The ancient one looked at the old building from top to bottom, eventually settling his gaze on the lower level windows that were literally below his knees. No light shone through those windows. He shook his head. He was disappointed. He had been on a long voyage to this place, a pilgrimage of sorts, and, obviously, no one was inside. He fished for the hand-sized black magic box in the pocket of his robes. He found the right button and the box became a type of torch: a bright light issuing from its corner.
He wasn’t sure what he’d be greeted with when he went inside. He’d been gone for months.
He gathered his robes around him. They were blowing a bit in the cool autumn air of the Detroit evening. The street lights were just coming on. He headed through the gate and past the entry door.
He headed down the four steps gingerly and found the thick old decorated door, but it was light to his touch as usual. He pushed into the bAAR, still holding his light out in case the place was permanently darkened.
He was heartened as he entered that the lights popped on.
Looks like @Lord Durham installed those magic devices, he thought. What did he call them? Motion sensors? The modern language and the names of things in English made him chuckle a bit to himself.
Not only was the ancient one greeted by the soft lights of the cozy barroom but immediately all the magic screens (the television screens) popped on and were immediately tuned to the most important sports games of the moment. Viewers could choose from the baseball playoffs, or an American football game. Of course, several screens were devoted to the hockey team in red, especially favored by folks in Detroit. Without a doubt, if he had arrived at the right day and time, the European football leagues would be on the screens too. Briefly his mind flashed back to the classic ball game played in the grand square of the empire in Copán during his youth. He wondered for a moment how popular such a game might be in the modern age. Certainly it was a spectacle.
But he banished the thought. He didn’t want to get nostalgic. Not yet.
He put his backpack down on the dusty bar. He unbuckled it and rummaged around inside, eventually producing a dustpan and brush. He set those on the bar.
“I hope they kept the broom in its old spot,” he muttered to himself.
Then he thought:
this will all go a bit better with some fuel. He vowed to start cleaning up soon, but he spied the bottle of Rey Campero and he wet his lips a bit. He hadn’t had a taste of such fine drink for all the months that had passed since his last visit.
He walked with purpose over behind the bar and poured himself a glass equal to about four shots worth of liquor. This he planned to nurse. But then he poured himself a shot for good measure and tossed that down his throat quickly. The taste and burn were just what he remembered and he savored the experience.
He left his glasses and moved down the bar, returning to his backpack.
He thought,
usually @Macavity116 (the Signalman) does this, but he is quite busy. Who knows where the world might be taking him lately. He pulled an announcement out of the backpack and walked quickly to the bulletin board to post the notice.
The notice had been printed with many decorations of figures associated with Day of the Dead celebrations in southern Mexico and Central America. The figures of skeletons and other creatures danced at the margins. The notice read:
“Oh, and before I start sweeping, another important note,” Chac1 said aloud to no one imparticular but he knew the magic screens would record his words and display them for others who might come into the bAAR later.
“I hope folks will discuss the important topic of involvement and interactivity in AARland,” he noted. “
@Rensslaer had brought this up in several places during the summer, including in the now mostly dormant AAR by
@Peter Ebbesen ,
Galactic Pacification for Dummies.”
He realized he had probably now reached the tagging limit that Lord Durham &
@filcat had discussed and made public this summer, but he carried on anyway, obviously now right on the edge of the limit. He also thought that such a limit hurt interactivity in AARland, but it seemed this was beyond anyone’s powers to change, at the moment.
“Rens was discussing with some nostalgia the good old days when many AARs and even the bAAR were brimming with comments. Certainly a handful of folks, myself included, and Rens too, have had major life changing happenings to deal with in the past few months. Maybe it is more than a handful. Of course, life outside the forum must take the priority. But it appears readership and involvement continue to decline. What positive steps can be taken to change this, short of holding a lottery for cash? How can we build more involvement and have more fun here? Or shall we allow folks to go on their way in their silos, not connecting with the greater group of writAARs here, while they tend to their own AARs? Just let conditions go the way they are going?”
The ancient one moved over to the jukebox, done mostly with that part of his mission in returning to the bAAR.
“Just something to chew on,” he muttered as he punched the buttons and found a tune to play while he swept.
“Here’s a new one that seemed to describe my current mood,” he continued talking to himself as he hummed along. He found the broom and began sweeping the main barroom as the fireplace magically came to life in the comfy library area adjoining the barroom.
How long before any of this gets some engagement, he wondered.
"I Guess Time Just Makes Fools of Us All" by Father John Misty
." With that he picked up his drink.
