The (thing that looked like a) man in the ragged tweed coat resisted the urge to squeal like a small child as the keys to the building behind him dropped into his hands.
"I'll admit, I need the vacation and the patrons need somebody to keep them from making problems for important people. You come well recommended; odd, for someone who must work for community service to be so well recommended by those who sentenced him to it. I expect to return to find the place intact and orderly."
"Don't worry sir, no problem with that sir, I'll guard it with my debatable existence sir!" The man(-like thing) continued bowing and scraping until the owner of the establishment had left. Still bowed, he tilted his black fishing hat back and peered over his glasses to be sure the other man(-esque entity) was really gone.
He was.
The (thing that looked like a) man grinned broadly. It was a good grin, large but proportional to the exaggerated caricature of a face. Light still glinted off of pearly, tombstone-shaped teeth as he proceeded.
First thing he did was enter. The place was dry, comfortable (if a bit dusty); the bar was fully stocked. The medical facilities were doubly so. All that was left was to place two books on the counter; one said myths, and it would redeem his debt to society. The other said stories, and it was why he owed society something.
The Boogeyman gave a laugh, starting off as a quiet chitter, gathering force to a gatling-gun cackle before finally culminating into a full blown, no restraint laugh that hurt the throat to hear it.
"The Honor Circle," He laughed, in a voice he knew would be heard across forever by anyone it concerned, "Is once again officially open for business!"
Slowly, clutching his aching gut, his laughter faded. The Boogeyman picked up a broom and got to work on the dust. His job really never ended.
A few hours later, a very odd-looking figure in a brown cloak walked up to the building. The hem-line of a dark green dress was barely visible below the hem of the cloak, which reached about five inches above her bare feet. The figure was tallish, slim and hooded, carrying a brown drawstring bag and a long staff with a painted carving of a lotus flower at the end.
She stopped a few feet away from the building's entrance, glancing around at the scenery. She didn't like being this far from a forest, but there were a few trees around. The closest one was a budding magnolia. Perfect.
The girl removed her hood. Any onlookers would have gasped to see her vibrant light green skin, her pointed ears, and her long grassy hair. Her yellow-green eyes focused on the magnolia as she raised her staff till it was parallel to the ground. She muttered a few words under her breath, eyes glowing. Within seconds, the magnolia was in full bloom, white-pink flowers blossoming open seemingly of their own will.
The elf smiled. "Well, Sylvie," she said to herself in a soft, mezzo soprano voice, "looks like you haven't lost your touch." With that, she walked into the building.
Inside the building was the standard pub found in places like this everywhere, with just a bit more class and a more recent sweeping. A pool table and some ancient looking arcade machines lurked toward the back of the establishment, huddling in the shadow of a staircase that ended not too far from the bar. It was obviously well stocked with substances both alcoholic and otherwise.
It appeared that someone had left a pile of rags at the counter. Or at least, it appeared that way until they moved. The Boogeyman stretched and yawned, awakened by the chime of the bell attached to the door. He adjusted his glasses and blinked, yellow-green eyes eventually focusing on the girl before him. His face took on a look of concentration as he sorted out what happened next. It's worth noting that, contrary to the universal laws of comedy, the windows start up noise in no way played in the background while he woke up. However, it all came back to him soon enough.
"Welcome!" In a quick motion he was on the other side of the bar and striding toward Sylvie, "Welcome to your local honor circle! We're hosting the greatest fights in this, the next or the previous worlds, and everybody can compete. We don't have anybody to challenge yet but please, make yourself at home!" He gestured to a seat at the bar, grinning in his usual fashion (madly). "Please, do be comfortable. Besides," his eyes rested on her staff, then on the book that said Stories. His grin broadened further, "Just because no other patrons have arrived yet, Madam, don't think we don't have anything for you."
The Boogeyman had barely finished his last sentence before the door opened again, admitting a somewhat tall figure into the coatroom, dressed in a black coat and carrying a briefcase. Practically sliding in on a fluid, perfectly silent stride, the man looked around behind round spectacles and under the tip of a fedora. When he entered the bar, he took the hat off, placing it on the counter. The case he set down by his polished, black leather shoes. They were sleek-topped, but with heavy and rough soles. It seemed curious that he could move so silently with that kind of shoes.
When released, that of the man's pallid blond hair that wasn't put up in a long ponytail fell into neat bangs over his face, framing his hard but most well-sculpted features, only accentuated by the scars that ran over his lips and cheek. Deep, stony gray eyes regarded the two people before him with an uncanny sharpness, before they finally fixed on the Boogeyman. And then his look, which had been one of acute and detached focus, turned into one of acute and dour boorishness.
The man's voice was deep, melodically accented and the slightest bit coarse as he spoke. It was the kind of voice that called attention, however silent. The kind of voice that stands out and is picked for documentaries and presentations because people find it pleasant to listen to.
'Hell and guano. Not you again.'
The Boogeyman's grin took on an edge of smugness, slowly changing to something akin to a smirk. "Speak of the devil and you get one of his wannabes. Yes, me again. Or rather," he raised a finger and grinned, slowly turning around as his grin fluidly converted to a smirk, "I couldn't be me again, since the very nature of the me you know would HAVE to change, based on what happened to it. The average person's personality does something similar. So, to conclude, the very nature of the statement, 'Not you again,' is either inherently flawed or extremely clever. Hello to you too, Styg." He walked back behind the bar, grinning. Things were getting entertaining already.
The man's eyebrows hopped upward once while he rolled his eyes and walked a bit nearer, pulling up a barstool. 'Inherently flawed or extremely clever? Consider that it's me, Boog,' he replied. 'And I'd actually say that's exactly the same kind of smartassery you always pull. Furthermore, unless it gets me a Jack on The Rocks faster, it is also insignificant.' He settled on top of the cushioned stool and shook his coat and took it off, laying it over the counter, revealing a short-sleeved shirt of a sort on the outside of a tight top that showed his hard build and long, muscular arms covered neatly in black wrappings. He tapped the counter with one black-gloved hand, then looked around.
'Is this it?' the man introduced as 'Styg' asked after a thorough examination, before his eyes settled on the green-hued lady beside him. 'Not that I'm complaining about this apparition of clorophyll comeliness, but...' he commented coolly.
Three men walked into a bar, two grouped on one side, and the third walking a little ways by himself.
The two were almost nothing alike. One, a mountainous man, could be heard walking from some distance away, attired in a full suit of pitch-black plate, the rough iron only broken by a golden salamander that decorated the front breastplate. Over his back was slung a spear, and a bitter black pipe was clutched in his teeth, the embers peeking over the bowl almost casting a glow on the man's rough, gunmetal-blued face. His teeth were startlingly white, and his eyes piercingly, icy blue. His face looked the sort of usually be decorated with a wide smile, but at the moment it was quite morose-looking. The other, a wolf by the looks of him, wore a suit of black and silver, a long coat coming down to his knees, and his head covered by a pair of sunglasses and a hat. A silver band decorated the fedora, from under which peeked silver hair, and at his hip was a long, curved blade, black all around except for the silver furniture that decorated it. The buttons on his coat were made of silver, and the same with the buttons at his wrist.
Both of them stood apart from their third companion, a red-coated Jackal by the look of him, using a long, wicked-black scythe as a walking stick. He seemed quite serene, despite the looks that the other two were giving him, and only stopped for a moment to brush the dirt from the road off his cream-colored pants and shirt. He smiled serenely as he walked, his hair jet-black, and fairly quickly all three of them reached the bar that rested amongst the myriad circles.
The Jackal entered first, at the insistence of the other two, and close behind him followed the wolf and the man. Taking just a moment to look around the place, the Jackal found himself a table to sit at, resting his large scythe on the floor and across himself, and giving the red-robed Angel a look the other two sat at a different table.
A bit of bluish smoke escaping from the black-armored man's lips, the blackguard turned an eye towards the strange-looking man in a tweed coat, and held his pipe in his hand for a moment to speak.
"Shit, I need a drink." the man said, letting one hand rest on the table in front of him. As he dragged his finger across it, he drew a black line, just a bit of smoke curling up from the charred wood.
Sylvie was suspcious when she first entered the bar. The construction style was a close match to that of an average Imperial elven-run pub: the same purpose as other pubs, but cleaner and infinitely classier. When she saw the dusty arcade games off to the side and the pile of rags behind the bar, she relaxed a little. Until the rags moved.
She jumped a little, but thankfully, it was just a person - at least, it looked like a person. From what she could tell in the brief time he spoke to her, she was going to like it here. His first words to her hadn't been We don't take your kind, What the hell?!, or her least favorite, Oh dear God it's green! No, he had welcomed her in and never said a word about her pigmentation.
When the human walked in, Sylvie scanned him once with her eyes. By human standards he was attractive, even if he was a little scary-looking. And he and the owner of this place apparently knew each other. Based on how they talked to each other, they were either old friends or respectful enemies. And once again, the newcomer didn't fixate on Sylvie. This was turning out better than she thought already.
The most unusual moment by far was when the newcomer - "Styg," the owner had called him - complimented her. Her cheeks flushed a slightly deeper shade of green; for her, this was blushing. She'd been hit on in jest many times before, by drunken and/or moronic people, but this was the first time anyone had ever sounded honest about such a comment. Her smart-ass remarks wouldn't work for this. For the first time in her life, she was genuinely flustered.
The arrival of three new people saved her. A gigantic, black-armored human, a jackal with a scythe, and a grey-haired, mysterious-looking wolf entered the bar. The elf relaxed visibly as she turned back to Styg. "I guess that answers your question." She took a seat about two spaces away from where the blond was sitting, pulled over the storybook and smiled shyly. "I'm Sylvie, by the way."
Boog had planned on quipping back with a 'flawed it is then,' but more patrons arrived. Finally, things were picking up. And here it was only his first day. This kept up and he'd be home free in no time. "No, but giving me some money for a Jack on the Rocks might speed up the process of getting you a Jack on the Rocks. And you!" Already he was over by the man in black armor, grinning like a loon, "You seem to be under a handful of misapprehensions. One, the name ain't shit. Two, the resident barkeep isn't too big on the whole 'consuming substances,' experience, so clarification as to WHAT you need to drink would probably minimize the chances of errors on that field. And three, we thank people for not vandalizing the establishment's property," His voice dropped an octave, from almost cartoonishly exaggerated city accent to something low and reverberating, "And, since we are so very grateful to you for not vandalizing our property, you must not have done so." The scorchmark on the table was gone. Had it ever been there?
"Also, Sylvie..." The Boogeyman turned to smile at the young woman as she pulled the book closer, "While any patron is free to read the books I've left on the counter, "I must say that that book, in particular, should probably only be read while one is standing in the circle outside. For safety reasons, you understand."
"You sure this is gonna work?", Rip asked his long time friend, Cortez as he suited up in his robes and fashioned on his gauntlets and other gear. Cortez then replied casually, "Yeah teleportation spells aren't usually that big of a deal, the worst that can happen is that some sort of temporal breach will send you off to god knows where."
Rip stared blankly at Cortez for a few seconds, then blinked. "How often does that happen?", he asked. Cortez laughed then replied as his hands started to glow blue, his eyes also lighting up, "Heh usually one in a million or something, it like never happens. Alright it's ready."
"Go for it.", Rip nodded as he prepared himself. He really didn't know what to expect upon arrival, but he couldn't afford to stay in Il'vale any longer. With a solemn nod Cortez unleashed rings of blue energy around Rip, moments later he was gone, sent across time and space. Right at the apex of the spell though Cortez felt a disturbance, he could hear faint words "Honor....Circle......open......business...".
"Nooo!", Cortez yelled as he was blown back from the disturbance. "Ahh geez....that's probably not good..."
Moments later, Rip came to lying on the ground outside of an ominous building, his head aching a little bit. He looked up at the sky, it looked so vastly different from what he was used too. Immediately as he got up he got the feeling that something was wrong with this place, and that this wasn't his original destination. It didn't bother him much though, what mattered was that he was no longer in Il'vale, and the farther away he was from there the better. Shrugging himself off he strolled up to the door of the establishment and made his way in, nodding at the other patrons and making his way over toward the bar, sitting down near the odd looking dryadish figure.
The man in black armor gave the Boogeyman a look, his soot-blackened face somewhat twisted in distaste. He puffed on his pipe again, listening to the strange little caretaker make each point in turn, and despite himself the blackguard began to grin, startlingly white teeth showing between his ash-blued lips. He took another puff of his dark pipe, and gave a short laugh. The caretaker turned to make a comment to the flower-girl, and without preamble the man leaned forward and slapped him on the back, a large grin coloring his features.
"Hah! You, I think I can like." he said, oblivious to the rolling eyes of the wolf across from him. "You, you don't strike me as shit either. I knew a shit once. Pronounced it 'Sha-theed', 'e did, but we all knew what his mother was really thinkin'." the man said loudly, still grinning as he leaned back in his chair, and took another puff from his blackened pipe.
"I'll take a shot of Amoco." he said, his manner garrulous, and he gave a leer at the wolf across the table from him. "And he'll be having whiskey, the lightweight."
The human muttered something and went through his pockets as the other three men walked in through the door. He took a long, hard look at them all, longest of all at the man in black armor and his spear, before he retracted his hands, holding some items. In one of his hands was what looked like a solid rectangular slip of metal with rounded edges and a single short strip of black seamlessly pushed into one end. In his other was a crumpled pair of fat bills and some heavy, strange-looking coins.
'You know I'm not fond of spending too much money in this sort of place, Boog. Disrupting economic and physical balances like that is not something that appeals to me,' the man said. 'I suppose you won't take this,' he continued, raising the slip of metal, 'so I'll put down what little cash I have on me.' He slapped one of the coins onto the counter and then waited patiently until he got his drink. Taking the lowball glass and having a long sip, he studied the newly arrived a while with solemn focus, before he made a slight snort and put the emptied glass down. He then turned for a view of the elf, or whatever he was, a bit away. And he kept his gaze on her for at least half a minute before he even spoke.
'So. Forgive me for being frank, but... A mammal-plant hybrid? The closest to that I've ever seen before, in China, were not nearly such pretty things,' he said, eyes steady on her.
Sylvie had been watching the scorched table with some nervousness until the mark disappeared. How had that happened? ... Had it even happened? She ignored it for the time being, obediently releasing the book when the owner told her it was best not to read it yet. How could a book be a danger...?
These thoughts went out of her mind when yet another patron entered the bar and sat next to her. He was a scorpion being of some kind, with a decidedly cool outfit and... large, feathery wings? This was getting more interesting by the minute. She nodded a greeting to him before turning to the noise over at the end of the bar. The black-haired armored fellow from before was chatting to the owner, loudly. Sylvie narrowed her eyes at him. He wasn't offending her, he was just a bit obnoxious. No. More than a bit. A lot. But that wasn't reason enough to judge him just yet.
She felt eyes on her, and turned her head back to the blond human. She was used to being stared at, but it wasn't out of shock or rudeness. It was curiosity, plain and simple. This was new to her. Then the human figured out her species almost right away - not too uncommon, but he was the first to be so polite about asking.
She blushed a little at his final comment before responding. "I wasn't aware there were different species of my kind. And everyone I know who has this...condition... looks the same. We're not quite hybrids; we're just elves infused with druidaic magic. Lord only knows how it started..." she trailed off, growing a little pensive before speaking up again. "How did you meet up with the creatures you mentioned?"
As soon as the coin hit the table, the Boogeyman reached across the bar and handed Stygian his drink. It would probably take the casual observer a moment to wonder how he managed to do this while being across the room. It was an Argument he'd used on the bar before the first patrons had arrived: If they're paying for the drink, it can only be assumed that they have the drink. If A then B.
He lurched under the impact of the black-armored man's hand though, wincing and responding with a grin of his own, "Sha-theed, eh? That's one weird as hell form of denial there, m'friend. Amoco and Whiskey, right. Pay what you think the drink is worth in coin. Just keep in mind," He downgraded the grin to a smirk, "I'll know if you're paying LESS than you think it's worth." With that, he strode across the room to fetch the other two drinks from behind the bar and to greet the latest arrival.
"Hello..." he looked at the individual before him contemplatively. Feathery wings, scorpion tail, robes... "Sir. Hello sir." He quickly continued onward before the other creature before him could point out if he'd gotten that wrong, "Welcome to the Honor Circle, an establishment of class, culture and prestige. While most establishments discourage certain aspects of class, culture, and prestige we encourage all forms, up to and including picking fights with the other patrons. So welcome, good sir, and make yourself at home. If you have any questions, ask the goofy-looking fellow in the awful jacket," He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
"Heh, sounds like my kind of place....a shot of whiskey sounds good.", Rip smirked as he lifted up the brow of his hat, meeting eyes with the....... very strange barkeep. Yeah, of all the expectations he had today, this was probably the last on the list. Even so, Rip had planned to hit the nearest bar in Tel'enduur if he actually made it there upon completion of the awry teleportation. So overall his objective had been completed, just not in familiar manner; that could undoubtibly present a problem if he didn't play his cards right.
For one thing, he felt he was drawing too much attention to himself what with the large wings coming out of his back. That's probably why he reflexively sat next to the green elf when he walked in since he figured that she'd draw more attention then he would by comparison, her vibrant skin tone was really eye catching. He relaxed himself a little bit and took off his hat, holding it on the counter infront of him.
"So.....Honor Circle is it? Not bad, definately better kept then some other circles I've had my hand in, although it looks like you guys opened a few minutes ago, heh. By the way....this place wouldn't happen to have rooms avaliable for the night or know a place that does would it?"
Giles seemed thoughtful for a moment. "Is that so?" he said, a cloud of smoke passing up over his face. "Some drinks are worth more than others. 'Fer example, the right sort a' Aqua Vitae, I'd kill for." The blackguard grinned, clenching his pipe in his teeth. "But if it's coin yer wantin', though..."
The blackguard gave the wolf a significant look, coughing somewhat, and with a glare of distaste the wolf produced two silver coins and placed them on the table. The Jackal, still sitting by himself, coughed lightly, and both the wolf and the blackguard turned their heads to glare at him. The Jackal, serene as ever, did not react, and with yet another glare of distaste the wolf reached into his jacket and produced a third silver coin, setting it down with the other two.
"The price of two –good- drinks." The wolf said, leaning on the table and putting his chin in his hand.
The wolf had his back to the door, but the other two were in a position to look at the newcomers – the Jackal especially seemed to brighten at the presence of the scorpion Angel, and mumbled something under his breath as he stepped inside. Both the Jackal and the blackguard were staring at the green elf, and the black-armored man in particular seemed a little intrigued by it.
"Eh...so...you're a'...flower-person, are you?" he said slowly, narrowing his eyes.
Intrigued was perhaps the wrong word – the Blackguard frowned somewhat, and continued to smoke from that bitterly black pipe.
How did I not notice the Jackal before? "Beds are upstairs, price is the same as the drinks," Boog replied to Rip cheerfully, getting out three glasses and pouring the whisky and amoco. Pocketing whatever currency Rip offered and leaving the drink, he was soon handing out the bevrages to the blackguard and the swordsman. They were worth the three silver coins. "Thanks much for your custom, gents. Enjoy your drinks." Pockets now cheerfully jingling in only the first hour or so of business, he took a look around. Ah, happy customers. Yes, this job was his community service, but anything worth doing was worth doing properly. Hence, he couldn't simply ignore the jackal with the scythe.
"And you sir? Anything you wanted, or are you here solely for the establishment's other attractions?" How did I not notice this man before? It was acually slightly worrying; he prided himself on being able to keep track of all variables, but the scythe-carrier had managed to evade his notice. It wasn't like he was inconspicuous...
The Jackal looked up at the keeper of the circle quietly, and with a pleasant air. He shook his head in a negative, his eyes smiling.
"No, no. I'm just here for the other attractions. Nothing for me, thanks." He said, shifting in his seat somewhat. "Although you are quite kind to ask."
The other two seemed quite put-off by the Jackal's presence, and after thanking the barkeep shortly they both took a drink, the blackguard nearly quaffing his in one gulp while the wolf simply sipped on his amber-hued liquid. A small drop fell from the darkly-armored man's glass, and an armored glove wiped it away quickly, but not quite fast enough to keep it from taking the varnish off that particular spot. He didn't seem to notice, instead merely sighing and relaxing in his chair.
Heavy black boots clapped against the flattened stone layering the earth, pounding like slow, rhythmic thunderclaps uncharacteristic of the diminutive frame they accentuated. Stride was confident, strong despite the figure's unimpressive height, complimentary of the muscular posture to her body and how effortlessly she seemed to scale the chitinous rocks plating in jagged peaks out of the fragile, grassy ground. Chocolaty irises were irreversibly squared forward, occasionally sliding back and forth, though not in an uneasy manner—simply one which was concentrated, searching without pause for the destination desired. For a moment the figure stopped, what looked like a cape flapping around her curvaceous waist.
Using the edge of her black-painted thumb, the figure lifting the brim of her fedora upright to reveal a distinctly canine face framed with slightly aerodynamic, dusty-blonde bangs. Atramentous streaks of sable cut and slashed in crescents and stripes along the curves and angles of her face, journeying in various shapes, patterns, and curly trails up and down her yellow-saffron-hued body. Saffron and sable, two colors of the spectrum, united in one frame garbed in drab hues of black. The cold conditions demanded that she came dressed protected from the temperature. Narrowing her eyes, the jackal watched closely, eyeing the way the air wavered and twisted subtly around the outlines of the rocks and brittle branches of grass. That was where it ended. She was there.
She looked back, and was unsurprised by what she saw. A wasteland environment, the only dab of life coloring its dried and arid features being a grassy oasis housing a comfortable-looking building. Despite how improbable its presence was, how absolutely and outrageously different it was from the mountainous terrain stretching behind the jackal, she felt oddly satisfied. A toothy rictus of a grin spread across her lips as she strode past the threshold of what separated the real from the unreal, rocks transforming into sand and the frigid coldness biting at her skin sweeping around into scathingly hot air.
Once at the door, the jackal cracked her knuckles outward, fingers laced together, and shrugged her jacket loose, slipping it around the unusual cape latched to her shoulders. Only when it flexed and stretched outward, displaying its individually membranous bodies did it become apparent that the cape wasn't a cape: it was a pair of leathery wings, and resting between them was a large and melanoid spiked club. Bereft of the jacket, the jackal pushed open the doors and entered, that proud and boisterous grin still livening her expression.
Feet still thumping their tattoo against the floor, Keaton walked across the floor, guiding herself past the impressive menagerie of characters collected within the establishment to the nearest bar, where she sat herself on a stool and steepled her fingers beneath her chin.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
The blond man put on a sharp-toothed smirk with just the slightest sardonic touch brought on by the idea of better knowing behind it. Magic. Should have figured. Well, at least I shouldn't have to worry about technical superiority then, he thought to himself.
'I didn't so much encounter them as watch them in tanks. Spliced animal hybrids are one thing, but at least those both belong to the same bloody kingdom, phylum and class of creature. Though I am sure that magic can bridge those gaps that science can't, the wonderful phenomenon...' he said, with a hint of resentment on the word magic. 'Still, I have to admire anything that can create such a neat and beautiful result of such... difficult stock.'
Rip nearly broke his shot glass as the saffron jackel entered through the doorway, not because of shock or anything but because he wasn't really paying attention to what he was doing, his eyes just fixated on her as she made her entrance. Her mere presense as she sat down.....for some reason.....felt so much more intense then the others, and to just sit so complacently with that grin across her face... Just looking at her, Rip felt a little bit intimidated; that grin....she probably knew it too.
Then, purely out of impulse, Rip raised his glass moments after she sat down, then announced, "Her drink's on me barkeep, heh."
He lowered his glass, and grinned slightly, as if trying to playfully counter hers, he knew she was probably out of his league. She probably wasn't here to waste herself away either.
.....What do you really want.....
Sylvie couldn't help but notice the tension about the three people who'd arrived together. Everyone else seemed perturbed by the jackal, but she was most curious about the wolf, because out of the three, he seemed the most detached from all that was going on here.
The blackguard's reaction to Sylvie was more or less what she expected, but she ignored it as she listened to Styg's response to her question. He seemed a little touchy on the subject of magic. She couldn't quite place why, but she nodded at him before watching yet another new arrival. The girl gave a small smile to the jackal woman, despite her nervousness about the manner of this new person. How could she lift such a heavy-looking weapon...?
"Thank goodness. I was afraid I'd be the only girl here," she greeted the canine newcomer.
Ordering up another drink, the blond man studied the new entree with a slight smirk, and tapped the counter to signal he wanted another drink. Already some interesting, if not too menacing-looking, people were starting to drop in. He could sense power and a sort of... presence already forming. But the question was still whether if anyone of them would be a good fight. He was well aware that he had a quite specialized manner of doing battle, one that often cut the fun short. And seeing as he was here purely out of self-interest he thought he should work around that a bit.
Boog smiled at the scythe carrier and nodded. A little politeness could be a rare thing in these times and in this company. Of course, another jackal arrived soon after. His work as host never done, he was already on his way over before the door finished swinging shut.
"Welcome to the Honor Circle, miss," he grinned cheerfully, setting out Stygian's drink, "You strike me as someone who'd be familiar with our rules on your first arrival, but a heads up just in case. Feel free to challenge any other patron to a duel in the circle outside; challenger chooses the who and when, possibly the why, challenged chooses the where and how. All services may be payed for in coin; whose can depend on aforementioned fight-picking. Or, if you're interested in our, aheh, 'special promotions' going on..." again, a glance at the book marked 'stories', "Feel free to request more information."
It was impossible for the reactions of the patrons to go unnoticed from Keaton's perspective. Instantly picking up the collective emotions radiating from the menagerie of otherdimensional outsiders and twisted travelers' assorted reactions, Keaton folded her arms contentedly behind her head and basked in the torrential flow with peacefully closed eyes and an almost juxtaposing, vicious grin. Seemed she had made an impact on one or two of the patrons, and that was fine with her. More than fine, in fact. Startling her from this twisted emotional repast was Rip's remark about buying her a glass, something which garnered her attention rather quickly.
Ears quirked individually, curiously. Keaton stared at Rip for a good, long time, absorbing his appearance and demeanor. Didn't seem to have any unscrupulous intentions... besides, he was buying her a likely harmless drink from a neutral establishment, where he wouldn't have the opportunity to poison it. Paranoid thinking, yes, but Keaton had good reason to, especially when she was wanted in numerous parts of Furrae. But this wasn't Furrae, and, despite the presence of the other jackal nearby, she doubted anyone here knew of her reputation.
"Ah, thanks," Keaton said, flashing Rip a toothy grin. Ivory canines gleamed between her gums. "Nice way to treat a newcomer."
Sylvie was the next one to greet her. Keaton was more taken aback by the emerald-skinned woman's appearance than the others', mostly because she had heard stories of humans being less colorful in flesh tones back in Furrae. At least she was able to tell that the others were slightly humanoid, particularly that blond man who Boog had delivered a drink to. Ah well, she was being friendly. And Keaton was probably just as strange-looking to Sylvie as Sylvie was to Keaton. Before she could respond to Sylvie's pleasantly-stated comment, Boog presented the rules and regulations of the circle, which Keaton listened to attentively. She hummed quietly, repeating the terms over in her head before she grinned.
A fighting circle. Excellent.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
The blackguard made a face when Sylvie didn't respond, and harrumphed loudly. He shook his head, and simply began to drink and smoke. The reeking, alcohol and almost gasoline smell of the Amoco and the strangely sweet smell of the man's tobacco was almost enough to be nauseating. The wolf made a face at the man, shaking his head, and pushed away from the table. Nose crinkled, the wolf sipped his own whiskey, and looked at the others quietly. He was still watching silently when another newcomer entered, a black-backed Jackal carrying an enormous club on her back, framed by two pairs of leathery wings.
The other Jackal in the room smiled, perhaps in reaction to a person of his own species, and nodded at the new Jackal carefully. As he moved, light ran down and flashed off the scythe placed across his body.
The blackguard himself wasn't so busy drinking and smoking silently to not notice the Jackal either. He went to take another pull off his pipe, and made a face as he tried to take a pull, muttering a curse. He flipped it over and tapped the bowl against the table, dumping out the ashes, and deftly produced another fingerfull of tobacco from a leather pouch at his waist. He filled the bowl quickly, preparing the pipe, and without pausing flicked his thumb. A fire sprouted from the blackguard's finger, and careful not to let his hand sit still he touched the top of the bowl with the flame, blue smoke soon swirling up from the now-lit pipe.
Sylvie's smile didn't waver when Keaton showed slight distress at the elf's appearance. When the jackal-woman relaxed, she nodded and swiveled back to her former sitting position. Keaton's reaction had been much more polite than what she was used to back home, so she couldn't be all that bad.
She glanced up when the blackguard had a slight hissy fit over Sylvie ignoring him. She realized that she was being a little too rude to him, and was about to apologize when she saw a flicker of flame bloom up from the man's finger. Almost immediately, her demeanor changed. Her eyes widened, her mouth became a thin line and her hands folded in her lap as she turned away.
"Um... sorry I ignored you earlier," she managed after a moment or two had passed, glancing sidelong at the blackguard and speaking quietly. "We prefer the term 'Greens,' but yeah, my people are part plant."
The blond man grinned, musing to himself over his lowball glass. I think I'll watch a fight or two, and let them come to me. After all, it is the challenged who gets to choose the battlefield. And I could always use more drinks, he thought to himself. Of course, that means I'll have to gently provoke them into picking a fight with me, and not scare them off too quickly...
'Firewood that screams. A delightful idea in itself,' the man uttered and took a sip, chuckling. Unusually prominent fangs for a human hinted just past his lips, and for a second his eyes took on a dark quality that was easy to miss, but hard to interpret wrong when spotted.
If not for her remaining paralysis from the fire and the Scorpion sitting between them, Sylvie might have jumped up and strangled the blond human right then and there. As it was her hands curled into fists in her lap, and her eyes went from frozen in terror to blazing in a moment of fury as she turned her head slowly to the man. She could usually catch someone before they made a remark like that, but to think that that man, of all people, could say such a coldhearted thing after being so nice to her...
A second later, understanding bloomed in her eyes. She smirked, her anger popping like a bubble as she laughed softly.
"You cunning, sadistic bastard," she said, half-respectfully and half-triumphantly. "I almost fell for it." She faced the blond with a smirk. "Styg, was it? Well, don't think I'll be roped into a fight so easily. I'll kick your ass when both of us are ready, not just you." She smiled again as she turned to face the owner. She had to admit, Styg was pretty smart. If she'd allowed herself to get angry, she'd have been sloppy and more focused on what she was going to do to him than the techniques he'd use on her.
She pulled her drawstring bag off her shoulder and pulled out a few gold coins. "Water, please. Purest you can get."
Rip laughed a little to himself when Styg made his comment about firewood. He wasn't really intent on offending the 'Green', but the mental image he got when firewood was mentioned was too much. That aside, Rip's focus was still on the she-jackel. He glanced at her again, and felt the same feeling he had a few seconds earlier, the effect felt so unnatural.....almost orchestrated. This wasn't the first time he met someone who looked unimposing yet had a presence akin to a giant's; within a few seconds, it became obvious to Rip of what her true intentions were. It was playing out to the same damn tune, so overtly bloated with ego that they feel it neccessary to act gentlemen-like with their targets, before viciously murdering them later when they're at their weakest. Although Rip survived his first encounter with one similiar to this, it was entirely on a fluke; he can still hear the assassin's dying words, "You're living on borrowed time, your fate is sealed Rip Johnson!! No matter where you run or where you hide, my people will find you and the pain of your death shall be legendaaAAUGHgh!!!".
I killed him at that point, unable to bear his foul voice any longer. If this one's arrival is the culmination of his last words, then so be it. I'll do what I must.
Rip sighed to himself, when the she-jackel finished the drink he bought her, he got up and walked over. He then placed his left hand on her shoulder, Lefty seemed to resonate a little bit as he did that, as if it was reacting to something. Still smiling, Rip announced calmly to her before she could get a word in edge wise, "Alright.... I know you must be enjoying every second of this, but if I'm going to dine in Hell later tonight we're gonna have to wrap this up right here, right now. I won't let you get any sick pleasure out of killing me in my sleep you heartless wench, if you want this one you're going to have to earn it."
He then immediately took his hand off her shoulder and backed away a few feet, readying himself as an insane grin spread across his face, his flash gauntlets starting to radiate a dim white luminescance. Although the thought that she wasn't sent for him never crossed his mind, even if she wasn't, there was no turning back now.
Boog relaxed behind the counter, languidly passing out the other requested drinks and smiling wryly for a second at the gold coins the Green offered.
"Smart girl. Pure water's hard to come by these days, with pollution the way it is. However, I wouldn't say it's quite that rare," He handed back two of the coins with a chuckle, "I'd feel bad about conning you, doubly so when I'm doing so well." The conniving and paranoia in the air was saturating the general mental background noise that had been around since matter first wondered what it was. The Boogeyman was made out of those structured concepts, an entity made of cognitive processes, and the thoughts that were bleeding out of the various plotter's heads could feed the datavore for months if he rationed himself a little. He sighed contentedly as the various memories and ideas copied themselves onto the mental plane and were sucked into his metaphorical maw.
Amazing, what can be accomplished when you just get people THINKING.
-----
Siolen kept climbing. The mountain was big. He figured it would make a good story for the castle. It really did need cheering up. He slammed his fist into the sheer rock a little higher and climbed. If he let go, the atmosphere was too thin and by the time he reached the point it wasn't the momentum would be too great for his wings to save him from being shattered. Finally, the stone beast was met with something it hadn't planned for. A ledge.
He flailed in midair a moment, fist passing through air where he'd expected more mountain, but soon righted himself and clambered up properly. The ledge was quite large. Large enough for some manner of inn with a great big circle in its courtyard and trees around it. He stepped closer.
The mountain disappeared. It it's place was dust; a flat and arid wasteland. He stepped back, the mountain came back.
He tested this a few more times, just to be sure. He didn't care how silly it looked, this was not something mountains usually did. Finally accepting that yes, the mountain vanished when you got closer to the building, he strode forward and entered. It was indeed an inn, with patrons of races and cultures he knew nothing of. The barkeep seemed like a pleasant sort, either resting his eyes or his whole body. The stone creature rested on its haunches (it at least knew that it would be bad form to break the chairs) next to the door, confusion evident on its face. Finally it stepped forward and prodded the dormant barkeep's foot, which was propped up on the bar itself, once to get his attention.
"My pardons, sir..." the gargoyle didn't have a really deep, gravelly voice. It was even somewhat musical. Like smooth stones spilling through ones fingers, "What is this place?"
The barkeep didn't get up or open his eyes, his face breaking into a grin, "Glad you asked, m'boy, glad you asked..."
Stygian almost chuckled to himself, but held it back and instead sipped his whiskey carefully. A nice response from the dryad-like creature. He just hoped she wasn't one of those who became irritating once she thought she knew something.
'Oh, I was only half hoping you'd loose your grip,' the man commented, before turning directly toward Sylvie. 'But it's nice we're off to a good start.' He chuckled lowly, and the right side of his lips quirked upward the slightest. 'Either way, please, call me Stygian. That's the proper way to do it.' He tilted his head slightly to the side. 'And you were Sylvie, correct?'
Sylvie nodded to Stygian and smiled, only a little unnerved by the fangs she now saw glinting over his lip. "Yes. If you want to get technical, it's Sylvia, but no-one calls me that. I'm glad to know someone of your intelligence and tolerance." She turned back to the owner, taking back her change with a bashful smile. While she waited for her drink, she watched the others. Rip was trying to challenge the jackal-woman, who hadn't responded just yet.
But the most interesting thing so far was the new entry. Sylvie had once met a servile golem named Alejandro, and this new creature looked a little like him. His voice didn't sound the same at all, though; Alejandro had had a metallic, monotone voice, and this new person had a voice as smooth as river-washed stones. She smiled and waved once at the stony being, turning around in her seat to watch the events unfold.
Cut off by Sylvie before he could continue, Stygian smiled to himself and made a chuckling sniff, and then turned around toward Rip and the jackal woman. The man was making a rather flashy and brusque, not to mention rude challenge. A perfect way to make himself the most disliked in that sort of company, the blond man thought, hoping that the other would get his ass and hopefully guts handed to him.
Keaton looked perfectly and tragically unassuming as she gulped down the drink which was delivered to her, eagerly swallowing its amber contents until there was nothing but a few slivers of foamy fluid clinging like frosted residue to the interior of the glass. As a Cubi, drinking and eating wasn't necessary since they inclined towards absorbing and devouring emotions for sustenance, but Keaton couldn't help but appreciate the more-often-than-occasional glass of beer or absinthe. It often resulted in monstrous hangovers in the morning, but she had learned to tolerate such aftershocks.
She had also learned to tolerate people attacking her while she was enjoying a drink. Though someone who had recently purchased one for her suddenly becoming a turncoat... that was new. Ah well. Not everyone knew how to treat such a motherfuckin' dainty damsel as nicely as they should.
It would come back to bite them in the end.
Canting her head, Keaton's lips spread in an uncharacteristically demure smile in the face of Rip's insane and demented demeanor. "Heartless wench?" she echoed, "Hey now. Let's not go tossing accusations and insults around here, you spineless son of a bitch--"
What was once innocuous and demure transmogrified in a heartbeat, artificially precocious smile morphing into a wide and toothy Glasgow-cut-grin, closed eyes snapping open and narrowing into virulent slits of alabaster, and hands which were held up defensively whipped backwards in a slicing gesture; one hand's digits clasping around the handle of her mace, the other clenching in a pallid fist as blackened bolts and erubescent energy rippled off of its knuckles. Snarling, the jackal leaped off of her seat and swung Catastrophe from its holster, its very surface teeming with barely-restrained electricity as atramentous shadows danced and darted around its shaft, bound with purple-red lightning, leveling the spiked head of the mace to the floor. Keaton rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand, smirking that smirk of hers as she lapped away the vestiges of alcohol from her lips.
"Let's dance, bug boy," she said wickedly.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
"Dance? Very broad terms love, but seeing as how I've appeared to have very thoroughly pissed you off, I'm sure you really meant to the death. Don't worry you'll get over it, I'm sure this kind of thing happens to all of your kind atleast ONCE in their god damn lives!!", Rip shouted enthusiastically.
He then proceded to moonwalk out of the bar area toward the closest ring, much to the awe and shock of any onlookers. It would appear to any observer, that this man had clearly lost his mind by this point, to act so literal. It didn't matter though, not to him. He could really care-less by this point with such inevitability staring him in the face. Before he stepped in the ring, Rip looked upward into the bleak overcast, it seemed clear whose side the sky was on... He then stepped into the ring. Almost immediately he felt another presence, it seemed to be coming from the ring itself. A passive, ancient aura undiminished by the ages.
"What....you said dance......you're up love.", Rip smirked as he got into his fighting stance, subtly bouncing on the balls of his feet, his fists held up infront, North Paw leading.
....Man...Cortez really should be here to see this. This is gonna be fricken epic as far as deaths go, heh.
The blackguard chuckled darkly at Stygian's comment about screaming firewood, his re-lit pipe sending curls of blue smoke around his head.
"You'd be surprised what'll scream when you light it on fire." he said, his blue eyes grinning.
The wolf carefully ignored the blackguard, and simply stood up, walking towards a table with a window towards the now-occupied arena. The Jackal followed suit, standing and looking out yet another window to the outside as the combatants prepared to battle.
It was raining hard, but Ian didn't mind he just loved to skate. It was a stress reliver for him and he needed it after plowing through hell in that damned castle and nearly missed his exams for being late. He poped up onto a railing that went through some cement walkway type structures and came out in a part of town he didn't normally go. He was just kind of glideing along when he saw it. "The Honor Circle." He picked up his board and decided to stop in and see what it was about. The bell rang and he steped inside and looked around, it seemed to be a bar for the most part. hum He though to himself I could use a drink he walked over to the bar and aked the pile of rags if they had any hot mulled apple cider "With a kick to it."
Sylvie shot a halfhearted glare at the blackguard, her fear quenched now that the fire was gone from his finger. She continued facing away from the bar, watching the Scorpion and the female Jackal head to the ring. The former either was a brilliant actor or just wasn't taking the fight too seriously. Either way, the weapon the Jackal was using looked very heavy. How can she lift something bigger than herself? This was going to be very interesting.
Her face took on a curious look when a Rat walked in. Oh sweet Gods, he looks like Kellie! she thought in shock. But she guessed that they'd probably never met. Around these parts, animal hybrids seemed to be common. And Kellie had never mentioned any siblings or even relatives to her. For now, she just smiled at the Rat and watched the fight.
Meanwhile, 'Stygian' only looked at the two, as he saw it, ridiculous figures across the room, with a look of simple incredulity. He shook his head, ordered up another drink, and thanked his fortune that at least he knew the event keeper this time, and that he had found what seemed like a sane and curious combat interest from the start. And most of all, he thanked his fortune that there was alcohol.
'By his words and looks, I'm thinking he's going to be most disappointed, that one,' the blond man said to no one in particular, though angling his comment at the blackguard and his lupine companion and the plant-woman all together. 'Whether if concerning the fight or the rules I am not sure.'
When Keaton had said "Let's dance," she didn't think that Rip would interpret such a command literally.
When he did, it came as an outright shock to her. Indignant surprise shot across her features for a split second, her expression remaining suspended in that disbelieving look, but then she shrugged it off with a narrow of her eyes. Stranger things had happened before a battle, and she doubted such occurrences would ever stop. Either way, as ridiculous as that demonstration was, it didn't stop her from striding after the scorpion-man, carelessly shoving the door open with her free arm while the other kept Catastrophe secure.
Outside, under the overcast and lugubrious sky, was the ring carved into the sands. Keaton scowled characteristically and approached him, stepping over the periphery of the circle. Around her, the air seemed to take on a tangible appearance, as though it had manifested into pure electricity, leaping about her form once she breached the ring and bypassed its barrier system, then with an imperceptible sizzle it silenced, the energy extinguishing. Sweeping Catastrophe in a beckoning circle around her, Keaton spun the mace a few times, making sure to alleviate any tension in her arm before she settled herself into an offensive stance.
Her features were still schooled in nothing short of agitation determination, something akin to concentration flickering in her eyes for a brief moment as she focused, those sable streaks of electricity revitalizing across Catastrophe's shaft. Downcast as it was, the clouds provided ample shadows cloaking the field, which meant she was battling in her element. Once she felt that subtle tightening, that confirmation which she had experienced a million times before, Keaton grinned.
"Giving me the first strike? Nice of you. But--"
Then it happened. The shadows covering the ground seemed to darken to an almost palpable state, rearing up in great thick tendrils and diving upon Keaton's form. Weaving about like anacondas, they wrapped and darted across her body, some splotches splattering her inch-by-inch until one portion of her form was thoroughly drenched with darkness, some encroaching up her legs like thousands of creeping, arachnid-like molecules, and the rest binding her body like immense black bandages until she was thoroughly coated. Dust which had been kicked up into the air by the sudden activity of those unexpectedly-materialized shadows tensed, then shot outward like billions of grain-sized bullets, sweeping about Keaton's crouched form like a whirlwind until it dissipated into nothing, no more than just a salty residue in the air.
Keaton herself lurched to her feet, moving languidly, her eyes devoid of pupil. An eldritch alabaster radiated from the pits of her lanternlike eyes, providing the only source of light on her form, which was coated in an opaque kind of atramentous armor which subtly rippled and tightened with her movements, hugging her body like a secondary skin. Even each individual strand of hair was dyed with black, making her look like she was almost entirely composed of ink, save for her eyes, and that strange, white symbol resting on her hip. Keaton's head lolled to the side, her featureless face unreadable, then suddenly she belted out a great screech and moved with breakneck speed. It was almost as though she was entirely powered by electricity, her movements barely accentuated with blurs of black, creating a comet's tail of wispy afterimages to trail behind her body as she dashed forward with Catastrophe raised.
There was another, horrific screech, like dozens of screams amalgamated together to create one monstrous noise, and then a grating sound like nails screaming across giant chalkboard, and then Keaton whirled Catastrophe around and swung it towards Rip's head mid-movement.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
The wolf murmured something quietly, while the Blackguard strained to get a better view through the windows outside, puffing on the pipe as his head moved this way and that. The other Jackal, so far simply quiet, stood and moved towards the window the wolf was looking out of, standing before the glass as he watched. His face seemed to hint as some sort of subtle disapproval, although no discernible change in expression presented itself.
The wolf leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow raising behind shaded glasses. The black-backed jackal's sudden exertion of darkness had been unexpected, and he watched with more than a passing interest. The darkness coalesced up and around the succubus like ink, the dust around her feet whirling agitatedly before dissipating into nothing but a slight, powdery mist. The now atramentous Cubi lunged at the scorpion, staring holes into the Angel with bright, iridescently-white eyes as she hefted her giant mace after her. A trail of darkness followed her, like smudges of ink upon the air itself.
A sound, some sort of terrible scream, permeated the air, and the Cubi whirled the giant mace at the Angel's head.
The Blackguard stood to get a better view, and the wolf murmured back at the strange man sitting next to the flower girl.
"We'll see if he moonwalks out of this..."
Rip barely had time to react as Keaton swong Catastrophe towards him, raising his flash-gauntlets to absorb the majority of the blow. The sheer force of it knocking him over across the blackened earth. Tumbling across the ground he rolled back up into a crouched stance, he could feel that the blow braised him on the forehead as he felt a couple strands of blood drip down his face.
Damn she's pretty quick....and could she scream any louder, heh...
Such a bleak situation, it seemed. She was thriving under the shadows of the clouds overhead, so much so that the very ground beneath their feet was under her influence. Rip was not about to reside himself to despair just yet though, especially not more then two seconds into the battle. He clenched his right fist, causing it to pulse abruptly then immediately burst into pure-white holy fire. He could feel his body tensing up as the adrenaline started to flow in his veins, reacting to the passionate and furious attempt on it's life by enveloping itself in a dim incandescant hue outlining his visage.
His expression still unchanged though inspite of everything. In his own insanity, he was reveling every second of this now just as much as his darkness-inclined adversary. In no more then a split-second, he sprung off the ground into the air towards Keaton, landing a few feet behind her slamming Righty into the blackened earth. The impact causing the ground around him to erupt in a bright fissure of holy fire.
Ian smiled back at her. He had a very personable look to him even though he was dressed like a mosh pit slam danceing hooligan,he was, but that's another side to this complex man. He leaned on his board spinning a wheel with his finger, a wheel he would need to replace soon. He was shivering a little, the cold air and the rain made for a very wet very cold rat. He didn't see to upset though.
Again Catastrophe released its calamitous screech once it made its impact against Rip's fist, spikes grating against the gauntlets shielding Rip from encountering his head. Despite the tremendous shockwave that darted up Catastrophe's shaft, Keaton recuperated easily with her darkness-heightened senses, withdrawing the mace with a sweep of her arm and spinning her body around, almost as though she were supernaturally aware of where Rip would land after his collision with the earth. She grinned wildly beneath the mask of darkness when she saw that wickedly red substance stain his face, nearly belting out a horrid laugh. Blood. She saw blood. The bastard was going to get it now--
Or he would have got "it," if it weren't for the unexpected plume of white-light fire which engulfed Rip's fist. Holy magic? Light magic? Keaton hated that. Bloody hated it like nothing else. If she had received more training, had been more involved in elemental balancing prior to when her first source of education had been abruptly ended, Keaton was almost certain she would have had the understanding to combat this. Regardless, she did not, so she supposed she'd adopt a more evasive tactic. Anything to avoid that fire--it wouldn't disintegrate her defenses, no, but it would be a hell of a problem to restore her armor after contact with such a strong source of light. When Rip sprung at her Keaton reacted again, relying on her escalated senses once more as her adrenaline spiked.
Before she could dodge Rip was behind her, plunging his fist to meet the earth, which was torn and swept up into great smoldering chunks as the spreading fissure ruptured the ground. Snarling again in that ethereal voice, Keaton dashed forward, unexpectedly running toward the expanding shockwave, then bounded into the air just as it approached her feet, the sizzling remnants of fire coalescing like fresh coals off of her coat. Responding immediately, her shadow-armor rippled and swallowed up each chunk, the black-cloaked membranous wings on her back sharpening, materializing into something almost diamond-like in hardness, then jutted outward in the form of four rigid spikes on either side of her back. Keaton spun Catastrophe around over her head as she dropped down towards Rip, once more plunging Catastrophe as she came down--even if he dodged this, she would persist in her assailment until she drew even more blood.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
The Boogeyman opened one eye and shifted position lazily, watching the fight through a nearby window. The girl gathered shadows to herself like a caddis fly larvae building a shell. A monster came to mind, and he smiled wryly. Something that hadn't ended up here, not as of yet, but would make for an interesting fight... But this was here and now, and it would be rude not to give the fighters the respect they were due. He continued to watch events unfold... But then, there were customers to greet.
"Greetings, sir..." The one open eye's attention transferred to the rat, "Welcome to the Honor Circle, where we encourage our patrons to be as civilized as can be expected of them. This is, of course, while giving them any drink they can pay for; it helps facilitate our other attraction, which would be the chance to challenge any other patron to fight in the circle outside. Just follow the rules and I think you'll enjoy it here." He turned to look out the window again. "If you have any further questions, or wish to see the other circles while you wait for the current fight to conclude, just ask." He set out the drink, holding out one hand for payment, "And do enjoy yourself, young man." Boog grinned, his gaze still fixed the fight. Always, so many new things to think about.
Siolen wasn't nearly so restrained in his appreciation. He bounded outside immediately to watch the battle, mock-punching with each blow traded. The jackal's finesse with the morning star was extraordinary; while he didn't use them much himself, Siolen could appreciate what was a PROPER weapon. It was typically something large, with no alterations for aesthetics. No time for looking nice, when you had people to smash. By that same turn the scorpion, Rip, obviously had a lot of power at his immediate disposal. His first attack missed, as his foe took to the air and plummeted toward him. The gargoyle's face cracked into a grin. What stories he'd have for the castle after this!
Rip's eyes widened a little bit and his maniacal grin lessened a bit as Keaton launched herself up and over his destructive attempt at reclaiming some of the ground. Such blatent disregard for her well-being.....he could very well infer that she was acting on pure bloodlust to attempt such a daring move. An opportunist meanwhile, would have backed off gracefully for a few seconds to take an accord of the situation to the best course of action to procede with. In a way Rip felt slightly insulted, but it could only be expected considering what she was and the circumstances, to that end....he harbored no ill will towards her inspite of his harsh words moments earlier. She was doing what she was meant to do, this was her...Raison d'être...
Crouched down from impact, he stared up at her as she soared over the sacred inferno, shards of darkness wrapped around her feet broke off to diffuse the flames surging near her feet as she rose above, going for the throat once more. For some reason though it felt like she was moving somewhat slower, the adrenaline surging through him now heightening his awareness and senses up to the very limit. Catastrophe whirled around in the air as she closed in, electricity arcing in and around itself with more fury then before. Then immediately she directed it's rage down towards him and came crashing down with it in unbridled fury.
At that range, there was only one out. He had to meet her head on. Rip springed his legs from his position then launched himself upward in a spiral motion straight for her, clutching Lefty by his side, igniting it in bright flame. Catastrophe roared downward towards him.....and connected with his right leg. It tore through the lower part of his robes and pants, the pain, excruciating, the electricity reacting chaotically with the incandescant aura enveloping him. At the same time he thrusted Lefty into her side, going for the kidneys. His fist immediately bursted in a small explosion of holy light, he managed to stop her momentum; then his Right hook came up and uppercutted her in the stomach and bursted in another small explosion, sending her back up through the air toward the other side of the ring.
Rip then collapsed onto the ground, the pain in his right leg, unreal. He couldn't even move it without every nerve ending in it flaring up. Still, he couldn't give up now, he was fighting for his life. He propped himself up on his left arm and stretched out his wings, within seconds he took flight and was in the air, the radiance enveloping him starting to grow in intensity as he drew ever closer toward death. His expression was that of desperation now, he knew he probably couldn't engage her at that close range anymore and come out alive. Well...I guess there's a first time for everything....
Rip reached over his shoulder with his right arm and gripped the handle, upon it's very touch the mystical nature of the unnamed racket reacted and enveloped itself in holy light. He whipped the racket outward with his right arm towards his side, held up Lefty infront of him, and began to concentrate until an orb of sacred light materialized in his palm. He then looked down at her, tossed the orb up above him, then smashed the ball of light straight for her chest, unsure of how much longer he'd be able to keep this up.
Ian gave him what he owed, and walked over to the elf. "Hey there, don't see many elves 'round here. Thought you guys didn't like the city?" Ian gave her a warm smile and took a big sip of his cider.
Watching the two combatants through a window and the corner of his eye, the blond man wore a boorish expression as he ordered a glass of water, and then another drink. For all the power put on display outside, and the short bit of attentive focus he had displayed when Keaton employed her initial technique, he seemed somewhat unimpressed now. Strange, considering the speed and power on display in the battle outside.
'Damn flashy. But I'm wondering how long it will last,' he commented, before downing his water in one smooth gulp.
The whirling combatants were indeed impressive. The Cubi, wreathed in darkness, managed to somersault over the holy wave of force, and slam that mace into the insectoid Angel's leg. Cog expected the fight to be over then and there, but the Angel must have been more resilient than he looked - instead of simply snapping like a broken branch, the leg seemed to hold, somehow. The wolf made a noise, and took a drink from his glass. The Blackguard beside him grinned, the pipe flaring a bit before a curl of smoke escaped up from it.
"Not the best display I've ever seen." the Jackal said, the scythe-carrying priest speaking up for the first time. It was uncertain whether he meant the Scorpion's use of holy magic, or the succubus's choice of darkness as her main element. He didn't elaborate any further.
The wolf took a glance at the blond man. "I imagine it will be over soon. Unless the Angel can keep up that distance, perhaps. Either way, the first blood and second blood goes to the succubus." he said, and turned his attention back to the fight.
Sylvie was more impressed than the others by the battle. She had seen more powerful beings, of course, but where she came from, magic attacks and physical attacks were two separate things. The Jackal and the Scorpion were combining every attack they could think of, the former using dark energy and magic as armor, and the latter lacing every blow with holy magic. The Jackal's mace and the Scorpion's gauntlets were arguably the most powerful weapons she'd ever seen, and she suddenly feared for her staff's durability. Hey, you wanted a challenge, you found one.
When the Rat spoke to her, she looked at him evenly, but pleasantly. "We don't, but this is well worth some time away from the forest." She reached for her water glass, resisting the urge to simply dunk her fingers in it. She didn't want to scare off the young man just yet. "So who are you?"
Much to Keaton's surprise, her assault was far more successful than she had anticipated. A strange sensation of satisfaction swelled up inside of her chest as the spiked head of Catastrophe made its crepitating collision with Rip's leg, driving her to pry its wicked spikes away from the tattered flesh and splintered bone of his leg and swing it back down for another blow. This time she was intercepted with a brutal blow to her side with his oddly-designed weapon, making Catastrophe stop mid-descent and her body spasm as she was thrust off to the side by the unexpected attack. Keaton growled again in that unnatural voice--most of the damage which had been dealt to her was the result of the flow of holy magic, not the impact itself. What was worse was the uppercut to her stomach. That sent her flying. Midair, her shadowy subterfuge rippled again atop her body, at first spreading wide as the once-thick layers liquefied into a syrupy texture, seeming to dribble off of the scorched surface of her fur, but then, with some hesitance, drawing back. Keaton hit the ground as she twisted her body into a relatively stable position--enough for her knees to hit the ground on the other end of the ring.
As her defenses reassembled, Keaton virulently watched Rip struggle to the side. Moving despite a mutilated leg, that was quite admirable, or at least a good demonstration in endurance if nothing else. Keaton hefted Catastrophe again, the tentacles retreating into her back and reshaping as her wings. She couldn't fly with her wings, having never learned to, but she was well-equipped to fight an aerial adversary. Rip, levitating in mid-air, seemed to be concentrating deeply amidst the desperation on his features, what she identified as a pure sphere composed of holy light generating in the palm of his hand. Then he had drawn the racket, had swung it at her, sending the ball flying--
There was no time to dodge. Keaton reacted as instinctively as she could. It was a risky move, but she tried. Knuckles clenching, she swept her arm upright, almost as though she was conducting an orchestra--
--and the shadows spread before her lurched up, solidifying in the same manner that she had constructed her shadow-armor, and splayed outward like a spider-webbed shield. The ball of energy slapped smack-dab into its heart, the conflicting elements sizzling and sparking dramatically, that horrid screaming screeching like thousands of voices into the air--
--and then the web withdrew, wrapping itself around the diminishing ball until the light was completely smothered, and dove back into the ground, swallowed up into the earth with a ripple. With that threat extinguished Keaton swung Catastrophe, its head sparking, and launched a lance of purple-black lightning at Rip. Red sparks, bound in crackling sable energy, fizzled and popped in mid-air as they orbited the rocketing electricity.
Bug boy had bite, but so did Keaton. And she knew how to use it.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
"Oh, I'm just another college kid lookin for something to do. Shouldn't even be here,dry campus you know, but more drinking goes on there than here. Honestly I just found this place and i wanted to dry off and wait out the rain." Ian took another swig of his drink, he was glad to be inside.
Upon release, Rip looked on as his shot collided against the curtain of darkness Keaton brought up infront of herself, watching the light react chaotically with it until it eventually vanished into the void. From the very start, Rip knew he probably wasn't going to be able to win this, now....he just felt demoralized before the totality of how little of a chance he really had. It didn't matter how much he exerted himself at this point, the land was covered under shadow from the cloud cover overhead, and it was only going to get darker...
He looked on grimly as Keaton withdrew the curtain and began winding up Catastrophe, the electricity on it suddenly increasing in intensity, so much so that it was arcing all around her. Her arm then whipped, Catastrophe shrieked; then she fired the lance at him. The bolt was heading straight for his heart, and Rip's vision was getting darker from his wounds, he could barely see it coming. Rip flinched his right arm up to his left shoulder, covering his chest with the broad side of his racket. His racket lit up in a bright blinding flash as the dark lightning collided with it, reflecting the blast skyward; each of the red sparks blazing around and past him in a torrent, burning whatever they came in contact with as the crackled through the air, then popping like a 4th of July display.
Rip lit up his left hand again, except this time he clutched his right theigh with it, enveloping the leg in a calm pyre to stop the bleeding. He bought a little more time, but for what cause. It was inevitable, and he knew how clear it was. Reasoning told him to just cut his losses and accept fate. It felt, warm...a soothing sensation overcame his leg, he still couldn't move it though. His forehead then oddly started to feel warm, as he stared down at Keaton who looked to be winding up again, something flickered in the corner of his eye. He took his eyes off her for just a second, he could see the sun. A lone ray pierced through the cloud cover and fell upon him up in the air, it felt so soothing despite his weary self. The radiance around him began to surge, his light blue eyes lighting up, glowing fiercely. He had probably only half a minute, not even, before it would be covered up again.
He then set his sights back down at Keaton and angrily stared at her, with conviction burning intensily in his eyes and his soul. Words slipped out from his lips towards her, "One way or the other...this is going to end now. Take my leg, my pride, take everything. I still got my serving arm and by God I'm going to shove this racket right down your throat!!!"
A shockwave then burst out forth from Rip in all directions as his entire body lit up, his whole visage becoming a blur as he started rapidly firing a barrage of light orbs directed right for and around her. Each swings impact sending out small shockwaves from his racket, the orbs impacting the ground bursting brightly, the display akin to rapid machine gun fire, lasting for a good ten seconds until the ray from the sun faded away. His shots slowed down to a stop, his body unable to maintain the intensity of that speed any longer. Slowly he parachuted down to the earth, collapsing onto his left knee, resting his arms on his racket which was thrusted down infront to prop himself up. The ground around him lit ablaze into a bright pyre as what was left dissipated out and around him. He coughed up some blood, spitting to the ground, his head held down, vision fading. Slowly he fell unconscious and collapsed.
A lone light, burning in a sea of darkness, not a bad way to go, heh.
The blond man smirked and nodded, as the battle outside came to a conclusion, quite obviously looking like he had known what the outcome would be all along. Ignoring the rat's and Sylvie's conversation, he instead turned his attention to the scythe-bearing jackal. That one seemed the most exotic of the trio who had walked in earlier. And his former remark...
'Yes, well, that's what you get for not employing much strategy,' Stygian said casually. 'The moment the girl,' he continued, almost saying dog but remembering just who he was talking to, 'paid time to empower herself she won. Increasing one's defense, and at the same time going on an all-out offensive' He smirked a bit, pausing. 'The insect,' he continued, not refraining from using the term for the defeated, 'was wasting his strength away firing those blasts.'
The Jackal inclined his head, regarding the man. His eyes narrowed for a moment, the Jackal taking in the blond-haired figure, and then back out at the battle. It seemed to be coming to a close: the Angel didn't have the power to keep up the barrage of holy magics, and the Jackal still hadn't taken a major injury. In desperation, the Angel had sent out a final barrage of all his strength.
The Jackal considered for a moment, and then responded calmly. "A good fighter puts himself beyond defeat, and waits for an opportunity to defeat an opponent." he said politely, and shifted the Scythe's grip in his hand. He kept on eye on the bat, the orb glinting in the cloud-darkened light, and leaned on the staff of his scythe for support.
Even though Rip had successfully deflected the incoming lance of lightning, the spearlike composition of darkness-laced energy ricocheting off of his gauntlet and spiraling into the sky, Keaton still felt a certain twinge of sadistic satisfaction. Whether or not he had received the bolt or had been damaged by it, she had already made an impact; she could tell. Again, Keaton started to spin Catastrophe, concentrating deeply enough to generate a sizeable streak of dark energy, wondering if the scorpion-Angel would be able to dodge this inevitable calamity shortly after its ignition. After all, he seemed exhausted, defeated.
That solitary column of light which penetrated the formerly bleak and desolately lugubrious overcast of clouds came as some surprise to Keaton. Not enough to shake her resolve, not at all--she didn't attribute it to any heavenly interjection, just some sort of phenomenon. Damn Angels. Beating this one down would be wonderful entertainment, now wouldn't it? Unfortunately, judging by the suddenly livid, sacrosanct energy enveloping Rip's body, it wasn't just a serendipitous phenomenon. Ceasing the revolution of her mace, Keaton's grip tensed around the mace's shaft, then swept it back, starting to devote the remainder of her energy towards defenses. She presumed she would need it.
She was right on the money. More concentration, more focus, another brilliant flash of lustrous light, and a volley of electrical balls identical to the sphere wihch was sent her way before was flying right at her. Keaton snarled loudly and spun Catastrophe once more, this time not keeping up a steady pace, but keeping each rotation absolutely breakneck. Palpable darkness started to exude in twisting trails off of each individual spike, weaving together an elaborate shield, and suddenly, with a powerful swing of her arm, Keaton had flung away one of the approaching globes. Four others faced the same fate, redirected and bashed helter-skelter. Then, finally, one pierced her defenses--one breezed past Catastrophe and collided right with her shoulder, sending a livid shockwave coalescing up her arm. The shadows shielding her arm sizzled lividly, bubbling and writhing, and then exploded, just barely protecting that section of her arm with their sacrifice. Arm now partially stripped of armor, Keaton released a sibilant hiss more befitting of a snake than a jackal, and withdrew, trying to defend herself from the rest of the volley shots. A few other swept over, one grazing past her ear, another skimming her waist--and making the shadows there part and dribble like blood, revealing the scorched fur beneath--and the final burning the edges of her hair. Seething, Keaton scowled, then let out a gasp as the scorpion-angel plummeted to the ground, sending up great chitinous plates of the earth within the fiery quake that surrounded him.
During that moment, Keaton threw up another dome-like shield to protect her, hoping it would sustain. It did. The ripple passed over, making the dome buckle, as though someone had dropped a tremendous weight on it, then, as the wave subsided, the dome deflated, sinking back into the ground and steadily revealing its inhabitant. Keaton was now utterly devoid of her shadow armor save for the fierce glow of white in her eyes, exposing the burns and scrapes scattered on her form, the damage mostly minimized due to the effectiveness of her protection. A clear look of exhaustion, yet triumph, was reflected in her expression; that maniacal smile returning to her toothy maw. From afar, Keaton could see the slumped form of the scorpion-Angel, and she let out a horrific laugh, her voice returned to normal. The vestiges of white light started to die from her eyes.
She had won.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
The blond man snorted, and swigged down that third glass of whiskey, and then exhaled a long and pleased breath before speaking again. 'A fighter knows only the battle. A soldier knows that there will be more battles ahead,' he said, putting the glass down. 'But both think only of battles. The world is not a war, you know? Even if it is strife...'
The man paused for a second, then stood up and walked over to the window, putting a large hand on the wall. He tapped his fingers against it lightly, tips clicking through the gloves. 'Perhaps that doesn't apply here, but I like being realistic,' he said, and then turned his face back toward them. 'Anyone up for a "battle"? I feel I need to warm up.'
The Boogeyman came striding out of his place of business quickly, his tweed coat splaying out and fluttering as he made haste toward the circle. Primarily the unconscious man in it.
"Well done, Madam. A superb fight," he nodded to Keaton on his way to Rip, "Breathtakingly skilled use of a weapon so many just try to smash things with. And this fellow," he leaned forward and glanced down at the unconscious arachnid, "A bit flashy, yes, but not bad." Boog grinned, "Do me a favor, twitch twice if you're willing to pay for use of our medical facilities."
---
The fight concluded in an all-out, last ditch rush. Siolen could respect that, as well as the Jackal's method of surviving it. The laugh startled him, but he'd heard worse gloating. He turned to go back inside, just in time to hear the blond man's challenge. Soldiers and fighters... I've been both. Why not? The man didn't look particularly well armed, which was fair enough reason to assume that he was VERY well armed. Nobody in a suit like that would come to a place like this without something up a finely-tailored sleeve. But then, we would fight by my rules... Bah. I shall wait, see if one more familiar with him gives something away.
Rip's head turned to it's side and his left eye looked up at the Boogeyman, with an exhausted grin across his face. He then turned himself over so that he was sitting upright. "No....I think I'll be just fine, but thanks for the offer."
He then gripped his right leg with both hands, a snapping sound could be heard as he forced the leg's bone structure back into place. His leg was then enveloped in calm pyre again, sealing it together and mending the wound. Then he brought himself to his feet albeit wobbled a little bit as he applied pressure to the leg, gaining his balance as he stood up. He kicked up the nameless racket with his tail and caught it in the air with his right hand, twirled it around a bit, then sheathed it back onto his back and sighed.
"I'm gonna go lie down for a bit.", he nodded back at the Boogeyman, he then walked up toward the bar area, ignoring everyone else and walked out toward the front and just crashed under a nearby tree, lying on his back just staring up blankly into space.
....Why didn't she kill me....
Something moved past the man, glossy black and nearly silent despite its' size. An eyeless head peered down to examine him, and slime-covered lips peeled back from silvery teeth as long as his forearm.
Something else drew the creature's attention, and it approached the door. It reached out a massive arm and tugged on the door, nearly ripping it from the frame.
Shuddering slightly, the massive creature squeezed its' body through the doorway, the frame screeching like a chalkboard against the glossy black exoskeleton. As it entered it pulled itself erect, the sleek, eyeless head that swept up and back into a cranial crest touching the ceiling.
The massive upper arms folded inwards as the smaller lower ones spread for a moment then hung, wrists poised like a preying mantis ready to strike. It took in the room through some odd means, and the upper lip curled into something resembling a feral sneer.
A huge tail slithered in behind the creature, the eight-foot spike on the tip coming around to be held level with the waist, as it moved to look at the Circles outside. Talons on each foot gouged the floor in screeches, and the tips of the four organic-looking tubes that jutted spikishly from the back pulsed.
The huge creature walked closer to the bar, then turned to face the room again. A feeling similar to having one's mind coated with cold swept across the room, as the huge creature backed and folded itself into the corner like some demonic gargoyle. The arms folded inwards, and the front of the head slid backwards under the armored crest.
The bartender's mind is touched by something that is black ice and bloated corpses floating in moonlight. "You will bring me water."
.......Mom?
Rip just lied there, staring back at the huge....otherworldly insect like creature before him. He didn't move at all, he just stared back at it with tired eyes. Then it moved onward toward the door, nearly breaking it as it opened. Still, Rip didn't bother getting up, and continued his staring contest with the tree above him.
Meh...let them deal with it.
The moment the door opened, the blond man's eyes moved slowly to the side. At first he seemed as relaxed as he had been sitting on the barstool, but then, as the newly arrived creature revealed the first few inches of itself, his whole head turned and his eyes widened in his now speechless expression. The thing crammed itself into the room, or the hall if that was the proper word for it, and raised all of its huge form, brushing the ceiling. It passed the well-dressed man, and then stopped to stare eyelessly at the Boogeyman.
For a couple of moments Stygian had been hidden behind the glossy black thing's form. When he came back into view though, his expression was not one of shock as before. Instead, a wide grin, surprisingly sinister for his so handsome features, was spread all over his face. Just after the creature stopped, he surprised further by giving up a short but again, eerily evilly sounding laugh. Few were close enough to reliably say they caught the look of a pair of a bit too long fangs, before he sealed his lips into a smirk.
'Now this is starting to look like something,' the man said. 'Another lady has joined the party. All gentlemen rise.' He seemed to be joking with that last statement.
The fight ended with a crash of sound and fury. Had her fingers not absently dipped in her water glass, Sylvie might have applauded. As it was, she simply withdrew her hand, wiped her damp fingers off on her dry palm, and smiled approvingly at Keaton as she re-entered. She decided that if she was going to survive here, she'd need to up her physical attacks so she wouldn't be... well, to put it bluntly, snapped like a twig. She looked at what water was left in the cup, drinking the rest by mouth while listening to the others discuss the fight.
When Stygian asked for what sounded like a sparring match, she was about to accept when a large, insectoid... thing walked in the room. She did her very best not to stare at the (apparently female) creature, choosing instead to stare at Stygian when he let forth a chillingly sinister laugh. Geez. I don't even HAVE blood and I think it just ran cold.
"Greetings, ma'am," she welcomed the newcomer, politely as she could. Each new arrival so far was more intimidating than the last. Sylvie had been in fear for her life before, but never at a "friendly" setting like this one. This place just kept getting more fun.
'Ah, well. Not precisely my kind,' Stygian commented, studying the massive alien's physique. It was most grotesque and intriguing in its makeup, something that he could relate to. But it was hardly something that he would like to fight to commence the evening. It seemed like that sort of battle would quickly become too destructive and flashy.
Breaking off the thoughts of wondering, the man turned back to the rest of the establishment, managing to ignore the huge monster among their midst with enviable efficiency.
'So? Anyone? Or shall I have to sit down and mind my own business?' he asked.
As the thing entered Ian stared as it moved to the corner. he sounded creeped out as he spoke. "But most people call me Ian.....I'm not imagineing the giant alien looking thing am I? I sewar if my roommate slipped me acid again I'll kill him."
Keaton honestly had pondered killing Rip.
As her laughter died down into gravelly snickers and the light afire in the cores of her eldritch eyes petered away into diminishing dots, Keaton felt her mind drift down from the bloodstained euphoria fighting always shunted her into; that artificial heaven crafted of lies and horror which she always, always escaped to when things went wrong and escalated beyond her tenuous control. Her head lolled to the side as Keaton assessed Rip's condition from afar, her hand unconsciously clenching and flexing its knuckles. What to do with the bug? She'd have no problems with killing him. Rip was an Angel. Literal or metaphorical, it didn't really matter to Keaton. As riddled with loopholes as her prejudice was, she vehemently anchored herself to her hate with no regrets.
Hefting Catastrophe, Keaton ceased toying with those possibilities, about to approach the collapsed scorpion-Angel so she could efficiently exterminate him when the Boogeyman made his presence known. His abrupt appearance made Keaton stiffen and her pupils pinprick, the residual haze of eerily whitewashed energy flickering and dying from the chocolate-brown of her irises. She didn't see him approaching. Immediately loosening all pretenses of being a threat, Keaton watched him bypass her, then sighed and shook her head, turning her back on her defeated opponent so she could stride back to the building.
Ah well... she'd get her taste of blood sooner or later. What was one Angel? She was in a good mood. It wasn't enough to keep her from tormenting him, but it was enough for Keaton to discard the concept of eliminating her adversary in his weakened and vulnerable state.
Mercurial as ever.
Almost as a poignant juxtaposition to the wickedness of her thoughts, Keaton hummed lightly to herself as she re-entered the building, returning Catastrophe to its place on her back just before she opened the door.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Something psychic. The Boogeyman HATED psychic things. Physical entities being able to interact with free thoughts on that level was, in his opinion, cheating. At what he'd yet to decide, but definitely cheating. He was rather big on rules that way. He brought over the water, frown deepening as he noted the creature's lack of pockets jangling with coin. With a shrug he set out the water and glommed a few thoughts off of the area around her. Useless to him, yes, but worth plenty to eccentric or particularly alien thoughtforms. It would cover her drinks.
His mood and expression brightened as Keaton reentered. "Well well! The conquering heroine herself. Don't suppose I'm so lucky that you worked up any sort of thirst out there?"
What? Save for the Book, he wasn't being payed by the fight!
--
Some manner of creature that put Siolen in mind of a dragon, if a dragon were made by one who heard the creatures described but never saw one themselves, entered and staked out a table at the back of the bar wordlessly. Something about it made his head ring. Hearing the blond man put forward withdrawing his challenge, he made up his mind and raised one stone hand.
"You have my interest, Sir," the gargoyle said, assuming he was addressing someone of rank, "Had I come here to watch small girls smash bugs, I would have stayed home and watched cartoons."
The man just looked at the golem for a moment, and then shrugged his thoughts. 'Well, interest is short of decision. I'll say that I think you will need determination to defeat me,' he said. Straightening his coat, he walked over, put his hat on the bar and reached down to pick up his briefcase. 'And perhaps, some weapons?' he suggested, passing Siolen a look. 'I'll warn you that I use firearms. And think before you imply that you being made of stone will make enough of a difference.'
"Being made of meat wouldn't help me much either, Sir. I'll simply do as others would and not get shot," Siolen smiled, quickly scraping the blade on his tail across the floor (thus earning a glare from the barkeep), "My hands have always served me well, I see no cause to change now." The gargoyle turned and went outside. He stepped into the circle and turned back toward the bar, waiting for Stygian. "Shall we then?"
You gotta blink some time tree........GAH!!
A sudden shift in the wind ruffled something out of the branches, falling onto Rip's forehead as he lied. The sun which was poking itself out of the cloud cover began to retreat back again as it started to set on the horizon of the unfamiliar skyline. It didn't seem like a mere coincidence, but Rip paid no attention as he rolled over to inspect what beaned him in the head. Much to his surprise, he recognized the small trinket as it had his name etched on the back of it.
It was a small sun medallion on a gilded chain necklace, laced with a mystical nature tied to altering one's certain aesthetic features, namely the large wings coming out of his back. Rip sighed as he wrapped it back around his neck, concentrating on it for only a split-second, then in an instant the wings on his back were gone, leaving only the dark markings of their origin. He then tucked it under his shirt, concluding that it must have come off during his rough arrival to this place, and then decided to get up and go back inside.
He made his way toward an empty table near the large, alien-like creature, and lounged in an empty seat, but not before bowing politely before The Queen. From what it looked, there was gonna be another fight going on, and he really wasn't interested in being a part of it. Atleast not at the moment anyways.....
Stygian smiled and shook his head. 'I still advise you not to take me lightly. And I'll take it that I'm still the challenger, and you are the challenged?' he said, walking past and still ignoring the hulking alien. 'I'm quite curious as to what battlefield and conditions you have chosen...'
Opening the door, the man stepped out, the wind ruffling his white-blond hair a bit. He straightened his coat, and then took those last few steps down and out, striding silently into the circle.
All three of them, the wolf, the Jackal, and the blackguard were completely silent when the Queen entered the suddenly very-small bar. Three sets of eyes followed the alien as she entered the bar to sit by herself at a far corner. The Jackal was the first to turn away, looking back outside at the recovering fighters, and the Blackguard after that. The dark-armored man's pipe dangled from his mouth as he turned, shaking his head.
The wolf, though, kept his eyes on the alien Queen, only glancing occasionally outside, and then keeping her safely in the corner of his peripheral vision.
The Jackal, however, kept his eyes on the bat and the little stone creature, and scratched his chin thoughtfully.
Should be interesting, he thought.
"Take you lightly? Never sir," the gargoyle's eyes widened in naive surprise, "I try to be a courteous opponent, yes, but not half so generous a one. To underestimate one's foe is to grant them a great advantage, Sir. As for the rules," Siolen's head tilted to one side, briefly, "We fight to the forfeit, or until one of us can no longer fight. Furthermore, if there are no compelling objections," the ground began rising in spires, forming vaguely familiar shapes as the circle acted on the challenged fighter's thoughts. The construct warmed up and stretched a little, deciding it would be best to take this in stride, "We shall do so on my turf."
I remember, I guarded a temple once...
The stone creature concluded its stretches and brought its fists together with a bang, as the environment within the circle grew and changed...
It was a cathedral. He was on the roof of a cathedral, not entirely unlike Notre Dame. It looked exaggerated here and there, the spires rising to structurally impossible points and each of the (inanimate) gargoyles intricately detailed. It was based on Siolen's memory, not the original. Stygian was amongst them at the edge of the roof, clouds below giving an intimidating impression of how far down it was.
Siolen stared down from one of the many steeples (far more than there probably were on the real deal) for a second, clinging with one hand and tail with his hooves braced on the structure. Then he jumped down to some other part of the roof and was gone, hidden amongst the roof scenery.
Let him get his bearings. I did say I'd be courteous.
--
While on the inside it had grown, on the outside the circle had seemingly grown smaller. Both fighters were almost figurines on a model cathedral, complete with full moon hanging in a deep, dark mist of a night sky over it. The Boogeyman took a look at this and sighed. It tried so hard to accomidate any set of rules. He got to work on creating a second circle, scuffing his shoe in the dirt outside the bar to create the lines of the arena. A few inches behind where his heel passed the line darkened into something permanent. Can't have it look like a waste of space, after all.
The environment seemed to almost spin and swirl, as if moving around them with speed, the man and the gargoyle the only solid things amid a dreamlike blur as the landscape changed. It was impossible to get any solid bearing on things, and before Stygian even had the chance to try, he found himself standing at their battlefield already.
It was a ledge among the slightly slanted panes of a cathedral rooftop. Every hard, stony surface around was bathed in glistening moonlight, and beyond and over a low city landscape that while probably illusory looked every bit of the reality it was supposed to reflect, hung a fat moon, dribblingly mirrored in the river that passed off below under low bridges. It looked marvelous. And it pleased Stygian greatly. A cathedral might be his domain, but the night is mine, he thought. And moonlight just makes it all the more beautiful.
'Well, I thought you looked a bit unassuming at first. But now I can see where you're from, and that you have good taste,' the man commented. He made no movement, save rotating his head a bit so he could get a good look at the surroundings. He barely looked after Siolen as the gargoyle jumped down and out of sight. Well, if this is how we're fighting and I'm not to exert myself so much, then I need to draw him out. And I can't fight him too well on a slope, Stygian thought. He looked up behind him, trailing the roof's edge. And while no one watching could really see because of the perspective, his eyes blackened over entirely for a second.
For a few moments, the man just stood there, looking around. Decisively, he lifted the briefcase and put the handle between his teeth, and placed a hand against the roof, crouching a bit. And then, with astounding agility for a mere man, he jumped up, springing off the ledge and kicking away from the first foothold he could find, a piece of ornamentation, then next from a cracking and then sliding pane. Finally, he gripped the edge of the roof with one hand, and with the speed he'd acquired and a display of one-armed strength, threw himself over the side and up on the flat top in a crouched position. Taking the briefcase from his mouth, he immediately swiveled his head, gazing around for an ambush.
"Dangit!" Sylvie said under her breath when the gargoyle accepted Stygian's challenge. I wanted to fight 'im... But the battlegrounds looked interesting enough to make up for it. A tiny cathedral was visible within the circle, which she guessed was the gargoyle's doing. It certainly looked pretty, though she preferred more arable territory. She rose and walked to the window, shooting a look at Ian and mouthing "Don't be mean" to him, nodding subtly towards the Queen. She didn't want to be patronizing, especially not to someone so powerful, but she hated seeing anyone different get treated with disrespect.
She took an empty window seat and watched the battle begin. Stygian seemed like an interesting foe so far, though she guessed that the gargoyle had more to him than met the eye. "Is it okay to go outside during the fight?" she called to the owner. She wasn't sure if she should say it, but now that she'd had a drink, she felt like heading out in the sun to get some "food."
"Feel free!" The Boogeyman replied, "Hell, we could probably use the improvement of scenery. Just don't get in the way while I set up a spare circle."
--
Siolen crept around the wall of the imposing edifice, hands and hooves instinctively finding handholds amongst the ornamental carvings. It wasn't his original environment, but he'd guarded one like it a long, long time ago. He circled around to the top of one of the other spires, doing everything to keep himself hidden from his foe. He crouched at the top, watching and calculating...
And then reached out and sent one of the inanimate stone gargoyles over the edge with a single, deliberate motion and watching as it tumbled toward Stygian with a slight grinding noise as the only warning as it parted company with the wall.
Siolen acted silently, yet even that faint grinding noise seemed to be enough to set this 'Stygian' off. It was as if he had almost perfect focus and attention. Either that, or a lot of practice, because the moment the gargoyle made himself noticed, the man's hand swept inside his coat. He tumbled aside, and then onto his knees, before a long, darkly gleaming shape whipped into view a split second before the man squeezed off a rapid few shots, the sharp bangs of the gun followed by hard snaps hitting and ricocheting off a very close target figure, right around Siolen's position. It seemed that while polite, the man did not give much leeway when well in the fight.
Ian made an "I'm sorry" face. "Wanna go practice a bit? If were going to be fighting people of this calibur we best warm up. How does a hand to hand match sound?"
Boog scratched out the last circle and stepped back with a flourish as it gave off one flash of light; it was ready for the next pair of violence junkies to want a fight. He grinned, appreciating the feeling of a job well done. And, coincidentially, the prospect of more people beating the hell out of each other.
"Second circle's ready, for whoever's interested."
--
Siolen scrambled to the side of the steeple and swung on another gargoyle statue around to the other side. Safely behind shelter he pumped his fist in the air and grinned. He was worried that this fancy-suited fellow would be all talk, but this 'Stygian' man's senses might've been on par with his own!
Well, if that was the case, it would be doing the man a disservice to refrain from returning fire. He had higher ground, the home field advantage, and a good deal of faith in his evasive skills. He grabbed another loose chunk of stone off the wall, swung around the other side again and threw the head-sized rock before clambering around the other side again.
I'll need to lure him up here, where his range isn't quite so advantageous. His climbing skills are probably good enough for that to not be TOO far fetched.
Precisely opposite to the gargoyle's thoughts, Stygian was thinking that he should use his advantage in range to a maximum. Dodging the flying rocks with speed, he could easily avoid the creature's harassment. But that would not earn him victory. And just falling back on my abilities would be cheap and tiring, he thought. Well, as long as I don't do anything overly dramatic...
The next rock smashing to bits next to him, the man dropped the briefcase, and with a quick motion snapped it open faster than that sort of thing should have been able to. From within he pulled out a gleaming, dark silhouette of a long-barreled something, and then slipped a small cylinder into his hand. He twisted the top around with a snap, and then threw the thing up in the golem's direction, already tensing to spring.
A high-pitched whine preceded the cylinder's explosion, a strange purplish-blue flash erupting into a darkening, blurry cloud of black. Much of the rooftop was obscured, and Stygian took the chance to evade Siolen's senses, slipping into the dark. The darkness dissipated slowly, and for perhaps a dozen seconds the man was not to be seen. Only the ones observing from outside had the chance to catch a glimpse of him.
But Stygian was not gone for long. A short whirr was the only warning Siolen got, before a stream of white-blue glowing projectiles darted against him from far off to the side, smattering sounds following them. The man was firing bursts at him with something that had to be an assault rifle, or the equivalent.
He was already around the other side of the spire away from the lethal whisper of Stygian's bullets, focusing on the direction the sound had come from. The dark was no issue for his eyesight; he was made to ALWAYS be watching. He flung one more rock and clambered down, still on the opposite side of the steeple from his enemy and slipping down silently onto the ledge around the roof. I shall have to come upon him by surprise if I'm to succeed, or he shall have me pinned under his fire forever. He continued toward where he'd seen Stygian, weaving amongst statues less mobile but no less well carved as himself. I should be right under him about... Now. Stone haunches tensed...
Being referred to as the "conquering heroine" by the Boogeyman managed to capture Keaton's attention, certainly enough for her to lose any remaining interest in her capricious desire to kill Rip, or, as how she had dubbed him in her mind, "that Angel bastard." Smirking widely in that demented, devious manner of hers, the jackal swept her arm around flamboyantly and took a bow, taking her sweet time before trudging up to the counter. In her absence several new arrivals had joined those already in the establishment, including an anthropomorphic rat, a gargoyle, and, much to her shock, a strange, insectoid monstrosity.
Recuperating from the initial shock upon seeing the Queen was a momentary task, although Keaton made a note to avoid the alien creature whenever she could. Hopefully it wasn't a very sociable creature, otherwise she'd feel very awkward. Besides, assumed that weirder individuals would appear as this place became more active.
Keaton seated herself at the bar, then shuffled through her pockets for some money. In the background, she could hear the gargoyle fellow and the blond man depart for their match, which she surmised would give her something interesting to watch. She dug up the required amount while the Boogeyman left to scrawl the new circle, then when he returned she pushed the money before him. "Got any absinthe?" she asked, smirking. Once the drink was served, she'd go outside as well.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
As the battle began outside with the sound of gunfire, Rip took a good look of The Queen residing a few feet away from him. He gave a subtle nod to her as he made note of all her features. Such size, deadly razor sharp talons, glossy black skin. She seemed most certainly a force to be reckoned with, a very intimidating; almost commanding presence. In a way, somewhat soothing for Rip, although he could not figure out why.
With the match going on and another appearing to begin, it seemed like it may be awhile before he'd have to steel himself again. Eyeing the pool tables a few feet away, he got up out of the chair and walked over toward the cue rack. Most of the cues seemed like they have never left the rack since the place opened, except one... It was placed separate from the others, on a rack of it's own. Rip could feel a subtle aura emanating from it, unfamiliar to anything else he'd felt so far. He made note to leave it be and took one of the other cues, dusting it off as he racked up the table.
"I think Eddy has this one, just a matter of time....", Rip commented as he gazed out of a nearby window at the ensueing the fight, right before leaning down to break.
And I'd have thought something made of stone would be less agile, Stygian thought, pulling back his weapon. The long, odd-looking rifle made a whining sound and then a pneumatic click as three ignition chambers stopped spinning. So. If I can't outflank him like this, I will have to trap him. He moved a bit to the side, peering out beside the roof. Now where has he...?
The sudden sensation, first a feeling that was entirely his own and something that no ordinary creature could have felt, and then a slight scraping that did not come from his own boots, told him what he wanted. It was impossible to feel anything but the heaviest shifts of weight through the mountain-solid structure of the cathedral, but the sound was enough to tell Stygian off. Somewhere below him; he couldn't tell exactly. Not without having to cast out a few sounds of his own to reflect, so he could hear where Siolen was exactly. The man took another step, pretending not to have noticed, while his hand smoothly went under his coat for a handgun...
The good news was the attack eventually came. The bad news was that it came from above.
There was a suggestion of motion around the gargoyle, like somebody took away the gigantic wings that would be needed to move such a creature but left the motions they'd make in the air. Siolen dropped toward Stygian hooves first in a motion somewhere between a dive and a trample. A snarl built in his throat as he hit the ground, the other fighter dodging his strike with apparent ease, culminating in a sound between a shout and the bang of a firearm as he spat a blast of flaming tar.
Stygian detected the gargoyle as he plummeted down toward him fairly much in time. It was a bit hard, as he didn't really move or even make that much noise in the air, when he simply fell. But it was enough, and Stygian's senses had a greater immediate perspective than mere sight. He dropped the grip on his handgun and made a roll out of the way and a hand-flip to get back up on his feet.
The tar blast though, caught the man off-guard. He'd already raised the rifle in his movement, and both it and his arm were splattered by the burning stream. Making a snarling sound, he dropped the gun and whipped his arm, before he reached into his coat with his left hand and snapped out that long pistol at Siolen. He fired off a volley of shots in rapid succession. He didn't count on it having much of an effect; his handguns were made for punching through a thin intermediate of hard but flexible materials, like steel and body armor, and into soft flesh, not for destroying things that were solid right through, like stone statues. Still, it would probably grant the gargoyle a stinging sensation and distract him, while Stygian moved in.
If Siolen had expected the man to fall back, he was surely surprised. Not by the bullets coming at him, but rather the hard boot directed toward his face that followed, and then another one, as Stygian threw his full weight against the creature in a blurring, spinning set of kicks. I should be strong enough to shock him, at least. And then I can get a real shot in...! the man thought.
Sylvie nodded in response to Ian's idea. "Sounds like a good plan. Just give me a minute outside." With that, she removed her cloak, left it and her staff on a chair and headed out.
Skirting around the circles, she found the area with the most remaining sunlight and stood still with her eyes closed. The fabric on her dress was thin enough not to block the sun, and the dark green fabric didn't hinder the process either. The sun hadn't disappeared yet, so she was able to photosynthesize most of what she'd drank. For about two minutes, she stood out there, breathing deeply and "eating." Once she was done, her eyes opened and she headed back inside, picking up her staff as she walked towards Ian.
"So... ready whenever you are," she told the rat.
As Ian passed Sylvie he asked "Would it matter to you if I chose the 'enviroment'? You can set the rules."
Siolen raised his arms against the barrage of bullets, lest any damage his face. As it was the potent bullets slammed into his shoulders and torso, making jagged ugly craters in his stone hide. Then, so his complete surprise, this Stygian ran up and tried Kicking him! The man was stronger than the gargoyle had come to expect of humans (that is to say, he had to actually defend himself against Stygian's blows), and apart from that his foe was worrisomely fast.
But he wouldn't give any ground. Rather Siolen weathered Stygian's assault and waited for an opening in the man's offensive. There! The gargoyle lunged, Stygian still falling back from his last kick, and lashed out with one of his own hooves. His tail blade came scything along the same path a second later, insurance in case the first strike missed or was parried.
The sight of the battle outside was difficult to make out, although from high atop the darkness-shrouded cathedral the shapes of moving shadows, and the brief, staccato illuminations of gunfire provided a few signs of the fight. The flaming tar that the gargoyle belched forth provided almost a beacon for those watching, and all three - the wolf, the Jackal, and the blackguard watched with interest.
The blackguard only smiled at the fire, almost mesmerized, while the other two regarded it calmly, considering. The Jackal scratched his chin again, and the wolf only mumbled under his breath as he watched from the window to the outside.
The blackguard seemed to chuckle to himself as the man made a double-kick to the gargoyle's face.
"Y' can't squeeze blood from a' rock, you know." he murmured, his pipe clenched in his teeth as he grinned.
The newest visitor paused with her hand on the door of the establishment and took a deep breath. She was already starting to rue the impulse that brought her here. But the billionth variation of the argument with her cousin was enough. Just because Mel didn't like to fight didn't mean she was hopeless at it. This was the sort of place where she could prove it. And it was far enough off the beaten path that if her bullying cousin was right and Mel got herself thrashed she could ignore the fact that it ever happened.
With a second steadying breath she pushed the door open and entered, pausing inside to let her eyes adjust to the dim indoor light and to assess the patrons of this circle. Any patrons looking up from the fight would see a dragon of snowy white hue, faint pearlescent gleams of blue and pink shimmering on her scales as she moved. A bit under 6' tall in her current manifestation she was almost snake-slender inside a long coat of pale grey suede. Blue eyes took in the great variety amongst the duelists before heading towards the bar.
Ian looked when he heard the bell. "Mel!" Ian seemed like he knew this person. "I'll se you after this 'fight'." Ian's attention turned back to sylvie. "well?" He said stepping into the circle.
