The Tea Party Garden, As You Have Been "Invited"

[Mr.Oozikins]

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . ~The Tea Party Garden~ . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


Doors are tricky things. You open them and you never know what you will find. Of course, some things are to be expected- you open the garage door and there is a garage. But no speck of dust is in quite the same place and no rat is preening quite the same patch of fur. When you wake up in the morning and open your bedroom door, your home is a world reborn with the dawn, no matter how familiar it may seem. Well, today, things work just the same. You might be just getting up from the TV room couch to go to your kitchen in 2006. You might be a rogue fleeing from the king's guard to a cellar in the 1500s. We don't discriminate. But instead of opening your door to a renewed but expected place, you, whoever you may be, shall open your door to an entirely different world-- but you don't know that yet.......

....................................................................................................


In a land of relativities and perspective, nestled between an old stone wall and a vast, dense, and predictably dangerous forest, sits an almost-neatly-trimmed lawn. Surrounding this large plot of grass there is a peeling, warped white picket fence overgrown with fitting vines that have crept in from the dark woods. A few choked, browning flowers peek through the stranglehold of the ivy; only the red and white roses have managed to survive around the picket fence, and this simply because the ivy understands the laws of any garden-- roses must reign supreme. On both short sides of the lawn there is a door of sorts-- one side of the lawn contains a little gate in the picket fence that has nearly rotted from its bearings. On the other side, there is the stone wall with a heavy, cliché wooden door, complete with iron bolts and a useless lion's head door-knocker on both sides.

On this large plot of grass there is a small, unpainted wooden shed of undetermined purposes in the upper left corner and a long and scuffed wooden table, prepared, it would seem, to seat a king's banquet. This table has traditional lion's feet and it shifts every now and then to keep from growing too stiff. On this table there are small plates and tea cups as varied in size, quality, and upkeep as all the hats in the world. At both ends of the table there are tea pots and cups of sugar and cream. One tea pot is large and metal, the other small and fine and porcelain. There are plates of crumpets and bread and butter set out haphazardly across the table's center. It is hard to tell where all of the objects on the table originally were as the table shifts its weight quite often.

Surrounding the long table are chairs as varied as the tea cups and plates which are as varied as all the hats in the world. Some chairs are wooden and well kept, others wooden and rotten, others old and velvet. Some look to be made for children and do not even peek over the edge of the table. All of the chairs have one thing in common: on each leg of every chair, there are lion's feet that have been shoved on haphazardly. Without this, chairs would topple over. But they must move with the table and so someone, whoever, has jammed awkwardly sized and cut wooden lion's feet onto each chair leg. Very few of them match.

Only one of these chairs is occupied: At the head of the table, toward the fenced short side, there is a high backed, throne-like chair upholstered with faded red velvet that still holds some of its old, rich charm around the edges where the golden bolts hold the cushioning into the once-lovely wood. In this chair sits a slumped figure with a ridiculously proportioned top hat and a tailcoat to match. Judging by the relatively short black pleated skirt, the knee high boots kicked casually up onto the table, and the breasts, the figure is female. Bushy goldish hair flares out from under the hat at odd angles. In short, she fits right in. And, for now, she is alone.

....................................................................................................



The Hatter had had to search the whole bloody house for the right door. It was a shame that beyond the wall there was nothing, she speculated, or else she would leave that way and plot a way back. But that damned Garden door was so unpredictable. The forest was a no-no, she'd learned long ago, and so there was nothing for it but to scour the house for the right door. This morning it had been the cupboard. At this point, she was exhausted. She slumped herself in her welcoming throne and kicked her feet up hard, causing the table to shift the wrong way. Her feet fell off the edge. She caught her hat before it fell off and and carefully replaced her feet back on the table top, sighing as she eased back into that amiable, mind-of-its-own chair of hers. Now that she was here, the door was awake. It wouldn't be long now, until she saw her first tea-time guests. She tugged her hat lower over her eyes to shield them from the invisible but much-felt overcast sun.

