
vectors, what ever they are the Chat seems to have a lot...

a spambot floated by advertising Zebra Striped Teen Bedding...
Troubadour scratched his head.

"If its new then you need to find Bill Palmer and he does not seem to
be around. If it's used... well I don't want to know about it please
take it down a different tube.

Troubadour wandered over to a table and with a sweep of his arm
cleared the broken bottles, dead bots and accumulated trash on to the
floor.

He dumped the contents of the chair [A nearly mummified "Hello
Windows!" Brand (TM) Script kitty] on the floor as well then sat down
and contemplated how he'd once lived and died in this place.

"Looks like the kids have all grown up and left home. Where are they
now?" Troubadour wondered. "PharmVille? "Phair and Balanced" FoxSpace?
AcneBuch? an L-5 Orbital Colony?... Somehow this backwater seems a lot
more comfortable than those places. I guess I don't have a real need
to be remembered like some... nor do I desire to undress my Psyche in
front of place designed not to forget..."

Troub gighed. "I guess there is a time when the weight of the years
makes you want to forget..." He looked around and smiled a half smile.
"But somethings you don't want to forget..." He added after a moment:
"Ever."

As he was wondering an iSpambot drifted over the nearly mummified
script kitty and without warning the Kitty released a tendril of code
deep into the heart of the defenseless bot. Another tendril attacked
the bot then a third and fourth. The Kitty uploaded its code
relentlessly revising and editing the bot.

Soon the bot was no more as the Kitty replaced the bots code with its
own... When it was done, the Script Kitty purred out the front
Charlie.

Almost like old times...

Troub found a Guiness on the floor and popped the cap on the table
edge. "Where ever you are I hope the ride has been worth it!"

troub

[HeaDCase]

Post by Troubadour
Troub found a Guiness on the floor and popped the cap on the table
edge. "Where ever you are I hope the ride has been worth it!"
troub

Passing by outside the Chatsubo (not that that concept is even
topologically meaningful), HeaDCase became aware of the absence of
blaring spambots, and the faint aroma of Guiness. He poked his head in,
and saw Troub sitting at a table, and The Rat rummaging around behind
the bar.

"Wow, the end of the world has been postponed" he muttered as he walked in.

With a tentative grin on his face he nodded to Troub.
"Hello. Are we back, or just here to steal the bar as a memento of
better times? If you ask me, there's still stories to be told, even if
the future is no longer what it used to be, as the saying goes."

"In any case, I'll grab a Broomba and clean up a bit, beer tastes better
if I feel like I earned it. Maybe by the time I'm done, even Ratz will
turn up again."

HeaDCase
---
"Call me Sweeper."

[datarez]

Looking through the glass it actually looked like there were people
inside. He walked through the door only to see a layer of dust on the
ground except for what appeared to be a single track of footsteps.

The air was dead but he said outloud to himself, "Ah it could be
somehwere again."

He walked over to the bar, dusted off a stool and the bar area right
in front of him. He spun around on the stool to the others in the
bar. "Now what do I have to do to get a drink?"

[BlackMondayBlues]

"Wow, this place is still here? I thought Ratz had finally poured his
last pint some time ago."
For once, Charlie offered no resistance; perhaps age had softened the
bar's sentient door, or perhaps he had shut down years ago. Either
way, a new pair of boots stood in the dust and detritus, their owner
looking across to where a couple of faces from years ago sat nursing
their drinks.
"It's been a long time. Feels like a couple of lifetimes ago, since I
was last here. Back when Tranq was still among us, when chibisats
roamed the plains, and there was a Dark Corner Generator (tm) in every
pocket."

He approached the bar and ran a finger through the layers of dust,
tracing a complicated series of swirls and sigils before heading over
to sit on the edge of the long-unused pool table. "Been a very long
time. God only knows what possessed me to wander back this way, but it
looks like the timing was good. There's no way I'd have found anything
under the mountain of spam otherwise."

"There have been a lot of war stories in this bar, and I'm glad to be
among the few who've told them - though I went by a different name
back then. I heard that some of you even managed to get something
published a while back...it'd be nice if this place started getting
busy again."

He turned and reached for a drink that wasn't there, then thought
better of it and headed slowly back out the door. "I might start
coming back here again, if it picks up. A bit of nostalgia now and
again is good for the soul."

[[e-mail]]

"I might start coming back here again, if it picks up. A bit of nostalgia now and
again is good for the soul."

