Northern Winds [NC-17] (IC)

[Stygian]

Winds blew across the main inlet of Haszalim. Winds that had started far off, way out at sea, and had whipped waves into motion and sprayed salt and chill over many a ship. Winds that carried the same bite when they reached the large port city of Haszal itself. Sure, it was getting closer to summer, and the weather was always warmer near the coast. But in a place to the north like Haszal, where the landscape was rugged and the people were ruggeder, where all the economy was trade, fishing and industry, and the old town, built on a bit of mainland and a heap of islands under a large archipelago, looked like taken from some old storybook? The wind seemed colder when it actually reached the place, on account of the old buildings and the few people out on the streets, as it was getting dark.
   Haszal was a big city, and as old as it felt. Nearly eight hundred years of building on the ancient foundations and most of the architecture dating back to a hundred years before or a bit more, though updated on the inside, made for that kind of place. It was densely populated, what with no one wanting to live far off from town and the railway network that connected the place to more southern and eastern bits of civilization. Four hundred and fifty thousand people called the city their home, and probably a few thousand on top of that were just passing through, staying for some time.
   Still, despite being older than beings could remember, and many of the city's creature inhabitants, though they were quite few in such a place as Haszal, could recollect at least clearly, the city was one of the most modern in the world in terms of trade, communications and industry. Officially it owed this mostly to its artisan history and education, and to the money claimed from oil trade, steel and paper industry, and low amount of bureaucracy. Inofficially, it might have been more that the summer season wasn't that long and that people were mostly either working or sitting inside, chatting or grabbing a drink.

   Grabbing a drink was also a certain man, sitting in a bar. More specifically a bar down the corner of a tree-lined avenue leading down from a statued park, where the trees were just beginning to sport leaves that rustled a bit in the wind, shielded a bit by buildings on all sides. A car had parked on the side of the avenue, and a quartet of people who had stepped out of it were busy standing by a black, broad-tyred motorcycle of some kind.
   Inside the bar, not full but not empty either, which had that typical familiar musty and warm smell and feeling of a place heated by an open hearth or two, where smoking was unrestricted and alcohol was plentiful at all hours, the man, a wolf by the look of it, quite handsome and athletic but with sorrowful streaks under his reddish light-brown fur that matched his dark coat and clothes, hunched over a glass, pondering over a few things that had happened in the last week and some notes on a paper.
   Little did anyone there know that he was actually no wolf. Little did anyone know what he was pondering. Little did he know that the calm place was about to heat up quite a bit.

[Boog]

Richard was simply sitting at a table in the corner by himself. One useful aspect of undeath; you want to be left alone, and people want to leave you alone. Nobody likes to be reminded of their own mortality. He took a few gulps of beer. It didn't help him forget, and if he ever did drink enough to get drunk he was risking serious brain damage, but he was drinking all the same. Dimitri had claimed they were going to have a gig here, and of course never bothered to actually make a deal beforehand. The fae had tried to negotiate with the owner when they'd showed up! Fortunatly, they weren't thrown out outright, although Dimitri left saying something about how they would "regret it when they were big time." Uh huh. Yeah.
With a cracking noise, two things occured to Richard. One, that he'd been unthinkingly scratching the table, and two, that he'd just lost a finger. He swore and popped it back into place, muttering a simple ice spell to hold it in place until he could repair it properly. Marya would kill me if I forgot that. She worries that I neglect myself enough as is.

[Cogidubnus]

 The door to the pub opened with a creak, the cold outside air blasting in and blowing about in little flurries. The man holding it open stepped inside quickly. His coat settled and stopped whipping about, sheltered from the cold wind, and the wolf let go of his hat, not bothering to take it off. He brushed a leaf from his shoulder absently as he stepped inside, walking softly to the bar. He adjusted the sword at his hip as he sat, and help up on finger, catching the attention of the barkeep.
"Whiskey," he said, his voice smooth and dark, the words pronounced warmly, but with a certain eloquence about them. "If you have it. If not, a scotch."
As he waited for the barkeep to return with his drink, he took a look around the place, his eyes drifting here and there to the various patrons, taking them in behind the shaded glasses on his face.
He raised an eyebrow at seeing on of his fellow wolves there, and a red one at that. It wasn't everyday he another wolf, much less a rust-colored one. Stranger still was the undead fellow sitting at another table, who seemed to be in rather morose spirits. He supposed that would make sense. He was undead, after all.
The barkeep returned with his drink, setting it down with a thud. He thanked him and took a drink, savoring the feeling of warmth traveling down his throat and setting in his stomach, removing a bit of the chill from his bones.