The first arrival was the only arrival that ever came through the forest gate, and he was not a guest. She smiled without turning around, reaching a hand out to scratch behind one of Mr. Oozikins's mangled, curling ears. The Greyhound King, about four feet at the shoulder, slung himself out at the Hatter's feet, gracing her with his presence. She smiled lazily, a grin growing under the brim of her hat, followed closely by a pixie's giggle. Only a matter of time, now.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

[King Darkmoor]

Dr. Cranium had stepped out of his lab for a moment to check on his Transcedental Receiving Animal Processor (TRAP) to see if it had caught anything. Unfortunately some adventurer had fiddled with it, and the doctor had to reset everything. Once finished he turned back towards his lab, but when he opened the door he found himself not with his complex equipment and cute (even if green and somewhat lumbering) reanimated lab assistant Frankie, but instead in a garden of all places.

Cranium was startled, but his scientific mind quickly reaffirmed itself and set him towards identifying what exactly this phenomenon was. "Had this happened to one of those villagers they probably would have mistaken it for magic!" he muttered with a laugh, and pulled out a notepad and pen to begin cataloguing everything. Including the seemingly sentient tables and the two people sitting within.

[Lithium]

Murky, after having a long conversation with a bush, opened the door to his room at the inn. Instead of a comfy inn room, he found himself at a garden, with a sentient table, a woman, a greyhound, and a crazy looking scientist. With that, he took a seat at the table.

"Well, I had told my colleagues the multiple universes or whatever existed, but did they believe me? Nooooo they didn't. And if I tell them about this they'll think I was on an acid trip.".

Putting back on his top hat, which had appeared in his hands only moments ago, he looked up at the woman, "I'm Murky. Who are you, where am I, and if this is a ransom, how much money do you want?".

[Earthworm Jim]

Paul woke up just like he always did, and followed the same slavelike routine as yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that too; Curse at random things as he tries to will himself to get his ass out of bed, stumble into the shower, Curse at more random things, get dressed, and eat brekfast.Today he wore his more formal attire to piss a certain group of people off; A black polo shirt, with his black silk tie, his sport jacket, his black wingtips he recently polished, one of his pairs of black dockers, and this time he decided to wear his black and deep grey fedora with the Ace of Spades firmly tucked in where the brim up-turned. He had jst gotten the milk out of the refrigerator, and had a bowl ready, before he realized there was no cereal in the kitchen. He cursed again at more assorted objects, and went out into his garage, still very tired.

He walked though the grass to where the shelving unit were his family kept excess food, and reached out his hand hoping to make contact with something. His hand met only air, and in surprise he opened his eyes a bit more and started taking in the scenery. He WASN'T in his garage, he wasn't in anything CLOSE to his garage. He was standing idly in a grass clearing sporting a long row of tables set up for dining. He looked to his left, his drumset was nowhere to be found. Oh goddamnit, well aint this a bitch...

He looked around a bit more, and saw a small group of people sitting near the head of the table, all staring at him. Feeling uneasy, he felt his pockets. He had his cellphone, his wallet, and his... Aw shit.... He left his knife up on his dresser. As he was now, he was unarmed, vulnerable to say the least. He figured if worst came to worst, he could use the tablewear set up as decent weapons. He relaxed a bit and began walking toward the group, muttering out loud;

"Where the fuck is this, who the fuck are you people, and where in the goddamn hell is my fuckin garage!?" He had just woken up, and he was feeling NOT in the mood for shit like this, and he was hungry. Very hungry.

[Mr.Oozikins]

She heard the door open, creaking obnoxiously on its hinges as though the lion's head door knocker was over-compensating for the fact that it could not actually roar. The Hatter lifted her head, pressing the brim of her tophat witha thumb and a fore-finger. The first one wasn't hesitant to talk. Not at all, in fact. He didn't seem to wonder at anything. She picked up her cup of tea, which, given the table's movement- it shuddered- would probably not be hers anymore within the hour, and she took a sip, gazing up from under the brim of her hat with an ostentatious bit of smugness. Hat on, cameras rolling. Mr.Oozikins sneeze-snorted pointedly. She refrained from kicking his highly-visible ribs and pursed her lips, setting down the cup- which promptly sloshed from side to side.

"Not that greetings are of any importance. You're not polite. And yet still, I'll share a meal with--"

She didn't get to finish her sentence, which was okay because it was bound to be gaudy anyway. She found someone shortly thereafter ranting right by her ear, taking his seat- which was scampering under him in awkward half-circles- beside her. The Hatters brows furrowed pointedly, image ruined by interruption. She raised a finger to answer the strange blue thing with a tophat irritatingly similar to her own before a stream threatening swearwords assaulted her. She took a deep, exalting breath.

