everything in this museum... comes to life

[sockof_ages]

THE NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM MEME

Simple premise: you're in a museum, at night, and everything in it comes to life. What could go wrong?

ROLES:

• EXHIBIT: You're one of the exhibits that comes to life when night falls on the museum. You could be a wax display of historical figure that still has all of their memories and personality, you could be a miniature engaged in a homoerotic battle with your sworn enemy, or you could even be a t-rex skeleton come to life! Sky's the limit!
• NIGHT GUARD: you're one of the flew entrusted with the secret of the museum's magic, and it's your job to make sure nothing gets set on fire when Napoleon and Genghis Khan are waging battle in the museum gift shop. Good luck!
• VISTOR: maybe you snuck in after-hours, or maybe the museum is hosting a special event for the night. Either way: wow, those animatronics sure look realistic!

Tag around, go wild, and have fun!

Comments

steven grant / moon knight

[tour_guide]

( Night guard, and having the time of his goddamn life. )

Larry Daley | Night at the Museum

[1150anhour]

( THE Night Guard, thank you very much! )

[bountifulsorceress]

Hello Larry, come to regale me with a tale of your simple hume life?

[ So says the wax figure representing Merlin herself. ]

Merlyn | Arthuriana

[bountifulsorceress]

[ Wax display, can be Merlin of the world or a "wrongly" executed wax figure of Merlin. In likeness of a woman. ]

vasiliy yegorovich ardankin | original — historical/revenant

[m1895]

[ in his original premise he's a stalin-era NKVD interrogator who played the 'good cop' to coerce prisoners into signing false confessions by acting as though he was speaking to their best interest, executed in 1940 when nikolai yezhov's appointees were purged. for this verse he's a wax figure, probably from around '37, and hasn't yet been killed/awoken in the modern era, so he's going to be especially zealous in his beliefs/clearly indoctrinated/caught up in stalin & yezhov's respective cults of personality. ]

bucky barnes, night guard

[sidecars]

[ This is not how Bucky expected to pass his time at university supplementing what ROTC wouldn't pay for. His trajectory certainly took a hard left turn senior year, but as a family of bones from the natural history section passes through the hall—him as the dutiful traffic controller—he can't imagine surviving a more mundane job.

He's headed for the military wing, Bucky's favorite part of the museum. In his blue button down and black slacks, he always wears an American flag pin on his collar just to rile up the few pieces of foreign displays from the World Wars. There's always one wax figure in particular he sets his shit-stirring sights on when he's on duty at night—Vasiliy Yegorovich Ardankin, for no other reason than being thoroughly entertain. And he can practice is Russian. ]

Look alive, ladies! [ He says practically every time he comes in, flashlight poised in his left hand. ]

he's about to die a second time (terminal bitch eating crackers syndrome)

[m1895]

[ Every time. Every goddamn time, in that inflection, that same joke. Would it kill him to mix it up every once in a while? The man sounds like a broken record. Shit, even he approaches from slightly different angles across numerous interrogations to keep himself alert, to keep the act a little less rote. He's certainly had time to get good at it.

Still. Vasiliy has better things to be annoyed about than unfunny jokes from some deliberately antagonistic, living Capitalist strawman—namely, he wants to know how the war is going, what the news is vis-a-vis Stalingrad. And, given that he can't read the newspaper Bucky brought in for some of the other guys in the same wing and neither can any of his very, very few fellow Russians, that leaves him dependent on exactly one source of outside information.

This motherfucker.

Vasiliy holds the shitty Lucky Strike he's wasted no time in lighting to the side, a thin plume of smoke rising from its end as it hangs between two fingers—you want cigarettes and an ashtray on your little interrogation table for flavor, you get an interrogator who smokes—and raises his voice slightly instead of waiting until he's closer than several feet away. ]

Visiting me again?

[sidecars]

[ Yes. This motherfucker. He wears the moniker proudly, as evidenced by the wide, dimpled grin he hangs on Vasiliy. ]

'course! I'm not gonna let you get lonely, my Red friend.

[ He pulls out the accompanying chair opposite the "wax" figure and his cute little desk. ]

You know, I think you're the entire reason Lucky Strike is still in business.

[m1895]

Because American cigarettes are weak. Four Lucky Strikes are half of a Belomorkanal.

[ Vasiliy cocks his head to the side, regarding the man with something between annoyance and disinterest and vague interest—not in the man but in what he knows as a native English speaker. He doesn't understand a word of the faintly echoing contraband radio the guys from the trenches have wasted no time in turning on at the other side of the hall, and it's aggravating to no end. ]

Has anything changed on the front? Comrade Stalin is in good health?