Characters In Search Of A Plot

*coughs* NaNoWriMo. Right. *brightly* Moving on!
They met in a tavern, of course. It was a dark and stormy night.

"Really?" said the bard. "A tavern? On a dark and stormy night? How cliché can this writer be? I have a bad feeling about this."

"Grr," grunted the mercenary.* Various as-yet-unidentified characters murmured anxiously.

"Look, it's simple," I said. "I'm trying to write a story. I need to have characters meet somewhere. I just want to get going and not overthink it. So we're meeting in a tavern."

"'We', now?" said the bard.

"We," I said firmly. "We - I mean, you all met in a tavern and decided to go on an Adventurous Quest, and after I overheard that, I decided to join you."

"Listen," the bard said, "you can't tell a story like that. I mean, who are we? What's our motivation? What is the Quest for? What is the basic plot of the story?"

"To find a plot!" I said, pleased that she had asked such an easy question.

"That," she said, "is a lousy cheat. I'm very concerned about being in such a cut-rate story."

"Well, if you think you can do better, why don't you tell a story?" I asked, miffed. "In fact, everyone can tell a story while we're on our way to find a Plot. And you can judge who tells the best story. Winner gets a free meal paid for by the losers."

The bard stared.

"And if anyone doesn't participate, they can pay for everything..."

"No," said the bard. "No, no, no, no, no. You - you- you third-rate English major!"

"Um, what's the problem?" the Prioress asked.

"The who asked?" the bard said accusingly.

"Fine. Prioress, you're actually a princess," I said.

"Ooookay..." said the Princess.

"And I think that the bard -"

"I have a name, English Major."

"-Wilhelmina Shakespeare -"

"Not that, English Major."

"Alanna-a-Dale -"

"You try my patience, English Major."

"Beatrice."

She paused. "Acceptable."

"I think Beatrice is a little miffed that I ripped off the idea of the story contest. Shamelessly. From Canterbury Tales. Along with the character of the Prioress." I did not mention what my Chaucer professor had made of the lines "Wel koude she carie a morsel, and wel kepe/ That no drope ne fille upon hir brist." Unfortunately, the Princess seemed to know what I was talking about as soon as I created the hyperlink.

"Hmm," she said thoughtfully. "I believe I'll keep the bit about 'by Seinte Loy!'"

"Really?" said Beatrice. "It's tacky and noticeable."

"No, it's unique. Just because I'm a delicate, sheltered flower doesn't mean I have to be uneducated or unintelligent or unexceptional, by Seinte Loy. I want a unique, characterizing catchphrase."

"Grr," said the mercenary.

"That one meant 'Why are we sitting around babbling when we could be out killing things? I've already got my catchphrase, anyway,'" the priest helpfully translated.

"We don't have a plot," Beatrice said, rolling her eyes. "That's our problem. And since when do we have a priest here?"

"I'm the mercenary's brother, remember? Just because our writer and our audience don't have a clue who I am," the priest said loftily, "it doesn't mean my fellow characters can't know who I am. Besides, a character whose vocabulary consists of -"

"Argh," said the mercenary warningly.

"...um, my brother finds it easiest to let me do most of the talking." The priest looked up hopefully. "There will be talking, won't there? I mean, I could talk. I love to talk. I'm the talkingest dang thing you ever saw!"

Beatrice was less than impressed. "I was hoping we'd be rid of you."

"You could be rid of the tavern, at least," I hinted.

"On a dark and stormy night? I'm sleeping here!" she replied. "And so is the rest of our party, currently consisting, against all logic, of a priest, a princess, a musician and a mercenary. And unidentified background characters. You really are a shameless, self-indulgent writer."

"My thanks, O Conscience." I bowed.

"We're going to sleep now," said Beatrice. And they all did.

*This probably indicated agreement, but as "Grr" has at various times meant "well done," "die in a fire, scum," and "Pardon me, but I seem to have fallen down a well in an isolated area and broken my leg and ribs; please send immediate assistance in the form of a rescue team, a doctor, and a gallon of whiskey," it is perhaps best that we do not assume.