Sylvie waved once at the elegant dragon-lady, then stepped into the circle as well. She counted off the rules on her fingers, making sure to ignore the fire in the other circle.
"Let's see... rule one: No killing each other. I'd rather not die before I fight anyone else, and I'm sure you feel the same way. Rule two: Since we can't kill each other, the fight's over once one of us either gets knocked out or gives up. Rule three: No fire-based attacks."
She paused, thinking for a moment. "And that's pretty much it. Pick your terrain, Ian." She smiled, gripping the lotus staff in both hands and waiting.
Even if Siolen did mean to lash with his hoof, what he really did with the stony instrument was, as one could expect, pummel. The blunt appendage hit Stygian in the gut, and made the man tumble backwards. As an afterthought, the gargoyle's tail followed and just managed to nick his leg before he was out of reach. Somewhere around the second lap, he caught himself, and managed to get some control of his careening back over the roof, to the point where he managed to flip himself over and then end up in a neat crouched position.
Where Stygian sat, Siolen could not see his face. His position suggested he'd felt the kick, one arm around his stomach. It should have been plain to see why; something so hard and strong impacting with mere flesh...
A coarse cough came from the man. Then, a lighter one, which turned into another, and then into a chuckling sound. Straightening, Stygian relaxed and looked over at the gargoyle, a wicked grin adorning his face.
'Fast up close as well. Good, good,' he praised the stone fighter. 'But very direct. I'm not sure if you have more than that spitting- oh, who am I kidding? Think fast.'
In the instant after the man stopped speaking, Siolen heard a whining sound already rising a bit over his shoulder.
Siolen muttered a curse and dropped to the ground, heavy frame hitting the cathedral roof with a loud slamming noise. Whatever the whine was, it still took some chunks out of his left wing. Wow, I really hope I'll be able to fly with that later. He snarled and barreled forward on all fours, lowering his head to maximize impact area against Stygian.
--
Boog quirked an eyebrow at Sylvie and Ian's use of the rules. Unexpected, but efficient. He got to work on a third circle.
The doorbell rang, and entering into the tavern was someone who almost looked like she'd gotten lost somewhere. At least, at first - a moment's more inspection would make one realize that they were looking at a dragon, and the pearlescent glow of snowy-white scales indicated an ice dragon at that. Willowy-thin and wearing a coat of grey swede, she entered the tavern almost silently and made her way to the bar.
All three of those gathered and watching the fight turned to look at the dragon, but the Jackal was the only one to turn away and start watching the fight again, immediately. The blackguard seemed almost shocked, his eyebrows raised, and took a puff on his pipe silently before looking back up at the battle.
The wolf, however, grinned when he saw the dragon, and stood up from his seat to walk over to her.
"Ms. Icewing?" he said, his face split into a grin. His eyes narrowed for a moment, and then the wolf only grinned wider in affirmation. "It is you. Mel!"
The wolf moved forward to embrace the dragoness. "I haven't seen you in far too long! I still have that pair of glasses, you know. What brings you here?"
Ian smiled as something that looked like a back yard in a poorer naighborhood appeared. It was small, but had enough room to move around. There were two fully grown trees in back and a young one somewhere near the center. On the opposite side of the yard as the trees was a two story town house with a back porch that looked like it needed repair badly. There were a few people on it, and Sylvie could gather they were family and friends. Ian started near the porch and sylvie near the trees. traffic and passers by could be heard but not seen past the fenceing, and both competitors enjoied the warm sunshine. Ian took off his jacket and laied it across the railing of the porch, then he took off his shirt and wrung it out and laid it to across the railing. "Oh you're useing your staff? Guess I'll need a weapon too." Ian thought for a second and smiled. He then had a metal pipe in his hands and weilding it as if it were a sword. "Ready when you are."
To Siolen's detriment, it was pretty evident by now who of the two was faster. And while the gargoyle had held that edge when they were climbing around, the surroundings favored Stygian now. The man leaped to the side, and bounded off the ceiling to his left, jumping over the gargoyle as he dropped another cylinder. Mid-air, he spun around and whipped out that handgun from before, along with its identical twin, and began firing off at the construct's back. Just a bit more, he thought. He's heavy, and can't stop his momentum so easily, so if this doesn't throw him off the wall, then the next attack will.
Before she got as far as the bar Mel heard her name called. She turned and saw a familiar silver wolf. "Mr. Mithlome," she smiled as she returned the hug. "How are you Cog?" She laughed at his comment about the glasses. "I should make you a set that is also unbreakable and return to your pocket when lost if I remember our last visit accurately. As to why I am here, I guess you could call it accepting a dare."
The upper lip of the xenomorph's great head peeled back in a slight sneer, and air hissed inwards in two short, sharp sniffs as the dragonlady entered the bar.
The head slipped forwards from the cranial crest and the outer jaws parted, allowing a long tube with a smaller fanged set of jaws extend slowly. The inner mouth dipped into the water and drained it in an eyeblink, then retracted.
Thought like shards of black ice slipped into the dragon's mind. "You. I challenge you."
The wolf grinned at the dragon. "It'd save me a bit of time and money, yes." he said, adjusting the shaded lenses on his nose. "And I'm doing well. And I can't say I'm not glad to see you here, but...well, this is the last place I ever expected to find you."
The wolf grinned. "A dare, you say?"
Not being psychic, the wolf didn't hear the Queen's telepathic message to the dragon in front of him. The expression on the dragon's face, however, did make the wolf raise an eyebrow. His eyes grew a bit concerned.
"Mel....?"
Sylvie looked round carefully at the environment Ian had chosen. Had she been a typical elf, she might've sneered at the shambling lower-class neighborhood. But this place reminded her of her own home, where outcasts cared for one another. She smiled a bit sadly and walked over to the trees.
When she saw Ian's weapon choice, she bit her lip a little nervously and wrung her staff with her hands. Don't worry about it, she told herself. Much as she hated to admit it, her staff was oak and was reasonably durable. The material wasn't her fault; she'd found it while "working for" a group of pirates with Kellie.
"Okay then," she nodded at Ian. Without anything further, she pointed her staff at his leg. Her eyes began to glow a little as she uttered a few words under her breath. In seconds, a root had sprouted up from the ground near his feet and wrapped around his ankle. As the root tightened around the rat's ankle, Sylvie ran up and swung at him with her staff. A disgustingly basic attack, but she didn't want to use her full magic unil she was sure he was strong enough to take it.
Ian was hopping about trying to realize she was useing magic when a thick oak staff cracked down on the back of his head. they heard the crown go "Oooooo." as if it were an arena event. Ian blerted out a short string of obsenities. He cut the root with his knife. then jabbed the end of his pipe into sylvie's stomac.
The tail blade swung up again as Stygian jumped over it, but it was a clumsy blow. An afterthought, in the middle of throwing himself out of the path of the other man's bullets. He staggered to the side, wincing as another bullet thudded into place below his ribs. His charge took him off the roof, but he quickly grabbed at the edge and swung around to the ledge below. He pressed one hand to the recent wound and hissed through his teeth once before clambering quickly along the ledge toward the cathedral belltower, again concieled amongst the mere statues.
Sylvie hadn't expected crowd commentary on the match, but what the hell. Before she could back up and strike again, Ian recovered, cut the root on his ankle and jabbed her in the stomach with his pipe.
Sylvie let out a short scream, then several coughs as she wrapped an arm around her stomach and took a step back. A second later, she felt herself beginning to heal, so she took a deep breath and moved her hands into a different position on her staff before swinging it at Ian's ribs.
Half-crouched, Stygian slowly rose to watch the gargoyle's retreat with unnaturally acute eyes in that darkness. That fast, he thought, even when wounded. I always wonder at the difference between machines and biological things, if there is any. But magic...
Ejecting both his magazines halfway to double-check his ammunition count, Stygian ordered his guns with a couple of metallic slaps and then reached into his coat and pockets, checking those as well. Finally, when prepared, he took out a neat, clean pocket watch on a chain from within his coat and looked at it. Four and a half minutes. Huh, he thought to himself, and slipped the timepiece back. He fumbled with a package of long cigarettes for a few seconds, then wedged one in his mouth and flicked out a golden lighter, pulling on the slender little breath-stealer and then breathing out a thick cloud of smoke that hung heavily in the air, before dispersing when he passed through it. Boots pounding the roof in a menacing manner, now that he wasn't watching his step, he closed on the belltower while leaking acrid smoke.
'Come out, come out...' he called, voice low and cruel. 'Come on out and face me, you overgrown stone grotesque!'
Mel was certain she had gone a bit funny looking at the sensation of that utterly alien presence across her mind. When she turned her head to look at the sender of that demand she probably went a little grey under her scales. The thing was bigger than she was in her normal form. She had no idea what it was. It looked like a mad scientist had decided to use up all the spare parts in the lab in one drunken spree. She turned back to Cog, "The... thing wants to fight with me. What is it?"
Cog's face darkened somewhat, and he surreptitiously turned his head to glance at the Queen out of the corner of his eye. It didn't seem to have moved any, but her head was most definitely swiveled at the ice dragon in front of him. Cog made a face.
"I don't know what that is, Mel." he said, his voice somewhat low. "But...it wants to fight with you?"
He turned back to Mel. "It's been silent ever since it came in. I suppose it just doesn't like you..." he said, a pitiful attempt at a joke. "But, you know what this place is, right? The Honor Circle? People challenge each other here, and fight in the circles outside. Although if I remember correctly, the challenger gets to set the rules..." he said, turning again to face the black xenomorph.
"I've seen what you can do. You'll kick it's ass, Mel." he said, looking at the usually restrained, sometimes timid dragon out of the corner of his eye.
The Queen unfolded herself and rose slightly, a hiss escaping from between her metallic fangs as she regarded the dragonwoman.
"Do you accept?" The mental presence twisted slightly, almost as though trying to hook itself into Mel's mind.
It took every scrap of his willpower not to yell out 'No!' He couldn't help wanting to. This was RUNNING. He wanted to be found. Wanted to hold his ground. But he wasn't about to because, right now, that would be stupid.
He slipped around the other side of the belltower and in through the window, making slower progress due to the crater in his side. The gargoyle wrenched the bullet out and spat some tar into his hand, packing it into the hole for a temporary repair job. So what do I have to work with...
Rope.
Support beams.
Lots of bells.
An enemy on his way.
Siolen grinned and got to work. When Stygian reached the bottom of the belltower, the stone creature would be keeping himself quiet and hidden somewhere in the rafters, waiting...
---
Boog finally finished the third circle and stepped back inside, mainly to watch the drama with Queenie and Mel. Didn't have her pegged for the type. Interesting...
There was no immediate entry into the belltower save from the inside, as could be expected. However, the tall window openings were quite large enough for Stygian to leap up and throw himself in through. Jumping down and hitting the floor smoothly, coat sweeping out underneath him a bit, he stood and leaned his head back, looking up into the tall darkness of the belltower. Stone structures through the walls and thick wooden beams and boards lined the tower, spiderwebs and ropes hanging between them. The man paced to the center of the shaft, watching attentively upward, searching with every bit of his senses for the hiding guardian...
Siolen didn't want to believe it would be this easy, but he wasn't about to get a better shot. With a flick of his tail he cut through most of the bell's rope, letting it hang by a few fraying fibers. Then he jumped down.
The belltower wasn't too big a place. There wasn't enough space for Siolen to have to worry about Stygian's guns. He got in close, going to work with his fists, tail, and teeth while bit by bit the rope holding the bell above weakened...
Ian took the smack to the ribs, but it didn't phase him as much at the shot to the back of the head. The crowd seemed fairly impartial. Ian stood up a distance of about two yards away from Sylvie. "Magic too?" Ian smiled "I like a challange." He swung the pipe for Sylvie's left side. Should she block the easy attack she would find a knee planted into her right side.
....What's she on about?
Rip looked up at the Queen from the pool table when she let out a hiss. It seemed like her attention was focused on the newest entrant to the bar, a silvery white draconic woman of sorts. Even though Rip couldn't hear the thoughts the Queen was procuring into the woman's head, it soon became rather apparant that something was about to go down between the two. Rip grinned and shook his head, then bent down again. His hand guiding the cue, he made one final elegant thrust on the cueball, sinking the nine in the corner then ricocheting the eight into the side pocket. With the table clear he stood up and hanged the cue back onto the rack, then looked around once more at everyone. Something was bothering him....or rather....came off as annoying more than anything else. He could feel that there were one more set of eyes somewhere in the bar that weren't accounted for....although he couldn't place it. Slightly fed up, he sighed and made for the door out toward the arena to get a better view of the ongoing battles.
Immediately, he spotted...her.....that saffron jackel demoness.....leaning against a nearby pillar, a glass in hand; watching the duels although her immediate attention seemed to be most focused on the dark cathedral. Rip still wasn't sure whether or not she was out to kill him later, but seeing as how she apparently didn't finish the job, or atleast hesitated, meant that if she was going to try and kill him now, it'd be because he asked for it, not because of an agenda orchestrating her entire race led by a shadowy group of individuals. She was not from his world, and that's all he really needed to know. Rip walked over toward her and stared into her eyes while leaning against another nearby pillar. "For ridiculing you earlier, I apologize..... Take that however you wish I really don't care."
Siolen's expectations were met from the first second. As the gargoyle hit the floor with a smash, the man moved deftly around, backing up while leisurely exchanging blows with the creature and keeping on drawing the stone construct with him. The circular room was perfect for that sort of movement. When the man heard the snap up above though, his attention was immediately drawn. The heavy bell fell silently and straight at first, but the second it smashed through a pair of the wooden support beams it began tumbling. Then it took a bit of a supportive structure with it, and quickly turned the inside of the tower to an avalanche of splinters and stone, with the massive bell in the center. Stygian didn't even curse except within his head, being far too preoccupied with getting out of the way of the thing. He leaped to the side, and then pushed himself harder than necessary up into one of the windows, being pelted and bruised by rocks and scarcely avoiding getting his head crushed by a stone tile twice its size. The bell smashed through the reinforced floor of the tower, and kept on tumbling to its inevitable stop down below
The chill and moist, not to mention the draftiness of the tower, meant that there was little but cobweb to be stirred up from the wreckage. And even that had barely settled when Stygian swung around, one hand grabbing the edge of the window and the other furiously sweeping his gun around in line with his vision. Vicious little bastard! Where have you gone to now?! He directed a look up through the shaft, noticing how while the main part of it had been swept open when the bell crashed through, a lot of the things and structures up there were still hanging loosely to the walls. If you don't behave, I'll collapse the whole bloody place on you! the man snarled vengefully in his head.
It must have been some sort of Angel intuition, but whatever it was, Rip was right. Almost right. There was another set of eyes, no, it was just one eye that had been watching everyone and everything for quite some time. The bartender knew this entity was here, it was impossible for him not to, but to everyone else, he was as inconspicuous and uninteresting as a rock.
He was seated in the corner of the room with the least amount of light, garbed in a full body dark brown cloak/cape with no sleeves; it blended in almost perfectly with the dull drab of the wooden establishment. The hood was drawn deeply over the man's face, so that it couldn't be seen. There was a massive bulge on the man's back, though the cloak was still big enough to hide whatever it was that was under there.
He had seen everything, from the first coustomers entering, to the battle that had already concluded, the battles that were in progress, and, he guessed, the battle that was about to take place. Despite there being a solid wall between him and the outside courtyard, he had still seen everything that took place out there. And he still saw everyone on the inside. In fact...
[Analyzation complete. Data stored. All entities in facility designated 'Honor Circle Inn' accounted for. Awaiting log command.] A small voice inside the man's head, his own yet not himself...
Log individual data under separate folders. Standard designations. This was his own voice as well, he was thinking to himself?
[Logging Complete.]
The person under the cloak turned his head slightly, then he stood up. I think I've spent enough time in here. If anyone else comes here, I'll know about it. Either way, I wonder exactly what sort of accomodations this place has?
The man walked slowly, deliberately, around the edge of the bar. Though he walked with a fairly light step, for some reason, every other footfall had a dull Thunk to it. He neared the bar counter, and, very quickly, something flashed out from his cloak, and several gold coins slid across the counter, stopping unnaturally perfectly next to the safe-box. If anyone had somehow been watching this stange, yet unnoticed man in a cloak that looked like a hunchback, they might, just might, have noticed that the hand that slipped the coins across the counter had a glint of silver to it...though it probably was just a ring of some sort.
The cloaked hunchback walked into the hallway labled Sleeping Quarters.
Mel half-smiled at Cog. "This was what the dare was about, coming here and dueling. I just did not expect it this fast. Or this odd. Wish me luck, I suspect I will need it." She was searching her vast memory trying to come up with what the thing was, but wasn't successful. She'd have to just hope she found the right spells to be effective. She bowed to the creature. "Accepted. The terms are this is not a death match, we fight to submission. And we fight on the terrain of my choice."
Siolen jumped away from the falling bell just in time, clambering upward and concealing himself amongst the bell-swinging mechanisms without a glance back down at the destruction he'd caused. He thought hard about what his foe had given away. The man often reacted before his eyes focused on an incoming attack, and was uncannily good at locating him by sound. Humans typically relied mainly on eyesight... Then again, there were plenty of things that looked human and weren't. Golems, fae, fiends... The man didn't seem unlike one on their way to fienddom, not yet warped but still augmented by some source or another.
Well, best experiment with his skills a little more. The tower still had plenty of loose structure to drop on him for a second go. The gargoyle leaned out of hiding long enough to spit three blazing shots, neither large nor particularly forceful. He aimed for his foes face, namely the eyes. After all, humans relied so much on their eyes.
---
The Boogeyman spared the cloaked man a grin, gathering up the coins. Struck him as a melodramatic fellow, yes, but one with cash. He turned his attention back to Queenie and the dragon, resisting the urge to yell something to the effect of "Catfight!"
The Queen's lips formed a snarl and she hissed again, louder. Her tail uncoiled from behind her, nearly striking the pool player as it passed.
"Submission. Agreed. The rules give me choice of terrain." the sharp, dark thoughtshards sent.
The Queen moved out towards the newly scribed Circle, her tail following like a liquid serpent. Her talons dug gouges in the flooring, and she squeezed herself through the doors to get outside.
Briefly swinging her head to take in the other fights occuring, she turned to face the bar area, then backed into the Circle, her four arms folding into a ready position. "Come, submit."
The magic of the ring recognized challenger from challenged and responded to the dragon's thoughts as she paced a quarter of the way around the circle before entering, changing to her natural form as she went. A meager 22 feet of dragon stepped into the arctic valley she had created. Tall spires of ice glittered in the sun in opposition to the mysterious dark voids of their sister crevasses plunging deep into the heart of the glacier. Here and there peaks of granite, resistant to the sanding away the glacier had performed on the rest of the landscape broke through the snow like grey ships riding a stormy sea. Mel stepped easily onto the blue glacial ice, unfurling her wings just a bit in preparation to take to the air as well as to momentarily enjoy the pleasing change in temperature. She slunk to the edge of a tall icefall to look around for the glossy black of her opponent while readying a volley of magic.
Sylvie did manage to block the strike to her left side, but the knee to her right was successful. She fell with the attack to avoid excess damage, and broke her fall with her shoulder. But she wasn't done yet. She began to rise, smirking at Ian. "Glad you're okay with it," she said, spreading her hands on the ground and muttering another spell. Multiple vines came up to snare Ian's legs halfway up his calves, while Sylvie quickly got up and aimed another strike at the rat's head.
What ever the elf was strikeing with it hit Ian's pipe hard enough to make a dent. He then swung his pipe around to her left. "If the rules didn't allow it it wouldn't be so!" He said with a grunt mid swing "Would it?"
Again, the man reacted without looking directly at where the attack was coming from. He threw himself out of the way and upward, along the wall. Yet he still received a splatter of hot tar over the right side of his face from the last of the projectiles. It caused him to hiss and snarl, but did little to stop his ascent. Taking a set of stairs five steep steps at a time, and then kicking off the wall to reach the other side of the ruined platform, he began blasting off upward as soon as he got a steady foothold. Shots ricocheting off the narrow angle, he directed his attention downward for a moment.
The hole that the tumbling bell had torn in the bottom of the tower had, unfortunately or fortunately depending on how you looked at it, done nothing to destabilize its structure. The church seemed built in a rather new style, meaning that it was both large and stable and nothing of the flimsy structures of old, with reinforced mortar and a number of tricky architectural designs to stabilize its structure. This of course meant that in order to topple the tower, one would have to take out its bottom, and knock out a considerable hole in the side. And determining from the amount of free space available, and knowing one's physics, Stygian could immediately tell that the blast from one of his cylinders would be completely insufficient to take out that support, seeing as how it would be deflected inward by the wall. There would be a lot of noise, just like from his guns which even then were hurting his ears, in spite of the plugs he'd inserted, but very little bang. However, there was one possible shot; a pile of rubble that was left of that first level he was standing on and the floor. If he could drop that cylinder into that rubble... It was a last way out, but he knew every option should be considered.
The man let up firing when his clips ran out, and ejected them, slipping them quickly into his coat pockets. What am I going to do when I run out, here? he thought. Four clips left. The other gun's out; I'm going to have to clean that later... Idly, he felt the side of his face. The skin was badly burnt, and he felt a stinging sensation in his right eye. Shit. I guess I'll have no choice but to do things the hard way. S.A.H.L.EN.A's got all the heavy guns right now... So I guess that means demolish the tower, or go up close and personal. He slapped two new clips into place.
'Give it up, golem. You've only got a couple of minutes left, at most. Why don't you do yourself a favor and quit now, before I tear some real chunks out of you?' Stygian said loudly, coarsely and with a hint of smugness to his voice.
The Queen stepped into the ice valley and for a moment was taken aback, before anger flushed through her. Her kind despised cold, and though they could survive in it, it was not their ideal habitat.
Digging her hind talons into the ice to anchor her, she began casting about electrically and psychically for her opponent. Small puffs of warmer air plumed from her mouth as her arms unfolded, ready to grapple or rend as needed.
There! Her opponent was atop an icefall, too far away for a direct attack yet closer than expected. The Queen noted the wings and new form she faced, and remembered older battles with beasts of the air.
Her crest raised in the cold air slightly, and warm blood pumped into two ducts alongside her throat, swelling them with fluid. With a wet organic sound, she also deposited a single egg on the ice beneath her, her tail curling around to keep it steady as it froze in place.
It was time to test her opponent. she opened her mouth and let loose a massive echoing hiss-roar, hoping to crack the ice and perhaps bury her enemy beneath.
"Cowards talk in place of action," came the gargoyle's reply, wincing as more bullets peppered his hide. Echoes in the tower made it difficult to pinpoint his location... for one with average hearing, "Warriors take action and say nothing at all." With that a hoof dislodged yet more support beams and stone, followed swiftly by Siolen.
His wing had been damaged by Stygian's bullets, and the insubstantial not-wings that he could call upon where scaled-up replicas of his own, but surprisingly that worked in his favor. Whirling down through the air like a child's toy spinner thanks to the chunks missing from his left wing the gargoyle zigzagged downward like a dervish, firing off a few more blasts of tar as covering fire. He fell through the hole the bell had smashed, dismissed the ragged wings, and vanished into the darkness below. I'll have one chance at this. I shall have to thank this Stygian fellow later. This shall make for an excellent story.
Mel spotted the alien form just as it let out a screech. Tossing a bolt of lighting at the creature as a distraction she launched herself upwards and away from the cracking ice. Once airborne she began using her magic to stir up a storm. Wind filled with stinging sleet roared down the valley, coating everything it passed over in a glaze of ice.
Cowards. Heh. Nicely said, but not accurate at all. Sorry, construct, the man's thoughts went, even as the creature he was fighting descended in a flurry of burning tar. Holding his fire and making a dash, Stygian dodged the steaming sprays by passing under the line of fire. Siolen was falling fast and spinning more slowly, which left gaps in his firing range. Some are just giving an impression.
When the flying gargoyle had just passed the hole at the bottom of the tower, Stygian leaped down along the wall and crouched atop the rubble, quickly looking at the interior of the cathedral from an angle. There didn't seem to be very many places, save a few alcoves and a balcony off to the right, to which he could make his way. So it came down to either showing off just how easily he could break a fall and chasing Siolen down, or using a bit of his abilities to get to a high point. Seeing as the latter was in his own interest, he made up his mind in that split second there was. He slipped his guns back into their holsters, practically ripped his gloves off and stuffed them in his pocket, then timed the grenade and deposited it in a crack in the rubble, and threw himself against the other side of the opening. Grabbing the stone ledge was hard, but once he'd gotten a grip he began scaling, until he could safely leap and land at the balcony leading to the organist's entryway with a small flip, a bit clumsily with his boots but steadily enough. From there on it was a tumble, as the explosion behind him rattled the place and peppered the surroundings with rocky shrapnel, blowing a considerable hole in the structure above. The man scrambled forward practically on all fours, his coat flowing like a ragged cape. He would only have seconds, if even that, if the tower did collapse, and didn't keel over in the other direction as it should.
The whole structure groaned like a thing in pain, mortar and gravel falling this way and that as the bell tower slowly drifted to the side as it fell. Based on imperfect memory though the place was, gravity still held sway here until otherwise informed.
Siolen looked around, briefly. He watched Stygian's leap, heard the blast of the grenade...
... Saw the spattered burn on the man's face. Aha!
He reacts before he sees me.
His bullets find me by instinct.
He finds me with no light or clues beyond sound.
AND HE MADE THAT JUMP WITH NO DEPTH PERCEPTION.
He was right. Now to see if that would help him.
The bell had smashed through the floor of the bell tower and slammed into the bishop's throne, crushing it. That was a shame; Siolen remembered it as a well crafted work. However, he had no time for such thoughts. He scrambled out of his own hiding place in the choir seats and leaped for the bell.
CLONNNNNNNG! One hoof connecting with the bell toward the top, audible throughout this whole structure over the scream of failing masonry. After all, it had landed in the one place where the speaker was meant to be heard by the entire congregation. The bell fell to the side, opening facing away from the cross behind the twisted wood, stone, and precious metal that once made up the throne.
CLONNNNNNNG! Another hoof, punching a hole in the other end of the bell. More rubble fell from above, which Siolen raised his arms against as he stepped up to the bell and leaned forward.
A bell with an opening at the small end, in the once place in the building that was meant for sound to carry to all. An amplifier from hell, for an enemy with so little concern for their eyes...
Siolen growled, letting the sound carry through his makeshift megaphone to every corner of the cathedral. His voice rose in volume, culminating in a roar that shook the entire structure to its foundation. It was heard over the avalanche of the ruined bell tower, booming through the cathedral...
Stygian only had a short blink of a moment to get up from his forward dash, before a head-splitting toll rocked the entirety of the cathedral, and made the man clasp his hands around his ears. He could filter out the background noises of a city, or withstand the high-pitched whines of gates, tracks or treads, or even turbines or jet engines. But the bell's crushing, reverberating ring passed right through his earplugs and made their way right into his head. The man raised a screaming roar that split the moment in before the next banging toll, and then the irregular growl that caused him to dig his fingernails into his very skin. You son of a bitch! SON OF A BITCH! he cried out in his head, words that did not really translate to his throat. Half Stygian's world was shaking, the other half, the one he could still feel reliably, was still shocked and disoriented. Frantically he began searching, black eyes spreading fine veins around them and his mind scanning the surroundings as well as he could, as he pushed himself to his feet, defying the dizzying pain in his ears.
Where?! The podium! From the side...! High...! Wall...! Hard, can't...! Aaaaargh...! The thoughts rushed through Stygian's head, and daring the pain, he removed his hands to swing himself down from the balcony. He had to get around, out of the way of the noise. Thus, attacking Siolen from the side or behind was the only possible option. And to get around, he had to go around the wall, circumnavigating the podium in less time than Siolen could react in. It would have seemed an impossible task to a normal man. But Stygian didn't even hesitate.
The hard stone plate took the man's high fall from having jumped right over the balcony and down off the side of the wall mutely, yet it still trembled a bit under his feet. Hard boots not stopping, Stygian whipped out one gun as he dashed forward and to the right, beginning to fire off a volley of strafing shots. He actually ran up onto the wall and then kicked off it, leaping fast and high over Siolen's head before he came down right beside the bell with a smash, and then kicked the thing aside so hard that it flew off the podium, rolling and tumbling down into the benches below. With the gargoyle right in front of him, he spun and continued the kick with his other foot, aiming for the stone creatures chest with a kick that would lift the construct off the floor.
The Queen barely had time to register the bolt which hit her, sending writhing blue-white tendrils of energy across her body. She roared in pain and anger as her opponent began working her magics, and began to move, plumes of warm air coming from the four rib-like spines on her back.
As the ice storm built, then swept over her, she lifted her tail high, curling it at an odd angle at shoulder height. She raised both of her upper arms high, and went immobile.
Within seconds she was glazed in ice, a thin shell of it encasing her massive form. She remained still, only allowing her senses to range outwards, feeling and tasting for her enemy through the unnatural storm.
To the surprise of his other two companions, Cog walked out of the bar and into the area outside, following the dragon and stopping around the edge of the circle. And almost instantly took a step back as the arena there took on the characteristics of a glacier, the cold almost knocking the wolf over.
So far, Mel seemed to be doing very well, keeping far away from the alien queen and using her range to her advantage. The slinging, stinging sleet that the dragon had summoned was covering everything in a layer of glittering ice - including the queen herself. Cog raised an eyebrow at the Queen's sudden contortion. She hadn't even tried to dodge it...
The wolf looked again for the dragon, trying to spot her through the magically-produced storm, and wondered what she might do next...
Finally! Visible results; the man bellowed in pain at every sound. Siolen roared louder, shaking the room further...
The man was still mobile. Wasn't letting the pain crush him. He was trying to get around the blast of sound, and moving fast. The gargoyle spat a few blasts of tar, missing by inches. And then Stygian was before him, shunted the bell aside, and aimed a kick at the Defender's chest.
Siolen did come off the floor, yes. However, being made of stone, he didn't go very far off of it. Landing and digging his hooves into the tile below them as the force of the hit carried him a little further. The sounds of destruction took over the cathedral again as the bell tower fell, the ceiling crumbling in greater and greater chunks. Cracks spiderwebbed across the gargoyle's torso, the bell he'd been able to make some progress with as a weapon lying discarded behind his enemy. He had no plan. No traps left to set. No place to retreat to.
Siolen grinned, tar-stained fangs glistening. Finally, the kind of fight he wanted to have.
The gargoyle charged, one last desperate rush against an enemy who had shrugged off everything thrown at him, aiming to grapple the man rather than going for the impossible bell. Arms wrapping around Stygian intending to crush, the blade on the tail scything over the gargoyle's shoulder like that of a scorpion. The black eyed man, the crumbling cathedral's degradation speeding up by the second.
"What a story I shall have to tell! My thanks, Sir Stygian!"
---
Boog kept his eyes on the dragon, sparing the other circles a glance as the other fights went on. Ian and Sylvie's use of their respective weapons was rather nice, and he could only guess how the other two had managed to bring down the whole cathedral. Then again, I've never seen him be all THAT subtle, even when just 'limbering up.'
However, he liked what he saw in the fight of the alien and the dragon. He remembered Mel fondly from... other events, but also remembered seeing little of her true form. She really was quite graceful. When she was, you know, manipulating the very elements to rain doom upon her enemies.
And then, clever Queenie playing possum. Oh, this would be interesting.
Stygian's obsidian eyes widened in fury and incredulity at the gargoyle's reaction. Was he insane?! He had to be thinking irrationally. Probably he was too gripped by the surroundings and the rush of the fight. Or maybe he was just an idiot. Either way, it was nothing that Stygian really thought about. What he was concerned with was getting out of the grip of that demented stone thing.
Before the two had entered the circle, they had agreed to fight until either gave up. Now, with the tower and ceiling caving in right above them, it looked as if they were both going to end up dead. Stygian did not know what happened if you died within a circle. But he knew exactly what the golem was doing, and he was furious about it. And you have the guts to talk about cowardice! he fumed in his mind. But he was not about to be defeated by some lowly creature like this. Throwing his head back, he took one last glance at the crumbling ceiling. And then he snapped forward.
The man's head hit Siolen's stone brow with jarring speed and surprising hardness, and the strength with which he resisted the grip was decidedly inhuman. A dark line splitting on his forehead and equally dark blood beginning to seep out, the black-eyed man snarled, and then thrashed backwards again, putting his boots to the gargoyle's chest. He pushed, and flew backwards, landing and tumbling hard on the stone floor. And fueled by rage and adrenaline, he ran, fast and hard, to escape the destruction.
That last kick did it. Siolen's endurance was at its end. More cracks spread across the gargoyle's brow and chest, green light of the spells that animated him glowing through in places.
This is how a fight is meant to end, if you fail. Lying there and wheezing, throwing your weight to try to land upon your enemy when you know you're going to fall. It's how warriors fight.
This Honor Circle... I'll never lack for stories again!
"I concede."
The cathedral faded away, remains of falling timber going insubstantial and passing through both fighters. The circle returned to normal size with one man standing and one lying on the ground.
The dragon landed on a spire of granite, a small distance behind and to the left of the creature. There was a better landing spot in front, but there was no advantage to looking face on to a thing with no readable face and which was so alien that it's body language meant nothing. Presuming that it jumped forwards better than it did backwards behind and above was a much better place to be. Keeping the storm winds blowing their icy needles across the valley Mel launched a few spears of magically enhanced ice at the Queen to see just how frozen she really was.
The end of the fight shocked Stygian, as much as he wanted to deny it. The swift, dizzying change of environment and then his stumble forward out of the ring to a stop, followed by him spinning around and narrowing his eyes at Siolen, all betrayed his thoughts. He took a few seconds to settle, then sighed and straightened his coat. Lastly he pulled out his pocket watch, and glanced at it. Eleven minutes, twenty-four seconds. Good time, for that sort of opponent, he thought. But it was not really all praise. Especially not when seeing how things had ended.
'I guess that is it then,' Stygian said, finally, sparing a few moments to glance at the other battles that were taking place. 'Thank you for the match.' He made a minimal, hasty bow toward Siolen, then picked up one of his gloves which had fallen out of his pocket during the maneuvers, stuffed it in his pocket, and turned sharply on the spot, walking up and back inside the bar. Scowling, he took off his coat and threw it on a stool, extracting another pocket watch from it before seating himself next to it, and ordering up another drink. 'Jägermeister and Red Bull, please,' he said with a tense jaw, and then set about looking at the two timepieces in his hand.
As the cloaked hunchback walked through the hallways of the sleeping rooms, he kept an eye on the going-ons outside, through the wooden wall. He stopped at Room 5, and reached out through the middle fold of his cloak to the handle with a pure-white furred left hand, but didn't open it. He stood there, watching the battles outside on levels of the electromagnetic spectrum, and a few other things besides, that normal eyes certainly couldn't. He could even hear most of what was happening with one ear, though it was still difficult to make out any dialogue.
Eventually, one of the fights came to an end. It was the battle between the strange man designated as [Stygian] and the gargoyle designated as [Siolen]. To the cloaked hunchback's dissapointment, [Stygian] won. For some reason, [Styian] just rubbed this man the wrong way. The man just shook his head under his hood, then opened the door to Room 5, and entered, to see what kind of accomodations the [Honor Circle In] had to offer.
Sylvie was caught for a moment when her staff hit Ian's pipe with a loud clang. She wasn't so surprised she didn't notice the swing to her left, though. She jumped back from the rat's strike, finding her balance before she answered.
"I guess not," she responded. "But it's become clear to me that fighting with someone who can't move is a little boring. So..." At this she paused and aimed her staff at Ian's feet again, muttering a spell to unwrap his legs. She changed her hand position so she was holding her weapon like a bo staff, and crouched into a defensive stance. "From here on in, I'll try to keep it a fair fight."
"Ok with me i guess." Ian in an unexpected move of either utter brilliance or stupidity threw his pipe with all his might at sylvie. He ran up to her and was in the middle of the drop kick that would provide the answer.
As soon as the next attack was launched, the Queen made her move. Using the weight of the ice to give her momentum, she cracked the shell around her with her tail, bringing the deadly blade sweeping down and from the right to where her opponent was.
At the same time she leaned right to both give herself more leverage and to cause the fresh assault to strike only glancingly. Thanks to the ice storm, her upper hands were now full of jagged, fresh ice, which she whipped in a double handful to her left and rear at the dragon.
Mel snarled and leaped upwards, wings straining. She had miscalculated the length of the monster's tail and had a slash across one forearm as the penalty. Dragons were supposed to have impenetrable hide, why the hell was she always coming across beasts who didn't know this? The ice bounced almost harmlessly off the dragon's chest as she rose above the battlefield. Angry at the pain in her arm and the bruise on her chest she sprayed the area with her ice breath before rising high above the nearby peaks. She circled once. Spotting what she needed she plummeted. Mel hit a ledge of ice hard, wings and flight magic burdened with the effort to pull her back up again as the edge of the glacier split away. Heavy chunks of ice tumbled towards the valley.
The ice breath affected the Queen more than she liked, slowing down her reflexes. Instead of following up her attack with another physical assault, she shook off the effects.
The rumble from farther up the valley caused her to whip her head up, and if she had possessed eyes, they would have widened. Her own tactics turned against her!
She leaped for the walls of the valley, her talons digging deep into the ice and scrabbling tiny sparks from stone outcrops as she frantically climbed her way up to avoid the onslaught of ice.
She reached safety on the ledge above, but barely, and not without cost. Several of the smaller chunks had caused small cracks in her exoskeleton here and there, and one massive hunk had flown high to neatly clip the blade of her tail off like a runaway bus severing a parking meter.
Acid blood dripping from wounds already sealing closed, the Queen scanned the skies for her opponent.
Mel was swooping overhead, taking a moment to make some adjustments to her weather magic. A thunderstorm was easy enough to whip up out of her freezing rain clouds and the winds were already ferocious, but it was taking longer to cool the clouds to the point where the freezing rain would turn into large hailstones. While she waited for the change in weather to take effect she kept her opponent busy by throwing ice spears at her. Unfortunately they weren't particularly well aimed due to the cut on her arm.
Sylvie blocked the thrown pipe easily, the metal weapon clanging off her staff and spinning off to the side. She was still holding her staff out when Ian tried to kick her in the chest. She avoided any damage from the kick itself, but she was knocked backward. As she fell, she reached out a hand at the rat, and aimed a blast of pure magic energy at him. This wasn't quite as risky as it sounded; the most it ever did was knock someone backward and sting a lot. But it hopefully would knock him far enough for her to have time to get up and attack.
The Queen swept a few of the spears aside with a massive arm, though one managed to puncture her thorax just below her lower left arm, making her keen in pain and anger.
Snarling, she whipped the still-bleeding stump of her tail up and around, sending a spray of acid blood scything at her opponent. She roared and hunkered down on all fours, angling her chin upwards, gauging her opponent's movements.
Ian was sent on his rear giveing Sylvie anough time to get up. However the rat was not without his tricks as well. He dumped a small cylinder on the ground. after that Sylvie saw nothing but white for a few moments, giveing Ian enough time to get to his feet as well. "Gotta love those Flashies, now let's see if those martial arts lessons paied off." His hands went high and in a position that would protect his vital points when needed. He brought a heel straight up to Sylvie's stomac.
Mel screamed as a few drops of blood hit her wing and burned through. Her graceful flight wobbled quite a bit, but she didn't crash. Most of her flight ability was magic based, her wings mainly for steering. Then the hail storm finally started and Mel wrapped herself in a magical shield to protect herself from the barrage of hits from the large balls of ice. She threw a lot more magical energy into the storm, increasing it's violence.
Muttering under his breath, Stygian could not care less about the duels raging outside, it seemed. Not that he seemed to be paying heed to much else but those two watches in his right hand, and the drink that he occasionally lifted to his lips. After having studied the timepieces, if that was what they were, for some time, he finally put the one into his pocket while keeping the other in his hand. He twisted one dial, and then wound it up, dangling the golden thing from the chain as he finished his drink.
Perhaps a couple of minutes had passed when the man turned a bit on his stool, leaning on the counter and saying the first coherent and audible words since he'd ordered his drink. 'Well. That certainly was less pleasant than I had hoped.'
Boog set out more of the demanded drinks, quirking an eyebrow at Stygian's demeanor. Didn't strike him as the sort to sulk after a victory, "Can't all be masterpieces Styggy. Sometimes the fighters just hit each other." With that reminder, he went out to inspect the gargoyle.
Siolen HURT. In the rush of combat he didn't feel too much of it (he'd be the first to admit he was a bit of a berzerker) but after the adrenelene had worn off he found himself wondering if moving his legs was really worth it. And then the barkeep was standing over him...
"The medical facilities cost-"
Not even letting him finish the sentence Siolen slapped some coins whose age rivaled his own into the barkeep's waiting hand. The effect was immediate.
"Hey!" Boog shouted back toward the bar, "Free round for whoever helps me get Gravel-Butt here inside!"
The cloaked man had inspected his room a little bit over, then went back to keeping an eye on the battles through the walls. Eventually [The Boogyman] went outside to inspect [Siolen], and requested for help moving him, which the cloaked hunchback barely managed to hear. Under his hood, the man smiled. He had always had a small charitable spot in him, and this sounded like the kind of thing he could do. He got up, exited his room, making sure to grab the key from the inside and lock it, and walked through the hallway until he found a door to the courtyard. He opened it and stepped outside.
He walked his way over to [The Boogyman] and [Siolen]. In a whisper, he said to [The Boogyman], "I'll carry him in. I'll help anyone who's been thrashed by the man who did this, I don't like him." Though the cloaked hunchback spoke in a whisper, there was something...strange...about his voice. There was an undertone in it that just didn't seem right.
The man shifted his cloak around himself in a way that he could extend an arm to carry the gargoyle and keep it covered by the cloak, hidden mostly from [The Boogyman] next to him. Reaching out with what was presumeably his right arm, he hefted the stone man unnaturally easily. However, even though the cloak was coveing him, it was apparent that he was putting all the weight on his right side, and very little on his left. Then he began walking towards the door to the medical war, walking with a slightly noticable limp, as if his left side wasn't as strong as it needed to be to carry the wieght.
Stygian snorted in return to the Boogeyman's comment. 'That's easy to say. But I wonder if you've ever really fought against someone in that way. Tch...' he said, and looked over to Giles, still sitting at the other end of the bar counter. 'Or what would you say, for example? Playing chicken? Suicide tactics? Honestly...' He growled a bit, showing sharp teeth slightly, and glared darkly into nowhere. 'That's the sort of thing that destroys, both companies and nations. If you aren't strong enough to hurt your foe without pulling them down with you, you shouldn't even fight. You don't deserve to. Even evolution goes against that sort of thing.'
Stygian closed his mouth, and growled a bit for a couple of seconds. Then, he noticed his hand, resting on the counter top with no glove on. Just like the other one, hanging at his side. For anyone close enough, even to the jackal and the wolf sitting a bit away, just a glance would reveal his grayish, claw-like nails. Not to mention that he was leaving prints. Cursing, the man turned on his stool and reached his neatly wrapped hands into his pockets, taking out the tight black gloves and pulling them on. Then, staring down at his hands, he sighed. He didn't look up as the hunch-backed man dragged Siolen inside.
'Alright. So I guess I shouldn't really be complaining. A fight's a fight,' he admitted, after a couple of seconds. 'There are no rules in war. Or, in this case, none other than those specified.' He shook his head, and straightened his face, leaning his head back and focusing on his thoughts for a bit, shrugging the anger off. As if it mattered in the first place...
Exhaling, Stygian finally slumped a bit where he sat, leaning forward. 'Okay. Bit of a pause,' he said, then looked around. 'Anyone have anything else to add?'
As the first of the hailstones began to fall, the Queen carefully gauged angles, trajectories...and leapt for her opponent, all four arms outstretched to grapple.
Her tail extended out straight behind her for balance and guidance, and the hydraulic pressure in her sacs full, she intended to end this fight with the miserable flying creature.
The Boogeyman didn't take too great a notice of the hunchback's oddities. He wasn't exactly the picture of normalcy himself. He did allow himself a chuckle at the man's reasons for helping though.
"Don't feel too special about it, most people don't. Most things that aren't people don't like him much either, honestly. Prickly fellow."
Siolen thanked the cloaked man quietly as he was brought in, reacting somewhat differently than the barkeep.
"I see not why. Sir Stygian fought within the rules settled upon, just as I. If anything, I was caught up in it too much toward the end. Nearly killed the both of us. That's how one is taught, though." The gargoyle grinned tiredly, "Throw yourself against the foe with all the strength and fury you have, and if you should fall then crush them with your body."
Their arrival at the medical ward yielded no doctors, but a note on the front desk written in precise, neat handwriting.
Out for a minute, please leave patients on a bed and return to front room.
Many Thanks
Dr. Holic
At the man's sudden words, the Jackal turned from his place at the window and gave him a slow look, narrowing one eye before turning back to the window in front of him. The blackguard beside him merely grunted, taking a smoke of his pipe before responding to the man sitting at the bar.
"Oh, I dunno." he said, large iron-plated shoulders shrugging. "No poor bastard every won a war dyin' for his country, they won it for makin' the other bastard die for his an' all that." the blackguard took another puff of his bitter-black pipe. "But if he's got a dagger in your gut, you might as well sit on him and stuff a bomb up his ass. Only fair."
The blackguard was calm as rain as he said this, the smoke floating lazily about his head.
The Jackal merely shrugged.
"The art of war teaches us to rely not on the likelihood of the enemy's not coming, but on our own readiness to receive him; not on the chance of his not attacking, but rather on the fact that we have made our position unassailable. If through his own death your enemy can reach you, the fault lies with you. A warrior uses what is at hand - there is no shame in this."
The Jackal said nothing else, merely staring out into the ensuing battle with the dragon and the queen. The blackguard gave him a distasteful look, and shrugged before turning back to the arena.
Stygian listened to the comments of all, raising one eyebrow. He pondered for a second, and then closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly.
'Yes, you are all right, in a way. However,' he said, with clear emphasis, 'you are all presuming one thing that makes your arguments flawed; that you have something else than yourself that you are fighting for.' He shifted his look between them all. 'Sacrificing oneself for a country, a goal or a cause can be right and honorable. But merely destroying oneself to get to an enemy is lowly. In addition, I wasn't even aiming to harm him.' He glanced toward Siolen. 'Merely to make him give up.'
Stygian paused for a few seconds, taking another sip from his recently arrived next drink and not looking at the others, hopefully letting his words sink in. Then, he turned to look at the coated man with the hat and sword. 'Wouldn't you agree?' he asked. 'Or perhaps I should ask, "what does Honor say"? In case you follow Bushido, that is...'
Heh, expected as much.....You don't have to say anything....it doesn't matter what world they're from they are all the same.....atleast my conscious will be clear when it comes time for Round Two.....
Rip began to snicker a little to himself; then looked down at the cloaked hunchback lift up the gargoyle onto his right shoulder. The gargoyle had to be pretty heavy, to do that with one arm....most certainly there was more to this man than meets the eye, as if the cloak wasn't enough of a tip off. Rip stretched his arms up a little and yawned as they went inside. Having lost interest in the other fights raging on, he stood up and decided to walk casually after them, down toward the infirmiry. He opened the door then walked in, spotting a desk of a certain Dr.Holic.
Hmmm, out for a bit?....guess they're in the back.
Rip made his way into the next room and spotted the hunchback lying Siolen down onto a reinforced steel bedright. Although he didn't notice it from earlier outside, Rip could see numerous cracks spread across the gargoyle's torso, with an eerie green light radiating out from the wounds. Rip walked up toward them and placed a hand on a nearby bedpost, a small grin spreading across his face. "That was quite the display out there friend. You alright?"
The cloaked man carrying [Siolen] read the note on the desk, and dutifully placed the gargoyle on a hospital bed, quickly withdrawing the arm that was carrying him and hiding it beneath his cloak again before [Siolen] could see.
"Oh, I know he followed the rules, and you may have gotten a little too zealous at the end, I certainly saw that," the man said, again whispering. "But that's not why I dislike him." The man's voice was a little more noticeable this time, there was some sort of inconsistency, as if he was partially speaking with a voice that wasn't his.
Then the strange insectoid Angel designated [Rip] entered the hospital wing, and came over to [Siolen]'s temporary bed. The man took a small step back and drew up his cloak a little more, making sure every part of him was covered and his face was likewise hidden.
The blackguard gave a rough laugh at Stygian's words, although he did not turn around. "Other than myself? Yeah. I'm in the volunteer fire department too." he said, snorting. "I don't fight for anyone but myself. But if I'm going to lose, I want to make damn sure that the other sunavabitch loses too."
The Jackal beside him turned for just a moment, and gave the man a look of utter loathing before turning back to the ongoing fight outside.
The moment before the bat had spoken, the wolf had returned inside again, to retrieve his glass of whiskey. The bat's question made the wolf turn his head and look directly at the man, the wolf raising one of his eyebrows. He regarded him for a moment and shrugged.
"In some ways. I have my own honor, although it is not found in the shadows of leaves." he said cryptically, taking his glass and sipping it before returning to walk outside. "If he was going to kill the both of you in a match to the yield, I say he made it a battle of wills, and not bodies, then. You say destroying yourself to get to an enemy is lowly..."
The wolf paused. "My honor would say there are few enemies worth that kind of sacrifice." he said slowly. He stopped, and then continued. "There are some things that are worth dying for, though."
The wolf walked out of the bar and back outside to the ring, where sipping his drink he watched the alien queen leap into the sky and after the Mel, braving the hailstorm and the wrath of an ice-dragon.
Stygian shook his head, and passed Giles a returning glance. 'The principle remains the same. Think about it,' he said, and then slipped down from his stool. Draining the last of the concoction in his glass, he left it behind on the bar counter, and with a last look slipped the other pocket watch into his coat. Bloody computer, he thought. If she's late, she can at least call...
Giving himself a last check-over, feeling his guns in their holsters against his ribs, the extra clips fastened against his back, Stygian walked over toward the doors, leaving for outside less than three minutes after the wolf had. He'd revealed by now that he was physically superior to a regular man. But he wasn't planning on unveiling more than that yet. He'd step things up slowly.
Walking up beside the wolf silently, but hopefully not too silently to arouse his suspicion, the man stopped and looked at the battle for a minute. 'In the shadows of leaves...' he murmured, after some time had passed. 'That is a metaphor one does not hear often.'
Mel was shocked that the huge hailstones appeared to have no effect on the Queen, she had thought they would at least dent her hard shell. The combination of surprise and damaged wing left her a bit short of maneuvering time when the monster leapt. Unable to get out of the way she grabbed the lightning dancing through the storm clouds and wrapped it around herself like armor. Having a storm dragon grandfather meant it wouldn't kill her, but it wasn't pleasant. Hopefully grabbing a handful of lightning bolts would be more unpleasant for the Queen. The dragon then spread her 8" claws to help catch the monster coming at her.
...Keaton the Black Jackal:During the battle between Stygian and Siolen, the jackal had remained outside of the door, drink in hand. A pleasant sense of inebriation was starting to spread from the absinthe, much to her appreciation, so she decided that it probably wasn't a good idea to order another drink at the risk of her mood degenerating. By the time the battle had concluded, the glass was empty and Keaton walked back into the building, humming cheerfully to herself. The conflict had been incredible--an excellent match. For an establishment that specialized in hosting fights, this place could be rather comfortable...
Stygian returned inside the building around the time Keaton seated herself at a table nestled near the window. As he bypassed her, Keaton directed a nod in his direction, one acknowledging the entertaining battle, then glanced back to the window. Another battle was going on between an anthropomorphic rat and the green-skinned elf who had greeted Keaton during her entrance--Keaton was personally rooting for the elf, but since the rat didn't seem to have any supernatural powers the battle was less explosive than it could've been. In the background, she heard the draconic newcomer and the monstrous, alienoid abomination depart as well, so that way they could begin a match.
Now
that was something Keaton wanted to watch, but that meant she'd have to be outside in order to see everything. And after becoming so cozy, she had no intention of leaving, yet. She was just... content, yet at the same time restless. Probably was the booze combined with the atmosphere sizzling outside the building--those people were fighting, something she loved to do, and she wanted to be part of it, but simultaneously she simply wanted to enjoy her drink. The restlessness was becoming disturbing to her, if only because Keaton couldn't handle stress and conflicting emotions without exploding.
As time passed, she continued ordering drinks to soothe her anxiety. Glass after glass was drained, and soon each emptied cup was stacked up to the side. Currently, the jackal was busying herself with the deck of cards she had secreted in her pocket. Drunk or not, she wanted something to entertain herself with, and had more concentration despite her mild intoxication than one would have initially credited her. Outside, the dragon and the alien queen were still fighting, as was the rat and the elf. Sharply inhaling a gulp of air, Keaton slid an Ace of Spades out from the box in her hand and leveled it over the intricate arrangement of pyramids and platforms she had created out of her organization of cards, ready to crown off her work.
---
...Piix Raiyn Daei'Lunn:A few minutes prior to that moment, the soft sound of the door snapping shut disrupted the relative silence lurking behind the sounds of the conversations occurring within the building. The Orin had slipped out from behind the door before nudging it shut with its prehensile tail, craning her tail around the folds of her cape. This specimen was oddly dressed; utterly nude other than her cape and hood yet somehow not being indecent, as the thickness of her oddly patterned, yellow fur provided enough coverage. The hood was structured in a way which offered a pair of slits for her large ears to poke freely through. Gripping the drawstrings of its hood with one paw, the Orin slipped her ears through the slits in the hood, then threw the hood back, sighing and blinking her inverted eyes as they adjusted to the lighting in the building.
The Orin spun what appeared to be an elongated, golden staff--no, it was a mallet, judging by the giant, clubbed head--effortlessly around her fingers as she let her gaze flicker between the occupants, then approached the bar with a cocksure grin coloring her features. On her way, she whistled happily to herself, only to stop as she noticed Keaton across the room, from the corner of her eye, who was hunched devotedly over her card fortress. For a moment, the Orin meditatively watched the jackal slave over the card tower. The Orin blinked, angling her head. She looked contemplative for a second.
Should I really...? the Orin thought, adopting a troubled countenance to her expression. Suddenly, she grinned, then flicked her wrist behind her back, her middle finger glowing subtly.
Around Keaton, the air itself seemed to distort like an image in a funhouse mirror, wavering and tremulously quaking in rippling strokes. Just as the Ace of Spades was rested atop the card foundation, the structure beneath it dismantled, toppling in a heap of cards onto the table. Keaton let out an indignant cry and stared in disbelief as her momentary masterpiece was demolished, so captivated in her shock and frustration that she didn't notice the Orin walk over the bar with an accomplished grin on her mug. Finally releasing a ultimate, snarling sigh, Keaton started scooping up the cards and prepared to stuff them back in their appropriate box, being too angry to bother attempting another card castle again.
It was then she realized something was amiss, just as she gathered the Queen of Hearts. The card seemed as heavy as a stone in her hand. This was one of the cards she had used as support amidst the dearly-departed structure she had built--if this card went down, the rest would follow.
From afar, steepling her fingers beneath her chin and reclining in her chair, Piix grinned maniacally.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Sensing the gathering of energy around her opponent, the Queen was unable to alter her trajectory in any way to dodge contact with the lightning-clad dragon.
Sparks skittered across her exoskeleton as blue-white arcs slammed into her again and again. Shuddering and convulsing, the Queen's world turned into bright flashes of pain. Even as her body spasmed, her acid sacs contracted, spraying gallons of concentrated molecular acid over both of them.
The Queen felt none of this. The shock and pain of the electrical onslaught consumed her world, leaving only agony.
The Boogeyman snickered at the tiny newcomer, setting out the various ordered drinks. He could always appreciate a good prank... or a bad one. Or a completely tasteless but funny one. So long as someone was jumping up and down cursing later he was happy. He murmured a "nicely done," as he passed by her seat and returned to the window to watch the display outside. Two titans clashed in one circle, tooth and claw and alien pincey thingey meeting in midair. There was something breathtaking about really big things fighting, in a mildly different way than there was in a well executed prank. He wasn't disappointed as the fighters clashed with an outpouring of sparks and glittering spurts of acid.
--
Siolen coughed once, but smiled eagerly at Rip's concern.
"Quite a display? You think so?" The gargoyle sat up a little with a wince. "I hope so; if it was good enough it may retain some of that in the retelling. A warrior's reputation is half their armor, after all. These," he looked down at the cracks marring his form and grimaced, "Hopefully these are temporary, I'm certain I shall be fine. Eventually."
The blackguard, Giles Monterrey, merely squinted at the strange man's words. Giles was by no means what you would call an intelligent man, and at that moment, he was having difficulty understanding quite what the gun-toting man was talking about. To his spite-clouded mind, nothing was quite so readily and obviously apparent than the golden rule of dueling: if you can't win, just make sure your opponent loses.
Sometimes men stumble over truth, but they often hurry off as if nothing had happened. In this case, Giles simply skipped the part about understanding, and shrugging turned back to watch the fights outside. He took a single long draw off of his pipe, and coughed up a storm of fumes as the door to the bar swung open.
Striding in with the swagger of unbridled confidence was a stark-naked....something, clad in only a cape and bristling with weaponry. The watery-eye blackguard raised one eyebrow, taken aback at the sight, and the heavily-furred little thing strode yet further into the bar.
Giles narrowed a single blue eye. Whatever she was, she seemed to have taken an interest in the succubus's game of architectural solitaire, and standing behind the jackal she gave the unsuspecting 'Cubi a malicious grin. From where Giles was sitting, he could see behind the impish little creature, and clearly perceived her middle finger glowing.
A moment later, the Succubus's card game collapsed. With a smirk, the small alien took a seat at the bar, conveying a great deal of mirth without laughing.
The blackguard grinned, white teeth clenched around the black pipe. He blew a puff of smoke into the air, and spoke to the creature through the ensuing smog.
"I've seen sorcery, and I'm familiar with the universal sign language." the black-clad man grinned "But I've never seen anyone able ta' use obscenity and spellwork in the same hand." he said, referring to the glowing middle finger. His eyes danced with a strange kind of mirth. "That is my sort'a clever."
* * *
"Hagekure." the wolf said a moment after the man spoke. "The book of bushido. In shadows of leaves." Cog turned to look at the man, keeping one eye on the ensuing fight before him. "I do not see everything in that fabled book as honorable." He paused, looking back at the fight. With a tremendous leap, the Alien Queen had managed to grasp onto Mel, finally, and the ensuing carnage brought a tightness to the wolf's gut.
"...not all honorable. But you learn what you can." he said quickly, wondering what the dragon was going to do.
The man tilted his head a bit, and looked pensively at the wolf for a moment. '"Hagekure"... Wouldn't that mean something more akin to "the darkness of leaves"?' he asked, then looked to the ring where the titanic battle was still raging. The dragoness seemed to have received a rather nasty... shower. 'Then again, I don't really speak Japanese. And I was not fostered to follow such a code. Or any code.' He drew a finger over one of his guns. 'Things where I come from are not so easy and uncomplicated that such theories always work. And even if they did, people seem to have forgotten honor in favor of...' He stopped, and searched for an appropriate word. 'Necessity,' he finally settled on. 'And greed and power and fear.'
The man stood there, simply watching the battle between Mel and the Queen. His eyes were dark and distant. He seemed almost to be reading something out of the battle, something else than the mere fighting.
'"O wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here!",' the man then quoted. '"How beautious mankind is! O brave new world: That has such people in't!"'
"Well, I saw that the Doc is apparently indisposed at the moment. I'd assume that he or she would probably be back sometime soon.", Rip shrugged as he sat down on one of the beds, looking over the cloaked hunchback who've backed off slightly upon his arrival. "You're right though...."
He then nodded at the hunchback, "So.....I'm guessing that it was you a few minutes ago....what's your story...and why the animosity towards that man? I mean sure he does seem all too full of himself, but..."
"A direct translation is 'Hidden in Leaves'." the wolf responded softly, still keeping his eye on the two embattled foes. "And I was not fostered to follow Bushido either. But I find there are some good things in it."
The wolf paused to watch the fight, considering the man's final words. He gave a half-smile as the watched. "As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport." he mused, giving the man a sidelong glance. "What news? None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest. Then is doomsday near."
He paused. "Not a lot of people who speak of the bard. Unless I'm mistaking your quote."
I'm getting a little tired of whispering..., the man thought to himself.
[Voice synthesizer offline]
"My story I will not divulge at the time being." This time, the man's speech was definately unnatural. There was no real 'voice' to it, it was completely hollow. It sounded like he was talking through breath alone, with sound like a whisper, but loudness of a regular voice. It was almost as if he didn't have any vocal cords...if he was even really humanoid under that cloak. "As for the man...ah, it was a foolish notion. He just didn't seem like the kind of person I'd get along with. Think nothing more of it, my previous statements are now invalid."
The hood then looked down slightly, at [Siolen]. "Ah, I pity you greatly, stone creature. You were born of magic, and require magic to live. I cannot think of any greater curse. When will people learn, magic is obsolete and unreliable now? I still can't believe I ever thought of this crass force as an art..."
...Keaton:Suspended between a mixture of fascination at whatever gravitational phenomenon had resulted in her card structure's collapse and barely-restrained frustration, Keaton reduced the explosion that would've ensued to a grumbling tirade of curses and snarls churning under her breath, some of them escalating to a more audible volume as she finished shunting all the cards into the worn, beaten box in her hand. With a punctuating growl of something unprintable, Keaton pressed the lid shut with her thumb and thrust the box of cards in her pocket. By now she was
convinced someone had used some sort of bewitching to play some stupid prank on her, but there was no need to risk looking like an asshole by standing up and demanding who had compromised a
card game of all things. Keaton's heightened Succubus intuition and emotional empathy was able to detect a great deal of amusement radiating from the yellow newcomer sitting at the counter. She hadn't noticed the newcomer before, being too concentrated before.
For a moment, Keaton wanted to walk over and punch the creature in the face, but thought better of it. Any fighting, after getting drunk, wouldn't be a good idea, unless she wanted to blow chunks over her enemy's face and look even more like an idiot. Casting a ferocious glare around the bar, Keaton slumped back in her seat and fixated her expression into something similar to an angry snarl.
---
...Piix:Around that time, the little yellow Orin was practically beaming with triumphant glee. Although she didn't possess the same emotional empathy Cubi were renowned for and thus couldn't sense Keaton's indignation, Piix knew perfectly well what the jackal was experiencing, and felt all the more victorious for it. Splaying her fingers, she cockily admired her extended middle finger, bioluminescent eyes combing over the blackened length of her nail all the way up to its tapered tip, which was tarnished with venomous white. Like her individual finger nails, Piix's entire coloration reflected her poisonous nature and abilities, the very colors of her pelt screeching virulence with shockingly lurid hues and patterns reminiscent of a poison dart frog. The crest of quills and spines coating Piix's back was colored in a manner similar to her finger and toenails.
Unexpectedly, she was being addressed by someone--a mountainous, furless individual garbed in thick black armor and drawing great tufts of smoke from the pipe perched between his teeth.
Human, Piix guessed. Or something similar. Humans, or, furless, as they were snidely referred to by some Orin Piix knew who weren't too fond of their involvement in the tourism to her planet, were by no means an unusual occurrence in Piix's life, but she never knew any who were this--
huge. Regardless, Piix stifled any awestruck comments and turned around to face the blackguard.
"Heh, y'like that?" she asked. Piix's voice was laden with an accent of indeterminable origins, although one would assume it was a bastardized combination of something urban and tropical. "It ain't that big'a deal, really. Hand t'God, all it takes is a little manipulation of gravity, and
voila, y'have a disaster in th'making on yer hands. Of course, if y'really want somethin' more catastrophic, you'd need a lot more concentration, but, eh, little details."
~Keaton the Black Jackal
"Oh, yaah, I like that." the man said, crystal-blue eyes appraising as the blackguard looked at the alien. He scratched his chin, a curl of smoke rising from his pipe. A grin peered our from his ash-blued face. "I mean...well, y'know. Sometimes you'll see this wizard givin' you the finger, and 'e says that he's just casting Moridin's Magnificent Martini or some bullshit, and you just want to pound the little olive-drink sippin' bastard's head into a flaming piece of...sharp, and you...well."
The blackguard paused, realizing he was going off on a bit of a tangent. Although he did like to fondly recall the incident in which he personally stomped Gestin the One-Fingered, so named for his one unfortunate vice, into a very small metal box normally used for the holding of coal for room-heating apparati, it wasn't really quite that relevant here. The blackguard took a puff on his pipe as he paused for a moment, reminiscing.
"It's like tha'. Except that with you, instead of just tellin' what you think, y'actually do it as well." he said, again grinning. "And a'course, despite what the long-winded wolf somtimes says, I'da never seen a greater example a' Poetic Justice."
...Piix:
Although she was starting to lose focus halfway through Giles reminiscing, mostly because she had no idea what he was talking about, when the blackguard begrudgingly acknowledged Piix's abilities she grinned broadly. Initial confusion aside, she was starting to understand what the blackguard meant, and even sympathize with him--once or twice Piix had ran into a few characters who had the gall to try and flip her off or discreetly insult her, and it normally didn't end very well for the recipient of whatever attack she had personally warmed up for him or her. The last person who did that to her was a rather loudmouthed Karvswati who had quite a lot of bark to him--but whatever bite he had was probably rendered obsolete when Piix made him the victim of a nasty uppercut to his jaw.
Piix returned the blackguard's grin tenfold, sharp white teeth gleaming in her mouth. Every one of Piix's teeth were abnormally sharp, especially the cuspids, which were capable of administering the venom her species was accredited with. "Why thank ya kindly, good sir," she said loftily, sweeping her arm around and bowing quickly. "I try my best. First an' foremost wit' me, if ya're goin' t'go out of yer way to be an ass, at least have somethin' to back it up with so y'don't get your ass handed to ya. Otherwise ya're rightly fucked.
"Name's Piix" - she purposefully did not present her full name, but such a title was unnecessary. Piix smirked - "and you are?"
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Screaming at the sudden splash of burning liquid Mel released the lightning and used her flight magic to pop upwards like a cork into the moisture laden clouds. The freezing rain helped only a little but it gave her healing ability a moment to hold back the greatest damage. A bit frantic and shaking from pain she scanned the glacier below her. The circle had created this place from her memory, that meant the moulin should be there too. It took her an anxious moment to locate one dark round hole amidst all the shadows and reflections. Relieved she dove for the glacier's drainpipe. If this was an accurate recreation this moulin would be draining all the water she had been dumping on the glacier during the fight into a river that wound through a series of glacial caves before dumping into the sea. A moment later she discovered the river with a splash.
'You are most correct,' Stygian replied. 'Which leads me to believe that perhaps out both worlds are not so different, save in time. However... that was not all I implied. Though...' He broke off, and then gave the wolf a most sinister grin. 'Your reply was quite proper though, even if characterization... Ah, forgive. But if people keep up pretense, but nevertheless all know what is truly taking place? Is it honesty or knowledge then, that heralds doom?' He chuckled, and then shook his head. 'Knowledge is worth life, and yet that is still pointless wondering. Even more so at gunpoint. Better then to use the world and all the fools in it. And to cease thinking, and speaking, so old-fashionably.'
The man stepped over toward the vacant circle, stopping a single pace from it, and then turned back toward the wolf. 'I say, leave the pondering and the philosophizing to the lazy and indolent, and the codes and beliefs to the needing and weak.' He grinned slightly. 'The strong have other things.' He let up the show of teeth, and canted his head slightly to the side. 'Do you consider yourself strong?'
Sylvie had been using her staff to pull herself up off the ground when she was temporarily blinded by something Ian had done. Light was usually her strongest ally, but this... this was far too much. Too bright. Too powerful.
She shielded her eyes with one green-sleeved arm, using her staff for balance. Big mistake. A heel connected with her stomach, and she toppled backward, landing on her backside and choking for breath. When the whiteness faded, she did her best to sit up and point her staff at Ian's legs, trying to catch her breath so she could cast a spell...
Siolen smiled politely at the hunchbacked man, disregarding the implied insult against magic. Those who distrusted magic or the sciences typically did so for the same reasons, and he often found that arguing with those reasons just made people angry. "I've always got on well enough. Most people require something to live, after all. May as well be magic."
--
Boog let his attention wander slightly from the fight. The new... thingermajig, he decided to think of it as, thingermajig seemed to sum up the creature, was already making friends. A behemoth in armor and a tiny thing that looks like it should be either a poison ingredient or a type of candy... Eh. Not that astounding.
The other conversation he couldn't tell too much of, but at a glance he'd say Styggy was causing trouble again. Again, unsurprising. He returned his gaze to the fights outside and grumbled. He'd lost track of the dragon.
"Perhaps not by your definition." the wolf said, narrowing one eye at the man. His implication that the strong needed nothing but their strength seemed to rankle at the wolf, though. As he watched the dragon high overhead become doused with the Queen's potent acid, and then as she was shuddering begin to nosedive towards some unknown location, he let his hand fall across the sword at his hip.
"There are those who are strong in mind, strong in spirit, strong in heart as well as being strong in arm..." he said, slowly. "Might makes right. An interesting philosophy. But ultimately...self-defeating." he said, turning his gaze away from the distant battle between dragon and queen. "Strength always fails, in the true end. And there is always someone stronger."
He stood silent for a moment as he stared at the man, his eyes appraising beneath shaded lenses. Guns were something that Cogidubnus was not unfamiliar with: battles that involved guns could be difficult, depending on a few factors.
"I suppose that I could not answer you. I am strong as I can be."
* * *
The blackguard chuckled at the strange little alien's words, and then took his pipe out of his mouth to speak.
"I am Giles Monterrey, the Lord of Ashes." he said, a wide grin suffusing his features as he pronounced his name and unofficial title. "And it's my pleasure to meet 'ya, Piix."
The black-gauntleted man extended a black-armored hand to the fantastically, poisonously colored alien.
About halfway throughout the wolf's comments, Stygian rolled his eyes, and then folded his arms across his chest, the inside of his muscular arms pushing against the handles of his guns. 'Well, let's just try that then, instead of standing here drawling further,' he said, an edge to his voice. He gave the wolf a rather menacing, pointed look.
'If we are to determine simple strength and skill, and a battle of wills turns into playing chicken, let's make some clearer rules this time,' the man added after a short pause. 'We fight until we draw blood. No further. Oh, and...' He suddenly grinned, looking down for a moment before turning his eyes up again. 'For the sake of principle, this means that if you happen to kill your opponent, you violate the rules. Thus, you lose.'
A challenge, then. The wolf thought, his feet already sliding subtly into a combat stance. Cog regarded the man lazily, and very calmly removed the hat from his head, setting it on the ground, the chapeau quickly followed by his shades. Setting the lenses on top of the soft hat, the wolf paused for a moment, his yellow eyes pensive, before nodding to himself and looking back at the man.
"The rules are accepted." he said, already beginning to walk to the now-open circle. "Without addendum. Now I just have to hope you bleed..." the wolf said sardonically, crossing into the wide-marked circle.
As he walked in, the stone ground beneath him suddenly morphed and twisted, first growing irregular and lumpy before sprouting a layer of dirt, and then over that layer of dirt another layer of grass, old pine needles, and frost. Upon all sides, trees erupted through the ground, the wolf moving slightly to the side to avoid riding one of them up into the sky. The evergreens continued to sprout up until the former bare, stone circle was a proper forest - thick, almost impenetrable with trees and undergrowth, the air itself deathly cold, and as the sound of some distant stream or brook came to life, a deep, deep mist fell upon it. The sunlight became visible for just a few moments as it danced through the mist, and then the vapor became yet thicker, obscuring the forest and then even the wolf as he walked further into it.
The wolf removed his sword, and then his coat, and setting his coat upon the lowhanging branch of a nearby tree and leaning his sword next to it. He then began to shuck the rest of his clothing, hiding it in a bush. He then took a few steps further into the forest, using his forelegs on the third step.
The wolf, eyesight penetrating in even the thick mist, and nose keen even through the vapor, stalked into the woods, and waited for his opponent.
"Hmm...sometimes you just gotta play with the hand you're dealt with and make it work for you.", Rip added, then turned over his left palm, igniting a small calm white pyre in the center of it. He gazed half-heartedly into it and continued, "Whether it be mystical or technological, you work with what you have and what you can get."
Rip then placed his left palm on Siolen's right shoulder, sending forth a soothing sensation throughout his body to ease up the pain and speed up the mending. He held for only a few seconds then immediately retracted his hand. Some of Siolen's pain had feedbacked back through his palm into Rip's own body. It could only be expected, with what little experience he had with his light-based abilities having only become aware of them a little less then a month ago. "Hopefully that should ease some of the pain you're feeling. When the Doctor gets here he/she will probably be able to get you back in prime alot faster then I can, heh. Either way....I'm gonna head back out for another drink. Siiiooolen....was it? You can call me Rip."
Rip stood up with a grin and began to walk toward the exit, before he opened the door though he looked back at the hunchback, "Oh, heh forgive me, what can I call you by?"
...Piix:
Cheerfully, the Orin seized Giles's extended hand (or as well as she could, considering the drastic size difference between both creatures' hands) and shook it, grinning that devious grin of hers. Wasn't this furless one quite the character? Piix's interaction with humans was quite minimal, but she had always heard from those who had socialized with them that they were rather boring in comparison with other aliens and assorted creatures hailing from other planets. No magical capabilities, no defensive qualities such as the quills and poison Orin possessed, and no vibrant fur colors to distinguish them. How on earth could they tell each other apart when their appearances were so decidedly dull?
Piix nodded her head, and, after shaking Giles's hand, released it. "Pleasure's all mine," she said happily, then folded her legs and leaned against the side of the table with one elbow, the opposite arm still gripping her mallet. "So, Mister Lord o' the Ashes. What business d'ya have here?"
~Keaton the Black Jackal
The man simply stood for a moment, watching. His eyes drifted to the side of the circle for a moment. His weapon from before, a slim, hard and futuristic-looking thing, the damage-dealing end covered in a big, unpleasant patch of tar, was laying on the pavement next to the circle together with the briefcase from before. Both had ended up there for some odd reason, and he guessed that things that were brought into the circle ended up outside them when the fights were over. But, as with everything magical, he guessed that the rules concerning things like that were still somewhat fuzzy.
Sunlight. A dim forest in either early winter or the middle of spring, in sunlight and fog. The wolf wanted and would have cover on his side. A good choice then, to get close with a blade, if the vegetation around and under one's feet wasn't too dry and thick. Stygian sighed, then stepped into the ring, and immediately found himself under tall, great trees. Tramping a bit with his boots, he noted the direction of the sound of the stream immediately, and then walked slowly and as silently as he could, listening carefully.
Even as the lightning released her she began to fall. Her limbs still twitching, the Queen tried in vain to force her body to twist as it had so many times before...and failed.
She slammed down onto the ice-covered plain on her left side, her exoskeleton smoking in nearly a hundred places where it had been the grounding point for enough charge to power several large cities for decades.
The hailstones continued to fall, battering her already badly damaged and abused body. Her opponent was beyond physical reach, she was injured...though in time she would heal, at this point there was only one course of action given the nature of the challenge.
Mental shards steeped in hatred and agony slipped into the dragon's mind. "I submit."
Padding softly through the forest soundlessly, the wolf kept his ears perked, and he paused every few moments to take a sniff of air, searching for that particular scent of the man - the alcohol from the bar, mixed with an air of blood, ashes, and smoke.
His ears flicked. In the silence of the forest, he could hear the man's tramping steps, his boots crushing the pine needles and frosted growth beneath them, and a moment later his strong scent hit the wolf's nose. Silently, the wolf darted forward, circling 'round to the edge of the forest.
Following his scent, from the edge of the circle inwards, he finally saw the man's fog-enshrouded form walking between the trees, moving towards the sound of the brook nearby. He crouched down, low to the ground, and behind the ample cover provided by the large trees and the undergrowth began to follow him, waiting for an opportunity. A glimpse of the wrong thing in that fog could prove...not deadly, but unfortunate.
* * *
Giles took a puff of his pipe, the smoke again hazing around him. "Business? Eh...well, burning. Mostly burning. Things, places, people, whatever." he shrugged. "It's what I do."
He grinned. "And I'm damn good at it too. Hopefully those people out there will get done soon, and I can finally get off my ass and show it."
"What brings you here?"
The wolf had found the man first. Yet unbeknownst to him, the man had also located him. Or, at least he had heard that something was approaching him through the undergrowth. Not immediately, true, but after a short while, as he neared the other, Stygian caught notice of him. The wolf was both swift and silent, but not silent enough. A large creature could not go entirely without making some sort of sound in surroundings like those. And the man's instincts were quite well-attuned. Locating the direction of the sound and feeling though, was far harder. That should be him. Quick of him. But I do intend to find out how fast he is before he can strike surely at me... he thought.
When the wolf had followed the man for perhaps a dozen, slow seconds, suddenly he sprang, with surprising speed, and vanished behind one of those large trees. The low sound of his running footsteps faded quickly.
The man listened to both [Siolen] and [Rip] before speaking again, in his hollow voiceless voice.. "I did require, or at least used, magic to live, once. I did play the hand that I was delt. But when I needed it the most, the one time in my life where I had nothing else...magic failed me." The cloaked man almost spat the word 'failed'. "It is because magic failed me that I...that I am the way I am underneath this shroud. But I do not regret what happened to me, I have embraced my new form fully. The reason I hide is because I have learned that many seem to to take exception to my form; it disturbs them. It save me many inconvieniences to hide, but I do not do it because I'm ashamed."
[Rip] spoke to [Siolen] breifly, then turned to leave. But at the last moment, he turned back, and asked the cloaked man for his name.
"My...name?" The man said slowly. "I...haven't used my name...for some time...it means nothing now." The man then turned and left without another word.
...Piix:
At the mention of burning things, Piix's expression adopted more of a clandestinely devious edge to her venom-toothed grin. While far from a pyromaniac, there was something about Giles's nonchalant way of presenting his intentions that garnered her attention--particularly for a rather far-fetched reason. Setting people on fire wasn't exactly something Piix approved of, but she wouldn't question his lifestyle if he didn't question hers.
Bioluminescent, inverted eyes raked inquisitively over Giles's appearance for a moment. Piix smirked, then pointed to him. "Setting people on fire, 'eh? Ain't that a job we c'n all strive for," she said coyly, lacing her fingers together like a steeple beneath her chin. Then, suddenly, she pointed to Giles's armor. "I don't see a flamethrower on ya... would it be stupid t'assume that y'use magic?"
Humans using magic... now that would be something Piix had never seen. Trailing away from that tangent, Piix continued with a sly flap of her four-fingered hand, "But as f'r me... I'm lookin' for someone. I dunno if ya'd know anythin' 'bout him... but he's a distinctive guy. Trust me on this, if I described him to ya an' if ya'd seen him before, ya'd know what I'm talkin' 'bout. He doesn't like fightin', though..." Piix's brow furrowed, cleaving deep shadows beneath her unkempt, bedraggled fur. "So I don't think he'd be 'ere. I'm mostly 'ere for a break from the three weeks of solid searchin'."
~Keaton the Black Jackal
The man darted into the woods, and almost taking a jump back at the man's sudden movements the wolf simply bared a fang. Humans didn't have those sorts of senses; hearing the wolf would have been next to impossible.
As the man bounded into the woods, however, the wolf simply backed up into the forest and faded into the mist. Running through the woods wasn't the wisest course of action to take - low hanging branches and thick, old growth would make navigating at such a high speed difficult in the extreme, and possibly dangerous - the rules didn't say who had to draw the blood. What's more, the man might think it odd that a four-legged variety of wolf was here, but he shouldn't know that it was literally Cog. The wolf faded into the forest.
He made for the area where his coat and sword lay, and laying down in the misted environment hid himself in the undergrowth, practically invisible and utterly silent, and kept his ears and nose alert.
* * *
The blackguard simply grinned wide at the alien, and with a gleam in his eye made a flourish with one gauntleted hand, making sure to keep the fist moving for a few moments. Flames danced along the appendage, moving from finger to finger and then to the rest of the hand, turning into shapes and then rising into the air as a perfect image of a small, burning figure before dissipating entirely. Before it faded into the air, it could be perceived that the little figure was flipping the bird to the entire room.
"S'not....magic, precisely. I don't know what you are, but humans can definitely cast magic, s'far as I know. But I don't need no damn flamethrower or spell. I am a flamethrower." he said as he grinned wickedly. "But if I'm to take it you're just wantin' to blow off some steam here..."
He looked outside, and then back at the Piix. "It look's like that fight w'the glacier innit is about to end. Could probably make some steam w'tha." he smiled, blue eyes appraising as he looked at the poisonous-looking alien, wondering if those spines and that hammer were as deadly as they looked.
Hmmm....to each his own.
Rip shrugged, then made his way through the door and out of the Doctor's office. During his absence it appeared that another newcomer to the circle had arrived. A somewhat small; bizarre creature, garbed in only a cape and hood. Rip paused for a moment and raised an eyebrow at her, scanning over her features. For a few seconds, half of him was in a state of confusion, and the other half just wanted to run over toward the inferred woman and hug her. So....adorable....not...right...!!..?.!.
Rip spaced out for a few more seconds, started to fall over; then immediately snapped out of it and regained himself. Quietly laughing it off, he walked over toward the bar with a forced smile on his face and ordered a bottle of Smirnoff. Sliding payment toward the barkeep once he recieved it, he walked back over toward the pool table, trying to keep himself together. Placing the bottle down he gripped it with one hand and raised his tail up above it. The tip of the stinger began to glow, and in one swift strike he pierced the bottle cap straight through the center, shattering it off. He took a swig, racked up the table once more and donned his cue from the cue rack.
"Heh, this oughta been good.", Rip commented as he leaned down; then broke, sinking three stripes and two solids off the first stroke. Nice....
Perhaps a couple of minutes lasted, before the man even made the slightest movement. Peering around the trunk of the huge tree, he drew long, slow breaths, utterly silent and taking in what scents he could. No luck though; the scent of pine and moisture and chill was much too hard and strong. Almost grumbling, the man made his way, face first, down the side of the tree, scaling it in a way impossible to any mere human. He planted his glove-less hands on the ground, and carefully flipped forward, placing his boots on the soft dirt and then straightening back onto his feet. Muttering a bit, he rubbed a finger and then put it in his mouth, cleaning it of some sticky, unpleasant sap.
So. Something is stalking me. And it makes a tactical retreat, Stygian thought, pulling his tight gloves back on.
I can't tell whether if it was the wolf or not, but it sure does act like it knows what it's doing... A metallic snap and a latching sound echoed through the forest, as Stygian drew one of his pistols and readied it, pulling the mantle and moving the first bullet into the chamber. Silently, he began making his way through the woods, moving in the opposite direction of before...
- -
Few noticed it at first, but as the thing came closer to the rings, the hulking shape sort of became harder and harder to ignore. Carrying a set of massive
somethings on its back, the coated humanoid seemed to be walking almost leisurely, in spite of what
had to be an uncomfortable load. When finally the humanoid reached the outside of the bar, it lifted off the massive baggage, revealing itself to be what looked like steel bags that were more like crates, a large wrapped bag of some kind and a cylindrical case, as well as some hanging belts of cylinders, and even bullets. When it placed them against the wall, it send a shudder through the structure. Standing around for a bit, the newcomer examined the rings from underneath a hood for a while, and then turned around. It walked over, placed a hand on the door, and pulled it open, walking in.
The scraping of boots against the grille on the outer steps, and then on the doormat to clean any clinging dirt was the only noticeable sound of the figure entering made, save for the whine of the door and some shuffling of clothes as it walked in. Hidden underneath a hooded coat on top of another, it walked casually in, and then seated itself on one barstool, which creaked a bit. It observed Stygian's coat laying on the stool next to it.
When the thing's voice came, it was... strange. Just a slight bit disjointed at places, and just a bit hollow, it sounded very, very close to a human one, but metallic in a way. And the explanation for that became rather apparent as a pair of gloves slipped off, revealing strange, black metallic hands, reaching up and pulling back the thing's hood as it shrugged the coat. Seven dimly glowing red eyes, the one in the center considerably larger than the others and set right in the middle of a slit which divided the obsidian metal shell covering its smooth, almost human-shaped head in two. Smooth, deep silvery seams in its flexing metal 'skin' ran down its mostly black neck, the rest of it hidden under a coat and shirt.
'
:i'll have a vodka. straight up,' the machine stated, the synthesized female voice smooth and self-confident.
To say Mel was surprised to hear the words of submission would have been an understatement. After all she was submerged in a river up to her nose trying to wash acid out of rather deep burns while at the same time trying to heal the wounds. Her second surprise was when the river and glacial cave disappeared and she was standing back on the hard dirt of the yard, the Queen laying on the other side. Limping a bit on a burned leg Mel made her way back to the bar doors. As she moved her size returned to a more building friendly six feet, her clothing reforming at the same time. She winced a bit at the feel of fabric against her burned skin and ragged scales. She sank into the first chair inside the door and just let herself concentrate on healing.
...Piix:
As the blackguard flourished his gauntlet-clad hand in the air, weaving and wreathing together jagged tongues and escaping gouts of sizzling flame into intricate knots and networks of fire, Piix watched the pyromancing process with absolute fascination enlivening her features; the black backdrop of her eyes glowing a faint orange in the light of the funneling flame the instant before the fiery specter was disintegrated. Faint, wispy tendrils of smoky fumes wafted from the wavering outline of the dissipated image, still reflecting the afterglow of the faded mirage. In the coattails of her amazement, Piix realized the shape of the actual image, and burst out laughing--clearly not mocking Giles's presentation, but appreciating the obscene glory behind it all.
Piix listened to Giles's explanation with interest, her ears pivoting upright at the mention of "blowing off some steam." At first, Piix assumed that was some sort of pun, pyromancer abilities considered, but when Giles regarded the glacier-laden environment outside she fully understood his intentions. That ubiquitous grin returned to Piix's muzzle once more. Grasping the mallet's--Orpiment's--handle tighter, she thrust it into the ground, then leapt off of the stool, the mallet remaining perfectly straight despite having the burden of Piix's weight on its form. Hopping away from Orpiment, Piix spun the mallet around like a baton, then stared at Giles.
"Sounds like a marvelous idea, good sir," she said cheerfully, then extended her arm towards the nearby door. "Please, after y--eek!"
Suddenly, the Orin stiffened and tensed, her virulently-colored fur bristling and prickling like thousands of needles on her body, as she watched the eerily-structured, humanoid machine robed in multiple layers of baggy fabric stride inside. Once the machine-woman had seated herself (itself?) on a stool discomfortingly close to where Piix was once sitting, beside a coat draped over another barstool, she breathed a sigh of relief and shook her head. Machines. Bloody machines. Always scared the piss out of her. Especially when one arrived in such a lugubrious manner. Her expression a little dimmer than before, Piix walked towards the door, hopefully with Giles following her.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
As Stygian walked through the forest, the serene silence was suddenly broken with an earsplitting crack, then followed by a distant groan, and then a loud, dull thud that echoed through the mist. The sound, whatever it was, came from the north, a little ways from where the brook would have been.
* * *
The blackguard grinned at Piix, and pushing himself off the stool he was sitting on thumped heavily into the floor. He set his pipe down, the bitterly black thing still smoking, and made a very crude bow at the little alien.
"Ladies fir..."
He paused, watching the little fantastically-colored alien react very horribly to something, and turning his head he watched a baggy-clothed, eight-red-eyed android calmly set down two building-shaking crates and walk into the bar, and without preamble order a vodka, straight up. Giles could empathize with the little alien - that was something vaguely intimating, and unsettling.
He followed the psychedelic alien outside, and waited for the last circle to open up.
Boog quirked an eyebrow at the machine woman. He didn't like machines. They almost never thought, they just remembered. The lowest form of intelligence. A goldfish could pull it off, albeit not for very long. The clothes were a good sign; nudity taboos were things that thinking creatures worried about. Still though. Besides, he always felt that making perfect sense while never doing what one was supposed to was something he had dibs on.
"Welcome to the Honor Circle, yadda yadda..." He set out the cup with a 'clunk' and poured the alcohol, "Hope you enjoy your time, etcetera, Vodka straight up, drinks ain't free."
The noise made the man stop mid-step, frozen, not moving, not even so much as trembling. A couple of seconds passed before he eased up and turned slightly toward the direction of the sound. Either he's calling me out, or it's a diversion, he thought immediately.
He could have timed that in, and be coming right at me from another direction. So, what? Does he think that either I can move toward the sound, or away from it? Or, I can just sit where I am? He went over the situation again and again.
I'm in the open... There is no breeze because of the trees, just air moving a bit, and all things considered I wouldn't be surprised if he can smell me. It comes down to who can find who first, in theory. So... If your enemy gives you two options, you choose a third... The man looked upward. The thick, green shapes of the trees stood above him, tips swaying just the slightest far up there. It seemed that there was at least a slight bit of wind farther up. And with that pine scent...
Slipping the gun in his hand into its holster and snapping it shut, the man looked around in the direction of the noise, eyes searching upward. He found what he wanted, and then leaped, at least twenty feet up, landing on a thick branch close to the trunk of a nearby tree. He climbed up a bit swiftly, and then he began making his way, tree by tree, toward the source of the sound.
- -
The machine thing seemed to... peer at him for a second, the mouth or whatever it was beneath the lower 'chin' end of that black metal closed shut. The Boogeyman felt just a bit of an unnerving feeling from the mechanic thing's direction, and then 'she' thrust her hand down into her pocket.
'
:i suppose you don't take cards...' the thing almost seemed to mutter, before producing a couple of coins between tightly pinched, black-glistening and smooth-jointed fingers, and snapping them down on the counter.
The wolf stayed perfectly silent in the undergrowth, hidden within the mist and under the shadows of the leaves above. Across from him was a felled tree, the sound of which had almost been deafening - and swaying in the breeze was his coat, obscured somewhat by the fogged environment.
Even though the very light ringing in his ears, however, an unmissable sound echoed through the forest. At first, the wolf was confused - the sound, staccato and loud, wasn't coming from any discernible direction. As the sound got closer, however, the wolf looked up at the high canopy, and watching one large pine tree shake, saw....something, jump through the mist from one tree to the next.
The wolf grinned in admiration. As he was, getting to the man like that would be almost impossible. Wolves couldn't climb trees, and much as he wanted to win, fighting in the buff wasn't his big thing. Still...
The wolf watched as the man moved, wondering if he would become distracted by the swaying coat - a secondary concern, at that point. He positioned himself just right, and waited until the man was about to jump to the next tree.
Moving stealthily, and making not a sound, the wolf inched forward, and began to concentrate, the wolf taking a deep breath and gathering himself. His eyes, gleaming yellow, closed, and then opened again, the feral eyes somehow serene.
He waited - now! As the man jumped for the next pine, the wolf barked silently, an oblong wave of distortion slamming into the large pine with unimaginable force, hitting the trunk and cracking through with a deafening crunch. Even as the man leapt through the air, the tree already groaned and tipped.
As the cloaked man walked back into the main bar, and saw two newcomers. The first one, some sort of strange alien, he already knew had entered, even though he was in the medical ward with [Siolen], he had kept his attention everywhere. With a little surprise, he noticed the one who had just walked in. A machine. A pure, honest-to-goodness, machine. The cloaked man didn't know whether to feel incredibly jealous or extremely interested.
He kept back into the darker part of the bar. [Beginning analyzation of two new entities...]
The man stood back, and waited.
The Queen managed to stand, gathering her energy as much as her dignity.
After a pause of about a minute she made her way out of the Circle towards the bar, leaving behind a sizzling trench of her own blood. She passed by the patrons near the door, ignoring them as her limp became a more fluid walk.
She scanned ahead, pushing her senses to note the newer patrons, noting their energy fields. Striding inside she ducked, then turned and looked directly at her last opponent with a snarling hiss.
Moving to the corner, the Queen began to make a sound like a cat hacking up the universe's largest hairball. She carefully spate a steady stream of an organic, viscous fluid over the booth, then turned and settled herself into the mass.
Drawing her head back underneath her massive crest, she began to heal...and plot revenge.
