Mudmeet 2009 - Cardiff

A noisy din had built up in the restaurant; a mixture of shrieks and raucous laughter from happily drunk patrons (our table), hushed, horrified whispers (the table next to ours), impatient shouting (the waitstaff and bartender) and the sound of chairs grating as people hurriedly got up to leave (table next to ours again, but a few minutes later). A chortling sound from the corner - Crazyfool had perfected his aim - closely followed by sounds of a struggle as Liz wrestled the fork from him in the nick of time and put it out of his reach. At the far side of the table, Jamesbond and Throwaway leaned forward intently, propped up on alcohol-soaked elbows, debating the merits of certain game items while Tigger and Karen looked on with resigned expressions. Every now and then one of the men would try to take a swig from an empty wineglass, then look down at it in confusion, as Tharg interjected with his own thoughts on the best dragon-killing technique. Hal snoozed upright in his chair, as though begging Blib to finally show up and push him out of it (it would sort of be like pushing him off a cliff, after all).

How did I get here, you ask? Well, let's start from the beginning. Well, maybe not the beginning, as I wasn't there for that. I am Fiz, and this is my Mudmeet writeup, which I'm doing because no one else could be bothered. It is tentatively entitled:

"FIZ'S MUDMEET WRITEUP THAT SHE'S DOING BECAUSE NO ONE ELSE COULD BE BOTHERED".

Mudmeet flaw #1: Cenedra couldn't be there. Mudmeet flaw #2: Hal was there.

A few good things about meet:

-- I was there.
-- The food in the restaurant was really good and weapons-grade garlic sauce apparently doesn't stain.
-- Crazyfool did not get us thrown out of the restaurant, although it was quite close at times, I believe. He also managed not to get arrested, as the Cardiff police seemed too occupied with unruly students to have time for strange men performing indecent acts on decorative pillars.
-- Tigger was able to attend for the latter half of the evening, and assisted us greatly by keeping CF's mouth occupied whenever possible (see photo)

The meet first started off with a round of pool at the pool hall, around 1:00 PM. A laptop was set up so that people in-game could chat with people at the meet. However, Hal and I weren't actually there yet. Why? Well, let's rewind a bit to earlier in the day, as Hal and I are actually driving to Cardiff. It's about 3PM, and...

Hal's driving, I'm gazing out the car window at the passing scenery. ((BEEP!)) ((BEEP!)) ((BEEP!)) Hal's cellphone text alert goes off for the eighth time that journey. He flips open the display to show me the number, grins and says "Oh for god's sake!" Sure enough, it's Crazyfool-- AGAIN. A short while later, after setting the phone to vibrate, we're startled by a clattering noise as the phone madly goes off in the car storage tray. Hal groans, and I grab the phone to see the display. It's Cen, texting "CF wants to know when you'll be there, he's very worried."

Confession time: I orchestrated this practical joke because for the entire two weeks before the meet, Crazyfool worried that no one would show up. He asked Hal and I if we were really coming to the meet about 6 times each. Hal and I did plan to show up-- however, we planned to show up late enough that when we texted CF to tell him we'd changed our minds and weren't coming after all, he'd believe us (and hopefully freak out). Our plan was to arrive at the pool hall, text CF that we weren't coming, wait 5 minutes or so, and then walk in the door with idiotic grins plastered to our faces. Right then, in the car, we were driving to Cardiff and had been receiving about one text every 15 minutes from people asking us when we were arriving, if we'd gotten lost, where we were, et cetera. So far we'd decided not to reply to any of them, but now that CF had drafted Cen to tell us how worried he was, we felt guilty. So.. we decided to let Cen and Jamesbond (who was actually AT the pool hall) in on our little plan. We confessed to Cen what we were doing and instructed her to give a very generic message to Jamesbond saying we were "safe". He texted us, and we let him in on the joke. Jamesbond then spent the next hour and a half looking innocent and clueless while CF ranted at everyone within earshot about how Hal and I probably weren't coming. YES!!!

