[ The One Night Stand - Lit. Walk-in ]

[Akraptor]

Griff eyed the odd creatures. He didn't like them, but he had been drinking. That meant he could at least stand to be around them for maybe a little bit longer before getting really perturbed by their up-to-do-it attitudes. Griff was old. Griff was grizzled...

Griff did not deal with fairy time bullshit. He didn't care who stabbed Voltaire. It wasn't his jurisdiction and it certainly hadn't been his business until the little man had stumbled in on his supply run stabbed and close to bleeding out. He had done his duty, a gift he would bestow upon any who needed such if the calling was thrown forth. But...

"I don't know you. So why should I tell you anything about another stranger." Griff leaned on his gauntlets with his a** pointed out towards the back-top, a shot in his hand swirling with calculated intent.

"What if I was the one who hired his killer, and you've just divulged all information like a dumb ********, falling right into my hands."

"Besides, you took care of it. Right? You should have all the information you need, queer stranger."

The dagger wrapped in cloth spilled from his hidden grip, slicking fat and sloppy right into the bar-top.

"There's your blade, spiller of words.."

With that, Griff clicked his talons for Artorias to rise, his feet bringing him swiftly to the bar door.

No words passed, Griff and Artorias slipped out, gone into the breaking afternoon.

[Y-DOC 1.0]

It was a cornucopia of stimulus for the tiny warlord. The being believed dead now seemed so no longer and writhed with maniacal force. The man who had spoken so highly of his son, even if in jest, was now storming out, but he really couldn't be upset at all... the man was plain with his intentions and while they may not have been terribly 'pleasant' he couldn't blame the sentiment he seemed to hold. His brain very quickly processed it all.

There was some strange conflict unfolding before him.
Voltaire was assaulted by someone not long ago.
Maestro didn't fully know who he was.

The last issue made his Zosphorite side enter 'self-hyping' mode to declare who he was, but with bigger fish to fry and with Maestro at least seeming to have a cursory understanding of who he was, as a warlike being, and without previous exposure to either men in the center of the bar, it would have been dishonorable to intervene in any way, so he was contented to watch as things would unfold.

As he surveyed the scene, he looked over his shoulder at Maestro.

"I would not worry about him, masterful one! Though his exit was abrupt, his reasoning was well defined. The question at hand is: What is your proposal for further action, hm? You say that the assailant was brought to justice, and it appears that man even has the blade. What further could there be to discover about this? What should I know in order to properly do my part?"

Maestro_MAD

-----

Voltaire listened intently to the discussion of his father and untfather, but had little to include. He wanted to stop the man from leaving that had helped him, but he neither the strength nor motivation to do so, and so he leaned silently against the bar. The Anesthetic was now almost completely worn off and there was definite soreness around the wound in his side. His typically well-dressed self had blood down his clothes, hair a mess, and his shirt ripped open to allow for the impromptu surgery. An unfamiliar voice came from next to him and seemed to greet nobody in particular. Voltaire straightened up in his stool and turned to face him.

"Good evening, sir. You have picked a strange time for a brew. I myself am recovering from having evidently been stabbed and there's some sort of melee breaking out behind us in the middle of the room... good day, good evening... I think this must be a colloquialism wishing the sentiment upon the recipient of the greeting rather than an assertion that there is anything completely good about that period of time. Is that correct?" Even in his current state he spoke smoothly and serenely.

Ryo Kusakabe

[Ruarc The White]

𝔄𝔫 𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔟 𝔞 𝔟𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯... '𝔰 ℑ 𝔞 𝔤𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔟𝔥...

...𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔰.

Ruarc could smell the blood, the twanging iron scent was thick despite it blotting through fabric. Turning to the voice that responded the white haired fellow spoke in tones long forgotten by time and reached out to the man. Not asking but rather helping himself his gloved finger tips eased into the blotted fabric and Voltaire would feel a warm breathe ease over his wound and flow throughout his body. Ruarc's eyes sealed shut as he smiled in the lightest and small fluttering sprites of white glinted from his presence. Dust particles falling from the glowing orbs as they lifted from him.