[Stygian]

The other wolf glanced over Cogidubnus as he entered, muttered, ran a hand through his blond, cropped hair and then kicked back his drink, smacking down the glass with its two half-melted pieces of ice still in it down on the counter.
   "Another one for me too," he muttered, in a voice that was just a shade lighter, but a bit coarse to compensate. His eyes fixed on the paper before him, before he crumpled it together and stuck it in his pocket. The way of saying "fold until it's all corners" came to his mind, and he chuckled bitterly before accepting his drink from the slick-haired weasel bartender and sipping it.
   "Some evening, some week..." he muttered lowly, a bit to himself. "Damn mages."
   A pair of men in dark clothes with rugged looks walked in through the door to the place, passing the ursine bouncer with a smooth slip of a bill his way and then ordering a pair of beers as they placed themselves at a table, a bit back into the bar. Over by his table, Richard was momentarily joined by a collie who seemed an employee and who, for show, offered a complimentary drink for him and then scurried back through a door to keep up her business.
   The red-tinted wolf studied them all a bit, not directly, but through the reflection in his glass, with a practiced vacant and a bit drunken look, masking even that by putting the glass to his mouth and then sighing when putting it down.

[Aisha deCabre]

Out on the avenue, the line of trees on the sides seemed to act as sentries, watching guests come and go out of the bar at a leisurely and lazy kind of mood, especially for the darkening atmosphere.  The soft breeze blew through the leaves and made for a sound that one always loved to hear, something in the midst of nature.  Natural indeed, were it not for the fact that one tree had a set of eyes.

Sitting on one of the stronger boughs, settling in a little concave of greenery and shadow, the eyes were cloaked and virtually unseen under the cowl the individual wore.  However, she sat in a sort of half-crouch, one leg dangling over the branch while the other stood to help keep her aloft on it, and one hand held on to a higher outcropping of the trunk.  Would she be seen, she would only have been percieved as simply lounging in the tree.  But she liked the fact that hardly anyone tended to look up anyway.  A snaking, black felid tail partially swung from the branch like a vine, unseen from the front and obscured by the trunk...thankfully, as a vine did not wear a tail ring.

She had been there for a little while, watching the front doors with idle interest.  However it looked, the felid wasn't there simply to enjoy the sights.  Something had brought her here...word of trouble.  And of course, she could not deny being an opportunist.  There was a grin beneath the shadow of her camouflaged cape.  No harm in waiting for it, either.  And I'm thirsty.  The bar would be a good place for both, sí?  As soon as there was little sign of anyone around, she leaped from the bough and landed gracefully and silently on the dark path, heading for the bar.  A little fingering with the collar of her cape, and the enchantment's color switched from dark green to her usual liking, a blood-like crimson...a personal mark to the panther's profession.

[Gareeku]

Sat in the corner of the pub was a figure, covered by a brown hooded cloak which concealed any features they might have had. From underneath the hood, a pair of eyes coloured a deep blue looked out at the pub from the corner. Every so often, a hand covered by a red fingerless glove would reveal itself from the shadows of the cloak, reaching out to grab the glass of ale sat on the table in front of the figure. Bringing the glass to the mouth, which was also concealed by the shadows the hood of the cloak made, the figure took a few gulps of the ale, before setting down the now empty glass. Sitting there for a few minutes longer, the figure watched as another figure, its head covered by a hat, entered. Watching him walk up to the bar, the hooded figure listened to the man's voice; a voice that was smooth and dark, yet there was an air of eloquence about it.

Rising to his feet, the figure left his seat adn began to walk over to the bar, the cloak draping down and hiding most of his clothes. However, for a second the cloak shifted, and underneath a blue outfit could be seen, though it was now heavily stained; heavily stained by blood. The hood cloak had been been through some wear and tear, this much was certain from the various stains, dirt and rips dotted around the fabric. As well as the glimpse of the blood stained outfit, a sheathed katana could been seen in the second. It was not known was the blade was like, but the hilt and sheath were simple in design, and yet there was a beauty about their design.

