The Honor Circle Returns! (IC)

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

Witt kept laughing in the darkness; after all, it wasn't like he could stop himself. It'd been ages since he'd had to get anyone seriously pinned, after all, and that sort of response was what he lived for.

He'd barely started to slow down, when the door slammed back, and, in the darkness, he could hear a squelching sound as she padded out. She sounded... more than slightly annoyed, too. Well, given the sounds, that was understandable.

And highly amusing.

Even if his laughter hadn't started up again, he'd have been caught flat-footed (well, so to speak) by the bar of lightning that shot across the bar and blinded him, shattering the ceiling he was attached to in a circle that might have been intended to be neatly around him, but was a little offset, and slightly closer than he might have preferred to a couple of places he was still rather attached to. As it happened, however, it neatly missed him on all sides, and took out a perfect circle, just missing his elbow, and extending away. The excised portion hung there for a moment, before falling away to the floor and shattering somewhere below him, destroying a table and probably injuring anyone who might have had the misfortune to be below it.

Witt took advantage of the burst of covering noise to flip his feet up, place them on either side of his head, and pry himself free. As he dropped, he spun in the air and landed neatly on his hands and feet. Still unable to see anything, either through the darkness or as a result of the close encounter of the sparky kind, he reached out with both hands, gently searching for something to use as a weapon.

Having laid his hands on something, he wasn't sure what, he straightened up, and, gazing into the darkness in the direction Despina had been, he drew himself up and declaimed: "There was a young girl of La Plata, who was widely renowned as a farta. Her deafening reports, at the Argentine sports, made her much in demand as a starta!"

... And then he ducked, listening, without a great deal of success, to see if he could pick her out in the darkness.

[Stygian]

In response to Boog's earlier query Stygian had only swept the drink he was offered, grunting something as he circulated poisons. Smoking as though he bore a personal grudge against the cigarette, he finished it quickly and then stubbed it out on the back of his hand in a careless gesture. Even then, the next drink that went down caused some sort of fumes to well up as it flowed over his tongue, and as he snorted there was more smoke from his nostrils, through which he observed the fight going on with only a sort of mix of speculation and distaste.
   'Shouldn't think there ought to be any trouble,' he said, calling for another shot and thumbing something in an inner pocket. 'So long as you can manage keeping the place in one piece. Tell me; what kind of favor could you offer me if I beat the shit out of something out of that book of yours?' He placed a red paper bill down on the counter top, and shot the thought concept a hard-eyed look. 'For now, I'll settle for something serious to eat, but tell me.'
   Something long and cylindrical appeared under Stygian's fingers. His thumb immediately searched out a rough-sided top, and he slid the thing out of his pocket, raising an eyebrow curiously. Not that he hadn't recognized the shape immediately, but there might have been some indication on the humidor as to the particular brand of the cigar. There wasn't; the cold cylinder of brushed, hard metal lay unmarked and anonymous in his hand. He unscrewed the top, and took a sniff. A heady aroma identified it as a likely Maduro, and with the Churchill size and nutty piquancy that meant it was most likely a particularly good Camacho. Dark, just like he liked them. He snorted, screwing the top back on and twirling the humidor between his fingers.
   'There's a whole warehouse of things down there, if not more. Not all mechanical stuff, of course, nor necessarily things that are potentially useful in other ways. And I think it would be good if someone who isn't very susceptible to the most regular types of hazard, like yourself, handled and cataloged the collection. But even as things are, I think I might be able to cobble together... just about anything.' He narrowed his eyes, and looked back toward the infirmary. 'If I can't just find it outright.'

[Lisky]

In the fake Bar, Bas felt content that he'd just gone and screwed the entire bar fight up with his opaque cloud, the seemingly endless darkness it caused should have been enough to give him an overwhelming advantage, or so he thought... And then he found himself in the arms of Andrace, and as she threw him, he managed to squirm in such a way that he kicked off of her as well... It seemed like a good plan... If one was going to throw you out of their reach, might as well get a little more time to recover.

Had he been in a open field, or other open terrain, it probably would have been a good idea... instead, Fake-Bas found himself sailing through the air, sliding across a table suddenly stopping in what felt to be the most uncomfortable bean bag chair ever.  Planting a hand down to lift himself up, he suddenly felt a needle-sharp pinprick... if his skin hadn't been hardened, he'd he been a Shishka-Bas.  Staring at the stranger's back, then look at andrace, then going back the spiney fellow, Bas smirked, "Thanks for the soft landing..." the demon said while moving his hand in a series of flick of the wrist motions.

Bas finished the motions he'd started earlier, then, pointed his open palm absentmindedly in Andrace's general direction.  Out came a simple Push spell, concentrated into the size of about Bas's fist.  Temporarily ignoring the spiny fellow, he shouted at the Lioness, "Let's so how you like it when i start throwing punches...BITCH!"

If it wasn't clear before, Andrace should realize she'd finally struck a nerve with the demon shepherd.

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

Witt had barely regained his feet when he got hit from behind by a large object, which turned out to be the demon he'd seen brawling earlier. He dropped back to all fours in the dark, his eyes still trying to adjust to the lack of sparkly lightning.

And then the fake demon committed a fatal mistake. He ignored Witt for a moment to shout across the bar at Andrace, and Witt promptly demonstrated why that was such a silly move. His paw shot out and grabbed the demon around the ankle, and, in a feat of strength that looked impossible, lifted him in one hand, back over his head, then spun him in what Witt thought was Despina's direction, as nonchalantly as if he was flicking a knife or a plate.

And then called after him, "Sit on someone else, yah fat bastard."