"What's good is that I'm ere' to help ye... and help ye I shawll. In my vast exparience, its not time thats bad but rather company. You're just so fortunate that good company came alung after the bad."

By the time he had finished talking his hand retreated from the being without notice and the small whisps had all but faded into nothing. There was no sign that he had done anything at all aside from the fact that his would would now be cleaned, healed and clenched of all foreign entities. The deed done he clasped his gloved hands together, small black rings on each of his thumbs clicking together and glimmering white bracelets on his wrists splashed together their charms dancing side by side,


"Now what say ye to a drink to good health and pleasant company?"

Placement:Bar
Company:Voltaire

Y-DOC 1.0

[Y-DOC 1.0]

The warlord's son sighed deeply. Though his wounds were sealed, the gesture seemed to renew vigor to his body. Beyond no longer being wounded, he no longer felt wounded either. No apparent soreness or internal pain seemed to persist.

"That is rather fortunate, and a good trick to be sure. Most valuable."

He watched the precise movements with the inquisitive eye of a Zospherite, hoping to gleam some secret of this most potent art or from where it flowed. Even if the answer was 'inexplicable' and 'Nowhere', he still found it most intriguing to behold. He heard the man's second statement and he smiled warmly. Standing up gracefully, he moved swiftly around to the other side of the counter, hazarding a sniff of the air around the being chance that his father seemed to have some kinship for on his way around before arriving at the other side of the bar, parallel to his current companion.

"Frankly, and without decoration, I say, What fool could say no to either at a time like this!? I am known as Voltaire of the Volbog clan." He offered his hand from across the counter and gestured at the foot tall little alien speaking with Maestro who only a moment earlier was jumping around and commanding the room with his surprisingly potent voice. "It's a queer title, but that is the name of the tribe my father led back on his home planet and titles are a big deal there, he would probably prefer me introduce myself something like..." He smiled in anticipation of what he was about to do and tried not to laugh so he could proceed with a straight face. He looked down for a moment cleared his throat, and when he looked back up, he took a wide stance, planted one fist squarely against his hip and the other pointed dramatically out of a nearby window. His bow became harsh and severe, and in a decent caricature of his diminutive father, he boomed. "GAIANOID! TODAY IS A GLORIOUS DAY IN YOUR SIMPLE LIFE, FOR TODAY IS THE DAY THAT YOU MEET VOLTAIRE! VOLTAIRE! THE GREATEST LOUNGE SINGER IN THIS QUADRANT! VOLTAIRE! SURVIVOR OF BACK ALLEY MUGGINGS! VOLTAIRE! SON OF THE INCREDIBLE ROONTAG AND UNTSERVANT OF THE MASTERFUL MAESTRO! VOLTAIRE OF THE VOLBOG! ON THIS DAY, YOU WILL BED EVEN THOSE YOU THOUGHT UNWILLING AND YOU SHALL DO SO BY MERELY WHISPERING MY NAME INTO THE WINDS..." at the point he paused for only but a moment and closed his eyes, his other hand now perched on his hip as well, he leaned forward and ever so softly spoke

"...voltaire."

As he finished, and briefly wondered if he hadn't gotten carried away, (although he knew that, given the source material, he had been quite accurate) He continued.

"In any case, I suppose that is fair warning for what you would be getting yourself into if you called us kin. Feel free to withdraw your name if that is a worry, but I must insist on fetching you a drink after your kindness. What shall it be?"

Ryo Kusakabe

[Ruarc The White]

𝔄𝔫 𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔟 𝔞 𝔟𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯... '𝔰 ℑ 𝔞 𝔤𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔟𝔥...

...𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔰.