Arriving at the bar, the cloaked figure sat on one of the stools that were lined up beside it. He had already acknowledged the presence of the other wolves at the bar, having raised one of his eyebrows momentarily at the fact, and was now tempted to turn his head and look upon hearing the front door of the pub open. Out of the corner of his eye, the figure watched as the two strangers ordered drinks as they sat down at a table.

"Glass of ale." the figure said as he turned back towards the slick-haired weasel bartender. The figure's voice was gruff and deep, but the figure said nothing more, staying silent before nodding his head in thanks as the bartender gave him the drink, before taking a couple of swigs of the liquid and setting it back down on the bar top.

[Sunblink]

Under the chilled coattails of the breeze and the cloud-coated sky, a vibrant yellow figure walked down the streets, the edges of her jacket whipping in the wind.

Days of traveling had brought her here to Haszalim, not out of any meticulous preparations or exciting holidays, but because of sheer coincidence and in the middle of her neverending hunt for her loved ones. Nowadays her entire search was dictated by vagarious whimsy, befitting of her personality. Not that Keaton appreciated it very much—it just made her quest a thousand times more difficult than it already was.

Because of the slightly frost-encrusted temperature, Keaton had decided to adapt her apparel to fit the atmosphere: still in her signature color of black--but much more conventional (at least for her) than usual, more concealing and insulation--repeated in different shades all over each article of clothing, from the lace-up arm guards and jacket to her outrageous combat boots.

They weren't so much made for walking as they were for crushing someone's head, really.

For a time, Keaton wandered, idly venturing around the town and deliberately avoiding people unless to ask them for directions or information about her family. No such luck. No one had seen any Cubi that looked remotely like her. Lianna, her sister, would be the most difficult to locate or ask people about, as she changed fur and hair colors capriciously to suit her mercurial moods and ever-changing impulses. Greatly discouraged by her lack of leads, the resolution in Keaton's posture started to drain, replaced with slumped shoulders and an almost dejected drag to her heavily-clad heels.

Mismatched, brown eyes shifted wearily in their sockets as she moved her head to the side, sighing in frustration to herself. She should've been used to failure by this point, having devoted over one hundred years of her life to her possibly futile adventure, but every false clue or inadequacy never failed to depress her. Sighing again, Keaton adjusted the belt strapping the immensely tall mace securely to her back and looked around, her eyes eventually landing on the nearby pub.

Now that she thought about it, drowning her frustrations in beer sounded rather marvelous at the moment. Her course decided, Keaton walked over to the tavern, opened the door, and entered.

The heels of her boots creaked as her feet guided her over the wood-layered floor, automatically leading the jackal to an available seat. Being rather seasoned at indulging herself in the occasional alcohol-drinking ritual (and PROUD of it, mister) Keaton was no newcomer to the habitual procedures of entering a bar and interacting within it--or dealing with any unruly, inebriated idiots and perverts. Over five hundred years under her belt instantaneously came with that sort of life experience, apparently.

After perching herself at a chair, Keaton stretched her arms languorously over her head, yawning behind a gloved hand. Turning to the bartender, she brusquely ordered, "Beer." She said no more. She was in a terrible mood, as her slouched shoulders and generally melancholy attitude displayed. Once the drink was served, she wasted no time in starting to guzzle it, paying no heed to those who entered the bar or were around her.

She just wanted to drink without interruptions.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

[Cogidubnus]

 At the stranger's words, the grey wolf's face brightened, and he turned a lopsided smile towards his new compatriot. "Mages?" he said, with a bit of mirth, and not a little sarcasm. "Run into trouble with everyone's favorite magicians?" He grinned, and tipped his hat. "You have my condolences."
The drink was good, and he'd finished it before he knew what he was doing. Chiding himself slightly, he slid the empty glass back to the bartender before turning around to see who else was entering the pub. The creaking door was quite a good doorbell, although few patrons seemed to notice or to care. He noticed a red-clad panthress about to enter behind her.
A yellow-black jackal entered first - Cubi, by the look of her, the headwings being a rather dead giveaway, although this one seemed more interested in a glass of beer than leeching people's souls. He laughed to himself at the stereotype and moved over a little bit to make room for a newcomer to the bar.
The lightly concealed katana at its waist interested him, though. He took it in quickly, judging the quality, and murmed a low question.
"That's a nice blade." he said, his eyes darting from the stranger's blue eyes to the sword at his waist, and back. "Not many such like it. How long have you had it?" he asked, surreptitiously trying to determine his level of skill. Such a question would have been rude outright, but such a sword would have been out of place with anyone other than a very skilled swordsman.