[Lisky]

Ed scanned the patrons of the bar, both visually and mentally, getting a feel for those around him.  Some seemed unstable, some seemed drunk... and some seemed... The cubi's thought's derailed at the sight of the ornate scythe and red coated fellow who seemed to own it.  Everything seemed off about him, at least to Ed, and by the Cubi's logical, him being off made him the perfect someone to try this place on.  Grabbing the shot glasses in one hand, and the pint glass in the other, the spotted feline pulled a chair up next to the rather pious looking canine.  The all black fur, mixed with the red and white had a rather interesting effect, Ed had to admit.  Smirking a bit as he sat down.  "Can i get you a drink or anything... Mr..."

It wouldn't do for him to start answering questions, even if he already knew the answer.  Giving Laertes a more pleasant grin, he added, "While we're on the topic of getting to know each other, would you be interested in a friendly little wager?"

[SpottedKitty]

Fake-Andrace realised she'd perhaps tossed the canine Demon a bit too hard: she found herself spinning half around before she could get her paws back under control. Tail and arms flailing for balance, she staggered for a moment. Her ears flicked as she turned her head from side to side. She could hear lots of fighting (and some truly hideous brain-melting McGonagall recitations) over there, a leisurely punch-up over there, someone moaning on the floor, wet squelching pawsteps... it was no use, she had no idea where her dance partner had gone.

The lioness snorted, turned and stalked off in search of someone else to beat up on. The punch came out of nowhere and took her completely off-guard: she grunted and folded over sideways from the force of the blow. She clutched at a bruised part of her anatomy that wasn't supposed to be flat, then flopped to the floor like a rag doll, gasping for breath. Her ears turned in one particular direction as she concentrated on at least rising to hands and knees. That was the Demon's voice, over that way! She staggered to her feet and headed towards the voice. Her breathing was still unsteady, and there was a sharp pain in her side that might mean broken, or at least cracked ribs. Never mind. She'd fought on, and won, with worse.

Despina was a little disoriented as well. She was also in a really bad mood: still dripping wet, with her soaked clothes clinging to her saturated pelt, she must look a mess. At least she had a pretty good idea where Witt had landed after she blasted him off of the ceiling. In fact... her ears perked up as she heard him shouting not too far away. Sounded like he was insulting someone — wait, what was that? Large wings, fluttering noisily, getting closer? She threw up a hasty shield spell to deflect the hurtling body, but the casting wasn't quite complete when someone big and heavy smacked into it. The impact rattled her teeth, shook about a pint of water from her fur and sent the lioness skidding backwards, her claws shaving curls of wood from the floorboards. An unconscious body sprawled on the floor caught her across the back of the hocks, and she flipped over, only just managing to turn her tumble into a halfway-graceful backwards somersault.

Now the lioness was in an even worse mood. She snarled and trotted forward until her nose and ears told her the winged critter who'd barged into her was just ahead. She plinked at where the back of his head ought to be with a stun spell, then carried on towards where she'd last heard Witt's voice. This had gone on much too long, she'd better prepare a spell to take that damn' hedgehog down once and for all.

Back in the real bar, Andrace watched the events in the viewer with wide-eyed horrified fascination. She couldn't look away, but the only outcomes she could see were all hideously embarrassing. "This's turnin' into a Barx Brothers movie," she muttered under her breath. "If Groucho, Harpo an' Karl come through that door next..." her voice faded into indistinct muttering.

[Lisky]

Fake Baseel was thoroughly disoriented as he somersaulted through the air.  The spiky mythos had caught the canine completely off guard, and, by all accounts had pulled a cheap shot.  Bas flared his wings, and managed to gain some semblance of control when he slammed into some the hard and round.  Falling to knees from impact, he'd gone from annoyed, and slightly flustered, to outright pissed.

Concentrating for a moment, Bas grabbed his still mildly sore wing-joint and healed it, then used a general purpose heal on himself.  His rage hadn't faded, and he was about to start beating some hedgehog ass when his entire body went numb and limp.  He fell to floor as stars danced around the demon's vision.  He blinked twice as control came back to first his head, then the rest of his body.  Folding his wings in close, Bas rolled to the side while bringing himself back to his feet.  He unleashed a roar of fury as his vision locked on the over-weight "gerbil".  A very toothy and sadistic smile appeared on his face as said in an almost snarl, "a very cheap shot, a very cheap shot indeed..."

The demon paused as his voiced turned almost sing-song in tone... (well, as sing-song as one can imagine Bas getting) "this reminds me of a little story...
There once was a woman who was quite begat.
She had three babies named Nat, Pat, and Tat.
She said it was fun in the breeding,
but found it was hell in the feeding,
when she saw there was no tit for Tat."

While speaking the demon had prepared a series of spells and collected them, in quick succession the demon side-stepped into a clear view of Witt, fired a trio of 'long distance punches', then created a shield of his own as he stalked towards Witt... "Lets see how you like things... Tit for tat..." ending with a very evil sounding chuckle.

One might notice Baseel's hand still shimmering, if they could see anything at all.

[Arroyo Milori]

Arroyo frowned a bit more when Citrine continued to ignore him. His ears were barely listening to the rules of the fight club. Then a few seconds later, he had an idea. "I need to fight someone for her to notice me. Someone strong...someone...uncanny." His eyes wandered around the club right from the stool he was sitting at. "But...who can I choose? More importantly...who would accept?" His eyes crept back to the barkeep after he finished explaining the rules of the ring. "Mr. Barkeep...you seem kind of bored...perhaps...you would like to engage in a fight with me?" He smiled a bit. Though he doesn't know how strong he is but he knows for sure that Boog doesn't know about his abilities.