The feeling was a simple soothing feeling like cool water rolling through the crevices of the wound, the coolness would slowly temper to warm and then a heated feeling and after a moment it was gone. The power had come from within him and if his senses could reach that far, the moons light gave about fifteen percent of it. Unfortunately when ti was done the effect on Ruarc was much like when they take blood at a clinic. He was slightly woozy, as though he was missing something. His eyes flutter back into his head like old shades and when they reopened he smiled to his companion.

"Thank'ye' Lad."

Ruarc kindly responded to the commendation of the other-worldly being. Nodding to his words as he introduced himself from the other side of the bar. He snatched the hand before him his grip was strong and assuring. Not tight rigor mortis like that of a boss or business man, but strong the hand wrapped about his own like a brother of war might shake another soldiers hand.


"Pleasure ta'metch'ya'. Names Ruarc, avatar of the lunar goddess."


The man said with a playful wink his hand still soulfully wrapped about his kinsman. Though his expression changed when the announcement would begin. His body posturing up and his eyes widening as the theatrics took place before him. His eyes lingering over his and then he broke a toothy smile. His head on a swivel as he peeked over his one shoulder and then the other to see if anyone else was watching what was happening. Ruarc near howled a laugh when he began about bedding and would slap the other being about the torso in a playful gesture. This was all VERY entertaining to the old soul as he witnessed it happen before his eyes.


"Lad-Dee! That is one way to get some attention! I tell you what if that's queer then I have been chasing the wrong tail me whole life! And I'll be sure to remember that for the next bonny that comes m'way."

His hands clasped together joyfully and he resembled that of a young fox, his eyes were bright and almost gleaming with enthusiasm. His thick white locks at his back tussled a bit as he clutched hand in hand the onyx rings rubbing together. Index fingers on both hands pointed to his companion at the mention of the drink.


"T'hake a bottle of a good aged scotch. Pour that into a glass. Then your finest Irish whiskey, add that to the glass. Should fill about up to the rim, not a pint glass mind you something... manageable. Then grab a P'hearter. You know what a P'hearter is oi? I call it a Mother-land. Haha Oh and whatever it is you'll be having."

He said with a grand smile as he pressed both hands over the bartop and looked down at all the amber and dark colored liquids inspecting to see that the job was done properly.

Placement:Bar
Company:Voltaire

Y-DOC 1.0

[Y-DOC 1.0]

"Indeed, Well met!"

Voltaire responded well to the joviality and chuckled along as he set about attempting the mans instructions. As he pulled out some tumblers, he began to continued chatting, "You should be alright around here then. Tell me, whats a lunar goddess? and ..."

He had just about finished what he assumed were appropriate drinks. In one was a tumbler about half filled with ice and cinnamon schnaps for himself and in the other, he followed the gentleman's instructions to about the part where he was to add Irish whiskey.

"P'hearter"

The hybrid was a rather good linguist, so he managed to repeat it without sounding like a clod.

"I don't believe I know what that is, and it would be regrettable to botch your beverage."

His expression remained serene and he shrugged.

"I suppose it's nothing to be terribly ashamed of. By gaianoid standards I'm not much more than a year old."

Ryo Kusakabe

[Ruarc The White]

𝔄𝔫 𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔟 𝔞 𝔟𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯... '𝔰 ℑ 𝔞 𝔤𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔟𝔥...

...𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔰.

Ruarc looked to his company and sighed softly shaking his head. His palms laying flat on the bartop as he leaned over to look past and see if he coudl find the drink that he had requested.

"You must be a wee bit daft lad. How kin'ya not know what a P'hearter is? P'hearter. Dark in color, made of hops and barley, with a wee bit a foam at the tip top. Comes in brown bottles. P'hearter. P-O-R-T-E-R. Dunny that remedy our conundrum?"

Hopefully after the spelling it would be abundantly clear to Voltaire that his jovial friend had a very strong accent and some words may be a bit harder to understand than others. Having sucha mixed dialect really made for difficulty when it came to amalgamating them together and speak an entirely different language all together; English. The Irish, Danish, Scottsman took the mixed liquor and then turned about pointing over to a table that was a ways away and seemed to be in the middle of the room.