Hastily, she turned to the blue hat thing, "Drink your tea." And then she turned back to the strikingly human thing. Time to regain her post as superior, yes?

"This is obviously a spread of my imagination, fuckhead. I'm the Hatter, these are my... guests," or victims, as it were, "And,clearly, it's not fucking here. " She thumped an elbow onto the chair arm, resting her chin on her knuckles nonchalantly.

"Now, quit being a pussy and have some tea." Her lips quirked into a concise smile.

[Earthworm Jim]

"Yeah, I can see that. And as for your pussy, well, let's say i've never seen something more neglected in my life, seeing as your, well, repulsive and disgusting. Seriously, I'd rather go screw my grandma, and, honey, she's dead."

Oooohhh, Burn!

Paul laughed at his own insult for a bit for good measure, tuning out what were probably more thrown insults. He looked around a bit more, then immediatly decided he did not like this place. It seemed strait out of some fairy tale, then blown and warped beyond the childish minds of it's creators. And there was no cereal in sight.

He slumped down in a chair at the opposite end of the table, directly facing "The Hatter" or whatever the hell the crazy chick seemingly in-charge took to calling her. He looked down at the tea; it looked just like ordinary tea, but he figured a crazy bitch like her spiked it with something he probably wouldn't drink sober or sane. He figured he already sub-conciously created himself an asshole, so he decided to stick with it.

"Got any coffee? Preferably Diedrichs?" He thought a moment, then added; "And some food, perchance. I woke up 15 minuts ago, and i'm hungry."

He took a moment before a response came to look in a random mirror on the wall next to him. He adjusted his fedora a bit, then flipped the hair hanging down out of his face a bit. He then looked down at the tea, seemingly. His eyes were elsewhere, gazing about at the people sitting at the table. If there was one advantage he had at least, It was he could see everything else going on from where he was.

A response came, laden with the words he expected. He didn't really register it in his mind, and took it to mean he was pissing off "her highness", which was fine by him. He decided the next time she decided to throw curses at him to respond with a short "Blow me", just to see what she'll do. He loved tinkering with people, and she was no exception. Paul got the feeling she liked to do the same, and that just egged him on even more. He came to the conclusion that if thing's got too out of hand, his final indignity before being kicked out of the place or being finally thrown back to his garage would be to stand up and piss in the tea pot. THAT, he thought to himself Would be sure to piss her off more than a bit.

He didn't realize he was smiling the whole time in that rougish way he sub-conciously seemed to do every now and then...

[Idyllwyld]

Blood soaked battlefield under a sky razed with the colors of the rainbow. Everyone dying all around him. Orbs of light and every school of energy flew back and forth.

Sitting at the Brimstone Brewery, sprawled in a flipped chair, dead and drunk to the world while a madman played his harmonica and immortal beings played their wicked tribute to themselves.

Smiling sadly at his two friends in a bar, friends who would die in a hail of uncaring bullets and leave the world that spared their passing no second glance. He would see them one last time, on assignment to bring them to their son.

Throwing back tequila shots in a tavern, smirking right before he had a little fun.

Collapsed to the ground, smiling for the last time through crimson-stained teeth. Staring back and his slayer, who stood dumbfounded and confused. This was it, his death.

He was there, and yet also here, sitting in a chair that groaned with leoic distaste before a banquet of fanciful delights. He was always there, but at the same time always here, in a garden filled with tea that was hopefully in cups and pots. Every moment was lived again for the first time and remembered as a memory and premonition of the future. Surprise was forever known in advance, and still always new. It was immortality of the most perverted sort, to dwell in the past, present, and future all at once.

Time, in short, was one hell of a funky subject. Xephan shrugged, and tipped his shot glass down his lips. The burning liquor was swished down, as purifying as acid. He gasped a pleased breath, and set the glass back down on the table. It growled at him. The Lightning Psych's brows arched up and his sunglasses slid down the crown of his nose.

"Hm?"

His chair, which had vacant only instants ago, but at the same time never was - for when dealing with "instants" any instant, at any time counts - reared back and nudged him closer to the table, bumping his abdomen against it. The dainty cup of tea rattled in its saucer.

"Oh. Right."

