Champagne

Henry Albert Bernard Dancer. Singer. Actor. Written by: Nile

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   He’s so horrendously bored, this will not do at all.

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mortxmer:

“I trust you know that one can get hurt locally as easy as any place else. For instance, car crashes are much more likely to happen close to home. Where is it?” 

   “Less than likely probability shouldn’ have a say in this. What should have a say though, is the opportunity of free food and wondrous entertainment for the evening~”

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mortxmer:

“– With all due respect, I’d rather not go.”

“What could it hurt! Its’a local place~”

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mortxmer:

Drunk on rosé is just another term for low standards

   You’re getting married to low standards then.

[julieschulerart]

The 86 ft. church steeple in Suurhusen, Northern Germany, inclines 5 degrees. That’s a full degree more than the leaning tower of Pisa.

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mortxmer:

With copious effort put into telling himself to calm down, Mortimer felt to make sure that his ancient .45 pistol was still sitting on his hip. It was an idle, comforting action only. He didn’t feel too savvy on causing an explosion too many. It was just a service bot for goodness sake, not a full on war machine! It felt like he was melting down over being offered a glass of water. Luckily, he didn’t need to stammer any longer, as Henry showed his face. Slowly he pulled the kerchief from his own after wiping speckles of mud away from his otherwise handsome face. Henry was… clean. It looked like he had stepped into this place directly from the days before the bomb fell. Despite the oil streaks, he had pink skin and blue eyes, and such was startling in the steamy, gunked up world he lived in. Well guarded indeed! Mortimer took a breath, bracing himself for whatever might come out. It had been a very… very long couple of days. “Trouble here? No.” It was an utter lie, but Mortimer had to feign some composure, even if it was just to keep his limbs from shaking. It was only a service bot, and the turrets were inactive. Holding his breath, he crossed the threshold into the massive tower’s lobby. He peered at Henry’s hand as if it were the detonator itself, eyes wide and cautious. “Troub..le at home. It w-was all taken. Raiding- I am under the impre-e-sion that you know m-many people here.” A pause, and Mortimer took a raspy breath. By now he had become dirty, horrified, and completely humbled. “Cannot lose it. Please, I need help.”

   The discomfort is apparent on the other, but he was trying to convey what was needed and that he had purpose-- Henry is fine with all of this, but he would prefer it int he confines of the tower. The beginnings of the swamp traveler’s tale had Henry’s fine, light brows rose. There’s a story here, a long and tragic one, Henry wasn’t terribly fond of bad endings.   “Raiders? you poor dear... “ he took another step forward, eyes watching Mortimer’s carefully, still wary and cautious. Such a world to live in where one couldn’t trust anyone or anything around them. “Many people know of me, more than I know of them I am sure. Please, come inside, we can help you recover some from your travels at least, get you some food and water... Are you wounded, dear?”     Was the man asking  him  to help take back his home? Henry wasn’t a traveling mercenary, he’s an artist! A simple radio host. Sure traders come from ways around and others seek out his robots to give him reading materials to convey over the station but-- That didn’t mean he could bring down a raider encampment.     “Come now, you can tell me everything inside-- I have plenty of food and supplies I can share.” Henry was a bit at a lost, the none ghoul was shaken clearly, perhaps some time recovering from the trip will help with the jumpiness.

[sharpandkeen]

There are just so many beautiful things to see in the Faubourg Marigny of New Orleans. 

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mortxmer:

But it was as soon as the very mention of a mechanical help had left Henry’s lips that Mortimer’s mind had gone from blind nerves and excitement to infectious dread. Such dread was strong enough to warrant honest intent of turning around and returning to the place he couldn’t even truly call home. Was it rational? Not exactly. Food… water… he hadn’t drank a thing all day, and his stores had been sabotaged on the way. It was unlikely that he could make it back in one piece… really, this place was his last ditch effort at continued survival. Despite his impressive stature, Mortimer felt undeniably small. It didn’t matter that the whirring contraption would likely stay its distance. He couldn’t move, and neither could his lungs. It was an eternity, not seconds, that he froze, staring at one optic, and then the next, and all the while felt his chest burn with phantom pains and rapid palpitations. It seemed very suddenly that he became aware of the entourage of turret barrels, laser fixtures, and motion sensors around him; his pistol wasn’t only minded, it was very nearly dropped on the spot. 