The attack caught the man off-guard, but not unprepared, and the wolf caught sight of the same exceptional speed that Siolen had noticed. The crunch made the trunk of the tree twist a bit as it loosened from its base, yet the sheer size of the tree worked in the man's favor. Twisting mid-air, he put his foot against the trunk, and kicked off in the other direction, flipping backwards in a slow arc in the air. Fortunately, the ground was clear enough for him to do a simple crouching landing, and he came up with his guns out, searching for whatever it had been that had attacked him.
What the hell was that distortion?! The shockwave that had passed through the air had been too sudden and odd for Stygian to make out a clear direction.
I can't hear him, but he's there. I just need to... feel... A shot rang out in the wolf's general direction, near but not on point. It snapped into a tree trunk a couple of yards to his side, spattering wood.
- -
When she received her drink, the lower part of the machine's face slid aside with a just barely audible metallic hiss, no more loud than the ticking of a pocket watch, revealing a stylized, straight-edged mouth of some sort. Putting the drink to her cold lips, the mechanoid sat there, just drinking for a while and easing into the surroundings. She scanned the surroundings thoroughly with her sensors, mostly passive but also a few pulses of short-wave active scanning. Not that she made any outward signs of this search, or her findings. She was a machine. To her, it was just a few operations and protocols.
After what might have been a couple of minutes of silence, and another drink for the machine, 'she' turned on her seat a bit, and then asked aloud; '
:so, that guy with the coat... the blond guy with a scar on his cheek... is he in the bathroom or something?' At least, it seemed as if it were directed to no one in particular. None could really tell precisely where her attention was directed, with her face as it was.
The wolf nearly gaped when the man flipped himself in midair, and recognizing the attack for what it was in that split second of hangtime, land and kick himself off the trunk to land in a crouch, flipping his guns out. Nearly gaped - as soon as he saw the man kick off the trunk, the wolf was off like a shot.
Even as the man somehow managed to shoot through the fog and undergrowth to the wolf's location, the broken tree continued to tip, and after the resounding gunshot echoed through the forest, the tree hit the ground with yet another earsplitting crunch, the sound almost deafening the wolf. No longer concerned with noise, the wolf circled round, and in the hideous noise of wood smashing into the ground tore through the forest.
About two moments after the gunshot, and a moment after the tree fell, the wolf sprang up and flew through the air at the man, teeth gleaming and claws outstretched.
"I take cards, I just don't give 'em back. Enjoy," He returned to watching the fight outside, and then the machine woman spoke again. 'or something?' Colloquialisms; also encouraging, but easily programmed. We'll have to see, "Styggy? He's in the circle right now." He jerked his head toward the door, "You looking for him?"
The machine shook her head slightly, and then leaned forward, 'chin' in her hand. '
:no. not looking; i just enjoy keeping myself appraised of the situation. i'm in his company,' she said, and then downed half of the current drink. For anyone who thought it strange that a machine should have a taste for alcohol, the statement that she were with Stygian might have proved a bit of an explanation.
- -
Mist and snow swirling around, the man looked up at the approaching form, face in a deep frown and dark silvery guns gleaming. He had a chance at a shot there, but it was not clear or accurate. The wolf was moving much too fast and at an awkward angle. So instead, with his hands occupied, the man tumbled backwards, bruising his back a bit but nevertheless getting solid support, and kicked out one leg. The wolf landed on it, and as he flipped over, he also threw the lupine away with a good bit of strength, enough to land him quite a few yards away, a bit away from the split tree. Scrambling to his feet, the man raised one pistol, keeping the other up beside him.
'Fighting in the buff?!' he exclaimed, moving around a bit. He might have had a shot there, but if so he did not take it, out of sheer surprise if anything. 'Are you some sort of idiot or something?' he mocked.
...Piix:
Initial awkwardness about encountering the android aside, Piix managed to edge her way past the android without any further outbursts, attempting unsuccessfully to mask her discomfort. Fortunately the android didn't seem to notice or detect her, neutralizing Piix's paranoid fear that the android would somehow become supernaturally aware of her discomfort and vaporize her to no more than just a sour spot. Once she had edged out the door, the Orin breathed a weighty sigh of relief and wiped away the sweat that had culminated on her brow with the back of her hand.
Immediately, her vision latched onto one of the unoccupied circles, which she cheerfully approached, twirling Orpiment. Piix threw Giles a grin over her shoulder. "I don't know half a shit about how these things work," she admitted, deciding that if she vehemently remained self-confident about her nonexistent "intimacy with technology" they would be there all day. "But I guess we work out th' terms of condition t'the battle. Personally I'm up f'r anythin'. Oh."
Piix lifted an index finger. "'Cept for killing. 'Cause I kind of need t'be alive, an'... all that jazz."
~Keaton the Black Jackal
The wolf had hoped that the gunshot and the crashing tree would have masked his approach, but the man was too quick for that, and with a swift maneuver was sent sailing a little ways into the dirt. Almost as soon as he hit the ground, the wolf flipped to his feet, and was again off like a shot.
The wolf didn't hear the man's taunts - instead running away as fast as he could, the sound of the wolf's pads slipping into the forest with a deathly quick, and his form being swallowed by the misted area.
He headed towards the sound of the brook.
* * *
"Eh, you don't look like you'd make much of a' barbeque anyway." the man said, grinning at the Orin. "So, Alreet, I can work w'that. No killin'." The big man neglected to amend that with 'No horrible burning', but he wasn't going to bring it up if she wasn't. "Aside from that, I guess I'm pretty much game."
He stepped into the circle, and waited for the Orin to follow. "You get to choose the arena."
'Shit!' Stygian snarled, both out loud and in his head. He's thinking tactically, actually, the man thought. I can't give him a lethal wound, and claws and teeth are a lot better at drawing blood without grave injury than pistols like these. So I guess I'll have to take another approach...
Putting his right gun back into its holster, Stygian pulled off the glove from his right hand, stuffing it in his pocket. As he drew his large hand out of the pocket, hints of black spread and moved down it underneath the skin, and his nails began turning black, sharpening and extending with a few low crackling sounds. His eyes went through some similar sort of process, black veins spreading inward, until his eyes were a pair of perfect, obsidian orbs. He would be ready to face the wolf head-on this time.
Flexing his fingers, the man took a step, and then began running steadily in chase of his opponent.
Partially healed Mel hauled herself out of the chair and over to the bar. She needed some sustenance before she could do any more healing of her wounds. Sitting heavily on a stool she sighed and requested, "Mineral water please, heavy on the minerals." There was a basket of popcorn sitting nearby. With a small burst of magic the fluffy white corn became heavy white quartz gravel. She popped a handful in her mouth and crunched away.
Crouching low on the bushes, the low thumping of the man's boots pierced through the silence of the forest, and keeping himself silent and still the wolf waited. The boots moved closer - almost upon him, and still moving.
The man's form burst through the edge of his vision, his hand trailing some strange, fluid darkness. This was his chance! Before the man's damnable second-sense seemed to kick in, the wolf lunged out from the bushes, the mist and fog, and the shadows of the trees wrapped around him until the very last, his fangs and claws gleaming silver, flying for the man's back.
Unfortunately for the wolf, the attempt to hide in the shadows had been an unwise decision under the circumstances. The man spun around immediately, quickly but not quickly enough to sink those black claws into the wolf's form. However, as he crouched and got his side to the lupine, he did get a good shot in on his cheek with a swinging elbow. Firing a missing shot that he hoped would nevertheless shock the creature, Stygian twisted around, backing up until he had a good foothold and raising his hand, long, knife-like claws ready to swipe. He snarled, sharp fangs and gleaming black eyes visible.
The wolf snarled out loud, the surprise given up - it truly seemed that the man's second sense was infallible, even when distracted, and with little reaction time. Twisting in the air and trying to snap at the man, the wolf took a hit to his jaw, the action knocking the wolf's head back and stunning him for half a second while the man raised a clawed hand. A gunshot went off in his ear, disorienting him, and Cog caught sight of the clawed hand descending towards him.
Instinct took over - and with a eerie precision born of desperation, and the unnatural speed possessed of the were, he opened his mouth wide and snapped on the foremost of the man's claws, catching the bladed darkness in his mouth, and savagely twisting the elongated nails with all the might possessed in his jaws and in his body.
The man watched with interest as the feminine mechanoid started scanning around the room, sending out various pulses of scanning. His own eye treid to pick up and analyze the various emmision, with some, but limited, success. She obviously had some powerful tech packed into her, though he could guess a few of the things she might have.
[Scattering Field at maximum intenisty]
What he didn't thing of, however, was that she must also have enhancements for boosting her vision in the visible spectrum. While that wouldn't let her see through his cloak, it would let her see his face under his hood...
Totally oblivious that she saw part of him for what he really was, he finished his surface analyzation of her and the alien newcomer, logged away the data, noting that he had no real desigantion for them, so logged them away as [Android-1] and [Alien-2]. He then redirected his attention to watch the battles outside.
[Stygian] and [Cogidubnus] were putting up quite a show in their minature forest.
The quick flash of teeth made the man swipe out with those claws of his, putting them before him to protect him from the wolf. Unfortunately, the latter saw it fit to snap his jaws around them and wrench around. And, as unlikely as it was, Stygian's claws just got caught in the wolf's teeth. He tried to pull his hand back, succeeding out of sheer strength... and cut his skin on the prominent fangs. Even as he raised his gun, the surroundings began to blur and swirl past. And the next second, they were standing in the circle yet again, the wolf nude a bit before his pile of clothes and his sword, and Stygian with his hand drawn up toward him and bleeding, and his gun pointing at the other's forehead. Clearly, he had acted simply out of reflex toward the end.
A few awkward seconds passed, Stygian looking at his hand, before he saw it fit to lower that menacingly large pistol and step back. 'Huh,' he said, surprise in his voice. 'I guess you win.'
It ended with a flash of teeth and claws, and the eerie feeling of his teeth being scraped with razors. One moment, he was acting out of desperate panic -
The next, it was over. The wolf had a gun to his head, the surroundings empty, his clothes off and himself somehow shifted back into two-legged form. Even as he stared at the gun to his head, the wolf felt himself pale and then blush beneath his fur.
"Huh. I guess you won." the man said, surprise evident in his voice. The wolf looked at the man's eyes, elated at his sudden victory, and simultaneously horrified at his unfortunate...predicament.
"Can we talk about this in a minute?!" the wolf hissed, his voice almost comically high, suddenly moving backwards and grabbing his pants off the ground, and with amazing speed nearly jumping into the things. He grabbed the rest of his items quickly, shuffling off the field with one hand keeping his pants up, the other with his gathered items.
The man under the cloak saw the conclusion of the battle. It seemed that [Cogidubnus] had won, but the man noted with great amusement, he ended the battle in a rather...awkward...position. He snickered rather loudly.
The man stood watching for a few seconds, a smirk slowly spreading across his face as he watched the wolf realize his situation. Slipping his gun into his holster and putting his hand into his mouth to lick off the strangely dark blood, his eyes did not divert from the other man. In fact, it seemed as if he were pleased by more than just the wolf's awkwardness. Whether if this was the reality of things, or if he was just opting to unnerve the wolf to get more amusement out of the situation was up to the viewer.
'Of course. Take your time...' Stygian murred, black claws slowly retracting back into his fingers as he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his hand. 'You put up a pretty good fight there. Nice usage of cover. Well, in one way, at least,' he joked, smirk developing into a sinister grin. 'I enjoyed the scenery as well.'
Just....a....little more......nyah!!
A final stroke sent the cueball spiraling forth, ricocheting wildly amongst the remaining solids to clear the table once more. Rip, who was balancing himself upside down on the edge of the table with one hand as he made the trick shot, let out a small grunt of satisfaction. Yet just as he began to revel he lost his balance and fell over off the billiard table with a thud; a quiet snickering could be heard from where he had fallen. Rip then bounced back up to his feet. "And I'm okay!!"
Absorbed into his game, Rip hardly noticed the entry of....some kind of android, or atleast that's what he thought she was when he spared her a passing glance from across the room when she sat down. Seven eyes....and that voice....He had only seen something remotely like this thing once before, the one he met though was as emotionless as a boulder, most unlike this...woman... As he looked over toward her now he gave her a subtle nod, then walked over toward a window near where the other jackel was, the one wielding the scythe..
"....That was relatively quick.", Rip commented as he looked out at the ring, finishing off his drink. "Although I guess battles are meant to be won, not last forever. So...who won that one?"
"Fraid I can't let you have that miss." Ian said as he dashed up and grabbed Sylvies staff. He tried to wrench it out of her grasp.
The wolf stumbled outside of the arena circle, dropping the bundle of clothing in his right arm as soon as he passed the thaumaturgical circle that marked the arena's edge and fastened his pants. The rest of his clothing quickly followed, first the shoes, then the shirt, and with a whirl he donned his coat. As he did so, he grimaced at the man's comments - an unforeseen consequence of his strategy. The man didn't know he was a lychanthrope, and probably thought he was mad as a hatter for fighting in the buff.
A feral wolf couldn't wear clothing, for obvious reasons, but the man hardly could know that.
"For all the good it did me. In the end, it was a fight anyway. But thank you." he said, picking up his sword carefully. He held it in his off-hand, the cords hanging from the sheath draped in a loop around his hand. He made a small bow to the man. "You fought very well. Amazing senses, and I haven't seen another person with a reaction time like that. And you see that which...well. You see more than you let on, I think." he said, again making a small bow to the man, and brushing his silver hair out of his eyes moved back to the bar, picking up his hat and glasses on the way.
* * *
The Jackal looked down at Rip, his expression neutral, and looked back out at the field. From their reactions, he would have guessed the man had won, but neither of them seemed to be hurt at all.
He shrugged. "I'm not certain." was all he said. "Ask one of them."
Risky stepped through the doors and paused for a second, taking everything in. The oddball collection of fighters, the combat going on outside...it was starting to become too familiar.
Hitching the holster on her hips a bit she made her way to the bar, her dark hair hanging partway over her face in a loose pageboy. She glanced at the resting Xenomorph in the corner, nodded to a few familiar patrons, and sat down on a barstool, turning around to face the room and leaning back on her elbows.
She spoke in a clear, soft voice. "Should've known there'd be a Bug here. Like ants to honey." Taking a green cigarette from the chest pocket of her blue military uniform, she lit it on a fingertip and took a long drag.
"Speaking of bugs...How the hell did you get the keys to one of these places, Boog?" she asked.
"I screwed up big time," The Boogeyman replied cheerfully, cleaning a glass. "Evening Risky. Shoot anyone interesting lately?"
The man simply shrugged, closed his eyes and inclined his head forward with an amused smile, and chuckled under his breath. 'Well, what man does not keep secrets?' he asked. 'Considering where we are and what we are doing, I think it only appropriate.' He looked back up, grinned, and then followed the wolf back inside after retrieving the compact rifle and briefcase still laying outside. Tapping the end of the barrel of the latter, he frowned a bit, pondering whether if he could remove the tar quickly without damage, or whether if it had gotten into the barrel.
As the man entered, he walked in without looking up at first, eyes appraising the damage dealt to his rifle. When he caught glimpse of the android sitting at the bar though, he stopped on the spot, and his eyes drew upward. He snorted.
'It's about time you showed up, you malfabricated piece of junk,' he said, somewhat loudly, as the android turned to eye him. He began walking toward her. 'Had to polish your shiny ass and reorganize your uppityness files before you got here, hm?'
Placing an elbow on the counter, the android managed to look as if she were scowling somehow, even though she had no facial features to do so. ':i came as fast as i could. don't lose your head, you fleshy sack of arrogance,' she answered, looking up at him as he stopped before her. A point of red light fell on the weapon as he placed it on the counter, and the android's face moved. That 'mouth' underneath her shielded face seemed to grimace. ':nice to see you've already managed to break your gear too. no doubt you are going to demand that i fix it for you as well.'
'As if you have anything better to do, machine,' the man said, with clear emphasis on the last word. 'You've practically been on vacation the last couple of weeks. Ridiculous.'
Strangely, when the machine sat straight and replied, her tone had changed slightly. It sort of carried... amusement instead. ':hardly. not to mention i could say "you're one to talk",' she said, and jabbed a finger into his stomach. ': this is ridiculous.'
'I know,' he replied, and grinned, before leaning forward and hugging the machine. She put her arms around him, responding in kind, and then placed her hand at her glass when he stood back straight. 'How was Vienna?'
':strange; but nice,' she replied. ':some things took the beauty out of it. what has been going on here?' She swiveled her head around just a bit, looking over the rest of the bar and patrons.
Risky chuckled. "Not lately, no. Though there's a chunk of this world a few miles away that you can find at night without a flashlight."
She reached into a pocket and flipped a Cestan credit over her shoulder to the bartender. "Flameout, if you don't mind. Hey, I see Cog!" She waved at the approaching wolf and patted the stool next to her.
"Looks like I missed the end of something interesting. Take a load off, my treat."
As the wolf walked into the bar, his felt his cheeks flush again - hoping that no one had seen anything would be asking too much. The wolf took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, when he nearly jumped out of his skin at the familiar voice.
The wolf turned, coughing a bit, and giving a bit of a shaky laugh looked at the figure sitting at the bar incredulously. Something interesting, eh?
"Ma - Mariska Callan!" he said, grinning at the human reactor, and gave her a deep bow, doffing his hat as he did so. "This is a...well, I can't say I'm surprised to see you here, but it is a pleasure nontheless." he said, still smiling warmly and walking quickly to the seat proferred. "I do think I'll take you up on that offer."
"A Full Moon if you please, bartender. This calls for a celebration." the wolf said quickly, sitting down on the wooden barstool. "And may I say, Ms. Callan, that your radiance this evening is only surpassed by a thermonuclear explosion?" the wolf grinned, leaning on the bar. "Of course, that could change, I imagine..."
As he sat, his eye wandered over to where Mel was sitting - he'd barely had time to say hello to the dragon before she had been challenged by the Alien, and with that strange man suddenly challenging him, he'd barely had time to even appreciate her victory. Sitting upright again, he called out to the dragon.
"Hey, Mel! Congratulations!" he said, waving for the dragon to come over to them. He glanced at the inter dimensional mercenary for a moment, nodding towards the dragon. "Risky, this is Melodie Icewing..."
Carrying the basket full of rocks with her Mel walked down the bar to where Cog was sitting with a human woman in uniform. Upon the introduction the dragon bowed formally, "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Risky." To Cog she responded, "Thank you, and congratulations upon your own victory." She reached into her pocket and handed him the small square of cardboard she retrieved. "The name of my tailor." She smiled a bit but it was more in sympathy than any sort of cruel humor. "There are certain enchantments that can be put on clothing to eliminate those annoying changeover times. I never go without them."
"Heh, there's your answer.", Rip grinned as he raised his empty bottle up when the wolf made mention of celebration. He then turned around and stared back out into the courtyard, the pool cue still resting on his shoulder; his gaze fixed on the armored blackguard and the walking acid trip of a woman.
"Hmm.....looks like this one will be a bit more entertaining.", he commented, subtly refering to the alien's lack of covering. "So....do you have a name, or has your name lost all meaning as well...."
"You always did have a silver tongue, Cog," Risky said, flushing a bit. "Some day it'll get you into something you can't get out of." She flashed a smile at him to show she was teasing, as he called over the humanoid dragon.
"Just "Risky", as long as I can call you Melodie, and the pleasure's mine." Eyeing the exchange between the two, she brushed back her hair from her face a bit, she chuckled. ""Ms. Risky" sounds like the owner of a brothel."
She took a long drag off of her cigarette, and pointed with her chin to the Queen. "Who squashed the bug? Takes some real effort to nail one of those down."
"Our dear little Mel did," Boog answered as he set out the drinks, "Really worth seeing, shame you missed it. Queenie was outclassed." He quirked an eyebrow at what Mel's spell had done with the popcorn and grinned. Now lets see, to warn people about the basket of rocks or to leave it out and watch the fun? He settled upon the latter and glanced back outside. Points to Ian for knowing when gentlemanliness is and isn't expected of one. Now lets see if he finds out the stupid part of grabbing a staff while a spellcaster still has their hands on it...
--
"Now then, you are to stay out of the circle for perhaps a bit longer. However, I do believe that I've done what I can."
"Thank you, good Physician. I feel far better." Siolen winced, "Although I thought medicine had progressed beyond the use of leeches."
"It was a mere hypodermic syringe, young man. I needed a sample to know what would work."
"I suppose."
Siolen lumbered back out into the main room, looking back over his shoulder to wave at the...thing... man (he finally settled upon) that had repaired him. However, Dr. Holic had already retreated to his back room again. The gargoyle shrugged and found himself a table.
"Barkeep?" He placed a few coins on the table, continuing before anyone could ask where he'd been keeping them, "Ale, please. Whatever kind you have. The rest should cover my medical fees." Boog was over in a flash with a drink and a good paragraph of kind words for the patron. After all, there was MONEY involved!
Sylvie's grip on her staff tightened as she tried to prevent Ian from getting it. But before the young man could wrench it out of her grip, a wicked idea lit up her eyes. "Sorry pal," she whispered, green eyes glowing as she chanted something only she truly understood.
The effects were instant; vines charged with plant magic sprouted out of her staff and quickly wrapped their way up Ian's arms, shoulders and neck, thick and strong enough to render him powerless. And just to make it interesting... Sylvie smirked as she said a short spell to cause thorns to shoot out of the vines.
'Not much. Insanity,' Stygian summarized promptly in response to the android's query, and then held up his hand, showing dark scar tissue. 'I just lost a match.'
':aaawww... somehow i can't seem to find the necessary response in my core to sympathize,' the machine responded. ':is that all you got? too bad.' Her tone suggested that if she could grin, she would have.
'Bite me, Sal,' Stygian said, then grinned himself. 'Oh, that's right. You can't.' He tapped what she had for a forehead. 'You haven't installed the armored visor either. Shame.'
':i haven't; but i have it with me,' she excused herself. However, Stygian had already turned around and walked over to look closer at the people gathering over by the other end of the bar. Shamelessly, he intruded upon their conversation.
'Cog? Might I ask what sort of name that is?' he said, and passed a glance over the white dragon. 'Now Icewing I can understand, but...'
"Some day?" the wolf said, looking sideways, and raising his eyebrows with an amused grin. As he looked to the side, he sat up a little straighter as Mel handed him a small card, with the name of a 'Fine Tailor of Enchanted Clothing' on the front.
The wolf blushed beneath his fur, scratching the back of his neck, and gave the dragoness a nervous laugh. "I'll have to look him up." he said, smiling. He grabbed the offered drink that the bartender set down, a deep-orange drink despite it's lunar-sounding name, and took a drink of the grand marnier and amaretto. He sighed, and suddenly nodded.
"It's true. Mel here did quite well. Congratulations again." he said, smiling at the dragon. He stopped short, however, the man suddenly interrupting him, and pausing for only just a moment he took a drink from his glass.
"Cogidubnus Mithlome, good sir." he said, inclining his head at his former opponent. "Cog is a bit shorter to say. Might I ask what your name is?" he asked, his voice polite.
The man smiled slightly, looking back to the wolf. 'Sebastian. Sebastian Kall,' he said, in his smoothly accented voice, putting his right hand clenched into a fist at his back, and bowing slightly. He clearly inclined this gesture to all of the three before him. 'Not a very pleasant name to say all of either,' he added with a grin, clearly flashing a bit of fangs up that close. 'Most people simply call me "Stygian".' Not that I'll tell you why immediately...
'Either way,' the man continued, 'congratulations. That sort of thing...' He inclined his head in the direction of the Queen, 'is not very easily defeated. I imagine quite many would lose their nerve at the mere sight.'
Risky glanced at Mel, then at the newcomer as she took her drink.
"Not bad, not bad at all," she said, and knocked back half of the tall glass in one draught. "Yeah, bugs aren't exactly pushovers, especially along certain terms."
She took another drag from her cigarette and looked around for an ashtray. "Stygian....I've heard that name before. You look kind of familiar too."
Karazkt
As everyone was socializing in the main bar of The Honor Circle, there was a strange, exteremly heavy, impossible-to-not-notice thudding sound just outside.
Suddenly, half the wall seemed to explode inwads with a huge CRASH!, a whole section just falling inward as one piece. There was a few more heavy thudding sounds, a few crunches, a hiss, and as the dust cleared, there was a...
Well at first, it was rather hard to tell what it was, but a closer, longer look would reveal that it was a giant...something. It was dark brown and black, but it wasn't some paint job, it was the actual color. There was another hissing sound, and the sound of metal grinding. Then it became obvious that it was some sort of machine, made of a strange metal, and in a somewhat stange shape. It was short-legged, barrel-bowl-torsoed, and had arms the size of freight trains. In the torso, in a sunken-in cockpit, sat a...
Well, some kind of bug He had the same brown and black coloration of his machine, his chitin exoskeletion was slightly plated, two very long antennae, a belt and bandolier of engineering equipment, and a pair of huge pitch-black bug-eyed goggles covereing his real eyes.
"Whoopz! Zorry about that! The door waz Too zmall!" The bug said. "Don'T worry, I'll fiKz that up KwiK!" He talked with a buzzing accent, with an empasized 't', and all 'k' sounds were replaced with a 'click'. The bug thing began manipulating levers in the cockpit, and the machine lurched to life with a distincive grind of gears and hiss of steam. It took a few steps into the bar, truned around, then with huge hands, picked up the fallen section of the wall, and fitted it back into place. The machine held still, and the bug guy leaned forward out of his cockpit, antannae stretched out to where the wall had come apart. The antennae flashed brown, and bits of mud an debris flew up and attached to where his attanae were touching. He moved his antannae along the crack, more stuff flying to it and afixing itself firmly. Soon, the whole wall was firmly back in place, a dull brown mud line where the crack was. The bug sat back in his cockpit, and his antannae swept back behind him, the tips plunging into two small ports on the inside of the cockpit. Flames flashed at the base of his antannae, shot along them, and into the two ports as he started pushing levers again. Steam blasted out of a few of the joints in the mech as it lurched to life again, turning around and lumbering towards The Boogyman behind the counter. The steam mech stopped in front of the counter.
"I have Traveled much dizTanz, I need fifTy...ummz, whaT waz the meazsuremenT?... Gallonz! Yes, I need fifTy gallonz of waTer, pleaz! And some Buzzen NeKTar-Ale, if you have any. I Kan pay." The bug-person then ducked into his cockpit, then came back up holding a respectable-sized gold nugget.
Mechangel
The cloaked hunchback in the corner was mostly watching the last battle outside, and casually observing the people in the bar, so his attention wasn't focused to the outside until he heard a few thmbing sounds. He started looking around for the source just as the entire bar was rocked with the force of a small explosion, and looked like one too. He jumped extremely noticably in surprise, the hunch on his back shifting very much and almost throwing his cloak off. He looked in the direction of the disturbance, seeing through the dust easily, and seeing a giant metal something piloted by a...
AN INSECTIS?!? the man though with extreme surprise. Having formerly been on the Creature Council, but only in the lower tiers, and usually not a part of the high-profile meetings, he had only caught glimpses of the ambassador of this enigmatic race, ChkChkTia. But that was the only Insectis this man had ever seen, they virtually never went to the surface otherwise.
The hunchbacked man under the cloak watched with interest, [Analyzing new entitiy and machine], as the Insectisian pilot maneuvered the steam-powered clockwork mech to put the fallen wall back into place, and plaster it back up with Earth magic using his antannae. The Insectis pilot then walked the mech over to the counter and spoke briefly with [The Boogyman].
Boog glared at the bug, and his damage to the wall. Overly showy nonsense. Oughta tell him we're out just for that... However, the argument that he'd whipped up for Giles' vandalism worked just as well for this, and the wall was swiftly good as new. The Boogeyman snatched the gold nugget from the insectis' hand with a "hmf!" and reached under the bar for the desired substances. He decided he may as well be a gracious host as he set one gallon jug after another on the counter for the newcomer.
"Welcome to the Honor Circle, where we only encourage what you once did in designated areas..." He began, jerking his head to indicate the circles outside with a glare, "You could have just asked about a garage, I'm certain this place has one. Anywho, yes. Make yourself at home, so long as home isn't a smoking pile of rubble to you, in which case go through the proper channels to make the others at home. So, steam powered?" The Boogeyman glanced up at the machine again appraisingly, "Always did rather approve of steam. Elegant, in its own noisy way. You don't lead it to places like with electricity, just set up the pipes and heard it in the right direction."
--
Siolen blinked at the construct. From what he could tell it used comparatively archaic methods, but they were used in ways that had never occurred during the time period. Again, he decided to take it in stride. He'd seen odder things. When the owner of it spoke up he nearly snorted into his drink. The voice was amusing, but mildly familiar. It had that same preoccupied quality that most alchemists he'd met had.
The Jackal looked at the scorpion angel again, his face strange, and then turned to look back out at the honor circles again.
"My name is Laertes." he said, his voice carefully neutral.
Stygian had just risen from his bow when the crashing sounds began, and he frowned as he turned his head around, glaring at the door. Fortunate not to have a drink right then that needed covering, he watched unamusedly at the steam-powered spectacle as it lurched in through the doorway. Likewise, the unintroduced android just a bit away turned and flashed a red scanner over the machine, before grabbing her glass and moving away toward the others, treating the mechanical juggernaut with nearly the same sort of skepticism.
As the steam-powered something moved into place and its pilot began going about, Stygian turned back to the others, snorting. 'Noisy contraption. What's with all these oversized things?' he asked. The android, however, seemed more intrigued by the enormous machine for the moment.
':steam-power in such a compact format? ridiculous,' she almost murmured. Stygian disregarded her.
'Good to see that some people at least are warming up properly...' the man commented, looking meaningfully at Cog, then Risky, and then casting a glance and a nod in the direction of the fight between Ian and Sylvie outside. 'Although, my bets are definitely on the long-legged vegetable.'
"Laertes eh? You can call me Rip.", he nodded back at him then turned to the window. "I'd like to apologize if I came as a little off, earlier. I wasn't thinking clearly."
A few seconds later, the wall near the entrance crashed over, shaking the establishment. It didn't phase Rip at all though; a second after it happened he turned and set his sights on the bizarre construct that had broken in, his icy blue eyes lighting up dimly. Staring fiercely at the open cockpit as the smoke cleared, he caught sight of the pilot. He was....some kind of an insect-like man, judging from the machinery a miner of sorts, or some kind of engineer. After studying the insects reactions over the broken wall for a few seconds, Rip disregarded him and turned back toward the window, his eyes dimming down as his contempt dissipated. "....So...before the...interruption...I assume that Cog fellow over there and that armored man are part of your company?"
The wolf, mildly distracted by the sudden appearance of a golem-like mech walking into the establishment, raised a single eyebrow before turning his attention back to their new acquaintance. Cog looked outside towards where the grass-elf and the rat were fighting, and shrugged somewhat, taking a sip of his drink.
"Victory is never a certainty. But it would seem that the rat is in a bad way, yes..."
He looked over at the strange...machine, that seemed to know the man, and coughed a moment before speaking again.
"And who is this?" he said, nodding his head at the android. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance..." he paused, waiting for the android to finish.
* * *
The Jackal, one eye narrowed, turned yet again towards the scorpion angel, letting his scythe touch the ground with somewhat a clack.
"Cogidubnus Mithlome and Giles Monterrey are not in my company, no. I am not any companion of theirs, and they are no friends of mine. Rip." he said, his voice smoothly neutral. "But I find myself wondering if I've piqued your interest, somehow."
He stared at the scorpion with unreadable eyes.
"Just idle curiousity, from what I could tell it looked like they've been holding contempt for you....almost the whole time since I got here to be honest.", Rip looked back tiredly, then looked down at the scythe, eyeing it for a few seconds before looking back outward. "I would ask why, but it's your business, and I have no right to question."
As he finished that statement, Rip reached for his neck and draped off the sun medallion under his shirt. With it's mystical nature no longer in effect, the markings on Rip's back began to shimmer; in an instant his dark wings stretched out forth, then relaxed. He flicked the medallion upward, then upon catch pocketed it within his robes. Rip then turned an eye back towards Laertes, if only for a second.
"We all have our crosses to bear..... An this one is mine....", he calmly continued, as he looked back outward, tilting his head downward a little bit. "Judging from your threads, would I be wrong to say you are some kind of clergyman? I've never actually seen one, well atleast seen one alive before."
Never seen one alive before? What does that mean? the Jackal thought, and still not taking his eyes off the scorpion angel crossed his scythe over his body, using it somewhat like a staff.
"Their contempt is not unreturned. A unrepentant heretic and a deserter of the faith - I hold no kindness in my heart for either." he said, his voice still carefully controlled.
He tilted his head. "And I am a...clergyman, yes. Of the church of the martyr's blood. As for your cross...dark wings do not seem a great curse." he said shortly. "Although, if they have any reflection on your prowess with light magic, I suppose I can understand how you lost to that girl of darkness." he said, his voice still polite.
"Her? She's probably had centuries to hone her dark arts, I've had what...a few weeks at the most, just to get used to this. Of course, having nearly every major faith wiped out ages before I was born doesn't exactly help my situation either....kinda funny how that all played out.", Rip quietly kidded. He then stood up and faced Laertes, gripping the pool cue resting on his shoulder. "I try not to view them as a curse, though sometimes it can be hard to tell the difference, especially when nearly half of the people on the planet are now out to kill you just because of what you are, but hey...sometimes you just have to deal with it..."
Rip then gazed at the empty ring out the window in the courtyard as a sly smirk spread across his face. The man before him appeared to have only been watching this whole time, not even a single drink, it would be rude to not suggest what would probably be a warm-up for him. "Well, it appears no one else is seizing the opportunity... you want to go?"
...Piix:
Piix couldn't help but feel both amused and greatly uncomfortable at Giles's comment, indicated by the slightly awkward chuckle she emitted; a momentary lapse in her gregarious nature. At least she wasn't considered a rather entertaining choice for a crispy critter, that was of some compensation--as impressive as the self-proclaimed "Lord of the Ashes's" abilities were, she'd be damned if she was going to be used as a piece of furry firewood. If Dimitri were there at the moment he would be equally horrified at the concept, she supposed.
That slightly depressing train of thought was interrupted by Giles offering for Piix to choose their environment. Bobbing her head in acknowledgment, the Orin trudged about the periphery of the ring, holding Orpiment effortlessly above the ground with one hand, while the other grasped the spherical medallion-piece securing her cape. An almost uncharacteristic air of professionalism seemed to hang lugubriously about her features for that moment of concentration, bioluminescent eyes locked onto the center of the ring as she stepped over the boundary and approached it. Orpiment was lowered to the earthen ground, its mighty head grazing the dirt in subtle, swirling strokes. Piix's focus faded. She had no idea how to make this work. Did she just think of a location, and it would--
--Almost complementary to that thought, the air surrounding the circle seemed to ripple palpably, as though an immense, electrical tremor had briefly traversed the foundations of the air itself. An esoteric illusion of a mossy-green shape flickered and faded, spreading into spiked, towering silhouettes with arched neck-like bodies and then quickly multiplying into thousands of likewise apparitions enveloping the circle's atmosphere: every imaginable shade of green flowing outward and adopting bizarre outlines and shapes, colors trickling down the rippling canvas like ink, orange and pink and purple splattering themselves above the green until it formed a giant mosaic of hues. Amidst the hectic process, Piix grinned madly, still tweaking and fidgeting at that medallion and looking as though she was about to throw it off at any second.
Then the transformation stopped, and it solidified. There was no other way to describe it. Where it was once a watercolor, kaleidoscopic caricature, it had now taken an entirely new dimension and had been bestowed with life. Surrounding Piix and Giles was an immense, tropical jungle--the blurred shapes had become tall and domineering trees looming this way and that or other vegetation encrusting the earth, whether it was some particularly odd moss coating a surprisingly luminescent and reflective rock protruding from the dirt or the vines suffocating a smaller tree--rather similar to the environments seen in more ordinary conditions, yet this one was, in a sense, different, if because none of the plants actually looked like something which could be automatically identifiable from a human eye. Each species of tree was either beyond recognition in its abnormality or slightly similar to another tree or very similar but just barely set apart by the fact it had intaglio patterns fluctuating within the brittle bark or the leaves were shaped in a different way. The possibilities were endless. Granting an even larger sense of irregularity to this alien rainforest was the golden-glow suffusion of honeyed light over the trees, cast from the sinking sun suspended far in the distance, shawled among a tufted wreath of purple-gray clouds.
Giles and Piix themselves were in a particularly large clearing, unremarkable due to how devoid it was of any plants or rocks aside from the occasional, comparatively plain shrubbery sprouting from the soil. Piix was again fidgeting with that medallion of hers, and finally succeeded in unhooking it, still cradling it in the palm of her hand.
"Ain't as good as I woulda pictured it..." Piix stated absently, as though this spectacular scene was something entirely ordinary. She briefly darted her purple-hued tongue out at her index finger, then used it to test the air temperature. "...and missing a Sarsarti Bulb 'r two... But it's been a while since I've visited home an' all. Nitpicking aside!"
Thumb and forefinger slipped together, eliciting a sharp crack sound reminiscent of a twig breaking in two, then Piix was launched backwards as the air surrounding her distorted in a manner identical to what had occurred before Keaton's card structure was collapsed. At the end of the impossible leap, Piix landed on the other side of the field, still keeping Orpiment held in one hand and that spherical pendant in the opposite hand. She decided to be generous. Piix flashed Giles a grin that was far too devious to be considered anything close to benevolent.
"Yer move, jack."
~Keaton the Black Jackal
"Yer move, jack.
Standing amidst an alien landscape, and almost disoriented by the kaleidoscope of colors and shapes swirling around, from purple clouds overhead to verdantly-colored trees swaying overhead, the blackguard sucked in a breath of humid air, sooty lungs coughing just a bit as the moisture worked its way down. He cracked his neck with a single gauntleted fist, grinning back at the Orin with what could almost be considered a maniac grin, and reached behind him to grab the spear resting across his back. It stuck for only just a moment, the armored man's arm jerking just a bit as the spear-tip came loose form the special holder carved onto his backplate.
It hissed as he drew it, dripping blood over superheated metal. The blackguard lifted it up and over his shoulder to rest on the ground before him - red-hot and burning, smelling of the horrid, choking smell of burning blood, and hissing as it dripped the crimson fluid and as it touched the moisture-laden ground. Within moments, the red-hot tip began to burn into the grasses, a bit of wet smoke rising up from the rapidly blackening patch of ground.
"The grass withereth, the flower fadeth too:" the blackguard began, his face almost split in two from his grin. A former paladin, the man had been made to learn such verses. "But the word of the Lord shall stand for ever..." the man laughed, tilting his head at the Orin before beginning to lurch from side to side.
"Ashes to ashes." he finally said, shuffling from foot to foot in truth, and beginning to move about in the clearing, the man surprisingly nimble in that armor. Moving rhythmically, and sweeping his spear in wide arcs, the man began to...dance. There was no other word for it.
Despite his seemingly laughable tactic, a moment later bright fire burst from and began to trail behind his spear, the salamander on the front of his armor glowing brightly - as the man kept moving, the fire grew, joined by yet more and more flames emanating from the air around him. Bright and vibrant orange began to swirl around the pyromancer, swelling until it simply engulfed the man, a vortex of flames.
Piix could hear the blackguard chuckling darkly within the expanding fire - all around the man, the ground simply caught alight, the moisture turned to superheated steam vapor in an instant, and the grass beneath that blackening and withering. It licked at the trees, promising to soon bathe the arena in an inescapable inferno.
* * *
The angel looked at the scorpion strangely, raising one eyebrow, and then turning formally and keeping his scythe to his side faced the scorpion, his face neutral. He frowned, closing his eyes once and then opening them again fully.
"If you are challenging me, I have no choice but to accept." he said, his voice carefully slow. "You may name your terms."
The conversation having ceased somewhere halfway through, both Stygian and Sal, and also their companions it seemed, had turned to watch the fights outside. Though, of course, the blond man kept his attention partly on the challenge being made inside right then. He knew the scorpion-thing from before, but the man with the scythe, and his words... He was interesting. Or, rather, he at least had Stygian's curiosity pricked. He still wanted to wait out the elf lady. He thought that she had been at least partly interested, and he had a very acute feeling for such things. And he knew at least a bit of how she fought now. So that fight would probably be most enjoyable...
...No choice?...
Rip was kind of caught on by surprise from the man's words. There's always a choice.....just not always a practical one. It wasn't really his words that sank into Rip's mind though, it was the delivery. Why the sudden change.....he wondered. It's not like he went out of his way to offend this, Laertes, unlike his earlier run in with that demoness. He wasn't about to go on about it though as he blinked for a few seconds with a slightly surprised expression on his face.
"Alright then, I figured you might have wanted to warm up a bit, if things end up going sour later. I guess standard terms will be sufficient, we keep going until a concession, or until one of us is unable to fight any longer, or if we agree to just call it a draw at some point.....and for the heck of it, loser buys the winner a round if he so chooses. Sound alright?", Rip asked as he stretched his arms up a bit, bouncing a little bit on the balls of his feet to loosen himself up.
"...if I win, you may forgo buying me a round." the Jackal murmured, looking outside breifly, and then back at the scorpion angel standing in front of him. "A fight to the yield, then." Laertes said, his voice smooth, and carrying his scythe in one hand walked out of the building.
It was only a short trek to the unoccupied circle, and without pause the Angel walked into it, the magic of that place already reacting. Insubstantial and ghostlike, the outlines of a great glass dome appeared over the circle, a promise of what would become real when his opponent entered the arena. The arena otherwise remained completely unchanged. The angel stood on the far end, his scythe at his side like a staff. Suddenly and without any sign, the Jackal's black wings spread wide with a small rushing sound - simply not there moments before, the Angel's black wings appeared behind the priest.
He stood silent, almost swaying, and waited for the other Angel to enter.
Rip followed a few feet behind the jackel, then turned to head toward the side in the opposing direction. He looked up as the arena began to change subtly. A glass dome was forming over the circle, other then that though, nothing had visibly changed from before. Just a straight fight.....alright then....errr?...
Right before Rip took foot into the Honor Dome, he caught sight of the sudden change in his opponent, causing him to pause for a moment in surprise and awe. Rip smiled slightly upon this unexpected revelation and shook his head briefly, tossed the pool cue he was holding off to the side of the ring; then stepped inside. His expression then changed as he got into fighting stance, this time placing more emphasis on the subtle bouncing then keeping his fists held up. He wasn't going to take this man lightly, and he expected nothing less in return.
"Stupid question, but I figured I might as well ask you since you decided on this environment. Is the glass indestructible?", Rip calmly asked, as once again a dim incandescant hue began to outline his figure. "I'll give you the first strike, just cause of the inquiry."
Attention drawing to the two creatures speaking at the other end of the room, Stygian listened carefully to the scorpion and the jackal for a moment. That angel-thing seemed at a considerable disadvantage, if he had really revealed as much of his power as it seemed during the last fight. In face of that, he shouldn't have been so eager to challenge a stranger. Of course, he seems to be just a brawler, Stygian thought. He could be holding surprises back. And if he reveals any next, that might make it a bit more interesting...
The initiation of their fight was quick and concise, and both Stygian and the android were watching now. The jackal stepped into the ring, and unlike before the other fights that had or were taking place, the site of the duel did not change immediately, but rather changed as if in anticipation of the other contestant to enter. Watching the scythe-carrying man, Stygian spoke, directing a question to the wolf and the woman immediately beside him. 'That one. Your... acquaintance. Is he... anything in particular?'
Cog did not have the time to answer the question, before the jackal made at least some show of being 'particular'. As he turned to face his opponent, great, dark, feathered wings gathered behind him, taking shape and settling at his back. And Cog became aware of a vicious grin spreading over the face of the man next to him.
':oh shit,' came the synthetic voice of the machine behind them both, standing next to Risky. ':that's a surprise.' She looked to Stygian, shook her head, and made an excellently replicated sighing sound.
The arthropod thing only stopped to hesitate for a brief moment, before chuckling, and proceeding into the ring, seemingly cocky and amused. Stygian kept grinning, reaching out with his hand and tapping the counter twice. 'Boog, bring me a double Earthquake. I am going to enjoy watching this.'
Karazkt
The buggy man regarded the Boogeyman with what seemed thankful and excited behind his pitch-black goggles that covered his eyes as the jugs of water were placed on the counter. He started manipulating a whole multitude of levers in the front of his cockpit with his surprisingly dexterous three-appendaged hands (it seemed difficult to call them 'fingers'), and even more surprisingly, his own antennae, which proved to be very prehensile. His mech swung around to face the other direction. He did something else, and all the noise from within the giant brown-and-black mech ceased. He then stood up in the cockpit, turning around, then leaned over, using his hands to open up a small hidden metal panel on the back with a small hole behind it, while he used one antenna to reach down and curl around a jug, then used the other to pop of the cap, then used both to pour the water down the small hole. A hissing, steaming sound accompanied the flow of water as it reached deep within the mech. The bug-guy then carelessly tossed away the jug down the counter, and started doing what he did with the other jugs that were being set out, using only his antennae.
"NoT juzT," The bug man happily said in reply to the Boogeyman's comment about steam. "ZTeam iz only the power, the real meKanizimz are all KloKworK." He continued using only his antennae to fill up the mech with with water, until all fifty one-gallon jugs were spent. While he did so, he used his hands to open up another, larger panel, revealing a small portion of the inside. It seemed like nothing but a convention of gears and axles, all made of the same strange brown-and-black metal that comprised the armor shell. He then closed both panels, them blending seamlessly back into the rest of the mech. The bug-man quickly turned and sat back down in the cockpit, and plunged his antennae back into the two small intake ports. Flames lanced along his antennae as he jerked a few levers, and the mech roared to life again with a loud whistle of escaping steam, shooting out a puff-cloud that drifted lazily up to the ceiling before dissipating.
He turned the mech back around again, and saw a single flask filled with a golden viscous fluid. It was not difficult to imagine his eye, whatever they looked like, widening behind his goggles as his mouth hung open slightly. 'IT Kan'T be!" His antennae shot down and snatched up the bottle, holding delicately in front of his face. He used one antenna to twist off the cap, dropping it smoothly into an open hand, and waved the now-free antenna over the top. He took a deep breath and shuddered heavily. "No...how Kould you have pozzibly goTTen your handz on...No, thaT doezn'T maTTer!" The bug-man then smoothly transferred the bottle from his antenna to his hands, swapping the cap into the antenna that held the bottle. Again, it was easy it imagine his eyes closing as he slowly tipped the bottle towards his mouth for a sip, the thick stuff letting some into his waiting maw. As his mouth closed around the stuff, he suddenly jerked up in his seat, his antennae shooting straight out, electrified. His eyes most likely shot open behind his black goggles as well (How could he see through them?).
"IT...iT iz! Genuine Buzzen-Hive brewed golden firefungaz-neKTar ale! Oh!" He clutched the bottle tightly, gently rubbing it against the side of his face, absentmindedly screwing the cap back with his antenna. "Remindz me zo much of home...I muzT zave thiz!" He ducked into the cockpit of his mech, presumably stowing it in a safe place.
Mechangel
The cloaked man watched the Insetis fill up his mech as he analyzed it. Steam-powered, clockwork-driven...the man was impressed. He never knew that the Insectis, being a race of Creatures, had this kind of thing in them. He certainly knew the Beings never managed this kind of thing before they moved on to electricity and electronics.
He also watched with interest as the Insectis became very occupied with a bottle of strange liquid. The man always liked trying new things, so he walked over to the other side of the counter, away from the Insectis and his clockwork mech. "I'll have whatever he just had." The man said quietly to the Boogeyman behind the counter, placing another gold coin on the counter with a white-furred left hand through his cloak.
The Angel blinked, still standing quite still, and without preamble answered the scorpion angel.
"Entirely." he answered, his voice clearly audible, and then grasped his scythe with both hands. "And so we begin."
As soon as the angel spoke the words, the glass dome above them solidified, and all sound from the outside world seemed to cease - birds, the sounds of the wind, even the sound from the other battle occurring at the same time all stopped, and pure silence reigned in the dome.
As Rip examined the ground, he realized that the floor had shifted, just barely - where it had been a simple plane before, it was now subtly concave, the center of the dip coinciding with the apex of the glass dome above.
Laertes allowed the shaft of his scythe to touch the stone ground - and what would normally be an inaudible thump echoed loudly throughout the enclosed battlefield. The Angel nodded, satisfied, and then looked up at the scorpion Angel with a strangely out-of-place, malicious grin.
"In heaven a spirit doth dwell," he began, his voice whisper-soft, and yet clearly audible, filling every corner of their battlefield with his hushed tones, "Whose heart strings are a lute - None sing so wildly well, as the Angel Israfel:"
He paused, drawing himself up, his coal-colored wings spreading wide behind him. "And the giddy stars, so legends tell, Ceasing their hymns attend the spell, of his voice: all mute."
A hush descended down on the battlefield again, and yet again, slowly, the angel began to speak - no, the angel began to sing. Softly, lowly at first, he sang a chant, arcane words and latin liturgies mixed together in some sort of divine spellcasting, the angel's voice building from it's soft intonation into full, deep-throated song. Laertes's voice, now almost crystal high, was being perfectly reflected by the nature of the curved floor and the bell, roubounding painfully inside of the bell-shaped dome. A spell within a spell, the Jackal's voice, beginning to make the very air vibrate, and creating an earsplitting, painful and deafening cacophony of sound, also served to cast the first of his divine spells.
Golden liquid, seemingly from nowhere at all, began to simply drip off the jackal, golden light flowing over and covering him while he continued his attack - the Jackal standing unfazed amidst the rending, tearing whirlwind of sonics, the spell only amplified by the arena they sat in.
Rip nodded in understanding as he got his answer regarding the nature of the glass dome. He then waited for his opponent to make his move. Silence came over them, and for a split-second Rip felt a little off balance; with a quick glance he realized that the surface of the floor had changed slightly. The scythe dropped down, sending forth an unusually loud echo throughout the dome. Rip looked back up and kept himself focused. What are you up too....wait....
When Laertes' very whispers began echoing clearly forth, Rip started to realize the true purpose of the dome. Laertes then began to float upward as his wings spread out forth, his voice echoing ever louder, until he started to break into an all out sonata. It was as painful as it was beautiful, a spectacular sight. Soon Rip could see the very air throbbing to each verse, the whole dome shaking; the very air popping and collapsing as the sound waves collided in destructive sonic booms.
Rip held his right hand up covering his ear as he held himself up on the ground against the painful force being sent at him, it didn't matter though. Within seconds he couldn't hear the voice anymore, he couldn't even hear himself think. All that was left was just an earsplitting ringing sound resonating through his ears. Rip let his right fist drop from his ear, then stared back up at the angel, who was staring back, still serene as ever; appeared to be shimmering now.
Rip dove quickly out of the way of a series of sonic booms, then croutched himself up against the edge of the bottom of the dome. He then spoke, even though he heard nothing beyond the painful ringing in his mind, "That was beautiful, Laertes. Now it's my turn..."
A sharp grin spread across Rip's face, his canine and pearly whites showing forth as he clenched his right fist, igniting it into a sacred white fireball. The radiance enveloping himself in turn grew sharp in intensity, and in a split-second he sprung forth from the edge with a flash, sending out a small shockwave from where his feet kicked off from. His wings laid back as he flew forth at ridiculously high speed, leaving behind a whispy light vapor trail. The air however, extremely turbulent, with sonic blasts bursts past him in the split-seconds he was speeding through. Then one was right infront of him, just as he was within about thirty feet of the Muse. The Scorpion Angel blinked right before impact; on instinct, his entire visage enveloped itself in a bright flash, he then found himself off and to the side speeding past his opponent, straight into walls of the dome.
Rip didn't realize at all what just happened right there in that split-second, the environment was so turbulent, it would have been hard to catch what his body did out of reflex. He just kept it going with his momentum and rebounded off wall, sending himself rushing at breakneck speed downward at Laertes' left shoulder blade. Right before impact, Rip pulled his legs out infront of himself, then sweet impact. Rip kicked himself off of his opponent, then croutched his wings in as he backflipped down toward the ground. He then looked up hesitantly from his croutched position, watching the other angel fly forth from the impact. He still couldn't hear himself think, and the ringing pain within was gradually rising still. Rip doubted that it would have ended right there, not after the sonata this man had just performed. Rip began to assume that each sound would keep making the pain worse, until this was over. He would have to keep his mind focused, at all costs....
"AH!" Ian yelled the thorns were ripping up his skin. Ian saw he was in it deep so he did the only thing he could think to do. He pulled on the staff then brought it back down to Sylvie with force. He repeated this action a few times.
The angel cocked an eyebrow, surprised Rip could move at this point - if he was the sort of insect with hearing that would care about such sounds, chances were his hearing was sharp indeed - if he wasn't, the Jackal has fully expected his attack to fail. Even so, he hadn't been expecting a middle ground, nor had he been expecting his great speed. Blindingly fast, the Angel rocketed towards him and then passed him, bouncing off the glass behind Laertes to execute a marvelous full-body kick to the Angel's left shoulder. With the dull crunch of breaking bones, the angel was sent flying forwards across the arena, a disjointed scream of pain breaking the discordant, somehow fugue-esque harmony of the Angel's chant.
The kick had connected with his wing, a place where Angels, or at least Laertes personally, was very sensitive. The broken bones in the appendage made the angel almost scream again, unable to move the wing without blinding pain. The Angel's flight was not entirely physical, and though levitation was able to keep himself from falling unceremoniously upon the arena floor.
As he stopped, golden energy began seemed to aggregate upon the damaged wing, wrapping it in a protective cocoon - with a voice that was gradually gathering itself back, the Jackal sung a slow, lilting melody, this new spell beginning to knit the muscles and bones in his wing back together again. Laertes was not a second-rate preist - within a few moments, the potent magic would heal the tears and meld sinew and bone back into place.
As it did so, the Jackal turned to look back at the angel, true anger flashing in his purple-hued eyes.
He brought forth a gold-dripped arm, and without preamble arcane syllables began to roll off his tongue, a smooth, lilting chant that took full advantage of the room's acoustics and moreso, magically amplified sound bouncing throughout the chamber - and as he held forth his hand, a single blue ring formed in front of the Angel's palm, by itself for only a moment before looping around itself yet again, and then again, forming dozens of eldritch, glowing blue rings. The angel continued to chant, and his the chant speeding up somewhat, reared back with his right hand.
The Jackal stopped speaking, and miraculously, all noise in the chamber died instantly, the rings in his hand seeming to triple in number - and taking advantage of the few moments of confusion such sudden noiselessness would bring, the angel swung out with his right arm. His arm slowed at the apex of the throw, as if the angel strained against something, and with a startling intensity the ball of rings was free - and in that moment, the chanting returned full force, the ball of rings turned into a simple distortion.
The Jackal had aimed at his feet.
Like a physical shockwave, a literal wall of translucent distortion exploded outwards, a amorphous bubble of physically tangible sound, rushing to the edges of the glass bowl, the noise in the chamber growing to intolerable levels, and the angel himself standing at the apex of the blast, scribing golden words upon the air...
Boog frowned. Rhetorical questions. He was never all that good with those. Every Honor Circle was stocked with everything a patron might order, which wasn't there until they ordered it. He suspected some of his kind had been the ones to set that up, but with these places who knew? Ah well, the customer's happy.
---
Siolen couldn't help walking over to take a closer look at the steam powered suit for a moment, rapping his knuckles against the side of it once. He'd heard of warriors modifying their armor, but this seemed like a sign that things were getting out of hand. He turned his attention to the new fight starting outside.
It was only after shaking her head at Stygian's almost manical expression of joy at watching the fight between the angels unfold, that the android turned to eye Cog, somehow managing to convey an expression as if she'd almost forgot about him a while. Strangely, the Boogeyman picked up another eerie, uncomfortable sensation from her direction right then.
':oh, of course. i am certain it will be a pleasure to make yours as well,' the machine responded, thin rings like the zooms on a camera rotating around her one large, central eye. She stretched out a hand, somewhat human-like but split down the middle between the center fingers and with an overly flexible structure, some joints seamless while others exposed the underlying metal structure. ':my unit designation is HOD001147Y-I,' she explained neutrally. ';it is probably hard, and unneccessary, to remember. Therefore, you can simply call me Sahlena.'
'Sapient and human-like engineered android,' Stygian said, picking up his Earthquake once it was delivered and kicking back the notoriously strong mix in a hefty gulp. 'She's a machine, so of course it's an acronym.' There was a certain intonation to that statement that did not go by unnoticed. 'She's my laptop,' the man then stated, still smirking deviously and keeping his eyes on the fight outside. This earned him a disapproving glare from the machine.
...Piix:
Upon Piix's sly encouragement, the blackguard had drawn his spear--an elongated monstrosity of a weapon, its wicked tip imbued with corrupted sanguine, the aforementioned fluid dripping in copious, oily dollops from the blade to the ground--and began reciting verses from something Piix had never heard of before while spinning and swiping that barbaric lance of his about in almost hypnotic circles and arcs. Initially, Piix was skeptical of this display, observing it with a clearly unimpressed, sardonic air to her expression. Giles was a monster of a man, and didn't look very agile, especially when encumbered with all that heavy armor, so watching him attempt some bastardization of dance was almost borderline ridiculous.
Although when Piix started to detect the malodorous stench of sizzling smoke, her countenance petered out quite quickly.
Especially so when she thought she saw sparks snap like blinding firecrackers in the humid air, expanding, then vanishing into whitewashed infinity.
Shit.
As the air seemed to ignite into great serpentine locks of flame and the temperature started to skyrocket, the chips of bark and sodden soil trampled beneath Giles's armored feet combusting under the writhing knot of fire collecting behind each sweep and stroke of the spear, Piix reacted almost instinctively, the hand which was clasped around that spherical medallion squeezing, then wrenching, tearing it from the front of her cape and unfolded hood.
Manipulating gravity wasn't the only ability Piix was capable of.
In the span of a second, the cloak seemed to liquefy, rippling and coalescing in giant droplets off of Piix's form and siphoning like a cape of syrup-ink into the opaque orb-medallion she grasped in her palm. It opened up and accepted the medallion into its webbed body, closing upon it and entirely enveloping the periphery of the sphere, drenching its surface in taut, lusterless black. Another ripple, an internal flash of gold which somehow pierced the seemingly impenetrable net of ink, then it disintegrated, the sphere seeming to gain a life of its own as it hovered out of Piix's grip and orbited freely around her body. Behind the rapid spinning of the orb, Piix's eyes seemed to glow a dim orange, her vivid-yellow irises contracting around slit-shaped pupils. Giles's form was steadily becoming enshrouded in twists and arcs of writhing flame, his chitinous armor gleaming an eerie sanguine under the intense heat and light emitted by the fire--
--undoubtedly it would spread to the rest of the jungle. It would become the Lord of the Ashes's playground.
This selection in battlefield wasn't exactly Piix's smartest choice. She would've bemoaned this decision, but at the moment she was clearly affixed in something akin to shock, even as she attempted to analyze some sort of weakness amidst the (OHSHIT) fire. Giles was still dancing that wretched lunatic dance of his, and that spear was constantly in motion, scrawling the inferno as though it were some incendiary pen, trailing smoke and ash and tongues of flame, not only weaving him a perfect offensive vortex, but a safe enclosure as well. Piix couldn't immediately think of any attacks which could penetrate that miasma of fire--
--fucking hell. She had to reach Giles. Had to shake him up somehow. As for how, she had to improvise.
The orb spiraled discordantly about Piix's body, spinning up until it was levitating between her shoulder-blades and over the tufts of quills adorning the length of her spine. Once there, the orb began to spread and reshape itself, adopting a broader, thicker frame--one reminiscent of a large disc, made of the same material Orpiment was. Tiny particles leaped helter-skelter from its surface like solidified bubbles, gradually inflating until three particularly large, individual spheres broke from the disc and began to circle Piix's body in mid-air.
Piix could feel a certain heaviness pull onto Orpiment's length, making it decidedly heavier as she weaved and mentally conducted the gravity around her. Working against that swarming weight, Orpiment was swung back and slapped to the ground, its face inflating and pooling briefly on the ground before it rebounded like rubber, bashing back up with such force Piix's whole body jerked. With that collision to the ground the collected pressure spun and swam, clearly distorting the fire-licked air surrounding her--and something seemed to shoot forward, rocketing invisibly across the ground, its presence only indicated by the rippling and pulsating of the air and the way the dirt and soil of the earth split as the bullet of pressure cleaved through it.
It was manipulation. As she had said before, much more catastrophic results could only be achieved with much more concentration. Once she was certain she had Giles in this manipulation spell's grasp, she would increase as much gravity as possible in order to topple the behemoth. A difficult task, but it would be well worth it.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Karazkt
The bug-man was hunched over in his cockpit, stowing away the nectar-ale, and of course in the confined space, his antennae were brushing the inside of the cockpit. Thus the hypersensitive antennae picked up the vibrations of something knocking on the armor of his mech. He felt exactly where it was, and what it was; It was something made of stone, but it wasn't just some rock. It was in a large and burly, yet strange humanoid shape. It also had wings. Angel? No...Demon? Maybe...
He straightened up out of the bottom of the cockpit, and looked over the side. He regarded the strange stone thing from behind his pitch-black goggles with his infravision. It was certainly not alive, but it did radiate magic from it's core. The bug-man leaned forward, stretching out his antennae. He gently poked and prodded the thing for a few moments, smelling it, feeling it. Even though he was already sure, his antennae never lied, he confirmed that the thing was indeed solid stone, yet it moved. It smelled of stone, as well as some other things that the bug-man couldn't quite place, but he knew they were recent.
After a few moments, the bug-man lost interest and stopped staring and feeling. He decided to view the other people around the bar. His antennae were sensitive enough that they heard all conversation in the bar, and even things from outside, but the bug had tuned it all out until now. He slowly gazed around the room from behind his opaque goggles.
First, he looked outside, and saw three strange things. One was a rather strange radiant dome that he couldn't see through. Judging from the colors in his infravision, it was magic of some kind. Then there was a ring that seemed to have a miniature forest in it, with strange vegetation that produced alien colors in his infravision. What's more, there was a miniature, yet large person in heavy armor making much fire, and he seemed to be fighting another thing that the bug had never seen before. Then there was a third ring, again, with miniature people fighting in a miniature setting. One of them seemed a Being rat, while the other was a...plant person? It looked like both a plant and a person in his infravision.
Things here were getting stranger and stranger.
Then he actually shifted his attention inside, looking everyone carefully over, one at a time. Some of them seemed normal, but not many. One was definitely made of metal, with seven eyes shining clearly in his infravision, but it's body radiated in a very peculiar way. He also saw what looked like a large blotch in his infravision. He closed one eye behind his goggles, gradually shutting down his infrareceptors in that eye and warming up the photoreceptors. He then used one hand to lift up that one goggle lens a bit, just enough to see under. The light stung momentarily, but passed quickly. All he saw was...someone in a cloak. Very odd.
He let go of the goggle lens, which snapped back over his eye, and the bug switched it back over to infravision. He then continued scanning the room. He saw a few more people of interest, some of races he recognized, some not, but the real event was when he looked a certain corner.
And saw something that immediately captivated his attention.
It was a...creature...of some sort...curled up, but still very large. Viewing it in his infravision, she, for it was unmistakeably a she, looked regal and strong, her form speaking of a great primal power. She seemed injured, the bug saw her body heat leaking in several spots. He directed his antennae towards her. He had kept his antennae on very low sensitivity when he entered the place; he didn't want to be distracted. He just wanted to get some water, and leave. But now he fully opened up his sense of smell, sniffing the creature's pheromones from a distance.
She reeked of royalty.
Slowly, almost nervously, he reached up for his goggles, switching his vision from infra to light as he did so. Slowly, he moved the goggles up to his brow, so he could see the creature in normal light.
His breath caught.
Her form was so different from anything he had seen, yet also somehow familiar. Her carapace was a solid sleek black, and the details on her body were exquisite. She didn't compare to one of his own Queens, of course, but she was, there was no other word for it, beautiful.
Without any further hesitation, he sat in his mech and furiously began moving levers. The mech lurched to life in a small roar of steam, and he started moving directly for her, accidentally crushing a table on the way. He got his mech near her, then put it close to the ground, shutting it off, jumping out of the cockpit rushing up in front of her, then getting on his knees and placing his hands on the ground, looking down unwaveringly, all with his antennae stretched towards her. It was a symbol of trust and submission; an Insectis' antenna, while able to handle all kinds of stressful sensory input, were still physically extremely delicate. To do this with them meant either you trusted the person greatly, or were submitting to a higher authority.
He had no doubt she qualified as a higher authority.
Then he began speaking in his own native language, a combination of vowels, consonants, but mostly buzzes and clicks, incomprehensible to everyone else in the room. What he said went something like this:
"My humble greetings, most noble Queen, for you are surely a Queen. I am E/E-4125, also known as Karazkt, from the Insectis Hive of Steam and Clocks. I notice that you are injured, is there anything, anything that I can do to tend for you, ease your pain, or make you more comfortable? One as high as you should never have to suffer like this." Karazkt then paused for a moment. He had been quite alone for some time, utterly without guidance of any kind, except for his original exploration objective, which was hardly sufficient to help him get by. He needed a hierarchy; he needed someone telling him what to do.
"And if it pleases you," He continued, "I wish to serve you while you are here, I will be yours to use as you will for that duration."
Even though he was speaking in his own language, and she was another species, Karazkt desperately hoped she would be able to understand him.
Mechangel
The cloaked man watched with amusement as the gargoyle [Siolen] decided to knock on the Insectis' mech, and got some antennae-prodding in return. Then he watched as the Insectis slowly scanned everyone around pausing oh him quizzically, and lifting up one goggle lens to view the man under the cloak with an unobstructed eye. It was shiny and solid beady-black, though the man remembered ChkChkTia's eyes being a lustrous golden. So, it seemed either ChkChkTia was different, or the Insectis really did have various eye colors.
Then something very strange happened. The Insectis seemed to take great interest in [Alien-1], the great black buggy one, and then he maneuvered his mech over to her, getting out quickly and going into sort of an odd bow, with outstretched antennae. then he began speaking in some strange language, presumably his own. The man under the cloak didn't know what was going on, but he was interested to see what was going to happen next. The Insectis didn't seem very smart if he was trying to suck up to that giant black bug.
The jackel's body expression of pain, if for half a second, brought a small smirk of satisfaction across Rip's face. In the next second though when the area he had impacted became drenched in what appeared to be a cocoon-like gilded liquid, his expression reverted back. He could hurt him, but he doubted anything he could do would leave a lasting impact, and now Laertes appeared to be sufficiently pissed off. His opponent was a clear master of the divine, to that end he realized that he probably couldn't afford to go into a war of attrition with this guy, not with every subtle sound slowly raising the pain. No, Rip knew he was going to have to get back in this guy's face and stay there if he wanted to put an end to this. It was probably the best option, since he figured his opponent, being a master, could just easily shrug off any barrage Rip could throw at him from afar.
His opponent then drew his arm out, and suddenly all of the sonic booms going off between them dissipated, and the air became still unnaturally fast. Rip could see something forming in the angel's palm, and quickly realized that he had to get out of the way. It was too late though, Laertes hand snapped forth, casting the pitch. Rip made a makeshift effort to jump up and out of the way, but when the other angel's mouth opened just slightly, the scattershot of blue rings exploded and shotforth into an enormous shockwave. It was moving much to fast, and the top part of the wave impacted with Rip's lower legs as he tried to evade it, sending him flipping upwards into the air out of control. The wave had torn shreds across everything it made contact with, leaving several small cuts in the parts that got hit.
Had it been anywhere else, that would have been it. However, because of how the arena was shaped, the shockwave collided along the edges then reflected back out and upwards, converging onto itself due to the concave nature of the dome. It then made impact upon Rip a second time, this time head on and more intense then before. Rip kept his vitals covered as it collided again with him. His robes, nearly all of his clothing ripping unto themselves, with several slashes from the force of the wave etched over anything that was exposed. The wave after the second hit then began to collide with the newly reforming sonic booms emerging near the top of the dome and dissipated.
All the while Rip was sent flailing towards the ground near the edge, landing croutched upright; gritting his teeth against the pain he had felt. Incredibly intense this was turning out to be, it wasn't enough to make Rip back down though, not as things were just gettin started. Rip looked down at his still-lit right gauntlet and brought it up, placing his palm over his heart. The sacred white fireball he had been holding onto seethed itself into his skin and spread itself throughout his body, lighting up the wounds slightly as they began to slowly seal up, while at the same time stemming rise of pain within his mind that came from each audible. Rip stood himself up and closed his eyes briefly with a low sigh; as he did he reached into robes with his right hand, grabbing onto his sun medallion necklace. As he clenched his grip around it he then lifted up his left hand and tore off his robes and shirt in one fluid motion, tossing them to his side. He then opened his eyes and hastily draped the small charm around his neck, causing his dark wings to light up then retreat into his back. All the while he tore his tattered pants off with his free hand leaving himself in nothing but his crimson boxers. His expression of determination unchanged, there was a reason behind all of this.
His wings, and his clothing, were doing nothing but creating drag in the turbulent air of this environment, slowing him down. He had to make his body sleeker, to make himself faster. Disregarding the jackel's surprise, Rip reached for his back with his right arm and whipped out his racket, lighting it up in a white glow instantly. Then in a split-second, he springed himself off the surface, twisting himself around, and began sprinting insanely fast right up the walls of the dome. He found himself moving nearly twice as fast as he was earlier, so much so that the booms colliding with the surface of the wall looked like they were slowing down as he nimbly avoided the ones in his desperate path.
As he made for his target, Rip had held out his free hand, forming an explosive ball of light in it, while at the same time concentrating on his racket. The only thing one could guess, would be that he was pouring part of his soul into the weapon as the top edge it glew brightly and formed into a straight razors edge of blazing light, extending Rip's reach by about five feet. Within a couple seconds he was directly over his opponent; then kicked off towards him again. He lifted up his left hand as he made the kickoff and let go, swatting the orb towards him while forming up another quickly and fired that one off too in a very fast motion. Rip knew they wouldn't do much, he was actually betting on them setting his opponent off-balance so he could break his guard. After the second shot, Rip twisted himself around as he fell and swong his makeshift racketsaber down in a slashing motion for Laertes' skull, all the while his free hand was warming up another light orb.
The Jackal grinned as the top of the bubble of force caught Rip's legs, throwing him yet higher into the air and them rebounding atop him yet again - it was an attack that could break furniture and shatter glass, and the scorpion amazingly stood up to it. Continuing to scribe golden letters into the air, the Jackal raised an eyebrow as the Angel then proceeded to strip.
He didn't bother to wonder at his opponent's sanity - perhaps the sound was getting to him after all. In any case, Laertes drew carefully with a gold-dripping finger, the runes two-lines long before he passed his hand through them, the golden writing disappearing quickly.
The other Angel, fast as lightning, was running up the sides of the dome. Laertes quirked an eyebrow.
In front of his palm, another ring of blue suddenly tore itself into reality, a horrendous shearing sound emanating out from the crystalline blue ring - and then yet another, a dozen set of azure rings ripping themselves out of the air and in front of the Jackal's hand. The arcs of blue simply hung in the air, and with an amazing burst of speed his opponent sent two balls of light flying for the Jackal, the orbs tearing through the air.
The first caught on the foremost arc of blue, and shorn in half the light went to both sides, slamming into the ground directly in front of and behind the Jackal. The second, making it through the web of blue light, slammed into the Jackal's shoulder, the liquid light covering the Jackal protecting him from it's light-based properties, but not absorbing the inertia. The Angel stumbled backwards.
As he did, the spell ended prematurely, the arcs of light fading into simple nothingness. Looking up, the Angel then saw a third ball headed for him, and Rip himself tearing after him like a bolt of lightning.
Laertes narrowed an eye.
As the Scorpion angel streaked for him, the Jackal extended one hand towards the falling ball of light, a quick rhyme under the Jackal's breath twisting the ball in midair and causing it to lose focus, becoming a simple ball of mild brightness - all the while, with careful timing, taking a single step to the right, and extending his scythe up and over his head.
The racketsabre met the metal of the scythe and slid off to the side - the object was not made of simple iron, apparently. As it slid, Rip continued to move, streaking like a bolt of lightning towards the very hard spot of stone where Laertes had stood just a moment before.
An incredibly high sheening sound ripped forth as his racket made contact with the Muse' scythe, sending streaks of sparks forth in the direction of the sabre as the two weapons collided. Rip was moving much too fast with very little control from where he was in that split-second, his opponent taking his first two calling cards in stride and managing to dispell the third he had in store. Rips eyes widened up, and just barely he had thrusted the left portion of his body down below himself, using Lefty to absorb the majority of the impact on the indestructible earth. The impact setting off a thundering crack of unbearably high proportions, as if he was lightning itself.
That, combined with the screeching from his parried attack, raised the earsplitting pain ringing within his head up so high that he could barely stand it. His eyes were narrowing at the pain, yet still fiercely fixed on the face of his target, as strands of blood were slowly dripping downward from his ears. Rip whipped his racketsabre around to his side, the razors edge now behind him as his grip changed and reversed so he was holding it upside down. He then pulled himself forward with his left arm and set himself spinning in a spiral motion on the ground, bringing the razorblade on the edge of his racket and the stinger of his tail quickly sweeping back around and straight for Laertes' ankles. If it didn't work he was set to spring himself back to his feet for the next combination.
Sylvie did her best not to let go of her staff when Ian yanked it upward, but his swings downward shook her off. She thudded onto her back, trying to roll away from his last swing - but he managed to thwack her in the upper arm.
Sylvie let out a shout of pain herself and lifted herself off the ground with her good arm. The synthetic sunlight eased her pain a bit, but she was losing energy nonetheless - this was a tougher fight than she'd thought. And admittedly, that spell that now had Ian fused to her staff was a little uncalled for - this was just a practice match, right?
She backed up a step or two, then pointed right at her staff. She muttered a quick spell and the thorns retracted. Then she braced her arms in a defensive stance and tensed her legs to run, kick, whatever. She knew she probably wasn't as strong as the rat physically, so trying to attack him head-on would be stupid. Let him come to you, and get your staff back.
Cogidubnus coughed, raising an eyebrow and grinning at Sahlena for a moment, amusement evident in his eyes before he nodded at the andriod. "A pleasure, Sahlena."
At Stygian's pleased expression at watching the fight with the Jackal outside, however, the wolf made a face. He sipped on his orange-colored drink, and murmured something under his breath before commenting to the android.
"You think he'll take a bet?." the wolf said, looking at Sahlena from out the corner of his eye.
* * *
Seeing through layers of flame is difficult, and so it was that when a bullet of pressure blasted through the writhing, suddenly billowing fire, Giles was surprised. A quick, sharp curse permeated the air for just a moment, and the fires seemed to gather in front of him, as if the blackguard was reflexively trying to block the distortion.
It was to no avail - fire does not make a great shield, and as a result, the bullet slammed into the blackguard. It caught him square in the chest, the incredible force contained in the wave of pressure spinning the blackguard around and knocking him over. He barely managed to catch himself with his hand, falling to his knees instead of on his face.
Around him, the fires quickly began to dissipate, the unmoving blackguard no longer sustaining them.
The blackguard bared white teeth, his eyes filled with rage as he looked at the strange little Orin. He lurched to his feet, the ground around him covered in cinders and small fires, and he flipped his spear in a complete circle until it rested behind him.
He began to move, taking two steps forward and then two back and dexterously flipping the spear up and over his head and and in front of him - flames sprouted up from his feet and moving body, and yet another arc of fire blossomed out from behind the moving spear. Stopping the swing right as the spear became paralell with his body, he he moved forward again, taking only a single step, and grabbing the spear with only one hand twisted his body to thrust as far forward as he could. His other hand clenched into a fist, and sent the other flames spiraling up the haft of the spear.
A lance of fire shot forward, burning its way through trees, undergrowth and humid air alike to tear towards the little Orin.
* * *
Catching himself on his hand was a surprisingly effective technique, and Laertes wondered idly how much punishment those gauntlets might be able to take. In any case, as Rip flipped his sword into a reverse grip and crouched himself into position to strike, Laertes simply kept moving to the right, outdistancing the scorpion with only a few quick strides.
Rip was fast, and rather than risk another spell, the Jackal simply used the one he had already. The golden light began to fade from his form, the Jackal using the stored divine energy as the spell it was to begin with.
Behind him and with a terrible grating sound, a pinwheel of opaque white light appeared, the blades of the circle seeming to cut themselves into existence as they grew. Bigger than the Jackal himself, Laertes stood in front of the whirling light and pointed at the scorpion angel with his scythe, a rhyming whisper flowing from his lips.
Stopping their turning in the air, the blades suddenly exploded outwards, flying and twisting up into the air before turning and descending towards the angel, each one desperate clawing towards the scorpion's heart.
Risky found an ashtray on the bar nearby and tapped the sahes of her cigarette into it. Watching the "angels" fighting in the Circle, she mumbled softly, "Haldeman would shit..."
Downing more of her drink, she cocked her head to listen to the conversation involving the steampowered bug, and watched it head over to petition the Queen. "Need to powder my nose."
Frowning, she got up and headed to the bathrooms, passing the armored bug. She paused, and said to no one in particular, "She's in hibernation. Likely be that way for a while. And if I catch anything planting her eggs for her, I'll roast them slowly."
Risky nodded to herself, and pushed open the door to the ladies' room, and closed it behind her after entering.
Ian planted the staff in the ground deep enough for it to stand on it's own. "Hokay, we tried your way. Now let's try mine." Ian dashed up and aimed a knee at her side.
...Piix:
The rippling, invisible projectile of pressure worked more spectacularly than Piix had anticipated. It bypassed the typhoon of flame and cleaved effortlessly through the dirt, reminiscent of a torpedo rocketing through the ocean waters, colliding cleanly with Giles's heel as it was cocked in the middle of a hypnotic pivot. It was a hard, but ultimately successful struggle--it worked almost like a snare--simultaneous to the moment she tripped Giles up, he was slammed back down by an immense force.
Almost serendipitously, the fire surrounding Giles disintegrated, evanescing like smoky mist. Piix panted a little as she watched, recollecting herself. Conjuring up that pressure took quite the burden on the little Orin. She wasn't used to throwing down people who were not only mountainous in physique, but encumbered by heavy layers of armor. Either way, that hopefully disoriented Giles, who'd need some effort getting up--
--oh shit, he was already getting up. Piix's pupils dilated and forced her body into motion again, her back straightening, the Discus hovering between her shoulder-blades spinning rapidly. The three orbs which composed the Triad's formation accelerated the speed of their constant rotation to an almost hectic, helter-skelter degree, flashing intermittently. Piix grit her teeth and braced herself, keeping Orpiment up--
--she had good reason to. One step forward and Giles flung an enormous lance of fire at her with one furious sweep of his fire-conjuring blood-spear. Almost incomprehensible over the roar of the flame, Piix emitted a loud shriek, then scrambled as fast as she could off to the side, once more gathering together and manipulating the gravity around her to propel her past the incoming fire. Again, Piix was catapulted into the air, sending her sailing a good distance away from the flame, just as it swept over the trees and foliage behind her. Instantly, the vegetation was decimated, obliterated into charred husks of ash-laden skeletons and barren black earth.
Piix spun around in the midst of her jump, watching the destruction with a dumbstruck look on her face. Landing on the ground, she heaved, stopping for a moment to stare at the demolished trail of burned foliage. The fire had cleanly annihilated a perfect trail through the neverending forest.
Snarling, Piix turned around, another gravity-manipulating spell spiraling in the palm of her hand, and shouted, "HEY! I thought I said NO KILLIN'!" With that exclamation, she flung the spell at Giles, the aforementioned enchantment adopting an appearance similar to her previous, similar spell, only condensed and composed into a spherical form.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Noticing that, as expected, her glare had no real effect on Stygian, the android turned back to look at Cog when the wolf adressed her. She managed to convey something akin to curiosity, surprise and the general pleasant impression of someone having a conversation they really enjoyed, while at the same time adding a tang of jadedness and nonchalance at antics that have been done before and by then were easy to predict, all using only body language and a simple, partially hidden mouth-structure that was hard enough to interpret in the first place.
':what, him?' she asked Cog in return, and made a quick nod toward Stygian. ':i am sure he will, if only for amusement. i would not recommend you to bet against him though; he most often wins. in 83.63 percent of the cases, from what i have seen hitherto, though that probably excludes some data.' She shrugged, then placed her hand on the countertop and looked over to Boog again. ':one [Gin and Tonic], please,' she said, placing another coin on the top, and then turned back to Cog. ':it's really a win/win situation for him, why i think he would be happy to. if you ask me though, it seems as if your big /quote friend /unqote will lose.' The mouthparts under the smooth face plating turned up a bit at the corners. ';if for nothing else than rule violation.'
Boog snatched up the coin and set out the drink, mulling over what he'd been able to read off of her. A machine, yes, but (apparently) thinking. Plenty of things thought without actual intelligence; hell, he was of the opinion some of his patrons thus far did exactly that at times. However, she showed some signs of intelligence. That's what being a polite host was anyway; I'll pretend you're a person if you'll pretend I am. The thought entity set out the drink by the machine-woman's elbow.
"Actually, he hasn't. The rule was no killing anybody, and he hasn't killed anyone yet. By the very nature of the rule being set in the circle it becomes impossible to kill anyone." He grinned, "All you'll do is waste your time, and the circle will stop your attack on the other fighter's behalf. A little failsafe for... Less than Honorable individuals."
Karazkt
Karazkt barely moved when someone walked up behind him, and said a few things. Normally, he would have though about her saying something about laying eggs, did she think he intended to mate with the Queen? He would have been utterly revolted at the person. But, he did not think about this, because his mind stopped working after the first three words she said;
She's in hibernation.
If the Insectis had a heart the same way other things do, his probably would have stopped beating then and there, permanently. As it was, his body continued to function, agonizingly. He slowly looked up at her, but tried to keep his gaze as low as possible. He slowly reached up with one hand and slid his goggles back over his eyes, instantly sending him into pitch-blackness. Slowly, his infrareceptors warmed back up, and he looked carefully at her. Indeed, she was totally motionless, and her infrared signatures were unusually low. She was hibernating.
Very slowly, he began backing away, and when he reached his mech, still moving slowly he climbed back into the cockpit, wincing at the chink of his tools on his bandolier and belt, which seemed unusually loud to his antennae. Once in the cockpit, he put the tips of his antennae into the intake ports, and clutched some of the innumerable controls in front of him.
Squeezing his eyes shut as tight as he could, wincing terribly about what was about to happen, he shot fire down his antennae into the intake ports, while simultaneously moving some levers. The effect was instantaneous, the mech roared back to life, then quited to a low purr. Even so, the initial startup seemed so horrendously loud to him that he wanted to die right then and there. But he didn't, and he slowly opened his eyes again.
The Queen hadn't moved.
He made the mech slowly walk backwards, moving it slower and more delicately than what would have been thought possible. The metal behemoth only made a low crunch as it pressed into the wood floor, instead of a thud.
Eventually, he had his mech moved all the way to the side of the inn opposite to the Queen. He shut down his mech again, and sat in the cockpit, fidgeting with his three-fingered hands, rocking back and forth, and shaking a little.
He had disturbed a queen during her rest. This was unforgivable, whether she even noticed or not. He could not believe he had made such a fatal error, in his excitement and eagerness to pay his respects he had somehow not noticed this. He had no choice; he must submit himself to whatever punishment she deemed fit when she woke.
Rip swept himself around on the floor from the momentum of his missed swipe, and break danced himself back upright onto his knees, then back into stance. Glaring into his opponent with his narrowing eyes, he snarled and gripped his aching forehead with his left hand as opponent released the final verse of the spell that was ahold of him. The spell released, forming blades forged of pure light in a spiraling pinwheel before him; the formation from the rippling reality around the blades was causing the air itself to scream.
Rip's threshold for taking this had just about had it, and he decided to put an end to it. Soft words rang forth from his lips as the blades whirled and twisted themselves into the air, the whole environment shimmering and becoming transparant. The radiance around himself and the energy exuding from his racket dissipating. The blades released diving downwards, passing harmlessly right through him as though they were a ghostly visage, incapable of affecting the corporeal world. "That's enough."
Rip's eyes became complacent, and an expression of a weary calm, overtaking his whole body. He twirled around his racket, then securely sheathed it onto his back, and faced away from the other angel. He then said, "So....that is how, they would have fought.....if they had been here now....thank you."
He then started to walk away toward the edge, reaching down at his tattered robes for something in particular, then wrapping the cloth itself around his waist. He stood up, then raised his right hand to wave as he crossed over the edge and walked back into the bar, heading right for the bartender at the counter. He slid currency before him, then grinned, "I think I'll take you up on that room now, hehe."
He gripped the roomkey that was slid before himself, then strolled up towards the stairway and headed down the hall on the second floor toward his room number....86. It seemed odd, the rooms were not exactly numbered in any particular order, most of them appeared to be blank, with soft numbering scribbled on them. He disregarded the oddity, and made his way in, lying himself down on the bed and descending into deep relaxation, leaving his mind to wander the eternities as he went into a deep sleep.
Boog pocketed the currency with a flourish, not looking up from some speck on the counter that had attracted his bartenderly ire. "Sleep well, don't let the bed yous bite. We serve breakfast every morning." Seeing as the sun never set in the little parasite dimension the Honor Circle was in, it wasn't as good a deal as it sounded like.
---
Siolen blinked and sneezed as the insectis inspected him, antennae tickling at his face. He was a bit too stunned to respond to the inspection and simply looked outside again, on the not uncommon assumption that if something's odd enough it probably isn't too relevant. One fight had just ended. Excellent. It was hard to make out the goings on within that dome. Perhaps the next combatants will have more spectator-friendly matches. He heard a little of what happened with Karazkt and the Queen behind his back, not understanding the clicking of the insectoid's language, but when that clicking took on a note of chattering teeth in reply to Risky he couldn't help but look.
Not unlike a child retreating to its treehouse when its parents are mad, the bug had scrambled back into his construct and retreated, shutting everything down. It was odd and attention grabbing, and when the strange man didn't emerge again Siolen decided to investigate. He climbed up to the cockpit of the vehicle like it was any other structure, the only differences being the occasional "clang!" or "bong!" of stone grabbing at metal. He peered at the pilot's seat, curiosity giving way to concern at the bug's nervous rocking and fidgeting. He seems so scared... The gargoyle had met a few alchemists, and as he met more and more as the sciences of his world progressed and magic fell to the background he was more and more of the opinion that they were, at a basic level, fragile creatures. Like children, except people nodded and looked ponderous when they made up words. He tapped his tail blade on the edge of the mech's entrance lightly once to get Karazkt's attention.
"Is something wrong, ah..." Ah, what was the proper way of addressing alchemists these days? Scientist? Doctor? Erhm... "Sir?" Can't go wrong with Sir, everyone likes being a Sir...
':that's a convenient function,' the machine replied, without much bother. ';although one can easily imagine complex scenarios that might mess it up. when it has to deal with something that is not immediately lethal, for example. like napalm, or nano-corrosives, or my personal favorite, neurotoxin.' For some reason, Boog felt a pretty hard twinge of thought at that last statement, and a sort of deja-vu feeling, though it was hard to say why. ':or, for example, curses. not that i pretend to have any expertise within magic. i leave that stuff to things like you,' she then stated, looking straight at the Boogeyman.
That was when the fight ended, and Rip resigned. Still smirking as viciously, Stygian slapped his glass down on the counter, and then laughed gleefully. Glad that he hadn't had to endure the chaos inside that dome, he kept on chuckling for a while, and then leaned over to the side on the counter again, head propped in his hand and looking at Cog and Risky.
'You were saying something about bets?' he said, musingly. 'If you are referring to the fight still going on out there, I'm going for five against one that the fuzzy little caramel-thing wins.' He grinned and chuckled again, the hand at his side placing itself on his kneecap as he turned his leg out a bit and adjusted his seat. 'Of course, I'm not going to state my reasons why just yet.'
Karazkt
Kazrakt had been sitting in his cockpit, still rocking and fidgeting, but his antennae were drooped very low, resting against part of the mech. He easily 'felt' the strange living, but not alive stone thing walk towards his mech, then climb up, the clangs of stone on metal very noticable, but Karazkt didn't react until the stone thing tapped on the side deliberately and spoke to him.
Karazkt turned and looked at him, his goggles still over his eyes. "Um, I am noT a 'zir', in the way people of the zurfaze KulTurez uze it. My dezignation is E/E four-one-Two-five, though zinze people zeem To liKe namez, I am Kalled KarazKT." Karazkt seemed to already have called down a little, but he was still very noticeably tense.
"BuT yez, there iz zomething wrong...I have KommiTTed a greviouz error in judgemenT, and I muzT aKzepT the KonzeKwenzez." Now Karazkt seemed less tense, but more like a demeanor of resigning to an inevitable fate.
"You'll find that the Circles can be a bit clever in how they enforce these rules. It's not a matter of what makes sense; if it would break the rules, the Circle stops it from happening," Boog chuckled, "That's what they're for. The changing environment, the walls at the edges... That's just window dressing. They're made for keeping the fight within the agreed upon limitations. Also," the thought entity continued, raising a finger, "I'm very much the wrong thing to leave magic to; don't know the first thing about it. Unpleasant subject, really. Tends to muck things up."
--
"Konze- I'm sorry, Consequences?" The gargoyle shook his head; the man's accent was infectious, "You mean in interacting with the Queen? You seemed the picture of civility to me, I don't see what she could possibly be mad about. She doesn't seem to even have noticed." Standard alchemist; so very terrified of what women think of him. There was usually only one cure for this state of being that came to Siolen's mind. "You need ale. That usually clears this sort of thing up."
Karazkt
Karazkt shook his head. "ITz noT thaT...she iz...hibernaTing, apparenTly. A Royal of any Kind muzT never, ever be dizTurbed during rezT, eKzepT by a Mezzenger, and only in emergenzy. I am buT an Engineer. Even if she didn'T noTize, I am at faulT, and muzt zubmiT To whaTever punishmenT she dezirez. Even though she iz noT of my zpeciez, she zTill iz obviouzly a Royal To her own raze. IT iz the righT thing To do." The bipedal insect paused for a moment, then said, "I don'T zee how ale iz going To help..."
"Is it not obvious?" Siolen replied, tilting his head in confusion, "It is your chivalry and submission to duty that worries you," And being an alchemist who just worked up the nerve to speak to a member of the opposite sex, he added mentally, "I understand the situation and can respect it. However, you may as well await the Lady's decree relaxed and in comfort. It will prevent any nervousness or ignoble happenings when she makes her decision. For this, I suggest ale. Or combat, if one thinks one cannot be distracted otherwise." He smiled cheerfully. It was a rather simple solution, but one he'd always found effective.
"KombaT...I...I am noT a Zoldier, buT whaT you zay maKez zenze." Karazkt looked around. "I...guezz thaT will be alrighT. A fighT, then."
Without waiting for Siolen to get off, Karazkt's antennae went back into the two intake ports in the back of the cockpit. Flames raced along them as Karazkt hit some levers, and the mech, once again, came to life with a roar of steam. Still not bothering to let Siolen down, Karazkt made the mech walk towards the wall that faced outside, and, strangely, there was a door large enough for the mech. Karazkt moved levers, and one of the mech's arms, with a hand similar to Karazkt's in the fact that it was tri-fingered, grasped the handle, and opened the door.
Karazkt steered the mech towards the recently vacated Circle, and finally stopped the mech within it.
"Zo...how doez the magiK of this zirKle worK?"
Siolen leaped down from the mech cheerfully, glad that the bug was taking him up on his advice.
"I don't think it's magic, and I would know if it was, but the rules are fairly straightforward. I, being the challenger-"
"Have chosen the who, the when, and the why." How did Boog get over there so fast? Regardless, there he was. It was HIS job to host this place and by gods he was going to be a proper host! "You, the challenged, chose the where, how, and what. In short, you set the rules and choose the locale." He grinned broadly at the two fighters, "That's all you need to know. Carry on!"
"... Strange man." Siolen shrugged, "But yes, that's it. So, you determine the rules and restrictions of the fight that we shall both be subject to." He began a few warming up exercises while he awaited Karazkt's decisions, "So, what shall they be?"