"As far as the Lunar Goddess yer wantin, we can discuss her at a table aye? "

Placement:Bar
Company:Voltaire

Y-DOC 1.0

[Y-DOC 1.0]

He slid the tumbler to Ruarc and and grabbed his own in hand, making his way back from around the bar.

"You will have to excuse me, dialects are not a specialty of mine. Frankly, I've only just begun learning yours from hearing you talk. All I need is a little exposure. Beyond that, however, I would much rather admit ignorance and learn something than continue being a fool. Wouldn't you?"

He scratched his ribs.
"But yes. A more personal setting could be nice, lets avoid the ruckus in the middle shall we?" Moving cautiously as if his beverage was a state secret, he avoided the supernatural conflict in the middle of the bar by edging around the wall and sitting at the table. He gestured carefully for Ruarc to follow, and then picked a table in a far corner. If Maestro or his father needed him, they wouldn't need to look far.

He grabbed a seat, kicked out the one facing it, and sat down. Loosing a sigh of relief that he didn't get hit by any wayward hadokens as he crossed the bar. The preliminary sip of his drink tasted of fire and victory.

"In any case, as you were saying?"

Ryo Kusakabe

[We Could Be Villains]

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▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ xxxxxxxxxxxxxChance Arden xxxxxxxxxxxx«
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Sleep came in a vision of beauty,
She hovered over my bed;
She had her holy way with me,
And made me c** like the clergy -
She led me through a cluttered gallery,
Took me by the hand and she said,
"Come here boy, stick your head between my legs
and start praying."

Chance could easily have laughed in the face of her otherworldly companion, if it had mattered to do so, but it didn’t. His charms weren’t enough to whoo the Fae, and her distain towards his existence wasn’t enough to drive him away. The two would butt heads until one of them met their untimely end, and even then, the other would probably desecrate whatever memory remained in short time. There was no love between them because monsters didn’t require such a fragile and fleeting emotion to keep them tied to another being; whatever use they could get out of the other was a decent enough excuse to feign true interest. “I’m sure what you do have to offer pales in comparison to what I expect.” It was a bittersweet slight directed at Zeno, but certainly tamer than may have been required to really send him on his way. Even the blonde bombshell needed validation, and to drive off her current company was unnecessary.

He served a purpose for now.

Besides, her offhanded retort could easily be taken as a challenge and Chance knew deep down, that’s all Zeno was looking for. Wasn’t that the goal of all immortals? Finding a challenge and working towards the end was a time killer, if nothing else. “You make it sound like I don’t appreciate the riffraff of the One Night Stand.” A glossed smile was cast at the creature, whatever Zeno may have been, and glowing azure hues reflected how little she minded whether he stay or go. “Be drawn to me all you like. I’ve yet to really get an impression I liked from you.” Though it seemed this was the time for them to cease with the idle banter, for as the words left her mouth, so too did the soon to be corpse waltz in and die rather quickly in the middle of the bar. Now, Chance wasn’t one to scare easily, but she did often take caution near corpses within the ONS, having been there to throw out Nathan’s prior to him reviving for the umpteenth time.

“I’d tread lightly, Zeno-“ Was all she said before the ‘body’ was within tentacle’s reach and it stirred again with new life. This wasn’t her business though, at least not enough so for her to intrude any further, so the buxom blonde was once more sitting high on a neighboring bar stool, engaging in friendly voyeurism. Maybe she would have the opportunity to see Zeno die. One could hope for such things, couldn’t they?








The earth stood still,
And the air fell ill,
And the sky bled acid rain for days.
Suckled, sincere, and crystal clear
Like the sound of falling dirt upon
The lid of my coffin.