Mortimer was not a ghoul, and even though his experience had kept him alive thus far, it appeared that he had just stepped from a vault for the first time. This was hardly the greeting he expected. The swampdweller nodded, but couldn’t quite move from his place.

   It was strange... there was no sound downstairs. No gunfire, that’s a good thing, but there was no sound from the elevator or any indication that anything was moving. Hmm. He pressed the button to the intercom, a hum coming from his throat. “Lawrence? Everything well?”    Another minute ticked by, the seconds counted out with the tap of Henry’s anxious foot. Then finally, static, and the crisp old world accent filtered through from the Mr. Handy on the other side. “Ah, yes sir, Mr. Mortimer will not budge from his spot, I am afraid. My readings indicate high heart rate and copious amounts of sweating.”    Ah, so he’s... anxious, or going into a heat stroke. Luckily he knew how to keep it cooler in the tower, but that did  the man no good outside. Looks like Henry would have to step in. The elevator ride isn’t long, but it sure makes a lot of strange noises, warped side scraping at times and the shaft turning any metal noise into an echoing howl. But the man paid no mind, not when he stepped foot onto the first floor. Blond hair trimmed and slicked back, he still couldn’t help but smoothing a hand over it as he sauntered to the gate.     “Is there trouble, my dear?” Henry’s voice chimed, blue eyes bright and a smile on his mostly clean face. Oil from mechanics is hard to get off... “You are welcome inside--” He held out a hand, coming a bit closer. 

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mortxmer:

Mortimer took his time to collect himself in the moment of silence that followed his announcement. It was no lie that he was fearful of what was to come. If Henry wasn’t here, what would he do? What would happen if the kind voice was just that and nothing more? It wasn’t unreasonable to be shot at as a ghoul for a voice like his, yet the static came and with it, a familiar voice. That voice was to him, and for him. He pressed a now shaking finger to the intercom again, mind full of stories upon stories, a universal constant in the dismal wastes around him. It took a few moments to realize that he was only breathing now, nervous and raspy as his mind caught up with the situation.  Right. His home… the raiding party… there was so much at stake now, and it all seemed out of his hands. “ My name -s… Mortimer. I ‘m from th- Crescent City…” There was a pause, as if the short sentence had exhausted him beyond all reason. The shuffling of his handkerchief wiping away his watering eyes filled the dead air. 

“I need help.”

   Mortimer, Crescent city, help.    Henry by no means was an unreasonable or cruel man, but he is suspicious and cautious. You can’t afford not to be in a land such as this. “That bad, dear?” It wasn’t mocking, holding well intending concern as he nodded to Lawrence, who immediately began his descent through the tower, climbing into the elevator and heading to the entrance. Lawrence wasn’t the only Mr. Handy, there were many, a little over a dozen of them that worked and tended to the station and the various other amenities that Henry had modified and began to grow. Purified water, infamous peppers that kept the Deathclaws that nested near by from picking the tower as their new grounds.    Protectrons sat in their consoles, ready for whenever they’re needed by Henry. every one of them had a name and a story that the man would gladly tell if one asked, or even if they didn’t. “Lawrence, one of my Mr. Handys is coming down to greet and escort you up Mr. Mortimer. Some water and food will do you well I am sure.” Then, the line cut for a moment, then started back up once again, as if Henry had forgotten something very important.    Which he had! “Welcome to the BB, sir!”    The gates opened just after his voice cut out a second time, the chain link and metal slabs taller than two men standing on each other’s shoulders, barbed wire curling like thorns over the top to deter any curious climbing. Lawrence, painted nicely in white and black and gloss came to greet the presumed ghoul. “Mr. Mortimer, sir. If you would follow me to Mr. Henry. And do mind your weaponry, yes? We would like to remain peaceful.” The chipper accent from a time before piped up, a happy tone despite the warning that lied under the words.

