The tavern was well appointed for the run of the mill establishment it happened to be. It had five tables, twenty chairs with four arranged around each table, a bar, ten stools, a coat rack, spittoon, two fancy rugs, and one larger rug that had seen better days. There was a large mirror behind the bar that the bartender thought nominally made the hole-in-the-wall tavern seem a bit bigger and many bottles of various imported Letonian and Barnaban liquors stacked on the back shelves.

The tavern was called something, but its inhabitants did not really care what it was called, they simply existed there. Their world revolved around it and in some cases ended there. The war raging outside was not their problem, though they had their own views on it. At length some of the denizens would claim that they knew the “real” intentions of the throne.

Chair was not one of those denizens. Chair had been brought into this world at table four. He had three close relatives who stood by him during all things thick and thin. He was not well spoken and he mostly liked to talk with the old rug (or “carpet” as they liked to be called nowadays) who sat beneath him. Chair always hated it when his conversations with rug would turn to how there had been a glass ceiling on his rise to fame. Chair would remind rug ever so gently that he was the largest of the carpets in the room and that he had weathered far worse than the two fancy rugs had even dreamt of in their short lives.

Chair had his life the way he liked it, even though table, his boss, was always lording over him and making his life a living hell. Either table was adamant about defining chair’s role in the scheme of the room, which just irked chair to no end, or she wanted to pontificate about how long until the bartender replaced the whole set of chairs around her, as though she could do something about it.

Rug didn’t like table any better, mainly because she too stepped on him. Recently rug had been hung out to dry, literally, and of his time outside he spoke very little. Chair had pressured him one evening and asked him what had happened. Rug explained that to be a rug meant that you were used to being stepped upon. Ever so often, the rug would be beaten relentlessly in what some considered cleaning. Chair only knew of the cleanings he had received, namely with a good brushing and then a wipe down with a cloth.

Table didn’t want to hear anything about it, she was constantly telling chair and rug that this was their lot in life and that they had to respect the balance that life was given. But chair was different. He wanted something more, and as the room again became an avid mix of emotion, debate, and wild speculation as to what was going on in the war, chair imagined what it would be like to be the throne.

Just then, the bartender arrived to open up the room to the rabble of the town. With him came a burly looking man carrying someone that chair was not happy to see at all … sword.

This would not end well.

NOTES: You can RP anything you want in this type of RP. No length or plot is necessary. We can just make it up as you go. Simply write what you wish and post as whatever posting name you want. The idea here is to continue the story in a logical, if not random, fashion. Simply think of it as a shared story telling. Pick a favorite piece of furniture and write their thoughts about the world or their interactions with others. Try and build off of each other and you will see an avid story developing.

Their are no rules really. Only the rules of reality. These conversations and what not cannot be heard by normal people and the things are not capable of movement on their own. Anything goes. Want to RP as chair? Feel free. That is why it is simpler if you don't create alts for this RP, but instead, just post what you want.

Spell, grammar, punctuation are not necessary nor are they really important. Just post your position. Get involved. Have fun and be a part of our story.

Coat rack was wet, but then again, he was often wet. The rain outside fell in droves, what he had heard called 'cats and dogs,' although no small mammalians were to be seen. Although the rain was cold, and Coat Rack could feel it slowly warping his body and prematurely aging him, it was worth it for the coats. There was only one now, the barkeep's, but there would be more, which Coat Rack would gladly take off their hands... and when they came, the gossip would begin.

The coats had been everywhere, it seemed. Whenever it rained, Coat Rack would get to hear fantastic stories from the coats... who owned them, where they had been, what scandalous deeds they had observed... Coat Rack was probably one of the great gossip collectors of all of Tonan... although that didnt much matter as the gossip he had was from the coats of the people who frequented this tavern, and, well... aside from one particular king who, Coat Rack imagined, would very much like to know what his second assistant gardener and wife were up to, the gossip he had was of a more mundane variety.

Beyond his coats, Coat Rack didnt have too many people he talked to... his oaken self was off to the corner. He often talked to Door, but Door was cranky and had recently begun to squeak, which irked both of them to no end. Coat Rack felt bad for Door... Door often talked about how unfortunate he was for always having one side of himself in the blistering heat or freezing rain and how it was just so unfair that Coat Rack was inside all the time. This and the injustices of swinging out as opposed to in were roughly the sum total of what Door wanted to talk about, and Coat Rack had lately decided to try his best to ignore the old thing, as that was often the only way to make it stop yammering.

Coat Rack also got to talk to Rug, whose tattered edge lay nearby... Rug was often distracted though by the many other objects in the room, all of whom wanted companionship over the long days before the tavern opened.

The barkeep and another man walked by, and Coat Rack felt a thrill of excitment! It was time. The doors swung open, and people came rushing in, placing their coats on Coat Rack's outstretched, awaiting arms. As the buzz of human conversation swelled, so too did the conversation taking place amongst Coat Rack and the coats. The topics were the usual... the Farmer had gone to the market yesterday and sold one of his cows for some extra seeds for next spring's planting, the Priest had done his usual rounds, the Butcher had bought the cow from the Farmer and had new meats to sell...

And then a new coat was added to the pile. Coat Rack was too engrossed in conversing with the other coats to notice who had placed it on the rack, but the gossip this coat shared shocked the rest of them into silence. Its owner had killed a man today.

Knife had been muffled again. He did not like to be muffled and would often get very crossed with Coat, or 'the Muffler', as Knife used to call him. Coat would say that it was no fault of his, that it was their owner's doing, the he did not want to muffle Knife, but had no choice in the matter. Yet Knife would know better and would scold Coat for always getting to talk to other things, while he just had Coat. Knife would make threats about cutting through seams and puncturing buttons, but it was too no avail. He could not speak to the outer world, his cries did not leave Coat. Today, however, all had changed...

Today, his bemufflement had come to a sudden, yet temporary end! His human owner had wrapped his warm hand around his handle and had separated him from Coat. To his disenchantment, however, Knife soon found himself in another coat and then into something warm and fleshy. The warm sensation was over in a split second and Knife had found himself confined to Coat again, covered in blood...

The blood was sticky and odorous, Knife had complained about it to Coat, whom spoke short and harshly, telling Knife not to wipe the blood off at him and that was it. Knife had grumbled and started contemplating on how to mutilate Coat, he had cut straight through that other coat, surely there was some way to get out of this one...

Coat Rack was enraptured by the story of this new coat . So enraptured, in fact, that it did not notice a small rat was traveling up its spine. The rodent, sniffing heavily and climbing eagerly, could not stop the other coats from listening either. The new coat itself could not stop talking about the stabbing, loving the attention he was getting and did not feel how the rodent entered its pocket...

Knife was shocked to see a big nose and whiskers enter Coat. His shock increased when he felt how a big pink tongue followed the snout and started licking his blade. Soon, the entire rat was in Coat and was licking away at the blood. Meanwhile, Knife could feel the rat unwittingly pushing him little by little towards the little whole it crawled out of, towards freedom.

Coat Rack still listened carefully, soaking in every detail. he could listen to stories like this for the entire night! Suddenly there was a loud thump, followed by a shreek and all went quiet. Coat Rack had recognised the high pitched squeal of Floor and, as Coat Rack looked down, she immediately saw the reason: a bloody knife had dropped from the new coat and was now sticking out of Floor.

It was only then that Coat Rack noticed that the furniture were not the only ones who had fallen silent after the bemufflement of knife. So had the humans.