Karazkt
"Hmm...inTerezTing...Well, let'z zee...For the rulez, I believe thiz shall be a fighT To zubmission or," Karazkt paused for a moment, looking at the arms of his mech. "If the zirKle worKz the way I thinK, To whaT would amounT az death, buT, az the Killing blow would be thrown, the maTch shall end. Thiz will allow...weapons thaT could be only lethal, noT otherwize. Would thiz worK?" Karazkt said.
Mechangel
Well, it looks like bug-boy's gone and gotten himself into a fight already. The cloaked man thought, amused. He walked outside and stood still near the Circle, to watch up close all three fights.
In retrospect, maybe blocking Ian with her arms hadn't been the best idea. She still got knocked to the side and bruised, although she was still standing. But she didn't want to run until she knew she had the chance to grab her staff by doing so.
In the meantime... She ducked down and aimed a low kick at Ian's non-kicking leg.
Getting himself a glass of water, Stygian sighed and looked down for a bit, fingers lazily stroking his temple. He sighed, then turned and leaned onto the counter with both shoulders. Blowing a blond bang out of his eye, he cast another glance out at the fight between Sylvie and Ian. The two of them had been at it and showed little signs of slowing or giving in on either side. But then again, he thought, that's what it comes down to with less powerful fighters. When they can't develop sheer potency, they have to opt for grit instead. Only, somehow I didn't take the green for that much lesser in that division...
'Regarding the other battle, I can't say anything so certainly,' he said, glancing over at Cog. It was a mostly truthful statement. 'They seem to be taking their sweet time, that's for sure. The rat punk seems to have the physical edge, and probably more guns and such. Yet... I somehow got the feeling before that the "vegetable" could overpower that, if she just tried.' One arm over the counter, he tapped the top with his finger, thinking. 'Just a hunch, but...' He stopped with a rasping snort from Sahlena's direction.
':or, it's just that she is pretty and he is not,' the android said, folding her arms under what looked like breasts under her black sleeveless, but which were probably armor plates or cooling tanks or some such. She turned her gaze toward Risky. ':he pretends not to, but i know he has a tendency to bet on the more stylish or good-looking fighter. i would advise you to approach him cautiously as well. he tends to try and unnerve and confuse, women in particular.' Stygian snarled a bit at her.
'Yeah, tell them what a swine I am, before I adjust your voice modulator. With a gun. Bloody computer...'
Boog snickered; it was his opinion that those that took themselves as seriously as Stygian did needed insulting. He was glad the machine was willing to spare him some effort on that front.
"Hey now, not gentlemanly to threaten a lady Styggy. Delicate creatures, all that. Thassa thing though, neither of them strikes me as being all that weak; the girl keeps fighting politely." The thought entity pointed at the fighters, "Like this here, look. The gal keeps trying to fight him on his terms," he mused, "She's not using much magic when he has little way of defending against it, keeping her distance when he's got an edge in physical strength, and she even let him pick the battlefield. Meanwhile, he's not using much in the way of weaponry and isn't too big on technique. I'd say she's going easy on the rat."
--
"Perfectly acceptable terms," Siolen finished up his stretches and smiled, "Whenever you are ready."
Karazkt
Siolen had accepted the terms. That gave Karazkt a bit of an advantage already, but as for the terrain...Karazkt biefly thought of his home, but quickly discarded it; it would put him at an almost ridiculously unfair advantage. Karazkt wasn't fighting to win, just to 'reset' his mind so he can properly deal with the Queen when she wakes up.
"For the Terrain," Karazkt said, "We shall fighT in...a maze of narrow buT deep ravines, Kanyonz, and Trenchez. EnTering Terrain..."
The ground under them began sinking, in a single line, with passageway imprints that quickly became real trenches, and it was certainly quite a maze. It sunk until the earthen walls were almost a hundred feet high.
"LeT uz begin." Karazkt said, adjusting his goggles.
Ian came down hard on his head and upper back. He let out a grunt and a few choice words before scrambling until he could get back to his feet. his arms were damp and red from all the thorns he had endured moments ago. From the looks of things he probably wouldn't throw punches unless it was required of him.
Sylvie jumped to her feet as well and stepped back two feet. She didn't want Ian to die from blood loss; she was the one who'd said 'no killing.' Besides, she wanted him to be able to heal so he could fight the others. So she went with the safest option and stared directly into the rat's eyes. Enchanting magic crept along her gaze and into the rat's brain.
"Stand still for the next 20 seconds," she commanded in a lower, quieter voice than usual. She tensed herself to run once she knew if the spell had worked.
Ian didn't want to, but he was just too tired. He did nothing.
In an instant, it was over. Finally having enough, the other angel simply surrendered, the blades of light simply passing through him insubstantially and dissipating into the air. Gathering his clothing and thanking him for the fight, the scorpion angel immediately left the arena and headed for bed.
Laertes said nothing, and rubbing the bruise that was forming on his shoulder also left the circle, heading back to his spot by the window, inside.
* * *
Giles snarled a curse. "Well, shit! Your not dead yet, now are you?!" he yelled, and watched as the little Orin launched herself up and over the lance of fire, landing off in a tree some distance away. The blackguard's eyes boggled. That sort of jump was...impossible, the distance that the little alien could propel herself almost absurd. In her hand swirled another distortion, a bubble of gravity.
Giles was ready for it, this time. Piix threw it at him, and Giles set himself, sliding one armored foot back and crossing his arms in front of his body, setting himself. The distortion, only barely visible as it blew through the branches and undergrowth of the strange, fantastically lit jungle, hit the pyromancer straight on. Sounding like the collision of a hammer on concrete, the blackguard almost stumbled as his back foot dug into the dirt, Giles sliding back as the wave of force dented his bracers. A gout of flame briefly flared around him, and as he lowered his spear back to the ground, the blackguard simply ran forward.
Piix had managed to keep him off-balance so far, and had shown herself to be unexpectedly agile. He needed to even the playing feild.
The blackguard ran forward, and as he did so, flame trailed behind him, first simply in trials where the blackguard's feet fell, and then flowing out behind him - the longer the blackguard running, the more and more the fire grew. Guesturing with his hands, the fire seemed to come alive as well, following the pyromancer's gestures - and wrapping itself around the blackguard's gauntleted hand first, began to flow outwards and into the undergrowth. Smaller undergrowth and grasses caught first, burning with an alien smell, and licked at the edges of the trees towering over them, the mosses and creepers on those trucks already starting to catch.
Giles ran for Piix, and despite the rules against killing, his eyes were gleefully murderous.
* * *
Cog shrugged, scowling as he watched Laertes come back in from his fight victorious, and with a absent sip of his drink replied to Stygian.
"I've yet to see either of them do anything but kick each other in the shins, really. Even so..." he paused, reflecting. "I'd still probably bet on the grass-girl."
He paused, and then chuckled at the exchange between the machine and the man. Shaking his head, he looked to see another fight getting ready to go, the gargoyle and the strange insect-pilot about to fight.
Relieved that the spell had apparently worked, Sylvie bolted over to where her staff was stuck in the ground and, with some effort, pulled it out. This took about nine seconds. Then she ran back to Ian. That took about five seconds. Praying that six seconds were long enough, she swung her staff toward the rat's head - hopefully, hard enough to knock him out.
Outside the front of the building, off to one side and out of the way of the circles, but in sight from several of the windows, the air shimmered slightly. A spark of light appeared, at about waist height. It grew a little bigger and brighter, sending out short wavering pseudopods. A short metal cylinder slowly emerged from the light, turning slightly back and forth. Around it a faintly glowing outline appeared, tall and rectangular, looking not unlike a door — the cylinder even seemed to have a handle on the end. The outline flared brightly for a moment, then the handle turned and the door (appearances are not always deceiving) opened.
A wolf stepped through, and looked about curiously. He was tall and stocky, with russet fur and short-trimmed brown hair. His build hinted at plenty of muscle under the brightly coloured jerkin and trousers he wore. The wolf was armed, too, a pair of daggers at his belt, and a sword with a long, slightly curved blade hung from the back of a baldric slung across his chest. In one hand he carried a pack with what seemed to be a bedroll and several pieces of armour strapped to it. He looked over the building, then spent a little longer watching each of the circles, before turning back to the doorway.
"All right, I'm impressed," he said, his voice a deep pleasant burr. "Now how do I get back after... oh, shave it!" While the wolf's back had been turned, an arm poked through the doorway, yellow-furred with black spots, clutched the handle, and pulled the door closed. The wolf dropped his pack and leaped, but it was too late. The door's outline faded, and the handle vanished even as he passed through the space it had occupied. He looked around for a few seconds, grabbed his pack with an angry snarl, strode quickly up to the building's front door and entered.
Boog raised his eyebrows at the newcomer's approach. Yeesh, more canines than primates in here. Almost makes me wonder who's been passing out free thumbs. Well, better than another toaster. He made his way over to the swordsman and met him at the door.
"H'lo, insert patron title of choice here! Welcome to the Honor Circle pub, inn and medical ward! Outside you'll see our main attractions," And gesture toward circles and grin and... The man knew how to make a sale. "The Honor Circles. Feel free to challenge anybody you so please to fight in them. The challenger choses the who, why, and when while the challenger choses the how, what, and where. And feel free to get roaring drunk beforehand."
--
"Yes, lets," Siolen rushed the mech as soon as Karazkt finished his sentence, leaping and kicking off from the canyon wall to try and grab onto the machine's upper body.
Karazkt
Karazkt was put quite off-balance by Siolen's sudden direct offensive. Karazkt quickly started hitting levers. The mech's right arm swung up in an attempt to swat the stone gargoyle away before he could get too close.
...Piix:
Even when her life was in mortal danger, Piix couldn't help but feel increasingly indignant at the fact that she seemed to be utterly outmatched when it came to pure, offensive magical strength. Manipulation magic, as entertaining as its results were, couldn't create. It could only take an existing element and bend it, which could often be effective enough - but in this case Piix was uncertain if she could turn Giles's fire against him. Not all of it, anyway. With the armor he wore it probably wouldn't even damage him, not to mention there was so much of it that she simply would be overwhelmed.
Ah well. She'd have to wing it.
As Giles merely endured the blast of pressure Piix had fired his way, she crouched again and focused, allowing each individual orb of the Triad to withdraw into Discus. With the Triad disassembled, Piix watched Giles's next move - and nearly screamed as he barreled right at her with almost disproportionate speed. Fire and smoke was already spiraling and thrashing around him. The undergrowth was disintegrating beneath the flame as it leaped and spread from plant to plant, quickly devouring every shred of vegetation. Shrieking out a high-pitched curse in a shrill cry, Piix jumped away from the expanding flame, her eyes wide and owlish against the glow.
Hell. Fucking hell. She'd have to do something. Snarling, Piix concentrated again, and this time the Discus's sides began to ripple. One by one, a quartet of serrated-sharp lengths began to emerge from Discus, quickly increasing, then diving downward at a rakish angle, impaling themselves into the soil on razorbladed tips. They were almost like enormous spider-legs anchored to Piix's back. Piix narrowed her eyes at Giles over the flame as the bladed appendages hefted her into the air, swiveling on their joints, buckled back down, and then, with a great effort on Piix's part, sprung forward, carrying their passenger with them. Piix was catapulted over the wall of flame; the spider-legs immediately jabbing themselves into the dirt as they landed on the opposite, undamaged side. Wouldn't be too long until the fire spread there, so she had to be quick.
Spinning the formation around, Piix glared furiously at Giles, and then charged, the spider-legs clicking and rapidly pistoning around her. In-between her pace, Piix started conjuring up as much pressure as she could in that effort, straining and struggling as the gravity responded to her call, and as her hand balled into a fist, she brought it down. The air rippled and distorted again, although with greater intensity and erratic abnormality than before, and swept like a crescent as it followed the motion of Piix's fist, diving like a guillotine, and aiming right for Giles's spear. If this succeeded, it would hopefully pin the weapon to the ground, disarming him, and allow her to assault him...
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Eyes catching the quick and sharp turn of events outside, Stygian almost rose from his seat as he turned his attention toward the circles. The battle between the golem and the machine had just begun, but the other two fights looked to be coming to their respective climaxes. At least, things were looking rather spectacular between the furred little creature and the giant in armor. And Sylvie seemed to have finally gained the edge in her fight, though even with things as they looked one could not be quite sure.
If there was anything that the little colorful thing had shown hitherto, it was that she was quite powerful, especially for her size. To be able to dodge or deflect attacks of the magnitude that the man in heavy armor seemed to be throwing around was almost heroic in itself. And as Stygian had watched and focused on that particular battle, he thought he could draw at least a few conclusions. The way she moved, making irregular maneuvers that seemed impossible no matter one's strength and balance, and the way her attacks affected the battlefield and her opponent, all suggested that she could control some sort of external force. Neutron movement? No... he thought. Probably telekinesis. But it doesn't look like such an explosive force...
The man in the black armor had been easy enough to analyze and put down in the first couple of minutes. Definite explosive power, and a clear and overt manipulation of flames. He seemed to be using a very direct approach, a 'steamrolling' tactic if one would call it that, since there also seemed to be some sort of wind-up or building effect to his flames. He seemed swift enough, but it was when he got to keep up his attacks that he really became dangerous. A berserker thus. And a very dangerous one.
But, unfortunately one who is faced with a perfect disadvantage against a force-user. Stygian smirked to himself. If it were magnetism, he might have been able to disturb it with some intense attacks and use of metal. However he doesn't even have that edge. All she has to do is slow him down and hold him at a comfortable distance. And if she isn't strong enough for that, she could still bring down the canopy onto him... Wonder why she hasn't...
':two drinks against one that the rat is just waiting for her to get close,' Sahlena suddenly spoke up behind him, looking in Cog's direction.
And that's when a new fighter, challenger or not, stepped in and caught their attention for a moment. At least Stygian's. He glanced over the newcomer, head to toes and then back up. The damn place was getting full of canines, that was for sure. And everyone seemed to be using swords and spears. When was he going to get to see someone who appreciated a good gun?
'What's this? Another dog?' the man chuckled, and grinned. 'I'm thinking you could try and start selling rawhide chews, Boog,' he continued, looking over his shoulder. 'Might be profitable by now.'
Giles simply coughed out a laugh as he watched the Orin suddenly sprout eight legs, manipulating one of her amorphous orbs that served as her weapons into another set of limbs for her, and with a great leap she jumped behind the Blackguard, the razored, spidery legs digging into the soft dirt for just a moment before scuttling towards the blackguard. Watching her go sailing up and over his head, the blackguard turned, changing his direction and starting to run back towards Piix again.
The flames continued to build, growing larger and larger - enough to again wrap the blackguard in fire, obscuring his form and beginning to swirl about him. The flames licked at the trees, strange-smelling smoke promising a conflagration to come. As he ran, the fires continued to rise, taller than the blackguard, and rapidly approaching the height of the smaller trees.
Giles's blue eyes sparkled, and he almost laughed - but at that moment, a crescent of pressure suddenly swept across the blackguard's hand, striking his spear and sending it flying up into the air.
It flew like a comet, trailing fire and landing somewhere in the distance. Smoke rose from where it fell.
Perhaps to Piix's surprise, however, the blackguard did not stop running, and the flames surrounding him did not die either. Scowling, muttering curses, and yet almost laughing, the blackguard continued to run at the Orin, and as she ran towards him, he opened his arms wide, as if he ran to give the Orin a hug. Long before he reached her, however, he embraced the air around him.
The flames around him, however, did not - and at the pyromancer's ministrations, the flames spread wide, and then like walls of water collapsed inwards upon the rapidly moving Piix.
* * *
Watching the battles going on outside, Cog jerked an eye quickly over to the door as it opened, and raised a single eyebrow at the newcomer before a large grin spread over his face.
A fellow swordsman, and a wolf! A true brother in arms. Cog raised a glass to the newcomer before drinking it down, a silent toast.
He looked over at the android for a moment, and smacking his lips just a bit he considered before nodding.
"I'll take that bet."
At the man's words, though, the wolf gave him a slightly irritated look. He was about to open his mouth, when he grinned again.
An idea struck him.
It was only the work of a moment, but anyone who was looking at the wolf in that moment would have found it difficult to hold onto their lunch - in an almost sickening, liquid-fast and somehow disturbing display of morphing, the wolf became a man himself, if slightly smaller than his wolf form.
"Excuse me?" Cog said, tapping Stygian on his shoulder.
It seemed as if the android was about to address Cog again, but the wolf's next maneuver made even the machine freeze mid-movement. A whirring sound clearly audible to those with sensitive hearing as the single red lens in the middle of her smooth face readjusted itself frantically, she let one half-raised hand slump to her side, and just looked. Boog very suddenly began catching whole streams of hardly interpretable thoughts from the machine.
Having downed his glass of water and noticed the settling of the contents, Stygian had called up another drink, and was already taking his first sip, slowly swallowing it, when he noticed the tap on his shoulder. Turning around, he took his glass from his mouth, only to look into the face of the now much more human Cogidubnus, whereupon he also froze. One eyebrow creeping upward and a frown creasing his forehead until it seemed that it was trying to escape, his eyes widened and tensed hard. He sniffed, reflexively, his mouth shut closed around that gulp that he had just forgotten to down, all of a sudden.
Finally, after a good few moments, Stygian closed his eyes and swallowed audibly, features easing out into a dour look. Beside Risky, Sahlena was standing, arms crossed and one hand on her cheek, laughing under her breath in a most un-machinelike manner.
'Very amusing. Yes, very. Your point?' the man replied to the former wolf, tilting his head a bit to the side, and narrowing his eyes. 'I guess that tells a bit about why you were hopping around naked in the circle before. But it doesn't necessarily mean that you don't whine and give the puppy eyes when someone tells you that you're a BAD DOG!'
The sudden loudness of the man's voice was not only accompanied by a fundamental change in his voice to the harder and coarser, but also added to by some... other sound, darker and more sinister, that seemed to speak perfectly in tune with him. And even more shocking to Cog, as he opened his mouth and snarled at him, the man's mouth somehow seemed to grow larger in the blink of an eye. His teeth turned long and terribly sharp, and his tongue distended similarly, deepening in color and revealing a tapered tip. In fact, his whole face seemed to change for an instant, darkening sharply as his words turned into a vicious snarl. And then, just as quickly, it was over. The man folded his arms across his chest, and backed down, an eye-eluding transformation returning his features to their usual sharp handsomeness, smirking up at Cog. There was one change that remained though; his eyes had turned a deep, utmost, glistening black.
The man's sudden explosion seemed to put Cog off-balance, his yellow eyes widening just a bit behind his shades at the sudden outburst. The very air itself seemed to tinge with the man's anger, and something not-quite-human lingered in his words. Cog's face betrayed little emotion, except for his hidden eyes, and even as the man's...presence faded, his eyes still stared at the wolf with a deep, inky blackness.
Cog sat still for a moment, not quite certain how to respond to that. Pausing, he finally decided to simply shift back, the sickening, nauseous process of transformation playing out in reverse, and taking a sip of his drink the wolf simply raised an eyebrow.
"Bad dogs tend to bite, not make eyes, sir. Maybe you'd like a rawhide chew." he said flatly, and leaned on the side of the bar.
...Keaton:The jackal, another canine, had been maintaining her distance from the rest of her group ever since her irrational reaction to having her card tower destroyed. Keeping her arms folded irritably and her head resting on the tabletop, Keaton merely sulked and sulked away, allowing her rage to simmer down into silence and her mood to alleviate, or at least somewhat. Emotional dysfunction, combined with inebriation, never had a good effect on Keaton.
While she remained introverted, Keaton overheard the conversation brewing between Sahlena, Stygian, Cogidubnus, and the newcomer who just entered the bar, and Stygian's mockery regarding canines. Scowling, Keaton's ears flattened and her expression fell flat into a snarl, somehow resisting the temptation to snarl gutturally at him. Right before her eyes, Cogidubnus transformed into a human and confronted a startled Stygian, only for him to, as a rebuttal, morph his face into a truly frightening caricature of his former self and roar right in the werewolf's face.
No fucking way. Keaton's pupils dilated, pressing herself defensively against the booth she was sitting in like a cornered animal. If she was trying to differentiate herself from Stygian's insult regarding canines, she was failing rather miserably. Regardless, she looked quite indignant.
---
...Piix:Piix's crescent of pressure worked more spectacularly than she had anticipated. One swing - one impact - and then the spear in Giles's hand buckled, was uppercut by another sweep of gravity, and sent somersaulting into the air, trailing smoke and ash like a dying comet. Piix watched the flying weapon sail over the forest and land in the distance out of the corner of her eye, albeit with more satisfaction than she gave herself credit for. Now that the blackguard was disarmed, she almost expected that he would be without a chance.
Far from the truth. Again those gouts of flame ignited along Giles's arms, and his pace didn't falter in the slightest. Piix cursed in her native language again, nearly screaming. Against the fire she felt her body temperature escalate, her light-sensitive eyes glowing and stinging with such force she felt tempted to close them but couldn't, couldn't, because that would leave her defenseless, and now the fire was coming down on her, almost like Moses bringing down the Red Sea on the hapless Egyptians.
Fucking hell, I'm GOING TO DIE.Over the roar of the flame, Piix shrieked shrilly. Flinging up Orpiment, she concentrated once more, the rippling streams of pressure and contorting gravity spiraling and slashing like razorbladed ribbons up Orpiment's handle. The air surrounding Piix seemed to bloat, then expand, encompassing her like a bubble, pushing against the incoming flame. The barrier wavered and buckled beneath the weight and intensity of the fire, smoke rising from the invisible shield's surface as it began to disintegrate, but, with a tremendous effort, Piix tried to push the barrier outward, hopefully expelling the flame away from her. All throughout this process she gripped Orpiment, her knuckles pallid, her eyes squeezed shut, and her head reeling with dizziness as she tried to focus. She was getting overwhelmed.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
He'd just turned away for a second to watch the new fight starting. Really, he couldn't leave these people alone for a minute. Waves of confusion and half-finished ideas washed over the Boogeyman like a stiff breeze, calling his attention back to Cog and Stygian. It took him a second to realize the thoughts were from the machine. She's built by Styggy and something like a little shapeshifting shocks her? He sighed. "You two start a fight outside the circles and I'm having the both of you fixed." Interesting to consider though. I get more thoughts off of her than your average digital wasteland of a mind, but her programming doesn't seem too flexible. Curious...
--
Karazkt's attempt at blocking the gargoyle sort of worked, in that it kept Siolen away from the cockpit. He grabbed onto the arm as it connected with him and began climbing along, frequently stopping to avoid being thrown off. He spat a blast of tar at the elbow of the other arm, hoping to foul up the mechanisms and not get brushed off of the mech like a fly on someone's sleeve.
'Not more than I'd like to chew your hide,' the man commented back to Cog, and sat down proper again as well, turning his back on the rest of the bar and grabbing his drink. The android seemed not to approve. Folding her arms over her chest again, she looked sideways at him in a most unamused manner. And both seemed to almost simply ignore Boog when he tried to scold or correct them, or whatever it was he was attempting.
':mood-killer,' the machine commented, and then turned to Cog. ':sorry. he doesn't react too well to surprises like that. neat trick, by the way.'
'Look for humor instead. Come up with a clever retort and I'll be thrilled,' Stygian said, looking at the other two and raising his glass. It was only after he put it to his mouth again that Cog remembered that there should have been a wound on that one from their fight, except there wasn't. The machine continued to sound less than enthusiastic with him.
':well, if it's not fun in here, why don't you pick a fight and go outside then, instead of drinking up all the liquor?' Snorting, the man rolled his eyes.
'Because I would rather sit in here. I'm waiting.' He ended there, crossing his arms and leaning on the counter, and the android shook her head and turned back to the others.
Karazkt
The poor pilot was more than a little surprsied when the gargoy grabbed onto the arm, instead of being batted away with it. Karazkt tried to shake the arm up and down to get him off, but he held on too tight. He tried to bring the other arm around, the but the living stone spat a glob of something thick and sticky on the joint of the other arm. Horrified, he watched as the arm could no longer move fast enough to scrape him off.
The gargoyle got closer.
Karazkt had one trick up his sleeve, among the few secrets his mech had to outsiders, as this one was perfect for this situation. If fact, Karazkt was almost surprised the gargolye hadn't figured it out yet. Surely he must have seen Karazkt use his fire magic to start his mech earlier? The cockpit was, of course, still wide open. (OOC: In fact, no one should even be able to know if it can close, or even has a cover of some sort, because Karazkt hasn't demonstrated anyting of the sort yet.)
Very quickly, Karazkt brough his antennae and hands forward, all four glowing a bright orange. In mere seconds, he had concentrated a small glowing orb of fire, so dense and compacted it didn't even look like fire anymore, but golden light incarnate. That's what it looks like in normal vision, but through Karazkt's goggles and his infravision, it looked positively brilliant, seeing things that normal vision could not. To Siolen, it also clearly reflected off of his black goggles, almost looking like eyes for him.
Taking careful aim directly at Siolen, Karazkt released it, as a focused, concentrated beam. It was not a blast of heat so much as it was a blast of pressure and force. So forceful, in fact, that Karazkt was slammed back in his cockpit. Hopefully, this would be enough to get Siolen off, as well as blast him back a fair distance.
Mechangel
The man in the cloak watched as the Insectis and [Siolen] sunk dowjn into the ground, in a deep maze of trenches. This made it nearly impossible to see them. Oh well. He turned his attention to the fight between [Alien-2] and the guy in heavy armor. Pardoning the pun, it lookied like things were heating up for the alien. She seemed to be in deep trouble as a conflagration surrounded her.
The wolf tried not to stare too obviously at the strange-looking creature, who was at least behaving like any other innkeeper he'd ever met. His irritated scowl gave way to a smile, though, at what was said. "This is the Honour Circle, then? Hah, so that idiot flea-feast of a mage at least sent me to the right place." He nodded and flicked an ear in acknowledgement of the other wolf, then strode across to an empty space at the bar, where he settled his pack on the floor.
The wolf grinned toothily at the innkeeper. "Roaring drunk? Perhaps later — for now, a flagon of your best ale will be enough." He reached into a pouch hanging from his belt, fished something out, and laid it on the bar top. It was the right colour for a coin (and in fact it was quite good purity silver), was stamped like a coin, but not many coins were shaped like a slightly curled, twisted wedge.
A shout from a group at the other end of the bar drew his attention. One ear turned in that direction, and he watched out of the corner of his eye. Someone certainly sounded annoyed. From what he'd heard of this place, a fight outside one of the Circles was severely frowned upon, but there was no harm in watching out for trouble. At least, he hoped his drink arrived before anything noisy happened.
Boog set out the ale and pocketed the currency without a glance. It was all just more rare metal to him.
"So, don't see too many of your type around here." How the wolf was different he didn't bring up. All the other fuzzy things so far have very specific mixes of beast and man. I wonder what happens when we introduce you into the mix? He chuckled quietly.
--
On the plus side, this one probably cannot make himself too difficult to locate, Siolen thought as the blast slammed into him. He held on for a couple seconds, trying to weather the beam before it finally tossed him off of the mining machine's arm. The gargoyle twisted in the air and landed on his feet, already charging forward again. This time he attempted to dodge between the mechanized brute's legs, hoping to get behind it to where there were more exposed pipes and other devices. There was a hissing gargle in the back of his throat as he readied another blast of tar...
Cog simply gave a sharp look at the Boogeyman, and then took a sip of his drink quietly. If one looked closely, however, one could see the faint edges of a smirk coloring his mouth.
He took advantage of the momentary pause, and setting his glass down stood and walked over to the russet-colored wolf. Making a short bow, he extended a hand to the newcomer.
"Cogidubnus Mithlome, sir. I confess it is a pleasure to see another swordsman within these walls."
The silver wolf smiled at the red one.
* * *
From inside her bubble, Piix could hear the blackguard's dark laughter permeate the air, along with the smells of burning wood, smoke, and ash. From beneath waves of fire, the blackguard grinned, white teeth bared and eyes still crystal-blue.
He kept moving, staying in place and keeping his feet and arms moving, the blackguard almost now simply hopping from foot to foot. The fire seemed to grow exponentially, and now did rival the heights of the smaller trees, and began to whorl around the blackguard as well in a fiery mockery of a tornado.
The flames grew and grew, engulfing the blackguard completely and the area around him, the innermost flames beginning to take on a blue tinge, and all around him, trees and bushes caught fire, those flames also spreading quickly.
Karazkt
The moment Siolen was off the mech's arm, Karazkt wasted no time. He wildly hit levers, and the same arm that Siolen was on suddenly plunged it's tri-fingered hand into the earthen wall. Being a hundred feet deep, it was very tough and compact, but to Karazkt, who worked in the solid bedrock, it was nothing more than flimsy topsoil. Brown earth magic raced down Karazkt's right antennae into the intake port. Instead of going to the boiler, it flowed through the inside of the mech's arm, going through several amplification crystals, before finally exiting the hand.
A perfectly round hole was blow cleanly out of the wall, revelaing the adjacent trench, this being a maze of trenches. Karazkt hit more levers, and the mech dived though the hole, then pointed the tir-pronged hand at the newly made hole, all three fingers wide open. Earth magic reaced down Karazk't antennae again into the mech, as the tri-fingers snapped closed.
The hole in the earth wall slammed shut with a resounding THUD.
Karazkt then pressed his antennae against the wall, instantly feeling Siolen through the ground. Karazkt waited to see what he would do next. Would he try to naviagte the maze, or were those wings for more than just decoration? Karazkt hoped he wouldn't be able to fly, as that would make his idea of the trench-maze pointless.
Sighing in a way that suggested she thought the man were a bit hopeless, the android regarded the newcomer for a bit, and secretly also Keaton as with her superhuman multi-tasking ability she had caught the jackal's reaction quite well. When Cog walked off, the machine made an exasperated throw with her hands, palms open, and then put them in her pockets as she walked away from the counter.
':well, if you won't, then i will,' she declared, strolling lazily and looking around. She cast a quick glance into the circles outside, noting the fight between the furry alien and the blackguard in particular. ':seems that you might be wrong on that one, [Styg]... anyway, i might as well get warmed up, seeing as i've just arrived. but...' She stopped, looking around. Her eyes landed on the hunchback leaned against the wall for just a few moments. But though she very much considered that one, a desire to save some things for later made her change her mind. Instead, she approached and addressed the jackal.
':what about you, then?' the machine said, looking at Keaton from quite a bit up as she stopped by her table, metallic hands still thrust into her pants' pockets and something akin to curious amusement in her synthetic voice. ':or are you just relaxing and sitting around being cute?' It was hard to tell, but it sounded like it might have been sarcasm.
Stygian on the other hand had heard Sahlena's words, and turned to regard the battle between Piix and Giles. And he frowned in a bothered manner.
'I don't know why she doesn't just stop him. It almost seemed as if she could...' the man muttered, speaking to the two wolves and the Boogeyman really, since no one else was that close. Then, thinking a bit, he smirked and put his cheek against his knuckles, leaning on the counter again and looking at Cog and the newcomer. 'Precisely the sort of situation where a good gun would be of great aid, wouldn't you agree?' he said, and grinned deviously.
The wolf looked back at the man, calling over his shoulder in a just slightly sarcastic, but friendly tone.
"Oh, most certainly! They've done you quite a lot of good the last two times, haven't they?" he said, grinning as he faced away from the bat - referring to his victory won more by fisticuffs than firepower, and his subsequent loss in close-range combat.
Quirking an eyebrow, the man gave Cog a little snort in response, shaking his head lightly.
'I don't usually need guns that close,' he replied levelly but still with a little smirk now adorning his well-shaped features. 'And the other fighter was made out of stone, and I could not kill him. You won on technical rules, not knockout.' He took another slow sip of his drink, and cast a quick glance toward the fiery battle outside. The blackguard was powerful, that much was certain. But he would still much rather have seen the little female creature win, if for nothing else than to prove that the largest and most imposing combatants were not always the most dangerous ones.
'Still,' Stygian added, 'I lost, and because I didn't have the proper concentration, and screwed up. I shall learn not to make that mistake again.' He smiled, and sipped again, still looking at the wolves.
"Mhmm." Cog said, ignoring the man's statement about his fight with the gargoyle. "The whole fight was a technical rule. Your technical rule, as well. And both my points still stand." he said, not quite looking back at the man.
"If you wish for a more proper battle, I'd be more than happy to face you upon any terrain of your choosing." he said, pausing. "In a moment, though. I still haven't got this fellow's name."
...Keaton:Keaton had just turned around to continue sulking when Sahlena addressed her, the jackal's already flat expression adopting a more irate edge at this untimely interruption from her glorious drunken moping. Ears tilting backwards, granting her features a rigid, angular appearance, Keaton's chocolaty irises shifted 'round to face the android as her lips pulled back to brandish her cuspids. Whether the machine was unintentionally provoking her for a battle, being belligerent on purpose, or had simply caught Keaton in an argumentative and foul mood was not something Keaton calculated.
"A lil' bit of both,
thankyouverymuch," Keaton grumbled. Well, she
was building a card tower until it was crudely toppled by the little yellow shitstain, but that was irrelevant. Dwelling so irritably on such a menial subject was unnatural, even immature, but Keaton's dysfunctional emotions led to explosive outbursts on the slightest error or transgression. "And what about you, tall, dark, metallic, and fuckin' freaky?"
---
...Piix:Under the increasing pressure of the flame, it was becoming harder and harder for Piix to sustain her protective bubble-barrier. Between the lapses of the flickering and the roar of the fire, Piix could definitely hear the blackguard's laughter, something which outright infuriated her to a level beyond mere indignation. Clutching Orpiment tighter, she glared through the foggy steam and smoke congregating thickly in the air, only to see the sinuous bodies of the fire-tornadoes burgeoning around Giles's teetering, foot-hopping form. Apparently he didn't need his spear to make fire. He just needed to stay in motion...
Her head hurt. Sweat was saturating Piix's black-splattered fur. Gritting her teeth, the Orin could find no other option other than to push through his fiery defenses and pummel Giles with all she had.
The barrier disintegrated with a relinquishing tug of Piix's thoughts, liberating her mind from the pressure of preserving her shield. The heat started to glare down at her in full, but aside from its distracting and blistering presence Piix was able to conjure up the spider-legs again, although for a brief period. Enough to buckle all four legs inward, and then propel her with one piston, throwing her through the whirling vortex of fire and flame. Tongues of flame scorched and sizzled at Piix's body, kissing her form with their searing heat and burning the skin beneath her blackened fur, but other than that she avoided most of the damage. In mid-air, she pulled back Orpiment, its head glowing internally with a golden light, then with a loud cry she swung it, its body extending and cracking like a whip almost as though the rigid weapon were made out of rubber.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
The russet-furred wolf cocked one ear curiously at the innkeeper's remark and looked around at the other people in the room. "Not many of my type? You must reckon these things differently than we do, then, I see at least one other wolf here, and a most delightful young lass, a jackal by her looks, hiding herself away over there. Did she lose a bout? She seems to be dragging her tail somewhat: drowning her sorrows and finding they can swim, I think."
He then turned to the other wolf as he approached, smiled broadly at his greeting, and clasped his forearm in a firm grip. "Cogidubnus, is it? I am Brinald. Well met on the road — if there is indeed a road leading to this place, I had no opportunity to find out for myself." He gave a lop-eared grin, although his eyes ran over Cog's gear and weapons in a quick searching glance that might easily be missed. Brinald gave a tiny nod of approval, although for anyone who hadn't caught that glance, it could have meant almost anything.
"I would like nothing better than to try my skill against yours," he said cheerfully to Cog as he picked up his drink, "but someone seems to think you have a prior appointment..." One ear twitched and flicked towards the tall man Cog had been talking to earlier. "Some other time, perhaps. May the Lady guide your blade!" He raised his flagon in a toast and gulped down a quarter of the contents in one go.
The man raised his eyebrows and then shook his head in regards to the newly arrived wolf's latest words.
'Forgive me, but I was just remarking. I'm not intending to fight him again this early,' Stygian said, looking at the other wolf. 'One needs variation. Or at least the spectators do, for entertainment's sake.'
Meanwhile, at the other end of the bar, Sahlena was getting snapped at by the woman-jackal, something to which the machine only seemed to have amusement to give. Erroneous reasoning, stupidity and other problematic behaviors were all things that could occur in computers and technological systems, and were therefore somewhat annoying, mostly because what they did and did not by being such had some sort of problematic effect. However, only humans and other organic beings could come up with the really good and irrational ways and reasons to be miserable, or sad or angry. Mostly because they were so petty. This, the android just found amusing and a very good demonstration of the superiority of things like herself, why Keaton's anger just entertained the machine.
':i would like to think the same. and thank you for the compliments,' the machine replied nonchalantly. ':but you are looking a bit too bothered and perhaps too frustrated to be relaxing. want to move?'
"A pleasure to meet you, Brinald." Cog said, shaking the man's hand - Brinald's warrior grip somewhat surprised the wolf, however, and he clasped the other wolf's forearm hesitatingly, not quite certain what to do. Cog had never been very good with alternative handshakes and grips and whatnot.
At Stygian's words, however, the silver wolf grinned, waiting until the russet colored one had finished downing his ale before speaking again.
"Ah, well - it does appear that I am free at the moment. I wouldn't wish to impose, however." he said, making a small bow to the red wolf. "Road or not, I'm sure your journey has tired you."
His eyes glinted as they peered over his shades. "But I would love nothing more than to test my skill against another swordsman. It has been a long time since anyone who practices bladework has tried."
Brinald downed the last of his ale and slammed the flagon down on the bar not quite hard enough to break it... or the flagon, either. "Well then," he said boisterously, "there is nothing to stop us, is there? Hah — journey? What journey? That idiot mage opened a door for me then slammed it nearly on my tail, so I am still as fresh as needs be!" The wolf strode across the room to the windows, looked out... then his ears and tail visibly drooped.
"We must wait after all, it seems," he grumbled over his shoulder to Cog, "all the circles are being used." He crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the wall beside one of the windows, and looked out at the fights in progress.
The Orin bursting through the waves of fire that Giles heaped upon her was a definite surprise - and almost catching fire herself, she launched up and at the blackguard, her hammer extending through the flames and descending down rapidly, bending almost like rubber as it struck. Giles gave a curse, and raised up both arms to protect his head, still rhythmically stamping with one foot.
The hammer hit hard - although Giles managed to not get his head crushed by the blow, it did knock the blackguard to his knees, and left a rather large bump on his head from his bracer. In just a moment, the flames would die again - the ebb of their growing was already slowing, and soon would ebb back into nothingness.
Giles did have one thing, however - as the hammer hit him, he'd grabbed on to Orpiment's rubbery handle. Holding his head with his other hand, the blackguard grinned - and with a jerk and small fall backwards, pulled the Orin deeper into the fire, the flames gushing again as the blackguard landed on his back and then rolled over.
Around them, the natural fire in the trees spread, although burning the trees in a strange, roundabout and circular way.
* * *
"Ah, alas." Cog said, Leaning on the bar. "I suppose we'll have to wait a bit, then. Some of the fights do look as if they're wrapping up."
Brinald's tail swished slowly, brushing his hocks, as he looked thoughtfully out of the window. One fight in particular quickly drew his attention; the circle that was now almost completely wreathed in smoke and fire. He ducked and winced with a sympathetic sore head as the armoured figure barely blocked a tremendous overhead blow from the much smaller, brightly coloured fighter. That had to have hurt, even through armour.
The wolf pushed away from the wall and sauntered back towards Cog. "I am no judge of quality magecraft," he said, "I never touch the stuff myself, but the fight in the burning jungle is quite impressive. I thought the armoured fire-mage might have won a time or two, but his opponent is jumping like a flea, and with a hundred times the kick!"
...Keaton:Sahlena's nonchalant demeanor only incited Keaton's ire further, although it was for the most part smothered, muted down to a whisper which manifested in the form of the grimacing snarl on Keaton's muzzle. Looking more than a little irate, the jackal leaned her chin against her wrist, scowling irritably at the far wall, yet steadfastly refusing to look at the machine-woman until she asked if she wanted to move.
Keaton stopped for a moment, drumming her fingers against the tabletop. There wasn't much reason in moping, especially when she could be fighting someone and letting out that aggression. She hadn't been paying attention to the outcomes of the fights in the other circles, so whether or not any of them were currently unoccupied was beyond her. Sighing, Keaton thrust her hands into her pockets and stood up, looking up at Sahlena.
"Sure," she mumbled. She blinked for a minute, then asked, "Anyway, what're you supposed to be?"
---
...Piix:The crepitating crack of Orpiment against Giles's shielding forearms came as some sadistic satisfaction. As the oddly resonant sound echoed eerily behind the rampaging roar of the expanding flames, Piix twisted her body around, attempting to draw Orpiment back so she could safely execute a landing.
It didn't work out as planned. A resisting tug indicated that something very big, and very strong, had latched onto Orpiment's handle and was contesting against her hold. Considering her diminutive height and lack of physical strength, it was unfortunately too much for Piix to handle, and she was unexpectedly flung forward. The Orin's eyes widened and panic flared inside of her as she saw the incoming flame blossom anew before her, the heart of the fire yawning wide to devour her whole and reduce her body to ashes.
I'm going to die.Piix screamed.
I'M GOING TO DIE-The pulsing, pounding beat throbbing painfully within Piix's mind swelled as the Orin drew in on herself, enveloping her body with arms and legs and tail tucked inward. Quills spread and extended along her back like razorbladed needles, Discus whirling and spinning haphazardly, that rippling distorting the air imperceptibly in a thin, spherical layer around her curled form. Heat and fire raged and dove upon Piix's vulnerable form, only to clash and splash like hell-hot waves against the barrier protecting Piix's body. It didn't last, though, as the Orin shrieked once more, a sound which was muted within the shield -
- the barrier spasmed, reacting to the violent ripples which vibrated over Discus's surface, turbulently churning -
- and then it exploded outward in a furious gust of pressure, expelling the flame which had smothered Piix's form in a wide arc, the fire flickering and fading into smoky mist and dead ash in the air. Under it all, the Orin was lying in a heap on the ground, Orpiment clutched in one hand, Discus faltering amidst its perpetual levitation, and her fur smoking and dappled with ashes, disquietingly still other than the shudders which quaked her form.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
While Brinald's words might have been true, Stygian only replied to them with a slow shake of his head, and what could be perceived as a disappointed look outside, toward the battle in question. 'Yes. But she's lost anyhow,' he stated, quite assured of what he said. 'She let him warm up too much, literally. Now, I think we will have to keep him from killing her outright. Or, well, since the Circle won't allow that, keep him from sending her into a year-long remission...'
- -
The last question posed by the jackal made the machine back up her head a bit, and the lens in her face flicked black for a moment, as if she had blinked. Clearly, she had either been programmed with, or developed some clearly human mannerisms.
':i am a machine. a military-grade all-purpose android. i think that would be quite evident to see, but if i have somehow misjudged your senses or your judgment, i apologize,' she said, almost snidely yet not without a bit of humor.
':honestly, i thought that the question of what you are was far more appropriate. i'm not the one who looks like a crossing between a hairless ape and a nearly extinct canine.' She tilted her head to the side and 'blinked' again, looking down at Keaton.
':gene-spliced beyond recognition?'
Giles grinned widely as he saw the little Orin plummet, coated in fire and falling like a...thing that fell while on fire.
Giles wasn't an astronomer.
The fires around him dissipated quickly, and the little alien managed to put herself out with a last puff of pressurized air. Giles stood slowly, one foot and then another thumping loudly on charred ash, and not even bothering to summon the fires burning the trees to himself, he simply walked over to Piix.
He ignored the faltering discus, the power behind it not enough to even bump into him with any force, and crouching down he grabbed a handful of Piix's hair and pulled up, his face only inches from the Orin's.
"Is that it?" the blackguard said, a infuriating smirk plastered on his face.
* * *
"Giles is...very powerful." Cogidubnus said, looking at the russet wolf calmly and then back out at the battle. "He has his weaknesses, but his strengths are almost overwhelming. The trick to beating him is hitting very fast and very hard. But don't tell him I said that."
Cog took a moment to study the red wolf's weaponry - as he did so, the smallest noise could be heard emanating from his throat, as if in interest. If it was a approving or doubting interest, one could not determine.
...Keaton:Whether or not Sahlena was trying to be polite, Keaton was quite obviously becoming agitated with her remarks, indicated by the twitching her eye was making as she struggled (and failed) to keep her face neutral. Fists clenching in her pockets, she reviewed every breathing exercise she had accumulated over her many years of living within the seconds before she spoke. The comment about being "nearly extinct" was perceived as an insult; a rather poor bit of judgment on Keaton's part, considering Sahlena knew nothing of her history.
"For your information, I'm a
jackal," Keaton snarled, thrusting her index finger out of her pocket, "And there are loads of me where I'm from, thank you. Second, there's nothing fucking wrong with my
senses or
judgment."
Looking rather spiteful, Keaton cast a vicious glare out the window, toward the nearest circle. Since when did those things become so occupied? Seemed most of the fights were reaching their end, but she couldn't see what was going on in one of them, which was mostly obscured by writhing fire and smoke...
---
...Piix:Piix was unreceptive from where she was on the ground, still inactive save for those minuscule, erratic shudders and quakes, even as Giles started to approach her. The hand clutching Orpiment gradually grew less and less adamant in its grip, the knuckles falling lax and the joints of each finger slackening under the charred fur and flesh; Discus's rotation starting to peter out into a few, slow spins, yet somehow not disintegrating and returning into its deactivated state.
In the darkness that suffused Piix's mind, she was unaware of the heavy footsteps that heralded the blackguard's advance, and only vaguely aware of the gauntlet-clad hand which dug its fingers painfully into her hair and hefted her into the air. Orpiment fell from her hand and landed on the ash-laden earth. She felt something warm, and that was it. For a moment, Piix foolishly surmised that she was in hell, which probably was a bit of overkill even for someone who made a routine occupation out of stealing from others. If anything, she would be
slightly damned.
Could still hear that bastard's voice, too. Sounded slightly resonant, the baritone muffled behind the odd buzzing sound which was filling her ears, but Giles's voice was still there, fleshing out from a mere mumble into complete clarity.
"Is tha
t it?"
Piix gave an agitated twitch in his hand, her ears flattening and her head lolling to the side, although such a resistant move could be interpreted as her neck falling slack like her hand. Her face, which was oddly taut and stained with the soot copiously dappling her front, twitched. Piix felt the gears of her mind lurch into motion again.
Fucking shit, Piix thought,
I'm alive.Piix felt her eyes open, the bioluminescent-black sclera moist, somehow glowing beneath the distant light radiated by the still-livid flames raging in the background. As her half-blinded irises focused to her fire-bathed surroundings, the first thing she saw was Giles's face, leering at her.
Piix didn't scream.
Though it would have been much more preferable.
Piix's ears fell back, flattening against her skull, and her eyes widened, widened, widened, going as large as discs before they narrowed, the brilliant gold of her irises glowing eerily around the obsidian pits of her pupils as they dilated into sinuous slits. In the hellish glow of the fire she almost looked like a demon, especially as her lips pulled back in a way reminiscent of a dog and she snarled gutturally, emitting a horrid, ear-splitting
hiss which erupted into a shrill, equally horrific shriek. Fangs bared, she thrust her body forward as she lunged, barreling right into the blackguard's face and snapping her jaws around the first thing she saw in the blurry seconds before red engulfed her vision, her claws digging into his cheeks and her feet kicking at the air.
A wet crunch and the taste of blood flowing into Piix's mouth told her it was Giles's nose. With whatever portion of her mind that could still think rationally, Piix hoped that he wouldn't fling her off as she gnawed closer and closer onto the brutalized nose.
The rest of her, consumed by animalistic instinct, was merely hissing, feeling the venom in her veins surge and pump out through her fangs.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Stygian's eyes narrowed, not in a frown but in a simply hard expression, and he made a slow nod.
Powerful, but only if he manages to get started, he thought, in a very mean and cruel manner.
That, I will very much keep in mind. Because if there is anything I am good at, then it is to hit fast and hard. 'Then we might have something in common,' the man remarked, not too cautiously. But they would find out sooner or later anyhow. And not while they were fighting him. The newcomer seemed to be bound for a fight with Cogidubnus, considering how the latter was sizing the former up so intensely. At least, that was the more probable and
decent reason Stygian could come up with. 'If I fight him, I won't give him the courtesy of a technical victory.'
- -
The machine looked as if she would have smiled if she could. In fact, the moving parts under the lower-most part of her smooth face-plating looked as if they were smiling, but it was a bit too dark in the bar and a bit too shadowed where Keaton sat to safely determined. Either way, the android's
voice at least sounded mirthful.
':i knew what you are. or at least, what you must be in part. and you seemed to be stating the obvious,' Sahlena said, as smoothly and non-hostilely as she could. Placing her hands down on the table before her, she leaned forward, looking at the significantly smaller succubus from above.
':but then again, i could just call you "mammal". because if i judge your physique right, you are indeed one,' she continued, her voice taking on a teasing and slightly derogatory edge and something in her manner, not to mention her remark and where her gaze seemed to land very much doing the same. She meant to unnerve.
';do you have a name, mammal?'
Giles grinned into the little Orin's face, expecting a groan of pain, or perhaps a whimper of agony. His smile simply grew wider, and as she opened her her eyes slowly the blackguard began to laugh darkly.
Piix opened her golden, bioluminescent eyes wide, and then wider, and then wider still, and her ears flattened against her head, inky pupils slitting into cats eyes and a low, unsettling hiss emanating from the alien. Giles's laugh began to die, the eerie colors and enraged, slitted and alien pupils of her eyes disturbing the normally unflappable blackguard.
His eyes drifted towards her mouth, where her lips pulled back almost obscenely to bare long, white fangs.
Giles twitched too late. The little Orin lunged at the blackguard's face, only inches away, with hidden reserves of strength. She bit onto the first thing she reached, almost making Giles lose a piece of his nose as Piix pushed the pyromancer back. Giles tripped, falling with the Orin right on top of him as she continued to chew her way further into Giles's face. He hit the ground with a muffled scream, both hands grabbing Piix and attempting to wrench the thing off his head - he could not pull the little alien off him, however, for fear of losing his nose. The Orin apparently had powerful jaws.
As she bit, the pyromancer experienced something he hadn't before. His nose burned as if on fire.
It burned cold.
He could feel whatever it was spreading throughout his face rapidly - from his nose, to his mouth, to his throat and then quickly to his eyes, each faculty numbing and fuzzing with each passing second. His screams softened, and in desperation he let go of the Orin for just a moment, conjuring fire and heat into both hands until the iron of his gauntlets was red hot.
The cold burn reached his shoulders long before he could lift them, and his arms simply fell limp to his sides.
His vision dimmed, and his thoughts swam, and soon, even the semidarkness of the Orin's smothering form dimmed and faded.
Mechangel
The cloaked hunchback had continued to stand outside, watching all three circles. It was extremely difficult to see into the hundred-foot deep maze of trenches, but it looked like the Insectis had just tried to give [Siolen] the slip, by going through a wall and sealing it behind him. The rat and the plant-woman were still going at it in their own circle.
But the fight between [Alien-2] and the pyromancing black knight had just gotten interesting. Just when it seemed the alien was out for the count, the knight picked her up, which was apparently a very bad move. It was then she made a dramatic comeback, and proceeded to savage the knight's unprotected face.
...Keaton:There were several contributing characteristics to Sahlena's overall intimidation factor. Mostly, there was how unnervingly devoid of vibrancy and expression Sahlena's mechanical excuse for a "face" was, her visage composed of cold metal and compound clusters of glowing red eyes. Second, there was the drastic height difference between the robot and the jackal. And third, there was her countenance, surprisingly lackadaisical as it was for an android, something Keaton had seen portrayed in sci-fi movies as unfeeling, humorless drones. Aside from those fictional caricatures, Keaton had little to no experience with the world of technology, so encountering something like Sahlena was outrageous for her.
Despite that, Keaton couldn't bring herself to be insulted at the term "mammal," no matter how derogatory it was brandished. Belligerence and emotional dysregulation or not. Instead of backing down, Keaton merely felt her mood be alleviated, a grin crossing her face. "The mammal does have a name," she confirmed, raising her pierced eyebrow. "The name's Keaton. And you're...?"
---
...Piix:Still seething and snarling around Giles's nose wedged between her fangs, Piix remained latched to his face, claws digging into the flesh of his cheek and teeth gnawing and grinding away at the crunched vertebrae, as though she was trying to lodge her fangs even deeper into his skin and increase the flow of poison. In her furious, blind, instinctive rage, she was relentless in her assault, still remaining attached to Giles's face even when the blackguard screamed and toppled over like a giant, armored tree, his gauntlet-clad hands yanking and tugging at her furred body. Quills bristling, Piix merely snarled in response to each swat, her tail swinging in haphazard directions.
Soon Giles's struggles ceased. Piix's head was hurting even worse than before, to the point her consciousness was fluctuating. Hissing, she finally detached her jaws from Giles's mangled nose, hacking and coughing as blood dripped from her fangs and her mouth in copious amounts. She felt like she was going to throw up. Piix reeled, still attempting, with great revulsion, to spit the blood culminated in her mouth out, only for her to glance down at the supposedly unconscious blackguard.
Oh.
Piix reached up and poked at her left cuspid, fingering the virulent tooth with increasing shock.
Oh shit.
Immediately, Piix started chattering out a long series of hisses, whines, clicks, and other barbaric animal-sounds, her body backpedaling as she propelled herself off of Giles's form and scrambled off to the side, staring at his face in horror. Amidst her unintelligible language she finally forced herself to vociferate her frustration and shock in Standard, as she screamed,
"Fuck! FUCK!"Piix glanced back and forth, her ears flat, her pupils pinpricked as she combed over Giles for any signs of life. Orin poison was very effective. Maybe not lethal in certain amounts, but he had been injected
in the face. And quite thoroughly envenomed.
"IT'S OVER!" Piix shouted, hoping that this would deactivate the circle, or something. She had no idea how it worked. "The FIGHT'S OVER!"
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Brinald turned back to look out of the window just in time to see the armoured fire-mage, Cogidubnus had called him Giles, loom over his apparently defeated and slightly smouldering opponent. What happened next drew a wryly amused bark from him. "Hah! Powerful or not, an arrogant fool's mistake — never pick up someone's head like that while it's still firmly on their shoulders!"
He continued to watch as the armoured figure flopped over backwards, twitching... and then stopped twitching. "Ah... is he all right, do you think?" he asked, with a curious tilt to his ears (and an "oh dear, how sad, never mind" tone in his voice).
'No, but if he isn't, he quite thoroughly deserves it.' Stygian's smile was probably as venomous as the Orin's poison, as he remarked on the outcome of the fight. Mentally, he was making quite a few corrections, so as to not lose faith in the little previously-colorful critter shouting in the circle, or any other little unknown thing, so quickly in the future. He slipped out a coin, seemingly from his sleeve, and tapped it down on the counter. 'A rum and cola. With ice. I know it's a pussy drink; I just need something easy now.'
Taking his drink when it was quickly served, courtesy of the Boogeyman's unique nature, the man leaned back on the counter and sipped it slowly. 'Going at it like that at the end... Lunacy. Remind me not to let him enjoy the fight if he faces me,' he said, licking the corner of his mouth.
- -
Seemingly returning the jackal's grin, the machine adjusted her stance a bit and looked at her more directly. If the succubus were not intimidated at being approached by a cold, hard, weaponized machine-thing then, she probably never would be. Well, not without throwing a big gun into the equation. The machine stretched out a curiously devised hand.
': [S.A.H.L.EN.A.],' the machine said, pronouncing the acronym together as one word.
';intelligent construct and /quote secretary /unquote.'
"Oh, I probably reckon things very differently than you do," The Boogeyman chuckled in reply to Brinald before the wolf was overrun with welcomes from the rest of the group. With his patrons thus occupied he was free to keep his eyes peeled for trouble elsewhere in the-
Annnnnd yes, the toaster was picking on the succubus. Lovely. That damn thing causes anything outside a circle I don't care who owns it, I'm chucking magnets at its head. Arrogance could sometimes be a sign of intelligence too, but ever since first encountering housecats Boog had taken that view with a grain of salt. However, a circle cleared up soon after the problem started. They could probably settle it on their own.
Meanwhile, Giles had stopped twitching. That was almost NEVER good. He was out heading for the circle in a hurry, hoping he could catch the blackguard while he was still coherent enough to pay for his medical bills.
---
Siolen skidded to a halt as the walls slammed shut in his face, slamming one fist against the edifice in his frustration. He would need a bit more space if he wanted to take to the air without incident. He turned and kept going, running fairly fast hoping to find either his enemy or an area where his path widened out some more.
Karazkt
Karazkt grinned in his own strange Insectis way when he felt the gargoyle walking, not flying. Excellent... He thought.
The maze was actually very small; there were no more than ten corridors, all bent and skewed around. Karazkt tracked his progress for a little bit, guessing his direction, the moved his mech around to another corridor. He used his antennae to feel where Siolen was again, guessing right. Karazkt and his mech were at one end of another corridor, and at the other end, there was a corner-where Siolen would find himself heading for.
Karazkt moved ther arms of his mech a bit, and plunged them both into the walls surrounding him, with a little touch of earth magic. When he pulled them back, they came with two large boulders made from the wall itself.
Karazkt put his mech into a ready stance, and felt the wall again; Siolen was getting close. He prepared to throw the boulders, one after the other, the moment he felt Siolen getting to the corner.
(OOC: Boog, in your next post, you can play it with them automatically going towards Siolen, then what he does to try and avoid them. No need to wait for a post from me saying, "I throw the boulders" ;))
Mel had been watching the fiery fight with a sort of horrified fascination. Fire was a particular dread of hers so she had made herself not look away. The fight over and her attention back to the bar she nodded amiably at the new wolf. Her wings were almost whole again but her side itched abominably where the new scales were growing to cover the spot where the acid had burned her. She was glad that the little creature had won the fight but shuddered a bit at the sight of the burns. Neither contestant really looked like a winner to the dragon.
Cog looked at Brinald, smiling just a bit. "He'll be fine. I imagine he won't be happy when he wakes up, but he'll probably drink something, burn the glass and then smoke for a bit and be none the worse. Well, he might sound funny, but..." Cog couldn't help but shake his head at the little furred acrobat's clever and swift move against Giles's nose.
Cog doubted Giles could even smell anyway, what with all the smoke he must inhale.
"If you fight him, I recommend you don't really piss him off." the wolf returned at the man, glancing at him and then back at the blackguard's unmoving form. "He gets much worse when he's mad."
"Do what you like, of course. But natural fire he manipulates just as well. And there's always more of that around than you think..." the wolf paused, watching. Giles really wasn't moving. Cog was a little off-put by this development - the man had a constitution like a brick, and was about as easy to move. If he was unconcious, he didn't want to be the one to drag him out of the ring.
* * *
Still unmoving, Giles lay on the somewhat ashen stones in darkness and silence.
Ian spun out of the way and Sylvie's staff found Iand collar bone. Ian grabbed one of Sylvies wrists and tried a submission move on her. He felt awkward never haveing done this to a girl before but the fight needed to be ended, and he wasn't about to loose.
Sylvie wasn't quite as pleased as she should have been when her staff connected with Ian's collar bone. But the pain of his next move made her forget that. Ian was doing some kind of wrestling move to her non-staff-holding arm, rendering her immobile. She squirmed a bit, trying to break the hold without having Ian lose any more blood, but it was in vain. Besides, there were others yet to fight, and this one had gone on long enough.
"Nnngh.......Okay. The fight's over."
Strangely, Cog's remark made the man next to him grin and make a short, hard laugh that came out mostly as a wheeze through his throat. He broke it off and stifled it quickly, returning to merely smirking, but it had been quite unsettling for the short couple of seconds it lasted.
Stygian cleared his throat silently before he spoke again. 'Well, the same goes for me, so I guess that evens it out. Really, I have... eyes to see with,' he remarked, a bit of an odd pause in the middle of the last sentence. 'You need not worry, if that is what you are actually doing. And I will not fight him immediately after he comes back from something like that.' He chuckled, and took a long sip. 'That would be... inconsiderate.'
Risky stepped back to the bar, lighting another cigarette off of her fingertip and nodded to the fights wrapping up outside.
"Looks like old Smoky met something meaner than him. That's a surprise." She puffed out a green cloud of faintly chemical-scented smoke, and pointed with her chin at Ian and Sylvie.
"Not very sporting, beating on a lady." Her eyes narrowed as she took a slug of her drink.
Boog looked down at Giles contemplatively, nodding a "good fight," to the nearby Orin. The issue was all that armor. The man probably weighed a ton, and the barkeep typically had all the lifting strength and stamina of a malnourished sea snail. He considered the problem carefully. Most of his core concepts originated in fairly human psyches, and a bit of that 'tool use centric' perspective clung to any problem he was faced with. Grant me a big enough lever and I shall move the world. Now where can I find the appropriate tool... Finally a solution came to him.
"Oi! Anyone gets this big lunkhead to the infirmary gets a free round for their trouble!" The proper tool having been located and put into service he turned his attention to other matters. The green girl and the rat's fight had ended (A shame; he'd so been rooting for the young lady), so that left two circles clear. However, both they and the bar had been filling up fast of late. He grinned; he had a couple things prepared in advance for this. Walking over to a long straight line he'd scratched in the dirt earlier the Boogeyman stomped once, right at the tip of the line. A wall rose from the marking, on the side of which was inscribed another circle. There were handholds in the wall, yes, in the same way there were cops in Vegas. An identical circle was inscribed on the other side of the wall.
Returning to his seat behind the bar his attention caught on the book labeled Stories again. It hadn't been so much as touched since the green girl had first taken an interest in it. This time, the tool that came to mind was a pen and a piece of paper. Procuring both from under the bar counter he made a quick note and placed it on the storybook.
Ransom: Rogue knowledge! Offering peace of mind, irrefutability, courage, free drinks... Randsom negotiable per bounty.
--
The incoming boulders were nice an straightforward compared to his last foe; like dodging trebuchet fire, way back when. Siolen ducked under the first one, the second one's nearby impact grazing one ear painfully. He continued his charge, running alongside the canyon wall in a bid to get around the device.
His eyes downed and his lips at the highball glass in his hand, Stygian tapped his fingers a bit on the counter. 'I think that her being a woman is less of an issue than her being a pint-sized little furry thing. I had expected her to be charcoal by now from those flames,' he said, a small glance in Risky's direction. The next second though, the Boogeyman called up from outside. Both Stygian and Sahlena raised their eyes in that direction, but the android was the first one to respond.
':my call, i believe. sit tight, big-ears,' the machine said, slapping the table with a metallic hand, and then strolling outside with smooth, confident moves. She arrived at the 'undone' circle, planting one hand at her hip and glancing down at Giles' armored figure for a moment, before she shook her head and crouched down. a few odd movements of inhuman joints could be seen under her clothes, as she stretched out her arms and folded her feet in some eerie manner to improve grip and leverage. She grasped his shoulder first, rolling him around and closer. Then she put her arm underneath him, and spreading her hands from the middle and out, she lifted the massive man as if he were a child. Then she promptly slung him up on her shoulder, and stood straight, turning her gaze to Boog.
':another [Vodka]. and a tall glass of water with it, please,' she summarily said, and then walked back in, ducking a bit to get through the door and around Stygian, who by now had removed his glove and was sitting, running claw-like nails through his teeth. She proceeded through the back door to the infirmary, placing the goliath on one of the sickbeds with a quite noticeable creak.
Karazkt
Karazkt was quite surprised when the gargoyle dodged the boulders and their shrapnel easily, as if he had experience in that kind of thing...And he kept coming. Karazkt -very- briefly considered filling the entire trench with a huge concentrated flameblast, it was certainly within the amplification abilities of the mech, but somehow...Karazkt didn't think that magical moving stone would be affected too much.
Then Karazkt, with his Engineer mind, he was struck by another idea, one that wasn't too difficult either. It wasn't even that original, he'd done it before, as had many of his kin, though on a much smaller scale, and in different variations.
Both Karazkt's antennae, in the mech's intake ports, flashed with magic, but the right one was in flames, while the left one was in brown earth magic. Manipulating levers in the cockpit, the mech's arms swung forward, the left one making a bunch of dirt levitate in front of it. Then the right one blasted the floating earth with a concentrated and sustained blast of fire. More, much more dirt flowed from the walls into the bunch that was being blasted. Then, the earth began glowing with heat, and then started melting, more nonstop dirt and fire being added. Now the mass filled an area in front of the mech, and filled up. The stuff was becoming...
Lava!
Karazkt was filling the small area directly in front of him with molten lava, using both earth and fire magic together. But he wasn't filling it out horizontally, no, he was filling it vertically, and it rose with frightening speed. Soon, the mech could no longer be seen, being hidden by a wall of lava. It continued to build up until it filled the trench from side to side, and thirty feet high. The view, for Karazkt, was nothing short of beautiful; his infravision couldn't see the light, but he saw the heat very well. It surged, spiked, flowed, shifted...it was like a kaleidescope to him.
The heat of it may or may not affect Siolen; Karazkt didn't really know, but even if it didn't, he imagined that someone totally buried in thick, molten lava would have a tendency to be slowed down...
He hit some more levers. The mech pulled back it's arms, then shoved onward.
The tsunami of lava surged forth.
Mechangel
The cloaked man head [The Boogeyman] call for aid to move the tank of a man, but before the cloaked person could oblige, the android he'd seen earlier walked out. She then picked up the man and carried him into the medical ward. the man shrugged, and looked toward the trenches...
And his eye picked up some major activity, even through the multitude of walls. it looked like something massive and hot was building up...
Siolen's eyes widened at the torrent of lava that the mech's pilot had conjured up so quickly. Not good. On many, many levels extremely not good. But not unprecidented... The gargoyle scrabbled up the nearby chasm wall quickly, letting the lava rush by beneath him. He had run out of handholds by which to approach the machine... But he remembered a dragon, once, who he cornered in it's lair by the sea. He remembered what he'd done.
Typically Siolen needed a lot of space to fly. However, the heat from the lava below was creating an updraft. He launched himself from where he was and spread his wings, taking to the air.
And he thought himself impressive for moving through SOIL.
Karazkt
After the lava had flowed forward and flooded the trench, Karazkt scanned for his opponent. Not that there was much to look, it was straight down the trench. In his infravision behind his goggles, he saw all the heat of the lava, but he couldn't pick out the signature of the living stone...until something caught his eye up above.
Siolen had scaled the wall to avoid the lava. Karazkt was quite dismayed that he did that so quickly. The air was filled with swirlings of heat, and as Karazkt watched, Siolen jumped off the wall...and spread his wings. He flew and floated easily, and Karazkt saw the heat giving his wings lift. Oh, for the Mother-Queen's love, I just HELPED him... Karazkt thought, and figured he intended to attack from above. But a second later, Karazkt thought some more.
"You know, I don'T believe we are zo differenT, you and I..." Karazkt said; the first words he'd spoken since the match started. He hit some levers, and the 'hands' of the mech started rumbling strangely...
"We are both creaturez with, I thinK, a natural affiniTy for earth and zTone, unlezz I'm miztaKen..." The metal plates on the brown-and-black mech's hands shifted, and things were extended.
"BuT thiz iz the main differenze beTween uz..." The hands stopped shifting. They had become huge scooping claws.
"You go up..." Earth magic flashed along Karazkt's antennae, into the mech's intake ports, and then, collected in the claws of the mech. Karazkt began pushing levers again.
"I go DOWN!!!" The right arm of the steam-clockwork mech suddenly swung down, hitting the ground, and in a blast of earth magic, a hole appeared beneath the mech, which it promptly dropped into easily. Another swing, and the mech went deeper. Yet another, and the hole closed behind him.
Cogidubnus absently raised an eyebrow at the machine-woman's ministrations to the unconscious Giles, picking him up with seemingly little effort and carrying the heavy, armor-clad man back inside and to the infirmary. The table creaked with the man's weight, and the wolf noted the woman's strength.
He turned to the russet colored wolf. "Well, now that that's out of the way..."
Cog took a step back, and precisely bowed to the red wolf, his hand grasping the hilt of his sword as he did so.
"It would honor me to face you in the ring of combat, good sir." Cog said, formally challenging Brinald. "We fight until the yield, or until we cannot continue. The field of battle is your choice."
...Keaton:The jackal nodded in a perfunctory manner as Sahlena introduced herself. Original anxiety at meeting a mechanical woman aside, Keaton seemed quite inured to Sahlena's appearance and the shock-factor she was initially trying to provoke out of her. "Right, so, Sah--" Before Keaton could continue talking to the android, Sahlena volunteered to be the one to assist Giles out of the ring, and left after addressing Keaton with a comment regarding the slightly unnatural size of her ears.
Aforementioned ears flattening defensively and expression fixating into a pout, Keaton watched the android leave with a noncommittal nod, the hand in her pocket methodically rolling something round and sleek between her fingers beside the box of cards. With a flick of her wrist, Keaton surfaced her hand from her pocket, scooping what appeared to be a luminescent, vibrantly-colored marble out of her pocket and perching it on her thumbnail. Since she had been discouraged from continuing her card fortress-building, she decided to entertain herself with her more beloved keepsake.
---
...Piix:After she had called for help, Piix waited fearfully next to Giles's body, still irritably stirring the livid taste of blood lingering in her mouth and rubbing the charred spots on her arm from where the flames had touched her. Her scalp ached as well from where Giles had grabbed her, but she was more concerned about the blackguard's survival at this point. As a space pirate, her ethics were ambiguous at best, but there was always one brutally-reinforced rule which remained intact. Ever sine she had met Dimitri, she had promised not to kill someone. If the situation couldn't have been avoided, that was excuseable, but Piix had behaved in a stroke of instinct and impulse. Nothing more, nothing less.
The Boogeyman arrived in the Circle, along with the android-woman who had scared the living daylights out of Piix previously. With no ostensible difficulty, the android-woman scooped Giles up and departed, hopefully to deposit him in the infirmary. Piix spent a moment staring after both the man-like entity and the android-woman, sighing, and, wiping the thick and malodorous blood staining her muzzle away with the back of her hand, forced her body into motion once more. With a thought, she deactivated Discus, which flickered and shriveled down into a spherical apparatus and rested obediently into her hand, and retrieved Orpiment, trudging back to the bar. Piix probably needed a visit to the infirmary, herself, to have her burns treated.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Knowing that Giles wouldn't be able to speak, and would probably have nothing very pleasant to say after that sort of defeat, Sahlena walked back out of the infirmary as soon as she was relieved of him. Strolling up to the counter, she reconfigured the fingers on her right hand, extending and twisting them and having the tips open up into three-sectioned little gripping digits of their own. She extended her hand with a sweeping, precise movement, and four fingers pinched around the two waiting tall glasses, which she gripped and lifted along, walking back over to the jackal's table. Setting her drinks down, she fell back into a chair which also protested with a little creak, held her hand out as her digits transformed back to their human-like form, and then kicked her vodka back.
':a bit shameful for the... oh,' she said, not completing the sentence quite before she turned her head around to gaze at Piix. She froze for a couple of seconds, still as a statue, and then returned to the drink in her hand with a content whirr. ':maybe it was a fortunate ending after all. i should not judge from what i would have done.' She seemed to make a bit of a shrug, and then turned to Keaton. ':and how about you? you fought before this, or...?'
- -
Hissing through his teeth as she entered, Stygian eyed Piix's black-burned form with a pained look over his drink for a bit, before his face shifted into a grin. The little creature had just jumped a good few notches on his scale of respect. He had expected her to be cindered by now.
'Good going, little one,' he said, a bit sarcastically, raising his glass at her. 'I'll buy you a round for the stylish finishing move, if you want,' he then added, before looking her over, head to toe. 'But I think you had better patch yourself up first...'
Brinald grinned fiercely at the silver wolf as he spoke, his ears perked forwards and his tail held in a high curve. "It would honour me to accept your challenge, sir," he replied as he stood a little straighter and raised his right hand to make an odd clawing gesture over his chest. "Your terms are most acceptable. Now come! Let us take a circle before they are all claimed again!"
He turned, strode outside and approached one of the empty circles. On the way he passed the brightly coloured victor in the jungle fight, covered in ashes and scorched fur, and with a bloodstained muzzle. "That was a brave fight... er, lass," he proclaimed, coming close enough just in time to notice from her scent and looks that the little creature was in fact female. It had been hard to tell from inside the tavern. "Allow me to offer a toast to your health and your victory once I have finished my business out here!"
Brinald paused at the edge of the circle. "So, the field of battle is to be my choice, hah? I wonder..." he mused, his ears flicking back and forth thoughtfully. He put one foot forward, the paw-pad lying half inside and half outside the circle's boundary. A greyish haze filled his view, vague shapes half-forming here and there. The wolf nodded in satisfaction and stepped completely into the circle. The haze shifted, swirling like ink in a stirred bucket of water, then abruptly cleared.
The scene chosen by the russet-furred wolf was a ruin: the ancient remains of walls, few more than waist height, outlined rooms, corridors and halls in what had, long ago, been a mansion fit for a noble house. Stones lay scattered here and there, and in one corner the stub of a tower supporting a spiral stair, once hidden inside the building's structure, rose little higher than the next floor up. One side of the ruin, though, was gone: in a wide stretch between the remains of the tower and a chunk of wall, there was only empty space bordered by a ragged cliff edge. Hazed by distance, a matching cliff edge stood at the other side of what must be a truly impressive hole in the ground. Brinald stood in the remains of a large hall, or perhaps a large courtyard, with plenty room to fight... and many obstacles underfoot, from individual stones to intact chunks of fallen wall. Off to one side, a thick rope fastened around the moderately intact-looking base of an arched doorway led across the open space and over the cliff.
Brinald reached over his shoulder to loosen his sword in its scabbard and turned to look at where the other wolf could still be seen just outside the circle, perhaps by virtue of its magic. "Come, Cogidubnus, the arena is prepared! Join me!" he called.
Cog stared into the hazy arena, the ruins of some castle long-forgotten and long abandoned. It was spacious, true, but the floors were treacherous, filled with rocks and debris and waist-high walls - and at the far end, a cliff was poised at the edge of a very precarious drop. A mist seemed to surround the arena as well, making one's peripheral vision perhaps unreliable at best.
Cog took a deep breath before entering, seeming to grow larger and then smaller in one go, and set a hand upon the hilt of his sword. With a languorous, almost somehow feline grace, the swordsman walked into the arena. He stopped when he was about equidistant from the other, russet wolf, and with that same, almost unnatural grace he slid his feet into a ready position. Both of his feet faced slightly outwards, heels not quite touching, and one hand firmly grasping the hilt of his sword.
He stared forward, staring at the other wolf, but not quite - almost as though he was looking at the cliffs and scenery beyond him.
The wolf broke the seal on his sword, a small, metallic chink echoing through the ruins.
Brinald settled himself as Cogidubnus entered the circle, very slightly crouched and with his arms a little out from his sides. For a long moment he stood like a statue, returning the other wolf's gaze with an impassive expression, even his ears, whiskers and tail stilled. Then his right hand went up, over his shoulder, and he drew his sword, the faint hiss of oiled steel sliding over leather the first sound since Cog released the seal on his own blade.
He held his sword in a low grip, the blade angling up across his body. The diffuse light in the ruins — there was no sun visible in the hazy sky — still managed to glitter on the wavelike patterns in the steel. Brinald smiled just enough for his fangs to show between his lips, raised one foot and took a single step forward.
Cogidubnus gave no reaction, although he was moderately surprised at the man's reticence. He'd struck the wolf as more of a berserker-style swordsman, or at least not one that might hesitate with an apparently unprepared opponent.
His grip was low, and his sword was angled across his body. Cog gave no reaction, even when his opponent took a single step forwards. The wolf seemed to wait for half a step, and then leaned forwards, grabbed the hilt of his blade with his other hand.
The wolf continued to leave forward, until it almost seemed that the wolf was going to topple over - and at the last moment, the wolf caught himself, taking a step forwards and then another. His feet seemed to only be catching up with one another, and in a flurry of half-steps the silver wolf crossed the distance with surprising rapidity.
It wasn't that Cog was fast, but he moved with an unnatural grace, the smoothness of his movements giving him an almost eerie speed. In mere moments, the distance between them was closed.
The wolf stopped, and in a movement to fast to see, he drew his sword, merely a silver glitter just on the edge of perception before turning into a silver arc, aimed to rake across the other wolf's chest and sever the muscles there - even as he did so, he pulled the sword back in the opposite direction, a flowing, blindingly fast block bringing the sword overhead, striking out in a spiraling diagonal cut.
Very slightly, Brinald's eyes narrowed and his muzzle creased in a voiceless snarl as Cog rushed forward. His stance, and his grip on his sword, shifted subtly, then as Cog drew, he finally made a move. His extended leg pushed hard, his back leg folded, forcing his body down and back as his sword arm dipped even lower... just barely far enough to clear the arc of Cog's strike as it passed his chest. Brinald threw himself into a dive to the left to avoid the return strike, bringing his own sword up right behind Cog's, aiming to push the other's blade out of line.
To the red wolf's surprise, Cog's sword barely stayed in the same spot for more than a moment. The spiraling nature of the wolf's strike, instead of a diagonal line, had kept the wolf's hilt on his center the entire time. Combined with the wolf's natural speed, the simple twitch of his wrist that it took to bring the sword back up allowed Cog to recover from the strike in the blink of an eye. He brought the sword up, sliding one foot back and twisting on the base of his heel just as Brinald struck, the red wolf's strike just barely hitting the bottom edge of the wolf's blade.
The wolf struck again, flicking his wrist in a strike aimed at the red wolf's head and stepping forwards.
If Brinald was disappointed to hear only a faint ting of contact from the two blades barely touching, he didn't show it. As he recovered from his dive to the side with a quick hiss of breath between clenched fangs, he spotted the slight movement of Cog's wrist just beginning. There was no time even to think this is a new faster style, one I haven't faced before, he only had time to react. He ducked, flattening his ears, bringing his arm up in a block to hold his own blade in a protective arc over his head just in time to meet Cog's strike. His tail and free arm swung to keep his balance steady as his legs tensed for a leap backwards: retreat so early in a fight was not to Brinald's taste, but he needed a moment to think.
The two swords met with the jarring sound of steel on steel, the red wolf's blade blocking Cog's strike. Brinald's arm and tail flared out to help him keep his balance, and the red wolf tensed.
Impassive, the silver wolf paused, seeming to absorb the situation in half a second.
In a silver blur, the silver wolf's sword came back, and in less time than it took to blink Cog struck again, in a seemingly overhead strike - but at the last second, the wolf's hands tilted, striking in a spiral cut yet again. It was aimed at the hilt side of Brinald's block, with a deep, deep angle on it, low enough to come under the red wolf's sword.
Brinald grunted a little as he absorbed the shock of blocking Cog's strike. The silver wolf's blade flicked away almost too fast for him to see the move, then it was coming back, and this time Brinald barely saw the subtle movement of his opponent's hands. He had already decided on his next move, though. A powerful thrust of his legs threw him sideways, away from Cog's sword, as he twisted his arm to rotate his own blade down in another block.
thip
The faint sound was almost lost in a second screeching clash of steel against steel as Cog's blade hit Brinald's and slid down its length, trailing sparks. The russet wolf was already in mid-leap, a glance to the side confirming what he was looking for. He twisted his body slightly so that his paw-pads came down precisely on the taut rope stretched across the makeshift arena. He hung there at an angle for a moment as the rope stretched under his weight, just long enough for anyone looking very closely to see a cut on the sleeve of his jerkin, in the middle of his forearm. Then the rope sprang back, launching Brinald into the air right over Cog's head. He bared his fangs in a fierce grin as he tucked himself into a slow tumble, howling at the top of his lungs and throwing all his strength into an overhead blow down at his opponent.
On the dusty ground, beside one of Brinald's footprints where he'd jumped for the rope, there was a small splash of red.
A grin and a toothy hiss, and then a deep chuckle, signalled Stygian's approval of the fight taking place between the two canines outside. It was much less flashy than the one between the angels had been, but both much more technical and more intense. Two swordfighters like that were always a pleasure to watch, supposing they were somewhat evenly matched in skill, so that the the fight could gain at least some length. And when the styles and techniques were so distinct as they were between these two... The russet had a classic, almost free-schooled swordsman's moves, his guard and strikes utilitarian simplicity and effectiveness, but a very good response time and edge no doubt earned from hard practice. He also had an intensity to him, and a sheer strength and prowess that allowed him to at least keep on dodging those viperous blows from Cog's side. That probably meant he had talent as well, and a will to exercise and fight. However, at least in Stygian's impression, he was the weaker of the two fighters, and for clear reasons.
Anyone who could not distinguish between the hard, forceful movements of Brinald, and Cogidubnus' perfectly balanced, fluid motions knew nothing about swordfighting. That simple. It was obvious that the wolf was skilled, of course, but his sheer speed was what gave him that extraordinary edge, turning his moves from simple fighting into something fantastic. Stygian recognized the Iaido style, but he wasn't used to seeing it employing that sort of variety of moves, nor that sort of breakneck speed.
'Enough to excuse them getting at it so quick and stealing a circle... Ah, where's the...? Hm...' he said, looking around a bit. He then turned to Boog, raising an eyebrow. 'Hey, do you have mulled wine? Glögg, specifically?'
...Keaton:Keaton watched with some amazement as Sahlena easily carted Giles's unconscious body into the infirmary, her expression affixed in one of bewilderment. Well, the woman was a
machine, it made sense that she'd be able to carry someone so large and encumbered with armor... but it was still interesting to witness. Once the android returned, Keaton nodded her approval, then leaned against the wall, feeling somewhat lazy. Flipping her marble one last time back into the air, she masterfully caught the flying sphere as it returned into her hand, then pocketed it.
Sahlena approached her again. Keaton nodded noncommittally in response to her question, frowning slightly when she mentioned the poisonously-colored creature's victory. Deep down she had hoped for the freak to face a painful incineration, but ah well. No problem. "Nah, I fight all the time," Keaton answered Sahlena's question rather flippantly. This facade diminished when she flashed Sahlena a toothy smirk. "And I'm great at it, too.
"How about you? You do much fighting here? You seem pretty damn strong, being able to carry that big lug..."
---
...Piix:On her way into the bar, Piix's movements became more languid and burdened, her body visibly struggling beneath the increasing irritation of her singed skin and scorched fur. Flaky crusts of blackened, ashen detritus chipped off of the fibers of Piix's fur as she walked, each shuddering step shaking away more of the dried substance encrusting her injuries. Pushing against the door was a bit of a challenge for Piix, as she had to use most of her body to angle the door open enough for her to be granted entry. Staggering into the bar, Piix just barely managed to catch her balance by driving the edge of Orpiment into the floorboards and steadying herself.
Around her, she was greeted by the congratulations of the various occupants of the bar - an anthropomorphic canine and a... oh hell, she couldn't make anything out. Her vision was starting to get sort of blurry and the others' voices were starting to sound eerily amplified, as though they were emitting from numerous directions, yet being distorted drastically. Piix's eyes were slightly glassy as she looked wearily around the bar at the assortment of multicolored blurs, watching as a tall gray smear departed with the canine-looking blur who had spoken to her earlier.
At the time, Piix couldn't address all of them. She felt too heavy-headed and disoriented. She assumed she had hit her head when she fell to the ground...
Limping a little, Piix walked over to the door to the infirmary, practically stumbling in. But before she left, she was sure to poke her upper body out the door and wave her victory to the now very-much-blurred people within the bar, then retreat back inside.
Cog felt the telltale, slight resistance in his cut that told him he'd hit the mark, and as the russet wolf leapt back, Cog saw the thin cut in his jerkin. His hands twisted on the hilt of his sword, watching Brinald jump rather impressively onto a section of rope behind him, landing with impeccable timing and balance and with barely a glance behind him.
He's been here before. Cog thought, watching as the wolf used the rope as a springboard to launch him into the air. Brinald's sword glittered in the misty sunlight, arcing up and over for the silver wolf's head. At the rate he was going the red wolf was going to be flying low over Cogidubnus.
Brinald hadn't struck yet, and Cog reacted in what seemed to be a silver blur. His sword came back, again resting over the wolf's head, and as the red wolf sailed over the silver wolf's head, Cog again struck, his blade arcing high into the air.
Mel watched the fight between the two wolves with appreciation. First because they were both very good and it was very impressive to see them and second because they chose a field that gave the observers a decent chance to watch. No midnight rooftops, no dense smoke or trees, no giant glaciers, no dirt walls. She spoke to the thought entity. "Boog, this place needed some good monitoring magic and viewing panes if you want to keep people inside and drinking." She set down her empty glass, "Speaking of which I would like another." She pulled two items from her pocket, one a normal coin, the other a sort of flat gem of the type her family stored information on. She kept her fingers on both as she set them on the bar. "Which one for payment?"
As soon as Sylvie spoke, the circle environment disappeared, and she was left standing with Ian outside the bar again. She pulled herself out of his grip and smiled at him. "Thanks. That was a good fight." Glancing at his arms once, she added, "You might wanna get those bandaged before you get into another one, though." With that, she turned on her heel and walked back in the building. The sun was going down, and she needed a drink.
Once she stepped inside, she looked in wonder at the many new arrivals - all sizes, shapes and species she'd never seen before, except the one human. "Exactly how long was I out there, anyway?" she remarked, glancing around once before taking the nearest empty seat at the bar.
Ian followed her in. "Thanks for the warm up. I'll be fine after seeing the doc." As they entered the door Ian was as amazed as Sylvie. Ian sat down at an empty table and took out a tin wistle.
Looking after the charred little alien, Stygian blinked, then grinned, and downed the rest of his drink. Rugged little creature, it seemed. Not one he'd want to keep as a pet. But burns like that could lead to pretty nasty infections, and who knew what was around where they were right then? He wouldn't be surprised to hear some pretty bad noise coming from the infirmary soon either, considering what she and that armored hulk had done to each other. He took the big clod for the more probable to incite a fight though, and would be more attentive to that one, in case he had to put his foot down.
I shouldn't really do anything until Boog asks me, he thought, quite sharply and on purpose.
But I'll still keep an eye open, just in case... He knew that the thought entity wasn't usually capable of catching what was going on in his head because of... certain circumstances. But it wasn't impossible to make himself heard, even if it might come off as a bit distorted.
That was when Sylvie came back in. Setting down his glass, Stygian opted not to drink any more until after a couple of fights. The elvish-looking woman asked for the time, and as he seemed to be the only one keeping check on the time, the man was the one who was in the best position to answer. He slipped a hand into the coat laying next to him, and one of the pocket watches into his hand, giving it a short glance before letting it just drop back. 'Almost half an hour. Two more minutes until that. I'll say that you two seemed to be trading blows forever. But then again, you just went at it with fists and feet,' he said, turning slightly on his seat and looking between the girl and the rat. 'That's what made me wonder a bit. Why didn't you go harder on him? I thought it looked like you could have used those... vine-things a bit more
creatively. And you had guns up your coat, didn't you, rodent?'
- -
The machine shook her head a bit and then put her 'chin' in her hand, leaning forward with her elbow on the table a bit. Her central red eye held a dull gleam as she sipped her drink slowly.
':truth to tell, i don't fight much directly. not like this either way. that's just not the procedure in my average day,' she said, a bit boorishly.
':i am a machine, so the things i do would mostly not seem very fun to a thing like you. honestly, not all of them are fun to me either. i came along here because [Styg] saw it fit to go. otherwise i would probably have been back home by now, or out hitting town.' She made a curious little gesture and a shift of her face, which together with the lightening of her tone suggested a shifting toward a more pleased expression.
':not that i don't think this should be fun. i don't learn through practice quite like you organics do, and data on the combatants partaking here is pretty much useless when you get back home. not to mention it's pretty costly to come here. but it's very interesting anyway.'
"We were practiceing melee. I'm pretty sure if we were useing our full arsenal that we'd both be a little less than standing right now." He started playing basic tunes on his tin whistle.
If he could have spared the time, Brinald would have blinked in disbelief at the sheer speed of his opponent's moves. He was committed to the attack, but that silver blur seemed to be heading right between his eyes like a bolt of lightning. Desperately, he threw his body into a muzzle-to-tail twist in midair, trying to bring his sword arm down and round in time to parry...
A simple clang would do no justice to the cacophony as the two blades met again, and Cog's strike slid up Brinald's sword with a ringing screech to smash into the russet wolf's crossguard. The shock of the contact catapulted Brinald flailing and tumbling out of control, then he crashed muzzle-first into the ground a little closer to Cog than he'd intended. He kept his grip on his sword, barely, and rolled as fast as he could to his left, keeping his ears turned back for sounds of footsteps.
To Cog's infinite surprise, the other wolf somehow managed to create a parry from nothing in midair, and with a cacophony of metal striking metal the two swords met. The force of the blow sent Brinald spiraling out of control, the red wolf landing rather roughly on his face. He rolled to his left.
Cog turned, his feet twisted from ball to heel and back, bringing him around one-hundred-eighty degrees almost instantly, and pausing just a moment to take in the situation again, ran the few steps towards the rolling Brinald.
There wasn't really any need for anything fancy. Cog simply brought his sword up to his temple and struck down in a tight arc. If he missed, he was in a prime position to simply stab the red wolf.
Snorting, the man made a smile in response to Ian's statement, and shook his head. 'That says nothing about your choice of weaponry. I would say that if she had just cut loose, you would have been in a bit more trouble,' he said, looking over at Sylvie, and then at Ian with a coy grin. The punk seemed down and loose, but if he had a temper, better to know it. 'She did use magic on you, for example. And while I commend you for fighting as dirty as you did, I'd have to say that my favor lies with the lady.' He gave the elf a sly look, making an indicating gesture.
Brinald rolled over onto his back just in time to see Cog advancing again with that silver lightning bolt of his already flashing downwards. Too late to try for a parry, but maybe... continuing his roll, Brinald arched his back and launched himself sideways with a powerful thrust of his legs and his free arm. His sword arm came up, and he slashed over the top of Cog's descending blade with as much speed as he could manage, aiming at the silver wolf's head.
The dodge came just too late, though: Brinald felt a tug on the side of his jerkin, a moment before Cog's stroke drove into the ground. His breath hissed between clenched fangs, and he continued his roll with barely a glance up to see whether or not he'd managed to hit anything. Blood spurted from the slash across the side of his ribs, but only for a moment: by the time he'd tucked in his legs and rolled to his feet, the bleeding seemed to have almost stopped. At least, the red stain on his side wasn't getting any bigger.
"That will be another fight for another time." Ian started playing again noticeably looking about the room at the new people.
Brinald was faster than Cog gave him credit for.
The downstroke of his cut met the wolf's ribs, but Brinald still managed to launch at attack at the wolf's head. Patterned Damascus steel glittered in the sunlight as it arced for Cog's head.
Cog sucked in a breath.
Cog didn't really didn't appear to move at all - but simply dropped to his knees, he brought the sword up horizontally from where it rested, the tilt of the edge already set up from his previous strike. Using his fingers and wrist instead of his shoulders, the blade shot up, and supported with the rest of Cog's arm met Brinald's sword with the resounding clash of steel on steel.
Brinald's sword had just cut the tip of Cog's hat before sliding off and past the wolf, whose movements really could not be clearly seen - only a single, blurred black-and-silver motion whispered that the wolf had ever blocked at all.
Knees on the ground, Cog lifted one foot until he kneeled and then rose back, rolling onto his back foot. There was a small nick on his hat, and a cut on his shoulder.
A drop of blood fell from Brinald's sword.
The silver wolf seemed to pause, feeling the lull in the rhythm of the fight. He brought his sword down to a middle guard, staring carefully at the crimson lupine.
He struck.
Running in those same half-steps, Cog crossed the distance between the two fighters in a strange, fast and shuffling gait, and then lashed out at the wolf with a spiral cut. Not stopping, the wolf brought the sword back in a blur, doing the same from the opposite direction, and then again, the wolf's motions becoming hard to follow, and the angle deepening on each strike. He struck a last time, his angle the deepest so far, and his motion simply a black-and-silver blur.
His sword came back and rested at his waist, and in a blindingly fast blow he cut across at the red wolf's waist, a rolling strike that came back around and over Cog's head in silver arc aimed at Brinald's head.