Flopping the folds of his poncho to one side he wrapped his fingers around the tiny bar glass, and dumped its brownish, transparent contents into the petite porcelain cup. The tea bubbled with his added ingredient, for flavor, no really. Xephan grinned, and slipped his index and middle fingers under its handle. He lifted it up, pinky out of course, and raised it gingerly. With pursed lips he blew the steam away softly, very nicely, and prim. And then with a crass flip of his wrist he poured the concoction with as much propriety as a mug of grog down his throat.

After setting the spiritually maimed neatness of the cup down in its plate Xephan noticed that, with aghast, there were people here. Truly, the times they were a changin.' So much had happened and he had missed it, quite an inconvenience. Rewind, fast forward, but with subtitles just to make catching up even easier. The fun part was technically he had never missed everything, since he was always there. Well at least now, but now was the way time was now. Somewhere out there an Archai might be getting an itch on the back of its neck.

Xephan leaned back in his seat, much to the protests of the seat. It bristled at his attempt at leisure, and so he slammed his back against, well, the back of the seat. That caught it by surprise and it startled back, allowing him clearance to raise high and drop his feet on the top of the table. The blanket-clad man dipped back his head, yawned, and then cleared his throat.

"Science is magic. Magic is reality. Science is just magic that hasn't caught up."
"Yes, it is a ransom. I'll take everything you've got."
"Dude, if you want something to perk you up in the morning coffee's weaksauce. I've got better."
"If you really so want, I can arrange that meeting with your grandma."
"That cat's certainly not a lonely alley tom."

To which he remarked snidely, snobbingly, smirkingly, raucously, and wickedly.

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Elsewhere, a book shut. It was placed back on the shelf from which it was taken. The holiday lights were long ago taken down; things were again back to normal. He turned away from his collection, infinite in many regards, but he preferred to humbly think of it as impressive. Many of the volumes were blank. Either they had yet to be written, their contents had been changed to the point of nullification, or they would always remain empty. It mattered not; all were of interest enough to study.

The invite had arrived quite pompously, demanding it be read in its glorified self-importance. It landed promptly in the fire.

The others were going, or at least, most of them. Unlike last time however, there promised to be an actual event. With actual people, especially people whom he knew, but had never met him. In fact, his attendance there had been quite minimal, only in whispered hushes really. It would be amusing to stop by, he decided. It would be fun. Besides, nothing but study grew wearisome. There was a certain someone, or two, that he hoped would be present. He heard of them solely through reputation, but to meet them in person at this point in time would not be bad. The chances of them being there were nil, however. Ah well. The only question that remained now was tails, or no tails?

[Pheonix-IV]

Out of the clear air a ticking noise more commonly associated with clockwork eminated. Moments later a man in a brown linen cloak appeared on top of the table in an explosion of gray smoke and a sound that can only be described as 'foosh' and a shout of "Whoa!". The table, feeling that this entrance was entirely innappropriate, leapt into the air, passing through the feet of the arrival and causing plates and glasses to fly all over the clearing.
Narasan flicked shut a small circular device, madly spinning dials and gears visible for a split second along with the distinct impression of more dimensions than the usual three. With a grin, he leapt off the trembling table and landed on a rediculously overly cushioned arm-chair which hadn't been there seconds before.
"Hah, havn't been here before. Where's the drink and what's for tea?"

[Lithium]

After some thought and a lot of tea, Murky spoke. "Obviously, we were forcefully taken from our previous worlds, and arrived here. She" he pointed to Hatter, "obviously is a very lonely and mean woman. Since she is mean, we can conclude that we are alive, or that we are in Hell.". He sipped his tea.

His tea cup suddenly popped out of existence. "Damnit, I hate it when that happens. Well, since he all are here.." he reached to his side, and somehow produced a rectangular board, on it it said 'Earthlings & Money!'. "Who wants to play Earthlings and Money? We are faced with perilouys situations such as shopping in a mall. The races are white people, black people, asian people, arabs, hispanic/latina/spanpanish, jews, and french people. The different classes are: Bisunessman, Businesswoman, CEO, Gangster, Rapper, Druggy, Rockstar, Fat lady, Fat man, Prostitue, Politician, Someone, and Asshole. As gamemaster I am the man. So-"

Before he could finish his, the box for the game sprouted legs, knocked over eyeryones tea, and ran away. "What the hell is going on? This world is so random! Well..", he produced a bag with green buds inside of it, "Who wants weed?".