[Boog]

Boog froze, hearing the newcomer's challenge. He turned his head slowly, the rest of his body keeping perfectly still, and his grin widened.
"Sure."
Had Arryo thought that or heard it? The man's voice had a different quality, abruptly. Rich and thick and oily and chemical like melted butter and gasoline.
"Any particular rules?"

--

Meanwhile, in the fake bar, Fake Marya was doing pretty good. While it wasn't a spot-on imitation of the original, a bloodthirsty, constantly drunk maniac wasn't too far off. She was throwing furniture, smashing faces...
... Was that a shiny thing?
The act was reflex. The Marya doppelganger whirled around and aimed a kick at the fake Baseel's hand.

[Arroyo Milori]

Arroyo went into shock in the voice's response. 'Was that...him?' He then cleared his throat and stared at Boog. "The condition? hm..." He scooted back in his seat, standing up, stroking his chin. "Aright, how about we add random weather effects into our fight? You know? Fog, Sandstorm, Heatwave, ect. If that's possible other than that..." He leaned back against the bar, looking at the ring. "I can't think of anythign else I would agree or disagree to."

[Dekari]

Dekari yawned as he approached the bar with his arms reaching high above his head as he stretched.  "Damn, guess I dozed off there for a bit.  Don't worry, I heard the rules though...oh."  He paused as he looked back and forth between the barkeeper and Arroyo.  "I guess you're about to be otherwise occupied.  I'll just leave this here for you then."  Dekari said to the barkeeper placing a thumb sized blood red crystal on the counter and collecting his drinks.

On his way back to his table Dekari stopped for a moment.  "Oh, I did have one question though.  You do serve food here, right?  I just assumed you did when I asked for that steak.  But, whatever, no rush."

[SpottedKitty]

Fake-Andrace blinked and turned her head a little from side to side as she stalked forward. Was the darkness beginning to ease up a little? Yes, she could see the dim outlines of an overturned table to her left, and she could see as well as hear and scent the sprawled figure of a loser in one of the other fights, moaning quietly to her right with ragged ears and a kinked tail. And up ahead... she wasn't positive about the distance, but the Demon should be right in front of her. She grabbed a chair as she passed by it, careful not to lean too far and aggravate her twinging ribs. A standing figure loomed out of the murk. The lioness swung the chair back, brought her pace up to a slow but stealthy run, and — just as she got close enough to see more clearly and brought the chair crashing down in an overhead swipe, she wondered when the canine Demon had become so much shorter... and wider... and spikier... Oh dear. How sad. Never mind.

Not far away, Despina had also begun to notice the darkness lifting. She still couldn't see Witt, but there was a scent somewhere ahead that might be his. Suddenly her whiskers tingled as she sensed a couple of spells — nothing major, but still packing a wallop — zip past her ears. She started to turn, and staggered with a breathless croak when a third spell hammered into her shoulder. The impact spun her round, but she just managed to keep both her footing and her grip on her staff.

What th' hell now? she thought as she gathered her scattered wits. Was that th' winged guy who banged int' me? The shoulderblade didn't feel broken, but her arm was numb, and her grip was badly weakened. A vague shape could just be seen ahead now, and it did appear to have wings. Best not leave an enemy, especially a magically dangerous one, at her back while she dealt with Witt. The lioness lunged forward with a bloodthirsty roar of pure fury, her free hand moving through several quick gestures. The enormous fist of flame that erupted from her outstretched arm headed straight for the shadowy figure. The fire gave off no heat: it was an illusion. The concussion spell wrapped up in it, though, was quite real, and should put whoever-it-was down for the count.

Or possibly more than one whoever: the last thing Despina saw before the illusory fist blocked her view was a second shadowy figure, small, thin and fast-moving, leaping in to attack.

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

Witt had thrown the big ugly fellow out of the way, and was looking for something - or someone - else to use on the wet pussy, before she parted the smoke, or whatever it was, and got back into grips with him.

He noticed the darkness parting, which was both good news - in that now he could see what he was grabbing - and bad news - in that now, she could see it coming.

He'd just managed to find an only slightly bent bar stool, and snagged it, when the big bruiser started quoting a poem at him. Witt paused, and smiled beatifically.

He'd barely opened his mouth to respond, with evenly rhyming prose, and criticising the rhyme, scansion, and meter of the opposing attempt at a limerick, when he was cut short - as it were - by the interruption of a chair, applied with force to the back of his head. He collapsed like a tree being felled, hitting the floor with a thump. The chair, impaled on his spines, then mysteriously splintered in two places, as it if had been hit by someone who wasn't there. He pulled himself back up to his feet, then turned to look at his attacker, raising one eyebrow quizzically. He then reached up, grasped the remains of the chair that was still attached to his spines, and, with a grunt, pulled it loose.

"Not only can't ya take a drink, you're a damn poor shot. Here, let me fucking show ya."

He hefted the shattered remains, and turned his back on Fake-Andrace, as if he were going to throw the pieces in the direction the phantom punches had come from. He bent down, snagged the bent barstool, and swept it backwards at knee height, followed by a hammering fist aimed at about the height someone would be if they'd jumped over the stool, with enough force to throw them clear of the area. On the backswing, the stool left his grip and bulleted across the space towards Despina, whistling through the air.

[Lisky]

In the fake bar, Baseel watched as a massive fiery fist headed his way through the murky fog.  The girl was talented, he had to give her that.  However, he brought his shield up into the flaming fist, and he watched in a mildly mesmerized state as the shield did it's job perfectly.  However, the concussion spell cracked Bas's.  He then watched as the remnants of energy shattered his protective bubble.