[Boog]

Richard thanked the collie when she brought over the drink, pleasantly surprised. Guess these guys think better of Dimitri than most do. He took a sip of the drink, eyes scanning the place for, well, anything interesting. There seemed to be some sort of congregation of wolves over by the bar, two of them with swords. As he looked around a panthress, a jackal, and a pair of individuals that seemed like they wouldn't enjoy being watched. So many armed people... Did adventurors take this place over while I wasn't looking? He chuckled to himself slightly and took another gulp of sweet alcoholic oblivion; with his luck, they would all decide at once that they had a problem with undead right about... now.

[Stygian]

The brown-rust colored wolf gruffed something in response to Cogidubnus' statement and sipped his drink a bit more, hiding the tension that built when he witnessed yet another man, a feline with a grumpy face, make his way into the bar and sit down by the end of the counter, tapping the desk twice and getting a beer in return. There was a slight bulge under his leather jacket, but he did not look the type of an adventurer, really. More some sort of enforcer. Still, he sat and had his ale calmly, making no fuss.
   Three. That's three. Were there four in the car? What are they waiting for? the brown wolf thought. He studied the other people who had just entered too. Were they with them? He knew that he likely had a hunter or two on his trail since a week ago. He didn't know why though, or who. And he hated not knowing. It was not something that he was very familiar with.
   Well, the cubi could probably be excluded. She wouldn't have revealed herself like that if she were smart. People in Haszal didn't make much of a notion of it, but they didn't like Creatures. Same thing with the cloaked one. He wouldn't have tried being so mysterious. He would have masked himself in some other manner. No, more likely it was either the gray wolf or the orangutan sitting over by the corner. Inconspicuous meant dangerous, often.
   The wolf downed his drink and sighed, leaning on the counter a bit.
   "Not trouble. Just disappointment. I shouldn't have paid the lousy creeps," he said lowly, in response to the 'other' wolf.

[Aisha deCabre]

Aisha pushed the door open with a slight creak, the wind stopping and allowing her cape to fall back around her shoulders and nearly encircle her body.  The eyes were still hidden beneath a hood, but she could still easily scan the surroundings and the people within.  She minded the jackal succubus that had come in soon after as well, though she hid a look of incredulity at the fact that she hadn't hidden her identity.  Hopefully Beings in here are a little level-headed.  Her eyes had widened as well, that perhaps she had recognized the Creature.  But she wasn't about to declare it in public yet.

She shrugged and made her way into the place with graceful and fluent steps, tail whipping idly behind her.  As usual when walking into such places, she ignored any strange or cautious stares when they caught sight of her weaponry.  The tip of a sword sheath could be seen, ornately decorated in obsidian, silver, and gold, and the light-made glare of another blade could be seen next to it, and whatever more could be hidden on the belt within the folds.  She carried and wore nothing that made too much noise...stealthy.  Bounty hunter, assassin, call her what you will, it was easy to see she was an adventurer.

One among quite a few, it looked like.  Looking over the visitors, somehow the huntress could literally sense that some had a more alert countenance.  She wondered for a moment if she was walking into what would be a brawl--especially when more came in who looked as if they were trying to be inconspicuous...and shrugged it off.   She was here for a drink, and to observe and listen to rumors...a usual starting point.

"Ale, over here," Aisha waved to the barkeep in her usual deep voice, slightly tinged with an accent resembling hispanic, and sat down at the bar.  While she waited for it, she too became among the alert.

[Gareeku]

Taking another swig of his ale, the figure listened as the wolf sat next to him spoke of his sword. For a few seconds, the figure said nothing, taking another swig of his ale before speaking.
"It used to be my father's." the figure replied gruffly. "But I don't know that is any of your business."
Rude is what he probably sounded, but the figure was not concerned, turning back to his ale which was still sat upon the bar top. Concealed underneath the cloak, it couldn't be seen what species, or race, the figure was. All was apparent was that he was male, was a swordsman, and was rather blunt.

It was then, however, that the figure heard a voice; a familiar, feminine voice, beside him, ordering a drink; an ale, like his. From the voice he knew who it was, as well as eyeing the jackal succubus who was also sat at the bar. So they are here, too...long time, no see...