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mortxmer:

Mortimer could hardly make the regal purple and gold lettering out through his bleary, stinging eyes. The air was terrible here, and not even the cheeky, scaly grin of a cartoon Titanjaw could change his mind. ‘Bay-u Bro-dc-sting…’ It read, as if its generator couldn’t quite keep up with its grandiose display. Not that Mortimer cared in the midst of his sneezing. There were plenty of terrible smells in the wastes, but this? It couldn’t be bitterpulp… a sting like this could put a mad Cazador to shame. Wiping his damp brow with a dirty handkerchief, the swamp-dweller persisted with tears streaming from his strained eyes. He could only hope that the amiable sounding radioman from within would be as charitable as his tophat-wearing cartoon mascot. After all, it was a good sign that the turrets surrounding the area weren’t lighting up like firecrackers. He had been around long enough to know that when an area is buzzing with electronics, the owner likely won’t be surprised by any intruders. So carefully, the suited stepped past the marshy threshold, ready to jump back at any moment. One… two… nothing yet… Definitely a good sign. With a long stride like his, the muddy terrain wasn’t difficult to navigate. He had walked for two days to get here, a few feet to the intercom was nothing. He pushed the button, thankful to not be littered with holes yet. Stay calm. Calm. Collected. He adjusted his relatively clean collar over a shrapnel littered throat. “Hello. I’m- I- am. Loo… king for Henry A-a…lbert. On the r-radio.” He managed throat the handkerchief in a rumbling, shaky rasp. His voice had never been a good first impression, but it was the best he could do.

   It wasn’t a voice Henry was particularly expecting to come over the crackling intercom. Lawrence seemed to be along a similar thought path, for one of his optic stems swiveled to focus on Henry, body tilting with near human curiosity. The words were hardly understood, and the host of the Bayou Broadcasting station has seen his fair share of beings come and go here. Was this a ghoul looking for his assistance? Strange, that was not the impression he got when looking through the scope of his rifle... A mistake perhaps.  The voice low and pausing was hard to understand, it took Henry a minute to get a decent understanding, his name was familiar at least. A finger held the button to speak back, a smile curling over his face despite the other being unable to see it. “This is Henry Albert.. What can I do for you, dear?”

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   “Mr. Henry, sir. There seems to be a life form approaching the tower.” Optical lenses that made up the Mr. Handy speaking dilated, then refocused out on the irradiated swamp lands of what was once New Orleans Louisiana. Henry Bernard never knew it as it once was, the Great war had happened nearly two-hundred years ago, far before his time. But.. Who in the commonwealth would come out here? A bit out of the way from ‘civilized’ settlements. Yes, he had those who came to trade, most people here listened to his radio station and came to give their respects and donations to the music stockpile. But a single person is unusual, even for raiders.     Another problem out here, good wealth and being well known came with it’s drawbacks, partially why he stuck away from civilization despite the threat of raiders. the real threat always came from the inside, backstabbers are much more of a threat in his opinion, robotics and AIs tend to be much easier to live with. The tall, lanky, but well dressed man for the area hummed gently as he walked out onto the balcony of his tall tower. Lithe hands reached behind his white suit jacket to bring around the humming long laser sniper rifle to his front. Hitching the stock against his shoulder, he looked out on the enhanced sightings to the wasteland of gnarled trees below.     “Someone from town, Lawrence?”     “Not one I recognize, no, sir.”    “Hmm! Well, we will keep an open mind for now, dear. Let me know if more come, I have to change the tape~” Robots were wonderful things, loyal in the right hands, its why the tall, old radio tower has stood so long. Raiders have come and gone, destroyed settlements that have tried to pop up around the area in the old town the tower stood in. Henry does hope someday they will try again now that he has more protection. However, the wildlife seems to be making itself well known into the old homes-- He was particularly fond of the irradiated gators that populated the ruins.     Thin, pale fingers picked up the old record as the song playing faded out, practiced hands quickly sheathing the vinyl and replacing it with another. As the song began it’s intro,he pulled a large, old, rusted microphone to his smiling lips. “Wasn’t that lovely, folks? Some of my favorite dances on that particular disc. But now, we’ll be hearing some of the works of Louie Armstrong~ Enjoy, and we’ll be back in the evening for the classical montage.” That meant he would be busy and wouldn’t be telling some stories or readings tonight, which he was sure would disappoint some, but that was alright, he had a guest! A Guest he was going to closely watch on the balcony through his sights. “Keep the others on standby, Lawrence, but do not engage hostilely, yet. We have manners here~” “Of course, sir!”