He heard a skitter, and his attention was drawn to his side, he caught a glimpse of fur, and, without the protective shield, raised what protection he had, his left arm, into the way of the oncoming kick.  It felt like a hammer blow, as he spun into the kick, turning a full 360 degrees.  Near the end, he extended an arm, aiming a back-fist strike towards the mongoose girl's face.  Whether the blow struck was disregarded by Bas, the movements had placed his right foot backward, and his right fist, still sparkling faintly with the glossy black mist, in a cocked position.

To Bas movements seemed to slow down as he stepped forward, towards Marya.  His whole body seemed to tighten as put the entirety of his momentum behind the savage punch.  His arm flew straight towards the mongoose's midsection.  Bas released the spell he'd be saving.  Earlier than he'd like, but it'd do.  The concussion spell multiplied the force by several times what even his enhanced demonic strength could muster, and, as an added bonus a wide area push spell to make sure the recipient was HIS problem no longer.

[Sunblink]

...Keaton:
As unprofessional as her malleability was, Keaton fell for Basilisk's compliments hook, line, and sinker. Without Xianxi protectively shadowing her, she allowed an uninhibited grin to fluidly slide onto her features. An equally lazy glaze lingered behind the crimson color of her eyes. Keaton tried to feign indifference, but the praise made all the difference in the receptiveness of her behavior. Not once did she believe the demon had lecherous intentions, and if she did acknowledge the possibility she probably would have rejected it under the impression that she could handle his advances.

Keaton laughed loudly; more of a boisterous sound than a maniacal one. The sound wasn't necessarily unsettling, fortunately. No one had expressed such interest in her name prior to this conversation. She found the fixation amusing given the lack of importance it held in her mind. It was just a sobriquet meant to keep her identity ambiguous in the competitive Slayers community.

"Well aren't you a gentleman!" Keaton exclaimed playfully, "Don't spoil me with too many compliments.

"After all the focus you've put on my name, I'm almost disappointed to tell you that's not my real name."

Keaton flashed Basilisk a grin that did not seem apologetic in the slightest. In actuality, she was slightly amused by the prospect of deflating his expectations. Just because Keaton liked Basilisk didn't mean she was lenient in her merciless sadism. However, her attention shifted seamlessly from the topic of her name to interviewing Basilisk about whatever she pleased. She wasn't sure where to start but that was only a momentary concern.

"Hm. Well, let's start with the basics," that grin didn't falter. "Where're you from? This should be interesting."

---

...Xianxi:

Xianxi obediently remained at a convenient distance, at first bristling with apprehension over Basilisk's presence and uncomfortable proximity to his mistress, but relaxing when the situation no longer necessitated such vigilance. His face remained a neutral, blank mask. If Xianxi had any lingering misgivings regarding Keaton's improving opinion of Basilisk, he certainly wasn't in a position to express such irritation. Regardless, he dismissed his animosity and floated away from the two, keeping his ears perked in case Keaton was to issue a command.

[Cogidubnus]

The jackal kept a neutral expression as Ed spoke, silent except when he answered the incubus's questions. He seemed vaguely disinterested in the newcomer, not even moving from his position in the corner to lean forward and look at him, instead staring at the circles and watching the fights.

"Melanthious." he said. "And what sort of wager did you have in mind?"

[Lisky]

In the real Bar, Ed eyed the jackal as he spoke while watching the fight.  He smirked as he said, "Your scythe... it's quite beautiful... i'd really like to more about it... If i win, you tell me about your fancy grass cutter... you win, well, i can either owe you a favor... or, i can do my best to answer some questions you might have..."

He nodded towards the robes, "... seems rather formal ware for what seems to be a fight club." he then grinned toothily at Laertes.

**********

In the quite and private corner, Basilisk's lean towards Keaton grew slightly more pronounced as she smiled lazily, the slight twinkle in her lazy gaze furthered the demon's intrigue and general liking of the girl.  Then she laughed, rather louder and more boisterous then he'd expected.  Here she was, over a foot shorter than he, and something caught her as funny.  She commented on him being a gentleman, and it brought his lazy grin, into something less of amusement and more of joy.  Then she dropped a pin in the demon's currently inflated ego.  His grin turned more neutral as her's turned devious.

While he was mildly disappointed in the use of a nickname, he manged to keep his expression from slipping into disappointment and, as she shifted topics on the fly, Bas grew more relaxed, and his lazy grin returned.  He replied, "I'm the third son of Duke Leofric Wolkshammar, ruler of the Wolkshammar Dukedom, it's a decent area of land, about 500 square miles, on the continent of Heltsu.  Mostly beautiful country-side, and a 50 mile stretch of coastline that all fall under my family's control..."  he paused as he considered the implications of the question... "If you'd like a full history lesson, i could go on for hours..."

he breathed deeply and continued, "...but, i think it might bore you... My family controls the land under about 80,000 beings and creatures, most of which are in the city of Wolksheem which is the capitol and point of ruling for the dukedom.  The city itself is a massive feat of brute force and magic.  The castle-keep itself overlooks the ocean and is built on a cliff, some 500 feet above a near vertical drop.  Roughly a mile to the south, there is a natural bay which is an excellent location for trade... everything in-between those two points has been turned, over the centuries, into a bustling city, and  in that city is where i grew up..."

he paused again, judging her reaction to his little nostalgic trip.  "after 'growing up', i was trained at an arcane university for over a century... and, after graduation, I wandered around for a bit..."

After the pause, Bas quickly shifted rather seamlessly into his own question, "So, that's a five minute briefing on The Basilisk... But what about yourself?  anything truly outstanding?"  His own grin turned slightly devious as he noticed a few things about his 'friend' he'd passed over during his quick once-over of Keaton.