[Mystical Villain]

─────────────────
ＺＥＮＯxＲＡＬＩＮ
The Life Eater
─────────────────

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃ ▃▃▃▃ ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃



Perhaps Zeno was a lesser being to Chance, he was no creature of dreams, something truly immortal, at least to this plain of existence. He forged his own immortality thieving life from those he could take it from. Using the years to better his abilities to hold onto the years he had. The two were similar only in their ties to the abyss, and even that was not quite the same. Chuckling lightly to himself at her words he could only ignore such silly ideas. Each at this point existed to slight each other at every turn, occasionally have a romp in a dark alley, prior meals still raw on their teeth.

The abomination didn't care what the blonde thought of him, there would be a time and a place for him to impress upon her his talents, over and over again. Not now, or even anywhere in the near future. Such conquests of this place were beneath him. Social settings that held little interest. She was right about one thing, now was no longer a time for him to be unfocused about his current situation with the "corpse".

To say Zeno was surprised would be to lie. The supernatural flocked to this bar like moths to their death by fire. Few rarely died around these parts, sadly. Unless Zeno or Chance were involved, and this was definitely more her hunting ground than his own.

There was no style to the attack, no real form, just a wild desire to plunge empowered digits through his face and into the back of his skull. Such a feat wouldn't kill him, of course. It would simply leave a rather impressive mess of black sludge splattered around the room and a hand lodged in Zeno's head. To which the natural response of his body would be to promptly eat the imposing appendage. The abomination didn't want to make such a mess, however, at least not on his end. Besides, it wasn't his place to fight mentally unstable kids who had a knack for undeath. To truly end them, would require him to devour soul and all. All of this lead to Levi being hurled across the room to the door before his blow could even connect. It may have been a quick attack, but the dark presence Zeno controlled acted on instinct to protect their master, not to say Zeno didn't have the capability to defend against it either.

A rabid beast who couldn't even comprehend the position he was held in; the tentacles could contain him further, try to lock Levi down, but their master saw it fit to put distance between the two. "Sorry, but you're several brands of deranged that even I don't want to sink my teeth into. Whatever kind of soul you have would upset my stomach more than sate it." The life eater knew this probably wasn't the end to the confrontation. After all, it was hard to reason with the mind of an insane man, or rather one who appeared as such. Still, it didn't stop Zeno from wandering back over to the bar counter. His otherworldly tendrils curled around from his waist to his chest like a protective barrier, others still poised at his rear as if to lookout for a charge. "I do regret interfering. Thought I might have been able to get something or another out of it." It wasn't so much said to anyone than as a general comment under his breath, clearly disappointed with his decision.


▃▃▃▃▃▃▃ ▃▃▃▃ ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

location: The ONS - Standing in the bar with Levi's corpse.
feeling: Various things.
ooc //:




Akraptor

We Could Be Villains

[Ruarc The White]

𝔄𝔫 𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔟 𝔞 𝔟𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯... '𝔰 ℑ 𝔞 𝔤𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔟𝔥...

...𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔰.

Rurarc approaching the table would set the multiple porters and the tumbler of his mixture onto its surface. Then he unhooked the strap to his back satchel from around his neck and set the white case down on the table away from his beverage and company. He then sat down his hand resting about the tumbler as he looked over to his partner. With deft hands he lifted the glass and rolled the amber liquid around in the clear glass.

"The Lunar Goddess, Ahhh she is as divine as she is powerful... She dictates many things, from the tides of the coast, to the harvest to the very calender. She is represented by the earth moon... and her magnificent white light.. will shower over everything.... eventualleh. "

His eyes had shut early in his monologue. As though he was savoring his very words of adoration for this mystic being. There was a smile on his lips. Once finished he would bring the drink to his lips, rolling the spicy beverage over his taste buds. His shoulders relaxing and a hiss poured from his lips. He was in ecstasy. The smooth flavor covered him and slowly his eyes opened to look back at the being opposite him.