[Somber]

The shadows released the small form like the arms of a reluctant lover as she seemed to float along the streets in crushed black velvet.  Delicate black lace adorned the edges of her bleak clothes.  If you saw her, you might think she was attending a funeral.  Going to.  Coming from.  Living in.  Like a tattered bit of cloth caught in the wind she moved through life, searching for something that was herself.

"Oy!  Girl!  Shouldn't be out so late."  A male voice, belonging to a lynx reeking of stale beer and failure.  She continued.  He was incidental.  Irrevelant.  But when the large cat grabbed her shoulder he immediately became something else.  Irritating.  He wanted her; her belongings, maybe her body if he was that particular kind of monster.  She turned towards him, her hood falling back as her ebony eyes met his, and slowly she smiled.

In the darkness of the street a wet, splattering crack filled the air.  A male voice screamed in a primal, instinctive, terrified language once.  An inhalation.  A second deeper, softer... wetter... crunch.  A gurgling weeze.  Silence.

A minute later she emerged, flicking the blood off her hands as if she would mud before conjuring a cloth from the shadows to wipe his filth away.  Her cloak barely moved in the wind, as if it heeded some other physics.  There wasn't much that she would find on the streets this late.  Instead she entered the inn around the corner, and if some thought it brazen of her to go to the inn around the corner from her murder, they obviously didn't know her.  After all, she didn't even know herself.  How could they?

Some of the less observant might have thought they imagined the door opening in a breeze for all the entrance she made.  The bone white lapine's movement wouldn't have come close to overcoming the noise in the room as she moved to an empty bar stool.  The tiny woman climbed gracefully on to the perch and set a rancid leather sack on to the bar counter.  "Rosemary tea please.  And a room."

At least the lynx had be able to buy her that in apology.

[Boog]

Nevermind, bunny-chick's gonna get wayyyy more attention. What the hell is in that bag? The baboon's muzzle twitched slightly. He could smell it from here; another useful trick as an undead was how much sharper ones sense of taste and smell got when it came to the living. Whatever was in the bag had probably been alive recently. Something he'd be able to taste... It still creeped him out, that one of the few senses that still at least selectively worked as it did in life was taste, and only with still-living organisms. He remembered when he was still getting used to it, addicted to one of his only remaining senses. He cleared the entire building out of feral rats. Eugh. Gross memory.

[Somber]

The bag's contents were nothing extra ordinary, as could be seen when she deftly slit the knot with her ivory claws and lifted the corner by her claws.  Mostly dinged copper and brass coins with a few silvers mixed in.  Of course she had her own money, but really why spend it if you didn't have to? She set the bag aside, ignoring the smear of blood along one side of the nasty leather bag.  Whatever didn't cover her tea would be a tip for the barman.  "Please, discard that bag if you would."

Some one is looking at me.  It was like fingers pressing upon the back of her skull.  Slowly she turned to examine the room.  More male beings... nothing unusual or threatening there.  Then she saw the undead baboon and paused, a mysterious smile forming on her cheeks.  She liked the undead.  In their own way they were honest and straight forward.  Easy enough to manipulate when you needed to.  Easy enough to be friends with if you wanted to.  And there was one undead who... no.   The smile faded.  For a moment she had almost remembered something, but it disappeared from her thought like gossamer.

It was always that way.  She'd see or hear something familiar... something that she should know.  But then it melted away like shadow before invasive light.  Some times it was even hard to remember the thing that had triggered the response.  Was she under some lingering enchantment or curse?  Her hand reached up, finger tracing the mark imprinted under the black silk fabric.  There was magic, and then there was fae magic.  She sighed softly, closing her eyes.  Nothing was ever easy anymore.

[Gareeku]

Taking another swig of the ale, the hooded figure then lifting his head after setting the drink back on the bar top.
The smell of blood... he thought to himself. ...Fresh blood...
Not turning his head, the figure watched out of the corner of his eyes as another stranger sat at the bar; a lapine, with snow-white fur similar to his. It seemed that, for a few seconds, the rabbit took some interest in the undead member of the pub, this much the hooded figure could tell as he observed the lapin out of the corner of his eyes. It seemed there was quite the group gathering inside the pub, and one familiar member to boot.