[Dekari]

When Dekari got back to his table, he set his drinks down and went into one of the pockets of his combat vest that was hanging on the back of his chair.  He pulled out a switchblade, opened it, and stabbed it into the table.  Before sitting down he called out in the direction of the bar.  "I hope you don't mind if I bleed on your table a bit, but I'm running a little short on time.  Don't worry, I'll clean it up when I'm done."

Sitting down, Dekari rolled up his left sleeve and rested his arm on the table with his palm up.  He then grabbed one of the shot glasses and downed the drink without as much as a flinch as he closed his eyes.  "One to steady the nerves."  He said under his breath as he exhaled.

When he opened his eyes they were glowing blood red as he focused on the palm of his left hand.  The muscles in his arm tensed slightly.  After a few moments many small black dots began to appear over his exposed fur and the black that veined out from the sides of his eyes seemed to break up.  Slowly all the black on his fur started to move towards his left side, down his arm, and onto his hand until his entire hand was completely black.  He grit his teeth as the black seemed to sink into his hand causing a two inch by two inch area of his palm to rise up slightly.  Once all the black was gone, he closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief.

Upon opening his eyes again they had returned to their original blue on white, as they were when he first entered the bar.  He grabbed the second shot glass and pored the drink on the base of his left hand along one of the edges of the raised area.  "One to clean the incision."  He said under his breath as he set the glass down and grabbed the switchblade.  With the skill of a seasoned surgeon, he cut his hand open along the edge of the raised area at the base of his hand and set the knife down on the table.  Out of his hand he pulled a two inch by two inch by half inch, pristine cut, solid black crystal.  He set the blood covered crystal on top of the knife, grabbed the third shot glass, and pored the drink over the wound.  "One to heal the incision."  He said under his breath as his eyes flashed over red and the wound slowly closed and healed.  He rolled his sleeve down, grabbed the forth shot glass and downed the drink again without as much as a flinch.  "And finally, one to ease the mind."

[Stygian]

He had been briefly surprised and contemplative at Cogidubnus' behavior and the large blackguard's sudden recovery, and distantly amused at the almost garishly comical proceedings in the fight still taking place in the illusory bar, but no such distractions had been able to crowd out Stygian's introspections. Another glass, and he sighed. Everywhere around, people were busying themselves. The activity grated on his nerves, painfully prickling his thoughts and speeding his progress along surly disappointment into slightly inebriated coldness. But it was for more of a reason than one might have thought. It was not only the elf who had received a piece of his perspective. To establish sympathy, the process could not be so one-sided. And what he had learned, along with years of personal experience, sent him shooting straight into callous, insightful disdain.
   'Fucking child...' he muttered to himself, then downed a final swig, and smacked the glass down on the countertop. He cast his attention back toward Ed and the robed jackal anthromorph whose name he couldn't recall at the mention of clothing, briefly wondering why such a great number of the patrons seemed to be either directly 'humanized' animals or at least covered in fur. That brought his thoughts back to the little luridly colored thing that he had abused before; what had happened with her? Should he see whether if she was up for a fight? Between her odd powers and venomous barbs, perhaps she would be a better match.
   He decided against it. What he needed now was to do something productive. But he made a mental note of it, and of making sure that whatever idea Sal had gotten into her motherboard failed as well. And something else to distract him. If he had no joy of his own, perhaps he could steal some of what was floating around the place. Yes, floating...
   Off to the side of Keaton's and Basilisk's conversation, Xianxi suddenly felt a... well, a tug, though the incorporate warp entity's perception of the thing was a bit more particular. It was as though the gravity that the little creature didn't usually experience had suddenly shifted, and now forced itself upon it, causing Xianxi itself to plunge sideways through the air towards the bar, against both its will and protestations. It went hurtling toward Stygian's shoulder.
   'I'd like to beat the shit out of something,' he said, with complete honesty, looking back to Boog. 'See if you can find something in that book of yours for me, and be ready to do me a favor. Now...' Hand darting out and plucking Xianxi from the air by the tail, he turned his attention to the little thing as it glowed like an inverted blacklight, squirming. He grinned disconcertingly.
   'Hey there, li'l buddy. Tell me; do you know how to work a digicorder?'

[Boog]

"Your steak's cooking now, clean up when you're done bleeding on my stuff." Boog threw over his shoulder at Dekari abstentmindedly before turning back to another prior conversation.
"Oh, and Stygian..." He grinned at the man, "In answer to your earlier question, anything not in violation of my professional ethics. Apart from that... You've seen what I can arrange before. Use your imagination. As for the book, I don't choose who you fight. Challenge it when the girl's done with the damn thing and hope it doesn't throw out something that can eat you." And finally, his attention turned back to Arryo.
"Sounds fine. Lead the way." The Boogeyman stood up with a crackling noise as his back straightened out and, with a sweeping bow, gestured to an empty circle outside.

--

In the fake bar, something like a small explosion hammered into Marya. Barely covering her stomach with her arms in time (taking the blow to the head just fine; her head was good for that) she blasted backwards, towards what looked like a beardless dwarf. Then again, between the speed she was moving at and the mild concussion, she could be wrong. Regardless.
"Oi! Heads up!"

[SpottedKitty]

Fake-Andrace raised an eyebrow and perked her ears up when she noticed how quickly Witt, now that she'd recognised him, recovered from her attack. This guy was tough! She had a fairly good idea what he was about to do with the stool: she would have done the same. The moment the hedgehog started his swing backwards, she leaped straight up. Perhaps a little higher than Witt was expecting, as his follow-through punch... that she hadn't expected...  landed somewhat south of her solar plexus. She'd barely seen the punch coming, but hadn't been able to do a thing to avoid it in mid-air. The lioness grunted, folded up around his fist and flew backwards, her eyes bulging and her lungs half-paralysed. She crashed to the ground several yards away, tumbled untidily, and lay in a curled-up heap, concentrating on starting up her breathing again.