We arrive outside the pool hall and send the text saying we weren't coming. We're hiding around the corner from the entrance, but then, who do we see? Crazyfool stomping outside, agitated, looking around! We thought for sure our cover was blown, but by some miracle he didn't see us. We went ahead inside the pool hall, waving to everyone. CF's reaction was absolutely priceless. His eyes got wide as saucers, and he couldn't even speak-- all he could do was stutter, point at Hal in absolute fury and go "YOU!!!! YOU!! YOU!!!" We let it slip that Jamesbond was in on the prank for a couple of hours. CF actually roared. I had no idea he could move that fast. He ran up to Jamesbond.. then realised JB was quite a bit.. er... manlier than he was, and survival instinct won out over indignation. He settled for shrieking various threats at JB while JB cackled and drank more beer.

As alcohol consumption increased, so did risky behavior with the laptop that was set up so people could chat in-game. Tharg left his warlock logged on, then foolishly ran off to the toilet, leaving Crazyfool holding a drink in one hand and attempting to reach the keyboard with the other... while Throwaway spammed the DELETE key and played goalie in front of the laptop in an effort to neutralize any command and circumvent disaster. The problem was ingeniously solved by simply putting another drink in CF's free hand. Jamesbond, Hal and I reminisced about BL, while everyone else groaned and mocked us horribly.

As I said, Hal and I got there late, due in part to our highly successful practical joke, but mostly because parking in Cardiff is a lot like parking inside a busy nightclub during a fire drill. We arrived just in time for the pool game and laptop antics to wrap up, and joined everyone for the trek down to a nearby beer garden. The journey from the pool hall to the beer garden was short enough for us to slip by the police without issue, but long enough for CF to practice his breakdancing skills while Jamesbond acted as choreographer. There was also some shouting of completely inappropriate obscenities, molesting of statues and offending of passing women and children - all in a day's work.

We arrived somewhat safely at the restaurant, where we lined up at the bar to get (more) drinks. CF commandeered the bar's stack of cocktail napkins and a pen, then proceeded to compose love poems to Hal on the napkins until someone repeated the 'drink in each hand' trick and led him off to our table with only mild protest. Hal and I took note of the fire exits (just in case the need for a quick escape arose) and everyone settled in for a nice chat. Fast forward to flying froglegs, drunken commiseration and Liz's disciplinary tactics - then fast forward some more, through about 2 more bottles of wine.

It's getting late, probably about 10:30 PM. Everyone is tired, giggly, full of food and things are winding down. Well, for some of us. Suddenly, we hear clapping and a procession of waitstaff parades out, smiles beaming, and position themselves by the table next to us. The entire restaurant bursts into song with an off-key rendition of 'Happy Birthday' - apparently someone at the neighboring table is having a birthday!

Crazyfool's eyes light up as he spies his target audience. Laughing, smiling adults look down on happy, smiling, innocent-faced children. The waitstaff stands around the table, singing and clapping in time to the birthday song. They finish up to a round of polite applause from the birthday table, and the waitstaff wanders off to more mundane chores. CF, however, has decided the show must go on. He leaps from his chair, prances across the room and pauses theatrically in front of the strangers' table. The patriarch of the family looks up expectantly, and CF does not disappoint ... there's music on the jukebox and by god, CF is going to dance to it. I'll spare you details of the actual choreography, but suffice to say it might not have been safe for human eyes at all. Amazingly, the father at the table was a good sport and called for two bottles of wine to be delivered to our table, on his tab. JUST what we need, MORE wine! After that point, there isn't much to say - or rather, wasn't much that was said, since everyone was so drunk they couldn't speak properly. We all said our bleary good-nights and staggered off to whatever hotel we'd arranged. The end!!

That will conclude this week's episode of FIZ'S MUDMEET WRITEUP THAT SHE'S DOING BECAUSE NO ONE ELSE COULD BE BOTHERED. See you next time!