[Boog]

Crap. Noticed, The rabbit chick had just glanced at him and got this look, like some demons reserved for beings before they ate them or something. Technically being a creature now had done nothing for Richard's opinion of the group as a whole. I would never wish to join a group so disreputable as to have me as a member. He immediately took a renewed interest in his drink; attracting the attentions of the psycho, probably demonic rabbit chick would be what most call a Bad Move, and one of the three adventurers was taking a bit more interest than he was okay with too. It was like some sort of crappy mob movie. He just wanted to accelerate the rotting of his brain in peace; in his opinion, anyone who came to a bar because they liked the people there either did so because it made them feel more successful by comparison, or had no business ordering alcohol and should leave it to those with important responsibilities to sandblast out of their skulls.

[Aisha deCabre]

Aisha continuously watched the bar and its patrons as she recieved her drink, taking a few lazy gulps out if it at intervals.  There were definitely many kinds here, and it seemed for the moment to be a level-headed place.  She quirked a hidden eyebrow at the notice of the undead, one kind that the adventurer hadn't run into very often.  Hrm, curious, but not looking like trouble... she thought and gulped her ale again and gave a light sigh of satisfaction for her thirst.  She wondered what the familiar jackal succubus was doing in the same space as she...and Aisha thought that she had caught another familiar scent, too.  What a gathering.

But it was then that the doors opened to admit another newcomer to the bar.  Aisha turned absently to glimpse the lapine walking in, only to turn her head away again.  The girl looked quite normal enough, but she could easily smell fresh blood emanating from her general direction.  The panther's tail ring gleamed just ever so slightly beneath her cape, with the ebony appendage resting in a fold of it.

The huntress's eyes narrowed and she fidgeted in her seat, watching the rabbit girl take a momentary interest in the undead.  She made a generalization, but knew better than to act on it...still, a bitter hatred for a singular race was hinted to only with a slight snarling sound.   ...Demon...

Right after, Aisha returned to her drink...but one hand rested lazily to her side.  After all, what she was looking for in the rumors of trouble could have been anywhere or perhaps anyone.  ...Let trouble come to you, girl, don't go to it.

[Somber]

There was a time and a place when it was appropriate to kill, and a time when best just to kill everything that moved, and a time to sit an enjoy her tea.  Not that she particularly liked tea.  In fact, it rarely mattered what kind she had or what she added to it, really it wasn't all that pleasant to drink.  But it felt familiar to her, and was one of the terribly few things that stayed with her when the sensation passed.  And so she enjoyed her tea, particularly the feelings that accompanied it.  Happiness.  No.  Not quite happiness.  After all she'd been quite happy to deal with the irritant outside the bar.  Contentment was a better discription.  She felt content.

She stared into the dregs of her cup.  Some thought that you could tell the future in a cup of tea.  Personally, that had to be the stupidest thing she'd ever heard.  All she saw there were wet lumps of tea sliding slowly down into the bottom of the cup.  She didn't care much about the future anyway.  The future was for people who had a past to stand on, but all of hers was washed away.

Another look at the undead.  At his honesty.  She didn't know his sort.  Brain eating monster?  Probably not.  Most weren't, and she was glad.  It would have been terribly disappointing, really.  So cliche.  Her ebony eyes scanned the crowd a bit more, and met with the glare of the panther.  Oh?  Her lips curled a little more as her ears folded back.  She looked almost playful as she looked at the woman.  My, some one was cute when she was angry.  She slipped off the stool and approached her, stopping at the other side of the table.  "Excuse me, but do we know each other?"

[Gareeku]

Glancing towards the undead stranger, the figure watched as he seemed to grow uncomfortable from the lapine's interest, as from his own, it would be. The hooded figure did not care, however. If people grew uncomfortable, then that was their problem, not his.

Continuing to watch the lapine, the hooded figure knew that his observations would be unoticed thanks to the shadows of the hood concealing his face. Looking on, the figure watched at the white lapine approached Aisha, asking the pantheress if they had met. Guessing that Aisha must have made her feelings towards demons show, the stranger continued to observe. From the way things were going, things might start to get interesting...

[Aisha deCabre]

Aisha hadn't noticed the demon looking back at at her, her eyes having been concealed in the shadows of her cowl, along with her face.  The panthress was content to simply trying to finish her ale, and await the events that she felt were to happen sooner or later.  At least she wasn't feeling at all tired yet.