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mortxmer:

Mortimer, bewildered by the kindness of the man he had not been invested in for any longer than a month, took the parcel in his hands and took in its lovely wrapping. A genuine curiosity showed itself on his face.  “Perhaps you are right.” Gifts, after all, were lovely avenues to brighten one’s day. Careful not to show any eagerness, Mortimer’s hands steadily peeled away one ribbon after the next until the wrapping fell away to reveal a beautifully printed hardcover. The soft light in his eyes had returned as quickly as they had left while they drank up the sight. He turned it over once, and again, looked over the spine, and caressed open the inner leaves.  “ ‘Baron Theodore’, I do remember talking about this the other day.” Mortimer’s low voice presented itself as a great deal more engaged than before, despite his pursed lips and furrowed brow. The romance within had been spoken of quite highly among Henry’s more theatrical friends, and ever since, his curiosity had been piqued. “ Thank you, Henry, I would be delighted to read this together. Your thoughtfulness is striking.”

   Henry watched with rapt attention, every action and movement the other took to peel away the adorning wrapper and bow. Already, he was supporting a large smile at hearing Mortimer’s shift in mood. He’s so glad.    “Ah, yes! It just got done through the production stages, it will be on sale next week but...” Here it is, and Henry couldn’t be more glad, his chest filling with warmth at the thanks. “Of course, dear. I’m rather excited to go through it together, perhaps make it a nightly thing for a little bit, hm?” His shoulder’s shook side from side, unable to sit still in his seat, hands brushed over the man’s broad shoulder once more. “I will brew tea and perhaps we can tuck in a bit earlier for the evening and get through the first chapter?”

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mortxmer:

“Fine. I mean– the reading sounds fine.” In a lapse of good character, Mortimer found himself stammering. There was some light in his eyes that appeared to have gone out, and very fast. “See- I haven’t celebrated a birthday in a very long time. I never have, that’s all. It wasn’t my intention to be rude.”

   Oh no, he didn’t mean anything terrible by it, but it seemed to put off the other terribly... Now he felt awful. He knew there was a reason why Mortimer wouldn’t tel, but he wasn’t going to pry in personal past affairs.    Those aren’t the here or now, it’s time to make new memories, one with better feelings attached to them. the hand on Mortimer’s shoulder began to rub as the long man sat down next to his lovely partner. “Oh, I don’t believe you were rude. I did catch you off guard. But I do believe in certain days like this one is best spent doing things that make you happy regardless.” Perhaps gifts shouldn’t wait.    An arm reached over the arm of the couch and picked up one of the parcels he had brought home. This one was distinctly book shaped, wrapped in deep green paper with a golden bow. Gently, he placed it in the man’s lap. “For you.”

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mortxmer:

Mortimer’s hands stilled and after a moment to process, he looked up. It was a kind offer, but the context had him entirely puzzled. “Henry… how did you know it’s my birthday? I trust that I didn’t make a point of it.”

   NOW he was pouting. “I saw it by chance on a note, I didn’ think there would be any harm...” He was coming up beside the other, a hand smoothing over a broad shoulder in a fluid motion. “How does that book sound, love?”

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mortxmer:

Mortimer’s brows raised enough to crinkle his high forehead. Henry had a boundless energy. Really, he didn’t see how on earth he could sustain it all, while he simply sat around and tended to his stitching - it was a more floral pattern than usual, displaying a lacy bundle of orchids. “No, I didn’t have anything planned but to finish my reading. I’ve done that, and here we are. Why do you ask?”

   Luckily, Henry had enough dignity to only have the slightest notion of a pout form on his lips by Mortimer’s cut n’ dry answer. “Really? On your birthday? I do know you don’ fancy wishin’ to go anywhere. But perhaps I can read to you when we tuck in, hm? We can start a new book together~”  He also has a few presents for Mortimer, but those could wait for the morning, he feel’s a bit terrible for arriving so late but! He’s sure all will be well.

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   “Daaaarlin’~ It’s a lovely evening! Is there anything in particular you wished to do tonight?” Henry is all smiles, rocking back and forth on his heels, nearly already dressed down in casual evening clothes at the Angelie estate, but there was little sign on the actor’s face that he was ready to tuck in quite yet.