On the other side of Witt, Despina scowled when she realised what had happened to her attack spell. Her opponent's shield — now there was enough light she could see he was a canine Demon of some kind — had been very good, in fact she hadn't even noticed it until her attack had brought it down. The important thing, though, was that it was down. She grinned and was just about to prepare another spell when the Demon threw a mongoose at her. The fading darkness had let her see the woman attack in a typically mustelid style... and get smacked down, again in a typically mustelid style.

Despina crouched to let the stunned mongoose sail over her head, then at a faint noise from behind her she suddenly dropped and hugged the floor with a soggy squelch. The dented barstool ruffled the bare fur up her back and whacked her on the side of the head — fortunately only a glancing blow — as it tumbled across the room. The lioness blinked and lurched to her feet, yowling a hideously blasphemous oath her mother had taught her for special occasions like this. Her sisters Irene and Andrace kept reminding her about showing her tail to an opponent who might still be able to put up a fight. She raised one hand with a clutching gesture, screaming a series of barely pronouncable words, and flicked her arm forward. A gust of wind blew towards her clenched fist from all directions, then slammed out towards the Demon with the force of a hurricane crushed down into a space barely a yard across.

Hopefully that would buy her enough time to deal with Witt. "Right, now for you, Mister Prickles," the lioness snarled, her ears laid back and her tail lashing from side to side, as she turned back towards the hedgehog. Her already bad mood was now even worse: her head wasn't bleeding, but she still saw flashes of light in front of her eyes. She'd have time to heal it properly later. Right now, that hedgehog was going down — hard. Beginning with an unsteady stagger, she charged forward, screaming her loudest roar and swinging her staff two-handed, like a berserk hockey player winding up to smack the ball right through the goal... and the goalkeeper.

[Arroyo Milori]

Arroyo knew something felt odd about the barkeep. Perhaps he found someone on skill level or something stronger than that. Arroyo grabbed hold of his sword which was curled around his waist, like a second belt. The blade curled back into it's orginal form as Arroyo walks towards the battle ground for his first fight.

He seem calmed as he stepped into the ring, though he didn't know what to expect. He hopes the setting of this engagement would be to his liking, and can take advantage of. "Let the fun begin." He growled, giving his sword a swing in the air and letting it smash into the ground.

[Angel]

Sylvie shook her head just a little when she found out Sal had been listening, trying to indicate she wasn't bothered. As long as he didn't come back in and see her like this, she would be okay. At the mention of her feeling guilty, though, she looked a little confused, and looked up into Sahlena's eye.

"There is nobody else," she said almost incredulously. "I've barely had time to meet people who were a different species from me, let alone form any connection deeper than friendship." The realization that she'd seemed guilty at all caused her brow to furrow for a moment, but it soon smoothed out as she thought over the other things Sal had told her and sighed.

"I don't know. I know pursuing anything at this point would be a bad idea, and frankly, I don't want to talk to him for a while if I can help it. But I hoped, at least...if I just did things right, I'd get a friend, or something better, out of him, and be able to return it. He's acted like an ass, and I know he thinks the same of me, but I can't shake that stupid feeling that somehow, all of this could have gone so much better if I hadn't fucked up just one thing. I don't know if it's fear, or a misreading of feelings, but...well, whatever it is I did that worsened the way he feels, I wish I could have done it over. Then maybe, both of us could have avoided this damned pain."

She looked away for a while, her eyes out of focus and her mind adrift. Then she breathed, picked up her things, and stood.

"I think I'll just go upstairs and sleep for a while. Thanks for listening," she told the android, walking slowly out of the room and to the stairs. She didn't need sleep in this environment, because it was never nighttime. But right now, all she wanted was some time for thought. Quiet, uninterrupted, unaffected thought.

---

Dani halted as once again, Big Bad changed places. She hissed "screw it" between her teeth and dropped to the ground, running low and staying close to buildings and walls. Attacking him head-on would be the best way to do this, but he was too freaking fast. And there was only one thing she could do that just might, somehow, get him closer. There was no guarantee, of course, but any chance was better than none.

"My, what sharp eyes you have," she called to the concept. "Yes, yes. We're just normal people, mostly. But you should understand, I'm not a cop. I'm a guard. And as such, I have to have something that the cops don't to keep people like you where they belong. Thank the Chaos Beast and Wrenth for what they gave us for that..."

With that, she gave a lopsided smirk, and snapped a knuckle.

The ground beneath the houses immediately jolted up, startling everyone, including Dani, for a second. Then, the jolt was followed by strong, powerful shaking, and the Red gripped a beam next to her for dear life. The ground wasn't splitting open, but once again, Dani had the feeling that what she'd just caused was either very good, or very bad.

"FuUuUuuuUUUUuuCK!"

[Stygian]