But before she had time to swallow another gulp, an ear craned in another direction to hear footsteps coming down the bar, towards her.  The huntress disregarded the sound until the owner addressed her directly.  There was a sideways glance, and her eyes could be seen glaring crimson in whatever faint light was cast in the shadow, toward the lapine.

"No," she replied cooly, trying to remain level-headed as she took another sip from her cup.  Hard to do when someone's presence was a race she despised.  "And I highly doubt that you'd want to know me."

[Boog]

Richard raised an eyebrow at the lapine's actions. Perhaps more of a western than a mob movie, then. Somebody who walks up to a stranger in a bar with that look on their face had one of three things in mind, and one of them (spontanious philanthropy) was particularly unlikely. They don't take it outside, I swear to god I'm gonna lose it. This is probably my only day off this week. He groaned to himself at Aisha's reply, "I did not see this coming and am suprised by this turn of events. Yes I am. Damn all adventurers," he rasped to himself, taking another swig of his drink.

[Somber]

"You'd be surprised," she replied with a small smile as she looked into her eyes.  Shadows and darkness were no veil to one who dealt intimately with shadow.  There wasn't any malice or condesention in her expression of polite curiousity.  Not even scorn, and she had an overabundance of that.  She stroked her claw lightly over the table top.  "Well if you're sure then please excuse me.  I was only interested in conversation with some one who knew me."  And she took a step back and turned away, but instead of returning to the bar and her tea, she walked to Richard's table.

"Do you mind if I join you?" she asked in her soft, high pitched little voice.

[Boog]

Richard looked up. Damn. Apparantly I'm interesting. "Well, that would depend on the reason," The undead replied, not looking up from his drink, "If it's out of curiosity," he went on, ticking off the possibilities on his fingers, "Then it's alright so long as you pay for my drinks, since there's no such thing as a free freak show. If it's to use me as a shield when the adventurer you just went out of your way to frustrate decides to come over here, possibly with her buddies and their +10 longswords of overcompensation, then not only will you have to pay for my drinks but I reserve the right to bail on your cotton-tailed ass the minute they stand up. If it's any other reason, it's alright so long as you pay for my drinks because the most likely other reasons will probably piss me off."
He guestured to a chair. "So, come here often?"

[Somber]

"I would be more than happy to pay for a freak show when you show me where the freak is."  She countered as she took a seat that kept Aisha in view.  "However, I would be glad to buy a drink to some one interesting and polite.  I'm afraid I'm not from around here."  She said as she folded her hands on the table before her.  "As for using you as a shield... well... if it really became an issue where I needed you for a shield I would deserve all the wrath to be delivered by her.  I was simply curious if she had a specific reason for her glower, or if she's just a bitch."  She continued in her smooth, fluid voice.  She reach into her dress and fished out a gold coin, ordering the drink of his choice.

Shadows were a state of contrast.  Light could exist quite merrily without darkness, but shadows depended upon a meeting of the two.  They changed.  Adapted.  Yielded when they must and return at first opportunety.  "I'm a bit of a wanderer, I suppose.  I'm trying to find a person I lost years ago, and learn why she disappeared.  Unfortunately I don't even know her name, so finding things out is a bit trickier than most.  So for today I am here.  Tomorrow, who knows."  She turned and looked at Aisha again, stroking her claw along her lips almost pensively before she added, "She looks like the sort of person who might have known her... or maybe of her.  A pity she's so unapproachable."  Her ebony eyes return to him, "Oh... forgive my rudeness.  I am called Somber."

She set her elbows upon the table, folding her hands beneath her chin, "What might you be called, sir, and what brings you to this town?"

[Stygian]

The situation was growing very uncomfortable. Suddenly the whole bar was filled with a rather unpleasant mix of crowd. And a dangerous one, the brown-bronze wolf could not help but think. The whole place had begun smelling of a whole lot of things right through the alcohol and smoke; anger, discomfort, awkwardness, hatred and malice. And blood. Rich, exciting, full blood. It was becoming increasingly harder to ignore. He chuckled to himself once he caught her name.
   The conversation seemed to spur the whole thing on, the clearly demonic lapine for the time the center of it all, and an emerald gleam from under the panthress' cloak a confirmation as she passed. Then there was the still concealed stranger, that strange orangutan, the glowering three rawhides that sat still waiting and...
   It could not possibly be a coincidence. This was an obvious trap. Now, the question was only; what was going to set it off? With his former experience, Stygian knew quite well that getting the Hell out of there might be just what did, and might be hopeless anyway. But if he could, then...
   Immediately, he had a plan laid out. The wolf and the stranger were collateral, or threats. As were the three enforcers sitting around. The orangutan and the lapine seemed like good shields. And...
   "Excuse me, miss. Is there a problem?" The rust-colored wolf was speaking to Aisha, moving over a bit to stand next to her and lean on the counter. "Couldn't help but noticing the... tension." He almost looked to the emerald gleam again, but masked it by taking a sip from his glass and looking down.