Boog set out Stygian's mulled wine and turned his attention to Mel, trying and failing to prevent his gaze from being immediately yanked toward the information gem. "Ah, ah hah hah hah, heh, ooh..." He finally managed to get his face straight and vaguely businesslike, "Ah, the gem should erm, ah, cover it. Yeah. Yes." Before the dragon could change her mind Boog snatched the gem and set out the drink, information laced stone vanishing somewhere into his coat.
"Yeah, I know about the issues with the view. I try to keep my magic use to a minimum, but I think that might be the only option short of remaking the circles from the ground up. If you're offering to help set that up I'm all ears, don't get me wrong, but magic doesn't exactly come easy to me."
--
The instant Piix sat down on one of the infirmary beds she found herself incredibly tired, and was unconscious in minutes. Dr. Holic slinked out from his back room and got to work, pausing every so often to swallow some pills out of a clear orange bottle.
--
Siolen scanned the ground, trying to find any visible disturbance where the mech had disappeared. The behemoth seemed to have vanished, and its occupant with it. He flew further, watching for where the mech might arise. After all, one could assume the pilot had to come up for air sometime...
He landed at the edge of the network of ravines, leaning over slightly and peering down below. Come out, come out...
Karazkt
Karazkt got his mech to a relatively shallow depth, before slowing and finally stopping the mech, shutting it down. He then leisurely put out his antennae to feel the ground, for Siolen. We Insectis are born to withstand the deepest horrors a planet has to offer us. He thought to himself. We can survive near-indefinately anywhere underground you care to name. We are built for endurace and durability. And, right now, I am at rest. Karazkt made an Insectis smile, which wasn't done with the face, but rather with his antennae. But you, the sky could be your home, but you are in action. Eventually, you must tire. Even if your flight is magical, you cannot possibly stay in motion for as long as I can remain still. Behind his goggles, Karazkt closed his eyes, letting only his atennae tell him of the earth around him. Whether that be days, or weeks...you cannot out-endure me. You cannot leave the boundries of this magical Circle. Eventually, you will have to land, in the trenches or on the surface. In Insectis terms, Karazkt's smile widened. And when you do...I'll be waiting.
Mechangel
The cloaked hunchback watched with interest at the sword duel that had begun between two wolves. He watched them carefully, recording everything they did with interest. Pretty... He thought. I probably could never replicate that level of proficiency, but...I don't need to. That doesn't mean this duel isn't quite entertaining, though.
Underneath his hood, the man smiled. Calculating in all the other battle that had taken place, and the other newcomers, he could tell he was going to have great fun during his stay here.
Sylvie remained quiet while Ian and Stygian discussed the battle, opting to look around at the new people. One of them looked a little like Alejandro, the metal golem she once knew, but 'she' looked much better cared for and more modern. The human was the most normal-looking person in the bar, and arguably one of the prettiest. And the cloaked man standing outside was a complete mystery to her, and probably to everyone else in the bar as well.
She would have ignored the conversation save for a smile in Ian's direction (if he was really hiding guns, he was right about both of them holding back); but then Stygian aimed a meaningful look at her. She blushed even deeper than she had the two previous times, but the fight had gotten her metaphorical blood running, and it wasn't long before she responded.
"Careful. You were right about me holding back, remember?" she said, a slight smirk on her lips as she turned to the owner, eyes on the blond human. She reached in her bag and another gold coin hit the table. "I need another water."
The human smiled at Sylvie in return and got a particularly sly look to his eyes. This was only partially because he entertained the thought of what might happen if you gave the elf something more volatile to drink.
'This needs warming. And do you have almonds, Boog? Or should I turn to the lady for that?' he said, swirling the extremely spicy drink under his nose. 'And I know, Sprout. But all women do that.' He looked slightly up, aiming a grin at the chlorophyll-tinted woman. 'The trick is to know how to challenge them.'
His words were placed, accentuated and timed perfectly, like an act rehearsed a hundred times over. The man had a silver tongue and an author's hard wit. Unfortunately, neither could really deflect the titanium sarcasm of Sahlena.
':oh, but [Bastian], putting up with you is a challenge for anyone, man or woman,' the android called over to him from Keaton's and her table. Stygian quirked the corner of his mouth and exposed a bit of a fang in a bitter look.
'Nice observation, Sal,' the man replied with both humor and a little bite. 'But having to socialize with a cold, heartless, overgrown digital organizer doesn't really help me with that.'
':still seems to be the best you can manage, doesn't it, meatsack?' the machine retorted.
'As if I were doing anything but using you, chrome-dome.'
':ponce.'
'Hood ornament.'
As one, both the man and the android turned away from each other, and looked at their respective conversational partners, saying 'Ignore that one'.
Brinald narrowed his eyes and bared his fangs as Cog advanced once more. He raised his sword, holding it in a two-handed grip now, and parried desperately, twisting and dodging from side to side as he tried to fend off the lightning-fast attacks. This time he was just a little too slow. Despite the deafening clash of steel each time, his blade was still forced back enough for the attacks to bite into his arms and chest: the only blow Brinald completely blocked was the slash across his waist. He threw himself back from the final strike, but couldn't escape a cut down the side of his muzzle. The russet wolf almost staggered backwards several paces then just stood there for a moment, his sword slowly drooping, shoulders heaving as he gasped for breath. Then...
Brinald glanced down at the cuts and bloodstains scattered about his body, and his tongue flicked out and licked at the cut on the side of his muzzle. He raised his head and grinned toothily at Cog. "Is that the best you can do, youngster?" he asked, with more than a little dark amusement in his voice. "My last bondmate bit harder, if she was feeling frisky!" Taking a deep breath, he flicked his sword into a high guard position, crouched slightly and lunged forward, his eyes blazing with determination. As he came back into range he struck, putting all his weight and speed into a diagonal slash across the silver wolf's body.
Sylvie's initial smirk masked her overall astonishment as Stygian answered her. Did I just...flirt successfully? And get a positive response? Granted, her smile did flicker a bit at the somewhat-demeaning nickname and the almond remark, but other than that, the elf was very pleased with the blond human. He was quite the pretty talker, and judging from his expression, he knew it. Sylvie decided that he would be worth a fight at some point. If he was making fun of her, she could get her revenge, and if not, she'd find out why he was the first male (besides a certain deity she'd met once) not to treat her with fear and repulsion.
When the metallic woman at the back of the room offered her remarks on Stygian, Sylvie didn't bother to bite back a giggle. She watched as 'she' and Stygian exchanged banter; the two were obviously close, though they probably knew each other too well to act very fond of each other. She responded to the human's comment on the robot with a grin and turned to get her drink.
---
At some point during the exchange inside, singing had become audible outside. A rather strange-looking woman was singing "The Drunken Sailor" as she approached; she didn't have the best voice in the world, but it was clear, strong and remained on-key most of the time. The woman in question was practicaly skipping up to the bar, long red ponytail swinging back and forth, sandals slapping against her feet, and a long, bladed pole-arm twirling around her body like the baton of a drum majorette.
She slowed down and stopped singing once she got within ten feet of the building, but a smile stayed on her face - a smile that at the same time managed to be truly happy, but oddly anarchic and insane. She dusted off the front of her sleeveless blue tunic, propped her weapon against her shoulder, and entered.
When the door swung open, she scanned the bar for a second, taking in the various species and classes of patrons. But her brick-dust-colored eyes stopped and her grin widened when she saw a certain verdant young woman sitting at the bar.
"Ho-ly shee-it."
The moment Sylvie heard the voice of the new girl, her face turned very pale and a clear "oh-good-Lord-I-just might die" look appeared on her face.
"Oh God," she said, planting her face in her hands and peeking at the bartender through her fingers. "If there's a crazy-looking redhead behind me with a sword on a stick, just pretend I'm not here."
"Hard to pretend you don't know me when you say somethin' like THAT, don'tcha think, Syl?" the newcomer called to the elf, approaching the bar. Sylvie straightened up, not turning around yet.
"Clearly, you're sorely mistaken, and possibly drunk," she answered." As for myself, how do I know if I'm right? I haven't even looked yet. You could just be jacking me around." The redhead's eyes gleamed in a new light, and her smile changed a little; it almost became less scary and more relieved.
"First of all," she said, walking slowly up to Sylvie's back, "If I am drunk, then the soda makers of the world are getting far better advisors. And secondly, unless I am mistaken, then the best damn plant-mage I ever met is sitting right in front of me." Her smile relaxed again. "I knew we'd see each other again someday, Sylvie."
Said plant mage sighed and straightened up, a look of resolve and slight happiness crossing her face. "Unfortunately, unless I really have succeeded in teleporting to the center of the earth like I've just been wishing, then the most ironically good prison guard I ever knew is right behind me." She spun around in her seat, smiling a warm greeting to the new girl. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Dani?"
The russet wolf's comment seemed to wash over the silver wolf without reaction, Cog instead taking the time Brinald spent taunting him to get into the middle guard, his sword waist-high and pointing straight out in front of him.
Brinald struck, a streaking silver line at the wolf's shoulder with all of his strength and weight put behind it. Cog's sword came up horizontally, managing to catch Brinald's blow upon the base of his blade - his other hand had rushed to the tip, supporting the rest of the sword by the dull back. Sunlight rippled down its mirror edge.
Cog's body twisted sideways, Brinald's sword still caught upon the base of the silver wolf's sword which rotated quickly beneath it, Cog's left hand swinging the tip behind his head even as his right kept the sword in position until both blades were perpendicular to each other. Cog's legs contorted, sliding forward as one knee backing into the other knee and crossing in a strange, uneasy-looking stance.
Cog pushed.
The two wolves were as close as combatants of the blade got, only inches apart. Perpendicular to Brinald's blade, Cog's sword pushed forward with all the leverage and weight that the silver wolf had - and he was in a prime position to do so, able to use his shoulders and straighten his legs at the same time to provide force. Cog's sword flashed forward, Brinald's blade caught and pushed back against the russet wolf.
They were only inches apart. Cog's sword raked forward and down Brinald's face and chest, Cog's free hand pressing down upon the flat of the blade as it sliced like a scalpel. The hilt of his sword ended up somewhere near Cog's hipbone, and with a simple twist of his sideways body his hip and center pushed forward.
The sword was not flat, like a needle - it was tilted, the tip of the sword high. A thrust into a stomach would not be a small hole, but rather a large, gaping and eviscerating slice into something's entrails.
That done, Cog flicked his hand to the side, bringing the blade flat and a bit to the right.
"Anybody can hit hard." the wolf whispered.
Brinald grunted with the effort as Cog blocked his strike with another loud clash of steel, and this time a few sparks flying. His muscles strained, but he couldn't make another inch of headway against the silver wolf's blade... then he began to be forced back. Just a whisker's breadth at first, then a little more, and more yet. The two wolves' faces were close enough for Cog to see the look of determination in Brinald's eyes gradually replaced by uncertainty. He was at the limits of his strength and leverage with the two-handed grip, but if he shifted one hand to brace the tip of his sword, as Cog had done, he would be put off balance and overpowered at once. And he knew exactly what was going to happen in just a few more seconds...
The russet wolf's eyes narrowed, and he threw himself backwards just as his thrust failed completely. Just as he'd guessed, Cog's sword twisted and struck straight down, and his own blade was completely out of position. He backpedalled desperately, and only barely in time: the sword's tip sliced through his jerkin and shaved some fur from his chest, but no more than that. Brinald caught his balance, his arms spread much too wide, then snarled as he realised the significance of Cog's odd sideways stance. He began to shift his weight and twist his body to the side...
Too late. Backed by a solid thrust, Cog's sword ripped into the russet wolf's torso. Blood spurted as Brinald yipped shrilly, dropped his sword and clutched at his stomach with both arms. He staggered back for several paces before he caught his balance. Bloodstains splattered on the ground at his feet. "I yield," he croaked, his eyes wide and his ears drooping.
Ian kinda turned away from the conversation when it got flirty. No matter how much he like a girl or could open up when it came to push anything past "friends" he just couldn't, he was too darn shy. He left his table and sat at the bar on Sebatian's side a few seats away. The red woman held his attention for just a few moments then he turned to the bar keep. "Jim Beam" He slid Boog some money.
Cog whipped the sword around quickly, blood spattering onto the floor as it sluiced off the blade an onto the mossy stones below. He sheathed the blade in a blink of an eye, walking up to the russet colored wolf.
As soon as Brinald had spoken the word Yield, the entire arena began to melt around them, fading back into the simple circle that it was before. In the same way, Cog's expression changed, from the nearly blank look that he'd given throughout the fight to an expression of concern for the bleeding wolf in front of him.
"Hey, you alright?" Cog said, pausing just a moment in front of Brinald before giving him a supporting arm, moving to the right and helping the wolf stand. "The Circle won't let anything happen to you that'll kill you. You should be fine." Cog said, helping the wolf move out of the ring and back into the bar. He didn't touch Brinald's sword - he didn't want to presume, and the russet wolf could retrieve it later.
Mechangel
The swordfight between the two wolves ended spectacularly. [End recording. Saving recording...done.] The man under the cloak grinned slightly, though no one could see. Well, that certainly was...educational. And entertaining, like I thought. The man then noticed the Circle that had been turned into a maze of threnches by the Insectis. The gargoyle [Siolen] was flying above them, looking like he was searching for something. Well, I would guess that the digger's gone under. He's either a cowardly insect, or one smart little bug. The man continued to watch [Siolen] fly around, watching the way his wings moved, the way he flew gracefully in the sky...and then suddenly got an idea. He thought of all the other patrons who have come to the Hono Circle Inn, and the idea grew. It grew, until the man finally had a plan all laid out.
I was right. I am going to have fun here indeed...
Brinald nodded at the silver wolf's question. "I will be well, Cogidubnus, I need only... ow... walk carefully for a little while." He leaned against Cog as they walked slowly back to the inn. Pausing for a moment where his sword lay on the ground, Brinald took one arm cautiously away from his stomach. Nothing drastic happened: in fact, the bleeding from the wound was beginning to slow, and the others had already stopped, although the cuts themselves were still clearly visible. He raised one foot and stamped on the pommel, grabbing the sword's hilt as it bounced and spun up into the air. He wiped off the few remaining drops of blood on the blade with his sleeve, and slid it back into its sheath, wincing and yipping softly as he raised his arm a little too quickly over his shoulder.
By the time they were back inside, Brinald was walking much more easily, although he still laid his ears back and snarled every now and then. He stepped away from Cog and patted his arm. "My thanks, I can manage now, I think. Before we drink a toast to your victory, my friend, I must clean up a little." He raised his free arm to his nose, sniffed and wrinkled his muzzle. "Faugh! I hate stinking of gore, especially my own!" He limped over to the bar, picked up his pack by a strap, and made arrangements with the innkeeper-shaped creature behind the bar for the use of a washroom.
Cogidubnus stepped away from the russet wolf, and gave the crimson-furred lupine a bow, a slight smile on his face and a twinkle behind his shaded eyes.
"I shall toast to an excellent battle, sir. It's been some time since I've gotten to fight another combatant of the sword."
He sat back down at the bar, and called out to the red swordsman. "Take your time!" he said, sipping on his orange-flavored drink. He took a single sip, his face going from grinning to musing. One eye narrowed, although he certainly seemed to still be in good spirits.
I expected the circle to end that match -before- I stabbed Brinald. And those cuts...some people aren't bleeders, but...
Cog sipped his drink, glancing at the Jackal still standing by the window.
Dani had been rooting for a little money for a drink when the fight outside ended. She watched, wide-eyed, as the russet-furred wolf and the gray-haired wolf entered the bar - the former badly injured, but in good spirits.
"Geez," she said aloud, rubbing a pale hand over the tribal-looking slashes on her face. "Never thought you'd go near a place like this, Syl. Do all the fights end up like that?"
The elf shook her head, stirring her fingers in her water. Dani decided to ask more questions later. In the meantime, it would be rude not to talk to the other patrons. She got up and headed to the wolves to make sure they'd be alright.
"You guys okay? From the little I saw, that was a good fight," she said, standing over them, concerned but admiring.
Risky leaned over towards Cog and smiled. "Nice work out there. I think you're faster than the last time I saw you."
She inhaled a long drag, held it, and blew it out. "I did notice the way it ended, though," she said, her tone carefully level and neutral. "I'm not so certain that this one is laid out quite right. Or shielded properly."
Her eyes slid towards Boogey, and she pitched her voice low enough that only those close could hear her. "I already glow in the dark; I don't think spectators would appreciate it, though."
When neither wolf responded to Dani's question, she assumed they were both all right and turned her attention to the dark-haired human.
"Glow in the dark, hunh?" she said, pitching her voice low as well and taking a seat next to her. "Well, I've met people with stranger gifts. Dani Sanders. And you are?" She held out a hand for the human to shake, a very toned-down smirk on her face.
Boog grinned back at Risky, "What? An audience not appreciatin' your loveliness on some screen, for all to gawk at while you fight?" He snickered, "Well now I HAVE to figure out some method of display." He muttered something to himself and began making some odd motions with his hands, like weaving a cats cradle without any string. Some arguments took setting up, sometimes.
--
Siolen clambered down from the cliffs where he'd landed. He'd underestimated this foe's patience. Time to lure him out. He kept near the edge of the ravine, ready to climb up again at a moment's notice.
Now if I was... THAT, where would I pop up?
"Mariska Callan, Lieutenant, Time Corp." She took the hand and shook it, then turned full towards the bartender.
"You might want to have some concerns for your patrons, you know," Risky said in a carefully level voice to Boogey. "I know what has happened before, in other Circles. And there are only three here that I'm completely sure could handle a shielding failure."
She took another long drag of her cigarette and stubbed the butt out on the bar rail carefully. "And you're not one of them."
Brinald returned from the washroom after a short time, his fur looking freshly scrubbed and roughly tidied and groomed. He wore a different jerkin now, sleeveless and decked out in similarly bright cheerful colours as before. There were still a few specks of blood on his trousers and boots, but most of it had been cleaned off. Almost nothing could be seen now of the cuts on his arms and down the side of his muzzle, apart from strips of roughness in the lay of his fur. He strode up to the bar, a grim, determined look on his face, and stopped a few paces away from Cog, leaving his pack propped against the bar.
His severe glare suddenly became a broad, tongue-lolling grin as he stepped forward and gave the silver wolf a friendly whack on the shoulder. "Cogidubnus, you rascal!" he roared cheerfully, "You neglected to tell me your mother was a bolt of lightning, and your father was a wisp of fog! That was one of the most challenging duels I have fought in... hmph, more years than I care to think of!" He waved over the bar-thing and put more money on the counter. "Another ale here, and one for my good friend Cogidubnus as well!"
"Faster?" Cog said, glancing at Risky. "Perhaps. But then, I don't get a lot of call to really start moving, anyway." he took a sip of his drink, and tipped his hat to the lady, smiling. "But thank you for the compliment."
He listened with a bit of interest to her conversation with the Boogeyman - he was surprised to learn that, indeed, the circles could fail. He'd thought that once the arena was up, there's wasn't anything in the universe that could bring them down.
"Huh."
Cog took another sip of his drink, and promptly choked on the contents as someone yelled in his ear, and slapped a hand on his injured shoulder - a spluttering glance to his side revealed the russet wolf from before had indeed recovered, and was intent on celebrating. Cog coughed into his fist a few times, but couldn't help grinning at Brinald's boisterous congratulations. He coughed again to clear his throat.
"And you sir, neglected to tell me that you've got the mind of a snake and the blood of a hydra. And I mean that as a compliment." he said, downing the last of his orange-colored drink quickly. "Something tells me that you really didn't need to stop when you did." he said, grinning. "And I've never had someone launch themselves over me during a swordfight, sir."
Karazkt
The moment Karazkt felt Siolen's feet touch down on the ground, he immediately started sending jolts of earth magic into the ground, creating rough vibrations that he intended for Siolen to feel.
Keeping one antenna against the ground feeding earth magic into it, Karazkt put his other into one of the intake ports of his mech and started it up with a small burst of fire magic. He put the mech in motion, starting to grind the soil in front of him with the mech's arms, and began feeding earth magic from the antenna that started his mech into the same intake port, and began channeling it through the arms. At the same time, he cut off earth magic from the antennae against the ceiling. The irregular vibrations continued. Karazkt started digging his way directly toward Siolen.
The mech itself, when digging, could be felt at close proximity with all the digging and grinding. It would give ample warning to Siolen to take wing when it would draw near. Karazkt certainly could out-wait him when he was flying, but if Karazkt was moving and Siolen hopping around, Karazkt would surely run out of steam. But, with the vibrations permeating the entire arena and masking his approach, Siolen would have no way of knowing where Karazkt was.
Karazkt got close to Siolen, and slowed the mech down. He maneuvered it directly underneath Siolen, a yard or two down. He stopped the mech, but kept up the vibrations. The were strong enough that the addition of the mech's slowed approach should be unnoticed. But the next part would be noticed. This is what it came down to; how fast were Siolen's reactions?
Karazkt, still using one antenna to feed earth magic into his mech, channeling it out the arms and into the soil to keep up the vibrations, used the other antenna to start feeding fire directly into the boiler to begin overclocking the engine. He pulled some levers, putting the mech down into a 'ready to pounce straight up' position. Finally, he cut off the earth magic into the soil, cutting off the vibrations, and instead began collecting it the digging claw-hands for three seconds, charging up a powerful burst.
One.
Two.
Three.
Karazkt then hit several levers simultaneously, causing the mech to jump straight up, claws first, the pre-overclocking giving it a huge boost. He released the three-second pent-up magic, blasting into oblivion the entire section of topsoil above him. The huge claws reached up like a gigantic cage or bear trap, eager to snatch Siolen in them. How fast Siolen reacted after the vibrations stopped would determine whether or not he was caught.
Dani smiled evenly at Mariska during the brief handshake, then released to root around in her travel pouch for money. She grinned when the russet wolf came back and greeted the grey wolf enthusiastically. The latter - apparently named Cogidubnus - didn't mind at all. From the little the prison guard had seen, this place was so incredibly un-Sylvie-like it was laughable.
She glanced around the bar, having not really looked at the patrons once she'd seen Sylvie. The two wolves seemed like interesting foes, but she guessed that they'd need a little more time to heal from their battle. Then there was the jackal by the window, the human next to Dani, or the cloaked mystery outside. But she decided it would be best to get herself settled in before she went into a challenge.
"Hey, Dan? You need money, just say so, 'kay?" Sylvie called to her friend. "I'm not paying for every drink, but if you're a little strapped right now, just ask."
"Relax, Syl, the budget cut wasn't that bad." The red-head rolled her eyes, smirked and continued searching.
"Ah-ha!" she said under her breath when she finally found a few silver coins. "A Bailey's coffee and a night's lodging, please," she told the odd-looking man behind the bar. "And if that's not enough, you'd better not try and rip me off; I watch guys who do that for a living."
Brinald grinned evilly at Cog's retort, then snorted as he leaned against the bar. "I could have fought on, true, but the way your last blow hit me... the novelty of tripping over your own guts palls after the first two or three times." He scratched the side of his muzzle, where the scar was now only barely visible, then he smiled wryly, cocking his ears skewed to one side. "And if you've never had that jumping move tried against you, then you've never fought a weasel or a marten determined to take your ears and tail — that's who I copied it from."
"I can imagine it would." Cog chuckled, turning on his seat. "Even so, it was a close thing. You are very correct when you say I've never fought a marten or a weasel that way...generally, my opponents don't last beyond the first few moments." Cog said, smiling at the red wolf. "You are perhaps faster than you know, sir."
As the wolf said that, the Jackal in red turned from his place at the window and gave him a sharp look, glancing out at the rest of the patrons. His eyes seemed to pause over each one, an appraising glance, before settling on none of them in particular - although he did pause for a moment longer as he stared at the strange hooded figure in the back. He seemed to almost leer in amusement for just a moment before leaning back against, the wall, still facing the entire tavern.
Experienced at reading people though he were, not to mention skilled - hard, natural talent and years of study had seen to that, and the man was practically an actor, a psychologist and a magician packed into one - Stygian was getting just a few contradictory signals from Sylvie. The clorophyll elf's body language seemed mostly the same as that of a human, no matter what might be mixed in between, and the dilation to her pupils and her stance all signaled alertness and interest. However, he did notice some clear undertones of tension. Particularly that quick waver in her smile caught his attention. She was also still not directly facing him, turned perhaps a fifteen degrees away and leaning back on the counter, whereas he had consciously faced her directly and brushed his hair out of the way, easing up his own body language, as soon as he had finished talking over his shoulder with Sal. It wasn't entirely bad; at least her gaze was steady and her hands still, so she wasn't feeling pressured or overly nervous, which meant that it most probably signalled that she was simply unsure of him or around him. But he had expected by now, with his own controlled and, for him, quite blatant show of intrigue, that she would have opened up almost entirely. Ah, well, he thought. Some act more self-assured than they are. She seems to take things at a moderate tempo. I'll cut back and let her think and get comfortable.
Of course, the man had expected that someone more would enter. But he didn't immediately think that it would be someone that would interrupt the conversation. Of course, he stepped out with one leg a slight bit to the side and offered a look and an encouraging smile with all his face to both Cog and Brinald when they came back in. But with Sylvie turned away from him, he didn't know quite how to address the situation, other than to simply let his smile fade into a more natural, sly and observant expression, and watch the newly arrived woman in wait for a cue. One that, fortunately, came faster than he had thought.
'Oh', Stygian said, very plainly, and with a raise of both his eyebrows and a slight change in posture accurately feigned an expression of surprise and beginning tension, in response to the revelation that this new woman, Dani, was evidently a correctional officer. At the same time he watched her even more closely. 'I would introduce myself', he continued, 'but with that sort of... Well, how seriously do you take your job?'
It was, of course, not too bright a question, and a challenging one. She wasn't some beat cop, and for her to try and enforce any authority in the sort of place they were in, she would have to be stupid. But it was the best he could come up with on short notice, and gave what he hoped was a little hint about himself while still keeping focus on her.
When Stygian spoke up - and basically admitted to Dani that he was an ex-convict - Sylvie's eyes widened. Well, this isn't a very good common ground for us to have, she reflected. She didn't assume anything immediately about the human, having walked that path herself, but it was still enough to get her a bit nervous. She watched Dani and Stygian carefully, turning to face the two and holding her water glass in both hands.
---
Dani turned from the counter and stood, facing the blond human. It wasn't something someone would ask seriously, but she knew he wasn't kidding. Still, ex-cons usually kept their records hidden to avoid attention - especially from people with her job. With that in mind, she kept her eyes off of Sylvie and focused on the blond. She wasn't stupid; she'd seen him eyeing her friend, and had noticed that although the elf seemed much calmer (and exceedingly less angry) than previous times she'd been hit on, she still looked unsure. She's not exactly used to that kind of attention, but he seemed all right, the human reasoned. Now, to get to that little challenge he'd sent her way.
"If you mean do I practice vigilantism, then no. That's exactly what I'm supposed to prevent." At this she glanced at the other patrons, hoping that they'd get the message. She wasn't going to be responsible for his mistake. "As for in my workplace... well, define 'serious.' " She resisted the urge to tell him that she had to trust a few of her 'clients' in case she fell asleep on the job.
The man tilted his head and gave Dani a gaze, and then shook his head lightly, casting his eyes down a bit. 'Perhaps I expressed myself wrong. How passionate are you about your work?' he asked her instead, shifting his stance lightly but still maintaining that relaxed, easy look. He wanted only for these women to feel well about him.
'I'm sorry,' he continued, just as Dani was about to speak up. 'Clumsy of me. I meant no disrespect. I'm just trying to make sure that you won't try and handcuff me out of the blue or something.'
The Red relaxed a bit after the man showed contrition. Whether it was fake or not didn't really matter to her, and he clearly wanted her approval. She smiled with her eyes, if not with her mouth, and shifted to indicate her own comfort.
"Not unless you commit a crime serious enough, in which case the worst I'd do is report you. Besides, I'm not really authorized to arrest anyone." She had brought pepper spray and a nightstick, but that was more for self-defense than attacking prisoners. "Nice to meet you, no matter what you've done."
Behind her, Sylvie relaxed. She let the others think it was because of the conversation.
Cog slurped his drink. "You are probably in the wrong place to be making arrests, anyway. Generally, there isn't to be any...conflict, outside of the circles outside." Cog said to the strange woman, spinning on his chair. He leaned into the bar. "But of course, I assume you know where you are."
He pushed his glasses up over his eyes. "Speaking of, I was..."
Cog was cut short by the sound of something very large tumbling over, the wolf glancing sharply to his side at the interior of the bar. Leaning on that massive, ever-burning spear for support, Giles seemed to have emerged from the infirmary - and it also seemed that the big lug felt a little light on his feet. He picked up the chair he'd knocked down, and somehow gently sat down into it.
He looked unharmed, except for the massive bandage wrapped around his head and on his nose - and while one might have expected the blackguard to look furious, he looked only pensive instead.
"'Ey. 'Bere is 'dat...'de sumall one." he managed to say, looking up at the rest of the room.
Stygian had been almost about to speak, in order to correct the redhead about her assumption that he had actually ever been imprisoned, but was quickly interrupted by Cogidubnus. It was probably for the better, he guessed, as he shut his mouth with a near snap and watched the others speak. And then, as quickly as Stygian had been cut off, Cog was too by a clumsy sound to their left.
Had it been someone else, Stygian might have taken that thoughtful look seriously. As it was, and from what he had seen of Giles, he treated the man's question with great suspicion.
'Wouldn't know. She came in here, then walked out,' he stated, very shortly but without any apparent agitation or hostility, even though he felt a slight aversion toward the man.
Giles looked at Stygian boorishly, his nonplussed expression mixed with his rather prominent bandage making him look comical rather than put-off. He leaned forward.
"She 'balked ob, uh?" he said, shifting on his chair. "Dunt 'Ull-shit be." he gave the man a glare. "She bus barely 'alkin'"
He glared around the room for a moment, then returned to looking pensive. Cog took a sip of his drink again, looking nowhere in particular.
'I swear, I'm not pulling your leg here,' Stygian said, sounding quite earnest. 'I didn't pay much attention,' he continued, lying though it was impossible to tell, 'and she's... well, small. Why would you be looking for her anyway? She'd probably have her hands full with healing those burns.'
...Keaton:
Keaton observed Sahlena and Stygian's exchange rather humorlessly, being more puzzled than amused regarding their interaction. It was only after they turned away, on cue, and re-addressed their conversational partners that Keaton started to chuckle. Seemed that the android wasn't afraid to badmouth her creator, she wryly noted with a smirk. That or the whole thing was utterly staged. Fiddling with one of the many empty mugs littering her table, Keaton scraped together the numerous mugs into relative organization so that way she could provide Sahlena with some space.
"Ignoring," Keaton stated casually, finally completing her little clean-up. "So then. You drink anything?" It was probably a stupid question, but Keaton was unfamiliar with the inner workings of mechanical creatures.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
The vibrations stopped and Siolen paused, momentarily...
Probably one moment too long. The ground gave way, and the claws reached up. The foe had the drop on him, and he had no time to get airborne. The gargoyle shouted in surprise and alarm...
And then he had another idea.
Rather than run for it the gargoyle spat a gob of tar at the nearest arm's joints, hoping to further foul the works, and dropped down past the grasping limbs, and onto the closed cockpit of the device. He brought one fist down hard on the shield around Karazkt and raised the other one for another blow, arms working like pistons to use this unexpected opportunity.
--
Boog simply winked at Risky and got on with his drink serving duties, listening to the general murmur of conversation in the pub. He smiled minutely at Stygian and Dani. An old game; thrust, parry, riposte, truth and counter-truth. People could really be just so fascinating. Eventually he returned to Mel with a free drink and a business proposal.
"I've thought a bit about your idea, and I must say it's a good one." He began, setting out the drink (a little something made from a type of organic, crystaline substance that made most things that weren't dragons or creatures of equivalent metabolisms woozy just looking at for too long, with a ruby in it that the thought-entity had somehow managed to put a toothpick through), "And it's a good one. Better yet, it's one I need you for. I've no magic at my disposal, but the sort of scrying spell you have in mind would probably be well within your power." He smiled cynically, "Which means you're not likely to do it for free. So tell me, what can I do for our dear Mel, of the Icewing clan?"
The blackguard looked at Stygian with smoky eyes. "Nun yer 'bam business." he said, muttering to himself. He tried to raise an eyebrow, although the residual effects of the Orin's toxins made that somewhat difficult. He settled for simply scowling.
"'But? Yew 'ink Imb gonna binish de job?" he spat a bit of bloody mucus to the side. "But de 'ell byu bake me bor?"
Cog took another swig of his drink, looking at Stygian from the corner of his eye. "It's true. I don't think he wants to hurt her, in fact..."
'And I think that we should allow her the small courtesy of letting her recuperate. But then again, I can't speak for you', Stygian cut Cog off with a quick but not unpleasantly toned, more explanatory reply. At the same time, he passed the Boogeyman a slightly narrow-eyed glance. Whether if this was some sort of warning or just a marking that he was aware of whatever wicked ideas the 'man' might have was not clear. It was there, anyway. The risk that Boog would try and do something stupid was minimal, but it wasn't too much of a bother remarking anyway...
- -
The machine inclined her head a bit to the side, and went silent for a second or two, as if studying Keaton. At least, the Cubi felt rather scrutinized by the metallic woman. It felt as if the android were measuring every inch and gram of her until she knew the jackal in and out, and the fact that the metallic woman probably did wasn't any more comfortable.
':i take most liquids. whether if they taste good is another thing', Sahlena replied. ':if you're offering to /buy me a drink, i would suggest a [Vodka]. but you don't have to.'
Cog looked at the man. "Ah, well. Probably true..." he said, gulping down the rest of his drink. "Giles isn't the type to strangle someone in their sleep, is all I mean. Although he's not usually sullen, no..."
Cog gave the blackguard a look. Giles returned it, a little nastiness creeping into his gaze before he slumped into his chair and muttered.
The jackal facing the tavern gave a mean smile, eyes still passing over the occupants of the room. He absently fingered the dark wood of his scythe.
Karazkt
As the mech shot out of the hole, the digging claws reached up, reaching to catch Siolen--
--Who ducked down underneath them, spitting another glob of tar at the same elbow of the mech as earlier, and landed on the cockpit cover as the mech came to rest on open ground. Then Siolen started furiously hammering away at the cover.
The one-and-a-half-inch thick solid metal cover, made from the same ores that comprised the rest of the brown-and-black mech. The only thing that made the cover different from the reast is that it was specially forged to be transparent to Insectis heat and infravision, but under normal light, the metal was the same as any other.
Tough as though the material was, Siolen did manage to start putting some noticable dents in it. Given enough time, he could probably bash through. But that would take more time than Karazkt was willing to entertain him with.
The two tar globs in the left elbow of the mech had completely gummed it up; the forearm no longer responded to controls, as the levers doing so were jammed tight. The right arm, however, was still operating.
Karazkt hit a lever, and the claws on the hand retracted, leaving it round and blunt. Then, with a small burst of fire magic into the intake, Karazkt made the right arm move up, then swing sideways in an attempt to punch Siolen off.
Dani nodded amicably to the grey wolf, thanking him for telling her the unknown rule. When the blackguard entered the room, the Red's pupils dilated a bit and her cheeks lost some color, but other than that, she kept herself composed.
"Sorry, what were you saying earlier?" Dani asked the grey wolf, picking up her mug of Bailey's coffee.
---
It was a good thing Sylvie had been sitting down when the blackguard came back. She hadn't seen the other fights, so she'd had no idea anyone had been injured that badly. She took a gulp of her water and stayed silent for the time being, focusing on Dani.
Oh crud, it occurred to her. What if she falls asleep in the middle of a fight? No-one here would take advantage of that, would they? She started praying that if Dani was challenged, she'd remember to accommodate that in the rules. For a prison guard, she could be pretty reckless...
Having been broken off in the conversation with Sylvie, and now being reminded of the question of the little alien - how was the furry little thing actually? She had seemed pretty curious - Stygian moved back and slid up again onto one of the tall seats before the bar, returning to his warm and spicy drink. He ignored both the Boogeyman, the smirking jackal and Cog's and Dani's conversation, thoughtfully looking out the windows for a while, before his eyes fixed themselves on the darkest corner in the room, and nowhere in particular. His expression slowly dimmed and dulled, from pensive to solemn. When he was done with his drink, he didn't order another one.
Sylvie sat by herself for a minute more, watching the patrons mill around. Then, finally, she started to get bored. She got up and headed over to Stygian. The human looked a little unresponsive, but it was still worth asking him - he was the one she'd been planning on fighting for a while.
"You know," she started, "it'd be kinda pointless for me to have warmed up without having a fight afterwards. So, you up for it?" She was a little nervous in being the challenger, but she didn't want to just sit around and watch fights all day. Besides, the sun was going down, and if she wanted a fight, she'd have to have it soon.
The human really did seem a bit out of it, because for a couple of seconds he just sat there and looked, before with a long exhalation he turned against Sylvie, and raised his brow inquisitively. It didn't seem quite as if he were saying that he must have misheard and dared her to repeat her question, but rather that he had somehow thought that they were having a pleasant enough time without fighting. Still, he did make a cheeky smirk next, something that could be interpreted in just as many ways.
'Are you sure you want to? I can promise to put the guns away, but I'm fairly sure I'm not as easy to deal with as the rat even then', he said, matter-of-factly. He thought it was a much better and more modest way of saying 'I'm a bloody tough nut, so watch out'. And being himself, he preferred not to sound so boisterous.
'I will accept, of course', he added, when he saw Sylvie's look. He interpreted it as being unamused and impatient. 'But it would be rude not to warn you. Take it into account.'
Mel looked from the drink to the thought entity and back with a grin. He was always hustling with some sort of plan. Rather than answer directly she pulled a silver fountain pen from her pocket and began making notes on what she would need for the spells for each ring on the corner of the napkin under the drink. When she finished she sat staring at her notes for a long moment, tapping the pen lightly against the bar as she thought it over. Finally she looked up, "How do you feel about the fights being recorded?"
Sylvie wasn't quite sure how to read Stygian's face when he responded. She was pretty sure he had been interested in fighting her; true, he was clearly interested in other ways too, but you couldn't be here and not want to fight people. He warned her about his strength, and without really realizing it, her slight exasperation showed through. It was a fair warning, but the fight with Ian had been practice, and the human knew she'd gone easy on him.
When he finished with an implied apology, she gave a soft smile. "As much as I appreciate the warning, I'm stronger than I look. If you're really that concerned, we could always wait till morning. But I should warn you that I'd be much tougher in the daytime." She was a little surprised that the human hadn't wondered how she'd recovered from her previous injuries so quickly. It's not like Ian never hit me, after all.
Siolen was swept from the construct's brow in a moment, twisting in midair to land on his hooves. The thing was just too blasted LARGE, and agile to boot. He kept trying to limit that, but the machine kept recovering from his tar.
The gargoyle's eyes settled on the device's still tar-stained joint momentarily, at the exposed pistons and gears that had initially attracted his gaze to the point.
Black tongue ran over stone lips once. This would take some amount of luck or a far greater amount of skill. He decided to hedge his bets and pray for both as he rushed the machine's left leg again.
--
The Boogeyman grinned broadly, the concept of concealing his oversized teeth having never been introduced to him. The grin faded ever so minutely as he read the list of components; they were obtainable, but not all pleasantly so. Her request surprised him for a second, but it stood to reason. After all, consider what the Icewings did. "How I feel about it? Mildly amused, and I can always use a laugh. Feel free. Just, ah..." He swept his gaze around the room at a few individuals who probably wouldn't appreciate their images being sold. Not Styggy; hell, if he objected that was all the more reason to do it, the man struck him as somebody who just flat out wasn't insulted often enough. But others... "Do try to be discrete about it, ah?"
Swiveling on his seat, the man adopted a patient and understanding look, listening attentively to Sylvie's explanation. Her last words though, made that expression slip for a bit, and she caught a spark of something in his eyes that hadn't been there before. He smiled, and rose to his feet before her with a sigh.
'Well, I think it would be quite... cheap, to choose a battleground that too strongly favors one fighter upon the very first fight', he said, looking her over. Sunlight. Of course. He thought he'd seen the signs of a real beating on her before. Now... So she wasn't so ill off anyway. Still, that didn't mean that she could get out of it if... Or could she? Cutting a limb off her would definitely be rude, but it would be fun to see whether if it would grow back either way.
'If you wish, I think I can come up with some environment that will treat us both quite equally', he said, beginning to slowly walk toward the other end of the bar while looking over his shoulder, his posture suggesting that he were expecting her to let him lead her to the door.
Karazkt
After Karazkt managed to scare Siolen off, Siolen started back, seemingly headed for his legs. Karazkt had a simple solution. His earth magic could be channeled through any part of the mech, even the legs, so one stomp and Siolen would be at the mercy of whatever Karazkt decided to do to the ground. Unless, of course, Siolen jumped--in which case, Karazkt now wanted.
Because it was only the right arm that now worked, Karazkt lifted up the left leg for balance. With a spurt of earth magic, the leg came down with a mighty stomp. A cone of ground, originating from the foot, shot up in broken columns toward Siolen. If he held his ground, he would be very painfully blasted back by the ruptured ground. If he jumped, he would have to jump towards the mech. At the time of the stomp, Karazkt had surreptitiously hidden the right arm behind the mech's back. A few lever-pulls, and the plates over the tip if the forearm started shifting, and something began to emerge, form, and spin.
This would be why Karazkt put in that last special rule to the match. There was a very good chance it was about to end in a few more moments.
If Sylvie now regretted telling Stygian one of her biggest advantages, she didn't show it. Dani, however, didn't bother to hide her exasperation at her friend's warning.
"You are too damn nice, y'know that?" she shouted over her shoulder to the elf, who shrugged in reply. It just wouldn't have been fair in Sylvie's eyes to offer a postponement and then use it to cheat. She was a firm believer in the "fair fight" doctrine. That gleam in Stygian's eyes had gotten her worried for a second, though. Somehow, it had brought back memories of when she and Kellie were the captives of pirates; that gleam had appeared in the captain's eyes whenever he held a lit match near her. But Stygian would never do anything like that...right?
She watched as he headed for the door, motioning for her to follow. She walked slowly, allowing him to lead her out of the building.
...Keaton:Keaton frowned slightly as Sahlena scrutinized her, her fingers rhythmically drumming an impatient, curt tattoo against the tabletop. Up until the machine-woman completed her inspection, she felt quite exposed, which she supposed was a rather simplistic emotion when one was being observed by a metallic... something. Satisfied with Sahlena's response, Keaton nodded, arranging her fingers like a steeple, and peered at her over her hands. "Nice to know, but I actually have something else in mind."
She grinned slightly, exposing her razored cuspids. "I was thinking it was such an awful shame that everyone's fighting so often lately, and I've only gotten to fight
once..." Keaton gestured in small circles with her hand. "You know what I'm driving at? You up for it? I'll buy you a drink if you win."
---
...Piix:Awakening came as a surprisingly arduous challenge for Piix, especially for someone with accelerated healing factors. From where she had collapsed against the comfortable surface of the hospital bed, Piix stirred erratically, her quills and fur bristling like pinpricked needles along her body. For a moment, the quills on her back flickered into erectness, then flattened back against her body as she felt her muscles instinctively tense and the venom in her veins swirl. When Piix's eyes opened, she found herself sprawled on top of the sheets in a sterile, whitewashed environment, Orpiment nestled in the crook of her arm like a beloved toy and the orb which contained Discus and the three units of Triad in her opposite hand. Piix blinked confusedly, cocked her head to the side, and wearily peered at the identical cot separate from hers. For someone who had just been roused from unconsciousness, she felt strangely alert. Maybe her healing factor wasn't
entirely obsolete, after all.
Her first assessment was that the other cots were empty. That meant Giles was gone. That came as some relief to Piix, not only because she didn't want to be responsible for his death, but because he would be quite incensed when he woke up. Or at least so she imagined. Good
God, she bit into his nose after all. She'd taste him for weeks.
Speaking of which, it seemed the blood and ash had been miraculously cleaned from her in addition to her restoration. Testing her strength, Piix leveled herself off the bed, and gingerly set her foot against the floor. Surprisingly, she was met with minimal interference as she climbed off entirely and started taking her first few steps. Twisting Discus's sphere in her hand, an ichorous black web of unknown substance shot out and raveled itself around her shoulders, quickly weaving itself into a tangible form - particularly a black and hood cape identical to her last one, complete with a clasp which she could safely hang Discus's orb from. Piix kept Orpiment in her hand as she trudged out of the infirmary, staring around awkwardly. Much to her dismay, she noticed Giles seated with his former companions before, and hissed a profanity in her native language at a volume which was much, much higher than what she would have preferred - certainly enough to grab his attention.
Piix smiled sheepishly, unconsciously revealing row after row of sharp teeth. As comical as Giles looked with his heavily bandaged face, she was still quite intimidated, and knew he was still quite capable of killing her simply by sitting on her. "Uh... hi." She waved nervously.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Well out in the street, Stygian looked up at the mottled gray sky and hummed. Something along those lines. Not a city, but would a forest favor her more? A forest at night, perhaps? No, if it was photosynthesis that she lived off, something strange because he thought that a being so complex as her must have had a need for at least a few rarer substances that were hard to come by in just air and water. Or was the water where she came from supplemented with some other form of substances or organisms? There were a myriad questions one could come up with, and quite a few that he thought she would be able to answer. Directly, that was.
He led her over to the closest free Circle, not quite appearing as if he were escorting her, but not far from it either. When at the edge of it, he smiled, and stood aside.
'Well then. Ladies first', he said, making a hint of a bow and directing toward the circle with his hand. Of course, when Sylvie stepped into the Circle, nothing happened. However, the man had already made up his mind. He moved after her, and as soon as his first foot touched the ground, the world swirled.
- -
The machine tilted her head at Keaton's comment. The red lens in the center of her face blinked like a camera blinder, and then, she began to laugh, an unnerving sound when coming from such a creature. She leaned back a bit, her amusement finally petering out into a metallic chuckle and a whirring hum. Then, she instead moved and leaned forward, placing her hands on the tabletop and her 'chin' in her palm. If she'd had a regular mouth, she would have grinned cheekily.
'
:i can /fix myself a drink well enough, thank you, girl. if i win, i'll want something more substantial. but we can /discuss that afterward', she said. '
:i accept, if you do.'
- -
The wind was chilly as it blew over the cliff, the air so clear and the few thin, feather-like clouds so close that one could see the rays of rosy light spreading sideways over both their figures fanning out as if through a giant prism. In the radiant early dusk, the light gray rocks took on burning colors, and cast scattered, crackling shadows on the ground. The bleak vegetation around them consisted of mosses, short grass and harsh, wind-bitten trees, dark blotches on the background where sharp-tipped mountains and crags raked the sky, and the land folded and crinkled in dark green and orange and red, clouds and mist rolling over and through the tops so that they almost melded. It was so harshly beautiful that it almost hurt the eye.
'Mount Yari', Stygian's cold voice rang out from behind Sylvie, and the slight gravel under his feet crunched lightly as he slowly strode closer. 'And Autumn in Japan. One of the last few beautiful and untouched places in the world I know.'
Cog looked at the officer amiably, answering her question. "Oh, I didn't mean anything at all truly. I just mean to say, this is the Honor Circle. Fighting outside the circle, whatever form that might be, is frowned upon the the management, I think."
He kept mostly quiet as the grass elf and the man headed outside, raising his eyebrows at the sudden mountainside that bloomed in their circle. He passed another silver coin onto the bartop, next to his empty glass. Distracted as he was, he didn't even see Giles give the sudden alien a sharp look, and shuffle off his chair to stand at his full height.
Towering over the short alien, the blackguard gave her a long, silent look, completely unmoving, even unto the hand that wrapped around his spear. He seemed to suck in a breath, and shudderingly exhaled before walking up the rest of the way to the little alien. He stared down at her.
"Ah...ah could pick yew ub wibh wun hand." he said, his nose still constricted. "Andh ye brought me bow. Ah...yew're the fiercest bittle...thing, Ah've eber run mah eyes across." he said, his eyes seeming to tear. "Andh...bell, Ah'm...ahm proud to know bou." he seemed to nod. "Yew need...anybing, and Ah'll come burn be bastard into bust, yah?" he grinned fiercely. He held out a single, iron-clad hand.
Sylvie followed Stygian to the nearest empty Circle, wringing her staff with her hands. What time of day would the human choose? Certainly not nighttime, although that wouldn't be too much of a problem; she could function for a few hours at night, but any longer and she'd become weak. And what attacks would he use on her? She hadn't watched him that much when he'd fought, but it was obvious he was powerful, otherwise he wouldn't have looked so serious when warning her.
They reached the Circle and Stygian stood back to let her go in first. Well, what better way to get my questions answered than by finding out firsthand? She stepped into the Circle; the moment Stygian entered, the world swirled and changed...
Sylvie found herself standing in the most beautiful place she'd ever seen, besides her forest. The sun was setting off to one direction, highlighting the clouds in that pink-and-gold shade that has no name. The few trees and plants there were didn't have the same lush, flourishing strength as those where she came from, and the area seemed much more rocky, but that only added to the harsh beauty of the landscape. For a few moments, she was struck dumb in amazement.
She gave a little start when Stygian spoke up behind her. She twisted round to face him, twisting her hands on her staff again as she looked around. Always wanted to see Japan. "It's amazing," she answered him, not really knowing what else to say.
---
Dani listened to the wolf explain. He seemed friendly enough, and he clearly was a skilled fighter. She took a seat and sipped her coffee, waiting and watching in surprise as a mountain rose in Sylvie's circle. Her worry and excitement for her friend overpowered her curiosity when the blackguard stood and spoke with the weird little furry thing, although their conversation didn't go unnoticed.
"You think she'll be alright? I mean, she's tougher than she looks, but..." The Red trailed off, leaving her thought hanging. Why did the human bother to warn her?
Stygian observed the plant girl for a little while, watching her stumped reaction not without a degree of satisfaction and then merely observing her green-tinted skin take on more human hues in the tinted light. When she looked at him, he gazed solidly into her eyes for a few seconds, before speaking again.
'The mountain has earned its name from that sharp-tipped peak there', he said, and looked to and nodded toward a jagged cliff somewhere a good distance behind them, the sharpest and highest tip around, perhaps four or five hundred yards further into the sky. It gleamed like a spear in the sun. He didn't move an inch, not even when she turned her back. For someone as her, he would offer a clean fight. Tricks were always implied, of course, but no dirty tricks thus.
'I take it that the scenery is to your liking', he continued, not even trying to keep himself from smirking. Chuckling a little, he took a few slow steps toward her, watching the soil and vegetation under his feet, feeling the grip of the rough soles on his shoes. It felt pleasant. It was the sort of gritty, hard, mundane feeling that he appreciated most, the kind that most people just overlooked because they were either too soft to ever put themselves through it, or too caught up and dull to ever bother to feel. 'It was the first thing that sprang to my mind, so I just ceased it.' Very gently, he undid the clasps that held his guns in their holsters, and then slid the long pieces out with smooth movements. His steps were fluid, his movements and pose graceful. It was as if he were making the slow steps into some restrained, artistic dance.
At first, he had almost thought to only offer that she tell when to start the fight, but watching the gleaming lengths of deep dark silver in his hands, he thought better. 'Should I lose these?' he asked. But then he thought that might sound a bit condescending. 'Any man can wield a gun anyway', he added. 'Or I could restrict myself to only the bullets I have in them. Should be fourteen of them, unless my count is off.'
...Keaton:Initially, Keaton had no idea what Sahlena was doing. Analyzing her body language was nigh-on impossible when there was no face to interpret, other than that spherical lens centered within her mechanical visage. Even that, limited as it was in its movements and actions, provided very little evidence regarding her expressions. Only when Sahlena started to elicit her humming, lilting equivalent of a "laugh" did Keaton understand that she had interested the robot.
Keaton smirked in a satisfied way to herself, her fingers idly closing around the rim of one of the shot glasses pushed to the side. "Ooh, I'm shaking in absolute fright," Keaton said with a toothy smirk at Sahlena's first comment, her pierced eyebrow arching in a practiced motion. Letting out a laugh of her own, she lolled her head to the side, scratching behind an ear. "But fine, sounds fair to me. I accept."
---
...Piix:The diminutive Orin gulped subaudibly as Giles suddenly stood up from his chair and advanced on her, yet did not move from her current spot aside from the involuntary jerk her muscles elicited. Fear seemed to have frozen her in place. Over and over again, a barbaric deluge of possibilities flowed through her head, most of which involved brutal caricatures of mutilation, torment, and other fire-related deaths which should best go undescribed. It was at times like that Piix sincerely cursed the fact she possessed an overactive imagination.
Much to her surprise, however, Giles didn't seem interested in pulverizing her. Instead, his demeanor was shockingly... humbled. Reverent. Of course, Piix couldn't understand most of what he was saying due to how muffled and garbled his voice was, but she assumed it was something quite flattering due to how he said it. Or how she assumed he said it. Confusion wasn't enough to keep the abject shock from Piix's features as she realized that the blackguard had no intention of beating her - and was even
praising her fighting performance.
She reached that conclusion when he proffered his gauntlet-clad hand. The digits of her own hands twitching subconsciously, Piix eyed his hand nervously, at first inquisitively, until she stretched out her own and wrapped her clawed fingers around his armored hand, shaking it. "Y-Yeah," was all Piix could say, incapable of driving the awe from her voice. For once, the Orin was quite taken aback, even to the point her normally bountiful (but not necessarily untarnished) vocabulary couldn't rescue her. "Alright. T-Thanks."
Piix glanced up at Giles's nose, stifling a sigh. "Um - how's the nose, by the way...?" she asked, pointing to her own. "Everything alright?"
~Keaton the Black Jackal
"Well have to see." The wolf said, sipping his newly-brought drink. His eyes gleamed as he watched beneath dark-shaded glasses.
* * *
Giles gave a mountainous grin as the Orin shook his hand, only pausing a moment to cock his head at the little alien's question. His eyes narrowed in confusion.
"Bwhuts wrong wibh mah bose?" he said, pausing as he stared at Piix.
Sylvie couldn't help the squirming feeling that went through her when Stygian's gray eyes looked into her pale green ones. It wasn't out of anger or disgust, it was just... surprise. Only a select few people had ever looked at her as if they were looking past her skin, and this was excluding her family and neighbors. The rest of the feeling... okay, so she was a little excited. No-one had ever complimented her looks and meant it (besides one person, but he was, simply put, a notorious trickster). And he was extremely attractive, even by elf standards.
She turned her back to Stygian once, to examine what he was nodding at. The pointed mountain glittered so brightly she almost had to squint, even in the fading light.
She heard the gentle crunching sound of footsteps on plants and stone, and turned slowly away from the mountain to face her soon-to-be opponent again. She considered the guns in his hands for a moment. It wasn't like she wouldn't heal, but... she'd never been shot before. The idea scared her a little.
"Restricting yourself to the bullets in there'll be fine, I think," she said, covering her anxiety as well as she could. She almost thanked him, but something told her that would be a bit much. She tightened her grip on her staff and tensed her legs, anticipating the start of the fight.
The machine cocked her head to the side in a twist, and then made another little laugh. Then, she pushed her chair back and stood, straightening her jacket. '
:shall we?' was all she said to the jackal, and then she turned and strolled with heavy but mutedly silent steps over to the door out into the street, pushing it open.
- -
For a few seconds, there was no activity on that mountainside beside the wind blowing, rustling the hair and clothes of both the figures standing on the slope. Though both were lightly dressed, neither seemed to respond at all to the cold that the wind brought with it. They just looked at each other. It was as if they did not want to start the fight. Had one known, one would have understood that it was Stygian who was a bit hesitant, expecting Sylvie to want to start and to close the distance to even the playing field between them. But when he realized that wasn't going to happen, he acted.
'Rules? I suppose we fight until someone gives up or can't go on, so...' he began. The next second he brought his right gun up, lifting it almost deliberately slowly and with great focus. He thought past the gun. He thought past the wind, which would tug on his arm but wouldn't matter to the bullet for the velocity and the closeness of the shot. Thought past the gravelly ground beneath him and his palm against the contoured grip. He imagined the bullet slipping out and spinning lazily through the air, tearing through the girl's knee, and aimed the shot after that feeling. He didn't care that it was a small target and that the wind and uneven ground and his lazy grip might ruin his shot. She would get a good fight.
The firing of the gun roared more than cracked, an extended, hissing sound brought on by its construction, and rocks jumped and spattered behind Sylvie. He might have missed, he might have not. The bullet would most likely go clean through. And as the sharp sound rebounded back to him from every corner of the mountain valley, Stygian sprang forward and to the side, closing with the elf at an angle to strafe her.
'Feel free to detail if you have any objections!' he shouted at her with a smirk on his face.
Siolen snarled as he charged the mech, noticing the arm it was keeping behind its back. What could you be up to..? He dropped to all fours, building more momentum, and zigzagged as he approached for one last assault. He, too, was under the impression that this would be over soon. He finally feinted to the right, then veered sharply to the left and dived, attempting to clamber around to the back of the Mech's knee.
Karazkt
Siolen had managed to dodge the conicle groundblast, and was zigging around toward the mech again. Karazkt decided it was finally time to reveal his trump card. A few lever pulls, and the right arm swung out from behind him. In place of the hand was...
Well, it was quite obviously meant to be a digging implement, but looked all too much like it would be a seriously lethal weapon. It was a large two-feet-thick metal disk, covered in spikes, but it started spinning so fast the spikes became blade-like blurs. This was something that was meant to shred the deepest bedrock of the planet. Under normal circumstances, if it were to hit the gargoyle, he would be turned to gravel. However, with the special rule in place, if it was unavoidably imminent that Siolen would be hit by it, it should go insubstantial and the match should end.
Siolen got close for his final assault. Karazkt hit levers, the arm raised, then came down in a wide sweeping motion. Unfortunately, in the heat of battle, Karazkt was already forgetting his engineering physics. If it didn't sweep through Siolen and end the match, Karazkt's mech would be sent stumbling from the momentum of the massive arm. Siolen would have the perfect opportunity to do what he wanted while Karazkt was trying to regain balance.
In retrospect, Sylvie should've said something like 'whenever you're ready' or given some hint that she was waiting for a signal. In retrospect, maybe she should've just run from the start. She could almost imagine Dani screaming at her right now for being so stupid.
On the plus side, the second the elf saw Stygian lift his gun, she'd started to run away. On the minus side, she hadn't had time to get far enough away and the bastard had really good aim. The bullet ripped through her calf - an inch or two below and to the right of her knee - and she fell to the ground, biting back a scream of pain as one hand flew to her leg. Watery-green chloroplasts and chlorophyll oozed from between her fingers. She pulled herself up to a kneeling position with her staff, glaring at Stygian as he drew closer with a fiendish smirk on his face. She could feel the wound beginning to heal in the dim light, but it wouldn't heal fast enough for her to run from him now. She had to act fast.
She didn't respond to the human's statement, but released her leg and spread one palm over the ground, muttering a fast spell through gritted teeth. As Stygian neared her, vines sprouted up from the ground to wrap his legs to the knees. Sylvie didn't wait to see how he'd react; she pulled herself up with her staff and started to limp away from him as fast as she could.
---
Dani nodded absently at the wolf's response to her nervousness and continued to watch the fight. The second she saw the bullet hit Sylvie's leg, she reacted.
"Idiot!" she remarked, managing to keep herself from shouting. One got the feeling her commentary was mostly directed to herself, the wolf, and the bartender. "Why'd she let him use guns? If she was gonna let him do that, she shouldn't have told him about the light thing! Did she even know what it's like to be shot?!" The guard took an angry gulp of coffee, trying to calm down; if the plant was going to make another mistake, she'd need to keep from getting too angry about it. It's either cataplexy, or dealing with it. No need to scare anybody.
"Sorry," she said when she'd relaxed. "Didn't mean to freak out."
Two more shots rang out from behind Sylvie, but both were misses brought on by Stygian's movement. He skidded to the side and almost had another one that would probably hit her right through the shoulder. He was afraid to aim through her torso, even though a well-aimed bullet should simply have collapsed one of her lungs. But he didn't know how her internal organs lay and he certainly didn't want to harm her beyond the point of being able to surrender. Part of him was thinking that it was just typical, that when he met a pretty girl who was actually nice then of course he had to get himself into a situation where he had to shoot her.
He had been about to move, but his skid ended with an abrupt stop and a trip, as he fell to the side, his feet firmly snagged in something. He could feel movement against his shoes and the outside of his pants, and looked down to find his feet entangled in thick vines, greenish-brown tendrils even then creeping up to snare his legs. Growling, he slammed his hands into the ground which made him practically jump to a standing position again, trying to lift his legs out of the sinewy things around his feet. His strength meant that they gave way a little, and he could probably have freed himself if he used his hands. But away down the slope, Sylvie was escaping. And he...
From a snarling expression, the man's face went into a nearly blank half-scowl in a heartbeat. He looked at Sylvie's back, and then down at the veins. It is only fair, he thought, and made a decision.
The shots snapped off quickly, and made little sharp splinters of rock hit his legs. He shot at an angle though, to keep the bullets from bouncing too wildly, or he might have gotten one in his leg. The vines were cut off at the base, as he counted down. Eleven, ten, nine, eight... Finally, he pulled his legs free, and ripping moss and thin grass with him, he dashed after the retreating figure of the elf. Seven bullets left. I hope she finds a spot in the sun...
Sylvie hobbled over a sloping hill, eyes hunting for a sunny spot. She whipped her head around once at the gunshots ringing out. At first she heard two, but neither of them hit her. Then she heard a pause, and the sounds of struggle. Just had to let him use guns, didn't you? she chided herself mentally. I finally meet a nice guy, and I let him shoot me. God, I hope he doesn't think I'm a masochist.
She found a patch of sun at last and stood still, kneeling again and lifting the bit of skirt over the wound. She watched the hill near her as the wound slowly closed. There were more gunshots, and the sound of bullets ricocheting off something. Then her eyes widened as Stygian came running down the slope, moss still clinging to his legs.
She watched him carefully, debating whether to run again, but standing and backing up nonetheless. Her leg was reasonably healed now - she'd stopped "bleeding", at least, but there was still a dark spot there that hurt quite a bit. And there was no sense in wasting energy when there as a good chance he'd catch her anyway. In the meantime, she pointed her staff at the ground and created a good-size patch of thorns, sidestepping around it carefully so she was on the other side when it closed. She tightened her grip and waited for the human to come closer, ready to run if he shot again.
If Sylvie had thought that the thorn patch would slow Stygian down, she was only half right. It was in his way and forced him to stop running, yes. But it was far from the obstruction needed to stop him.
There was a short pause as the steps paused beyond the thick of thorns, and then a stamp. Some dirt flying behind him through the air, Stygian came leaping over the bramble. It was a thirty-foot leap, at the very least, and easily brought him twice his height into the air and more as the slope disappeared beneath him. The sort of jump that would break the leg of a normal person. Yet he landed without hitch past both the thorns and Sylvie, hitting the ground and digging into the gravel before he rolled around and into a crouched position. His gaze swiveled around quickly, once, before his eyes landed on her. And he smiled. Again, he brought his gun up, training it on her as he rose and began slowly moving toward her. Slowly, he began squeezing the trigger.
Come on, sweets. Fight back this time...!
...Keaton:After Sahlena moved to stand up, Keaton drove the heel of her oversized combat boot into the floor and thrust out her chair, easing herself to her feet with the help of her hands, which pressed, palm-first, against the tabletop before her. Now on her feet, Keaton stretched her arms luxuriantly over her head and smiled languorously, nodding her assent to the android. "Let's," she said with falsified grandiloquence, whirling around on her heel and purposefully striding toward the door. Maintaining that aforementioned pretentiousness, once she reached the door she pushed it open and held it there for Sahlena, gesturing flamboyantly through the doorway.
---
...Piix:Piix immediately threw up her hands defensively, trying to forge a hopefully-convincing grin to deter Giles's curiosity. Since he wasn't aware of his slightly hilarious nose injury, she wasn't going to offend him by bringing it up. "Uh, nothin'!" she said, hastily adding, "...Looks great!"
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Siolen attempted to swerve out of the way of the oncoming whirling death appendage, as he decided to call it. This half-worked. While he managed to avoid the brunt of the assault, the spiked disk skimmed along his back. The gargoyle bellowed as the weapon gouged out chunks of his back, shattering the membranes of his wings, turning the finely carved armor along his shoulders into so much gravel. He lunged for the leg he'd set his sights on, reaching out...
But when he got there, they weren't in the ravine anymore. The match had ended; that attack would have been lethal. He let go of the mech and dropped to the ground, feeling along his neck and back where until a moment ago there had been nothing but air. Finally, Siolen took a step back from the mech and bowed.
"An excellent fight, and a most ingenious use of the terrain in question. Thank you."
Cog let Dani ride out her indignation, simply chuckling into his glass as he watched the fight. It certainly had started off with a bang, although Cog was nowhere near writing off the green-colored elf anytime soon.
"Guns are powerful weapons, yes." he said, lounging at the side of the bar. His gaze seemed distant. "That one, though...I think if she can't make it past the bullets, she never had a chance anyway. Something strikes me about him."
He paused, slurping his drink. "And it's quite alright. No rules against excitement, I don't think."
* * *
The blackguard stared at Piix unmoving for a good five seconds, blue eyes boring into the alabaster shades of the Orin's own, his entire visage a mask of steely observation and restraint.
He cracked.
A wicked grin spread across Giles's face, his soot-black face only highlighting his eerily white teeth. He took a step forward and to the side, suddenly ruffling the little alien's hair as he let out a long-reserved, somewhat strange-sounding laugh.
"Bahahaa! C'bmon, Ib'll bhuy byou a brink." he said, making his way to the bar.
Sylvie boggled as Stygian cleared the patch of thorns like an Olympic athlete, jumping far higher than she'd ever seen anyone do before and landing safely. The moment his gaze caught her, she braced herself. She wasn't going anywhere; she'd guessed by now that neither of them wanted that. She waited and glared as he came closer, his gun already aimed at her again and his finger pulling back the trigger...
As soon as he was close enough, Sylvie bolted up to him, ignoring the pain in her leg, and jabbed her staff upward to knock the gun out of his hand, then ducked to his left and moved to knock him in the head with the heavy end of her weapon.
That was more of the sort of response he had expected. Sylvie moved fast on her wounded leg, and knocked the weapon from his hand. It didn't matter that this could be partly attributed to his slack grip; her strike was powerful for someone her size and numbed his fingers, even if it didn't crush them or bruise them adequately for him to lose his handhold. And as she came close, he didn't draw his other gun. He only had one bullet left in that one either way. Instead, he dropped it and threw up his hand to try and get in a swipe at her side that would knock the air out of her. This turned out to be a bad maneuver, since he was keeping his movements and posture relaxed, and thus when she bent swiftly to her right and made a jabbing, twisting strike with the end of her staff, his face was exposed and his neck almost slack.
Sylvie could feel the hard, smacking sensation traveling down the length of the staff, and the way his head snapped around and tendons showed in his neck and his face twisted as well, and a spatter of something wet revealed that the man had taken a hard one. He took a step back, and put a hand to the side of his face, turning it away and growling something in his throat. He stood still for two seconds, face turned away from Sylvie and shielding it.
'Bloody... The face. The pretty face...' he muttered under his breath. 'I hate it in the eyes...' It seemed almost as if he were distracted away from fighting her for a couple of seconds, hissing between his teeth. Until he turned to look at her again.
The crooked and branch-like edge of Sylvie's staff had caused a rough, blunt tear in the man's skin, and a few smaller ones next to that one besides. It had ripped a lot of skin with it as well, and torn at the side of his eye. And what had become exposed in those areas was anything but human and attractive. Some sort of half-liquid... blackness oozed from the wounds, like little shapeless tendrils writhing about, sending veins of itself fanning out thinly across his cheek while the tendrils almost hooked themselves into his fair skin to pull it together. His face seemed to literally crawl where she had struck him, thin snaking and spidering shapes underneath it, and his ripped-up eye was turned into something smooth and monotonously polished black, a slight sickly green to the edges of its color, or lack of it, and a sort of invisible, similarly venomous glow to it. He made a snarl, and hunched slightly as he steadied himself.
'I wonder... Do you stay beautiful too?' he said, wickedly. It was only then that she noticed; his hand had somehow undergone the same sort of vile metamorphosis as the side of his face. As large as before, it seemed more long-fingered now, though that was easily attributed to the talon-like claws of black that tipped every finger of it, long as kitchen knives and seemingly as much part of them as the darkening skin itself. She had only a second to glimpse the grotesqueness of it, before he swiped out at her in a suddenly far more focused strike, aimed to pierce her shoulder. He began advancing, hoping, nearly knowing, that the intimidation and the sudden change in pace would decide the fight.
Karazkt
Karazkt's mech still went stumbling a bit, and when he stablizied himself, he quickly noticed something: the maze was gone. That's it, it was over. Karazkt was actually slightly stunned. Did he actually win? He could hardly believe it.
With a shhhaaaannk, the cockpit cover slunk back, once again revealing Karazkt in the seat. He stared at Siolen through his huge opaque goggles. "I...won? I did noT eKzpeKT thiz...buT iT waz very zaTizfying." Karazkt then looked over to the left arm of the mech, where the elbow was all gunked up. "I'll be kleaning thaT ouT for hourz!" He lamented. He turned back to Siolen. "You are indeed a worthy opponenT. You were righT, thaT waz good fun."
Mechangel
The cloaked figure saw that the battle between [Siolen] and the Insectis end. He couldn't tell who was the victory until they spoke. It seemed the bug had won. Another battle had also started, this one between the plant-girl and [Stygian]. He looked behind him, and saw the Jackal succubus and the feminine android walking out. The figure under the cloak had already worked out a plan of what he wanted to do, and the succubus was part of it. A white-furred left hand appeared beneath the cloak--clenched in the fist was a small slip of paper, with a very small electronic thing attached to a corner. Written on the paper in minute writing was a message: This is a challenge. When the red light flashes, go to the Circle where I am.
The cloaked figure walked towards the door back into The Honor Circle Inn. As he passed the jackal, in a very swift, but gentle motion, he pulled up her hand and dropped the small slip in it. It should be so quick that the jackal should be completely surprised and not have time to react. Before the jackal would be able to say anything, the cloaked hunchback was already past her and through the door.
Sylvie took a startled step back when the hit turned out to be harder than she'd thought, sending shockwaves up her staff as Stygian's head twisted with the attack. The crooked edge of her staff had scratched Stygian's face very badly, and when the man turned from her, growling and covering his wounds, she regretted having hit him so hard. She was about to ask if he was all right when he faced her again.
What she saw on Stygian's face made her breath hitch sharply, and she covered her mouth to keep herself from screaming. Some sort of ... living darkness was crawling out of his wounds, pulling his ripped skin together with little veinlike tendrils that snaked across his face. She'd ripped open one of his eyes, and it had become something akin to a black marble, odd little edges of color framing it and a faint, ominous glow exuding from it.
At his next comment, she began to back away, slowly, trying unsuccessfully to hide her fear. It wasn't his transformation that scared her, though that was certainly frightening; it was the idea of what he could do to her in this form that made her tremble. Her eyes traveled down to his hand, and had she had time to scream, she would have. His hand was normal-sized, except for the black blades the size of carving knives that were apparently his fingernails. Before she could do anything else, Stygian leapt up and swiped at her shoulder, causing her to drop her staff as she jumped away from him, letting out one short, piercing shout as his claws made solid contact.
She landed unsteadily, one leg skidding across the ground and slipping out from under her. She winced as she avoided using her wounded arm to get back up, which thankfully she'd managed not to lose. Still, the slashes had ripped open the fabric covering her shoulder, and deep, dark green cuts were visible across her shoulder and collarbone, the worst one about five inches long and at least two and a half inches deep. If she hadn't lost her arm yet, she surely would if she kept fighting. But some little part of her told her not to give up just yet - she had asked for this fight. Giving it up seemed so cowardly, even now...
The translated human began to approach her, a deadly look still in his eyes. She steeled her nerves and dropped to a crouch, placing her hands on the ground and saying a lightning-quick spell. Thick vines and roots sprouted up from the ground beneath Stygian's feet as Sylvie lunged for her staff...
The vines shot up and gripped Stygian's feet before he could move too much, yet it was still only a temporary hold. While it gave Sylvie the time to roll away and grab her staff, she heard the snaps as he broke and cut the bonds with ruthless speed and carelessness. A rattling sound reached her ears, some sort of low hiss that no human could have made.
'You can't run from this, little girl...' the 'man' snarled from behind her, his voice distorted in some terrible way that caused her to shiver. 'You can't hide from it either. You should face it while the sun's still up...' He made a short, grating laugh that sent her spine twitching, and moved in closer, similar claws growing from his formerly untainted left hand.
Sylvie grabbed her staff with no interference on Stygian's part, but her vines didn't buy her much time. Soon the voice of the 'human' (which it was now abundantly clear to Sylvie that he wasn't) was behind her, threatening her in a different voice. His voice was still his, but something, something black, demonic and terrifying had crept into his tone. Upon hearing his laughter, her spine felt as if it might jump out of her skin, and an odd, cold feeling was permeating to her very bones.
She gripped her staff so firmly that were she a bit stronger, she might have snapped it. He doesn't know I can fight after the sun's gone down, it occurred to her. But how well would he fare in the darkness? His footsteps were getting closer every second - and yet he was still taking his time, either relishing this or still giving her a chance. Whether this was a good thing or bad thing, Sylvie didn't know anymore.
She waited until he was a little more than an arm's length from her back, then she jumped up and swung her staff at his hands - which were now equally changed. Break his nails; try to knock him out; just don't run yet! You're not a coward! Don't act like it!
---
Apparently, no-one wanted Dani to relax today, or, like the wolf, didn't care either way (not to say his understanding wasn't soothing right now). The human fighting Sylvie was turning into some kind of monstrous... thing and was attacking the plant girl, just when it had seemed her friend might have gained the advantage.
"Oh shit," Dani said quietly, her brick-colored eyes becoming wide as shooter marbles. "Oh shit shit shit shit shit..." She stood again, her face going white as new paper around the marks on her face. Her coffee and pumping adrenalin were keeping her awake, but at this point, she didn't care; if that bastard hurt her friend any worse, she'd kill him even if it meant she had to sleepwalk. At the same time, she knew that Sylvie still had a fighting chance. She's survived prison in a town of racists; getting shanghaied; fighting a fire-breathing dragon; and being friends with me. If that hasn't killed her, there's not much chance this will.
Even so, she whipped around to face the bartender. "How many people die in these fights?" she asked, her voice barely level and her eyes burning through him. "Because if she dies, I don't give a damn what the rules are about fights indoors." She glanced at her weapon once, not caring who noticed.
"How many?" Boog thought hard, brows furrowing as he tried to remember. It just wasn't a question people around here asked all that much, "Call it thirty percent of all who enter, maybe." He shrugged, but didn't miss Dani's glance at her weapon. He slinked out from behind the bar and motioned the woman to a seat.
"Now now, lets not do anything we'll regret, hm?" The thought entity smiled in what he hoped would be taken as a friendly manner. "Your friend knows the rules and the risks, and we have a good medical staff on hand if anything goes awry." (Meanwhile, in the back room, Dr. Holic was running out of pills. His breath started to become labored and his hands twitched...) "So don't worry, hm?"
Compared to the movements he had been exhibiting before, the man's next sudden shifting came as a shock, blurringly fast. The strength that Sylvie lacked he seemed to have in abundance, and he caught her staff mid-strike one-handed, gripping around it and tugging on it to bring her in close. His teeth now longer and beginning to tint to a darker color together with the flesh of his mouth, he grinned at her and hissed, parting them halfway.
'I won't make the horrible pun of "getting physical" with you...' he rasped, one corner of his mouth quirking upward, 'So I'll just say that was a bad move.' He twisted his hand around hard, released it, and then threw his whole arm out in an almost equally quick blow strong enough to knock her through the air and a good way up the mountainside, though 'incidentally' also a pretty wide one that would at most break one of her lower ribs.
Sylvie was amazed at her opponent's strength - and at the same time a little indignant. Surely she wasn't this weak, or had he just gotten stronger in his new form? Stygian's rapidly darkening appearance and newfound quickness froze her in place for a moment as he grabbed her staff and pulled her towards him. She tried to dig her heels in the ground, and for once wished she'd worn shoes. With almost no resistance, she was dragged much closer to him than she wanted to be right now.
A shudder of something - disgust, fear, disbelief, who could say? - ran through the Green when he spoke, but fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on which way you looked at it) she didn't have to dwell on it for long. The man twisted her staff around, forcing her arms into an awkward position, then let go and knocked her in the stomach, sending her flying.
Sylvie landed a few yards from their starting place on the mountain, her back scraping against a few errant rocks and branches. Apart from that, Stygian's punch itself hadn't hurt her that much; one of her ribs was bruised, but that was it. She got up, wincing a bit as she tried to avoid any extra damage to her shoulder and leg. Her staff lay a few feet away from her, unharmed. She grabbed it quickly and looked over the hill she'd run down earlier. The thorns were still there, but either one of them could easily clear them, magically or physically. Especially now. She decided her best bet would be to charge up a spell and wait for him to come to her. She spoke a few strange lines under her breath as her hands lit up with plant energy, taking a few steps forward and waiting for Stygian.
---
The corner's of Dani's mouth turned downward at the statistic the raggy-dressed bartender gave her, but she saw his point well enough. Sylvie wasn't a stupid girl; she knew when a fight wasn't worth winning. She'd get out of it when she realized she had no choice. With a begrudging sense of acceptance, she took her seat and nodded at the bartender. "You'd better be right," she mumbled, taking another gulp of coffee and turning back to the fight.
Making a little chuckle, Stygian exhaled slowly and stood in place for a few seconds, straightening as he watched his blow connect and Sylvie fly haplessly through the air a good distance. It was surprising how easy and conversely how hard some things were, when you just took them into consideration. For example, when you pondered how much force was needed to throw a body of, say, a hundred and ten pounds over a distance of twenty yards and a height of four or five, and then put this force on the end of a meter or so of swing arm, and calculated the muscle strength needed to make such a throw, attachment points factored in, you would say that it would be impossible for any human to do. Even in an ideal movement, it was still beyond human capabilities. Terribly hard. But at the same time, comparing proportionally, it really wasn't that far from human capabilities either. Not the ideal human capabilities, at least. And as for Stygian, he knew that he was quite a bit beyond ideal human capabilities.
Stepping out of the pronounced marks that had formed under his soles - you could use balance, momentum and friction to distribute the force over time and area, but there were limitations - the man rolled his arm and neck slightly, and paced calmly, patiently up after Sylvie. His hands were entirely blackened by now, his skin far more reminiscent of some glossy, almost partly liquid substance, oily and black, with greenish oozing tones. Subtle movements under his shirt along his arms hinted at something there as well, and as he walked he gently applied his wicked fingers, whose claws had now somewhat reduced in length, to the task of opening up his cuffs.
'Brawlers and idiots take to hands and clubs when they fight', he said, looking down and folding up his sleeves slightly. It wasn't really something he needed to do, but what he was doing right then was as much acting as it was fighting. 'Cavemen knew how to smash someone's face in. Is that all you can do too?' His eyes, one gray and subtly green-tinted in the playing dusk light, the other obsidian and almost glowing emerald from some point within, turned up against Sylvie. 'Because if you think you can throw fists with me and win, you're no better. Show me how you fight instead!'
Sylvie glared down at Stygian as he approached her. His patience irritated her, and at the same time, scared her. This was probably the reaction he'd been hoping for, but she couldn't know anything for sure about him. She had to know what he was. No human could have knocked her so far - no matter how weak she may seem. And he was changing ever more as time went on; soon, she might not even recognize him. She just needed a chance to find out something, anything about him...
Then the man voiced his challenge to her. So I come off as a common brawler, eh? was her first angry reaction to this, but a millisecond after, she realized the perfect opportunity that had just walked right into her path. It wasn't just a challenge, it was an invitation: You don't need to keep this fair until you know what he is, so quit restricting yourself.
She stared right in Stygian's mismatched eyes, and began to laugh. "Finally!" she exclaimed, pitching a single bolt of magic energy off to the side as she approached him. She had a better idea in mind than simple blasts of energy...
Her eyes began to glow bright green from within as she focused all her attention and energy on the hypnosis spell. "Tell me exactly what it is you are and how you got this way."
The man stopped, hesitated, and looked at the elf. His eyebrows slowly rose upward, as his eyes fixed straight into hers. For a second, Sylvie could almost think that she had gotten him. There wasn't any resistance from him, but neither was there some sort of response or sign that she had somehow affected his will. Then he slowly smirked again.
'Ah, right. The fight against the rat. I remember now. I wasn't paying attention there', he said, stepping closer yet. 'Interesting little trick you have there. I can imagine it might come in very handy. Myself, I have to resort to less... pleasant methods to achieve the desired effect...' He made a gesture with his hand, and vaguely Sylvie could perceive something dark, twisting and moving in his hand.
'As for the questions... Good ones, both of them', he continued, nearing her. 'But you'll have to get to know me a lot more closely before you will have any answers to either. Truth be told, if you could say what I am...'
The man grinned. His teeth were now almost as dark and glossy as his eyes, and as he parted them to laugh, there was nothing but glistening blackness behind them. He stopped, and in a particularly hideous gesture, let slip out a tongue long as his forearm and drew it up to lick his lips. That smirk never fading, he raised his right hand, slowly, fingers stretching out and his open palm against the Green. And then, he moved again. Pulling his arm back and dashing for her, he threw a swipe at her that turned into something else mid-movement, as it gathered blackness to it and whipped out. A long gleam of something utterly black, like a lash, flared out against Sylvie and ripped up the ground under it as it went.
Well, this isn't right. Sylvie had just been about to smirk in satisfaction when Stygian revealed that he hadn't been affected at all by her hypnosis. No-one had ever resisted her, and she'd never made a request they could refuse. She forced her feet to stay in place when the man advanced at first, but they betrayed her and shifted her backward when he licked his lips and revealed the new blackness of his teeth and mouth. Though how he'd become this creature was still subject to her morbid curiosity, she was more than a little scared to find out what he was now.
As it turned out, that unrestricted fear was what gave her the extra time she needed.
The man ran towards her; a black, blade-shaped object generated from his hand and lashed out at her, ripping up soil and moss underneath it from the energy behind it. She grabbed her staff and flattened herself against the ground as fast as she could, rolling away from the attack. This didn't help her as much as she would have liked; the edge of the blade lashed a sizable cut into one side of her back.
She hissed her pain through her teeth at the air grazing her stinging cut, but focused on her next spell. She hadn't had to use this one herself before, but she'd seen it done enough times to know. She listened as she heard a particularly large vine, as thick around as a maple tree, take root and sprout up quickly underneath Stygian, snaking around his waist tightly and, with any luck, throwing him back the way they'd come.
Stygian noticed the rumbling just in time to look down, but didn't have the chance to dodge. The thick vine struck him right in the gut and threw him back. Fortunately for him, his reaction to this came naturally, and his reflexes meant that he was quick to tumble over and flip back on his hands. He'd lost a few more meters of distance, but it was nothing that couldn't be compensated for. Standing straight again, he coughed once, and then growled through a pleased grin.
'Come on, can't you do worse than that?' he goaded the elf. More of that darkness he had thrown at her was beginning to gather to him, snaking and writhing shapelessly as it formed and vanished momentarily around him. He strode a bit to the side, the crackling sound of his boots against the gravel having vanished completely, and the blackness following him. He kept smirking, until he let his expression dim into an almost dull, mocking look of disappointment. 'Then again, plants are pretty slow. And harmless. I can understand if you don't really have an idea of how to advance up the evolutionary chain...'
He raised his hands and shrugged, however that movement soon became another sweep with his hand, passing over the ground. The darkness was larger now, thicker as it condensed and took form with his command. Pushing up from the ground, out of his shadow, it grew limbs and claws and tentacles and teeth, turning into some hideous thing that burst from and crawled over the ground at breakneck speed, ripping the ground up with its movement and leaving dissipating streaks of black over the soil and through the air like some freakishly large slug. Sylvie saw a glint of green, hideous eyes, four of them, before the darkness opened up and turned into jaws large enough to swallow her whole.
'But don't blame me if that gets you eaten!'
Mel hummed rather tunelessly to herself as she fiddled about with something on the bar in front of her. It almost looked as if she were playing with tinker toys, except that normally the sticks and discs didn't shimmer and pulse and make your eyes swim to focus on them. She was pulling each piece out of the pile of supplies that had mysteriously appeared beside her and carefully doing something to it that gave it that hard-to-look-at aura before adding it to her construct. It appeared as if there, in the midst of all the dueling, she had decided to create a gaudy ornament for the holiday of some mysterious religion. Eventually she picked the thing up and gave it a once over. Nodding as if satisfied she stood then hurled her prize at the ceiling, where it impacted with a sound much like thin glass crackling. But rather than return to the floor in splinters it stuck. After a moment it unfurled into an almost flowerlike display. "There is the receiver done. Now for the transmitters." She looked at Boog, "There are four circles, correct?"
Sylvie slowly got up from her prone position, watching and finally smirking as the vine threw Stygian a few meters away. But she noticed that although he had indeed gotten farther away, he was unharmed, and simply got back up and taunted her again. She narrowed her eyes, shifting a little closer to the writhing, still-intact vine. She didn't trust the way the enchanted darkness seemed to flock to the man, like moths to a flame. Or followers to a religious extremist. This isn't any kind of dark magic I've seen before... what can he do?
Then Stygian shrugged and, once again, used a simple, innocuous movement to mask his real attack. The darkness that had been gathering to him started to take shape, growing teeth and claws and tentacles and eyes and turning into a monster. It headed towards her faster than she'd ever seen anything move in her life, its jagged mouth opening large enough to eat her alive.
Sylvie didn't bother exercising any restraint. She screamed and ran for the magically-charged vine as fast as she could move, placing her hands on its 'trunk' and saying the spell without freaking out between words. The man was right; plants were, as a general rule, slow-growing. But that didn't mean she was powerless to speed it up. The vine lashed out lightning-quick to wrap around the upper jaw of the beast, seeming to grow and stretch at her command. As a final touch, she said a few more words and thorns as long as her own fingers sprouted out of the vine's skin.
The horrid thing crashed into the thick vine, now more of a branch, its jaws locking around its thorny length. The monstrosity seemed immensely strong and heavy, and for a moment the plant was pushed back, its roots breaking the soil. But it held, and before another second had passed, the slug-like, gnashing thing began... melting, for lack of a better word. Its glossy form had already been half-liquid anyway, and the parts of it that seemed most organic, ridged and carapaced merely crackled and flaked and joined the rest of its form. Most of the darkness continued on the same course as the beast had headed first, but with all the light around and the damage it had suffered from the thorns of the vine, it couldn't sustain itself. It began dissolving, and dissipated like black smoke in the air, inches from Sylvie's skin. She could feel a few wisps of it touching her face, chilly and carrying an odor like cold cinders. It was shocking to say the least. For a second the beast was there, real and hard and as heavy as a car, and the next it had just turned into nothing.
A hard laugh broke the dizzy impossibility of the moment, and beyond the vein, Sylvie could see Stygian walking again, slowly approaching as he circled her, grinning. There were... things, tendrils and creepers of continually shifting blackness crawling over the ground toward him, from where the monster he had created had just disappeared. They vanished quickly, seeping away somewhere underneath him, but she saw them clearly enough.
'You've a little more power than you showed at first, it seems', he said, taking step by measured step. Drawing out on things didn't seem to push her hard enough, but he had to make her see the need to exert herself. He'd tried shock. Now he might try slow terror. Change the pace continually, and shake the world around her... The problem lay in doing that while the sun still hadn't completely set. Half of the golden orb still lingered heavily on the horizon, and while the light wasn't strong enough to do more than dull his powers, he couldn't do anything about it.
'Why are you holding back?' he stated, suddenly, more bluntly than he had really wanted from the start. He flexed his fingers, and a hint of something, perhaps disappointment, perhaps contempt, began edging its way into his features. And as it did, so did more of that taint that seemed to have grasped him. The veins on his temples and neck began taking on a dim, black tint, and his teeth and jaw seemed longer than they had before. 'Are you scared of what might happen?' Something seemed to creep up the inside of his neck and around his back, and darkness condensed and gathered to him in thick, twisting shapes. It seemed to be swirling and circling him at his feet. The very air around him shivered in places. 'You should be. But if you won't resist, then it'll be all the easier for me to... extend the pleasure of devouring you...'
He swept his hands out, palms facing outward, and the darkness followed his movements, growing outward from the few warping shapes of it into a veritable flood, and then rushed forward as he struck out against her with a snarl. The rays of light burned it, but the black mass was too strong and too fast to be affected. Teeth and eyes and raking claws, spikes and spines and skeletal faces all swarmed against Sylvie from two directions, amid a cacophony of ethereal growls and shrieks and moans.
Sylvie would have stayed behind the vine, but the creature lunged and snapped its teeth around the trunk, forcing her to jump back and away. For a moment, it seemed like the beast was going to uproot it, but in the next few seconds, it ... turned to liquid. Well, maybe turned to liquid wasn't right; it had seemed to be mostly fluid before it was destroyed, but now the parts that had seemed real were melting. Bits of it stayed behind, but most of the creature dissolved and turned to smoke under the light of day. Sylvie felt the cold wisps brush over her, smelling like soot and something she couldn't place.
The brief amazement at the moment died with a strong laugh from Stygian. She moved from her shielded place, coming out to face him. He was approaching her again, circling her, every step seeming calculated and planned. She tried to make her soft features look threatening, glaring at him as he casually noted her unused power. She didn't speak while he did, listening to him and observing the remaining daylight with a sense of caution.
A second later, Stygian gave her an almost disappointed look and asked why she was restraining herself. Had she had the time, she'd have given her reason: I've never needed to use half the attack spells a plant mage learns. If I used them, I might end up hurting both of us more than I want to. But his changing features distracted her from telling the man. The blackness that had been gathering to him appeared to be part of him somehow, circulating in his veins – how had she not noticed that? His dark power crossed his face, which seemed to have ... elongated somehow. The shadows from where the creature had been swirled at his feet. What kind of power lay in that void?
Then the man swept out his hands and the darkness followed, like puppets on strings, growing into a deluge of the stuff. Sylvie heard only a growl from Stygian as a new slew of creatures rushed her, shrieking and snarling in dissonant chorus, sharp teeth and claws and eyes that seemed to burn right through her...
"GET AWAY FROM ME!" the elf-girl screamed, fairly jumping to the side and crouching to the ground. She didn't bother to say a spell this time; just charged the ground with pure, raw plant magic, gritting her teeth and her eyes blazing with effort. Within seconds, gnarled, spiked trees broke through the ground, sharp and twisting branches piercing the creatures and aiming for Stygian.
The machine stepped out on the street and straightened her jacket, casting a glimpse first at Mel and the Boogeyman, as if looking what their business was but not really minding. Next, she paced over to a free circle, and in passing took a good look at the one where the fight between Sylvie and Stygian was taking place. Stopping just outside the ground she had selected, she watched that one closely for a while.
'
:damn but he is messing around', she commented, at last. '
:hope he's enjoying himself, because she's going to be terrified of him from now on. i think it would have been better if he had just beat her into the ground and been done with it...' she added with a meaningful look to Keaton.
- -
At last! Stygian laughed again, cruelly and coldly hard, as the elf finally dropped and aimed a counter-assault at him. The coalescing blackness from his former attacks already dissolving into something like dark smoke and then nothing, he called more of the darkness to him. It gathered like cuts and holes in the air, distorting the light around it, as he drew his hands inward, following his movements as if he were the one tearing up the world around him with the clawed tips of his fingers.
'
Magnificent!' he exclaimed, snarling and throwing his hands out. The blackness rushed forward again, flaring out from his back in almost wing-like shapes, before it divided and flashed out into the air in swiping motion like blades. Teeth and claws followed the motions, running head-first into the hardened spikes of wood that Sylvie were sending up, whittling them away. She could feel it right through the connection she had with the things, see it before her very eyes. The wood wasn't just ripped and whittled away, it was
corroded, blackened and chilled and peeled apart as if exposed to some horrible acid as it touched the black matter. The spikes she sent reached into the dark before Stygian and almost out on the other side. But then it was torn apart, and once the process was started...