[Mr.Oozikins]

The Hatter's brows rose- the insult was more overdone than even she could stand for. He didn't know her, or anything about her, and he probably only wish he could say with any validity that her pussy was neglected.

I feel sorry for your grandmother, then.
The Hatter coughed, adjusting her sitting position to follow the good-natured half-throne, picking up her tea before the table decided it was to be sent overboard.

And then, of course, sitting not far along down the table, the Hatter could not help but notice Poncho, who proceeded to respond to words that he hadn't been there to hear.

"You." Her lips pressed together in a half-inscrutable, crooked smirk, catching her saucer without looking down before it slid off the table.
"You would know. I wouldn't say it's a Tom anything, to be perfectly frank. "
Her brows quirked once and she adjusted her hat after replacing her tea on a precariously still table.

Beyond that I suggest you get your feet off the table. The tea pots don't know you just yet, and they're wary of strangers, you see."

Again, though, her desire to continue nonchalant, arrogant banter ended up interrupted as the table leapt upward, creaking on stubborn limbs, sawdust coming down from where they were bolted on.


She jolted to her feet, reaching out an arm to catch the porcelain tea-pot, which would have doubtlessly found a safe way to land nonetheless. She pretended not to notice the living tea-cups scuttling to gather round her feet, begging to be placed back on their table like puppies for food.

The Hatter coughed, pointedly, gazing with furrowed brows at this rude new arrival. Beside her she could hear the panting laughter of Mr.Oozikins, who delighted in her irritation. The man's halfway unreadable question, however, left her not befuddled. No. She picked up a crumpet, took a bite, and then threw it at the cloaked man. It seemed the only appropriate thing to do, anyway.

Pulled in several different directions at once, it seemed. She sighed, and then turned to Murky, who was making a number of false but highly amusing accusations and speculations.

"This'd be merciful for a Hell, mm? Mostly, though, I'm bored. Mean, too, if you please." She shook her head when he went on, failing to mention that if he'd only made polite conversation with his cup, it would have stayed and have been quite cooperative, at that.

She watched his tea-cup promptly reappear when he drew forth the weed. The Hatter frowned, shook her head again, ever-condescending.

.................................................................................................................................

"If you had just let me do my job, this wouldn't be happening. And now not only are they going to follow me until I'm dead- you, too, for that matter- word of me is all over this side of town. What the hell is your problem?"

Elphy never once stopped moving to look behind her. Her irritation now was genuine-impersonal, even- and she had nothing and no one to tip-toe around- she didn't think anything would gain this stoic man's favor. Strangely, though, she still didn't think she would find a gun in her back. At least, not if they kept moving. Though the fact that she was beginning to think of the two of them as "they" made her want to vomit a little bit.

"You put a gun to my chest."

"I thought we were past this." It really did seem like a superfluous detail at this point, and she kept forgetting that it still made her impossible to trust.

"Besides, what does that have to do with letting me do my job without being interrupted, mm?" she glanced back at the man in red, brows knit unyieldingly, as she slid along the grimy brick wall of an alleyway. The automatic pistol- she rarely favored it- stayed in her hand the whole time. "It's not like," she paused a breath to pull open the back door of a bar to which she was not a regular patron but whose patrons she regularly served, "What we do isn't different, is it? So couldn't you trust me to do-"

"Stop."

She knew he hadn't been listening. Or at least he hadn't been caring. But there were some things this frustrating man needed to hear. This, though, this was infuriating.

"What?"

She looked at his face. He stared straight ahead. She heard the clink of glass and much activity behind her but somehow... what...

Elphy turned to face front again, already hanging halfway through the doorframe. Instead of dim light and the insulting intermingled odor of alchohol and flesh, Elphy saw a carefully half-managed lawn and many people and old chairs and an old table. The door the know held open was suddenly made of rotting planks. She now scented tea and sugar and...

"Mother." Her jaw set and she stepped out onto the grass. She heard booted, dangerous footsteps in the alleyway that were catching up go mute when Eramas shoved the door shut behind them.

Idy, mister, if I need to change anything, let me know. We discussed it, though, and I needed to post. If this isn't okay, poke my eyes out and make me fix it.