[Aisha deCabre]

Aisha sighed quietly as she finished her glass of ale and pushed it in front of her, leaving it up to the bartender for refilling it.  Her gaze was cast to the ceiling briefly, her head turned up so a part of her cowl fell away from her ear.  The action looked quite casual, but it was also deliberate.  She thought that she had heard herself mentioned in the conversation going on at the other table...though even her sensitive and trained hearing could only pick out a few words in the bar, which was starting to feel crowded.

That was just slightly stupid... the panthress thought to herself.  Raising curiosity like that.  She tried not to be too mindful and lowered her head.  At least she didn't have to give her name to any strangers, and especially to the demon...she'd never did know exactly who belonged to the clan who would gladly slice her head off, were they to know from what adventurer lineage she came.

Aisha heard the wolf approaching her before he could speak, but only turned her head when he did, her gaze just slightly tired of attention, yet her countenance polite...and cautious.  She had noticed her tail ring was still gleaming steadily, as it did when it sensed dark magic or those who had it.  The panther still had a hand resting near her weapons.

"I'm not supposing there is a problem," she answered and grabbed the handle of her cup as it was refilled.  "I've always been uneasy around demons, with very good reason."  She figured there was little reason not to be somewhat blunt.  What adventurer did like them, or at least the deeds they were known for?  But all she really did want was to see how long the peace would last.  "...A thanks for your concern, but it's not needed," she said with a confident smirk.

[Somber]

Clearly demonic to some, it seemed.  Somber's visual appearance was nothing more than that of a being.  Shadows concealed the truth of things, and it was a simple matter to twist visible perceptions.  The smell of blood and death from her recent kill was another matter.  Darkness did little to impede scent as it did sight.  To a connissour of carnage, the owner of the blood was obviously not hers.  It smelled heavy, musky, sickly, and slow.  The blood of a male, wracked with sickness held at bay from drink and size, and of a feline besides.  How it had touched her was not written in smell, it was for anyone to infer.  If the violent infered violence, then so be it, but she could just as easily stepped in his gore as she travelled and not been aware of it.  But of course, Adventurers thrived on their use of senses that trancended the visual. 

[Boog]

"Interesting I seem to be, despite my efforts, but polite?" Richard raised an eyebrow and gulped down some of his new drink (Some substance with a name out of a medical textbook and an olive in it), "What you see is what you get. Some people just seem to demand a degree of rudeness. Rich people. Assholes. Adventurers. The creatures that warrent their attention. Random creepy short chicks who show up smelling like recent death," he continued, laughing a little, "After all, without someone to remind them that, regardless of creed, they're only mortal... Well, they might forget." He smirked. Seeing as he didn't exactly have a lower lip, the overall effect was a tad disconcerting. "I'm a native for two odd years now; the only thing that ever brought me here was Lady Luck, a far bigger bitch than you could ever meet in a dive like this. Name's Richard. Call me Dick and die."
One of the wolves spoke with the adventurer. "I think that someone's about to do something you deserve, Somber..."

[Somber]

"My, so bitter."  She said as she sat back a bit.  "So what was it that lady luck did that was so terrible?  Betrayal?  Murder?  Anal violation?  The systematic and deliberate dissolution of your soul leaving you a withered husk of hatred and self loathing?"  She smiled a little archly as she folded her hands on the table before her.  "My apologies... it's just some times good to remind people who bemoan their lot in life just how terrible their existance could truly be."  A public service of sorts, like his mortality refresher.  She then glanced over at Aisha and her lupine companion, her smile shifting into a more resigned expression as she looked at her claws.  "Well if they have any idea of what I deserve then perhaps they should share it before they go.  I would be curious as to why they'd do something so foolish."  She said as she carefully and deliberately flicked a glob of blood from under her nail and away.

"It would be polite, after all."