She had barely a moment's warning when the man suddenly showed up through the blackness. It was terribly hard to see anything even through the slight gaps in it, and when he came leaping through it for her, black matter still drawing close behind him, his arm brought back for a strike and his darkly gleaming eyes fixed on her, she only had a fraction of a second to respond.
Sylvie didn't take her hands off the ground, even after the spell had taken effect. She looked up and watched as Stygian's creatures were impaled and their creator stood there laughing. The shadows were broken now, blocking out various patches of light. Her cuts and injuries were healing much more slowly, but she'd come to ignore that in the past few minutes. She watched in shock as the man's dark magic gathered to him again, flaring out like wings before splitting and slashing at her trees, teeth and claws forming yet again.
The girl shuddered, feeling the pain of the forest. It wasn't just being cut; it was being rotted, trees collapsing like they'd been burned or poisoned. She glanced over once at her staff, which she'd dropped when the swarm attacked her. She reached out one tentative hand to snatch it, keeping her eyes on Stygian all the way. The darkness was becoming thicker now; all she could see was that the trees she'd sent to attack Stygian hadn't made it past his magic, and then...
Stygian jumped out at her from the blackness, one arm back to hit her, magic trailing off him like some sort of living smoke. In the heartbeat of a second she had, she slammed her hands to the ground again, and another blast of magic caused a plant to break open the ground. But instead of another twisted tree, several thick, tightening roots whipped to the man's throat, sprouting jagged little barbs as Sylvie shifted into a good position to grab her staff and run.
...Keaton:During the escalating conflict between Stygian and Sylvie, Keaton remained safe on the sidelines beside Sahlena. Occasionally she'd stop observing the battle to examine the message transmitted to her by the unidentified figure which had bypassed her previously, weighing her options, but otherwise her partially-divided attention was focused on the ongoing skirmish. Her expression was mostly unreadable, but her thoughts reflected two different emotions. One was impressed bewilderment.
The other, meanwhile, mirrored contemptuous envy at the monster-man's manipulation of darkness.
Or, she assumed it was darkness. Keaton hadn't witnessed control in that form - when someone would endow the shadows with an organic embodiment. Nobody in Jyraneth Clan had ever -
It was hurting her to elaborate. She was getting confused; she decided to discard the issue and tend to it later, preferably by interrogating the tall blond human once this battle concluded. Shoving her emotions aside, Keaton craned her head around to look at Sahlena inquiringly, her eyebrow raised. "Aren't you worried about him killing her?"
---
...Piix:Piix tried to keep herself from looking uncomfortable as the blackguard assessed her with a stony, unreadable visage. Amidst their unofficial staring contest, her eyes occasionally slid from side to side, searching for an easy escape route in case he decided to go berserk on her and fling her to the side, but once he cracked and invited her to a drink, she felt whatever apprehension dissolve in favor of relief. Although she was still nervous, she decided to accept the offer - after all, she didn't want to exhaust her boundaries in this partnership, and besides, he could make a good ally even if she nearly killed him. Orin venom could be very deadly.
Piix made herself grin, and bounded over to a bar stool, leaning Orpiment against the counter and nestling into a seat beside Giles. Her tail lashed back and forth excitedly, and she started rifling through an ornate drawstring bag she drew inexplicably from the confines of her cape. Her fingers emerged, clutching a few coins engraved with an odd, abstract scrawl. Probably enough in monetary value to purchase some drinks. Piix dropped them on the counter, followed by a paper bill dyed in a blue shade. Depicted on the portrait in the center of the bill was a regal-looking specimen of Piix's species, garbed in grandiloquent draperies of decorative jewels and ornaments.
"'Ey, have any Blue Xvarru?" Piix asked to the Boogeyman.
Xvarru was a very bitter drink ground from a fruit harvested on the Orin planet of Oriaendi. While it was dangerous if consumed by someone outside of the Orin species, or one with a reasonable endurance for something ranked so high on the Ph scale, Piix's species, with their poisonous blood and propensity for venom, could easily drink it. It was even a very popular beverage because of its favored bitter taste.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
The Boogeyman shook his head and turned away from the fights at Mel's question, "Ah, yeah. Four of 'em. Nice craftsmanship there," he glanced up at what Mel had constructed. He didn't GET magic. The entire way it worked, it seemed, was by being unable to be held accountable for what it did.
Then again, any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Ergo, any technology distinguishable from magic is insufficiently advanced. Thus were the subjects of his thoughts as Piix bounded into her seat.
He grinned and pushed the bill back to her, "Coin only, but the rest should cover your drink. One minute." He reached under the counter, which as one may guess had another one of it's Arguments (although it took some truly mindbending logical paradoxes to achieve it) and brought forth a bottle of the desired drink. It set a cup down before her with a flourish of slender fingers and served it to her.
"Also, if I may ask, wherever did you get that?" He asked, gesturing to Orpiment. "I find myself curious."
For a moment, against common sense, Keaton thought she saw the machine flinch. Then, the mechanical woman turned and gave her a blank stare with that single red lens of hers, and blinked a blinder once.
'
:what do you suppose i could do if he really intended to?' she asked, her metallic tone a bit puzzled as she leaned her head a few degrees to the side. '
:no, sorry', she said, a second later. '
:you don't know. i shouldn't expect...' She stopped and shook her head a little, looking down. '
:i know him, alright. it's not like him. not entirely.' Again, she turned to look at the fight, waiting for a while before she spoke again.
'
:if [Stygian] wanted to kill her, he wouldn't... play around like this', she said. Something in her tone had changed. Where before she had spoken of the man with a jokingly disdainful fondness, this time there was a more genuine tone to it, some hint of serious and fearful emotion that she had obviously not wanted to show before. Again she looked at the jackal. '
:there is a great difference between doing something for fun and just doing something to him. at least i think so.' Then, she blinked again, and her speech lightened. '
:enough of that. you challenged me, so does that mean i choose the battleground, or...?'
- -
The girl's response was quick. Stygian had already been prepared to divert his strike, but he didn't have to. Hard, thick roots cracked open the ground just a fraction of a moment after her hands touched the ground again, and he was forced to shield himself with his arms from the oncoming assault. Fortunately, no matter how strong, the plants were still terribly slow compared to his darkness, and while he crashed into the roots the black mass around him was already gathering, forming blade-like shapes. A long spike of wood pierced his hand, and he landed uncomfortably, rolling forward before getting up again. Baring his teeth a bit, he stood, and looked at the elf.
'
Want to rip up my face some more?' he asked, sneering, the still present wound to the corner of his mouth and his cheek twisting his smile. '
Come a little closer then...!' Carelessly, disdainfully, he grabbed that splinter through his hand, then pulled it right out with a rip and a bit of black, evaporating splatter, and advanced on her. Though burned and subdued by the still lingering sunlight, the darkness gathered to him, moving like an extension of his body. No, not an extension. The blackness was within and without. It
was his body, as much a part of his physique as any other. His hands were already pitch-black and clawed, some ashen substance trailed his steps, spreading like frost over the ground, and slight wisps of smoke hinted around him and at his breath. The air seemed even chillier than it had before. The borderline between what seemed his humanoid form and that dark matter was getting thinner. And the darker it got...
'
Can't blame you though. It always feels so good to destroy something beautiful...!' he snarled, not really referring to himself. Throwing himself after her, he swept his hand forward in a strike, and a wing-like shape of utter black followed it with speed, already preparing to take another shape and release a shockwave that would throw the girl an even longer distance than before. He would subdue her...
Mechangel
The cloaked hunchback moved around the edges of the Inn, monitoring the occupants. Eventually, he picked out the three he was looking for. Again, a pure-white-furred left hand came put from the folds of his cloak. Clutched in it were three identical copies of the same note he had given to the yellow-and-black jackal Succubus; slips of paper with electronic tags on the corners, and the same note: This is a challenge. When the red light flashes, go to the Circle where I am.
With his targets locked in, he proceeded to make his way around the room. He wordlessly delivered one of the slips to three people; a male scorpion-Angel person, another black jackal who was a male Angel instead of a Succubus, and a female white Dragon. As he dropped each slip in front of their respective recipients, the cloaked hunchback made sure to quickly turn away and move on after each drop.
After dropping the three slips, there was only one more person to recieve one. The cloaked man glanced outside. Why did I not give him his note while I was out there? Ugh...I really need to run another debug program soon. The cloaked hunchback then proceeded to return outside. He walked over to the stone gargoyle who had just finished his fight with the Insectis. The cloaked man dropped a fourth (fifth if you counted the one he had already given to the jackal Succubus) and final tagged slip for him. The hunchback turned away and quickly entered the Inn at another door, one directly part of the quarters corridor.
Karazkt
Karazkt did an Insectis bow to Siolen, which was basically dipping one's antennae forward as a sign of respect, then fired up his mech and started steering back towards the buildings of the Honor Circle Inn. He took it into a garage, where he shut down his mech, putting it into a deep crouching position. He got some tools out of a compartment in the mech, and went to work taking apart the tarred-up left arm of the mech. Karazkt groaned at how thick the stuff was. This was going to take some time.
The Jackal found himself absently taking the slip of paper from the robed figure, giving a distracted stare inside the darkness of the hooded figure's cowl before opening the note up. He read it quickly, golden eyes scanning the short scrawl before he set it down on the windowsill beside him. His face twisted into a sort of sneer, but it was quickly replaced by the expressionless mask of before.
I am not a dog to be called. he thought, his eyes carefully looking at nothing. Still. If he wants a challenge...
* * *
Giles continued to grin as the little alien and himself sat down - as she started to slide money towards the strange barkeeper, he set a hand down quickly and pushed it back towards her.
"Oy, ah said I'b pay, and I bill." he said, his nose starting to clear just slightly. He suspected it was the residual alcohol fumes from the bar. Reaching into a rubbery-looking pouch attached to his belt, he pulled out a slightly lumpy-looking piece of gold and slid it towards the Boogeyman. He tried breathing through his nose again.
"And I'll habve what she's habing." he said, his nose tingling faintly with the slightly cool feeling of running blood.
...Keaton:In response to Sahlena's almost indifferent question, Keaton canted her head dryly in the android's direction, an unimpressed, flat look which didn't complement her features at all on her face. "Gee, I don't know," she answered, "Possibly
stop him? You
are his... whatever you are, after all..." A slight pause, then Keaton looked quizzically at the sky before she sighed with resignation. "I assume. You were with him."
Though Sahlena's following, thoughtful comment made Keaton look somewhat flat again; not uncomprehending, but with steadily-growing dislike for the human. It wasn't something she particularly understood, like all her emotions, but she simply
envied him. For that reason she automatically found him contemptuous, just in the fact he was rivaling her with his display of dark... she wasn't even sure if it
was darkness, it just looked too organic. Normally, as Keaton harnessed her spells, they adopted numerous forms - often fluid, often laced with electricity, often paper-thin - but far from fleshy, pulsating, intestinal
things. No other magic, though, could deform and disfigure the body so carelessly. Not to her knowledge, at least. If these people were from other worlds then the concept of other types of magic wasn't out of the question. That was what relieved Keaton.
Keaton was rather happy when Sahlena interrupted her musings, although some of the turmoil was visible in her eyes when she looked back to the android. Right. A battle. Nothing made her feel better when she was feeling inadequate than kicking someone into the dirt. "You choose the battlefield," Keaton told her indifferently. "I'll win anyway."
---
...Piix:Piix watched the Boogeyman with some curiosity as he ducked out of sight and under the counter, rummaging around the assorted drinks and bottles she imagined to be stashed down there. Inquisitiveness nearly controlled Piix's actions, as she resisted the urge to peer over when the Boogeyman was preoccupied and see
what he was grappling with in particular, but by the time the thought really wrestled its way out past her control he stood back upright and set the drink in front of her. Piix tried (and failed) to look innocent by playing with her tail, toying delicately with the large tuft on the end. At the sight of her favored beverage, however, she grinned wildly and nodded her thanks to the Boogeyman, scraping the bill back into its drawstring bag, and scooped up the drink, starting to guzzle down the slightly-acidic contents.
In response to the Boogeyman's question, Piix stopped, and glanced to Orpiment. An elusive grin on her face, she turned back to the Boogeyman, and lifted her index finger. "Right, 'bout that... it's..." After a lengthy pause, she, cheerfully, added, "A secret." She allowed the anticlimactic answer to sink in, then smirked. "Nah I kid. I got this around... what, a few years back. It's - "
Before the Boogeyman could accept Piix's hard-earned (stolen) money, though, Giles intercepted by scraping it back in and placing his own form of currency on the table. "Hey, you don't need t'do that," Piix said in a rare show of politeness (especially when it involved money), though she stopped cold when the blackguard roughly ordered
"what she was having."Looking slightly dumbstruck, Piix glanced down at the drink cradled in her hand, eyeing the foaming substance churning inside of it. True to the drink's affectionate name, the liquid was a very dark blue, and smelled rather strongly of fruit.
"Uh..." Flatly, Piix stared back up at Giles. "'Ey, not t' interrupt or anythin', but I don't think that's a very good idea. That is, if y'have some sorta tolerance t'somethin' made outta an acidic fruit that I didn't know 'bout..."
---
...Dekuyaketh:Around the time Piix had spoken to Giles, the sound of the door opening cut inconspicuously beneath the syllables of her conversation, punctuated dully by the practiced pounding of heavy footsteps. Being occupied at the moment, Piix didn't pay it any mind, even as the door yawned open to permit the new arrival's entry.
An abnormally tall, feline character, handsome and yet beautiful, strode inside. His hair was unusually long, around the same shade of black as his velvety fur, but the edges of his locks highlighted with a bloodstained red. That same, lurid shade of red slashed in twin crescents over both of his unnaturally sharp, golden-amber eyes - the left one had what could only be seen as an imperceptibly thin, wrinkled scar over it - and cleaved down the lengths of his elongated, tufted ears. Other than that, no other notable markings could be immediately discovered, as his attire was mostly concealing: consisting of a crisp black suit with a red button-down shirt underneath the open jacket. Draped heavily over the right side of the feline's body was some sort of weighty manteau, its buckle sufficing as a brace to keep it at its awkward angle. At the way it was, the manteau effectively veiled the right side of his body in its entirety. Adjusting the manteau in a compulsive, mostly habitual manner, the feline man unflinchingly approached the bar, his immensely bushy tail swaying stiffly behind him.
The feline picked a seat, and sat down, purposefully a few feet away from the two individuals he had designated as
the little piss-colored thing and
her overgrown companion. Not far enough to be considered antisocial, per se, but enough for him to get some privacy. Again in that habitual, practiced manner, the feline reached into his pocket with his exposed left hand and fumbled with something.
"I don't suppose you have anyplace to smoke, do you?" Dekuyaketh asked the Boogeyman explicitly. Despite the sour displeasure in his voice, as though it pained for him to be polite to someone, his voice was as handsome as the individual who used it; deep and faintly accented with an inflection not immediately recognizable. "If not, any water?"
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Piece of paper sitting silently on the windowsill beside him, the black jackal suddenly gave the newcomer a hard stare, the hair on his neck raising. Perhaps it was something about the newcomer, but it seemed to raise the priest's hackles, and Laertes quickly pushed himself off the wall to stand behind the strange feline fellow. He narrowed his eyes.
"Water?" he said, speaking suddenly from behind Dekuyaketh. "Allow me to bless it then, my child, that it might give you strength for the times to come."
His golden eyes gleamed.
* * *
"Bah! Nonsbense!" Giles said, taking the thick metal cup from the bartender's hand. "S'what all liquor is, you bow." The blackguard took the mug, and fumbling with the oddly shaped handle spilled a bit onto the wooden counter. The wooden surface smoked where the blue colored liquid fell.
Giles breathed the acrid fumes for a moment, and set the mug down.
"I've always been bartial to a bwhisky." he said suddenly, pushing another coin across the now slightly-pitted bar.
...Piix:Piix flinched in almost painful anticipation as she prepared herself for Giles's undoubtedly explosive reaction after he consumed the drink, but quite fortunately, due to some serendipitous slip of the wrist, a small portion of the acidic contents of the drink trickled onto the countertop before it could reach his lips. As expected, the blue liquid splashed onto the wood and started sizzling, thick wafting trails of malodorous smoke rising from the drink. Piix stared at it, self-consciously sipping her own drink.
Quite fortunately, that experience seemed to dissuade Giles from trying the drink, though what he said in particular made Piix press her palm to her mouth in an earnest effort to stifle her snickering.
---
...Dekuyaketh:Similar to the reaction Laertes experienced after his entry, Dekuyaketh's hackles bristled along the back of his monochromatic neck from beneath his luxurious hair as he heard the priest's bold, imperious intonation. Unconsciously, Dekuyaketh felt his hand tense atop the countertop, drawing his razorbladed nails along the wooden surface, a small, almost canid snarl departing his throat.
Priests. Fucking
priests. Either they were trying to vanquish him after encountering him amidst an assignment by his
dearest master Jack the Ripper, or they were spreading their creed around like the useless garbage it was. In the world Dekuyaketh was familiar with, priests were the primary opposition against the Demonic invaders which preyed upon hapless Mortals. Priests, paladins, and those endowed with fighting abilities that could appropriately rival a Demon's in combat. The Order had its hands full, deploying warriors left and right to handle the oh-so-insidious abominations.
With a belligerently indifferent look on his face, Dekuyaketh inclined his head in Laertes's direction, his eyes half-lidded. The scar over his eye trembled slightly, the skin seemingly writhing beneath the scarred muscle, then the rough flesh bifurcated and opened like a weary eyelid. A chitinous replica of an ordinary eye, inscribed with intricate intaglio of hieroglyphic designs, swiveled and rotated to follow the direction its organic companions were pointing, its bejeweled pupil glaring in the acrimonious light.
"Bless it...?" Dekuyaketh repeated the jackal's words under his breath, then an inhuman smirk tugged at his lips. "Ah, are you going to save my soul, Mister Preacher-Man? Good luck doing that; it's already been sold cheap."
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Contrary to what Dekuyaketh might have thought, Laertes was not that sort of priest. He didn't see damned souls so much as heathens as abominations upon the earth, and whatever mercy might have lurked within that jackal's black heart, it certainly wasn't reserved for those like the maine coon. In all honesty, the angel would have plunged the feline into the rivers of hell himself.
"Yes, I expect it was." Laertes said, giving the demon a cold, golden stare. "Perhaps for gold, or revenge, or a moment of carnal bliss. I speak to you truly, though, as a man of my word." he paused. "I'd love nothing more than to help you find it again."
The jackal bared a long, white tooth.
* * *
"So, I take it yer not exactly from around these parts." Giles said, knocking back a smaller glass of something more suited to human consumption. "Well, not these parts, nobody is from around here exactly, but not...well, your a damn long way off, is what I mean."
He coughed, feeling the burn of the alcohol mix with the various toxins and fumes he'd inhaled in the last moment or so. "And I'll be careful toasting to anyone who drinks something like that. Th' hell is that, anyway?"
...Piix:Piix laughed good-naturedly, grinning in a way which fully revealed her pearly-white rows of teeth. "Took y'that long to figure it out?" she asked, adding an insidious inflection to her voice which clearly showed she was joking. "Yeah, I'm not from 'round here. Not by a long shot. In fact, I'm from a different planet. Mother Oriaendi, t'be precise."
She wasn't sure if this all sounded like no more than insane ramblings to the blackguard, but Piix gambled to continue. After all, if they were all here, the concept of other planets existing wouldn't appear
too outrageous to the more thoughtful individuals. "As f'r that there drink, it's pretty common on my planet. Normally m' species c'n drink it down easy. It's called Blue Xvarru."
---
...Dekuyaketh:Deep down, it seemed Dekuyaketh was supernaturally aware of Laertes's contempt for him and his kind, and he received that abhorrence rather indifferently. Not because he particularly
wanted Laertes to be angry with him - but because Dekuyaketh found some strange form of comfort in the fact their loathing was mutual. Laertes hated those who had sold their souls for their personal benefit and therefore condemned themselves; Dekuyaketh hated those who had sold their souls to a deity he viewed as nonexistent, hollow, and the concoction of chimerical fairytales made by lunatics who had wanted to convince themselves that there wouldn't be an oblivion awaiting them after their demise. Religion and Dekuyaketh went together just about as well as fire and ice. Goodness, a Demon apathetic to religion, how original.
Although Dekuyaketh wanted to laugh to simply illustrate his skepticism to the priest in a more direct fashion, he decided to do so in a more subtle manner. He smiled mirthlessly, the insincere curve of his lips failing to touch his triad of eyes, and instead muted the laughter that wished to erupt from his throat to a chuckle.
"Ooh, good guess. Though no." Dekuyaketh casually extended each finger on his exposed hand as he counted off Laertes's speculations. "Gold? Sure, that would've been a great deal if I knew I would be making as much as I am killing off holy men like you. Revenge? Only goes so far, Preacher-Man. Not worth the hellfire and brimstone. Carnal bliss, on the other hand..." Dekuyaketh finally permitted himself a small and largely heartless laugh. All acting, all fake. "I
wish. No..."
Dekuyaketh smiled again in that artificial, purposefully provoking manner, that third eye of his locking its dead-ruby pupil onto Laertes's iridescent irises. In comparison to his vibrant and uncharacteristically lively eyes, the third eye found over Dekuyaketh's right eye looked to be, even in its intricacy, no more than a cheap, imperfect knockoff. "How about something akin to stability? Safety?
Sanity? I may have been the one who sold my soul cheap... but you're the one who sold it for
nothing."
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Sylvie grabbed her staff, stood and backed away quickly when her roots failed to strangle Stygian, even though he did get a nice stab through the hand. She glared at the man with not a hint of emotion other than purpose; if he meant what he'd said to her before, now was not the time to judge him. He was her opponent right now, not her friend, and not someone she should go easy on.
She shuddered lightly at the man's twisted, cut-up face. More of that darkness presented itself when he was healing, she noticed. And the more darkness there was, the less human he became. And if he lost all vestiges of his humanity... Don't think about that. Just beat him and end this!
She watched for a second or two, showing a little surprise when Stygian ran and swung for her. She blocked the strike itself with her staff, but the shockwave couldn't be helped. Sylvie was flung through the air yet again, but this time she had a plan. She pointed her staff at the ground and uttered a spell. A large vine, bigger than the one used to throw Stygian, sprouted up underneath her and lashed around her waist as she passed, then lowered her gently and quickly to the ground.
"Aren't you the one acting cowardly now?" she called to Stygian in a moment of daring. Narrowing her eyes, she planted the blunt end of her staff into the ground and smirked. She charged the ground with plant energy again, but this time, the effect wasn't widespread. A bolt of raw plant magic surged along the ground and aimed straight for the man. She may have been more wounded than him, but she wasn't going to give up so easily.
---
Back in the bar, Dani Sanders could have been doing much better, thank you. She was wringing her naginata in her hands, biting the blade lightly as she watched the fight go on. Whatever that ... man was, he wasn't something Sylvie or she had ever fought, She doubted whether something so powerful even EXISTED in the Northern Hemisphere. And if she'd had a choice, the Red would have run out there long ago and declared the fight over.
Okay, Dan, get a hold of yourself. You didn't come here just to watch your best friend get slaughtered, but there isn;t much you can do about it. Distract yourself for now. You can kill that darkness-loving bastard later.
She took her teeth off her weapon, took a deep breath and watched the patrons around her. The cloaked figure who'd been sitting outside came in at one point and silently handed a few people slips of paper. That did look interesting, but Dani guessed that having not received a paper, it would be best not to ask about it.
Then a new person entered. Another Animal. She'd become accustomed to the creatures, despite their rarity where she came from. And this one looked VERY interesting, for reasons the chaos-girl wasn't quite sure of yet. Desperate for something to do besides panic, she swiveled around in her seat to face the bar again - and stopped herself from leaning on the table when she smelled smoke and saw the bluish, burning stain.
She eyed the furry little creature - who was apparently drinking that stuff and suffering no harm at all - with an expression of awe and puzzlement. "I'd think the fact that someone can drink something that can do that-" she glanced at the table again - "- and not die would merit a toast by itself."
She placed another coin on the bar, tentatively. "This day just earned more coffee."
The Jackal sneered. "I gave my soul, spawn of hell. But I suppose I can't expect one born of a worthless father and the womb of a rancid whore to know not to speak blasphemies. Especially to me."
You could cut stone on the stare the Jackal gave the cat. "And I don't give a damn what you sold your soul for. No doubt for something worth less than even it, which must have been a trick."
He bared his fangs, and somehow was holding his scythe. "But perhaps you have tarried to long without it. Pray, allow me to help you find it again."
* * *
Giles knocked back another one, a silver coin sliding across the bar. He listened carefully to the little alien's words, and nodded. He wiped his mouth before speaking.
"Another planet...Mother Oriaendi? S'at....far?"
Giles was, again, not an astronomer.
...Piix:Piix stared bluntly at Giles for a few seconds, looking decidedly unimpressed. Despite this, she refrained from making any smartly-veiled remarks at his expense, as she was prone to do in situations with less friendly people, but considering she and Giles were now unofficially acquaintances she didn't want to sour the relationship. Instead of succumbing to her hidden cynic, Piix forced herself to respond in an informative manner.
"Probably a few solar systems away, yeah." After a pause, she added quickly and helpfully, "That's far."
---
...Dekuyaketh:Under normal circumstances, explicitly insulting Dekuyaketh's mother or father would be the easiest way to get your jaw broken against his fist. Determined by the ugly twitch Dekuyaketh's lower-right eye gave, he appeared sorely tempted to do the same to Laertes, right in front of everyone. But no, while the temptation teased away at Dekuyaketh's tensing knuckles, he didn't want to give the holy man the satisfaction, or a reason to gloat his superiority to anyone else. Biting back a snarl, Dekuyaketh buried his nails underneath the counter, splintering the polished wood around his inhumanly sharp claws.
While he looked like he was going to scream, and a vein was probably going to pop like a blood-filled balloon in his neck, Dekuyaketh forced another one of those insincere smiles, this time large enough to reveal his perfectly pearlescent fangs. "Aha, someone thinks they're witty now, do they...?" Dekuyaketh forced out. "For one boasting such holier-than-thou religious values, you certainly seem to pride yourself in low blows."
A glint of obsidian brought Dekuyaketh's attention to the scythe clutched in Laertes's hands. Dekuyaketh smiled in a way which insinuated nothing but bad intentions. "But if you truly insist, fine, Preacher-Man.
"Help me find my everlasting soul."
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Giles smiled softly as another whiskey made it's way towards him. He sipped this one, instead of knocking the glass straight back, and glanced at the little alien out of the corner of his eye.
"Couple hundred thousand astronomical units, I'd expect." He grinned
Just because Giles wasn't an astronomer, didn't mean he was an idiot.
* * *
Laertes kept that same stare on the man before stepping back just a bit, and nodded towards the door. He kept his scythe clutched in one hand.
"Outside. In the circles. And you choose the arena." he said, waiting for the demon to rise. "The magic in those circles will keep our fight...contained. You may not care, but I would object to having anyone else...injured."
Stopping in the middle of the fight didn't come naturally to Stygian, and as into the fight as he was a great part of him was also quite detached. Any small emotional part, for instance. Neither would giving in to... was it really goading that the elf was attempting? She seemed to be trying to seem confident... Still, he almost felt like stopping to retort to her statement. But that would have been futile. Instead, he just opted to prove her wrong. It would be a bit hard, but he wasn't easily exhausted, even when the light made his powers that more difficult to use.
The man could sense the girl's attacks well enough, even though the sort of energy she used for her tool was a bit strange to him. And either way he was already set and ready to move, reacting to the smallest sign of an attack. Anyone had to be in a fight, and he had trained to see even smaller and subtler signs of impeding danger than most. The distance between him and the girl was at the same time both quite great and small, comparatively, but he knew he could pull off what he wanted in one move. So he sprang forward and to the side. And vanished.
It was hard to explain what it was that Sylvie saw. It seemed partly as if the man turned into black smoke as he took his second step, partly as if he just blended into the shadowed background. It was an eye-eluding action. A... distortion ran through the air, and the shadows bent. And then Sylvie felt a chill draft against her skin.
'No', Stygian growled, his voice low and yet absolutely clear, just to her side. She had been able to see the point where he stepped off, perhaps notice some sign of how he approached her, but to follow him... It had been too fast. Much too fast. The blackness was thickening right at her now, and she could feel it on her skin, chilly and terrible. And also, clearer than that, a sharp sensation, right against her neck.
'No, I don't think so', the man continued. 'I see it as giving you a fighting chance.'
As Stygian had (almost) guessed, Sylvie had been trying to mask her fear this whole fight. After a while, she had almost overcome the sight of the tendrils of blackness writhing at the man's feet, and the sound of his sadistic, dark voice. But his next maneuver gave her terror a whole new reason, and caused her to immediately regret her halfhearted taunt. He dodged her bolt easily, and then vanished without a trace into the shadows.
Sylvie's body tensed, her eyes growing wide and darting through the blackness as she uttered a quick spell. The spell wasn't meant to attack Stygian - yet. Thorny vines sprouted from her staff itself and wrapped around it, making it suitably more dangerous if he tried a close-range attack.
She felt the air grow colder and began to shiver. She'd always hated the cold, but this seemed like something far more sinister than a mere change in weather. Stygian's voice at her side proved her suspicions right, though how he'd gotten there so quickly remained a mystery. For the briefest of seconds, she allowed her fear to take over her body, remaining perfectly still as the darkness thickened around her.
Then when she felt a sharp pain on her neck, she reacted. "Get off - !" she shouted, spinning quickly around and swiping her staff at where she thought the man's voice had come from. Then she issued annother spell, and more spiked branches began to grow into the darkness. It was a small effort, but a blind attack was better than none.
The attack was not unexpected, but came faster than he had thought, and confirmed his suspicion that she was afraid and thus getting jumpy. Seeing her shriek and twitch, saying she was merely afraid might have been an understatement, even. But it was something that he could capitalize on. It made for an easier way to end the fight than injuring her.
The girl's staff swiped across his fingers, but the man turned monster had already leaped to the side and flipped over, spinning on one hand to come against the girl from the side and behind. Dark, reaching matter taking shape behind him, he made a powerful sweep with his leg to knock hers from out under her. And in case that attempt failed, he had a dozen spike-like tentacles already forming to come up and snag her. Once he was through with the spinning movement, he would leap up, and aim to knock her over and pin her to the ground.
- -
Making a little doubtful chuckle, the machine shook her head and turned around. She cast a thoughtful glance to where the packing she had brought earlier was resting against the outside wall of the bar, but then shook her head and decided to leave it be. The heavy stuff could wait. Instead, she thought that giving the jackal a bit of a taste of how the environment might very well change the outcome of the fight would be a better strategy.
The very moment the machine set her foot within the circle, the area within began to swirl and change, and not long after she had descended into its depths did she seem to have vanished. The interior of the circle was dark now, lights and gleaming metallic reflections like stars amid its depths. Obviously, the woman had chosen a battlefield that was as mechanical as she was.
Boog muttered a quick Argument to remove the stain the spill had put in the counter, setting out other drinks as needed. People-watching made for a rather nice hobby, and they were always doing something worth watching. Unfortunately, Giles saw the effects of the drink he'd requested before the thought-entity had the chance to make "Wait, wait, I wanna see how this goes," motions to Piix. Ah well, best not dwell on the hilarious story that got away. Now then...
There was the newcomer, who was quickly snatched up by the priest. The way they spoke to one another... Was intriguing. For one thing, the thoughts he'd managed to get off of the priest so far indicated that there were probably in fact very very few people present who he'd really lose any sleep over harming.
He finally placed Dani's drink in front of her, apologizing for the slow service. He glanced out at the fights again.
"Your friend is doing extraordinarily well."
Dani ran her hand through her hair and looked up at the bartender, assuring him that the lateness wasn't a problem for her. "I wonder if she'd agree with you," she said nervously, eyeing the windows again. "I've seen her fight guys stronger than herself before, but... they were never like him. Hell, nothing in our world is like him."
---
Sylvie's eyes grew in surprise when she felt her staff scrape something, but she didn't have time to react further. Stygian maneuvered too quickly. His legs swept past hers, knocking her to the ground. She started to get back up, but several dark tentacles were already lashing around her ankles and knees, and the man was in the middle of a jump toward her. Somehow, maybe thanks to the time she'd spent in Diekan-Duria, Sylvie guessed what he was going to try. She felt her fear mix with fresh anger, and an old, suppressed defensive instinct rose up.
"Don't even think about it!" she screamed, swinging her thorn-covered staff out sidearm in an attempt to catch the man in the chest and knock him back. She didn't have time to focus on a spell; she just wanted him away from her NOW.
...Keaton:Disregarding how petulant she sounded earlier, Keaton quietly followed Sahlena once she stepped into the circle, smoldering with semi-palpable fury. When she felt inadequate, she grew angry very quickly, particularly because it reminded her too much of being weak, helpless, and vulnerable; three sensations she quite vehemently detested. The chuckle the machine-woman emitted made Keaton's rage flare, slightly, and she had to stifle a snarl to keep her composure from collapsing altogether. Something akin to displeasure sparked in the pits of her ocherous irises, muted to a dull simmer.
She witnessed the metamorphosis of the environment occurring around her somewhat indifferently. From what she could determine thus far, it was dark. That led to her advantage; plenty of ample resources to manipulate. To prepare herself, Keaton twisted the handle of Catastrophe and hefted it against her shoulder, narrowing her eyes. That discontent glow petered away into a pallid shine, enveloping the brown luster of her eyes; similar corruption started to encroach along her body in the form of her markings, which seemed to come to life, creeping up and down her curves from beneath her dark clothing.
---
...Piix:Piix looked quite stunned into silence at Giles's comment. Since Piix piloted her own spacecraft, she had to possess some degree of astronomical savvy, but the intelligence behind the otherwise brutish blackguard shocked her. Piix lifted her index finger, trying to reassemble her words. Time and time again she failed, and ultimately resigned herself to staring down at her mostly-empty cup, her lip settled in a pout and her hand cupping her chin thoughtfully.
After a moment, she finally managed to respond. "...Yeah, tha' sounds 'bout right."
Tipping her head back, Piix downed the residual remnants of the acrid beverage. Wiping away the blue substance on her lips with the back of her hand, she tried to continue this vein of talkativeness before it was robbed from her again. "So, uh, what 'bout you? Don't suppose y'r from galaxies away or somethin' like that..."
---
...Dekuyaketh:Dekuyaketh merely chuckled at Laertes's words, as though he didn't quite believe the sentiments behind them for reasons beyond his general disdain for religion. "Isn't that just like a true saint?" he pessimistically asked no one in particular, but did as Laertes had commanded.
Resting his bare palm against the surface of the table, he used it for balance as he stood up and liberally flexed the sinewy muscle of his exposed arm over his head. Despite the fact he still seemed quite acerbic with anger, he had a scornful smile on his face as he regarded Laertes, then strolled past him, approaching the door. Effortlessly, he pushed it open after toying with the idea of doing something petty to infuriate Laertes (such as holding the door open for him and then, when he walked in front of it, slamming it in his face; but that was just too childish for Dekuyaketh's tastes), and gently closed it behind him, again curbing his rage. After all, if he destroyed anything in the pub, it was going on his tab.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
"You get used to stuff like him," Boog said as he watched Dekuyaketh walk out, smiling at what was a-buzzing around the creature's head.
--
A van pulled up to outside the building, looking as much as a vehicle can as though it would like to simply roll over onto its door and die. There was tape over both headlights. The paint on the roof had been scorched off by something, and the difference between that and it's ugly tan paint job wasn't too noticeable. It was anyone's guess how the front bumper stayed on. And inside, two people were bickering.
"Oh you're kidding me Rich'." This first voice was slightly nasal, and always sounded at least a little angry. Femenine, but just barely. "Of all the places to stop for directions, you're checking this dive?"
"Hey now, did you notice that the terrain changed when we-?" This second voice, a low and tired rasp that was, at the moment, tinged with mild surprise.
"Don't try to distract me with sightseeing, Richard. What the hell do you think you're-?!"
"Shaddap a sec, Marya!" A hand that was missing the skin on three fingers thumped the steering wheel to catch the other person's attention and pointed outside, "We're in the middle of the desert!"
"Yeah, so?"
A rattling sigh escaped lipless jaws. "Marya, remember five minutes ago when we were at that little town that you wanted to stop at?"
"Yeah, it had the nicest game park..." The slightly nasal voice trailed off, followed by a scrabbling of someone getting out of the passenger seat to get to the back door. Marya threw them open and gaped. Behind them was more desert, no sign of the nice little town with the lush green game park.
"... Ah hell."
"C'mon, let's go inside and find out what's going on."
So, a zombie and a mongoose walk into a bar...
"Hope so," Dani muttered in response to the Boogeyman, lying her weapon crossways over her lap and propping her feet against the legs of the stool she was on.
The Red was getting bored with this. Fear, interesting as it was in small doses, got boring after a while. She needed a distraction, but so far, her only distraction had walked right out the door into a fight, and the wolf next to her was being unusually quiet. All she wanted was a chance for her usually short attention span to kick in.
Blissfully, something happened to trigger it. A pair of newcomers walked in from their parked and decaying van. The Mongoose looked normal enough, although her eyes reminded Dani of her time-bomb-tempered clients. But the presumably male figure made her jaw drop. Undeads in Rustburg and many places around it were only a myth, or a weapon used by Necromancers. To see one in person was unheard of, much less a sentient one. But here it was: proof that the horror-movie buffs had been right all along, and that a few of her clients may have been telling the truth.
"Holy shit, you guys ARE real," Dani said, her voice a mix of admiration and glee, a large, toothy smile gracing her features. "That, is SO, COOL!"
Unfortunately for Sylvie, though she had cover for her back, laying on the ground never was an ideal fighting position. And when her staff swung out, instead of meeting the man's chest the thorns pressed into the palm of his hand, raking his skin mildly before they broke against it. His other arm crossed down over her, his hand landing near her neck, and his knee hit her thigh. Things snaked, seethed and constricted around her limbs, snagging whatever free ends he hadn't been able to pin immediately. The shock was intensified by the horror of suddenly ending up only inches away from his gleaming fangs.
'
A foolish expression', Stygian snarled at the girl. '
I've already done it!' Claws edging at her throat, he pressed his face closer to hers, the hard gleam of his dark eyes meeting hers head on. He hissed at her, a deep sound from the back of his throat, bestial and acidic. His breath was lined with some sort of fumes, and that chill she had felt before was all over now.
The monster looked at the elf for a few, very long moments, his gaze intense. '
One quick snap, and I could crush your neck...' He had her at his mercy, or at least, so it seemed.
- -
The jackal's boots thumped against cold metal as she entered the ring. All around her, angles and smooth, hard surfaces, some scrubbed to a gleaming finish, others scratched and worn and dented, reflected the meager light from a few halogen lamps far above. It seemed that she were standing on some factory floor or in an assembly hall. Tarp-covered or exposed, menacingly-looking and unartistically functional machines stood all around her, some obviously meant as lifting or welding equipment, while some others had purposes that clearly eluded her first inspection. Most of the things were much too sleek and simple to relate to anything that she had ever seen before anyhow, dials, instruments, screens and armored cables and undecorated, armored surfaces hinting at a technology level beyond her comprehension.
Sylvie, although still angry, couldn't suppress her frightened shivers. She was pinned to the ground by the monstrous shadow-of-a-man in whom she was steadily losing trust, tethered by writhing vines of darkness, and could very well die at any given moment. Stygian's claws grazed the edge of her throat, and his fangs gleamed in the surrounding shadows. Much as she wanted to, she didn't twist her face away from his burning eyes, but she did try to push herself back into the ground in a futile attempt to get as far away from his gaze as possible.
She glanced over at the sun, only a sixth of the gold disk still in the sky. If she tried to fight him much longer, she'd lose more strength than she cared to, and he might become all the more powerful. She thought briefly about lashing out with poison, but the man was much faster than her, despite being bigger. The poison would take too long to take effect, and in any case, his skin had already proved to be too tough to pierce. She had only two options left...
She glared at the man evenly, keeping a quaver out of her voice as she spoke. She knew she couldn't win, but she wasn't planning on quitting again. "If you plan on winning, you'd best attack me now."
Had Sylvie happened to know her foe better, she wouldn't have said those last words. Or perhaps she would. She didn't seem the calculating type. There were better times to think about things like that though, why Stygian ended that trail of thought at once. Not a problem, since what really occupied his thoughts was how to lead things on from there. They hadn't exactly agreed upon any terms, but he assumed that as long as he could get her to give up... The question was still whether if that was what he really wanted. He was fairly sure, but...
'No. I think not', he hissed, narrowing his eyes and pushing up a bit, raising his head and reducing the proximity of his fangs to her throat. Giving her a thoughtful look, he closed his mouth, growling breaths silencing. At the moment, it really depended on what he said. He had to keep the upper hand somehow, maintain the idea that he was doing her a favor by letting her get out unscathed, rather than letting her turn it around and make it seem as if she were the victim and shouldn't have to suffer anything more than defeat. It was already leaning toward the latter, seeing as how she was the sweet little girl and he the monster. The way he'd pinned her could be interpreted suggestively as well. He could practically smell her distaste through the fear. That was a very bad thing.
Licking a fang with his tongue, the monster frowned down at Sylvie. 'You're not really in a position to say anything like that. And I think you are mistaking me here. I don't want to hurt you. Well, not badly...' He grinned slightly, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. He couldn't let the menacing image slip immediately. That might trigger doubt in her as well. 'No... If you surrender, then I think we can call this fight concluded. And I'll let you go and back off.'
Richard glanced up at Dani and looked away, muttering something to the effect of "I'm too sober for this." Marya glanced at The Red once. Didn't strike her as a goth, like the usual who marveled at Rich's condition. She shrugged and thumped a fist on the bar.
"Hey, barkeep!"
Boog was behind her in a second, leaning over her shoulder. Had he been there the whole time? It didn't look like he'd moved...
"Hello, and may I welcome you to-"
"First thing's first, beanpole." The mongoose replied curtly, cutting the thought-entity off. "Whiskey for me, a brew or twelve also for me, annnd... Rich', what're you having?"
Richard considered the hopeful, pleased expression Dani had a second ago.
"Same."
"Two whiskeys and a brew or twenty four. Hop to it." She clambered up onto a seat next to the zombie, who was simply shaking his head at her behavior. He knew better than to try and stop her.
Laertes opened the wooden door and strode out after the feline, glancing at the two strange looking fellows about to enter the bar for just a moment. One of them carried herself with that certain, special air that said 'look at me wrong and I'll eat your kidneys', and the other with the pallor that spoke of spending far too long away from sunlight. He paid them little attention, instead following Dekuyaketh towards the nearest open circle. To say that his eyes were like the wrath of God wouldn't be too far off the mark.
He stood at the edge of the circle, waiting for the Maine Coon to enter the circle first. The metal endcap on his scythe's handle plinked softly against the concrete-like surface upon which the circles were etched.
* * *
Giles took another sip. "Not really sure, ya'know. I don't really think anybody's from here, if you know what I mean, so's I think everyone might be from too damn far away. But, I dunno. They called it Aspira, where I come from."
He watched Laertes leave, the sight of the jackal bringing a slightly sour expression to his face, and then watched two more newcomers walk inside. His eyebrows creased together.
A zombie and a mongoose walk into a bar?
"I think I've heard this one before..." Giles muttered.
Sylvie waited on pins and needles for Stygian's response, not changing her expression for a second. She looked a little surprised when he not only answered her, but became less threatening in manner. True, he was still pinning her and smirking like he could kill her if he wanted, but it was clear he wasn't going to knock her out and end the fight himself, or tear her throat open with his fangs and claws. And if he really were as much of a sadist as she'd thought him to be a moment ago, he'd have used her comment to his advantage. So maybe he was telling the truth when he said he didn't want to hurt her. The question was, did that really change whether she trusted him or not? But that was for later.
The elf looked into the monster's eyes, her glare softening. "Okay, then. You win."
-----
Dani's grin faded a little at the reaction of the new people, but she continued to watch them as they ordered. "Sorry. Just my nature to over-spaz about everything," she told the pair, grabbing her coffee and glancing outside. She went a little bug-eyed at the position her friend was trapped in, but she noticed that she and the monster weren't trading blows anymore.
"I think they're finishing up," she said, directing her comments to the bartender and wolf. "Thank goodness. Now I can kill them."
Stygian's pose and face relaxed a bit with the relief. She wasn't going to be trouble. A lot of the girls he'd fought would just have tried to knee him between the legs instead of answering. The rest might have answered, then tried to as soon as he dropped his guard.
There was one thing that prickled the man's thoughts though; being merciful was good and all, but if he didn't get anything out of this, he might as well just have left it be. He had won, after all, however expected that result was. And while merely stepping back was the noble way to go, he didn't really feel like putting up that pretense right then. So, acting quickly, he tightened his grip a bit again, and looked a bit closer at the elf.
'Excellent', he purred between blackened teeth, and that sickly green light gleamed a bit stronger in his eyes for a moment. 'Then I believe it's time we discussed the victory terms.'
Stygian probably felt Sylvie shudder under his now not-so-slack grip, but her eyes only hardened as she looked at him with a mix of shock and fury. Her cheeks flushed the color of pine as she answered him, being careful not to look too long at his fearsome teeth and the fiendish glint in his eyes. Sure, he may not have meant what she thought he did, but there was no sense taking chances with a guy holding you down in the middle of nowhere and looking at you like that. And there was no way she was going to be taken advantage of on top of being defeated.
"What, exactly, do you mean by that?" she asked, her voice only just level amid her anger and fear, and her grip on her staff tightening.
The stingy response did not bode well for Stygian's chances at attaining some reward. He had thought of perhaps demanding something creative, or something that might lead up to something else, like a leaf from her hair, or that he be allowed to draw a picture of her, or take her somewhere to dine. Instead, it seemed that he would have to take a step back.
'I'm not letting you go without something for it, sweets', he said, cutting back on the malicious tone. 'To the victor go the spoils and all that. But I can see you're... disinclined to rewarding me for your defeat. So...' He tried to think fast. There was nothing that he wanted, that she could do for him, or that was proper to ask of in the situation that he didn't think she'd deny him. So...
It seemed that Sylvie's admission of defeat had caused the Circle to determine the battle was over, because the surroundings were slowly beginning to warp and distort back to their former shape, and instead of the mossy ground underneath her the elf now felt slick cobblestone at her back. This hadn't passed Stygian by either, and since it seemed the situation was a bit more 'exposed' again, he decided to back down. Slowly, as a sign of good intentions, the man began retracting the darkness that twisted his shape and seethed around him, letting go of her.
'Firstly, please refrain from trying to stab me in the back when I get up. Secondly...' he began, finding his footing and trying to think of a demand that sounded reasonable enough. He found it pretty quickly.
'Secondly, I want you to try and ignore the fight we just had, as if it never happened. That means, no telling anyone else what you felt or saw. And I'd like you to ignore... certain other things as well.' He got to his feet, backing up and straightening his shirt, the retreating darkness already beginning to return his appearance to normal. His claws were retracting, the veiny blackness retreating from his features, though the nasty black wound to his face still lingered a bit. 'I'd rather you not go hide in a corner and refuse to talk to me after this.'
...Keaton:Around the time the gradual materialization of the new fighting environment finalized, the darkness crawling over Keaton's form had smothered the majority of her saffron coloring. That syrupy second skin splayed over the remainder of her bare body, tightening and solidifying into the shadowy armor she so frequently wielded. A slight rippling sensation rattled over her forehead in erratic, vibrating patterns, the quaking ink breaking away to form a white, angular shape identical to the one on her left-hand hip. An empyreal white glow illuminated the symbol seemingly from under her skin and spread to her eyes, drowning out the hue of her irises.
Now fully clad in her "shadow-armor," Keaton stepped back and slid into an appropriate battle stance, readying Catastrophe. Sharp, acridly-luminescent eyes surveyed her surroundings for any sight of her opponent.
'Come out, come out, wherever you are,' Keaton murmured in a low, yet nevertheless eerie voice; her voice seemingly disembodied from her form and amplified to include the trailing, apparitional echo, as though one had smashed a hundred repetitions of that sentence into her voice.
'You can't fight me like this...'---
...Piix:Piix listened somewhat detachedly to Giles's description of his homeworld, studying the interior of her drinking glass. Almost absently, she struggled to recall if she had ever visited a planet known as "Aspira," but no such memory came to mind. Not once, even. Frowning inquisitively to herself, Piix angled her tufted ears back, then glanced in Giles's direction, continuing to listen to his testimony. For a moment, she looked rather concerned when his expression soured once he saw his companion (Piix assumed he was, at least...) depart, but he seemed to recover quickly enough. Or at least quickly enough for it to not be an issue, even though the animosity made Piix curious.
Piix watched the two newcomers enter, and she arched her eyebrow. The mongoose, by Piix's standards, was by no means unusual, as she had witnessed several dozen different species and races similar to her, but the decomposing furless thing...
that was new.
---
...Dekuyaketh:Dekuyaketh casually stepped over the periphery of the new circle, his tail swinging behind him. As Laertes followed close behind, he seized the pendant keeping the manteau's clasp together and started fiddling with it, yet didn't quite force it to relinquish its grip yet. He glanced to the shoulder concealed by the manteau, his mechanical eye independently swiveling in Laertes's direction. Just like earlier, a strange, rippling sensation was squirming palpably beneath Dekuyaketh's skin, mostly hidden under his clothing and long, luxurious hair. Each individual fur on Dekuyaketh's largely bushy and voluminous tail was prickling and bristling, seemingly going dead and stiff along his tail's length.
"You might as well choose the battlefield," Dekuyaketh said indifferently, and twisted the pendant. "I don't see much of a difference."
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Laertes said nothing, although the disdain in his eyes was hard to miss. He paused for a moment, thinking, and then took a single step inside the circle. Outwards, from the first impression of his foot, waves of change spread out along the entire circle. The ground become rougher, the flat concrete turning itself into gray, exactly masoned stones, spreading outwards and as firm underfoot as if it had ever been. The circle morphed, it's normally spherical shape turning rectangular.
Walls sprung up from the edges of the arena, vast and tall, and then converged themselves to create a ceiling. It was a testament to Gothic architechture, with massive supports springing up to hold the stonework roof, sitting atop the walls at an amazing height. Arches fanned out like spiderwebs, some mad architect's dream coming to life in stone, plaster, and cement.
Statues sprung up beneath stained glass windows that had somehow been there the entire time, each one depicting a different person - a priest, a knight, a lady, and a monk, among many others, each of them of varied species. Each one of them, however, carried a scythe, and high above them, near the ceiling itself, a round window of stained glass depicted the angel of death, Azrael, descending with his scythe in hand. Beneath him, where the priest of this demented cathedral would have stood, was a hooded statue of Death himself.
And then, the temperature dropped.
It grew very cold indeed. Within moments, Dekuyaketh could see his breath beginning to fog, and moments later felt the chill even through his thick Mantaeu. The cathedral, made of gray and black stone, seemed to somehow take on a blueish tinge, and outside the glass windows one could see snow falling. The statues grew frost, icicles forming beneath hands and stone blades.
One might have thought that Laertes should be full of heat, passionate and intense. Passionate he was, and intense he was too - but it was hell that was hot. This arena truly reflected his heart - bitter, hard, and cold as death.
Haunting, almost mockingly, Laertes began to sing a song of hope and renewal, and gold dripped from his hands.
Boog set out Richard and Marya's first drinks. Richard knocked his whiskey back immediately and reached for a bottle as soon as the empty glass hit the table with a thud while Marya sipped mildly more sedately. She drank because she liked alcohol. Richard drank because he hated sobriety. He hunched further over his drink, acutely aware of exactly how many pairs of eyes were on him (Six so far, not counting Marya).
Marya glanced back at the zombie, momentarily dismayed. He hated attention, and she didn't really like seeing him sulk, and on rare occasion even had a say in the matter. The solution in this case was simple; be so obnoxious all attention turned to her rather than her decomposing companion. Her eyes immediately settled on the largest person at the bar. A grossly oversized human in black armor.
Perfect.
With that, she slid onto the barstool next to the blackguard and clapped him on the shoulder as hard as she could, nearly knocking him from his seat.
"HEY there!" She grinned in a manner that many had to come up with a new word to describe. That word was 'Toolevolently,' a combination of the words 'toothily' and 'maelevolently.' Most who heard it assumed it was just used to refer to someone who was about to be a tool, which often applied anyway. "Don't suppose you could tell us where we- woah!" The mongoose beastfolk noticed Giles' recently broken nose, "Yeesh, what happened to you?"
Giles was not a man used to people slapping him on the shoulders in bars. Generally the flaming, blood-dripping spear and many, many pounds of black iron-plate discouraged that sort of thing. He was used to people generally taking the hint, so to speak. Perhaps that's why the little furry thing nearly knocked him off his seat when she gave him a friendly pat.
Surely that was the reason.
To his increasingly displeasure, he found himself starting into a mouthful of fangs placed on a small, rather furry person, something he found himself doing far too often as of late. The look she was giving him wasn't giving him any false ideas about friendly smiles either - he's seen that priest bastard give more amiable grins, if perhaps not as gleeful. He found himself suddenly at a loss for metaphor or adjective, for that sort of smile. He'd have to think about it.
To the little mustelid's surprise, Giles smiled back, that broad smile with seemingly too-white teeth. Blue eyes locked onto hers, and she could swear that it somehow got a little hotter inside the bar, although she didn't think it had anything to with Giles's appearance. Her hand felt vaguely warm, like touching the outside of an oven as it was warming up.
"Would you believe me if I said I didn't know? Not to keen on dimensional mechanics, yah?" the blackguard said, downing the rest of his whiskey in one shot. "And what the hell is wrong with my nose?"
The blackguard's smile changed. He grinned.
...Dekuyaketh:
Dekuyaketh smiled wickedly as Laertes started to conjure up their selected battlefield. Undoubtedly, he'd choose some paradisaical place, yet bastardize it. Religion, at the root of it, always did start off with a really good idea, but became soured over time as people became more and more dedicated to the lie, he reasoned. Either way, now was the time to start. To let that contempt for Laertes and his kind to fuel his attacks.
And the manteau's clasp was twisted with a deft flick of his wrist and unhooked from the silver chain, liberating the cape from his neck. Sweeping his arm back, Dekuyaketh flung the heavy manteau off to the side, unveiling the left-hand half of his body at last and the monstrosity attached to it. Replacing his left arm was an enormous, articulated duplicate, wicked and barbaric in its structure, yet strangely brilliant in its design and meticulousness. Giant, blood-hued gemstones adorned the shoulder-plate and the enormous and intricately-engraved shell shielding the arm's forearm, but smaller specimens ornamented some of the joints on the contraption, from the knuckles of its bladed fingers to its bony elbow. Networks of hieroglyphs were swept and carved in jagged lines and streaks across the impenetrable chitin, flaring in great patterns out from the beautifully lustrous gemstone set in the forearm. Dekuyaketh flexed that mechanical arm, feeling the blood-hot surge of energy seethe through its artificial veins. The dim illumination of that condensed energy pulsed in the hieroglyphs, shooting in sparks and circulating within the cores of the gemstones.
Behind Dekuyaketh, the rippling of his back had ceased, only for another stage of his metamorphosis to take place. It seemed as though the flesh itself was painlessly splitting to allow the appendages beneath to surface - specifically, the blood-red, membranous wings spreading from his shoulder-blades, stretching magisterially on either side of his body. Beneath the taut, elastic membrane, each individual tendon seemed to be bloating and deflating rhythmically with each pump of blood coursing through it. A pair of obsidian horns had emerged from behind Dekuyaketh's ears, a more diminutive set springing from atop his forehead. Brushing his crimson-streaked bangs over his forehead effortlessly concealed them. By now Dekuyaketh's tail had completely shed the fur encasing its length, much like how a butterfly would peel away its withered cocoon. In the tail's place, over the disintegrating strands of fur falling from its spine and vanishing, was something akin to an identical, bladed replica of a scorpion's tail, its stinger garnished with a round, bloodied ruby. Dekuyaketh narrowed his eyes venomously as the last of the sacrosanct environment materialized into the interior of a cathedral, his superficial smile returning again as Laertes approached him, hands drooling with dollops of molten gold and mouth forming the words of the holy, to which he responded with lackadaisical intonation:
"Through me the way to the suffering city," Dekuyaketh began, adopting an almost hauntingly harmonic inflection to his exotically-accented voice, "Through me the way to eternal pain...
"Through me the way that runs among the lost. Justice urged on my high artificer; My maker was divine authority..." Oddly enough, he didn't sound so misanthropic when he reached that part of the chant; merely indifferent. Quite unlike the agonized damned. "The highest wisdom, and the primal love. Before me nothing but eternal things were made, and I endure eternally."
Something about Dekuyaketh's smile seemed to solidify. It reached an extent which actually became real, wicked, each tooth serrated. He stopped singing, and ended his chant with a cold, "Abandon every hope, ye who enter here."
And with that his hand seemed to come alive with electricity. Coalescing crests briefly oscillated from his palm in the instant before he clenched his fist, the claw of his mechanical arm following suit. Red energy surged and crackled inside the gemstones, flourishing simultaneously, then, like before, dewdrops of furiously hot lightning shot through the hieroglyphics, illuminating them as they traced through the lines. Some sparks multiplied into smaller ones in order to reach the crevices of the hieroglyphics and access other pathways branched off from the main paths, up until his whole mechanical arm was completely charged with electricity.
Dekuyaketh drew back his claw, sanguine electricity wreathing around his individual bladed fingers, and with a laugh swung his mechanical arm forward, slinging a sizeable, but moderately-condensed bolt of energy at Laertes. It was a merely preparatory maneuver, in order to study how he defended himself. Just in case, his clawed feet slapped the ground and his knees buckled as he launched himself backwards, wings fanning outward to allow Dekuyaketh to glide a short distance away from Laertes. As much distance as he put between the two, the better. He operated best when away; that way he wouldn't suffer the aftermath of his electricity blasts.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Risky glanced over at Giles and the furry newcomer from where she'd been quietly smoking. Puffing out a small cloud of greenish smoke, she spoke up softly, but loud enough to carry.
"You're in a pocket of null-dimensional time, drifting between the mainstream multiverses. Though they touch other universes, they exist outside of them."
Risky sipped at her drink, and shrugged wryly. "Didn't mean to interrupt, but it's about the only part of this situation that's really part of my line of work."
She glanced out at the latest battle starting up. "Demigod. Hm."
Laertes's eye narrowed as the demon's arm, more at place on a golem than a creature of flesh and blood, began to spark and coalesce with electricity. He'd rather been hoping for fire, but thunder could be worked with as well. It was, in some ways, just a different sort of flame. His right hand swung his scythe out, the black metal biting deep into the stone floor in front of him. His other hand he extended before him, the molten gold spreading up his arms, and the Jackal's chant intensifying. Strange, eldritch words began to infuse themselves into the out-of-place hymn, although it began to grow darker by the moment.
The thing's arm spat a bolt of lightning.
The sheer force of the bolt knocked Laertes back just a bit, his scythe scraping a deep gouge into the stone as the jackal used it to keep him in place. Golden energy splashed from the Jackal as the lightning slammed into him, and it spread and crackled about the surface of the seemingly golden liquid. It arced from one arm to the other, and then down through his right hand into the handle of the scythe itself, where it simply dumped itself into the dull grey stones.
Laertes's defenses were best against less corporeal forms of attack - the less actual matter the attack had in it, the better. He had a great ability to defend from darkness and light, and fire was next best - but he could definitely work with lightning.
"Him the Almighty Power," the jackal said, his scythe arcing up, "Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky! With hideous ruin and combustion down", the air seemed to grow yet colder again, and the priest's golden eyes could cut stone as they looked at the fleeing demon. Wings, black as a moonless night, flared with a crack behind him. His voice began to sing the lines, high and cold, and the snowing sky outside became somehow brighter. "To bottomless perdition, there to dwell, In adamantine chains and penal fire, Who dost defy the Omnipotent, to arms..."
Golden energy dripped off the body of the Jackal, and his scythe was cradled crosswise across his body, the same as all the statues in the hall. His eyes along could be made out from among the molten gold, and the Jackal's voice was echoing throughout the stonework hall. The Jackal rose in place - Dekuyaketh could only run so far, and no-one could escape the priest forever.
"Shiver in fear, oh shade of hell!"
The golden energy around the Jackal dissipated, and the entire chapel, dark and forlorn, became suddenly brighter than the sun. White light, somehow edged and paler than the snow, poured in through the stained glass windows, and everything that it touched suddenly burst into flames, alight with holy fire. The temperature did not increase, somehow - even the icicles did not melt, but Dekuyaketh somehow got the feeling that if that fire or those lights touched him, he would feel heat indeed.
The flames sprang up, and began to madly chase the damned soul, eager to devour the demon's shell.
Sylvie looked honestly surprised when Stygian let her go more easily than she thought, then she felt a little ashamed. Whoever he'd been during the fight, he clearly wasn't that anymore; he was just the man who'd been nice to her the second he walked in, but with slash-marks from her staff on his face. She watched as the Circle's environment faded, leaving them in the same position they'd been in outside the bar.
The elf stood after Stygian released her, dusting off the back of her dress and rubbing her arms to help them get used to lack of restraint. There were still some fading scratches on her shoulder and back, and the slash-marks in her clothing couldn't heal, no matter how well her skin could repair itself, but she knew Dani had a needle and thread.
She considered the ex-monster again. The man's 'victory terms' were nowhere near as bad as Sylvie had thought. He hadn't used her fear, nor had he taken advantage of her helplessness. I was right the first time, I guess. He's not a bastard at all; but what was that evil that came from him during the fight?
She decided to ask him about it later, when he'd be more comfortable discussing it. For now, she'd honor his request to ignore the fight and not ignore him; after all, he HAD won. He deserved something, even if there were certain things she'd refuse him.
"That, I can definitely do," she answered him, looking right at him and brushing a bit of hair out of her eyes to show her sincerity.
...Dekuyaketh:
The Maine Coon-turned-Manticore hissed an obscenity under his breath as the bolt of electricity he unleashed splashed against the liquid shield Laertes had created, briefly conflicting with the substance until the crimson lightning petered out of existence. Rather, it was discarded in a manner Dekuyaketh hadn't seen before, as though the lightning had been converted into something solidified and dropped like garbage. If the priest could defend himself so efficiently against his shots of electricity, then this was going to be an irritatingly persistent problem. And Dekuyaketh had no intention of losing after putting so much effort into pushing Laertes's buttons. Being killed wasn't much of a problem for him, more of an inconvenience than anything else since he could regenerate after being given some time...
Laertes was chanting again, this time with increased intensity. Blackened, abysmal wings spread behind him, and the skies outside brightened. Dekuyaketh prepared himself for an incoming assault, assuming the priest was gathering his energy. That, or he was mocking him.
He was right the first time. Light came pouring in, and fire leaped from the stone from where the light struck, spreading eagerly across the floor. Almost as though the flames had a mind of their own, or were being deliberately orchestrated by their conjurer, they started to pursue and encircle Dekuyaketh, who wasted no time in attempting to evade the inferno. An errant spark caught onto his sleeve, nearly igniting it. Flaring his own, membranous wings, Dekuyaketh spread them wide and flapped his wings, shooting him up into the air with a spiral of residual smoke. The tiny flame which caught onto Dekuyaketh's sleeve extinguished with the sudden burst of air ejected from his flapping wings. This was a risky move, as Dekuyaketh knew how painful it would be if his wings were somehow caught on fire, but he could think of no other way to escape the encroaching flame. Besides, this provided him an advantageous position, and he could maneuver himself with far more agility when airborne.
Again Dekuyaketh's hands came alight with red electricity, one hand in the air and culminating energy, which flowed seamlessly into his active mechanical arm. Propelling himself back with his wings and away from the stained glass windows, he clustered energy in a far greater amount than he had before, until it was swarming from his claws, and, with a rapid swinging succession of his arms, started to launch off bolt after bolt at Laertes in a fast blitzkrieg. Eight in all, thus far.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
The elf's response wasn't too revealing. Stygian stood and watched her for a few long seconds, then looked away and straightened the cuffs of his shirt. Turning around, he began walking away from the ring and back toward the bar. When he caught his reflection in the windows though, he stopped, looking at himself. His form was still partly darkened, and his face still marred. Not to mention that his clothes had been scraped and dirtied by the fight. It did not please him, and he frowned at his image.
Slowly, the air around the man began turning murky yet again. His outline became darker and more blurry, the shadows seeming to float up from the ground and wrap themselves around him. He leaned in against the window, turning his head to get a better look at the wound on his cheek, and as he did the black, clotted substance beneath seethed and tightened, pulling his skin together. The wound sealed up and vanished in seconds, and he brushed his hand over his cheek, feeling the smooth surface. Meanwhile, the blackness around him took shape, extending down his back almost like a pair of wings. It smoothened out, straightened and wrapped around him, and once it had extended down his arms he struck out with them. In an instant, the fogginess of the darkness vanished, the last few wispy, smoky strands evaporating, leaving only the smooth and tangible of it. Straightening his new coat, absolutely black with a dark green sheen to it, and flexing his fingers in the cut gloves, the man swept back and smoothened out his shoulder-long hair, then stepped up to the door, and faced Sylvie again. Raising his eyebrows a bit, he opened the door for her.
- -
A crackling sound and then a metallic slap rang out in Keaton's ears, and in an instant, a strong light hit her back. The sound was followed by another, and then another, as eye-stinging lights came on in the corners of the hall, illuminating the machinery and causing the sensation of power to turn into one of vulnerability on Keaton's part. A dull, low thrumming came to life in the background as some huge generator activated, and in a moment the screens and indicators on the equipment that was hooked up flickered and turned on.
'
:i don't intend to', the characteristic, metallic voice came from just above the jackal and to her side. Sitting on top of some sort of lifting and assembly unit, Sahlena had blended almost perfectly into the background. Having shed her clothes, the human-like machine was crouched over one of the thing's massive arms, the dark metal of her 'skin' and underlying parts gleaming. She looked like a spider crouching on a branch, ready to spring.
'
:you haven't even named the terms for the fight. personally, i would prefer to know how hard i should beat you.'
Dani watched the fight's end carefully, standing when she was sure they were done talking and walking over to the door, leaning against the left wall. An odd look had come into her eyes, like a burnt-out fireplace being rekindled after someone realized it had gone out. She twisted the pole of her weapon with her hands, hoping that Stygian would come in first.
---
Sylvie watched, almost entranced, as Stygian healed himself and, from what she could tell, regenerated his clothing - and added a few new things to his wardrobe. When he turned back to her and held open the door expectantly, she kept herself from asking how he'd done that. It felt to her like now wasn't the time.
She walked steadily into the bar, her leg almost fully healed and her limp unnoticeable except to a professionally-trained eye. She'd been hoping to grab something to drink and watch the other fights calmly, but a quick scan of the bar revealed that to be improbable. Mainly because the first thing she saw was her friend leaning against the wall with that familiar "I'm going to kill someone, make their blood into a tasty broth, and feed it to a puppy" look in her eyes.
"Dani," she addressed the redhead, with a hint of a warning tone in her voice. The chaos-infused girl looked into her friend's eyes, not changing her expression at all.
"Good fight, Sylvie. Glad you're safe. Yes, I will help patch up your clothes, as long as you never scare me like that again. Now go get some water, you probably need it," she told the Green, cutting off any reason for her to continue talking to Dani. Temperamental though she was, she could avoid confrontations if she so desired - it was part of her job training, and her anger needed to stay focused on one person.
Sylvie aimed a half-hearted glare at her, but didn't question her any further, Instead, she took a seat at an empty table close to the door, keeping a careful eye on the girl.
Stygian entered quickly after Sylvie, closing the door behind him, and making his way over to the stool he'd reserved at the bar. His old coat still hung there, but the moment he neared the chair, that one seemed to lose its shape, its black fabric losing its luster and turning simply all black, becoming part of that fluid shadow that he seemed to use. It slipped off the stool and down onto the floor, dissolving and creeping up under his new coat.
The man didn't sit down immediately though. His eyes were drawn to Dani and Sylvie, and his attention to their conversation. He didn't think that there had been animosity between them before. If he were the reason for the sudden chill attitude that the redheaded guard seemed to have adopted... He didn't know how any of that made sense, but regardless, since he'd paid it attention...
A shadow seemed to fall on the redhead from behind, and a sudden and ominous feeling of dread began creeping up on Dani, as a dark, menacing figure approached her.
'Is this a bad time?' Stygian asked.
Cogidubnus didn't say much when Dani spoke to him - it wasn't out of discourtesy, but rather out of a strange feeling he had gotten about that man. Something was not entirely as it seemed, and he'd definitely watch with interest if the strange girl did indeed try and attack that one.
He refrained from watching the new battle going on outside, and instead sipped on his drink. He was beginning to feel downright flushed.
* * *
The fire could not follow him into air, of course, and as long as he avoided the beams of light, the fiend might actually escape immediate destruction - and Laertes had not expected him to bring that much power to bear that fast.
Eight lightning bolts in a matter of seconds. The Jackal's eyes widened as he frantically changed the cadence of his song, gold energies one again dripping from the priest's hands and arms. He couldn't simply eat eight lightning bolts at once.
Strictly speaking, the jackal couldn't even eat one lightning bolt. He was only mortal - but he could redirect the power into other objects - like the stonework surrounding them. A slightly warmer spot still lay where his scythe had flooded the ground with electrical energies.
It helped if he was touching something grounded, however. Midair wasn't the best place to be struck by lightning.
Desperately he attempted to redirect the lightning bolts, some of them just barely changing course before hitting him - most still hit him anyway, slamming into his hands and knocking the jackal backwards. If his mouth had been closed, he would have gritted his teeth - instead, he simply narrowed his eyes as bolt after bolt was fired into him. Sparks danced from the Angel, the energies overflowing out of his arms and snaking into the surfaces around him. An icicle fell from a stone statue's scythe.
An idea struck him.
The energy had to go somewhere, and he couldn't simply contain it all within the golden liquid that covered his arms. He couldn't absorb it, he could only redirect it - eventually it would simply burn and crackle through the molten liquid and into the Jackal himself - it would be like being struck by eight bolts at once. It was doubtful he could survive something like that. He cocked his scythe back, as if to throw it.
He dumped the electricity into the weapon. The metal blade crackled madly.
His robe was smoking - and his fingers, almost numb, tightened around the wooden haft and hurled it, the scythe spinning lazily up into the air.
Laertes song reached a crescendo.
The weapon, infused with the power of eight bolts of lightning, spun with new life, and crackling madly with power it flew towards Dekuyaketh. It practically screamed through the air, the wicked, wicked edge slicing loudly through the air.
"Well, it's kind of-" Marya began to explain, raising one hand to gesture about her face in a way meant to express that the nose in question looked as though it had recently been in a fairly malleable state and had been tampered with before being restored to immobility when Risky interjected, hence saving all concerned from certain insult.
"Oh godammit, not again." She groaned, "Well, at least this one has alcohol."
Richard looked up as well at what Risky said. "Demigod... Or very, very arrogant," He rasped. However, as the fighters traded lighting bolts the zombie's attention was focused more and more upon them.
... Music...
He sat up a little straighter, took a bit more of an interest in his surroundings. He wasn't being stared at so much anymore, he could afford it.
The dead man sipped his beer and then signaled for the barkeep's attention. "What's going on out there?"
Boog grinned and quickly explained what the Honor Circle was. Took him long enough...
Waiting until the bartender finished his explanation, Risky stubbed out the last of her cigarette and drew another from her pocket. "Oh, I meant the boojum, not the jackal."
She touched a fingertip to the end of her cigarette and puffed a yellowish cloud as it lit, looking through it at the dead man. "You'd be surprised at how many demigods I've seen wander through and get their tails handed to them; almost as surprised as they are when it happens."
She tapped the rim of her now-empty glass. "Another flameout, Boog. I have a feeling I'll need it soon."
Dani narrowed her eyes at Stygian's back as he walked to his former seat at the bar and turned his old coat into shadows. Then she turned back to Sylvie and the girls shared a brief conversation with their eyes.
Do you honestly trust a guy who can do something like that? Dani made a subtle motion with her eyes toward the man.
Sylvie rolled her eyes and made an exasperated face. I don't wanna talk about it...
A harsh look from the Red. Sylvia...
An equally harsh, indignant look from the Green. Yes, Danielle?
An eye-roll and an almost parental look to end it. All right, but you're gonna tell me everything later.
Then Dani froze. A strange, menacing feeling began to overtake her, and she saw a shadow grow near her feet. It turned out to be Stygian. Dani shook off the feeling and turned to face her friend's opponent - but she didn't forget that sensation. She'd locked up guys two feet taller than herself with I KILLED YOUR GRANDMA tattooed on their arms, but she'd never gotten that feeling of fear in her life.
"Not at all," she told the blond as coolly as she could. "I'd been hoping to talk to you, actually." She unconsciously set her weapon on the wall and crossed her arms over her chest, never looking away from Stygian's eyes.
The red's reply surprised Stygian, but only to a degree. While he couldn't really imagine any response on her part save some protective rant on Sylvie's behalf, an attitude-loaded comeback like that was not surprising from someone whose job entitled seeming confident and in control at all times.
'Indeed?' he replied, making sure to put on a friendly tone. 'Not to sound offensive, but I can't imagine why.' That comment, hopefully, would help convey the message that whatever business she had with him was her own, and that she had nothing to do with what he had just did to Sylvie. Women seemed to have some sort of 'flocking' instinct. He had experienced several situations and conversations where things had been ruined because other women than those he had been speaking to had butted in for evidently no reason. He found it rather irritating. Then again, humans in general were that way...
'I really hope this isn't going to be another inquiry into me and my shadow...' he said, not really knowing why he added that last reference. It sounded amusing at the time.
Dani chewed her lip for a moment before answering the man. She knew it was annoying of her to butt in like this, but she'd feel like a lousy friend if she didn't say anything. She also knew that both Sylvie and Stygian would protest if she just blurted out her mentally-rehearsed rant. After a minute or so, she figured out how to say what she wanted without angering either of them much.
"No, it's not that," she told Stygian. "It's just this..." She pitched her voice lower, to keep others from listening in. "I get that Sylvie's the one who challenged you. I get that she's too nice for her own good. And I'm pretty sure you went easier on her than I thought at first." She paused for a second, looking right into his eyes. "But I really don't know what to think about that fight. What I saw between you two scared the hell out of me. Even if she's okay now, I really hate watching my friends get hurt and doing nothing about it. So I feel like this needs to be said." Her eyes hardened and her face grew stern as she dropped her voice to a more threatening note. "If I catch you hurting my friend outside of a Circle, so help me Gods, I will do something so painful to you that not even - "
At that moment, the Red stopped. Her eyes grew wide; another feeling was spreading over her, but this one was all too familiar. The room swam black behind her eyes, her muscles turned to loose bundles of flesh, and her eyelids flickered shut as she crumpled to the floor.
At the table, Sylvie's face went from embarrassed exasperation to surprise to frustration as the gods of irony forced Dani to shut up in the middle of her rant. "Great," she said under her breath, leaving her chair to crouch next to her friend. She checked her pulse; listened to her breathing; and peeked under her eyelids. When she appeared satisfied, she turned to Stygian.
"That wasn't you," she said calmly. Then she looked around. "Is there a room I can take her to?"
There it came. So it was what he had expected. Stygian couldn't say that he was all that amused. Though he could get the woman's good intentions, what she said and thought at that point really didn't matter much. He felt almost like folding his arms over his chest and turning to look in the other direction. That was, until Dani crumpled together in a heap on the floor.
Everyone can get unnerved or insecure. It just takes the right thing to trigger it. And in spite of who and what he was, no, because of it, Stygian was taken aback by the red's latest action. He was used to planning. He was used to not making scenes and to the risk of being targeted whenever suspicion of foul play arose and he was around to be seen. He flinched as the redhead slumped, eyebrows shooting upward and he himself too struck to react and catch her before she hit the floor. He almost felt as if he should put his hands up and defend himself when Sylvie approached. But the elf didn't seem to think ill. Indeed, as if she had sensed his unsettlement, she confirmed that she knew what had just happened was none of his doing. And he could only step back as the Green moved down to check on her friend.
'I... can't say I...' he started, then cut himself off. To say that Dani's own interruption of herself had been timely was just rude. Instead, he looked down at the woman, and frowned. Like Sylvie, he listened closely to her breathing and pulse, though he didn't need to be anywhere near as close to her. He could sense some of her warmth and blood circulation as well. 'Is... Did she just fall asleep?' he asked, once he had gone things over in his head. There was a clear tone of incredulity in his voice.
Sylvie looked back at Stygian and sighed, wearing the expression of someone who must explain a physical deformity: understanding and patient, but tired of being asked about it. The man's tone of disbelief was only a little unexpected; what surprised Sylvie more was his accuracy. Usually, people asked whether Dani had just had a heart attack or a seizure. Only a few people ever guessed what was really going on.
"Yes. Yes, she did. She has narcolepsy," the elf explained, sounding like she was talking only to Stygian, but clearly directing her speech to any other curious eyes and ears. "She just fell right into dream-sleep, and she'll probably wake up in a few minutes." She stood and looked to the bartender.
"Is there a room she can stay in till she wakes up?" she repeated. If Dani woke up in a crowded room, she'd likely be embarrassed and have to deal with lots of questions. Sylvie had had enough experience with her friend to know that having her condition was embarrassment enough.
Boog set out the drink with a tsking noise. "Dependency's a Risky vice, doll." Fortunately, someone lost consciousness before he could be held responsible for his puns.
"Ah, so there is." Not for the first time he seemed to sidle up to someone without having to traverse the space between him and them. "Price is the same as the drinks, I'll show you up to one."
Marya jerked up from harassing Giles, surprised. Her experience with human behavior was limited, but that was pretty different. And the same girl that was staring at Rich' earlier... She glanced over at the zombie.
Richard kept his eyes firmly fixed on his drink. I don't care. Just means she can't ogle now. I don't care. Nope. Not a bit. This litany continued in his head as he got up and walked over to Sylvie.
"Here," He rasped gruffly, wondering what the hell he was doing, "Let me give you a hand with her."
Sylvie's attention went away from her friend for a moment when the Boogeyman came up to her and Dani without seeming to move at all. How had he done that? She'd noticed it for a while now, but wasn't sure whether to ask about it...
Her only reaction to the zombie's appearance was to blink. She was used to strange-looking people, and happened to know that they hated being stared at. His slight reluctance made her curious, though. Was it just discomfort about this kind of thing, or had Dani done something? Meh. I'll ask Dani later.
"Okay," she answered, leaning down to Dani and lifting up her shoulders. She swept her fire-red ponytail over her neck so as not to risk stepping on it (she'd learned that habit the hard way). "Could you get her legs?" she asked the decomposing man. "I don't think she's fractured anything, so it should be safe."
'Perhaps I should take her', Stygian interjected, resisting the urge to add the words before anything falls off to Boog. Instead he quickly went over a bit of conversation in his head, and attempted to turn it around. 'I'm the one who got her all riled up in the first place', he said, with a touch of nonchalance, before smirking a bit, and casting Sylvie a practiced glance that he knew should come off as mischievously charming. 'She seems quite protective of you. I think you're going to have to explain how to me later, if not why...'
Moving around Dani's hapless physique, the man edged into place next to Sylvie, looking at her, anticipating an answer.
...Keaton:As, one by one, the lights above started to densely illuminate the chamber with stinging, acrid light, Keaton hissed loudly, inhumanly, and withdrew, the shadows encapsulating her body writhing and sizzling in response to the heavily-concentrated light. She felt the layers of darkness dilute and shrivel, their squealing echoing in her head, and genuine rage started to seethe and brew inside her stomach. In her surroundings, Keaton could feel, as she extended her senses, the shadows boil briefly and die against the caustic glow of the lights. This wasn't - this wasn't how things were supposed to go! Sahlena was supposed to choose a battlefield that wouldn't have any
advantages! After - after everything she said, now Keaton was going to look like an
idiot, a
weak,
stupid,
useless idiot.
Angrily, Keaton snarled up at Sahlena from where she saw the machine-woman perched imperiously above her. She clenched her free hand into a fist; bruise-purple and erubescent-red electricity screaming off of her tendons and sizzling angrily before they faded away. "You're not going to
beat me," she snarled in retaliation. In her anger, she couldn't think of any retort which didn't sound petulant. "But
fine, here are the fucking terms. Not a fight to the death, but a fight until the other either surrenders or passes out."
Even in her fury, Keaton kept digging her own grave.
---
...Dekuyaketh:Again, Dekuyaketh watched his electrical projectiles become ensnared and smothered on the spot by the priest, in spite of how rapidly they were launched. Unlike Keaton, he retained his composure, preventing any frustration or anger from temporarily overwhelming his judgment. The last thing he needed was for his thought processes to be impeded. At the least, Laertes's fire couldn't touch him from where he was flying, and as long as he remained away from the shafts of light arching across the cathedral, he could avoid a messy fate by that method. This gave Dekuyaketh some time to ponder a new way to hurt Laertes. Either he could outstrip Laertes's ability to convert his lightning harmlessly by overwhelming him, or he could find another way -
Around the time Dekuyaketh reached that conclusion, Laertes was throwing his scythe at him, the bladed weapon imbibed with Dekuyaketh's own electricity. Dekuyaketh screamed out a curse as the scythe pinwheeled at him, its curvaceous blade slicing repeatedly through the air with each revolution, and quickly attempted to maneuver himself to the right, away from the incoming scythe. If that thing hit him, it would be too big of a blow, especially if the blade clipped his wings. One flap of Dekuyaketh's wings and he propelled himself away, feeling tepid air play against his fur and his long, voluminous hair as the scythe breezed past him, just a few centimeters from effectively dismembering some unfortunate limb.
As he glided away from the scythe, Dekuyaketh quickly conjured up another batch of electrical bolts in his hands, the red energy spilling and crackling along the fingertips of his mechanical arm. Winding up his mechanical arm, Dekuyaketh swept his claw forward, the lightning arcing fluidly through the electrified air, and he slung a crackling gout of lightning at Laertes.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
"Exactly," Richard rasped, "If she wakes up while we're carrying her it's probably best if she sees something that'll give her less of a jolt." Without wasting time for what this statement possibly implied to sink in he leaned over and picked Dani up by the ankles easily. Despite the concerns of those present, nothing fell off. "Whenever you're ready, Greenie."
Sylvie felt an odd combination of a blush and a chill come over her when Stygian edged closer to her with a look of devious charm. She didn't respond to him right away, conflicted over whether to take him up on his offer or let the undead man help her. Richard decided for both of them, though, and Sylvie did her best not to smile at his reasoning. She didn't want Stygian to think badly of her, not when she was getting over the fight so soon.
"Thanks, and by the way, it's Sylvie," she corrected the zombie. Most of these people were lucky they weren't in her forest, where their remarks would've been taken as downright racist. She looked at Stygian briefly. "Thanks for offering. I'll explain once she's settled in," she answered him, allowing herself a small, shy smile to demonstrate her honesty.
Having exercised her gratitude, she faced the Boogeyman with a polite expression. "All right, then. Where are the rooms?"
Well, you couldn't always just succeed. And what else should he have expected? A grouchy-looking lowlife like that... Either way, to retort in any way to the 'less of a jolt' comment was risky. That the man was saying he was more horrid than a zombie... He had to respond in a way that conveyed that he understood, but that was reasonably acerbic in return...
'I'd rather that than something that makes me consider amputation, but you go ahead', he said, looking to the side a bit with a boorish expression. A bit too stingy perhaps, but he deserved it. And then, brushing that away, Stygian turned and glided over to the bar again, seating himself reasonably close to the drinking Orin. His nostrils twitched almost immediately, before he looked over at the bluish fluid in her glass.
'That smells like washing powder and paint varnish', he commented. 'With a bit of chlorine on the side.'
- -
The machine obviously didn't waste any time. Hands folding around in ways that no organic design ever could and gripping against one of the mechanical lifter's scarred protective plates, she stretched out and folded over back in a perfect curve, legs moving around to let her crouch. Her feet did as her hands, and turned into hard gripping talons instead, fastening her to the surface as she moved together. Her armor moved and shifted with and without her joints and powerful actuators, and as her arms pulled back her hands folded outwards.
'
:excellent! let's not waste time then...!' was all the machine said, before she sprang, shooting forward at Keaton as if shot from a cannon. She aimed to barrel into the jackal and knock her down, and with her speed and weight she had more than a good chance. Already well on the way, she'd flip over a few times and clear her distance for another strike once her opponent was shaken up enough.
Boog, a happily entertained innocent bystander in the whole matter, nodded to Sylvie with a grin. "Ah, right, those. Follow me." He strode up the stairs quickly, the Green and the zombie following after.
"Yeah, sure," Richard replied, "Just trying to balance out my karma."
Sylvie followed Boog and the zombie up the stairs, each step careful and even so Dani wouldn't be jostled awake. They were almost all the way up when the girl began to twitch in their grasp and make little whimpering noises.
"She's having a bad dream," Sylvie explained, not changing her pace. "So we'll need whichever room's closest. Do we need a key of some kind?" she asked Boog.
Boog nudged a nearby door open, showing Sylvie to a room of fairly sparse accommedations. It had a bed, a dresser, a television that looked as though it had never worked, a desklamp and desk next to the bed and, looking extremely out of place, a wide window for watching fights. He slipped a large iron key out of his sleeve and offered it to the green after she and Richard had put the unconscious redhead on the bed.
"Here, and I assume she'll pay for it later. No loud noises after 13:30 pm, no pets, and anything broken gets added to your tab. Hope she's back up soon, I'd hate to have to wait for the fireworks to start up again." With his usual grin the Boogeyman slipped out of the room and back to his post at the bar.
"Right then, my work here's done." Richard shrugged as he made for the door. "Hope your friend does well." Right, guilt over being mean to the girl with the sleeping problem taken care of, just gotta smoothly find my way out of here and back to sweet alcoholic oblivion...
Meanwhile, downstairs, Boog finished explaining to Marya what the rules of the Honor Circle were. The mustalid resisted the urge to giggle aloud as she looked around for a first target...
"Yah, thanks for that." the blackguard said, leaning back in his chair, and absently licked his teeth. Heat emanated off him in waves. "So's, we're in...null-time. Or something." Giles looked around for a moment, his brow creasing. His eyes brushed by a steadily ticking clock. One eye narrowed, and he gave the woman who seemed to smoking something more acrid than the little alien's drink a second glance.
"So, when you say null-time, you're not saying that..."
He paused. The strange-looking man from before had sat down next to them, and he picking up the glass of whiskey that had appeared before him at some point. He took a drink.
"It's some kinda fruit, I think." the man said, recalling what the Orin had said.
* * *
Taking the last of his drink, the werewolf slowly realized that he'd managed to get himself a bit plastered.
* * *
The Jackal didn't honestly expect the scythe to hit a creature that had dodged the light that was pouring in from every window - it was simply a distraction, to give the Jackal a little time to get his feet back on the ground. His wings tucked in, he hit the frosted cold stone with a thud that was drowned out in in the sound of crackling thunder and the Jackal's own prodigious voice. The demon was fast, however, and already another bolt of thunder was arcing for the priest.
Gold was dripping off of Laertes, now, his song in full force. It was a chant, high in it's tone, and cold as the stones themselves, and in the gothic cathedral, sound was designed to echo. Perhaps it was some facet of the Jackal's power, of perhaps it was simply the design of the simple stone-and-mortar, but more and more voices seemed to join into the chant, an eerie chorus that multiplied the Jackal's voice every moment.
Gold dripped from his body, and as the bolt hit the priest, he simply grinned as he sang. Though he could not speak, his eyes were mocking.
Is that all you have? Your trick isn't working, shade of hell.
The priest's left hand had met the bolt - and in his right, red electricity began to arc, until he pushed. Red as the dawn, the carmine bolt snapped through the air and towards the airborne demon.
Glaring at Boogeyman for a second, Risky took a quick slug of her drink, and sucked air for a second as it kicked in. "'Null-dimensional' time," she said, inhaling deeply from her cigarette, then holding it.
She exhaled another colored cloud, then shook her head. "If the universes are soap bubbles, all touching, there's still gaps here and there. We're in a gap, held stable by some unholy law of physics I've never heard of."
Risky grinned wryly. "If you walk out the front door and keep walking, you may be home. Time may or may not have passed, and you may or may not be able to get back here again."
"And I can tell you this," she said, tossing a small flat black device on the bar. "It plays merry hell with time travel."
Glancing outside, she noted the red bolts in the jackal's hand. "Bug zapper. Should be good."
...Keaton:Keaton snarled animalistically as the machine-woman came screaming right at her, her body instinctively shifting into a defensive stance. Her fingers tensed their stone-cold embrace around Catastrophe's shaft and her feet quickly stepped and slid into position, grating the rubbery undersides of her boots along the floor, and she immediately reacted on impulse; without her brain's or her body's permission. Twisting her body around, Keaton sharply swung Catastrophe in a sweeping arc, reminiscent of a baseball player aiming for an incoming ball. Since Keaton couldn't outrun or outmaneuver Sahlena, she assumed this would be the most prudent option. It was best she get this fight off on the right foot, she reasoned, otherwise she'd have to struggle her way back to the top in the future.
---
...Piix:Piix blinked and her ears pricked upright as Stygian regarded her, and then craned her head around so she could fully face him. She recognized the man's voice from earlier, but knew perfectly well that, in her delirium after her battle with Giles, she didn't get a very good look at his visage. Come to think of it, she hadn't really identified anyone when she was in that state. Either way, when Piix saw Stygian, her attitude seemed to improve quite ostensibly after a momentary lapse of surprise.
Holy shit
this guy is cute for a furless, Piix thought, fidgeting with the unusually-shaped glass in her paws.
Easy girl, easy. Just lay on the charm. Don't make yourself out to be a moron.Now bearing a smirk which was almost characteristic to her actively thieving, plundering race, Piix reached up with her free hand and smoothed back her windswept, aerodynamic bangs, at first going with the expectation that her bangs would somehow obediently plaster themselves against her head, as she had wished, or stylize themselves into an appropriately attractive arrangement, but becoming rather disappointed when her bangs simply bounced back to their disarrayed state. Hopefully, if she was successful enough, Stygian wouldn't notice how painfully inexperienced Piix was regarding the courtship habits of humans, or, as she and her species commonly referred to them, furless bipedals.
"Oh, y'r interested? Well, this drink ain't f'r furless folks, but I c'n think o' a number o' drinks ye'd enjoy," Piix answered with a deep, seductive murmur, one which was undoubtedly impressive, but in a way that a catastrophically explosive car crash would be awe-inspiring. "If y'r up t' it, why don't ya sit y'rself down for a drink sometime with me? I'll pay."
---
...Dekuyaketh:Dekuyaketh belted out a startled curse as the priest unleashed the incoming lance of lightning, quickly attempting to thrust himself in the air in another, rapid evasive response. Flaring the membranous widths of his wings, Dekuyaketh flapped them quickly, fortunately enough to throw him further away from the bolt. Swinging himself to the side would be too time and energy-consuming, he surmised, although it would be more effective. Right now Dekuyaketh didn't want to concern himself with ostentatious demonstrations. Heat flashed and tore through the air around the writhing arch of electricity, briefly illuminating the air beneath Dekuyaketh's body and safely passing underneath him, inches away from his tail.
Enough of the return fire, Dekuyaketh decided. Throwing lightning back and forth wasn't working, so it was time for a more direct, physical tactic, perhaps one which would end the fight sooner. After seeing Laertes throw his scythe, he came to the realization that the jackal was, essentially, unarmed. Certainly he had an arsenal of spells or magical defenses at his command, but hopefully this entailed that Dekuyaketh could fly in and try something which, he hoped, did not apply to his ability to convert energy into harmless matter...