The machine nodded, then sat straight once more. She tilted her head a bit at Sylvie's sigh and sudden ease, which contrasted the sadness the elf had felt a moment ago a bit jarringly, but understood the woman's words, and detected no deception in them. Then, the elf's next words sent her a bit off balance, and sparked a few questions.
  ':if you say you've "fucked up", then that's at least some guilt you've got there. you said "something better"? what did you mean by th-,' the machine started. But Sylvie had already risen to her feet. Sliding off the side of the bed, the machine looked at the elf's back, as Sylvie dismissed her. The single large lens in Sahlena's center eye blinked.
  ':hey! you don't even want to...?' the android scraped, but the elf ignored her. ':you're being a jacka-!'
  The infirmary door clicked shut, and Sahlena stood stock still for several seconds, merely perplexed. Theoretically it was possible, of course, that where the elf came from that sort of departure was considered all in good form, but the rest of the woman's behavior had seemed so close to human that the machine could not make herself believe that the elf did not know she was being rude.
  ':some people...' she hummed to herself, folding her arms under her chest plate. ':what, you think he's just going to wait  for you?' she shouted suddenly at the door, her voice filled with nasty amusement. ':you think it's fair that he should just accept your conditions, drop things and stay put until you come calling? you don't even know what he wants ! haha!'
  The machine made a little chuckling sound, and shook her head. The outburst had been a garishly human gesture of emotion, but she believed that it was only fitting considering the circumstances. She could see five readily probable outcomes from the current situation already, and not one of them a beneficial one or even something that might mitigate the almost ridiculously bad turn things had taken.
  She's as much as said to him that she's alright with fooling around and being with just about anyone but him. And she wonders why he's mad? Had she been able to, the machine would have sneered. And considering that she's already admitted emotions for him, either he'll see her as a self-deluding liar and too immature and difficult to put up with, or as a dangerously selfish and self-convenient bitch in denial. Unfolding her arms and flexing her fingers, Sahlena stuck her hands in her pockets and paced off back toward the bar. No, I don't think I'll have to worry about her ever again...

- -

Snorting, Stygian muttered something about what he thought the Boogeyman could eat, then felt a growling, squirming sensation from somewhere right below his rib cage. Grimacing, he cast a look at the fight between Dani and the streak of misery that the book had conjured up, angry impatience not quite burning away the sensation of hunger. He opened his mouth, but Boog was already leaving on the tail of one of the near-freshly arrived patrons, and he shut it with a snap of teeth.
  'Am I going to put it into the conditions of a challenge? "We fight until either gets tired; the winner gets a subway sandwich"?' he commented, reaching behind the bar. There had to be something. There was always that certain something, and not even a bar like the Circle could avoid certain universal rules of causality. He'd filch a drink or two, and then... Ah, there it was.
  Snapping open the packet of peanuts, Stygian grumbled, and then poured himself a fairly mild Screwdriver. His eyes continued their search among the mess behind the counter, searching for anything that might be dextrose, or even powdered sugar.

[Lisky]

In the recreation of the bar, fake-Bas had a devious and toothy grin while the mongoose lass sailed through the air above the bar.  He started stalking towards the pointy fellow again when he saw the lioness blocking his path.  She was saying something he couldn't quite recall, then, hearing a small piece of the arcane phrase, his claws bolted out on both hands and feet as he dug them into the bar and floorboards.  Moments later, Despina gestured towards Bas with her fist.

The winds struck like a hammer, ripping and tearing at anything not held down.  The demon was strong, but his purchase began to fail.  He weighed too little, and had far too much surface area to not be blown away. As his arm digging into the bar lost grip, his opposite wing flared out as a natural reaction, this spun the demon off towards the side and onto the broken remains of a table some had landed on earlier.

Bas started wheezing as the wind was knocked out of him, he half rolled, half collapsed into a potion that brought him to his forearms and shins.  He stayed in this almost fetal position for a few moments while his mind was trying to figure out what the was going on, and why everything seemingly hurt.  He rolled onto his back and groaned as his wings sent a fresh surge of agony to his mind.  He slowly got to a crouch, then stood up... the fog had faded considerably, and as Bas began trying to get his bearings again, he noticed a strikingly familiar face who seemed to be in about as bad a shape as himself.

Bas swaggered and staggered towards Andrace, it wasn't an issue of exhaustion that had him moving so sloppily, it was the feeling of pain his muscles decided to give in protest, with every step he took.  The pain was slowly easing, but he wasn't in the best shape.  Not by a long shot.

[Cogidubnus]

 Laertes turned, fixing the black-cloaked creature with a frosty stare. He stood. "I didn't feel like black...what is that, felt? Very tasteful." he took in a breath, and looked down at him. He paused for a moment, golden eyes starting intently at him.
He smiled a small smile.

"I accept your challenge and terms." he said, stepping around Ed and towards the door. "We shall begin at your leisure, sir."

He passed through the door and crossed the distance to the first open circle, pausing just before stepping over the magical threshold as if to think. Another small smile crossed his face.
"Summer's teeth are small and bright, but winter has a chilling bite..." he whispered sing-song under his breath, and began to chant something. A pale blue glow enveloped him, and he stepped over the threshold.

The battlefield expanded just slight, enough room to throw a ball across from end to end, and the sky above clouded over. Snow began to fall, slowly at first, and then with greater and greater speed, a wind picking up and slinging the wet particles across the arena. Drifts formed unnaturally fast, and stone statues, broken and frosted over rose from the white mounds. An Angel stood on one, and a Devil on another, and on one stood Death, his hand raised in benediction, an hourglass hung on his belt, and a scythe balanced in his other skeletal digits.

[Lisky]

Ed just smiled politely as Laertes led the way to the ring.  The other man had seemingly choose the battlefield where Edaric's clothing would stand out the most.  The incubus snickered slightly at the thought.  He grabbed the small bronze latch that held the cloth over his shoulders and made an overly dramatic flourish as he removed the garment.

The black cloth sailed elegantly away, and as it passed between Ed and Laertes, the incubus added a little more shock value as most of his upper body was concealed.  A pair of massive wings formed from his back, the tips just penetrating the snow around his wrapped feet.  Although Laertes couldn't see Ed's feet, for they were below the snow-line, Ed's toes were exposed, but the majority of his feet are covered by rolls of cloth.  A smaller pair of wings sprouted from the feline's head, all the feline seemed to be wearing on his upper body appeared to be a lightweight vest, most likely some type of fine cotton given it's appearance.