Troub began to cry in his beer... "Nostalgia? Oi! Where has this
fellow been? Look on any street corner. Go to 1 Infinite Loop. Listen
to all the Black Hat / White Hat chatter. The past is now. Madame
Palin is a corporate media creation made to give those who fail to
think glorious .... jobs."

Where was Mr. ? and Herr Monkey Doktor to lob grenades and hyperbole
and give good deals on virtual arms when you needed them? Where was
ghost to razorj-ack fools... or speaking of jack... where was good ol'
jack to steal every last connection? where was goobs? and Heretic? and
the rest of the Motley (pun intended) crew?

Baruch Atah are You. Oh Maker of the Packeted Network.
Bessed it your Qlipot Nether World of Usenet (May your name be a
Blessing forever!)
Blessed are the lower seven worlds of the OSI model (they never
recorded the other three layers as being too secret for meat space
mortals).
May the Meshiach of Data and Rez-o-lution come speedily and in our
day!

Damn... all this prayerifcation and need a drink... This round is on
me! I missed celebrating my 10th Chatsubo Aniversary...

Troub

[ghost]

A light clicked on off towards one side, over the nearly forgotten
billiards table. A tall man hung up a white duster on a hook against
the wall next to the cue sticks, a full brimmed brown hat joined it.
He sat down at a small round table just to the side of the billiards
and kicked his feet up onto a spare chair.

His normal retinue of constructs was notably missing, instead a single
construct stood nearby, dressed casually in slacks and a blouse. She
looked thoughtfully at the table and snapped her fingers - the tiny
little iTunes Radio sprung to life, Tom Waits came blaring out of the
small speakers, she nodded once in approval and went back to patiently
leaning against the wall, paying attention to an eReader more than the
room.

"I'm still everywhere. Except MySpace, can't stand that shit." ghost
said nonchalantly. "Mostly, these days, I just watch."

~ghost
Mercy Is All You Get

[tidux]

The sky was the color of television tuned to a dead channel - the
purest, brightest blue you've ever seen. The Chat's front door
opened, admitting tidux for the first time. He looked around the
place. It was a hell of a lot cleaner than some of the dives he'd seen
back in the Sprawl. He walked over to the dusty billiards table, and
chalked up a cue. "Anyone up for a game?"

[BobH]

The sound of the door was followed by the sound of someone tripping
on some detritus. A couple minutes later, a guy in a black T shirt with
a large lump under the shoulder appears around the corner. "I heard some
noise and was wondering if there was anyone alive around here. Any sign
of Ratz?" Looking at the state of the place, the guy walks through the
entry in the bar and roots in the cooler. After a minute of digging, he
raises an old bottle of Obsidian Stout and swipes a card in the slot
next to the cooler.

Eyes adjusted to the darkness, he looks up and spies Ghost over by the
pool table. "Been a few years, but I am liking that story you've been
working on."

[Monkey Doctor]

pinged forth, the Troubadour, way back when" >

Where was Mr. ? and Herr Monkey Doktor to lob grenades and hyperbole
and give good deals on virtual arms when you needed them? Where was
ghost to razorj-ack fools... or speaking of jack... where was good
ol'
jack to steal every last connection? where was goobs? and Heretic?
and
the rest of the Motley (pun intended) crew?

ping'ed back, the IMD, right now! >

The MD bounced into the bar, riding a semi-sentient cyborg silverback
gorilla.
"Did someone want to buy a weapon?" he asked "I have developed a
bioweapon recently." Somewhere at the back of the bar, a PETA activist
choked. alias stopped chocking her due to death on her part, and
discarded the corpse for later use.
"Ahem." the MD continued. "It emits unbearably loud noises at
inappropriate times and routinely excretes foul smelling payloads."
"You've had a child, haven't you?" the wiser troubadour asked.
"Sssh! I'm trying to get rid of it! Don't give the game away!". He
paused to duck some skin cancer, a common attack in his new home town,
and unrelated to *here*.
"Riiight. You'll grow out of it." the Troubadour reassured the
negligent MD. "Besides, they can be cute."
"Fine, fine, I won't sell it yet." MD looked momentarily distracted.
"Oh yeah... news, news news. alias still exists. Goobs and her
Boobs are still within a few kilometres of me, despite me leaving one
country to get away from her."
The MDs mount looked up at him and tapped it's watch.
"Gotta go. Have a date with an Emu Pizza. Seriously." The Gorilla
reared up and in a flash, the MD was gone.

[alias]

Troub found a Guiness on the floor and popped the cap on the table edge.
"Where ever you are I hope the ride has been worth it!"