With an enormous flap of his wings Dekuyaketh maneuvered himself down, then angled his wings at a position which smoothed and accelerated his descent, plummeting in a diagonal path toward Laertes. Amidst his plunge Dekuyaketh swung his leg out in a quicksilver motion, utilizing the speed in his glide to empower the force of his low-angled kick.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Tilting his head a bit, Stygian looked a little closer at Piix for a second. It was always curious, how, and why, these people, these creatures, communicated as they did. Not to mention that they all seemed to be speaking English... Regardless of that though, why was the furball suddenly acting all tense? She had lowered her voice, and was... Was she challenging him? What did she
think she was doing?
Narrowing his eyes, Stygian leaned a bit to the side on the bartop, and then snapped his fingers at the Boogeyman. 'Give me one of what she's having', he said, voice a stronger version of his usual sinuous hum. His eyes, steadily set on Piix, glimmered of something darkly green within their steel-gray depths.
- -
The swing took, but just barely. The machine was
fast. But she was already on her way, and that decided it. She attempted to turn in the air, yet the strike hit her in the shoulder. Unfortunately, the jackal didn't seem to have accounted for the sheer weight she'd face in the swing, and as the metallic figure spun they crashed into each other shortly, before she flew past. Sahlena hit the floor at an off angle, but with computerized speed and mechanical precision she twisted and flew up again, spinning on a hand and flipping over backwards once before landing on her feet, gliding back a bit. She crouched together, lowering her head and making a rattling, grating noise that was very easy to take for a snarl. The spikes of Keaton's mace had left clear damage to her left shoulder, but whatever she was made of seemed to have held up very well against the damage.
'
:you don't hesitate at least. that means you can fight', she commented. Slowly, her hand stretched out backwards, placing itself on one of the machine panels, her fingers extending and splitting and moving in wholly unnatural ways. A quick flick of her hand, and that thrumming in the background was accompanied by a crackling, and then a metallic slam. And next, all the machines started up, one by one, in quick sequence, and the whole hall was filled with their noise and movements. '
:let's see you fighting then.'
The machine straightened, the joints in her arms shifting and the mechanics in her forearms snapping and moving. A blade shot out from right behind her hand, locking into her wrist joint. The next one whistled as it spun around, rotating as she made a flourishing move, slipping into a stance. Two clear tones from the vibrations through the blades rang out, as they stopped instantly.
'
: if you can keep up, that is.'
Keaton could have sworn the machine was smiling at her, but she had little more time to think. In a heartbeat the machine had leaped for her and made her way under a moving arm, almost flying in an upward strike against the jackal.
Sylvie smiled and quietly thanked the two men as they left. Pocketing the key, she moved over to the window and watched the fights below. The metal-woman from earlier, Sahlena, was doing pretty well against Keaton. But Sylvie had watched the jackal fight Rip earlier, so she knew at the very least that she had a fighting chance against the android.
Dani groaned softly on the bed, twitching again. The Green sighed and decided not to wake up her friend; she had enough trouble sleeping, so the respite might help her. She took a seat on the bed, facing the window, waiting patiently for her friend to wake up so they could return to the bar.
...Keaton:The swing grazed by Sahlena's shoulder in a spectacular shred of metal, forcing Keaton to twist to the side as the machine rocketed past her. Her eyes and body followed the android's path, obsessively observing her movements for any signs that would betray any aggressive intentions. The lady was
fast; she'd need more than luck and reflexes to dodge and return all of her blows. Keaton was well aware of this. Tracing the body language of a generally emotionless concoction was difficult, but it wasn't impossible. Not when she could still find indications of her sinewy, strong movements, those little telltale twitches. There was no time for Keaton to savor the scratched and slightly mangled metal her mace had left on Sahlena's shoulder, because now she was experiencing some sort of mechanical metamorphosis, gradually altering the joints in her forearms until a blade sprung from her hand and locked into place. Another one followed shortly, then Sahlena entered some sort of stance.
If Keaton was waiting for an indication of Sahlena's intentions, this was more than enough. But she wasn't moving yet.
Until she spoke. Then she was gone from that spot and launching herself at Keaton, her blade poised to strike and slash. Keaton let out a shrill cry, startled by this mercurial change of events. All her predicting had not anticipated the speed and dexterity this machine could consistently move. It disrupted her concentration; unraveled her composed manner of watching Sahlena's movements and changes in visage. Again, Keaton attempted to bring Catastrophe up in a blow which would keep Sahlena from bypassing her comfortable range and overwhelming her. Catastrophe was not a defensive weapon without magical augmentation or assistance, so she had to remain on the offensive.
---
...Piix:Piix's overconfident countenance faltered when she realized her attempts at seduction had failed. However, traditional among the persistent flirtatious sort, she didn't allow it to permanently damage her resolve, instead smoothing back her hair again in a compulsive, habitual manner. She seemed to be under the impression it made her appear more suave. Any composure she contained dissolved when she noticed Stygian had ordered the same drink she had been guzzling before, which automatically reverted her back to her normal state, albeit very flustered. Oh great, Giles had already nearly faced esophagus-eating, acidic doom a while ago. Now she had to prevent
this guy from making the same decision. Humans, as far as she knew, were extremely intolerant to the acidic, even though there were favored beverages which measured rather high on the pH scale and caused no extensive physical harm distributed around their planet.
"Hey, waitaminute. Didn't ya see th' drink on th' counter?" Piix pointed to the ugly spot on the formerly untarnished wooden surface of the table, where the spilled drink had devoured the material. "Y'r a furle--er, human, right? Dunno. That'd be y'r throat if y'drink this." She was a little more direct than she was with Giles, having seen that she did little to dissuade the blackguard earlier.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Again, as she exclaimed her warning, the man turned and looked over at Piix, one of his eyebrows shooting upward the slightest bit. Then he shook his head.
'Let's just say I'm willing to risk it', he said, and before Piix had the chance to stop him, he kicked back the drink in two long gulps. His eyes closed, his throat pulsed with the motions as the noxious liquid flowed down back through it. Then, when all there was left of the drink was some blue residue on the inside of the glass, he grimaced, and smacked it down on the bar top. He coughed, throat rasping, once, and then he made yet another grimace and some uncomfortable sound.
'
Bloody Hell! That tastes awful!' he said, looking at the glass. He scowled, then snorted, and looked back up at the Boogeyman. 'Give me another one.'
- -
If Keaton had thought that her next strike would push back the machine, she was mistaken. While the other 'woman' could go in up very close and personal, the length of Keaton's mace and the force behind her strikes meant she was far more vulnerable to attack from their current position. Sahlena slid inside her range, gripping her arm and diverting her blow. She felt a quick, searing pain over her forearm, and next the flex back, her wind taken out of her by a hard blow from the machine's other arm. The mechanical figure spun from that bracing pose back into a ready one, one blade along her arm out before her and the other drawn back to stab or swipe, precise as clockwork. A moving robotic arm came in the way of her sight for a moment, a piece of some sort of machinery hanging from its gripping unit, but she didn't move a millimetre. She simply watched the jackal.
'
:what would you be doing with such a large, clumsy weapon?' she said, at last, sweeping one arm down and letting the blade follow, and advancing slowly on Keaton.
The blackguard barked a laugh as the strange man downed what appeared to him to be straight-up acid, and simply took another drink of his whiskey. Across the bar, still somewhat soused but quite alert, a quieter wolf watched the man drink from the corner of his eye.
"I hate time travel anyway." the blackguard responded to Risky, coughing just a bit. "What's done is done. S'how I feel, anyway."
* * *
The priest's eyes changed quickly, from a arrogant smirk to a scowl. As long as he avoided the direct light pouring through the windows, and didn't alight upon the ground, the demon had quite a bit of free room to maneuver with - and a lot more speed, too, while his thunderbolts confined Laertes to the ground. If he tried a short glide backwards, it would likely be with a mouthful of lightning to contend with. And he couldn't redirect a foot.
Of course, simply ducking or rolling was beneath him.
The ice still chill as the deepest night, the priest extended a hand, the fingers twisted into beckoning claws - deep in the stonework, his scythe shuddered, pieces of gravel and dust falling beneath the stones it was buried in. The priest's other hand flew in front of his face, protectively, while his song changed just subtly.
The flames surged for a moment, and then raced for Laertes, the pool of fire around him suddenly engulfing the jackal in a bonfire of heavenly flame. The golden energy dripped dry from his wings as flames covered his body and more, a pillar of white fire.
Kick me and you'll burn brighter than the sun, hellspawn. the priest thought, his scythe breaking free from the wall.
The slug-beast roared its call of death as panicking citizens fled the doomed town. Mothers clutched their screaming babies, men grabbed guns or cried farewells to their loved ones, and children either wailed or stood stock-still, paralyzed in terror.
As everyone else ran away, one person slowly approached the monster. Clad in steel armor and wielding only a firehose, Dani Sanders stood before the beast. "Alright, Slugron," she called up to her foe, "You've terrorized these people long enough! Now, your reign of terror meets its end!"
Slugron turned and roared his disapproval. Dani, unfazed, simply switched on the firehose, covering the beast with a deadly spray of salt water. Slugron roared in agony, the people cheered, and Dani waited. Just because she seemed to have the upper hand didn't mean she really did. She had to stay here until the monster was completely dead...
Using the last of his power, Slugron spewed forth a viscous glob onto the motionless warrior. The townspeople gasped and prayed, as Dani tried to fight her way free of the goo, but it was hardening rapidly. Soon, she, the only one brave enough to save these people, would become no more than a statue...
---
Back in the room, Dani awoke with a piercing shriek. The first thing she felt was thankfully not goo, but the touch of Sylvie's hands on her shoulder and hair. "Shhh, Dani, it's okay, you're safe, you're here," the elf comforted her.
"Wh-what happened? Where's the slug-thing? The people?" Dani responded, whipping her head around and her eyes scanning every inch of the room.
"Honey, there's no slug," Sylvie said gently. "You fell asleep in the bar. The undead and I brought you right up here."
"But there was a town, it was - " Dani stopped. Her expression slowly changed from one of fearful surprise to dull frustration. "I fell asleep again?" she asked Sylvie, her voice now flat with annoyance. The Green just nodded, prompting Dani to pull her knees to her chest and plant her face in her hand, laughing quietly. "Dammit... someday, I'll go somewhere and not need to be carried up the stairs at any point." She smiled and faced Sylvie again. "So the zombie helped you? And when'd I fall asleep?"
"Yeah, the zombie helped. I don't know if you want to know when you fell asleep, though..." Dani gave her friend a look and waited. Sylvie sighed. "Okay, fine. You fell asleep right when you were threatening Stygian."
At this, the Red actually blushed a little bit. "Oh. ..." For a few moments, all was quiet. Then Sylvie spoke up again. "So, um...will you kill me if I'm, well, friends with him?"
Dani looked at Sylvie more calmly. "There's not much I can do about it, and what you do is your business, not mine. So go ahead."
With that, Sylvie breathed a sigh of relief and stood. "You feel like coming back downstairs?"
"Not just yet," Dani replied. She didn't say it, but she really didn't want to deal with stares and questions just yet. For now, she'd rest and get over her slight embarrassment. Sylvie nodded understandingly, as if Dani had really said all that, and headed out of the room, leaving the key on the bed with the crimson-haired girl.
Sylvie descended the stairs and walked back into the bar, seating herself on the stool where she'd left her cloak and bag. She noticed a rather odd look on Stygian's face, as well as the furry little creature's. "Did I miss anything?" she asked, looking a little bemused.
'Yeah. One hell of a drink', Stygian said, looking back over at the elf, a dark shimmer in his eyes. He licked his lips quickly, then pushed the glass away and turned on his seat, placing his elbow on the counter and leaning as he looked at her and Piix in turn. Frowning, seemingly thinking hard for a few seconds, he then shook his head and sighed, looking down.
'Never mind', he said, finally, and then looked back up with an uncaring expression. 'Just fooling around. You know, you don't have to feel obligated to come here and talk to me if you don't want to.' He looked at her as if she were going to sigh with relief and move out of sight after that.
Sylvie watched Stygian curiously. Apparently, Dani's words had discouraged him a bit, or he assumed that she was still rattled from the fight. She tried to think of another motive, but couldn't. In any case... she kept her face neutral as she responded.
"I think you might be misjudging me. I didn't come down here because I felt like that. She needs a little rest, and I actually wanted to answer your question from earlier. Not because I felt obligated - because it's a little confusing and I figure it's worth explaining." She watched him and Piix, hoping that she wasn't interrupting anything between the two, and waited.
A slowly deepening frown revealed Stygian's confusion at this response, and he folded his hands together, looking somewhat critically at the elf, almost as if he wanted to reprimand her for responding so politely. Instead, he merely studied her, eyes slightly shadowed.
'What question?' he asked, blankly.
Sylvie blinked once. Wonder how he forgot that quickly? "After Dani fell asleep, you asked why she was so protective of me." She hesitated, not sure if she wanted to answer that now. This particular little bit of her past was something she tried to avoid. Still, no sense in starting what you couldn't finish.
"You're really not gonna like the answer, but like I said, it's worth explaining," she told Stygian, not changing her gaze.
...Keaton:The blistering pain rocketed up Keaton's forearm quickly, albeit effectively enough to momentarily distract her and jostle her intense concentration. Another blow came before Keaton could resort to any further efforts to protect herself, pummeling at her abdomen and deflating her gut like a gastric balloon. Part of the jackal was compelled to collapse and start seething and moaning from the force of the blow, but the domineering influence over her actions, the one which had been trained as a warrior, persevered enough to keep her in motion. Heaving, Keaton staggered back, swaying and pivoting on her heels and keeping Catastrophe close.
Sahlena started to approach her. Keaton narrowed her eyes, nervously, her pupils squared on that insidiously sharp blade. At this point Keaton couldn't be expected to fight at close combat when she specialized in mid-range and long-range. Not when Sahlena was armed like that and could move so quickly. Fortunately she was beginning to regain her breath, so she could prepare herself for her next maneuver. A quick gout of electricity sparked from Catastrophe's spikes in one, unified flow, leaping to the tips of each individual spike, at first laced in a bold, vivid red, but quickly corrupting into a pitch black and fading away like mist.
"Good question," Keaton answered somewhat sharply, then smirked playfully. "Why don't you try to beat me, first... and then
if you do, I can tell you."
Catastrophe was whirled around in a sharp movement, swept at a horizontal stroke. Keaton twisted it almost like a sword, brandishing it with one hand, and watched the energy clustering inside Catastrophe become unleashed, streaming in a dark-colored arch of energy toward Sahlena.
---
...Piix:The look on Piix's face as Stygian almost immediately downed his highly-acidic beverage could have been quite priceless if it wasn't so sincere. Although she looked nearly comical in her exaggerated horror, she felt a distinct sense of terror swell up inside of her as a grotesque montage of possibilities replayed in her mind, revolving, mostly, around the mostly-unrealistic and graphic depictions of Stygian suffering some cruel demise at the hands of that drink. Quite to her shock, however, the gruesome reaction she expected to see was censored to no more than a few disgusting sounds and a verbose snarl.
Apparently, Stygian's throat was quite intact.
All Piix could do was stare, quite openly, jaw agape, at the blond man as he recuperated from the astringent taste, until she somehow managed to overcome her speech impediment moments later. "How did y'
DO that?" Piix exclaimed.
---
...Dekuyaketh:As Laertes gestured suddenly, the tone of his song warping, causing the fire to wreathe violently in a protective ring around him, Dekuyaketh jerked in mid-air and flared his wings again, attempting to decelerate his descent. With a mighty flap he ceased his momentum, then he wasted no time in spinning away from Laertes and twisting his body around. Another flap propelled him back, although he seemed to relinquish the air under his membranous wings in mid-jump so his body was falling on its own, then he folded his wings against his back and, with another bizarrely acrobatic twist of his body, whirled and redirected himself and landed with a thud on his feet.
Simultaneous to that moment, he plunged his mechanical arm's fist down, the knuckles streaming with red electricity, and impacted it against the earth, sending a triad of electrical gouts lancing in Laertes's direction. He could not hope to penetrate the barrier of fire with fists and fangs alone, so he had to resort to his former tactics and hope that it would make a difference.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
The man took Piix's surprise with self-assured unconcern, making an aversive gesture with his hand. 'That stuff is mild compared to me. I just endure', he stated, almost nonchalantly, before frowning up at the elf. She had shifted her stance, but not her gaze. Her body language overall was restrained, as was her expression, meaning she was thinking something but putting an effort into not saying or showing it, and he couldn't think of any reason for this except that he had been right about her discomfort.
'I didn't really intend that as a question', he said, carefully, putting his hands together and frowning a little at the elf. 'At least, not one that needed an answer. To tell you the truth, if it would sit better with you and your friend, I'd rather you didn't.' He looked at her seriously, somewhat in a jaded manner that almost spelled out;
I know what you're doing and I'm not falling for it.
- -
Keaton's attack was quite powerful, and impressive in its forward range. To anyone limited to being capable of jumping their own height or less, it would have been basically impossible to avoid, and would have had to be countered by some other means. Sahlena, however, had both a blistering reaction time, and strength to do far more than that. Sweeping her blades out for leverage, she spun forward and then straightened like an overpowered piston, shooting off the ground and sailing into the air in a high arc, flipping upside down just over Keaton. She would land right behind the jackal in just a second, and she had already planned on striking from there, then continuing the movement and making a series of handflips back from there to move out of that mace's striking range.
Dani watched the fights upstairs for a moment, thinking about what had happened before she fell asleep. Then she decided it was time to head back down. She was starting to feel a little bad about yelling at Stygian. Though she didn't reveal it to anyone, she was a little superstitious, and falling asleep right before she could finish seemed to her like an omen. It had certainly pissed off both him and Sylvie that she'd decided to rant like that, even though the elf hadn't shown it when she woke up.
As she descended the stairs, she heard a few bits of the conversation between Sylvie and Stygian – and felt a pang of guilt when she heard herself mentioned. You screwed things up, Sanders – care to make it right? She paused before re-entering the room, thinking of how best to try and fix this.
"Too bad," she said at last, walking back in with an almost placid look. "You're missing out on a hell of a story." She shot a slightly mischievous glance to a bewildered Sylvie. "Even though I still think it sounds better when I tell it."
---
Sylvie had been trying not to show her mild hurt at how quickly she was being brushed off by Stygian. She'd hoped to send the right signals, despite her uncertainty at telling him what had happened between her and Dan. But Stygian was giving her a look like a parent did to a lying child...he still thought Dani was pissed. True, she probably was, but that didn't mean the elf was too...
At that moment, the Red herself walked back in showing not a speck of ill will. To say that Sylvie was astonished was an understatement. Any nervousness she'd had was replaced with confusion. I know she changes her mind quickly, but...
The wolf snorted when the bat spoke, a lopsided grin appearing on his face just after his comments on Piix's drink of choice. His eyes were hidden by his glasses, but the tilt of his head suggested he was looking at the bat when he spoke.
"I'll say." he said, sipping on his Full Moon and making a face, "It'd have to be a damn foul drink." he grinned, leaning back against his stool and onto the wooden bar.
* * *
Laertes would have cursed, were his mouth not forming the words to holy chants long forgotten and long unsung. What he was seeing should have been impossible - he was sending bolts of lightning through the ground, and instead of being absorbed into the stones, it was arcing and spitting towards him madly. The crackling bolts sped like snakes towards the Priest's feet.
His arm rose high, and with one hand he snatched the spinning scythe from out of the air.
He couldn't redirect something like that into his scythe or into the ground, so he did the only thing he could. Jumping and flapping his wings once, he jumped, somehow farther than he should have been able to - and then seeming to almost pause at the apex of his leap, he brought the scythe up around his head. His golden eyes smoked, and droplets of gold fizzled on the electrical gouts passing below him. Falling from his jump, he arced towards the straightening Dekuyaketh, his scythe making a sound like a razor on silk as it sliced through the air.
Cog's comment was met with something far different from the knowing chuckle that Stygian would normally have given at that sort of thing. Instead, the man's eyes opened fully and fixed hard on the wolf in a piercing, warning gaze, gleaming of something green and hard as stone. The sort of look that even men like the wolf wouldn't be able to simply shrug off. He only held it for a second though, enough to guarantee that Cog had gotten the warning, and then let up and looked back to Sylvie and Dani, looking between them. The corner of his mouth quirking up in a not-really-a-smile that left his eyes untouched, he hummed knowingly.
'Let me guess... She was your prisoner?' he chanced. 'Formally or... in some other way?' His ire slipped a little, though his expression remained as cold as he looked to Dani. 'Either way, I didn't ask you to speak to me, so don't let me keep you. Unless you want to.' The separation of those two sentences was clear, as was the intonation on the latter.
Despite the quasi-polite wording Stygian used, Dani felt like she'd been slapped. She was used to people being blunt with her, and as a result, she hated having to interpret comments like those. That last sentence could have been either a hang-up or bait; he probably wanted her to shut the hell up, but he could have also been trying to upset her and force her to shut up by getting her to fall asleep. Ordinarily, she'd have challenged him back, but right now, Dani just wanted to smooth things over. If he didn't want to deal with her or Sylvie, fine; Dani just wanted to soothe her guilt.
Her eyes widened just a fragment as he spoke, but just as fast, they narrowed and she returned the mirthless smile Stygian offered. "Right. Sorry, didn't mean to be rude. The same for earlier, too," she added, sounding more honest on the last part. The first few words contained just a hint of bite, the message clear: I'm trying to be nice. Please don't throw it in my face.
Over on her stool, Sylvie's face had gone the color of milk with a bit of green food coloring in it. Why did he have to guess it right so quickly? At least Dani was showing contrition about earlier (rather reluctantly, but sincerely). But the elf was starting to feel powerless. She didn't want to interfere; something told her that that would just make things worse. But sitting it out made her look weak...
Unable to think of anything else, she turned halfway to watch the fights outside. She really needed a distraction.
Stygian sighed, barely audibly. Feeling rather like doing something horribly frightening to Dani or depositing her somewhere out of sight than talking to her right then, and seeing that in face of this conflict between him and her friend, Sylvie had predictably backed out, probably being unable to choose a standpoint as she didn't know what she could say that wouldn't put off either of them, he pretty much concluded the conversation a failure by that point. He cared little whether if the woman was trying to be nice or why; she was not making a good job of it, and she was not his interest. In fact, being apparently a regular human woman, she wasn't very interesting at all. Certainly not in the presence of all these other creatures.
The others, yes... Casting a sideways glance, Stygian looked at Piix, and thought some more. Alien as it were, the thought that Sylvie had felt offended or pushed aside after he had been talking to that one at least fell into the range of possibilities. And to alleviate that, he would simply have to distance himself. Considering the direction things were taking, that didn't seem too bad an idea. Not to mention that it gave him the option of showing his discontent and seeming the victim of the circumstances. Something that he felt entirely entitled to.
'Well, I'll have to accept your apology then', he said, sounding a bit reluctant as well, and stood up. Leaving the two... no, three of them to argue among themselves seemed like a good choice. 'If that is what it is. Sorry to have disturbed.' Having said what he wanted, he straightened his coat, and walked off toward the door. Sal had left the luggage outside, and this was as good an opportunity as any to check it...
Dani watched, not having any expression at all as Stygian left. She glanced over at the bar and noticed Sylvie looking as pale as one could get with her skin, and a little ashamed - probably because of the unwanted negative spin Stygian had put on how they'd met, but mostly because of the conflict in general. Dani still felt a little bad, but for a different reason now; it was empathy for her friend.
She walked up to Sylvie. "Sorry if I helped him guess..."
"Dani," the elf responded, not quite facing her friend. "Could we talk about this later?" She sounded a little apologetic, but the undertone made it clear she was still upset and felt as if she'd attracted too much attention already. Dani obliged and took a seat at the table behind Sylvie.
..Keaton:Again, Keaton tried to follow Sahlena's movements when the robot soared over the arc of condensed, dark-oriented energy. Once she watched the robot evade the blast, she quickly executed a sharply-snapped command within her head, making the arc disintegrate into a tightly-packed shudder of rushing, blackened particles which flowed quickly back into her mace. Keaton craned her head around as she tried to observe Sal, tracing the trajectory of her fall until the moment she landed gracefully on the ground and sprinted away. Keaton snarled, the wicked smirk on her face juxtaposing with the viciousness of her growl, and spun Catastrophe around again, a swirling trail of particles spiraling behind the mace like popping, crackling spherical sparks. Another flick swung Catastrophe forward, and then the particles rushed again, and with an immense
crack one more lance of black electricity fired in Sal's direction.
---
...Piix:Matters were getting far too complicated for Piix's enjoyment. Emotional predicaments were issues she never particularly enjoyed... they were often over the most petty of situations and created too much unnecessary tension. Throughout the confrontation, Piix remained rather silent after her outburst, keeping her ears cocked and a rather guilt-stricken expression plastered on her furry face. Just because she didn't find situations like this entertaining didn't mean she couldn't feel guilty when she felt she was somehow at fault. Particularly, she felt she had somehow provoked this argument... or whatever was going on. Nobody was bringing her to attention so she surmised nobody shared her sentiments, or they were too busy bickering amongst themselves to bother with her.
Ultimately, Piix let out a sigh of resignation and turned away from the two elfin women and the human man. Her bioluminescent eyes stared down into the pit of her cup, still cradled in her hand. The impenetrable mug, specially-designed for safely containing the highly-acidic drink, was mostly empty, save for some residual dewdrops of luminescent cerulean churning at the bottom. Looking somewhat listless, Piix stared up at Giles, raising her eyebrows.
---
...Dekuyaketh:Dekuyaketh's golden-amber eyes snapped open and narrowed at the priest as he managed to dodge Dekuyaketh's blasts, levitating into the air and soaring in his direction, armed with the scythe which had obediently returned. The acrid shine of the opalescent, red stone centered in the hieroglyphic rings carved into Dekuyaketh's mechanical eye was momentarily blinding as the eye swerved independently toward Laertes, locking onto the incoming blade as it was drawn back, then swept forward, all with the intention of cleaving Dekuyaketh to pieces. Such was the speed and the precision of the blow that Dekuyaketh knew he couldn't evade it - not on such short notice - yet he couldn't simply sustain it. As powerful as he was, Dekuyaketh's weaknesses, when targeted, were almost debilitating in their intensity. He couldn't risk that scythe having the fortune of slicing through his wings, or his arm, or an equally agonizing place.
So instead, he attempted to defend himself. Another surge of electricity flared through Dekuyaketh's mechanical arm, illuminating the hieroglyphics anew and spreading, through every contour and engraving intricately ornamenting the arm, to its clever fingertips. The gemstones resting on the joints of the great, bladed fingers crackled with electricity, which spiked and leaped from the mechanical arm in sparkling gouts, and with a roar Dekuyaketh flung his arm forward, clenching his claw into a fist. The lightning writhed and wreathed in the instantaneous seconds before the impact, and then, with a sound akin to a blade drawing down a chalkboard, a flat, round electrified barrier materialized in front of Dekuyaketh's body.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
As soon as Stygian left the bar, and stepped out into the rain-slicked street, his face shifted from one of bitterness to concern and anticipation. He had more than just Sal's new head and sensors in that package. Stepping over to the items in question, he began going through the number of items that the pack contained, most of which were heavy metallic things intended for either obscure or obviously destructive purposes. What he was looking for was the one thing that stood out from the hi-tech guns and equipment. And it was clear to see why, as he pulled it out.
Locked in an ornate sheath, its matte black surface decorated with dark silvery metal wrought into sinuous, sharp shapes at the bottom and top, the sword was of a curious sort, curved and one-edged like certain oriental swords, yet even though slightly broader at the base, its blade was slender and its angled tip was even slimmer than that of a katana or a nodachi. It was not heavily curved either, nor overly long. And though its hilt was decorated, it was clean and slimmed down, made so that it could be concealed under a coat without difficulty. Perhaps most remarkable though, were the angular serrations at the base of the blade, visible as the man drew the blade halfway out and checked it. They made its black-steeled form look almost like a wing.
Sitting there, holding the blade in his hand, a shadow seemed to fall on Stygian, and he smiled, an expression of joy made wicked by the circumstances. He had it back. And not a moment too soon...
Fastening the sheath to his side, the man felt the long hilt for a second, before taking a package about the size of a football out of the packing, together with a small metal box that clinked slightly, and then standing up again. Straightening his coat, he turned on his heel and then walked back into the bar, seating himself at a table not far from the three women from earlier, but with his back to them, and started to unwrap the package.
- -
If Keaton had thought that the next shockwave would have hit the machine any better, she had been fooling herself. The energy blast grazed the tips of the machine's spinning blades when she somersaulted backwards over the incoming danger. And she continued that movement, flipping over on her hands, then her feet, and her hands again, curving and rotating in perfectly coordinated movements. She was upon the jackal again in no time, slashing and sweeping in a deliberate, almost lazy fashion, that singular red eye fixed straight at Keaton while her limbs worked around her perfectly still and balanced head. She kept going until she had deflected a few of the jackal's retaliatory blows herself, then struck a foot out, kicking against her. She had been driving her back, pushing her closer in between the active machines. It was as if she
wanted to get closer to the moving mechanical arms and sweeping cutters and welders, where there were more moving things and dangers to keep check of.
Boog set out Risky's drink with a grin, "Always been my assessment that physics plays merry hell with time travel more than anything else, but hey." He kept an ear out for the patrons conversations, but didn't do anything to interfere. Depressed people bought more alcohol, and the usual owner had been promised a tidy sum in takings upon his return. Knew it would be profitable, making sure that yell reached Styggy...
Richard nursed his drink some more, glancing up at Dani's discomfort briefly as her conversation took a turn for the worse. He felt a little bad for giving her a hard time earlier. He had the same reaction to the short fuzzy thing other than Marya at the bar, his expression was just harder to read.
Didn't feel bad enough to do anything about it though. He finished off another bottle and reached for the next.
...Keaton:
Snarling defensively, Keaton watched with clear dismay as the lance of lightning passed beneath Sahlena's feet and rocketed in a perfectly vertical path until the moment she, like she did with its brethren bolt, made it vanish and siphoned the remains back into her mace. Before she could conjure up another offensive maneuver, the android was sprinting at her at nearly mind-boggling speeds, sweeping her blades around in swift, dangerous movements. One good swipe caught Keaton off-guard before she could collect her composure, although its mark was imperfect - in her panic, Keaton withdrew, making a stillborn attempt to evade the attack. The blade cleaved past Keaton's abdomen, lacerating a perfect crimson line along her muscles. Ignoring the sharp stab of pain which followed this slash, Keaton snarled and tried to retaliate by reciprocating the blow with a few of her own, only for them to be countered by the next maneuver Sahlena executed.
Keaton saw Sahlena's foot coming, but before she could pull out of the way, it slammed neatly into her stomach, below the shallow gash Sahlena had created. She did not, however, anticipate the fact Sahlena was driving her back, toward the precariously churning machinery, until the moment she staggered back, just barely keeping herself planted to the ground with the effort of two wing-tentacles. Keaton gasped sharply as the roar of one of the machines echoed eerily within her ears, her chocolaty pupils locking onto the offending mechanical monstrosity, quickly realizing Sahlena's intention. Gripping Catastrophe a bit tighter, she attempted to move to the side, swinging Catastrophe in a powerful arc simultaneously at the android woman. There was no way she could simply drive Sahlena back while remaining in the same place, so she had to try to improvise.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
To Laertes's surprise, something as generally insubstantial as electricity somehow made an effective barrier - of course, normal lightning didn't glow with the color of flames either. His arms jarred as the end of the scythe's blade scraped across the barrier with a sound like a glass razor across a diamond. A moment later, he landed next to the fiend, the scythe spiraling in the air above them. One of Laertes's hands looked...wrong, somehow, his thumb bent much to far backwards.
Suddenly, the Priest stopped chanting, and all sound within the chapel died - almost instantly. Even the sound of the holy fire, built into a spiral in the floor, ceased to crackle, and the scythe spun without noise above them. In his other hand, the priest drew back, and the gold energy sloughed off.
He was holding something - it looked like no more than a distortion in the air, but it seemed somehow solid. No more than a few steps away from the creature, he threw it.
The priest's arm seemed to slow at the apex of his throw, as though struggling against a great force - the air itself seemed to congeal around his hand for just a moment, and just on the edge of hearing, one could almost again hear the sound of old and holy chants being sung. And very suddenly, the priest seemed to snap.
His arm blurred its way through the rest of the swing, and a cacophony of noise emerged - the windows and icicles around them shattered, raining down glass and light, as before the priest extended an oblong orb of sound. A stone scythe, caught in the distortion of air, crumbled into dust as it tore it's way towards the winged manticore.
* * *
Giles shrugged at the little alien, rolling his eyes somewhat at the strange man and the girls, and took another swing of his whiskey. Cogidubnus, by contrast, gave the man a strange look as he walked back inside, and scratched the back of his neck.
Dani opted to space out for a moment or two rather than watch Stygian or try to talk with Sylvie. She wasn't dwelling on what had happened only minutes ago, but she knew better than to just forget it; that would just make her feel worse later. Asking for a fight didn't seem like a bad idea right now, but right when she'd worked up the nerve to ask, Stygian walked back in with a largish package and a sword on his waist. She glanced once at him before returning to her mind and considering potential opponents. Well, he's ruled out; I'm nowhere near that stupid. The zombie, maybe, or the dark-haired one at the bar... She twirled her weapon and remained uncharacteristically quiet, watching the fights outside with slightly detached interest.
Sylvie, having nothing better to do and feeling that she'd moped long enough, ordered a glass of water with a packet of real sugar and looked over her shoulder at Stygian. She didn't plan on trying to talk to him again so soon, but the package was worth her curiosity.
As the flatbed truck rolled to a stop the armored wolf riding on the back dumped a duffel back over the side and then jumped the short distance after it. Walking up to the cab he waved to the driver from the passengers side window
"Thanks for the ride Dalton." The wolf said to the feline driver.
"No problem Mr Mesta, thanks for seeing off those bandits who were after my load. I owe you for that." Was the reply.
Paladin, or Jon Mesta as he was known at the moment watched the truck move back into the traffic of the port city of Bravia. Picking up and shouldering his bag, Pal joined the throng of pedestrians and went in search of a decent bar/inn. He stopped at a few of the first few he found but they were full, as it appeared that the local navy had ships in port and the sailors had quickly taken all the rooms they could find.
As the sky darkened Pal found himself in front of the only likely prospect, a Smallish building with the interesting name of 'The Honor Circle'. It looked like a typical inn but very few people seemed to be near it as if something, possibly magical, was pushing them away. Shrugging he was about to enter when a pop of displaced air and the appearance of a small floating creature that was black except for a blue aura around it and a long paper thin tail, stopped him. "Hey Rex, get the bike to the garage ok?" Pal asked in the way of greetings. 'Easy boss, Greg wasn't even surprised this time, he only moaned about what damage you had inflicted on a classical piece of machinery' The warp-aci replied. 'So staying local again instead of going home?' "Yea it raises less questions and ye know I hate to answer those..." 'Okies boss, want to to stick around? "Why not I'm sure this place wont mind ye." So saying Pal walked up to the door and opened it. Stepping through Pal was swept by strange sensation one he'd felt before. Both looked at each other and said at the same time "Dimensional door..." Looking around at the inside of the tavern Pal was not surprised to spot many species he had no clue on what they were. "I don't think were in Kansas no more Toto." Pal whispered to Rex.
The sweep didn't take, but as Keaton had steadied herself and she didn't seem to be able to end the jackal just like that, Sahlena leaped up, timing her motion in with the swing of one of the huge assembly arms and landing on it, and proceeding from there out on one of the catwalks. Swinging her blades back along her arms into a resting position, she strolled along it, observing Keaton from above. Was this all that the jackal had to give? No. Probably not. Most likely, she was just holding back because she didn't want to reveal her capabilities. Well, if she were, she would pay for it. Sal herself could keep this up practically indefinitely. And what was worse for the succubus, was that she could do a lot more...
- -
Removing an oval, black ball of metal from the package, Stygian studied the obviously advanced mechanical contraption. It looked like a human skull, almost, but with the back of the head removed and a tangle of armored wires and parts coming out of the inside of the domed cranium. He placed it on the table, and then let it sit, while he opened the little box he'd brought with him. It was filled with a number of equally advanced tools, evidently for assembling that piece of equipment.
Stygian, being who he was, noted Sylvie's look. The lid of the silver box of tools was reflective. But he didn't make notion of having seen anything for a while. Instead he laid out the contents of the package on the table, looked them over, adjusted and attached a few things and then put his hands down.
'Do I have to defeat you a second time?' he asked, at last, head still turned slightly away but his voice clear.
There were countless possible answers to Stygian's question, snarky, ashamed or otherwise, none of which passed Sylvie's lips for a beat or two. A few minutes ago, she might have turned away quickly and apologized, but right now, another emotion overpowered that. The girl's eyes widened, not in fear of the man or embarrassment of being caught staring, but with an odd half-sense of bafflement. Was that a threat or a submission?
The man's emotions were of only partial question. Anger at Dani, or possibly even the elf; exasperation with Sylvie's continued attention on him when he'd made his disinterest quite clear; annoyance at receiving any attention at all; the tone of his response was expected. It was the question he'd asked that confused her. True, he was upset with her and her friend, but even with that in mind she'd never guessed he'd say something that was, quite bluntly, a more elegant version of the threat so often made by abusive husbands and schoolyard bullies. Oddly enough, the thought that this could all be an act never crossed her mind, or if it did, she quickly put it away.
"No," she responded at last, with neither the hesitation of defeat or resentment nor the rapidity of shame or fear. Her tone was one of courtesy lightly peppered with confusion.
---
At the table, Dani listened almost casually to what was going on without ever looking like she was listening. She had an odd conflicting feeling between pride in Sylvie and partial confusion at Stygian's question. She hadn't heard him complimenting Sylvie when he'd first walked in, but she'd seen the way he'd looked at her before the elf challenged him. She'd also picked up on his mostly polite way of speaking. So while his asking that seemed plausible in the guard's mind, it still surprised her. But for now, she used a lifetime of practice to look completely disinterested in the conversation, and turned her attention to the new guy and his unusual-looking pet. "My God, but this place is popular," she muttered, smirking. The brown wolf looked more than a little lost, and for a moment, in Dani's mind, the Honor Circle gained a kinship with Neverland. She smiled genially at the newcomer and nodded a greeting.
Richard glanced up as Dani's gaze passed over him, but soon turned back to his drink. If she wanted to fight him then she would have to make the first move, he wasn't about to challenge anyone until he was a lot drunker. Marya, however, noticed the woman's Slightly-Too-Interested look and had no problem with letting her own gaze bore into the human woman like a drill. Thinking of going after Rich', are we...?
They really were so protective of one another.
--
"No," said someone to Paladin, "You aren't." A grin leaned out from behind the door to The Honor Circle, immediately followed by the rest of Boog, "Nice reference, although I also would have accepted something from Alice In Wonderland or, if you're big on classics, A Midsummer Night's Dream." He stepped out further and bowed low, grin as fixed as ever, "Welcome, dear Sir and Associate of Indeterminate Gender, to The Honor Circle; where the barfights aren't only frequent, but encouraged. A place of purely civilized behavior and, judging by your attire, you know exactly which civilizations I mean. Do have a seat, order yourself something mind-numbing, and enjoy the theatrics."
'Good', was Stygian's immediate comment at Sylvie's response. Turning on his chair, he looked over his shoulder at her for a moment. His eyes were hard and unwavering, but too hard to read for her to make a good guess at what he was trying to convey, much less what he was thinking. There seemed to be both disdain and interest in those eyes, just as there was something challenging and intense and something coldly jaded at the same time. One could have said that his gaze was mixed, but that would have been insufficient to describe the intensity of it.
'Good, because I have no desire to beat you again, if fighting is all that's going to come of it', he continued. 'That and being berated for it.' His eyes didn't move to Dani, but the words hit the other woman like a slap. He leaned against the back of the chair, and kept his eyes on her for a while, then sighed and looked to the floor. 'But I don't intend to try and make up for the... lackings here... if fighting is all you want to do.'
It might not have dawned on the woman, but to Stygian at least the point he wanted across was clear. He hadn't been hostile in the least - well, not according to his standards, or according to what you could call 'hostile' under the circumstances - and she had backed out on the promise she'd made after the fight.
Dani would have gone back to watching the fights, had she not felt a glare akin to the one she'd given Stygian earlier burning into her back. She glanced over her shoulder at the mongoose-creature that had walked in with the zombie. Busted. The human bit her lip and moved her eyes away from Marya with a mixture of sheepishness and very very slight amusement. She couldn't blame her; she'd've done the same thing if certain patrons in the bar looked at Syl like that.
Speaking of which... At the verbal blow, Dani quit her façade of disinterest and looked up at Stygian. Okay, that just plain hurt, she thought, but forced herself not to say out loud. Sure, her previous threats had been rude and unnecessary, but a person had every right to be worried about her friend getting in it too deep. She looked up at Syl to see how she was taking all this, and once she was satisfied, got up and moved to a table closer to the other side of the room. Being in the middle of this probably wasn't the best idea.
---
So it hadn't been a submission or a threat. Sylvie spun around on her seat to face Stygian completely, but her eyes were distant for a moment. She was trying to work this out in her head. She hadn't shown any signs of wanting to fight again, had she? She'd have challenged him outright if she'd intended that, and in any case, she wasn't one for begruding victories.
After a few seconds, an idea came to her of why he'd assumed that; maybe he'd misinterpreted her stare when she was watching him tinker with the skull-thing. He'd thought she was still scared of him. At this, Sylvie felt a small twinge of guilt, remembering her promise. She relaxed a little, prayed she was right and faced him again.
"If all I'd wanted to do was fight, I'd have demanded a rematch as soon as the Circle faded," she told Stygian. "Which I wouldn't, because frankly, I get annoyed when people do that. I didn't mean to stare, I was just curious about what you're doing and I...felt a little awkward about asking." Don't look at Dani, don't look at Dani, don't look at Dani... the elf willed herself, waiting to see what would happen.
Something had gone the girl by. Stygian was sure of it. From the way she relaxed and seemed to try and seem more friendly at that comment. What she didn't realize was that he blamed her for the bad mood, not Dani. He hadn't been privy to whatever conversation they might have had upstairs, but from his point of view he had done nothing to create any hostility. And she certainly had done nothing to avail it. He wasn't the type who looked for faults in people or who blamed them - Hell knew that he had far too many flaws himself for that, or at least that's how he saw it - but some things he just didn't want to pass by.
'You didn't stare, and I didn't think you wanted to fight again', the man said, still looking straight at the elf in a way that made it hard to look back. 'But it wasn't that you didn't want to ask about my business, was it?' He wasn't going to stop being forthright just because he barely knew her.
Of course, neither did he want to push her away, but at least he'd had some success in that Dani had at last deemed the atmosphere unpleasant enough to remove herself. He could soothe that one later, but right now he thought she deserved a bit of discomfort. Stygian was poisonous, and he didn't expect people to learn much without feeling the sting once or twice. As for Sylvie...
'I wonder... Do you expect the men where you're from to entertain you as well?' he asked, but put on a slight smile after that all of a sudden. He made the question sound a bit challenging. 'Maybe I should be the one interrogating you, considering that it was I who won.' The accentuation was half jesting, but the point was clear. He wanted her to talk about herself. And not just because he thought that he himself was unpleasant...
As the Boogeyman suggested Pal made his way over to the bar. Not seeing whoever served here Paladin started looking at the bottles behind the bar looking for any he might know.
Rex sat on the stool next to him and placed his paws on the bar so he could see over the top.
Sylvie paled just a bit at Stygian's first two remarks. Uh-oh... guess I did get it wrong after all. She was feeling somewhat like she had when Stygian had first brushed her off... and then, despite the fact that his tone and demeanor only changed a little, he smiled and started sounding the slightest bit like he had before the conflict had happened. That didn't change the nature of what he'd said, of course, but still...
She flushed a little indignantly at his question, but didn't give a knee-jerk response. She couldn't help wanting to see him a little uncomfortable, and a quick, angry reaction would just give him satisfaction. Even so, she didn't want to brush him off after all that effort.
"Okay, then. Don't like your choice of words, but it means the same thing either way," she responded, sounding the tiniest bit offended. "But tell me, did you mean what do women in general expect of men where I come from, or what do I expect in particular? Because what I hope for from people is courtesy, but what I expect is very different." She sounded a little challenging herself. He wasn't the first person to make her feel awkward. All she needed to do was draw on her practice.
Raising an eyebrow, Stygian half frowned, half smirked at Sylvie and leaned his head forward, peering up at her from under a blond bang having fallen over one of his eyes.
'Isn't that the case with everyone? I suppose I should be more specific then...' he said. He wasn't entirely sure how though. So perhaps, he thought, he should just keep on being challenging instead. Putting his elbow on the table and leaning on his hand, he looked up at the elf.
'What do you expect of me?' he asked. If that didn't get her thinking, nothing would. Here they were, in a bar at the end of the universe, strange creatures abound, and... 'You seem to expect that I'm going to get up and bite your head off at any moment. I can't interpret things much any other way.' Stygian's gaze shifted toward Dani for a moment there, but when he looked back held Sylvie's eyes firmly.
Sylvie paused, an oddly contemplative look in her eyes. She didn't look away from Stygian, keeping him in her gaze as she considered his question. She wasn't scared of him at that moment; if she was, she wasn't aware of it and didn't know she'd acted like it. But she really wasn't sure what she thought of him, much less what she expected of him...
"I know you won't do anything like that," she said at last, still looking thoughtful. "The fact that you can might worry me a little, but I'm really not one to talk there and I knew that most people here would be strong. Still, other than that you won't hurt me for no reason, I don't know what to expect of you."
She shifted a little, crossing one leg over the other and folding her hands in her lap. "That being said, you seem to think I'm going to run upstairs shivering and scared the moment I get a chance. I'm not going to do that; you're far more pleasant than most men I've talked to, and like I said, I know you won't hurt me." She couldn't really think of a better way to word it than that.
For a few moments Stygian just sat there, looking blankly up at the elf. If he was feeling something or thinking particularly deeply, he didn't show it. His face was somewhere between that intensity from before and a bitter boorishness when at last he answered.
'There are more ways than one to hurt someone', he said. 'And worse things than that. But I suppose you're right.' He stood up, placing a hand on the back of his chair and facing Sylvie. 'Thing is though, that I know myself. And out of running crying and this...' he continued, stepping closer and looking down at her. He smiled, a little eerily. 'I'm sorry. I'm pretty used to people being terrified of me.'
Somehow, Dani got the feeling that he shifted his attention to her at that last statement. But there was really barely any change in his stance or his look. It was hard to shake the feeling though...
Taking yet another drink of his whiskey, the bottle of which was keeping it filled marked with various warnings about storage and proximity to paint or flames, Giles rolled his eyes at the little alien sitting next to him, and yelled at the somewhat awkward conversation going on behind him. His voice, not yet slurring, carried that quality of that idiot who thinks he's speaking for a group, and clearly thinks that when push comes to shove, he can continue to hide amongst them while carrying their full, unspoken support.
Giles perhaps should have thought this out further, the group he was thinking of being the three people currently at the bar.
"Dear God, just kiss her or take a drink already! Some of us are trying to get pissed here!" he said, downing another glass of the amber liquid.
Cog, being the recipient of the bat's rather piercing glare earlier, rolled his eyes behind his glasses and sipped on his citrus-flavored concoction.
Up until that moment, things had been going rather smoothly, Sylvie thought. A least now she and Stygian understood each other a bit more. That smile was a bit chilling, and she got the feeling he was referencing Dani a few times, but they were being honest with one another. She was considering how to answer him when Giles voiced his opinion.
The elf turned her head a little and smiled a good-natured half smile, but an odd little gleam came into her eyes as she looked at the blackguard... like she was trying to decide whether to tie his mouth shut with a potted plant or hypnotize him into jumping on the bar and singing "I'm a Little Teapot."
But before she could do anything, Dani stood up. Sylvie blinked, a little surprised, and looked back and forth between the Red and Stygian. Her eyes had changed; now they held a note of concern, but a bright gleam of mischief. He seems pretty powerful, and she might get really badly hurt; but if she pulls this off, it'll be really fun to watch.
---
Dani felt - no, knew - that Stygian had aimed his last comment at her. She wasn't sure how to answer, though; she was a bit scared of the man, which was probably a bit more obvious on her than Syl. The recent past hadn't really helped her out, either. Still, Sylvie trusted him enough to be nice to him after he'd beaten her, so he might not be that bad. But the guard was still a level or two away from trusting Stygian.
When the guy with the messed-up face made a loud, brash remark about the situation, Dani felt a little jolt of something run through her. Ordinarily, she might have laughed, but right now, all that came to her lips was a devilish smirk. Even if she didn't look it, she was more than a little ruffled; there were a few things she just couldn't stand, and bad timing on clueless drunks was one of them. But she'd just figured out a way to make the best of it...
She stood, signaling with her eyes for Sylvie not to react, walked over to the bar and faced Giles.
"Y'know, much as I appreciate honesty, I'm really more in favor of tact," she said. She glanced over at Piix. "Sorry if I'm interrupting you guys, but I've been waiting for this chance since I came here and I want to ask before I lose my nerve." Her eyes went back to the blackguard. "Soon as you're sloshed enough and don't look like you wrestled a wolverine, think you'd be up for a fight?"
Irritation sparked within Stygian the moment that Giles opened his mouth. He didn't know what to make of that. Some comment about 'idiots being idiots everywhere', perhaps, and a query whether if Sylvie recognized that sort of behavior. His comment seemed to have 'taken' with Dani, but he didn't recognize what the woman was about to do. He had his eyes on Sylvie, hoping that she would act on whatever malicious idea it seemed she was thinking of. When Dani spoke up his eyes shifted to hers. But his expression didn't change when she issued her challenge. If she was thinking of getting on his good side by doing that... Well, there were better ways of humiliating the blackguard for revenge.
Either way, the way the situation had improved was satisfactory. And it gave him the time he needed to do something else he had been wanting a reason for; speaking to Piix. He practically glided over to the little alien; one moment he was over by Sylvie, the next he was leaned down next to the furry creature over her shoulder.
'I think it would be a good idea to tell her what she's getting into', he said silently into Piix's ear, and shot a glance over toward Dani that prompted the alien to do the same. 'Just out of simple courtesy.' He wasn't sure what the little thing had been thinking of him so far, or why she seemed so tense. Moving up this close might trigger a response that would let him tell more precisely...
Giles knocked back another whiskey, smacking his lips for a just a moment before making somewhat of a distressed face, his cheeks puffing out just barely - and paused. That other girl who'd been talking to the strange man was giving him the evil eye, and now was starting to talk to him. She finished, and Giles put up one finger.
He turned his head and belched. The release of intestinal gases, while being somewhat crude and perhaps even impolite was also itself manifest as billowing flame. The blackguard's alcohol-fueled exhalation scorched the roof just slightly, the short-lived flame tinted with blue around the edges.
"Always drunk enough to wrestle a wolverine. How about you?" he grinned, his hand reaching for the glowing spear set to his side.
Damn, she backed down, Marya groused into her drink. Her alertness had been genuine, but she'd also rather been hoping to be hitting someone by now. She really couldn't help being more than a bit of a violence junkie. It was hereditary, and she didn't mean to, it was just her nature, and they should all just blame her upbringing. At least, those were the excuses she used when asked about the subject. Richard had noticed her attempt at watching his back too, and wasn't too thrilled about it. Wasn't too thrilled at all, she could tell, as he stood up and placed a bottle on the counter with a cold "clunk" of finality. He strode across the room toward Risky.
... Oh no. No, he isn't. Marya brought her beer to her lips.
Richard leaned against the bar near Risky, giving her another quick once over. Lets see; good physique, looks military, carries a firearm... Perfect. "The rules say we can challenge anyone, right?"
Meanwhile, a certain mongoose choked on her beer and was sent into a coughing fit.
"Dead man walking," was the first thought that ran through Risky's mind as the apparent zombie approached. She'd heard of the living dead but had only actually seen a few, mindless shambling things that bore little resemblance to this one.
She too-casually swept her hair forward a bit as he stopped. Dead bodies didn't bother her as a rule unless they belonged to children. There was that nasty situation on Stirling, for instance, where an Enforcer had held an entire school hostage...
Lost for a second in thought, she heard something, presumably from the man. She blinked her memories away and looked up...and up at him.
"Didn't catch that, sorry. Something on your mind?" she said, taking a large swallow of her drink.
"Ooh, ouch." Richard gave a rattling laugh. "Sorry, I don't know if there's any sort of formality you're supposed to observe in a fight club or if there's a way you're supposed to say it," he backed away and gave a low, surprisingly elegant bow, "so pardon my delivery and just consider yourself challenged."
--
Boog slipped around to the other side of the bar, turning that floodlight grin on Pal again. "So, what'll it be?" He picked up the glass he'd been polishing earlier (more to be barkeeply than any apparent filth on the glass) from where he'd left it near the book labeled 'Stories' and fumbled around under the counter for a dishcloth, "A drink? Information? I'm warning you right now, I'm not too good at the 'hearing your life story' part of this whole gig."
"No, no, you just caught me woolgathering. Since I'm the "who", I'm guessing "right now" is the when," she said with a wry smile. She knocked back most of her drink, then took one last puff on her cigarette before dousing the butt in her drink.
"Give me a second to arrange something, and I'm all yours big guy." Risky stood up, trying to catch Cog's eye from here.
As slightly tipsy as he was, Cog still managed to notice she of the thermonuclear cigarettes trying to get his attention. Making a somewhat sour expression at Giles's outburst, the products of which had crinkled a bit of the gauze on the blackguard's nose black, he turned his gaze to the human reactor.
"Ah?" he said, setting his drink on the bar.
"Heh, my life story might take a few days so I'll spare ye." Pal said to the thought entity.
"As for drinks, Do ye have anything like an energy drink called Redbull? If ye do can I get it a fifty/fifty mix with Vodka? And the Aci here will have a large jug of Guinness if ye have any."
Pal looked around at the area before tuning back and asking "So whats the deal with this place? I'm guessing the ring there is for fighting, any rules I should know about?"
At the impressive, if childish, display of power, Dani went wide-eyed, her emotions unclear from her expression. But the more noticeable reaction was near the other end of the bar. Someone let loose a high-pitched yelp of terror, and then came the sound of a chair scooting on the floor, a brief scuffle and a few short, recovering breaths. The whole thing lasted for a split second, but such things never go unnoticed.
Dani's face went from surprise to slightly exasperated concern; it was similar to the face Sylvie had shown when the correctional officer had fallen asleep. She looked over at said Green. She was sitting almost as she had been when Stygian left, but with her skirt a little ruffled, her hair slightly mussed, her back straight as a rod, and her face completely blank as her shoulders rose and fell a little more than was considered normal and her fingers drummed nervously on the table.
Rather than attract any more attention to her terrified friend, Dani leaned over for a moment to grab her own weapon from its propped position against the wall and faced Giles with an ambivalent smirk. "Well, the last time I saw someone of my race get that drunk...let's just say not only did he wrestle a wolverine, he declawed it by hand." Okay, so it had really been the Dean's Rottweiler, but either way... "So was that a yes, or a no?"
The little alien stiffened when he approached her, but otherwise didn't make a sound. By her heart rate though, and her breathing, he'd say... she was really wound up. And this immediately made Stygian make the conclusion that she'd seen the fight, and she had gotten scared of him. Pity.
'So everyone's off to fight now?' he said, a little strained and a little obviously, straightening and moving around the counter, away from the little creature, looking around at people. His gaze landed on Sylvie last. 'I guess that leaves us all the time we want to... do what?' He posed that question with a bit of tone. Then he noticed Sylvie's posture, and her look. For a few moments he was lost. Then he raised an eyebrow and turned his head to look at Giles. Frowning a bit, he smoothly, casually, slid in right between the blackguard and the Green, and leaned upon the counter, effectively blocking their sight of each other, while he himself turned his gaze to the Boogeyman.
'Give me the same as... that one over there', he said, nodding toward Pal. 'And something with lots of carbon for the lady. Something sweet.'
...Keaton:Again, Keaton kept her sight trained on Sahlena, even as she evaded her swing and even as the machine proceeded to eject herself into the air, beyond what could safely be considered human limitations, and onto the safety of a catwalk perch. For Keaton, it was both an advantage and a disadvantage, primarily the latter. On the good side, it allowed her an opportunity to recollect herself and launch another attack. On the other hand, Keaton had no idea what Sahlena was anticipating, nor could she reach her with conventional blows. She was strictly limited to dark-based energies now, and they hadn't served her very well this time around.
Not that she had a choice. Furrowing her brow and narrowing her eyes, Keaton started to whirl Catastrophe in a repetitive loop of revolutions, culminating energy. Darkened particles pervaded through the air, clustering around the spiraling mace as it was brought around and around, until they started to glow, like thousands of miniaturized coals, and burst into flame-like clarity. Red light trailed behind Catastrophe's head like the tail of a comet, at first flowing as smooth as silk. Just as Keaton froze, ceasing her preparations, and swung Catastrophe forward, the serenity stopped short, all that collected energy leaping forth in an immense, jagged lance of red lightning.
---
...Piix:The whispering caught Piix off-guard. Just barely, she kept herself from emitting any sort of obscenity, only for her breathing rate to escalate. Under the tabletop, her talons embedded themselves into the wood, their razor-sharp tips perforating the surface quite easily, but the rest of their lengths not sinking in. Unlike Dekuyaketh, after all, Piix couldn't smash stone with her fists.
Her ear perked and pivoted in Stygian's direction. Seconds seemed to pass without her knowledge, in the empty, abysmal space where she should have reacted. For a moment she felt quite profoundly humiliated, to behave so viscerally. Finally, she seemed to posthumously register the stillborn remnants of Stygian's suggestion, and attempted to act on it, diverting her attention to Dani. Just then, Sylvie shot backwards as Giles demonstrated his powers in the form of a condensed, yet brilliant plume of flame. She seemed to recover quickly enough, but it was still quite humorous. Piix laughed a little at her graphic response, her boisterous attitude returning.
"'Ey, take it from me. If y'r as freaked out 'bout fire as y'r friend there, it probably wouldn't be a good idea to challenge 'im." Piix advised Dani, jerking her thumb toward Giles.
---
...Dekuyaketh:The thunderous sound of stone wrenching apart from stone like dividing molecules drew Dekuyaketh's attention to the scythe suddenly shattering. One look at the distorting air around it and he cursed loudly, barking something resolutely unprintable. The barrier surging in front of his fist palpitated in synchronization with that lapse in his concentration, then flared anew with one pump of electricity through his mechanical arm.
Red light spiraled down the length of his arm, renewing the shield as each sinuous rivulet of electricity snaked into the shield, and then oscillated once, twice, and burned into near pitch-white clarity as Dekuyaketh whirled around toward the pressurized sound cutting toward him, swinging the shield with him and thrusting it right in front of his body. Sustaining this barrier was costing him a great deal of energy, and his arm was aching something dreadful, but hopefully all the dedication would be worth it --
~Keaton the Black Jackal
The dragon finally stood up from the mess she had made on the bar, apparently carrying four giant soap bubbles. Carefully exiting the building Mel tossed one bubble into each of the two empty circles. Each popped in a colorful display. She looked at the two busy circles but as the fights didn't seem to be about to end any time soon she returned to the bar to stare at the structure she had attached to the ceiling.
Neatly sidestepping her challenger, Risky moved a bit closer to Cog. "I'd like to ask a couple of favors from you, if you don't mind." She glanced around the room, then added "I don't really trust anyone else here for this."
In the corner the massive head of the Queen shifted slightly, and one taloned hand flexed slightly as if to relieve a slight stiffness.
"Oh, that'd be a yes, yah. I was startin' to get bored, what with all the excitement going on." the blackguard said, the sarcasm clearly evident in his voice. He leaned heavily on his burning spear, and a rivulet of blood began to run down the spearhead as he did so, running down the long iron pole to trickle in between his fingers. Dani, like Marya before, suddenly had the feeling of a great amount of heat pouring off the man, as though there was a furnace inside that black armor of his. Giles smiled his too-white smile, beginning to clunk towards the door.
"You name the rules sweetheart, yeah? I'll just go and get the battlefield ready. Oh, and if I can suggest a rule, don't hit mah nose." he said, pointing to the gauze as he walked through the door. "You don' want to piss me off like that, I can tell ye."
* * *
Cog nodded at Risky, bowing his head just slightly in agreement. His glass lay neglected on the counter behind him. "Of course. If it is within my power, consider it done."
"Knew I could count on you," she said with a slight smile. "If you see a bright flash during the fight, make sure I'm unconscious as soon as it ends, even if you have to knock me cold."
Risky cocked a thumb at the reclining Queen. "I can handle that thing, but not when I'm worn out. She knows it, too."
Taking his drink once he got it, Stygian overheard Risky's comment, and cast the girl a sidelong glance while he sipped the slightly liquorice-tasting mix.
'What makes you think you'd
need to?' he asked, then adjusted his tone when he realized that might sound a bit wrong. 'We can take care of it.' Looking over at Sylvie instead, he watched her for the general fear and disgust that came with seeing something like the Queen. 'Don't you think? You don't have to bother too much, of course.' He grinned, displaying perfectly white fangs. 'Let the monster deal with the monster.'
- -
Vaulting over the railing, the machine flipped into the air and away from the blast, landing with a hard crack from the floor tiles underneath her. Moving into a sprint, she closed on Keaton in a neat curve, and once she was within about five meters, she dashed ninety degrees to her left and spun out a blade to swipe at Keaton from the other direction. In her mind, the machine had made up her strategy; to pressure the jackal until she gave in. It seemed that she was only dangerous at range, or when given space. And so, she just had to take away those two factors...
Mechangel
The cloaked man sitting in his room observed another newcomer with his eye, detecting the man through the walls. This many was of a fairly large build, armored, and armed to the teeth with assault weaponry. The cloaked figure spent some time analyzing the man. Hmmm...he seems heavyweight, but he may qualify for the event I'm planning. I'll have to drop him a challenge when I get the chance.
Karazkt
The Insectis had worked for quite some time with his digger mech's left arm disassembled and scrubbing out the tar that coated the innards. But eventually, his task was completed, and he reassembled the arm. He had not forgotten about the Queen. She was his next priority, and a very crucial one as well.
He got up in the cockpit of his mech and retrieved the bottle of golden nectar-ale he had bartered for when he first got to this place. One surefire way for pleasing a Queen, or at least placating her, was the presentation of a gift, along with the actual subservience. The ale itself wasn't much, but it could help.
With his mech firmly locked down, the spindly engineer Insectis left the garage, traveled through the corridors, and made his way to to main bar, where the Queen still slumbered. He made his way towards her, passing several people who seemed to be talking about her. He turned for a moment and looked at the people. One was the female humanoid who had notified him of the Queen's hibernation originally and seemed to know even more about her, the other two people he did not recognize. It was impossible to read any facial expression on him, especially with those huge pitch-black goggles, but his antennae did twitch oddly.
He turned back to the enormous Queen, and moved to sit down in a respectful position roughly in font of her, but just a small distance away. He gently removed his goggles and hooked them onto his toolbelt, revealing his large, shiny, solid-black eyes. He looked around a little to change his infravision to normal-light vision. He placed the bottle directly in front of him, with his hands curled protectively around it for now. He then held still, looking down at the ground, with his antennae in front of him in (in his culture, where antennae are a central point) a submissive posture. They swayed slightly and gently as the rest of him was motionless. He would wait until she finally woke.
Glancing coolly at that strange man for a moment, Cog nodded solemnly to the female time hopper. "Of course." he said, his head bowing just briefly. "I promise you will sleep well before her next chance."
Smiling softly, Risky nodded to the wolf. "Thank you." She turned back towards the undead man, then paused to look at Stygian.
"Chalk it up to experience," she said, gesturing slightly to where Karazkt was apparently worshipping the alien. "If they can catch you while you're weak, they will."
Looking her challenger over, her smile widened just a touch. "All yours, big guy. Any particular stakes you're looking for? Because honestly," she said, winking, "if it's to the death, I think someone already beat me to it."
Dani raised a crimson eyebrow at the blood running down Giles's spear. Now that was interesting. As was the fact that she could feel his body heat even as he was walking away. This was turning into something more than just a challenge to quell her annoyance at him...
She looked over at Piix and smiled at the furry little alien when she offered her advice. " 'Preciate the thought, but I've learned how to handle guys with powers as scary as that. And even if I can't dodge his tricks... who knows? Something good might come of it." At that last statement, a strange glimmer went into the woman's eyes. She started out the door after the blackguard, leaving the others to figure out what exactly she'd meant.
---
Sylvie was doing her best to keep her mind off of her reaction to the blackguard. No matter how immature Giles had acted, it wasn't every day you met someone who could control the deadliest, most powerful of all the elements so flippantly. She didn't jump when Piix giggled, although the temptation was there; but acting overly defensive would only make it worse for her.
She looked up a little too sharply when Stygian moved to sit next to her, then relaxed just as quickly. She didn't want him to think he was the one she was scared of, but he seemed to get that; he strategically placed himself right between her and Giles. "Thanks," she whispered, partly for the drink.
She paid some attention to the discussion between the dark-haired human and the wolf, her composure steadily returning. When Stygian put in his opinion, and then spoke to her, she glanced once at the Queen before answering. "Trust me, there's more monstrous things than anything in here where I come from." Then a thought came to her.
"Hey, Dani?" she called to her friend. Dan turned to look over at Sylvie. The elf put on a mockingly grave expression, the kind that people get when they're trying very hard not to laugh. "I just thought you should know that unless you come back in with third-degree burns on places where humans shouldn't get them, I won't react the way you did to this fight."
Dani smirked wider. "Could you at least slap him if my hair gets torched off?" Sylvie gave up and let a smile crack through.
"I'll think about it." She wasn't sure why. This whole scenario just struck her as funny.
"Ah, the dead guy jokes. They never stop with the dead guy jokes," Saying that Richard grinned would have been redundant, but the twinge at the corner of his eyes was too steady to be a nervous tic. He still sounded mildly exasperated; he did get sick of the jokes, sometimes. "Just looking to acquaint myself with how this place works, get the hang of fighting in a circle. You seemed like a good choice to start with." He got the door for her as they made their way toward the circles, "After you, madam."
--
The Boogeyman set out the Guiness and mixed up Pal's vodka and Red Bull. "You're a braver man than I, this stuff could probably blister paint," he set out the resulting concoction with a thunk, "As stated, m'friend. You can challenge anyone here. Anyone at all. The challenger choses who they're fighting, when, and possibly why insofar as one can really choose why they do anything. The challenged picks where, what, and how. If the Where, What and How are not immediately avalable the circle you're in will provide one. Fighting outside the circles is discouraged and may be dealt with by the management. Pay what you think the services are worth, because we'll know if you think they're worth more. The rooms rent on a nightly basis, we provide free medical services, and any small unarmed children left unattended will be auctioned to the highest bidder." He smiled cheerfully, "Enjoy your time, preferably here but it's rather good advice to do so in general, and if you have any questions ask the jackass in the ratty tweed coat behind the bar."
A loud snap of fingers from the other end of the counter alerted the Boogeyman to Stygian's impatience, and the thought entity was met with one of the man's typical cold looks once he decided to turn his eyes that way.
'There were drinks here too, Boog', he said, eyes narrowing and an eyebrow creeping just a little upward at the same time. 'More specifically, a drink, for the lady.' Leaning back, the man flashed a look over to Sylvie under a blond bang. 'I don't know your taste, but as I said I'd guess something sweet.' Taking his own glass, he put it to his mouth and almost took a gulp, then seemed to change his mind and lowered it, looking thoughtful for a moment.
'Another thing also. Speaking of children...' he said, then looked up at the Boogeyman. 'Do you have something to eat?'
The wave of sound broke over the demon's shield like water on rocks, flowing around Dekuyaketh and over him, and wherever the almost visible vibrations touched, stone broke like glass and glass shattered as though hit with a hammer. Pieces of the stained windows raining down upon the both of them, and the dust of stones making it difficult to see, Laertes screamed out in frustration, his lips pulled back over his fangs in a vicious snarl.
"Just DIE, you godforsaken hellspawn!" the priest screamed, his attack spent. His right hand dripped blood onto the floor, the bones broken in one of his previous attempts to scythe the demon in half still sticking out past the skin. A few droplets pattered onto his boots in the sudden silence, the only sound the thrumming of the demon's electrical shield, and the dripping made the priest look down for a moment. The blood was becoming caked on the stone dust that now covered the both of them from head to toe.
"Make me thy arbiter, then, and allow me, O God, to justify thy ways..." the jackal suddenly said, seemingly to himself - he held up his broken hand, the bones twisted and the fingers crooked into a claw. He began to chant again, under his breath, and almost too faint to be seen, the appendage began to glow faintly blue - the flesh began to knit, and the bones shifted sickeningly, lumps underneath his skin reforming and binding back together in the proper places. His eyes grew wider, and a crazed glint suddenly overtook the golden orbs. They bored into Dekuyaketh's, and even the demonic feline, no stranger to insanity himself, found that stare a little off-putting.
Dekuyaketh suddenly found himself wondering what sort of church he was in, anyway - the gothic interior was certainly familiar, but the motifs and the imagery found everywhere was seemed nothing like any sort of church he had ever been in, anyway. The Scythe and Death seemed to be the main focus, along with images of Angels, and the great stained-glass window of Azrael looking down upon it all. Laertes continued chanting, and the temperature, already breath-freezing cold, dropped again. The Jackal himself seemed to illumine with a pale, blue light, and the air became as frigid as the grip of death itself. The chapel darkened, the white light from the outside and pillar of holy fire dying. The Jackal spread his wings, with feathers black as midnight, and behind them trailed wisps of ghostly azure. His scythe was suddenly in his hands again, although the demon could not remember the Jackal ever reaching for it, and the priest now glowed entirely with that pale light. Where before the priest had glowed golden with holiness, he seemed now lit by a different sort of sacred - the difference between the bright chandelier of a church hall, and the pale moonlight over a graveyard.
The cold began to become painful, and with even his own breath frosting in the air, Laertes sprinted for Dekuyaketh, scythe whirling, and its obsidian blade drifting with that deathly blue. The demon suspected that there might be nothing in the world that edge could not cut, and in his other hand three rings that same light were entwining and glowing brighter.
* * *
The blackguard stopped at the edge of the circle, and stretching just a bit again belched - and yet again, the Blackguard's exhalation burned, and with the blue-tinge of a great deal of alcohol. It actually went on for several seconds, and afterwards the blackguard wiped his mouth, and standing up straight looked at the approaching, firey-haired girl. His eyes gleamed.
"So, you got any rules you'd like to put down, or you just want to go 'till you cry uncle, huh?"
Stepping outside, Risky looked chagrined. "And you're a gentleman. I'm sorry about the teasing; sometimes my sense of humor gets out of hand."
She glanced at the other circles for a second, then began inspecting the edges of the empty one. "I'm Mariska, by the way."
"Since this is a friendly fight," she said, emphasizing the word, "how does last person standing, no permanent death sound to you?" She tapped a few symbols and frowned slightly at the circle.
"Sounds fine to me," the zombie replied, rolling his shoulders with a crackling noise, "I'm Richard. Don't worry too much about the jokes, I get used to them." Besides, it'll make it less awkward to fight you. He was trying this on a whim; while saying Richard was usually an even tempered and nonviolent person would probably get you several individuals at your door eager to explain to the contrary, he didn't usually fight without provokation. This was an experiment for him; part as a thrill junkie, and part as a new way of pissing Marya off.
So far, it was working like a charm. He could hear the beastfolk grinding her teeth from there.
--
"Yeah, yeah, in a minute." Boog shrugged at Stygian as he reached under the counter for the other drinks. "Food's the same as the drinks; we have whatever you ask for, but the stuff I don't actually have the materials to prepare cost extra." Seeing as what concept entities largely ate was each other, one who knew Boog for what he was would probably be loath to try his cooking.
The man chuckled. 'Well, you know that money's never been too much of a problem to me, Boog. Not like it seems to you', he said, perhaps a little pointedly but not condescendingly. 'Even though I don't want to consider what the market effects or the thermodynamics of this place say about leaving money here...' He chuckled, a bit bitterly. 'I've learned though, personally, not to question things like that anymore. Doesn't keep it from bothering the shit out of me sometimes though...'
The man lowered his gaze and finally took that swig of his drink, then put the glass down silently while seemingly thinking. When he spoke again, he did so without looking up.
'A couple of slices of steak, please. As fresh and raw as you can get them. Preferably a bit warm still', he said. 'Get me some blood in a glass as well, if you can't find anything juicy enough. Anything more visceral than that might offend the other patrons.'
Smiling softly as she entered the circle, Risky unsnapped the flap on her holster and gestured to Richard. "Come on in, the water's fine," she quipped.
Dani stepped into the Circle, twirling her polearm against her shoulder and watching the smoky evidence of the second flame fade.
"Let's see... keep going till one of us can't move or quits. Don't kill me, and I won't kill you. I'll try not to hit you in the face. ...Oh one other thing." Her expression took on a grain of firmness, as she added, "In the unlikely event that I fall asleep, don't call off the fight. Just kick me or something and I'll wake up. And don't take it personally, it's just a chemical reaction."
A second after it seemed she was done, a little light went on in her eyes. "Oh, shiz, I feel rude. I never got your name or gave mine." She gave a very slight bow, her smirk returning. "Danielle Sanders. Call me Dani."
---
Sylvie listened to Stygian's order, slightly grossed out but not showing it. At his remark about offending other patrons, a strangely thoughtful look went into her eyes.
"Actually, I'd be just as uncomfortable if you'd ordered a salad," she admitted. She finally got her drink, a can of carbonated apple juice, and thanked the Boogeyman. "This, however, doesn't bother me at all."
Hm? Smartass comment. Sounds good. Let's return in kind then...
'Oh? Indeed?' Stygian replied, turning his gaze to Sylvie and raising his eyebrows. 'What sort of heart would you be most appalled of me eating then? Human, or artichoke?' He narrowed his eyes and smirked a little. 'Let me ask you this; are people like you born, or do you grow in pods? Because if you do, there's this movie called "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" that I have to show you...'
Sylvie sighed halfheartedly and smiled, rolling her eyes at Stygian's response. "Y'know, up until two days ago, I'd never heard of science fiction. But once I found out about it, I knew someone was gonna make a joke like that eventually. We're born normally, but growing in pods sounds cooler, so let's go with that."
She sipped her apple juice and moved her eyes back to Stygian. "Can't say which meal I'd be more offended to see you eating, but I'm curious - does this bother you more than if I was drinking blood?" She indicated the can she was holding.
"Giles Monterrey." the man said, turning and walking into the arena. "The Lord of Ashes."
The man's armored boots began to crunch beneath his feet, as though he was walking on small rocks or sand - and moments later, it was obvious that it was indeed the latter. Giles seemed to somewhat rise as he walked, the ground beneath him piling up with the small grains of rock as though poured a dozen gigantic hourglasses, the environment seeming to spontaneously grow hills and dunes of sand in but moments. Almost immediately, the entire environment looked like a desert - and yet another moment later, it felt like one too.
The sun began to somehow shine hotter upon the golden sands, and before long Dani could feel the heat pouring off the arena like heat from an oven, convection currents blowing her hair backwards, the heat become almost intolerable already. Giles reached the middle of his desert, and grinned back at the girl. He let his spear touch the ground, the red-hot spearhead sizzling softly in the sand.
"Well then, are ye ready?"
'That's really not the right sort of question, all things considered, sweets', Stygian merely replied, looking down a bit and smirking. When he turned his gaze back up, Sylvie caught a brief glimmer in his eyes, even more than the usual. 'There's not a bit of displeasure in watching for me now, and there could hardly be unless you were to shove a handful of dirt in your mouth. What would be more appropriate to ask would be "do you enjoy seeing me drinking this more than blood". In which case, no, I don't.'
Setting down his drink, emptied after another swig, Stygian took a pause, and fumbled at his pocket. He was not sure how Boog would take him smoking inside, after all. Really, the thought entity ought to have tolerated it, but somehow he got the feeling that he might deny him the pleasure just for the sake of it. So he let the cigarettes be. Instead, he looked a bit closer at Sylvie for a while. He seemed to be studying her with more intrigue now.
'But it does make me curious', he then admitted. 'I was wondering whether if you would drink or eat anything made out of some other... living thing, at all.' He chuckled. 'Of course, some plants feed off other plants, but in your case... well... It would have been amusing to see someone who considered eating plants was murder, but who would happily consume animals, cute or human or otherwise.' The right side of his lips quirked up in a half-smile, as he looked her in the eyes a short bit. 'Then again, you don't look much like a carnivorous plant. Unless...' he said, then looked her over once again, head to toe and back to her eyes, '...there's something else I should know of?'
Dani could only watch, amazed, as sand piled up underneath Giles's feet - and she realized, her own. Within seconds, the battlefield had turned into a desert akin to an illustration from One Thousand and One Arabian Nights, the blackguard grinning at the Red amid the sand dunes. The sun beat down on her hotter than back home, and warm winds blew through her hair. She brushed a droplet of sweat from her forehead and smirked back at Giles.
"Thought you'd never ask," she replied, taking a few steps closer before twisting her glaive-like weapon into a defensive stance. "You can take the first strike."
---
Feeling simultaneously emboldened and nervous, Sylvie smiled and showed her teeth, licking her lips playfully. She didn't respond for a second, then she laughed quietly and spoke. "No, nothing like that. I don't even know if we can eat meat. Though that would be pretty ironic..." She unconsciously drummed her fingers on the can, eyes still on Stygian. "Theoretically, Greens probably don't need to eat, but stuff like this is all right as an occasional indulgence. Like you guessed, most of us love sweet things, and eating fruit is ethical as long as you don't kill the entire plant to get it."
She paused here, unsure whether to ask why the man needed blood. It seemed a bit too personal a question, even now... She glanced over her shoulder at the battlefield Giles had chosen. "At least the arena isn't on fire..." she said, still directing her comment at Stygian.
...Keaton:The bolt of electricity coalesced harmlessly over Sahlena as the machine expertly dodged it, quickly dissipating against the furthermost wall in a spectacular burst of red electricity. Amidst the rush of erubescent light, the almost blinding color suddenly corrupted in a manner quite similar to Keaton's earlier attacks, turning a deep, dark color, then disintegrating into a ring of blackened particles. Thousands of the swarming molecules siphoned in a thick stream, akin to a comet's tail, toward Keaton's mace as she raised it, whirling around to follow Sahlena's movements as dutifully as before. Fresh bolts were already lancing about Catastrophe's spikes, electrifying the very air.
Sahlena was moving incredibly fast, so this left Keaton to predict the machine's movements. It was a trial and error process, but she assumed it would work in this case. As Sahlena approached her, blade drawn, Keaton grit her teeth together and lashed out with Catatsrophe, swinging it in a wide arc. At least, she was hoping to effectively counter the android's advancement this way. If she could conclude this battle with at least something to show for it, even if she lost, she would be satisfied.
---
...Piix:Piix seemed somewhat nonplussed at having her advice brushed off, but merely shrugged and redirected her attention to her woefully empty mug. "Suit y'rself, sweetums," she said to Dani, waving away at the girl.
In a momentary lapse of better judgment, Piix surmised that Giles would have enough restraint to not inflict any permanent disfigurement on the girl in the event that he did win. So she didn't think anything of when Giles departed with his new opponent, even waving to the blackguard before he stepped outside of the bar. Before she could start enjoying the match, she decided she needed a refill. Piix leaned over the bar and snapped her fingers to get the Boogeyman's attention.
"Yo! More Blue Xvarri, will ya?"
---
...Dekuyaketh:In the face of the priest's absolute, scathing fury, all Dekuyaketh could do was hold his breath and try not to snicker. Infuriating adversaries would be the death of him, but he couldn't help but derive some twisted entertainment from watching Laertes squirm. Ultimately, Dekuyaketh allowed the slightest, demented charade of a grin to corrode his darkly beautiful features, his ivory cuspids glowing an eerie crimson in the dying light of his deactivating shield. Sustaining that protection was getting burdensome, as unwise as it was to lower his defenses around an incensed walking advertisement for the Lord Almighty. Dekuyaketh assumed it was better to not exhaust himself.
Especially when Laertes was reconstructing his broken hand, and preparing that scythe. Dekuyaketh's pupils pinpricked into sharpened slits. He hadn't noticed it before, but the surroundings were more ominous than Dekuyaketh had previously given them credit. What kind of fucked-up cathedral was this? Of course these weren't Gods distinguishable by any of the myriad religions and offshoots present on his planet, but even this was bizarre. Especially for a priest which came offering light. Dark-shrouded surroundings were hardly befitting of a man of God, Dekuyaketh could admit, but perhaps it was more in Laertes's nature than he had calculated.
Dekuyaketh saw Laertes's black-feathered wings, and narrowed his eyes, the mechanical duplicate seated over his right eye following suit. It was almost fascinating. He would have been curious, if it wasn't for the circumstances. Drawing the scythe back, Laertes rocketed toward Dekuyaketh, sweeping the great bladed weapon in an imperceptibly fast motion. Dekuyaketh barely registered his approach - he behaved entirely on instinct. Ordinary people would have easily been cleaved down by the blow, but Dekuyaketh, who was not only feline of blood and impulse, and trained in the mannerisms of the assassin, reacted instinctively. Ankle twisted against the hard marble floor, smearing a stunted crescent of dust against the impeccable surface, then spun back into place as Dekuyaketh's body twisted, wings bending inward and hair flaring about Dekuyaketh's features like a black-blood halo as he swiftly shunted himself back. The scythe bypassed him, lacerating the air mere microscopic centimeters away from his face, the scythe's very tip nicking the silver buttons festooning Dekuyaketh's red shirt together underneath his favorite black jacket. One of the expensive, gleaming buttons unraveled seamlessly from the latticework of thread, clattering against the floor.
Dekuyaketh didn't stop to savor the fact he was still of this mortal coil. Instead, he pumped his mechanical arm with a fresh deluge of energy, and swung his fist forward, attempting to mercilessly smash his knuckles into Laertes's face.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Another large swing that went wide of Sahlena's figure, as she ducked to the floor with agility far beyond the natural, and swept her leg out at Keaton's to knock her off her feet. Was the girl learning anything? Spinning on a hand, the machine turned on a dime and flipped upside down, her foot aimed perfectly forward. If her former attack had succeeded, the jackal would receive that iron-hard sole to the head, and likely be knocked out. But she might have dodged or maneuvered herself cleverly, in which case it would more likely hit her in the stomach or go past her. It was a rather linear attack, anyway, that might move her into a prone position, the machine thought, momentarily concerned that she might be giving the jackal a bit of an easy time. But for the moment, Keaton seemed a bit too slow to put the mechanical woman off.
- -
Stygian didn't really look at the location of the fight between Giles and Dani. He wasn't that concerned with the matter, really.
'Like it matters', he commented. 'Unless your friend happens to have some
very well-concealed trick up her sleeve...'
Stygian stopped, bit down his teeth, and closed his eyes, shaking his head.
He could conceal his nature almost perfectly, so why then assume that Dani couldn't be anything more than she appeared to be? Oh, there was the fact that he had smelled her, of course, and been able to feel both the warmth of her body and her heartbeat. His senses were quite hard to fool. But there was still the possibility. And more significantly, there were far more who relied on extraordinary tools or skills than inherent powers to deal with their foes. Not that he had seen many such people who would have been able to successfully deal with someone like Giles in a fair battle, but...
'What does she do, by the way?' he asked the elf, after a short pause, then looked her in the eyes. 'I know she might just be foolhardy, but with a weakness like hers, there
should be something that makes her at least a
little confident she can fight a guy like him.'
Richard slipped his fireaxe out of his belt and hefted it near the end of the handle, letting the heavy head swing freely near his ankle. He stepped into the circle with Risky and crouched into a defensive posture as the rules she had set took hold...
Marya ground her teeth and took another swig of her drink.
--
Boog set out the various patrons meals and turned his gaze to the fights outside. Y'know, job like this can grow on ya...
Sylvie was a bit surprised at that question - but then, Reds weren't very widespread. Even so, he didn't think red eyes and scar-shaped birthmarks were common, did he? Especially on humans...
"Well, she's inborn with magic, like me, but hers is a different kind." She felt a little like she shouldn't be saying this, but it was a valid question, and there wasn't much chance Dani would end up succeeding at what she was trying to do. "Her people are infused with chaos magic. If you find out how to trigger it and learn how to use it, it's one of the most powerful forms of magic in the world."
She glanced sidelong at the window, then looked back at Stygian. "But the problem is, it wouldn't be chaos magic if people could control it."
Stygian just raised his eyebrows, then cast a quick glance toward the circle outside. 'Oh', he said. 'I see. Quite unpredictable.' He refrained from stating anything else obvious, and frowned, before turning back. 'Not the sort of power that I would opt for, had I a choice... I like to know my own abilities closely.'
For a moment, as he sat there, one hand on the counter and his face nearly blank, Sylvie thought she saw his eyes go dark, a movement hinting under his skin. It lasted no longer than she could look closer though, at which point he sighed and rolled his neck a bit, looking as indifferent as anything.
'Well, anything that you can't quite understand or predict is far more likely to hurt or kill you, is what I'm saying. I don't advocate safety above all; that was a mistake people learned not to make too often already in the 21st century...' he said, after a pause, sounding as if the elf should have known or should have been able to guess what he was saying already, or perhaps that it didn't matter much. 'And of course, in my line of work, you learn that safety is perceived, while knowledge and predictability are vital.' But if he was trying to give her clues as to his occupation, he was being quite vague.
...Keaton:
Keaton cursed loudly as Sahlena evaded her first swing, quickly withdrawing Catastrophe and readying it for another blow. Before she could truly prepare herself, however, Sahlena was striking back at her like a cobra, lashing her leg out and around. There was no tactical maneuvering on Keaton's part - all she could do was rely completely on instinctive reactions, honed from her experience as a warrior. Unfortunately, given the speed of Sahlena's attack, this wasn't enough. One sweep of Sahlena's leg and Keaton felt herself buckle as she suddenly lost balance, as though the floor beneath her had been yanked away. The heavy impact of her back against the floor reaffirmed the fact that the floor was still present.
Before Keaton could recuperate, she saw Sahlena's foot incoming. Keaton yelped and quickly tried to twist herself out of the way - she knew very well that if she endured a blow to the head, she would be knocked unconscious; at the least disoriented. No matter what, sustaining any damage to her head would impede her, even if she wasn't incapacitated. Keaton moved fast enough - she didn't receive the attack to the head. Sahlena's foot, however, smashed her right in the stomach. Keaton let out a short scream of pain, the sound cutting off abruptly as she coughed up a large, ichorous gout of blood. In the same movement, she lashed out with quicksilver speed, motivated mostly by agony, and tried to administer a crushing blow to Sahlena's body with Catastrophe.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Water began pouring into the circle, materializing from the edge with no apparent source. Within an eyeblink, the edge had expanded, becoming a horizon in all directions.
At the same time, the ground beneath both Richard and Risky humped slightly, forming into two sandy piles that grew into islands, each roughly twenty feet across. Deep blue ocean water surrounded both, while a shallower stretch that appeared to be only about five feet deep seperated both islands by roughly fifteen feet.
A single twenty-foot tree palm tree laden with coconuts appeared on each island, and the light brightened to morning sun. Risky nodded her approval as she drew her pistol and checked the clip.
"It's not New Eden, but it's close," she said, and fired at Richard's left knee, the gun making a high-pitched chirp! sound.
With a curse that could blister paint Richard lunged out of the way. She hadn't picked an easy battleground for him; with her firing from across that water he was starting the fight as a sitting duck.
He had no intention of finishing the fight that way.
Richard rushed into the water and dived, letting the weight of his axe and the water rushing into the occasional still-open damage carry him to the bottom. He started walking toward Risky's little island, axe in hand...
"I wondered if you could actually swim or not," Risky commented to Richard as he waded towards her. "Looks like you make do."
She adopted a classic shooter's stance, feet apart and braced, pistol gripped firmly in her left hand with her right hand bracing her wrist. She squeezed off two shots, angled towards his left shoulder just under the waterline.
Giles simply grinned at the girl, his gleeful smile filled with a bit more than simple mirth, and his eyes took on a dangerous gleam. The blackguard chuckled, almost giggling under his breath, and cracked his neck suddenly. The manic grin still plastered on his face, he stretched backwards, raising his arms and lifting even the spear over his head as he seemed to limber up, and then like a coiled spring snapped forward, slamming the butt of his spear into the sand. Fire billowed out in a circle, dissipating quickly, but some of it billowing back towards the blackguard himself.
He shook his head, and shifting his spear to one hand, began to slam it back into the sand again and again, and in time with the spear he began to stomp an armored foot - sand was flung outwards from the man as he did so, and up his body more and more flames began to spiral, wreathing the man in fire. Every moment that went by, more and more fire began to pile up, until he was covered in it, only a shadow in flames.
He laughed, and extended a black fist, sent fire spiraling towards the strange-looking human girl, the flames dancing and moving as it ate up the distance between them.
* * *
Overextended, Laertes's simply had no time to recover. Dekuyaketh's punch was a thing of beauty to see, the sort of punch that can inspire awe and closed, grimacing eyes alike, a bone-shattering sort of blow that can kill almost as easily as knock someone out. Laertes was lifted up off the floor as the demon's haymaker connected, and blood spewed from the jackal's mouth as the mechanical fist mercilessly broke bones and teeth alike. The only thing that might have saved the priest was the prescience about him at that moment, the hushed, deathly ward that lent him strength. It was this alone that kept him from being knocked unconcious, from letting pain overwhelm him. The Jackal still had one trick up his sleeve, of course...
His left hand, the one with three interlocking rings of blue light, snapped up as the jackal fell, attempting to grab the demon's mechanical arm. Thee concentric rings of azure glowed in anticipation, glittering with an edge just as deadly as the scythe the jackal had just dropped...
As Mel stared at the thing she had attached to the ceiling two sections lit up, showing the two newly engaged fights. "Good. It works." She stared at it for a minute longer. "What do you think, Boog? Should the images be bigger?"
Boog looked up at the resulting device critically. He liked the overall design. His gaze flickered from one displayed fight to the other and back.
"Mebbe a bit, or some sorta feed to the tables. Work out the kinks later though, it's fantastic." He grinned, "Probably shouldn't have said that aloud, huh? Bargaining with an Icewing, all that." He was teasing, yes, but they WERE information brokers.
--
Richard couldn't make out what Risky said before a needle skimmed his arm, the second soon following and damaging the muscle slightly. If it weren't for the water distorting the light throwing off Risky's aim, it probably would have taken the arm out of commission. The water was slowing him down too much. He crouched further down on all fours, trying to reduce water resistance and use his arms to propel himself just a little faster. His frenzied pace kicking up vision-obscuring sand, the zombie finally rose out of the water at Risky's island in a low-to-the-ground charge, axe at ready. Now for the fun bit...
Dani waited, every muscle taut, for Giles to attack. But rather than attack her right away, he created easily the most powerful "shield" she'd ever seen an opponent use - he surrounded himself in flames until she couldn't make out his features anymore amid the deadly orange blaze. She had faced people with immense power before, but she'd never seen anyone survive being swathed in fire - let alone use such a situation to their advantage like that. Okay, so maybe giving him the first strike wasn't such a good idea...
A whirling jet of fire shot right for Dani. She swore sharply and, quickly pitching her weapon out of harm's way, dove to the side. She rolled once to break her fall, then grabbed her glaive and jumped up, harshly wiping sand away from her eyes. Let's see... run up and tackle him, get burned and severely hurt. Slice him from a distance, my baby gets burned and I'm left without a weapon...
A second later, she reached a compromise. Her face stony with focus, she dropped into a low run, heading straight for Giles. A moment before she reached him, she choked up on her weapon so the dull edge of the blade was against her arm, then she lashed out at the man's legs with first her blade and arm, and then a low kick, keeping her movements quick to avoid damage from the flames.
Seeing as how Sylvie didn't pick up on that line of conversation, a fact that he didn't know whether if he should be relieved or disappointed about, Stygian shifted the subject of conversation immediately.