"Pardon me friend, got Meself lost in my own whimseh. So beggin your pardon but how did you get yourself skewered? Unless that is going too far, then perhaps you might tell me what you are... or do... exactleh. "

Placement: Table
Company:Voltaire

[Akraptor]

Mystical Seraph

Dormin forced Levi's body to swivel back, landing him in a crouch like some ******** up alien demon tiger of old, torrents of awkward synergy blistering his skin open with third degree burns, his back hitching as fresh tesla carved sizzling caverns across his forehead and bumbling lips, every broken moment only rising Levi's uncontrollable energy to beyond unstable levels..

His eyes burst into flagrant gristle, slimy pink ooze crackling one moment then burned over into clumping ash the next. His vision gone Levi's every fiber tensed, his teeth audibly creaking, blood bursting from his emptied sockets like a roaring tea kettle so violently his neck rigidly cracked to the left from the immense pressure emanating over his flaming skull, emptied vision slamming skyward to roar at the coming storm. Crimson blurted into hissing smog as he wailed, his strobing form hefting from the bar floor, ethereal lightning forcing him to hover several feet without physical aid like a warlock hellbent on something or other.

Levi's shriek reached it's peak, then he blipped forward, right arm cocked back and shivering with electromagnetic fusion that ripped the very sound from the air before it crashed forward...

KABOOoooOOOOM!!!

Leviathan aimed a devastating punch that would usher a sonic boom directly towards Zeno's maw regardless of his tentacles, his left cocking back for a return strike with just as much devastating room shattering might..

[Y-DOC 1.0]

Rather then parrying everything the man said, he listened intently to it all peacefully, taking a good drink of the cinnamon schnaps. They were strong, as by design, but he had grown fond of the burn and the sort of sweet aftertaste, and so his expression was one of drinking water. He closed his eyes to savor the flavor, which hinted at something more, but otherwise his serene gaze remained unmarred... It was rather difficult to disrupt, in fact.

He fielded the second question first.

"Well, It's all rather hazy. I was evidently stabbed by an ordinary pen knife coated in some sort of sophisticated anesthetic, which explains why I don't really remember being stabbed. Any sort of proactive alertness the sound of the running assailant may have caused faded with the anesthetic, I'll wager. And wager is all I can truly do, since most of this is hearsay from those around me. I couldn't really doubt it though, because the evidence is sound." He paused to have another sip of his drink.
"I am half-Gaianoid, Half-Zospherite. I decided I wanted to try to mesh with the beings here in their manner, so I decided I wanted to be an artisan and I've been assisting Maestro-" He gestured towards the gentleman in the fine clothes and bandaged face "-as the resident musicians here. I understand the job doesn't pay terribly much, but I don't have any great need for money, either. It is the experience that I work for."

He leaned back a little in his chair since he was no longer the dominant speaker in their conversation.

"The concept of divine beings is intriguing. You speak of this being as an administrator of many things." His gaze grew distant for a moment as he pondered something. "So, the showering of this white light. What is its importance? Is it some sort of blessing or is it-"

Disaster

The situation in the center of the bar was growing much more difficult to simply ignore as some sort of passing conflict. The din caused Voltaire's ears to flatten against his head. His serene gaze was disrupted only by the faintest twitch of his lip and his eyes getting shiny as they began to water. The incredible clap of noise was enough to elicit that much of a reaction, and now that his ears had done their defensive reaction to protect themselves, Voltaire would be able to hear little. His eyes focused on Rurarc so that he would be able to accurately read his lips. His tone of voice did not change.

"Sir, The situation in the center is growing difficult to ignore. Something needs to be done. It can be as passive as stepping outside or as aggressive as forcing them to do so, but I do not believe this can be ignored with any amount of wisdom."

Ryo Kusakabe

[Ruarc The White]

𝔄𝔫 𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔟 𝔞 𝔟𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯... '𝔰 ℑ 𝔞 𝔤𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔟𝔥...

...𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔰.