[King Darkmoor]

Admist this chaos, Dr. Cranium frantically jotted down detailed notes on everything he saw. There was so much to observe; the highly evolved amphibian alone would provide him with multiple award-winning papers. The good doctor decided to sit next to this creature; with any luck he might be able to dissect the creature later.

Cranium was far less impressed with the next newcomer. He had little time nor patient for teenage angst. He was tempted to test an experimental proceedure that effectivly cured the disorder with only a 30% loss of brain mass and 40% of mental capacity, but decided that the priority was the amphibian. Annoying teens were more common than Starbucks, but talking frogs were quite rare.

Eventually he remembered that he was not in the lab (nor a distant observer in the field) and realized that he had been rude by the archaic manners popular in the town of Mordavia and here was well. "Ah you must forgive me, but a man of science must never cease his work. I am Dr. Cranium."

[Earthworm Jim]

"Alright, let's wee what ya got"

Paul had befriended the porcelain tablewear nearest him, and they were now engaged in an intense game of Texas-Holdum. Stupid suger-container thing... HAD to insist on oldum...

The flop consisted of a JD, a 4H, and a 4S. The turn pulled up a 9H, while the river finally turned up another JC. Paul had a JH and a 2D. He won the pot, consisting of a few crumpets, a waded up 5$ bill, four paper clips, a coin of some random foreign currency, and a toupe supposedly belonging to Donald Trump (Supposedly stolen by the teacup nearest him.). The next closest was the saucer across from him, with a 4C and a 6D. Paul, feeling generous, gave the spoiles to the saucer, except for the coin and the 5$ bill. He really didn't have need of a toupe, nor any of the other objects he had won.

Paul casually knelt down and asked one of the tea cups if he had any speakers he could plug his iPod into. The teacup appeared to look up at him, if it had a face, then look around a bit more. Two other teacups "walked off" in some random direction with a plate. After about five minutes, Paul saw them returning with a set of speakers with a place to plug his iPod into. He thanked them, and plugged his iPod into the speakers. Figuring his iPod probably worked in the same way, he asked the iPod to turn to the heaviest song it could find within about 7 seconds. He then asked she speakers to turn on bass boost and to go up to full volume. After the iPod had chosen , He started a mosh pit in the back corner of the garden.

And surprisingly, more furniture and tablewear joined in than he thought.

[Lithium]

The largew stereo suddenly transformed into a sperm whale, which then popped into another universe into the ocean of a very boring planet called Earth.

Murky suddenly stood up in his seat, and made the murloc noise to get everyones attention. Some people ducked under their chairs instinctively, but got out when they realized there is no threat.

"Everyone! I have a very great announcement to make! While you weren't looking, I put acid (the hallucineginator) in everyone's tea! Have fun!". He sat back down.

^.^

[Earthworm Jim]

"Good thing I never drank any of the tea!"

Paul said with a smirk. The chaos amidst the mosh pit settled down, and most of the normally in-animate objects scurried of in search of bigger and more powerful speakers. After they had found some and instructed the iPod to start blasting Dragonforce, the mosh pit commensed even more intense than before.

Paul shot the Hatter a glance amidst the resumed chaos, one that screamed out Haha, While you'r over their being all emo and condescending, I'M having fun! He beckoned for some of the other guests do join him and his fellow furniture pieces to join in, and went back to his moshing. By now, even the speakers were going wild, causing the sound to rise and fall in volume as they flailed around.

If that murloc does any more stupid shit, i'm going to be very unhappy... He thought casually to himself.

[Pheonix-IV]

"A present from the pretty lady!"
And with that statement, Narasan promptly caught the flying crumpet and put it down upon the table, bowing low to the Hatter as he did so, his mouth a perfect emotionless line of respect while his eyes glittered with the joke, the tinest of lines beginning to wander into their corners as the suppressed laughter bubbled to be free.
"I thank you with my deepest gratitude my dear. It is with great pleasure that i recieve your gift of crumpet."
Suddenly, with a shout of victory, Narasan grabbed Murky by the scruff of his neck and stuffed him into a teapot which, by all means, should not have been large enough to contain him. As the teapot bounced away down the table, muffled curses eminating from within, Narasan resumed his seat, grinned once and then took up a look of contemplation as he drank from the tankard which had materialised at his right hand.
It was at about that point that those who were watching realised that Narasan had never actually left his seat in the first place...