..........

speaking of jack... where was good ol' jack to steal every last
connection?

...........


Outside the Chat an argument can be heard... audible ellipses abound..

.. "i'm not parking it out here asshole.. it goes inside or I don't.."

a histrionic voice of reason is shouted down and the door opens. A tall
figure hidden behind a white helmet and a black kevlar suit steps
through. He pulls the helmet off with a wince and yells "Hey Ratz, where
you find these assholes?" as he pushes a battered dirtbike through the
door.

"Artiste, please!" the bartender yells back, "My floor!"

"your floor was filthy before i got here, not much changing that i can
see."

"This is not a parking lot!"

"well it is tonight." alias says "your bouncer can go fuck himself, you
might reconsider hiring midgets next time."

"Artiste, he's six foot four."

alias tumbles onto a stool, obviously favoring his left side and wincing
in pain as he settles in.

"fucking midget ... and don't call me that."

"I'm sorry Artiste." Ratz replies "What happened to you?"

"i got hit by a truck in virginia. anything drinkable back there?"

... "A truck?"

"a smallish truck. not too bad really."

Ratz reaches to the top shelf and brings down a bottle of whiskey

"hang on a second.. " alias says "haven't you heard? rome is burning.
it's end of times out there. the long green is running scared. that
bottom shelf will do me fine.."

"A truck Artiste? This one is on me. You're lucky."

he pours a double into a dirty glass

"it was a small truck man.. besides, i'm too big to fail."

alias throws the whiskey down and Ratz pours him another.

"Nothing is too big too fail."

"ok then" alias says "too dumb to live, too tough to die... or did I get
that backwards?"

"I don't know Artiste.. Why you bring this bike in on my floor?"

"that's the only wheels I got left." alias says "can't take any chances."

Ratz looks at him. One side of his jacket is shredded. He winces in
pain with each deep breath.

"Where you have to go that's so important?" he asks, as he pours another
double.

"everywhere."

"Everywhere?"

"yeah. well... everywhere else anyway."

Ratz pours him another double. It dissapears.

--

alias

Class 30 or Bust.

[Charleson Mambo]

Post by Troubadour
Troubadour wandered in through the one of the other Charlies... You
know one of the other back doors, trapdoors, root kits,  entrance
vectors, what ever they are the Chat seems to have a lot...
a spambot floated by advertising Zebra Striped Teen Bedding...
Troubadour scratched his head.
"If its new then you need to find Bill Palmer and he does not seem to
be around. If it's used... well I don't want to know about it please
take it down a different tube.
Troubadour wandered over to a table and with a sweep of his arm
cleared the broken bottles, dead bots and accumulated trash on to the
floor.
He dumped the contents of the chair [A nearly mummified "Hello
Windows!" Brand (TM) Script kitty] on the floor as well then sat down
and contemplated how he'd once lived and died in this place.
"Looks like the kids have all grown up and left home. Where are they
now?" Troubadour wondered. "PharmVille? "Phair and Balanced" FoxSpace?
AcneBuch? an L-5 Orbital Colony?... Somehow this backwater seems a lot
more comfortable than those places. I guess I don't have a real need
to be remembered like some... nor do I desire to undress my Psyche in
front of place designed not to forget..."
Troub gighed. "I guess there is a time when the weight of the years
makes you want to forget..." He looked around and smiled a half smile.
"Ever."
As he was wondering an iSpambot drifted over the nearly mummified
script kitty and without warning the Kitty released a tendril of code
deep into the heart of the defenseless bot. Another tendril attacked
the bot then a third and fourth. The Kitty uploaded its code
relentlessly revising and editing the bot.
Soon the bot was no more as the Kitty replaced the bots code with its
own...  When it was done, the Script Kitty purred out the front
Charlie.
Almost like old times...
Troub found a Guiness on the floor and popped the cap on the table
edge. "Where ever you are I hope the ride has been worth it!"
troub

ADMIN'ed because I can't roust the muse enough to even post in
character.

Glad to see some activity back in here.

To busy growing a handlebar moustache to really post.*

Maybe after Kaisen 7** I'll be able to dust off some old notes and
hammer them into something worth posting.


Charleson Mambo

* The moustache is for the cosplay*** I'll be wearing.****
** I'm helping to plan/run a local convention. (http://
kaisen.paquines.com/) Which is coming up all too soon.
*** An original 'Freelance Air Kraken Hunter' design.*****
**** To try and drum up some biz for myself making costumes for other
people.
***** May have been bitten by the steampunk bug.