The cloak started to pile itself on the ground in a messy pile, and, as it collapsed, the color seemed to be drained from Ed's features as his orange and black suddenly became a pure white that matched the snow.  Brilliant green eyes stared back at Laertes, "Is it a habit to fight with strangers, my crimson clad friend, or were you expecting something different?"

Long tentacles formed from Ed's wings, half-burying themselves in the snow who's color they matched.  Keeping his eyes fixed on the Jackal, Ed's hands seemed to shimmer with a blackness, as if a false shadow were playing off some invisible object above the feline's hand.  The shimmering blackness dissipated, and floated to the surface of the snow, exposing his full 6' frame.  He stalked off towards Laretes at an angle, about 45 degrees to the Jackal's left, the solid green eyes danced through the heavy snow as Ed seemed more to bounce than stalk, now that he was truly ready.

[Cogidubnus]

 Laertes didn't respond to the Cubi, and after the incubus drained all the color from his body, didn't even bother to keep track of his location. He raised a hand.
With a crack, large, black wings appeared behind the jackal, fully extended. A single black feather spun the in wind before being blown away and out of sight.

"For God will bring every deed into judgment, including every hidden thing, whether it is good or evil." Laertes said, giving a great beat of his wings. He rose from the ground, and another beat brought him yet higher. He held his scythe across his chest, the implement resting in his hands.
He began to sing. Strange, echoing notes in the waste. The Jackal had a lovely voice, and Ed could see his hands moving, weaving magic.

He chanted, and a golden, glowing light seemed to cover the Jackal, like molten gold. His eyes flashed.

As he rose, he lowered a hand towards the ground, and whispered. An aura of blue enveloped around him, replacing the golden liquid and flickering on the jackals form. Something groaned deeply, like a great gate opening, or a massive tree shifting its weight.
The temperature, already icy, began to fall more. The wind died down slightly as the temperature dropped, and frost crept up the stone statues, slowly and stealthily.

The Jackal seemed unperturbed by this - indeed, the wind barely even seemed to move his cloak. There was no barometer or thermometer to tell the temperature, or how much it might drop, nor any tree for frost to break the branches of, but if there were, some plant life or some pool of water, the tree would have cracked as its sap froze, and the lake would have hardened solid. It was rapidly approaching a very dangerously chilling cold - unearthly cold, the breath of the grave. As cold as the touch of death.

He stopped beating his wings, a good twenty feet above the snow. He did not fall, and rather, touched both wings above his head, hovering there, and slung his scythe low.

[Lisky]

The wind began getting chilly, and Ed compensated first by growing his fur thicker, and more dense.  It helped at first, but then the temperature continued to drop.  Ed scowled at the angel as the jackal took to the skies.  In response to the Jackal's movement, Ed raised his hand, fingers dancing.  If Laertes could see Ed's hand at all, he would notice the incubus spinning a shield spell, forming a protective bubble against a wide array of basic magical attacks and, more importantly, the chilling wind.

Ed's eye's narrowed at the defensive stance of the angelic jackal.  His hand shimmered, and the black false-shadows began dancing again,  Ed's hand moved fluidly in shallow arcs as he spoke an inaudible arcane phrase under the wind.  His hand suddenly stopped flickering, as his fist shout outward.  From the closed hand, a pair of needle thin black spears appeared, and headed towards the chest of the jackal, each trailing an effect similar to the false shadow that seemed to dance around Ed's hand just a few minutes earlier.  They traveled as if they'd be thrown, however, they didn't seem to loose speed, or arc from gravity with their flight.  

As the pair of bolts left his hand, Ed seemed to spin like a swordsman, building momentum... however, it wasn't a sword he was wielding.  snow seemed to explode from 4 sections of the arena as tentacles with mohawk-headed draconian heads lunged towards the angel.  Ed lost his focus, and one of the magical bolts exploded in mid-flight, creating a screen of shimmering mist for a few seconds.

The heads of the dragons seemed to fold in on themselves as the tentacles got close, razor sharp blades formed in their place, seeming to run the top 10 feet of each tentacle.  Two came from the jackal's left and two from his right.  Ed choose to fight quick, fast, vicious...

[Cogidubnus]

 The Jackal's song changed, the notes warping, and he gave a great beat of his wings. Somehow, there was a slight part in the clouds, and for a brief moment a sliver of light caressed his form. That same molten gold liquid began to cover him again, flowing down from his head like anointing oil.
It reached his arms.

He rose, and extended his hands. The scythe hovered in midair, unattended.

The bolts of darkness struck him, but he was not cut. As if diving into an ocean, the darkness was swallowed by the golden light as the priest chanted, his song haunting across the waste of snow.
And then fired the bolts back at the Cubi - well hidden though he was, the firing of the bolts had given Laertes a good idea as to where he was.

"You are my lamp, O Lord; He turns the darkness into light." Laertes said under his breath, looking down at the snow. He made a gesture, and like a puppet on a string the scythe responded, spinning in a tight circle around him. The tentacles, tipped with a razor-sharp edges, were very close now.
Laertes covered his face, and the golden liquid now dripped from his feat, the condensed power of holy magic enveloping him.

The scythe spun, not cutting but deflecting two of the tentacles, and the third one the Jackal managed to slip past, but the fourth caught the angel straight in the stomach.
And stopped. Laertes grabbed the sharp tentacle with his bare hands, and his melody reached a crescendo.

A mote of gold breifly moved, and exposed a piece of the Jackal's arm - the black from before replaced with the clear hardness of an angel's razor-sharp and hard skin. The tentacle hissed where it touched the gold liquid, and with a flourish he twisted himself around the tentacle, pulling hard.

"My eyes are on all their ways; they are not hidden from me, nor is their sin concealed from my eyes." he said, and continued to chant, grinning languidly.