You can take the dog from the fight but you can never take the fight from the dog. It was a mindful ignorance of the situation. He knew what was going on. Ruarc even positioned his chair initially off center from the table allowing him to stand suddenly if needed or move not the door, which he marked in his peripherals. Though every precaution was taken he still looked calm and unconcerned on the outside. His fingers loosely wrapped around the tumbler as he brought it up to his lips once more taking the slow smooth drink and finishing the mixed liquor.

"Its something you should not try too hard to think on. I may have healed the wound but if you let it fester in yer' mind its something I cant mend. Revenge is a road that you cannot walk back from."

The fair haired man smiled softly hearing about the young alien's profession. Nodding he raised his empty glass in his direction.


"Now thats a worthy profession! I am a bit of a musician meh'self! "

His eyes dart to the situation embroiled at the center of the room. His hand lowered setting the glass down followed by his palm down flat over the glistening white charm. Eyes still warm and still whimsical as he looked on to those involved in the tangle. Slowly his fingers pulled across the table top and wrapped around the small charm. His other hand reached across his waist and pushed back noble coat and rested his hand over the handle of a white duelist pistol.

"I dun't intend on leavin the premises... So what say we do some negotiations... shall whe?"

Placement:Table
Company:Voltaire

Y-DOC 1.0

Sorry about the lateness. Been unmotivated. I will try and not let that effect my writing.

[Avaaro]

A familiar bottle was held firmly in the hands of a patron who sat on the bar. A woman had been brandishing a fine bottle of scotch and was protecting it from the riff raff of the night. The locals did seems to be in an uproar over many things, and a scotch lover was known not to waste a drop. The seat next to her was empty and Avaaro was quick to make it his.
Seeing what was being served influenced Avaaro's taste for a bottle of scotch from the isle of Jura, and it seemed that with some ethereal power the bar provided what was craved. A simple scoop beneath the bar and a sure hand found exactly what was needed. His fingers clasped the wooden cork and without a glass to pour he simply swigged directly from the bottle, an obvious claim.
The dark drink ran down into Avaaro's belly and achieved the desired effect. His internal temperature seemed ablaze as the liquor ran its course. The all too familiar sting of well aged scotch reminded him that he best watch his consumption. Man's oldest remedy had adverse effects when used without regard, and Avaaro had only meant to give his blood a little boil.
The bottled held in Avaaro's grip thumped on the counter-top of the bar after his initial swig. What he had observed upon entry was now well under way. The once dead corpse was kicked back into life with some severe repercussions. The warlock seemed to have his hands full with the recent interaction, as too many did when reviving the dead. His own history easy proof of that.

The display of the powers at work was exactly what Avaaro had poked his head in for. As the reanimated corpse flared with power Avaaro was in awe at the spectacle. A surge in power cast a contrast over the others in the bar, making other supernatural individuals beacons of energy within. That's when Avaaro noticed Chance, the one familiar face he seemed to overlook in the clergy was now the one thing he could not ignore. Burying intent was difficult at times and he was not one to lose composure. Not after the first shot of scotch. Chance was like to take awareness to his presence soon as well, if she wasn't already. The last encounter between the two had ended in a sort of armistice, if he remembered correctly. He'd make nice, knowing his darling wife couldn't stand losing either of them. A comfortable distance would be maintained until there was a way to gracefully mend an otherwise shitty exchange.

The necromantic warlock took a position at the bar, a few stools down from Avaaro. It was clear the sorcerer was half aware of what was soon to be brought upon him. The reanimated corpse was full of its own demons and now peaked in power. The furious energy aimed at destruction of what would have been it's savior. The crackle of magick broke through the noise of the crowd and Avaaro felt like he could be caught in something better observed from the next city.
With all the energy at work Avaaro felt right at home. The masquerade held no power here and those who'd be hunted roamed free. The natural habitat of Avaaro's most interesting experiences. Still, one who found their way into the gloom had better know how to prepare themselves. Avaaro raised his awareness and waited for the events to unfold.