'So, I guess my next question will be "what do
you do for a living then?", even if that might seem...' he began, then shrugged a little and gave the elf a faint smile. 'Well, I'd say it sounds boring, but you never know. Some people are really into their occupation. Not that what I really mean to say isn't "what made you come here", actually.'
- -
The hard, crunching sensation as her weapon finally struck home at last rewarded Keaton with at least some hope that this fight could be fought, instead of just endured. She heard a metallic sound from Sahlena, almost like a yelp; a distinctly un-machine-like thing. Her triumph didn't last long though. The machine spun and kicked out viciously, flipping and staggering backwards, one metallic hand clutching at her leg.
It wasn't quite that Sylvie hadn't picked up on the previous hint Stygian had dropped. She just wasn't sure what to ask. But then he changed the topic quickly enough that she didn't decide.
"What made me come here... boredom, I guess. For almost a year, my life was all danger and near-death experiences. I took six months of quiet to balance it out, then I got bored of the quiet. As for my occupation, well, the answer's more boring than the question. Back home, I protected our forest from potential threats, and currently, I don't really have a job." Halfway hoping that that was answer enough, she looked Stygian in the eyes. "And you? What do you do for a living?"
Watching as Richard ducked underwater, Risky nodded. "Sound tactics; if he's a beginner, he knows what he's doing," she thought to herself.
She holstered her pistol, and took three running steps forward, aiming carefully. As her opponent came out of the water, her right foot whipped up at his forehead in a powerful stop-kick, hoping to stun him.
The shortness of the elf's response worried Stygian, as soon as he heard it. She's certainly not being detailed, he thought, and that means that she's likely bothered by the question. And here I was hoping to lead the conversation onto her... Women love talking about themselves and their dreams, so I am probably very much in the wrong field here... How was he going to make this go smoothly? It seemed as if his talk was just tiring the woman.
'Oh, I do horrible things', he said, stating it in an unconcerned way that gave off the impression that he didn't really think of it that way, or that he didn't really think of it at all. 'Murder, espionage, infiltration... Not the nicest of things, but it pays well. And it matters.' Saying something like that might have been one of the worst things he could do, but if things were going to be that way, keeping himself short just as she had was all he could come up with. 'If you do it the right way, it's not as bad as it might sound either...'
If surprising Sylvie was what the man had hoped to do, he'd succeeded. Stygian's oddly detached tone sounded...out of place to her, in conjunction with what he was saying. She wanted to ask him to explain a little further...
And that's when it made sense to her. That was exactly what she hadn't done. The description of his occupation was, in the very least, related to the details of the events she'd purposefully failed to describe adequately. If she intended to learn anything more about Stygian, she was going to have to reveal a bit more about herself ... however much she may dislike this particular bit of her past.
"Does the same rule apply for witnessing such events en masse? I've always wondered if I was doing something wrong." Her tone didn't search for sympathy, and her eyes were serious, as well as the tiniest bit apologetic. She wasn't seeking pity, but explaining her discomfort about this topic.
Risky's strike hit dead on, sending Richard's head back with a snap as he rose out of the water. Now that just ain't fair, people with firearms aren't supposed to be good with close combat. The attack was solid and powerful but failed to stun the dead man; when the slightest twitch of your muscles takes a level of willpower that overcomes most laws of biology, one really stops having involantary reactions. One precise move of his leg kept him his balance, and another move of his arm aimed to keep Risky's foot as well with a grip like a vice. Even before he had a good hold on her Richard was going through with the motion that would pull her forward and off balance by her ankle while his other arm swept around toward her ribs with the end of the axe's handle...
In a moment, Stygian's eyes flickered back to Sylvie, and he raised one eyebrow at her, looking somewhat pensive. If her concern was genuine... No, she seemed to be simply retorting to his statements. Or was she? There was some concern in her manner, all of a sudden... To be serious though, he did not have a good response to the question the elf had just posed. Not one that was simple, at least. So he would have to opt for quick instead.
'To tell you the truth it all depends on perspective. The uninvolved should feel no remorse that they chose not to meddle. Not everyone has the capability to interfere in such a way that something good comes of it', he said, trying to tread lightly, but still to offer something of meaning. 'Most likely, people simply do not know, or understand. In my experience, the most important things are often far from the most evident.' He leveled his eyes with Sylvie's, and mirrored her own seriousness back to her in full. 'There are things that pass normal people by entirely, things that they never get to know of or that doesn't even affect them... but that may well change the very fate of entire nations.'
Taking a brief pause to look away, Stygian glanced over the bar top, as if expecting that another drink would have materialized. Narrowing his eyes when he found nothing, he leaned forward on his shoulder, and fumbled into his pocket. In a swift motion, he slipped out a long, grayish cigarette, and slipped into his mouth. He didn't care what Boog would say. It was a damn theoretically-existent bar on the borderline of reality. They had things a lot worse to deal with than a little tobacco smoke. So he flicked out his lighter. An eerily green-cyan flame sprung into life, lighting his cigarette, and he had a long pull on it, before exhaling a bluish cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.
'It's hard. Too hard for any one person to be able to afford feeling too much, and for looking out for too many', he said, then leaned over and looked closely at Sylvie, even more closely than before. 'I at least know that I get paid, and what is happening. And that most of the people I deal with... have it coming.'
Perhaps it was because it had been a long, long time since anyone had tried to engage Giles in close melee combat, or perhaps it was the shifting sands underfoot keeping his balance as precarious as a drifting dune, but Dani's attack was more effective than one might have guessed - his own spear, ever-burning, swung down to meet the red-haired girl's slice with it's own iron haft, but the leg sweep managed to get in a solid hit. Ordinarily hitting those black-iron armored legs would have been like hitting a column, but with the arena as it was, the sand's shifting betrayed him, and he stumbled backwards, falling.
What might have surprised the girl, of course, was how the fire flared as he did so, and continued to grow brighter as the man hit the ground rolling, gaining his feet with surprising alacrity.
"Didn't expect that one, no!" the man laughed, staggering to his feet and now jogging backwards, his right hand lazily spinning his spear about. "No, no, most people see fire, they think they'll get burned." The man grinned wide, and the fire around him billowed and grew. What was a simple coating of fire soon became the blaze of a bonfire, ever-expanding outwards from the man with every step, every twirl of the spear, with every movement of rhythm the man made.
"Most of them are righ', though." he said, and his statement was soon followed by manic, nearly mad laughter, the battle-cry of the berserker.
Risky felt her kick strike home, saw Richard's head go back..then felt him grab her foot with a grip like steel. Pulled forward, she bent her left knee, hoping to drop down and forward and possibly score on his right knee.
But as she did the axe handle swept around, glancing off her left temple and causing her vision to blur.
...Keaton:Keaton couldn't begrudge herself for feeling some distinct satisfaction at knowing she had damaged Sahlena in some way. It wasn't particularly sadism which motivated this. It was the idea that Keaton had reciprocated Sahlena's previous attacks and was starting to build more of an advantage. Hopefully, that successful blow administered to Sahlena's shoulder would open the way for more positive momentum in this battle - but now wasn't the time for meaningless speculation. If Keaton suspected this was going to start building against Sahlena, she had to make it
happen.Sahlena's foot came flying at Keaton. Yelping loudly, Keaton twisted herself to the side, feeling the machine's heel nick her shoulder and watching it, out of the corner of her peripheral vision, glance off of the floor. Moving so quickly was taking somewhat of a toll on Keaton's body, given the fact she was still aching terribly from where Sahlena's kick landed and was resisting the urge to regurgitate blood, but she tried to remain relentless. As she managed to evade Sahlena's first kick, she jerked upright, again aiming another blow for Sahlena by swinging Catastrophe around in a quicksilver motion.
---
...Dekuyaketh:If Dekuyaketh said there wasn't some personal satisfaction or entertainment gleaned from watching his fist impact Laertes's face, he would have been lying. It was almost cathartic, watching blood geyser from the priest's mouth as his teeth and bone splintered beneath his fist, even if Dekuyaketh knew this almost reinforced the fact he possibly deserved Laertes's scorn in the first place. Such emotional baggage went entirely neglected, however. Dekuyaketh was almost positive the battle was won. He started to withdraw his mechanical arm, upswelling lightning crackling within the foundations of that mechanical apparatus.
It was around that time Laertes let his hand fly forward, a triad of glowing cerulean rings encircling his hand. Dekuyaketh's pupils pinpricked, and he accelerated the movement of his mechanical arm. His mind anticipated the effects of that hand if it had the misfortune of making contact with his arm. Despite the fluidity of Dekuyaketh's movements, he felt the three rings of azure crackle and lash about him as it effectively cleaved through the enormous gemstone crowning the center of the hieroglyphs on the mechanical arm's forearm, lacerating the ruby from its base as smoothly as a knife would glide through butter and letting it clatter to the floor. If Dekuyaketh was a slower individual, he undoubtedly would have lost his arm. At the moment, however, in what could only be described as blistering agony as Dekuyaketh attempted to recuperate from the loss of that gemstone - something which was considered a relatively insensitive attachment to his mechanical arm - he wasn't of the state of mind to appreciate this.
Ichorous oil-blood swelled and flowed around the decapitated chunk of gemstone, each tar-like droplet seething with electricity. It was almost like having hot magma overflow from its vein. Letting out a guttural snarl, Dekuyaketh spun back, and flung his uninjured, organic arm forward at Laertes's face.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Pal thanked the odd barman, and slid some Furrae coinage back to pay for the drinks and a few rounds after. Sipping from the large glass his vodka and redbull was in, Pal looked around at his surroundings.
The wolf neglected to look at his warp-aci companion as Rex climbed onto the bar and over to the large jug of dark beer. Standing on his back legs Rex began to drink. As the level of Guinness dropped so the warp-aci followed until Rex was completely inside the jug, his black colouring and shape almost masking him as the remains of the beer. A small paw shot out of the glass jug. *Refill please!*
'Either way, it's far from as bad as people make it out to be. The least one can ask is that some purpose be served with one's death', Stygian continued, inhaling lengthily on his cigarette, and then breathing out equally lingeringly. 'Considering how prone people are to dying for other reasons... Well, the Machiavellian types knew even from the start, but after a while even the most stubborn and politically correct learn that life isn't top priority. Or, at least, they adapt to it.'
He wasn't really speaking to anyone but himself anymore. Realizing he was digressing, the man shook his head, and looked back to Sylvie. Watching her chlorophyll face for a second, and her look, something struck him, and his gaze became even more intensive, trying to catch hers.
'But that's not what bothers you, is it?' he said, more of a statement than a question. 'It's your conscience, and not your loathing of death.' He kept his gaze on her like that a bit, eerily still and steadily darkening.
'People like you aren't common where you come from, are they?' he said, at last. His eyes were black now, a cold and hard gleam to them.
- -
If Keaton thought that it would have been easy to hit Sahlena, even after she had been damaged, she was mistaking herself. Still, the enchantments on the Cubi's mace allowed her to swing it with terrible speed, at least for such a huge weapon. The rounding movement worked to the mechanical woman's disadvantage though, as she did not have time to dodge that follow-up. The tip of the wickedly spiked mace took into her arm, and in spite of her most solid structure tore it up, mashing it and causing a quick spray of sparks. The machine let out a mangled series of sounds that sounded half like a broken trash compactor and half like a faulty modem.
The next motion probably took the jackal as much by surprise as the machine had just been surprised herself. With a loud snap, the machine's arm jumped out of her shoulder socket, falling clattering to the ground, and with a strange rasping growl, the metallic woman threw herself at Keaton, one spinning blade viciously swiping for the succubus' ribs. She was moving faster now, much faster, and she was fighting with decidedly less elegance and eye-pleasing fluidity now, and with far more brutal efficiency, moving parts whirring and dazzling the jackal's eyes as the machine hunched and fell into a much less humanoid movement pattern, and more menacingly alien.
Sylvie watched Stygian carefully, taking in what he said and the way he said it. He hadn't immediately asked her what had happened, nor had he shown gratuitous pity. His answer, a little confusing at first, made sense to her after some thought. He was being more straightforward than almost anyone she'd ever met, and he'd eased her guilt a little. She wasn't scared of him, even when he leaned closer than he had before. She just couldn't think of a response.
Then the man looked away for a moment, seeming to remember something. Sylvie didn' stop listening, still trying to figure out how to lead on the conversation further. But then he did that for her as he turned back to her, his eyes going dark. She held back a shudder at this little change as she answered at last.
"Greens have never been common back home," she said, carefully. "We popped up a few years ago, and after we figured out just how uncommon we were, we stayed in the forest. Except for me," she added, almost as an afterthought. "Then I managed to learn firsthand what it's like to be a rarity." Her eyes grew a little distant as she began to remember, although she was still looking at Stygian. "I don't know whether people with a conscience are that common either," she said, a sneaky little trickle of bitterness edging its way into her voice. "Those who do have them seem to either end up in terrible situations, or die. But there are a few who live long enough to help people without them."
---
Wow, it actually worked, Dani thought after her slightly suicidal first attack proved more useful than she'd expected. As she watched the blackguard roll down the dune she now stood atop, something caught her attention - the flames went higher. And they continued to grow as he moved away from her, laughing crazily and taunting her. The fire was now growing to the size of an inferno, with every step Giles took...
Movement. It finally hit her. A strange trigger, but she'd found it nonetheless. Now to figure out how to use it to her advantage... A science class discovery occurred to her, Her smirk played across her lips yet again as she edged closer to the flames.
"That's the thing about Reds!" she called in response to Giles. "We don't just think we'll get burned; we know we will be, without fail, every single time we play with fire!"
Here her smirk grew to a grin, a bit smaller than the one worn by the blackguard. "We just don't care." And she moved dangerously close to the bonfire and sliced a swath of sand right toward Giles's face. What happens when you melt sand, pyro?
If Laertes's broken mouth could have grinned at that point, it would have broken into a gleeful, malicious smile as the three circles emanating from his palm managed to scratch the demon's apparently...delicate, machine-arm. A geyser of ichorous, sizzling blood fountained up from the wound he had inflicted, the three rings of light slicing a very gem in half in his wild swing. It set the priest's mind aflame with glee.
And then he continued falling.
He hit the ground with a thud, and blinding, nauseating pain blossomed up from his jaw. The demon's blow had broken the bones in the lower half of his muzzle so badly that his teeth no longer lined up, and the Jackal couldn't shut his mouth at all - his teeth didn't even line up anymore, his jaw set at an angle to itself. Speaking would be impossible as well, and the priest's greatest weapon of his voice would be useless. Black pain threatened to overwhelm him.
He even started to feel the cold of the arena, the icy chill permeating his robe. Blood poured down his chain, staining his chin and clothing a macabre red.
Dekuyaketh punched at him with his biological arm, and Laertes saw his chance. His left hand glowing a thick blue, he began to massage his chin with healing magics, and like a bolt of lightning attempted to palm the demon's fist with his right hand, the three glowing rings of light still emanating from his palm.
* * *
While a smart move by the red, she'd perhaps misjudged the heat produced by Giles's fire at that moment - the temperature at which pure sand becoming glass being around 4200 degrees fahrenheit. Giles's flames weren't quite that hot.
Yet.
Spluttering and coughing for a moment, the blackguard nearly paused as grit and sand obstructed his vision and got into his mouth - Dani had, for all intents and purposes, just thrown sand in his eyes, and while a effective if not particularly honorable tactic, perhaps not one that would serve her well, in this instance.
"Oh, you want to play dirty, huh?" Giles said, his voice edged, and no longer quite so mirthful. "Fine. Let's play dirty."
The Blackguard abruptly changed direction, stopping from jogging away from the Red and quickly moving forward - but not quite jogging. His steps somehow staggered, and his movement now quick, then slow, and even with the use of his spear as a prop he somehow made his charge at Dani not so much a run as a dance, and the fire around him began to build exponentially, larger and larger with every rhythmic movement the pyromancer made. Invisible within the flames, a roiling ball of fire charged for her, reaching out with arms of fire to encompass the girl entirely. Around the top of the inferno, the flames began to swirl, a vortex of flame forming high in the sky. Sand skittered about as Giles's fire, consuming oxygen and air at a phenominal rate, began to form it's own wind.
Deep withing the fire, a spot of blue began to form.
"Ashes to ashes, Red!" the blackguard called, his voice manic in the flames.
Easing down the look, Stygian straightened and went silent for a while, thinking. He had gone out on a hunch there, and it seemed as if he had been wrong in the meaningful point of it... But how? There was something personal there. Very personal, considering the tone of her voice.
'There's a great difference between having a conscience and taking responsibility for everything', he replied, only dimming the defensiveness in his voice but not trying to hide it completely. 'Just like between courage and foolhardiness. And...' he continued, leaning in again to look at the elf, 'between creating the horrors of life and simply recognizing them.' His eyes fixed straight at hers, something greenish gleamed down in their pitch depths. 'Or do you resent someone who's realized he can't change the world any other way for it?'
...Piix:
At long last, Piix's attention was attracted to the newcomer by Pal's Warp-Aci vociferously demanding another drink. Her ears quirked attentively; her lips twisting in a confused, flat line around the rim of the cup from which she was delicately sipping. After a while she simply watched the glowing creature, perplexed by its reality-bending visage, until her eyes wandered to its owner, and subsequently the hefty weapon strapped to his back. Accompanying that weapon were many, many others, practically encrusting his frame.
Being a fellow wielder of heavy weaponry, Piix was intrigued by this. The Orin inquisitively canted her head, finally lifting herself from her seat with drink in hand. Giles was in a battle and the handsome blond furless was preoccupied with that green-skinned lady (Piix bristled enviously, stifling an irritable growl), so it wasn't like she had anything better to do, anyway. It was worth a shot.
In the next moment, Piix was right behind Pal, standing on her tiptoes as she attempted to reach up and poke him on his shoulder. "Uh, hey!" she said, trying to get his attention. "Yo! Where'd - uh, where'd y'get tha' fantastic-lookin' axe of yers?"
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Boog looked at the little paw sticking out of the glass and thought for a second, before finally shrugging. Ours is not to reason why, ours is just to pour the booze, or die. As he refilled the drink (drenching the warp-aci still in the glass) his mouth quirked into a small smile. He was starting to really settle into this bartending thing. Easiest gig in the world.
--
Not one to let an opportunity pass by, Richard attempted to catch his opponent in the chest with his elbow, dropped his axe and grappled for Risky's gun with both hands.
...Keaton:Keaton nearly felt her jaw drop as she witnessed the spectacular effects of her strike, but managed to keep her mouth firmly clamped shut despite her profound shock. Catastrophe's head sailed through Sahlena's arm, sweeping away the mechanical limb in a deluge of sparks and tattered cables. Formerly meticulous cables belched great, electrical gouts into the air, that geyser of sparks lasting for a tremendous few seconds before it suddenly silenced. Keaton watched the damaged arm leap out of its socket with a clear expression of surprise engraved into her features, resisting the urge to allow her gaze to follow its descent to the ground. This possibly saved her a great deal of trouble, as, when she kept herself attentive, she was able to watch Sahlena prepare her blade and send it flying toward Keaton.
Keaton yelped and tried to pull herself back, just barely succeeding. The sharpened tip grazed over her abdomen, lacerating a sharp, thin line of blood and torn skin across the cream-yellow fur. Snarling, Keaton brought Catastrophe up and swung it forward again, attempting to nail the machine in a more debilitating place. Sahlena was becoming truly dangerous with her accelerated speed, leaving Keaton little option other than try to immobilize her.
---
...Dekuyaketh:Any satisfaction Dekuyaketh was experiencing vanished almost immediately when he saw Laertes, in spite of the agony he was possibly going through, react and lurch to life, swinging his hand toward his incoming arm. As he had not anticipated for Laertes to keep fighting, Dekuyaketh had little time to react or try to evade the impending blow, and could only use what little preparatory time that existed to brace himself, and try to minimize the damage. He curbed himself as Laertes's palm impacted his fist, the simultaneous contact disappearing in a swelling torrent of blue light, flaring outward from those writhing rings encircling Laertes's palm.
Dekuyaketh felt light burst through his flesh, popping and sizzling the surface of his skin. Bone crumbled away to ash within his skin and his arm shriveled away in the burning concentration of light, and even with all of Dekuyaketh's preparation he heard himself scream. He drew his arm sharply back with what little of his muscles remained, and watched in shock as the remainder of his arm simply dissolved. All that was left was a charred portion of his skeleton beneath the frayed and mangled chunks of haphazardly-strewn flesh, clinging onto the bone. Dekuyaketh stared down at the remains of his arm, then up at Laertes, his expression at first frozen in a petrified mask of shock and pain.
Then, he clenched the fist of his mechanical arm again, and snarled loudly.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Paladin swung round and looked down at the Orin, "it's a family heirloom, we've no idea quite how old it is just that its been passed down the like for a heck of a lot of generations." Pal stuck out one of his huge (in comparison to Piix's) "Paladin Sheppard, and you are?"
Rex had opened his mouth as the Boogyman had poured the Guinness, causing it to take a bit longer than normal to fill the jug. *Thanks alot mister!* He said once he was swimming in the dark beer.
Dani blinked once, a little dumbfounded. Her attack had worked - but not quite the way she'd hoped. Instead of spattering freshly melted glass onto Giles's face, she'd thrown sand in his eyes. Somehow, I don't think "whoops, sorry" is going to cover this one... The blackguard didn't look amused at all. In fact, he was now giving the Red a very deadly look, and the amused tone was gone from his voice almost completely. His movements became more calculated and rhythmic now as he approached her, almost like he was dancing. And the flames were getting more powerful, more widespread... and then a fireball launched itself at her, spreading and stretching, trying to burn her whole.
Screaming, the prison guard started to sprint away from the flames before throwing herself to the ground, strategically covering the pole of her weapon. The spreading fireball passed over her without hurting her too severely, although half of her left arm, which she'd covered her head with, got second-degree burns. Additionally, her ponytail, which hadn't gotten out of the way as quickly as she had, was now alit.
Dani quickly rolled over and scooped sand onto her flaming hair; once she was sure that danger had passed, the Red stood up, jammed the butt of her glaive deep into the sand, and watched in awe as the flaming vortex rose from where Giles stood. True, he probably wasn't really standing, but she didn't bother trying to look for him within the fire. I just need to get close to him somehow without dying, or being sucked up and burned to death... Narrowing her eyes with resolve, she wrapped one arm around the polearm and cracked her knuckles.
The second the cracking sound left her finger joints, a bolt of red lightning arced out of her knuckles and along the ground towards the blue epicenter of the hell-fire. Dani's jaw dropped...and then a look of pure, sadistic joy spread over her face.
"Aw, no bleeping WAY..."
---
That last question confused Sylvie for reasons even she was only partly familiar with. She relaxed a little at the diminishing blackness in Stygian's eyes, and thought over her response a little at hearing his slightly defensive tone. He was right; people didn't need to feel guilty for everything in order to have moral standards. She wondered, though, whether the people she'd been referring to even had the latter...
"Any other way than what?" she asked, not accusingly or bitterly, just curiously. "Creating the horrors of life? It really depends on the person," she said, meeting Stygian's gaze head-on. "The person I was thinking of could probably have made his living some other way, but he chose piracy, theft and mass murder. The fact that he kidnapped me and a few of my friends didn't really help his image either. And as far as I know, he could have turned out differently."
She drummed her fingers on the can again, enjoying the cold moisture condensing on its surface. "If one had no choice in the matter, or had more important reasons behind their actions than a lust for power, I can see how it would be different. I just haven't met many people like that."
Exhaling, Stygian looked down, and smirked. Something personal, but it wasn't precisely as serious as he had thought. Still, what Sylvie was talking about... Hostage situations were never pleasant things, though somehow, when he looked at the elf, he strongly doubted that she ever had or would see, or could even believe some of the elements of horror and darkness that he took as simple facts. But her loathing could be just as strong for that. And he had to watch out, in that case. She could very easily begin to imagine him as just the same as this other man she was referring to.
'Well, I have to say that I'm relieved that it was not me you were really thinking of', he said, not continuing. He wasn't going to tell her his more personal opinions on certain things. He'd rather remain 'professional' in what he said, but seem amiable. But he
was going to be honest with her. 'I will say though that there might come a time when you want to re-evaluate your opinion on
choice and consequence.' He puffed lightly on his cigarette, pausing slightly. 'I'm not about to give you an itemized reading list, but you might want to investigate a little more into how people behave. Under the right circumstances...' he continued, and then took out the stump between his teeth. Looking at it, he put his index finger and thumb to the end, and slowly pinched it between them, smothering it with a little fizz. If it had hurt, he didn't so much as flinch from it. '...
everyone can become a killer. The question is just
what kind of killer.'
- -
Had it been a normal fight and under normal circumstances, Keaton might have succeeded in her attempt to drive her opponent back. As it was though, Sal was apparently both enraged and just too fast for her. Not to mention that in terms of unpredictability, the machine had every advantage. As she demonstrated with her next attack. When Keaton swung forward, the machine, already crouched and close to her, flipped over forward, standing on one hand, while bringing up her feet above her instead. In a heartbeat, two gripper-like feet came up, closing around the jackal's arm which moved slowly in comparison to the end of the mace, and hooked around it. A furious yank, and then the Succubus was lifted up and swung around in a rough semicircle and over the machine, and then slammed into the concrete floor, back-first.
Dekuyaketh snarled, and in the midst of blinding pain, the jackal saw his chance. Already leaning forward, the Jackal continued with the motion, the rings in his hands dispelling as he raised the appendage, beckoning - the scythe spun into his hand lazily, with the eerie slowness of something done with both grace and speed, and neglecting his blood-dripping muzzle for a moment, placed both hands on the black haft. He rose gently, spinning on one knee and rising to his feet even as he swung with the scythe.
Like an eerie blue line, the scythe arced for Dekuyaketh, blood and spittle flying from Laerte's mouth as the scythe's momentum carried him through the swing.
* * *
If one thing about being cocooned in over thirty square feet of raging fire was bad, the regular risk of dying being excluded, than it was damn hard to see what was going on outside the thick curtains of flame. The red bolt of lightning caught the blackguard completely off guard, and with a rather out-of-character scream, the pyromancer fell over, momentarily stunned. Black spots swam in front of his eyes, and the flames began to die, dwindling.
When the Pyromancer regained his senses, the flames had dwindled to almost half of what they were - the blue epicenter was gone, and the swirling winds died. His eyes narrowed and grimacing fiercely, the blackguard yelled something incomprehensible, and once again began his dance, with rhythms and with fury.
"I will burn everything to ashes around your ears, whelp!" Giles screamed, suddenly cocking his arm back. "And I will dance on your black, sticky bones!"
Using his spear like a javelin, the pyromancer threw the polearm high over the Red's head, fire trailing after it like a comet. It hit the sand and stuck, and just moment later, fire began to spread outwards from it, like someone had poured runners of gasoline from it in a large, large semicircle - eventually reaching all the way back to the blackguard himself. The fire seemed low then, except for where it was near the pyromancer - but it was growing larger with every moment.
The blackguard worked quickly, and the fire around him grew, and grew - spiraling again at the top, and the core around the blackguard himself beginning to tint with a superhot blue. Every moment, the fires grew larger.
Giles worked on making his hell.
...Keaton:The results were as predicted: after being flung so unceremoniously into the air, Keaton impacted the floor heavily, a hideous crunching noise ringing out from a possibly broken bone in her back over the sound of her pained scream. Keaton writhed momentarily on the ground like an upturned cockroach, her limbs spasming and her hands threatening to relinquish Catastrophe, which she was steadfastly clinging to even when she was thrown over the machine. After a humiliating and agonizing second of flailing, Keaton rested her hands on the ground and turned herself onto her belly, resisting the urge to start coughing and hacking at the sudden, uncomfortable swelling sensation churning in her esophagus. A tremor ran down her bruised body; she let out an irritated snarl, and then glanced up wearily. Blue and black sparks coalesced threateningly from Catastrophe, interlaced with twining strands of black plasma.
---
...Piix:Piix nodded affirmatively to Paladin, folding her arms. Unfortunately for her, Orpiment didn't have nearly as prestigious a history. The hammer was comparatively mundane, just the latest weapon she had used to replace her last one, which was of a slightly inferior quality. When Paladin proffered his hand, Piix glanced down at it, then grinned widely and accepted it in her significantly smaller, four-fingered paw, shaking it.
"Nice t'meet ya, Mister Sheppard. Th'name's Piix."
---
...Dekuyaketh:Dekuyaketh felt sick. It wasn't only because of the fact he had been so brutally robbed of his arm, but because he kept reprimanding himself for his stupidity in how he embarrassingly underestimated Laertes, even in his vulnerable state. Because of that ridiculous maneuver, Dekuyaketh was missing one half of his arsenal. Part of the advantage of being so adept in unarmed combat meant he could never be disarmed, but on the opposite side it meant he was drastically weakened in a situation such as this.
Laertes came thrashing at Dekuyaketh in the next moment, swinging his scythe in a sweeping, blue-laced arc. Dekuyaketh felt his pupils pinprick into tiny, gilded dots, the mechanical eye resting over his organic eye reacting aptly. Clenching his remaining fist and ignoring the fresh upswell of pain which crackled through his tattered veins, Dekuyaketh attempted to sidestep the incoming sweep one last time, twisting himself to the side. Encumbered by pain as he was, he couldn't particularly manage such a sharp maneuver so thoroughly - and he knew it, so he knew he'd have to sacrifice some aspect of his defenses to prevent further damage. In his decelerated movements, Dekuyaketh felt the scythe bypass him, effortlessly sawing through a great chunk of his obliterated organic arm's skeleton. The bony structure slumped to the ground, clattering. Dekuyaketh gasped sharply, biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut. He wrenched open his eyelids again, feeling electricity peal from his glowing, golden-amber irises in coalescing rings of red.
And with a snarl, Dekuyaketh swung his leg around and tried to bring it down onto Laertes's body, his foot coming down like a guillotine.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Landing on her back in the sand, Risky twisted just enough to the side to turn the elbow strike to her chest into a bruising but less severe blow. Blinking tears from her eyes, she felt more than saw Richard grab at her holster, trying to take her gun.
Training took over where thought failed. She grabbed his arms, and a red glow began to seep out of her hands. The scent of something cooking could be heard as she pulled at him.
Paladin waved Piix to the stool next to him. "So what brings you here? Its not quite your average Inn...."
The Wolf took another swallow of his drink. This being...Or creature, Pal had yet to decide which, was interesting despite his knowing very little of her. And hell she was attractive in an exotic way.
Thank goodness. She'd guessed correctly for once. Sylvie relaxed once again, getting a little lost in thought. She knew enough from prison about different reasons for murder – revenge, self-defense, severe mental problems, money, etc. The idea of someone unexpected committing murder was nothing surprising to her. But somehow, what Stygian had said still confused her a bit. She showed only mild surprise about the man's apparent lack of pain from putting out the cigarette with his fingers before speaking again.
"I wouldn't judge you that quickly without knowing the reason why you've done what you have," she told him honestly. Then she thought for a bit and added, "You don't need to tell me the reason, though. It seems like it must have been a sound one, from what you've said, and I'm not about to act as a moral paragon. Still, I can't help but feel that there's always a choice involved in such things. Emotions, circumstance and past come into it, but someone could still choose not to kill." She sipped her juice in thought. "Unless you were talking about the point where survival becomes the motive."
---
As that rewarding scream hit her ears and the flames around Giles died, Dani grinned ever wider, pulled her glaive out of the ground and began to charge for him. But then the blackguard recovered just as quickly as his flames had cooled. The Red took a few steps back as the flames began to grow; then she felt and heard a hot whoosh of air over her head. She spun around just in time to see Giles's spear land in the desert behind her.
When fire began to spread outward from the weapon, Dani moved quickly away, watching as the arid wasteland around them began its slow transformation into a glowing, smoldering death trap. For a second or two, all was silence, save for the crackling of the flames and the echoes of the pyromancer's voice.
And then Dani split her face into a wide grin, threw back her head and laughed insanely.
"I don't think you realize yet just how much you've helped me, Lord of Ashes!" she called to the blue-again center of the blaze. She backed up, onto a nearby dune, and held up one hand, her glaive held out before her in an attack stance. But rather than try a run into Hell, she reached up with her free hand and snapped one knuckle.
Almost immediately, the ground started to rumble. A mound rose in front of Dani, rolling towards Giles at amazing speed. The prison guard's eyes widened again, but this time she didn't waste her opportunity. She bolted rapidly behind the rolling dune, heading straight for the blackguard and aiming to slash at his arms.
Suddenly and without warning, Stygian grinned again. 'Already presume that it's something I've
done, and not something I am
doing? You don't know, and I shouldn't expect you to. So I don't think I can explain the pleasure I feel for my line of work to you... Let's not delve too deeply into that though, shall we?' he said, a bit pointedly but without hostility. 'We come from different worlds, literally... Because I don't suppose that yours is mostly an industrial wasteland?' The shifting of subject came in a casual enough tone that he thought he might get away with it.
- -
Had Sahlena been capable of widening her eyes - or more accurately, her optical sensors - at the jackal, she would have. The static buildup was already massive, and steadily increasing. The succubus was down, but if she would have the time to strike... She had already shown that she could severely damage the machine, given the chance. Any further attack thus had to be stopped, before it could begin.
'
:don't...!' she rasped at the jackal, stepping forward. Deceptively gently, a cold metallic foot laid itself over Keaton's neck. '
:you don't. have. a chance.'
The scythe cut, slicing cleanly through the cold, cold air, and Laertes, if he could have spoken, would have cursed.
Dekuyaketh's drop-kick connected sickeningly with the Jackal's back, with a sound like a sledgehammer hitting dirt. His legs slipped out from under him, and his scythe dropped out of his hands. He hit the ground with a thud, and lay still.
* * *
Even in the midst of the fire, Giles would have to be blind to miss an entire hill heading for him. He wasn't -entirely- sure what the girl was trying to do - perhaps bury him, or knock him off his feet, or something, although it escaped the blackguard's mind exactly what.
He gritted his teeth. She could laugh now. She wouldn't laugh when that pretty red hair was burning.
It was apparent that things needed to heat up a lot more, a lot faster. If she wanted to start throwing hills at him, well, he could start pulling out the big guns too. In all fairness, it wasn't as big as an entire hill, just a mound in the earth rolling towards him at a ridiculous speed - but still. In some ways, the earth was his ally too.
The blackguard screamed, in rage, and the fires around him responded in kind, burning yet brighter than before. A wave of heat rolled across the desert.
Giles began to step backwards, and as the dot of blue fire moved, the ground in front of him gleamed - rough, unpolished glass, half-molten lay underneath where his feet trod. The mound, moving at such great speed, hit the glass like a bucket of sand on asphalt, spraying up into the air, and then falling down in a clump. Some of it hit the blackguard's face, and melted, and began to drip off his chin and nose. He grin grew manic, and his eyes were filled with fury. Tiny, red spots blossomed in the man's ice-blue eyes.
If the Red wished to slash at his arms, she'd have to go through thirty feet of fire.
The fire changed in nature. Where before it was a simple bonfire, the flames suddenly began to swirl as though they were a vortex, or a tornado of flames. The wind picked up, and she felt a few bits of sand sting her cheeks.
Deep in the heart of the flames, she heard the man laugh again, his voice not even recognizable anymore. Behind the man's laughter, clearly insane, she felt the ground beneath her rumble, just slightly.
...Keaton:The pulsating wreath of particles and electricity surrounding Catastrophe writhed, then flared spectacularly as Sahlena thrust her foot down, positioning her heel threateningly over Keaton's throat. The beleaguered jackal released a startled, choking noise in the back of her throat at this surprising maneuver, her expression frozen in a masque of horror. She didn't say anything in response to Sahlena, yet, as though she was still registering the enormity - and the vulnerability - of her situation. As Keaton started to comprehend that her predicament was
not, in fact, a horrendous hallucination or something easily avoidable, she began to feel slightly sick. Could have been attributed to Sahlena's armored foot's proximity to her throat.
Keaton hated losing. It reminded her of her inadequacies, all those little insecurities she didn't have the ability to escape. Especially when she had made such a big deal out of
winning before, after she defeated Rip... now she was going to look like an
idiot!...Christ, her back
hurt.Even in her current state, Keaton wasn't bereft of better judgment. She knew that Sahlena had the upper hand, and this momentary indignity was not worth risking her life. Somewhat reluctantly, Keaton shakily attempted to swallow, so she could moisten her throat appropriately to carry her next words. "I - o... okay. Uncle...
"You win."
After a moment, Keaton begrudgingly added, because she felt it was necessary, "Well... well done."
---
...Piix:"Hm?" Piix seemed almost befuddled at Paladin's question, as though she had no idea how to answer. For a moment, she pondered using one of her many excuses formulated prior to entering the bar, but instead she sighed with resignation. Probably wouldn't hurt to be honest, for once.
Piix walked over to the stool next to Paladin, and hopped up onto it, seating herself there. "Me? I was lookin' f'r a friend o' mine. Real good friend," Piix scratched behind one of her ears. "I've been lookin' nonstop f'r I dunno how long. Decided t' take a break... an' if I was lucky, I'd see 'im 'ere."
---
...Dekuyaketh:After his leg made its crushing impact with Laertes's spine, Dekuyaketh quickly withdrew his leg, ignoring the incessant, blistering pain still persisting in the mangled remnants of his desecrated organic arm. Narrowing his eyes and inhaling deeply, Dekuyaketh watched the effects of his kick unfold over Laertes, taking a few cautionary steps back to avoid any potential outbursts. The priest had proved himself to be unpredictable at combat, and Dekuyaketh wouldn't be terribly surprised if Laertes had perfected some way to endure such an immense blow to his back.
Fortunately for Dekuyaketh, this was not the case. Laertes slumped instantaneously to the ground, his legs buckling and his scythe toppling from his hands. Dekuyaketh remained where he was just in case, maintaining his battle posture (imperfect and unbalanced due to the loss of his organic arm). He waited. A look of absolute shock sinking into his handsome features, Dekuyaketh staggered back and leaned against the furthermost wall, regaining his breath. He remained there for a while, just recollecting himself and piecing together his composure again. In comparison to his earlier caricature of resolution and mocking indifference, Dekuyaketh looked quite dilapidated - his organic arm was mostly gone, partially dissolved amidst the tattered remains of the sleeve of his jacket, his mechanical arm throbbing with erratic, tense pulses of compressed energy. Sweat matted Dekuyaketh's forehead and his eyes were unfocused, yet wild, the pupils contracted into sharp slits. Dekuyaketh was almost positive that, with the missing button to his shirt and the obliterated sleeve, he needed a change of wardrobe.
Dekuyaketh turned to Laertes's body again, fanning his wings outward, and then folded them to his back like a cape. The manteau he brought to the cathedral was probably eaten up in the flames Laertes conjured, so he knew retrieving the manteau would be impossible. Dekuyaketh approached the presumably-unconscious jackal, and kneeled beside him, using his mechanical arm to shunt the scythe away from Laertes so, in case the jackal had any fight left in him, he would be unarmed. Not that it would make a lick of difference, but Dekuyaketh hoped Laertes was out of resources.
Dekuyaketh probed Laertes's wrist with a tremendous amount of gentleness, so that way the sharpened tips of his mechanical arm's digits wouldn't puncture Laertes's skin. He tested for a pulse.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Left without an answer for a while, Stygian gave Sylvie a meaningful look, before turning away to glance sideways at, and listen in to the conversation between Paladin and Piix. He wasn't thinking about that though, so much as he was wondering whether if he had screwed the whole conversation over with his latest statement. By nature, he usually ranged wildly between bitter and vicious and humorous. Sometimes he was even bitterly vicious, or viciously humorous. Even as he thought of it, he couldn't but despise himself a bit for his weakness on that point, and the lack of control and oftentimes also joy that past experiences, and also a little bit of a personality disorder, had left him with. And he had still to get his food! Where was that damn thought entity?! For a ubiquitously present being in a theoretically existent and all-assorted bar at the edge of existence, he was taking his time...
- -
Standing there for a few moments, as if she took a bit of time to register those words, the machine stared down at Keaton, her complete lack of facial expressions making it so that no one could have been sure whether if she was glaring, or surprised, or even attentive at all. Then, at last, she removed her foot, stepping back slowly. Straightening, the metal sheets and parts that covered her slid back into place, as her chassis locked back into a more humanoid form, and she stood looking at the jackal.
'
:do you want me to /help you up?' she asked at last, voice neutral.
Sylvie was quiet for a few moments. The shifting of topics was noticeable enough that she caught it, but got the point. She didn't really like him leaving her hanging on that third-to-last rather creepy thought... but what the heck. Uncomfortable topics were a relief to avoid, and Stygian clearly didn't feel like talking more about it. Her hesitation appeared to have sat the wrong way with him; their eye contact had been broken, and he appeared slightly annoyed.
She ran her finger along the rim of the can as she answered, a little more quietly than normal. "Thankfully, no. What was it called here...an industrial revolution? Well, we never got around to that back home. The most advanced things we've got so far are guns and chemical weapons. A few people are aware that we're behind the times, but those people generally find places that are ahead of ours and leave." Her hand stopped moving and she turned to glance outside at the fights before turning back. "I never really saw what the other places had that was so much better."
---
Dani brought herself to a screeching halt, sending up sprays of sand and fire with her braking foot, as the mound she'd sent at Giles hit the half-melted glass that had formed where he'd stood. Shards and spatters of melted sand hit her arms and torso, forming little cuts and scratches everywhere. She shielded her face with her hands, hissing a little at the stinging air over the nicks in her skin and stepping back out of the flames. Her feet were pretty burned now, but that could just be because the soles of her sandals were on fire. She stomped out the fires, feeling the flames burn hotter around her as the fire began to swirl at the blackguard's command. Soon, a flaming tornado had risen over the desert, sand stinging against Dani's face and the ground shaking a little beneath her feet.
She cursed under her breath, bracing herself against the strong winds and backing away from the flames that licked at her ankles and legs. She'd never seen anyone get so mad during a fight... Giles had looked as though he'd wanted to set her ablaze using only his eyes, before his face had been lost in the fiery vortex. Well, she'd wanted a tough fight, and now at least she could even the playing field whenever she chose. Speaking of which... She cracked another knuckle, and heard a low boom of thunder overhead. Hm. I was hoping for an ice storm, but this might work... Slightly nervous that the rain wouldn't have much effect on the flames, she sliced at the tongues of fire in front of her, experimentally, to see if she could get through them somehow.
'Oh, I don't know... Variety? Riches?' Stygian muttered, leaning on his hand and glancing around for the Boogeyman. 'More understanding about the universe and little gadgets?' He shrugged, and then went on. 'Mostly, I'd say, it's either habit or a natural desire for power...' Since that bordered on the topic they had just left though, he stopped talking, instead looking out the window at the circles. The fight between Sal and the jackal seemed to have ended, which was a relief. Although, because of how far away the circle was and the way things looked, he couldn't immediately tell who had won.
'Actually, thinking about it, I think that it's much more probably a question of population. People are bound to multiply, and then it takes more technology to manage and support the increasing masses and their increasing quality of life...' he continued, then frowned and turned to Sylvie, eying her slyly. 'Although, looking at you, I think that anyone might have to reevaluate just what "quality of life" means...'
Sylvie's cheeks darkened at Stygian's last comment, but at the same time, a shy little smirk crept onto her face. She couldn't help but feel a little amused at being one of the few people alive who made everyone uncomfortable in certain situations. It seemed to be much more common here, what with religious debates, vegetarians ('cannibals'), and environmental rallies.
"When you put it that way, that's probably why my world is technologically behind. Population control has never been an issue," she said, calming her face. She counted off on her fingers as she considered the recent plights of her home-world. "The elves had massive numbers wiped out by a plague, Dani and I come from fairly new races, some groups just plain don't populate quickly, and the other races... Well, they've never needed technology to help them accommodate." Because whenever they need more space, they just start a war against whoever's in their way, she left unsaid. "I guess what makes me curious is, which world do you think is really better off in the end? A world like yours, or one like mine?"
The man snerked a bit in return, one corner of his mouth quirking upward. Suddenly she seemed a lot more talkative. He hadn't seen any redundant movements except the fingers, and no strange eye movement, so she had just opened up and spoken right at him. A good thing.
'Good question', he said, a bit of teeth showing in that smile of his, then rubbed his temple a bit where he sat with his chin on his thumb, something he did out of habit sometimes when thinking hard. 'Well... besides the beauty of kilometer-high skyscrapers and spaceflight... I don't suppose you people have learning implants and servitors. That's always a good point. But then again, you don't have to put up with defective stims or media, or a society so fast-moving that everyone seems to develop hyperactive and panicking disorder...' He hummed a bit. 'I suppose it comes down to preference in the end. Personally, I enjoy culture more than fields and forests. But then again, I enjoy those much more than I do people, so...'
Shrugging, Stygian fumbled in his pocket for another cigarette. If his meal was hindered, then he'd enjoy something else meanwhile. A thought came to him though, and he stopped, instead reaching behind the counter for something to drink. If he smoked, the taste would be all messed up. Better then to wash it down.
'I... hm... think I would be rather lost without my vices though', he said, bringing up a bottle of vodka and starting to look around for ice and soda, and perhaps a sliver of lime. 'Then again', he continued, looking to Sylvie, 'judging from what I can see of your world, I think that I could forget all about those...' Another sly smirk from his side, before he dropped a couple of ice cubes in his glass, and started pouring. 'But I rather doubt that I would... fit in. So let's just say I wouldn't bring that cruelty on your dear home.'
...Keaton:
Keaton inhaled sharply as Sahlena removed her foot, instinctively reaching up to massage her throat. She exercised the slightly sore muscle by ruminating over a few breathing practices, flexing her esophagus until it started to feel normal again. Keaton sat upright, then glanced up at the android once she presented her offer. Keaton raised her eyebrow. Nice of her to offer, but Keaton really wasn't sure if Sahlena could properly assist her to her feet when she was missing one of her arms.
"Nah, I'm good," Keaton answered, but before she concluded that sentence, she quickly interjected with a surprisingly sincere, "Thanks."
Keaton rested her hands on the ground, breathing a little, and then tried to heft herself to her feet. Halfway through her ascension she felt a painful interference from her back, as though her spine suddenly turned to stone, and then yelped. She nearly toppled back to the ground, but managed to support herself by driving Catastrophe's spike-tipped butt into the floor, using the mace as leverage. Keaton pushed herself to her feet. Once she was back on her feet, she massaged her back, grumbling.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Dekuyaketh's metal fingertips, strangely gentle, quickly found a pulse on the jackal's immobile body. Apparently just unconcious and bleeding, the priest was still very much alive.
* * *
Giles continued to laugh as the rain fell, steam rising at first with a gentle hiss, and then with nearly a full-throated roar as the rain really began to fall. The water seemed to be moderately effective, dousing the flames at their extremeties and causing the ring of fire surrounding the two to die entirely. It served a second purpose as well, both reducing the ambient temperature of the arena, making it much easier for a normal person to endure, and weighing down the normally light sand into a sort of mud.
The cone of flames twisting about the blackguard, however, remained standing, although the fires twisting about him didn't grow anymore. Even so, Dani's experimental cuts into the flames proved as fruitless as trying to cut any ordinary fire.
Yet still, the blackguard laughed.
"Love, brings the rain..." he sang mockingly, dancing in the fire with himself. His vioce was still clearly mad, but there was an edge to it, although under great strain. "That falls like tears, from on hiiiiigh..." he sang, laughing to himself, and the blue fire writhing about the blackguard tinted white.
Beneath her feet, the ground rumbled again, and Dani suddenly smelled the stench of sulfur.
Sylvie's face turned a nice shade of spruce, and she looked away toward the window for a moment, an unsure, shy smile tugging at her lips. She couldn't help it; she wasn't used to this kind of attention seeming honest. During her brief glance outside, she noticed that the android and the jackal were done fighting, but from this distance the winner was unclear. She took in a slightly sharpened breath when she saw the fiery tornado in Dani and Giles's arena, her surprise almost making her overlook the rainstorm. When she did notice it, she looked a little perplexed, but decided not to say anything about it until Dani got back in.
"Cruelty is almost an everyday occurrence worldwide there," the elf told Stygian, facing him again and looking less bashful. "And truthfully, of the people I know, you've been one of the least cruel." It was true; even if he did horrible things, she suspected he'd held back a bit during their fight. If he had that much power, he could have killed her instantly. And if he really was as evil as he made himself out to be, he'd have done it just for fun. Of course, she didn't say any of this. That topic had gone by.
---
Dani's triumphant smirk at the successful rainstorm vanished in annoyance at Giles's reaction. She'd just felt like she had the upper hand, she stood a chance of not being burned to death, her skin no longer felt like the surface of a hot skillet... and the damn cyclone was still going strong. In fact, it seemed to be getting hotter amid the sizzling steam. And ... was the blackguard actually singing a power ballad? Dani growled, but didn't move closer; she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of reducing her to dust.
The ground shook beneath her feet, and the Red looked down, curious. At that moment, the stink of sulfur hit her nose, and she understood a hell of a lot more than she wanted about Giles's amusement.
"Oh, no. Oh, shit. Oh, SHIT!" she screamed, bolting from the spot where she'd stood, her sandals slapping wetly against the mud.
Again, the man's eyebrow twitched, and he looked almost... apologetic in a way. 'Oh. Well... As much as I appreciate the compliment - or is it candor? - I have to say that sounds worse', he said, then turned his gaze forward, mixed the drink lazily with a stir, and took a good gulp, holding it in to wash out the taste in his mouth before swallowing. He wasn't honestly convinced that anything that could spawn someone like Sylvie was a world subject to cruelty that came anywhere near that of his own. But then again, desensitization and detachment like that which was often seen where he came from sometimes made even the most terrible things seem relatively painless. Things weren't so much on a personal level. And he himself knew that cruelty was very relative. You could torture someone out of love. And you could be kind to them by shooting them in the face.
'I already told you; don't presume too much though, sugar cane', he said, and he meant it. More than she understood. His self-contempt went that far. But as always, he needed to have a sense of humor about things. And since he had no better way to put it, no sleek and elegant explanation, no clever metaphor... he would use someone else's words instead. It had been ages since he had read the book, but the film was not hard to find on the web at all, where he came from. In a society that mourned the past so much, it was no wonder that the people were so intrigued and enchanted with retro culture.
'There is an idea of a Sebastian Hart; some kind of abstraction', he said seriously, looking solidly at the elf next to him. 'But there is no real me: only an entity, something illusory.' She would most likely not understand the words, but she would have a chance of finding out by asking someone else later, at least.
Looking the little (in comparison) creature over Pal thought back to the rules that the barman have just given him.
"So are ye any good with that thing?" Pal said pointing to the Hammer the Orin had. "If so ye up for a little tussle?"
Laughing that same, strained laugh, the desert a cacophony of rumbling earth and screaming, hissing steam, Giles suddenly stopped, and grit his teeth - not dancing, not anything, simply paused, as though trying to move a great weight, or push a boulder off the side of a hill. Unelegantly, he grunted, and baring too-white teeth, screamed as though in a berserker's rage. The red bubbles in his eyes expanded until they covered the blue entirely, and with a great crack, the blackguard suddenly began moving again.
The earth shook, and exploded. Magma fountained into the air, liquid fire spraying up into the rainstorm with a terrific sound, melting sand into molten glass wherever it flowed. The blackguard pulled fire from it's flickering surface, and bolstering the vortex of flame around him, and still dancing he began to make the liquid fire move. With surprising speed, it began to flow towards the running red, magma pouring out of the rent in the ground like blood from a picked scab.
Giles laughed madly, manically, unceasing and insane.
Having said what he wanted, and obviously having either stumped or confused the elf once again, Stygian kicked back the rest of his drink and sighed. Looking around, he witnessed no sign of Boog or a meal, and only weird but unremarkable people and things going on.
I suppose I shall simply have to eat something off one of the patrons then, he thought, with clear sarcasm.
That will get his attention... 'The fact remains that I am a monster', the man said harshly, not looking anywhere in particular outside through the windows. 'And that's a little hard to get over.' Even as he spoke those words, he wondered whether if he should tell the elf that she could poke about the subject if she wanted to, just so he could see whether if that was what kept her thoughts occupied and the conversation mildly uncomfortable.
- -
Backing off from the jackal, the machine turned her head to look at the bar as the surroundings of the factory dissolved around them, and they found themselves in the battle circle outside once again. When she had seen whatever it was that she had turned to see, she shook her head lightly, and turned on the spot, walking over to pick up the stiff shape of her arm off the ground a bit away. Straightening a little uncomfortably, she looked over at the jackal silently, and then began walking over toward the entrance while casting a glance over at the battle between Dani and Giles which had, as one could have expected, apparently turned catastrophic.
'
:anyway, thanks for the fight', was all she said. While not obviously upset, it was clear enough that Keaton didn't want much else from the machine. So the latter just walked over and inside, leaving the door open for the jackal.
At first, Sylvie was, for lack of a better word, stumped for a reply. She'd never seen the film he'd referred to, but that was of little matter. It was the meaning of the sentence that she couldn't get. Asking about it somehow would have felt superfluous. In a dimension where a person could sit in a hypothetical bar and still get satisfactory drinks, it wouldn't be surprising that some people didn't really exist. But she was pretty sure that that wasn't what he'd meant. He meant that whoever she was talking to right now wasn't the real him. But is the being I fought really him, either?
His next statement had a bit of an edge to it, and she was briefly concerned over whether it was okay to ask anything about this or not. He had said not to talk about the fight; she was determined to keep at least that part of her promise, even if she'd messed up on the other part earlier. She wisely chose not to look outside at the fights, keeping her eyes fixed on the man beside her.
"Monsters have much less self-control, and usually don't care enough to regret their actions," she said, choosing her words carefully and trying to avoid going back to the previous topic. "And it would be hard to live normally if this wasn't the real you, wouldn't it?"
---
How could I have been so stupid?
It wasn't the first time a Red had thought this, but Dani correctly guessed that she'd be the slowest of her race to move on from this screw-up. She was sprinting for her life from magma being controlled by her no-question-about-it insane opponent, trying not to drop her weapon in panic, and the only way she could save herself was to use a form of magic that she'd just learned how to use and that was, for even those inborn with it, unreliable. Even for her, this had been poor judgment. The hiss of steam the molten earth pursuing her from the storm above it did little to help her think clearly, but clear thinking didn't usually happen in battles - particularly such disastrous (no pun intended) ones as this one.
The magma flowed ever closer to her, and she knew this was her last resort. Desperate and praying to whatever god would listen that the results of her next action would be good, she shifted her arms and cracked the knuckles of her left hand.
Both of them felt the wind shift suddenly and pick up speed, even though Dani didn't stop running. She had a hunch as to what she'd just done, but just to confirm it, she glanced up at the storm clouds. Sure enough, they were now moving very quickly over the dark-greenish sky. Okay, fighting natural disasters with natural disasters. Now to figure out if this is really good, or really bad...
Stygian almost responded harshly to the girl's insistence. Was she going to keep on denying, until he was forced to reveal even the more unpleasant...?
He cut his own thoughts off, and stifled a smirk. Clever girl. More probably than not, that was what she was doing. He didn't think that she could be quite so naive as to make the other alternative really believable. And either way, he had almost grown tired of his self-demeaning. He was almost starting to sound as if he felt sorry for himself, Hell forbid. He at last let that smirk slip, and looked at the elf.
'Please. The more vicious and the more evil, the more likely someone also knows how to mask that personality, to make it easier for them to get away with their deeds', he said, a bit bluntly, looking back over at Sylvie. 'The most horrible people can smile earnestly at you while longing to rip your heart out. Speaking of which, Boog!' he then said suddenly. 'Where are you and my dinner, you oxymoronic string of presumptions?!'
Ominous and dark, the tornado began to twist in the green-grey sky, the wind around both combatants picking up rapidly to a gale. Raindrops pounded like small, hard pellets instead of water, and the winds seemed to be working, blowing Giles's conflagration back and distorting it, like a candle in a high wind. The fire parting in the wind like a waterfall through a sheet of paper, for the first time in the fight the blackguard wasn't surrounded by burning flames, although the unobstructed sight of him inspired no confidence.
The ground around him, despite being soaked, way a mass of mashed and melted glass, and contrary to the blackgaurd's earlier wild leaping and dancing, he simply stood in place and stomped in time with some unseen beat, one hand raised carefully in front of him and the other held softly as his side. Heat rose from him in waves with every stomp, scattering sand away from him, but more than these things, the first thing one saw was his face. His too-wide, too-white smile, and his eyes as red as hellfire, and his expression of utter, absolute, gleeful insanity. As berserk and uncontrolled as a burning house - a burning town, a burning city, of regions consumed in flames. The death of all things through fire was in those eyes.
Low, chuckling, building in force, the blackguard laughed to himself, and spread his hands wide, hands grasping something unseen as he continued to stomp. Lava flowed up from the ground in torrents, and some of the thick, vicious liquid rippling just a bit in the wind. The blackguard stared at Dani's fleeing form, and if he could, he'd have grinned wider.
"Oh Red!" he yelled over the din of wind and fire, "Tell me, my little playmate, my cinder!" his hands burst with sparks, spreading out on the wind like bright, burning chaff, or dust. "What happens when you fan the flames?"
"They GROW." he said, and once again, the blackguard was smothered in fire. Drawing heat and fire from the lava erupting from the ground, and using the tornado like a massive bellows, the blackguard began to conjure yet more fire - trying to make a bonfire in a tornado would have been foolishness itself, but instead, like massive wisps of flame, the sparks were carried circuitously by the raging winds.
And the lava bubbling from the ground began to shift, flowing towards where the burgeoning tornado would touch down...
"Decorum, Styggy," Said a voice over his shoulder, which immediately started coming from over the other shoulder when he looked around, "And you know that's a silly question. The very nature of existence and perception, coupled with the concept of 'where,' makes it nigh-impossible to really claim one knows where anything is at all. The senses are, while trustworthy, limited in scope. In addition, the very nature of my own existence makes any assessment thereof a matter of either using more, less, or flat-out different sets of dimensions to work with. In short, I cant honestly say I have any idea where I am if going by your definition of 'where.'" Boog finally leaned forward into view, usual grin in place as he set out the meal. "Your dinner's right here though, mebbe with some food in ya you'll stop victimizing the poor girl. Sylvie, anything you wanted? On the house for keeping The Laws Of Biology vs. Science Exhibit A here from making trouble."
--
Richard smelled burning meat. To a man that usually smelled of formaldehyde, this was BAD. He twisted suddenly and attempted to throw Risky off of him; he needed distance and needed it NOW.
'Prudence, Boog', was the man's immediate reply, followed by a rather scathing look in the thought entity's apparent direction. It was followed by a curious... twinge of discomfort, and a hint of something like a thought of... tea? 'And you know me. I mean well when I make it hard for someone...'
The smell that wafted up into his nose kept Stygian from making any further comments. And the sight of the heart, decoratively laid out on a white platter in its own blood and surrounded tastefully by pinches of berries and garnishing, made him forget all about theoretical spaces and entities and quarreling and screwing up conversations with oddly attractive plants. A hand, its nails slightly dark and clawlike, went out to caress the surface of the still warm organ, before the man gently grasped it, put it to his mouth, and slowly took a long bite out of it.
He enjoyed the taste for quite a while. And from the way he closed his eyes and hummed slightly, quite a lot as well. Yet when the wonderful sensation inevitably ebbed out, Stygian couldn't help but focus his attention again. And incidentally, the first thing that he noticed, was the fight between Dani and Giles, which had obviously gone quite awry.
'Your friend... seems...' he said, distraughtly, licking his lips free of the last of the sweet blood. He was conflicted. On one hand, it was just another Circle fight, and Dani hadn't made the best impression on him. But on the other, what Boog had mentioned of the mortality rate earlier was true, and the blackguard had proven a real irritation in his eyes. At the very least he felt compelled to do something to bring the risk to attention, and perhaps prevent a future mishap.
'I don't suppose there's any way that we could... hmf...' he said, then scowled. 'That has to stop.'
Huh. I was wrong. This is actually a bit more uncomfortable than if he'd ordered a salad.
Sylvie ignored her slight unease and smiled warmly at the Boogeyman. "I'm good, thanks," she told him, finishing up the dregs of her juice and thinking. So far, Stygian had learned about half of the important things about her, and she'd learned almost nothing about him. Her earlier attempt hadn't shown much success; he'd caught her. From what little she had gathered, he really hated talking about himself, and probably hated himself, period. She was also stuck on whether or not he was trying to connect with her, or pushing her away for her own safety.
As soon as Stygian's apparent bliss was finished, he pointed out the bedlam going on in Dani and Giles's arena. Not wanting anyone to mistake her fear for lack of concern about her friend, the Green forced herself to glance outside for a millisecond before wincing and looking away. "I think she'll be okay," she said, a tad nervous but pretty confident. "Dani's reckless, but she's not stupid. The only reason she really took a fight like that when she saw what he could do was so she wouldn't look like a coward. She'll quit once she realizes she can't win."
---
Dani mentally reprimanded herself as Giles used her cyclone to his advantage, turning it into yet another fiery whirlwind. She'd seen his image briefly when the tornado had parted his flames (her resisting the temptation to sing "Candle in the Wind"), and she knew. There was no way in hell she was ging to win this fight. Her knuckles had all been cracked to their limit, her legs and arm were badly burned, the rain was coming down so hard she was getting bruises, and Giles looked like a lethal combination of every arsonist she'd ever put away - the difference being that instead of the gleam of embers constantly lighting his eyes, they'd turned to an actual blood-red.
It wasn't just a fight anymore. He really wanted to kill her.
And as the lava flowed away from its pursuit of Dani, towards the funnel-end of the tornado, Dani went through every possible thing she could do. She couldn't try chaos magic again; her hands ached enough to tell her that. She couldn't get close to the blackguard without dying a painful, burning death, or getting hurt so badly she'd become a bigger pyrophobe than Sylvie. As much as she hated to admit it, she was going to die if she kept this up.
She took in a deep breath, and shouted over the flames, "I GIVE UP! THE FIGHT'S OVE-"
Before she could finish, a wave of blackness overcame her, and she dropped her glaive. "Oh, sonuva..." was all she managed to get out before she collapsed into the muddy sand, sound asleep.
Shooting a look sideways to Sylvie, Stygian noted a bit of anxiety and unease. Not apparent such; the girl was masking it fairly well. But that quick look she'd given when she looked at the circle, the slightly curled together posture that hinted at protectiveness, what she had just said... No doubt. She was uncomfortable. He couldn't tell just how much, but...
'Well, you could argue that recklessness is a kind of stupidity, but...' Stygian began, then turned his gaze fully to the elf. 'Well, I don't think you're telling me what you're really thinking.' He smiled at her, a little slyly. 'She took that fight to leave us alone, didn't she? Out of a feeling of awkwardness... or obligation to you, perhaps?'
The man didn't get further in his reasoning, before his eyes shifted again, as he caught the latest thing happening in the circle. Dani screamed out, something that was barely audible from where they were sitting, much less interpretable because of the roar of flames. And then, she keeled over, apparently fast asleep once again. Stygian blinked, and then frowned. That was a fortunate turn of events. Or it could be, if Giles didn't decide that he would like to see what Dani looked like at the end of his spear. He didn't so much as blink however, when Sahlena walked in alone and seated herself at the same table as before, leaning back in her chair with her arm over her knees and sighing.
Sylvie's face flushed the slightest bit yet again. The idea that Dani had taken the fight for ... considerate reasons hadn't crossed her mind - though thinking about it, it made perfect sense. The Red had seemed genuinely sorry, at least towards the elf, about her actions. And the way she'd watched Stygian taking with Sylvie, it was clearly possible that she felt like a third wheel.
Sylvie didn't have time to think further about that, though, as Dani shouted something incomprehensible at Giles and then fell over. Oh Gods, not again... Sylvie thought, worried and exasperated at the same time. "Always at the worst time possible... at least for her," she said under her breath, the second part quieter than the first. Even if it was true, it was rude to say so. Resting her elbow on the bar and propping her chin up with one hand, she glanced once at the re-entering Sahlena before turning her eyes back to the fight outside.
...Keaton:Now in a stable position on her feet, Keaton, with a sense of drunken unfocused lack of grace to her features and her eyes faintly glazed over with pain, watched Sahlena depart. Frowning despondently, Keaton splayed her fingers and raked them through the aerodynamically styled locks of her hair, sweeping them back into a satisfactory tangle. Simultaneously, the tips of each individual strand of hair started to corrode an insidiously atramentous shade as they crept into her scalp, shrinking and reshaping considerably until Keaton's hair was restyled altogether. In the end, her once shoulder-length hair was cropped to a boyish bird's nest of windswept dirty blonde.
At least she still had the focus to handle that complicated aspect of metamorphosis. Keaton sighed, lingered on the battlefield a little longer to massage her shoulder and brace herself against the still-persistent pain in her shoulder-blades, and then returned to the bar. From where she stood at the door she could already see Sahlena occupying a seat next to the blond human. Not far from there was her vacant booth. Feeling slightly ashamed of herself, Keaton shuffled inconspicuously over to her booth and slid onto the leather seat, leaning Catastrophe against the seat.
---
...Piix:At Paladin's offer, Piix paused contemplatively, pressing a slender digit thoughtfully to her lower lip. Well, it
had been a while since she accepted a battle. The last one against Giles was pretty catastrophic, but surely Paladin wouldn't be as...
complicated, she supposed. After a moment of consideration, she finally forced a sincere-looking smirk on her face and nodded. "Eh, why not? C'mon. We'll fight. I'll even let ya choose th' battlefield."
---
...Dekuyaketh:Moments after Piix agreed to Pal's suggestion, the bar door swung open one more time. Dekuyaketh edged his way inside the bar, Laertes's incapacitated form draped over his uninjured shoulder like a sack of potatoes. His enormous, chitinous tail was curled in on itself, cradling the shaft of Laertes's scythe, and the tattered remains of Dekuyaketh's sleeve was tied into a knot to secure the grotesque stump underneath it. Without bothering to look at anyone, Dekuyaketh proceeded past the bar and followed the directions into the infirmary, which, fortunately, wasn't too far away. He supposed that he should have considered himself lucky, but an establishment such as the Honor Circle would obviously have facilities intended for medical purposes. Clients were probably getting injured every day.
Once inside the infirmary, Dekuyaketh swung his mechanical arm around, and deposited Laertes onto a vacant bed. Then, he dropped into one purposefully located as far away from the priest as possible, rustling the formerly-immaculate, whitewashed sheets.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Surprised at being flung aside, Risky tumbled across the sand to land on her side facing away from Richard. Pausing for a second to blink sand from her eyes, she turned and stood to face him, wincing slightly.
"You're right, it wasn't fair, I give," she said, raising her hands slightly.
Following Sylvie's gaze, Stygian sat silent for a few seconds, then put down a couple of bills on the bartop, and finished the last of his meal, popping it into his mouth and licking off his fingers. Swallowing the piece of heart down slowly, he then looked back to Boog.
'Hey, fighting is prohibited in here, isn't it?' he asked the thought entity. 'So I don't suppose I can smack him around a bit if he does something... dishonorable?' Noticing Sylvie's concerned look, he then leaned in over her shoulder, speaking low into her ear. 'Don't worry. She chose it. You don't owe her an apology.'
Swirling a thick, stormcloud green and laced with fire and flames twisted through the air by the burgeoning tornado, to all but a local, the desert arena looked like hell. The lurid red glow of the molten rock, and the maniacal laughter of Giles didn't seem to dispel the illusion either, and for just a moment it seemed like everything was about to explode in a grand conflagration.
Giles heard Dani's voice over the wind and fire, and for a moment everything paused - the fire, magma, and even the laughter stopped, leaving only the blowing wind and pattering rain to break the silence. And then, almost instantly, the fires shrank. The lava stopped, and instead of engulfing the Red where she lay, went back.
The fires simply died, revealing a grinning, blue-eyed Giles standing atop a rapidly dwindling mound of sand. Now that the fight was over, everything seemed to be melting from out of the arena, including the tornado above them and the sand and magma beneath them. The distances were reduced too, until Giles simply had to bend over to pick up his spear in one hand, and grab Dani's collar by the other. The fabric gave a hiss as his iron gauntleted hand closed on it.
"Sweet lord almighty, but I haven't had that much fun in a long time." he said, grinning at the unconscious Dani. "Sun of a bitch, but you're tenacious, you know that?" he smiled. "Almost makes me wish we could have kept going. Throwing fucking hills and tornadoes at me, but hell..."
He dragged the unconcious red behind him, intent on carrying her back to the infirmary. He stepped inside, and caught the man's gaze, and paused. He narrowed his eyes, and spat on the floot, the spittle sizzling just a bit as it boiled off the woot.
"Th'hell are you looking at, asshole? Fuckin' vampire or some shit..." he muttered to himself, and grabbing Dani's collar again began to drag her inside.
Sylvie shuddered a little when Stygian spoke into her ear. She wasn't used to people getting close to her like that, even those who knew her well. Not wanting Stygian to think she was intimidated, she gave him a small smile and a quiet thank-you.
The Green watched with very detached interest as the Maine Coon from earlier came back in with the jackal draped over his shoulder. After a moment, she turned her eyes back to the outside. As if to counteract her distrust of the blackguard, Dani's Circle shrank from the terrifying inferno it had been to just what it was - a circle outside, containing one unconscious prison guard and one pleased-looking pyromancer.
The only time she tensed outwardly was when Giles walked into the tavern, dragging Dani behind him and glaring at Stygian. She examined Dani with her eyes, noting the burns on her arm and legs, the scorched hairs at the end of her still-long ponytail, and the little nicks and bruises all over her body.
The elf moved to stand. "Maybe I should take her," she said, sounding a little uncertain. Even if he hadn't tried anything dishonest, she found it hard to trust someone who so enjoyed what she feared the most.
Stygian's eye twitched near-imperceptibly, and he turned his gaze to the blackguard, holding it for a couple of seconds. Then, he turned to Sylvie with an apologetic nod. 'Excuse me', he said, calmly getting up, taking his coat and walking over to the huge knight.
It was a rather tensing sight. Stygian, who was spot on six feet and quite large in himself was dwarfed by the mass of Giles' bulk and armor. Yet the way he stood, and his pitch-eyed scowl, made him seem at least fearsome enough to match the blackguard.
'Your mother was a hamster', the man said, causing the blackguard to stop and look in confusion. 'And your father smelled of... well, judging from you, I think we can all tell just what.' Eyes narrowing, he stepped close, nearing Giles' face. 'Drop the girl...'
The pyromancer clearly heard Sylvie's comment, and remembered her reactions to his alcohol-fueled displays earlier - the girl was a pyrophobic, and he might understand why she would be a little put-off by the blackguard's presence, even around her friend. He was about to let go of Dani when Styg stood, and placed himself only a few inches from Giles's face.
Giles didn't know what the man was trying to do, but he couldn't help it if he was stupid. The blackguard wasn't someone who intimidated easily, and didn't back away an inch - and his hand didn't stray from Dani's collar.
"Why don't you shove it up your ass." he replied, and then spat in his face.
There was a fizzing sound as the hot spit hit his face. Stygian blinked once, twitched, and his eyes widened. The next moment, his left leg twisted out in a black-clothed blur. A quick snap rocked Giles' hold on Dani. And then a fraction of a second later, his sole stamped down right on the man's chestplate, his leg raised at a not unimpressive angle. There was a metallic pang.
Shattered glass sprayed, and pieces of wood shot through the air, a hole now where the window and a piece of the wall of the bar had been, Giles' form tumbling out onto the paved street outside. Standing still in the same place, watching the other man's armored form through the hole with a look of contempt, Stygian slowly lowered his leg, put a hand to his face and wiped the spittle off, and then looked at the Boogeyman.
'He's not inside now', he said, bitterly calmly, turned, and walked over and out through the door.
Cog's eyes nearly popped out of his head, and he gave one sunglasses-covered look at the man, and another at Giles's splayed body outside, and set his drink down. This was going to be something to watch.
* * *
It wouldn't seem like a man as big as Giles's was, or someone who wore as much armor as he did, would be very spry at all. For someone whose fighting style depended so much on movement, however, Giles's was adept at turning a fall into a roll, and at gaining his feet quickly. He hit the ground with an audible thump, and just a moment later was rolling to his feet.
He stood and turned, his face twisted in a snarl. There was no amiability or mirth in it, and he gestured at the man with one hand, and stomped with one foot. Fire billowed up and around him, spreading outwards and up. His too-blue eyes were murderous.
"Come on then, you bastard. I swear to God, I'll burn your corpse and drink your ashes." he said.
He left it at that, and almost reluctantly he turned, walking towards the open circle, the one in front of the tavern.
Paladin raised an eyebrow "Thats rather generous of ye Thanks, so any restrictions on the fight? I mean I have some ranged weaponry on me and ye don't seem to. As for an environment I prefer a nice clean ring, it means less distractions..."
...Keaton:In her depression, Keaton didn't realize the confrontation between Stygian and Giles until she heard the impact of Stygian's foot against Giles's chestplate. A resounding ring reverberated through the air, instantly attracting Keaton's attention to the temporarily-incapacitated blackguard, in the ambiguous moments before he was hefted and flung toward the window over her booth. Keaton shrieked in surprise and dropped beneath her table, swiping up Catastrophe and quickly taking shelter underneath the table's surface. As a precautionary move, some of the darkness around her feet boiled and swept over her head like an umbrella, further absorbing any vibrating blows rocking through the foundation of that portion of the bar as Giles, almost like an enormous, armored projectile, came crashing through the window in a magnificent spray of glass and splintered wood. Chunks of glass peppered the surface of the table, bouncing helter-skelter, a sizable, mangled shred of window framing following suit. Over the commotion, Keaton heard the yellow rat who was talking with Paladin exclaim something in a foreign language.
Keaton did not move until she was certain the deluge was over. When Giles had ceased his bellowing and had stormed away, Keaton finally slipped out of the table, unraveling her defenses. She looked very stunned, but unscathed, although her table was covered in a glistening blanket of glass shards and the occasional piece of wood or metal. Keaton unconsciously rested her gauntlet-clad hand on the table, still staring, in profound shock, at Stygian.
---
...Piix:Piix didn't hear what Paladin said. Not immediately, at least. She was too busy cursing uproariously in her native language, an archaic succession of clicks, chatters, animalistic noises, and incomprehensible words, as Giles was forcibly ejected from the bar. Fortunately, her blackguard companion was unharmed (physically), but he was infuriated. Plus, Piix was concerned for her friend, even if he
did deserve what he had been administered. As he stormed away, Piix cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "Don't worry, Giles! I'll get y' th' bes' attorney on m' planet!" she reassured him.
Law was such a foul profession on Piix's home planet, especially when the primary source of income was through space privateering and other unscrupulous activities mostly outlawed on other worlds. At least lawyers were consistently in business and had plenty of experience defending obviously guilty cases, at least when the Oriaendi government didn't interfere and bribe all parties involved. Still on edge, Piix turned back to Paladin, her ears leveled slightly. She chuckled nervously.
"Y'r right, I don' have much ranged weaponry," Piix admitted. "But I c'n manage."
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Snorting, Stygian watched the blackguard turn and pace away. He certainly didn't have a way with words. But then again, it was pretty apparent from the man's outfit and gear that he wasn't precisely from a highly developed culture... Though he was evidently powerful. One had to give him that.
Walking down after the man, Stygian began planning out the fight, going over what he knew in his thoughts. The man could conjure considerable amounts of heat, and didn't seem to be affected by it personally at all. Which was bad, considering that his own resistance to flame wasn't nearly as good as that to other things. Potentially, ambient heat also added to the pyromancer's power, as seen by his choice of battlefield earlier. He seemed to do best out in the open... and if that strange spinning and dancing was anything to go by, he had to move to actually activate that power.
Suppressing a grin, the dark-eyed man stepped into the circle after Giles. He'd nailed down one weakness, at least. And he wouldn't be pulling any punches now...
Sylvie was about to sigh in relief and get Dani when suddenly, Stygian rose, politely apologized to her, and confronted Giles. She couldn't figure out why until he spoke; apparently, he was enraged about the less-than-dignified transport method Giles was using for Dani. While she agreed that seeing the redhead get dragged in like a hunted deer was aggravating, she couldn't why it bothered Stygian so much. He didn't even like Dani, from what she'd seen of the two. Well, courtesy seems to be important to him. That must be the reason.
While she was making an odd connection between Stygian and Hannibal Lecter, her thoughts were interrupted by the patrons drawing in a collective breath. She looked up just in time to see the blond kick Dani out of Giles's grip, and kick the blackguard through the wall and out to the circles. She clapped a hand over her mouth in shock and nearly jumped back from the spraying glass before her thoughts changed again. Oh shit - Dani!
---
Had she been awake, Dani would probably have thanked Stygian for his efforts. Unfortunately, she wasn't, and dropping an unconscious person on their head is never a good idea. The bob of her ponytail saved her from an outright concussion, but she was still jolted awake. "Ow... what the hell...?" the Red growled quietly through her teeth, before Sylvie rushed to her side. "Syl... did the fight end? I gave up, right?"
"Yeah, you did," the Green said breathlessly. "Then you fell asleep."
"Yup, I remember... so when di-" At that point, the guard noticed the missing wall and window. And the two very pissed-off men standing outside, looking ready to kill each other.
"...What the flying fuck is going on?" she queried, trying to push herself up on her arms for a better view - and being reminded painfully by her skin that she'd been burned.
"...I'm still trying to figure that out," Sylvie answered. When her friend hissed in pain, she remembered why Dani was inside now. "You can find out why after you've healed, though. Where's the infirmary?" she spoke up, directing the question at Boog.
Giles reached a hand over his shoulder and grabbed the haft of his spear, drawing it from its metal pocket and holding the thing like a staff. Charred blood slid down the iron haft like grease, and ran through the blackguard's gauntleted fingers before pattering on the ground. He didn't look back at the blond haired man, but simply crossed the thin, etched line into the honor circle.
The circle was silent until he reached the other side. He stopped abruptly, raising the spear over his head, and slammed it point-first into the ground. It sunk through the smooth stone like butter, and cracks of glowing char-red quickly spiderwebbed outwards, covering the entire field in a matter of moments. The blackguard turned, and ripped the spear out from the ground, and then slammed the butt into the concrete. It hit the ground like a hammer on glass, and the stones themselves simply shattered and collapsed - several randomly spaced spires of rock remained untouched, although Giles himself simply dropped.
Rocks and gravel fell quickly, and with a massive heat wave blossoming out from the newfound hole in the ground, splashed thickly into a true lake of fire. The circle itself looked as though someone had simply dug a hole through it and into the ground, and filled it with liquid rock. Lurid red light spilled out from the bowl of lava, and the blackguard himself simply splashed into it, untouched by the heat. He took a few steps backwards, climbing atop a smaller platform of rock.
He said nothing, but simply kept his spear horizontal, and waited for the man to join him in his hell.
Exhaling slowly, watching from right at the edge of the Circle, Stygian's frown deepened as he watched the battleground unfold. Not good, he thought. It gave Giles every advantage and him virtually none. Then again, the blackguard had clearly used some of his own power to influence the battlefield. Or, the both had strengthened each other. And there was nothing to tell that Stygian couldn't do the same...
His coat fluttering a bit in a breeze that wasn't there, Stygian stepped forward, and dropped. Falling straight, that cloth billowed out around him as he fell fast, but landed suspiciously easily and gently. Standing up, he put his hands in his coat pockets, and stood up, turned a bit to the side from Giles and scowling at the other man behind his blond bangs. The shadows played around him as the light from the fires around rose and fell, and the clouded sky seen through the crack above rolled by, obscuring the sunlight.
'Before we begin, I just want to state this...' Stygian began, still looking straight at Giles. 'You're an asshole. And you need to learn not to let others suffer that for no reason'. He held the man's gaze, very pointedly meeting the blackguard's fearsome heat with a dark chill that made the very shadows behind and around him seem to deepen. 'That will be the terms of this fight. The first to give in, loses. And he who does will know just who to back down to later...' His coat and hair flowed again, and not in the updraft of the fiery lake beneath them...
- -
'
:crap. this is not good'. The comment from the machine-woman was set against the backdrop of small clinking and mechanic sounds, as she reattached and began working on her damaged arm. She gave Sylvie and Dani a glance, red lenses gleaming, before looking back outside through the hole in the wall, and then shook her head. Continuing to busy herself with self-repairs.
Giles said nothing for a moment, his face a blank wall of seriousness. The moment stretched out even longer, until finally the blackguard's face cracked in a too-white smile. The man snerked, laughter escaping through his teeth as he tried to keep himself composed, until he finally lost it and his laughter echoed through the earthen bowl. He leaned back just slightly, as far as his armor would allow, and tilting his head looked at the man in front of him with insane eyes, equals parts murder and mirth.
"I'm an asshole?" he said, his eyebrows raised. "By the gods, there's the pot and the kettle. But ah won't deny it." his mouth twisted in a smile. "I'm an asshole, yeah. But let's tell the truth, shall we?" some of the mirth faded from his eyes. "Ye just wanted to impress your girlfriend by showin' her just how big yer dick was by standin' up to the big, bad pyromancer. Fair enough, but then you insult me too?"
He spat. "Fuck you. Even bad men love their mommas, asshole. I won't be pissed on by nobody, and most certainly not by a long-haired prettyboy like you."
As if in response to the darkness, the blackguard's eyes flared, and fire and hell danced within them. "You should have stayed and played with your little green ladyfriend, Mr. Knight in Shinin' Armor. You're gonna need a big fuckin' stick to beat any kinda sense into me." he grinned again, suddenly crossing both arms. His spear blazed like a torch, and blood poured from it. "I'll burn you to ashes, and I'll dance on your bones." he said with some finality, and without saying anything more, spread his arms dramatically.
The surface of the magma rippled, and as Giles moved, fire poured up from the liquid rock to surround him, engulfing him entirely - and continued to do so, the Blackguard simply drawing heat out from the lava beneath him and using it to fuel his flames. As the flames began to pile up, he gestured with one hand, and the magma responded - as though a massive rock had been dropped into the viscous fire, it splashed up around the blond haired man, and from all directions a wave of magma descended upon him.
Stygian muttered. He had expected perhaps some comments or remarks on the rules he had demanded, and some more of that irritating jargon. Not for Giles to attack quite this quickly though. Evidently the ambient heat added to the man's power very much. His gaze shifting as he caught Giles' movement, a bead of sweat already forming on his brow, he caught the movement of the magma, and tensed. No blocking this man's attacks. Coat fluttering, he looked up, as the lava spilled inward...
The gouts of magma splashed together in a spraying and sputtering fountain, drowning the plateau underneath the blond man in scorching hot rock and eating chunks out of it. Left was only a steaming pile of slag.
'To put it in your way', the low, cold voice of Stygian came from just left of Giles, not many meters away, 'you talk a shitload of trash'. Placed out of the dim light trickling through the crack above, and only barely illuminated by the fiery light as it reflected off the cavern side, the man bathed in murky shade, his coat seeming to blend with the shadows behind and around him. The amber light receded as he took a few steps forward toward the blackguard, swallowed up as the shadows seemed to deepen, twisting all the more in that rippling, fiery illumination. 'We were having a conversation. And whatever my intents or hers, they are none of your business. Unless', he said, and narrowed his gleaming pitch eyes, 'you're telling me that you would rather be approaching her yourself. In which case you're even more of a bother.'
The man stopped at around the edge of the cliff he was standing on, hands resting at his sides, his chill gaze directed down at Giles and the umber light tinging his pallid face an orange tone.
Giles cracked another smile when he heard the man's voice call out to him from the side of the arena, and with fluid grace he turned to face him. The fires around him were growing at a phenomenal rate, the pyromancer using the magma like a giant battery of thermal energy. They had already engulfed the platform on which he stood, the flames five times as tall as he was, and wider than two spearlengths stretched together. His biggest weakness, the time it took for him to get going, seemed to have been negated by the landscape around him. He laughed mockingly.
"I'm telling you your an arrogant fuck, and you'll get what's coming." he grinned madly. "Nice trick. How long until this entire bowl is one giant bonfire? What then, prettyboy?"
He laughed again. "Better hurry! Shoot me, quick! Use your shadows, your tentacles, your heart of darkness! Hurry up and show me your strength!" the core of the flames turned blue, the bonfire twisting into a funnel. The wind picked up, and the ambient heat increased exponentially. The expression on the blackguard's face was clearly insane. "Can you even fight? Are there shadows enough in my hell? Better Hurry! Before it's too late, prettyboy!" his laughter could be heard all the way back at the tavern, the flames rising and twisting higher and brighter. "Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!"
The arena exploded, sheets of fire raining down on the man, a massive conflagration that seemed to simply encompass the man in an orb of flames before rushing in to collapse upon him.
The brief second that Stygian's face was still in view to Giles, unobscured by the fierce dancing of the flames, the blackguard caught how the man's eyes widened as if in shock. Then, the flames bombarded him from all directions. The crushing, disintegrating flare of the heat fell inward, with no escape in sight, swallowing him up.
The burst of... something, colder than air, more oily than smoke, nearly knocked Giles off his feet, and sent cascades of cinder and dust up as it drove the atmosphere of the cavern before it, before even the scattered flames were snuffed out, smoky chill creeping out and crackling against the fire. The blackguard saw a flicker of a pallid outline, an eyeblink's glimpse of a spectral figure of some sort, before the blackness around it slammed in like a shockwave, and Stygian burst forward against him, stopping just short of the other man. His face was tinged with a cold irritation.
'You're in touch with your bloodlust. I like that', he said, deceptively calmly. 'But don't fool yourself.' A hint of a green gleam lighting up in his eyes, the man's gaze took on a vicious, amused streak. 'You think you know bad? Don't pretend. You're run of the mill.'
Stygian's hand came up in a vicious sideways swipe, as the air drew together again, something black ripping streaks through it as it drew inward, a force like a speeding truck aimed at the blackguard's chest plate.
Giles didn't have time to sent back a snappy retort, the man's shadow-imbued hand snapping out at him quickly. The blackguard didn't have to be reminded of the man's prodigious strength, and he brought one black-armored arm up quickly. With his other hand, however, he quickly flipped the red-hot spear in his hands, and twisting his body so Stygian would have that much farther to reach, stabbed at him. He didn't expect not to dodge the blow, but he was perfectly fine with an exchange of fire.
The man's fist hit him like a truck, and to the amazement of those watching lifted the pyromancer clear off the ground, making him turn in the air and land in the bubbling magma below with a splash.
The black-armored man sank for a moment before somehow bobbing to the surface. He rolled over and slowly got to his feet, still grinning madly.
"Yeees...." he laughed, standing on the surface of the magma. "I thought a' much, so I did." he snickered to himself. "Ah, but it's no important, is it? Ye may be bad, an' I may be just an asshole. But yer also an idiot." he said, and whirling his spear over his head launched it at the man. It trailed fire like a comet, and fire rained like napalm from the sky. Beneath his feet, the magma rose again, and splashed up to cover the platform upon which he stood.
The spear's tip nicked Stygian's side. Giles could feel it through the haft, the fraction of a second it took for the man's fist to connect with him, before he was hurled through the air with a sound of tortured metal. Yet Stygian merely glanced down at the wound, ignoring it as it closed up itself, and walked to the edge of the platform, looking down at his opponent with a mixture of amusement and contempt.
Giles sent his spear hurtling for Stygian, and knowing that this was most likely a distraction, as the man's real power seemed to lie in his control of the flames, he twisted and leaped back, well out of the sizzling shaft's way. The folds of his coat extending, an image of shadowy wings formed for an instant as he smoothly floated upward, until he landed equally fluidly on another platform, a bit higher up. Standing straight, he snorted, and glared, that green gleam still visible in his eyes even through the redness of the flames.
'Speak for yourself. You've not really been demonstrating any fantastic qualities of... judgment', Stygian retorted, then grinned slightly. 'I'd ask you to come up here and fight like a man...' He reached out his hand a bit, the darkness thickening to his right side. 'But maybe you've already realized that you can't handle a monster.'
Again, Stygian swept his hand forward, and as the blackness took the scything shape of a wing, there was a flash, and then a rumble. Sharp shards of rocks spattered, and then a groaning, grinding sound filled the cavern. The image of one of the stone pillars grew, as it toppled, its shadow falling over Giles.
"Monsters are killed by men." Giles said to himself, snickering even as the pillar of rock fell. With the shadows around him quickly darkening as the pillar got closer, the pyromancer laughed again, and disappeared under the bulk of the rock as it came splashing down.
The pillar bobbed in the magma, the stench of sulfur and ash thick in the air.
A moment later, Giles resurfaced, slowly walking higher as the magma itself pushed him back to the surface. His grin was nearly feral. "And you are still an arrogant sun-of-a-bitch!" he yelled, his blue eyes still somehow too-bright in the lurid red light, and with one arm he gestured, the fires conjured by his spear sweeping out and towards the black-clothed man. Laughing madly, walking on the surface of the magma, he simply began to dance in the middle of the lake of fire, conjuring his flames in the middle of hell.
The surface of the liquid rock caught fire, a carpet of flames above the magma that spread until it encompassed the entire pool. It grew like wild fire, the blackguard drawing on the heat from the volcano below him to fan the flames yet higher - quickly, they were already as high as the blackguard's waist, and rising.
"Better hurry!"
For a moment, Stygian stopped. The man was adding to the flames, but was he really capable of channeling and generating that high an energy output on his own? It didn't seem quite... He hesitated to say believable, but one had to believe that a person's capabilities were correlated to sheer power. And that power was measurable. Whatever the blackguard was using to fuel his fires, he would run out of eventually. Or, it could be taken from him.
Catching his own reasoning, and elaborating on it, an easy task as he realized what he must do, Stygian smirked. And then, he laughed, a harsh, cold sound eerily audible even through the roar of the flames. It broke off Giles' own laughter, ebbing out as the rumble of the fire seemed to dim to nothing.
'You keep trying to play by your own rules, you fool. You think this is Hell? You think you belong there? You know nothing', he said, stepping forward. 'Man cannot fathom, cannot truly comprehend such things, without them taking root in man itself, poisoning him. And then Hell devours him...' Darkness began swirling around him once again, an unearthly breeze causing his his coat to flutter again, his hair glowing in the breeze as his visage seemed to grow even paler. The sky above, seen through the crack of the cavernous roof, was darker than midnight, and the blackness continued to spread, creeping forth in snaking veins, prying at the reality around them and descending. In the corner of his eye, Giles thought he caught something moving, but the darkness veiled his vision. The chilling feeling of something unseen staring at him filled him up.
'
You stirred my anger,' Stygian hissed from above, his voice twisting and seething, faint but powerful at the same time, coming as if from everywhere around. '
You mocked me. Now...' He grinned. Black fangs flashed in a porcelain face, his white hair flowing slowly, like ghastly fire, his visage twisted into a death mask. '
I shall poison you.'
The first few flickers of green and vicious yellow began tingeing the tips of the flames below, and Giles thought he heard a sound like a breath, as a breeze grasped them, twisting them around and matting them and bringing an acrid, toxic odor to his nose. The shadows twisted at the edges, hissed, turned to smoke, as hideous shapes crept beneath them, driving them on. And above him, Stygian floated, some ghastly light having taken over his form. His coat billowed open, and was no coat. Wings, like sable-black scythes made of fire, stretched out to encompass him, their many tips raking holes in the sky. Spreading his hands, he rose, a smile on his face.
The fires were dying. Green and wicked yellow hues having taken over the formerly pure blues and reds of the flames, the whirling breeze bringing only more suffocating darkness. Giles' eyes swam, and the initial thinness of the air had been replaced with a choking something that burned as much as it chilled. How long had it been since he had felt something actually
burn? The shadows stretched, and he could see that shape, that many-winged thing with a heart of faintly green-tinged white descending toward him. And around that image things... pitch-black, slithering, snarling, clawing
things that he had only ever read about in books and heard told of in stories, moved. Things used by the church to put fear into people. Things that the insane dreamed of at night.
- -
The metallic clinking stopped, and the machine's red lens narrowed slightly, spinning as the red circle narrowed. Having already reduced most of her damage to the inconsequential, Sahlena blinked, a blinder making her red oculus flicker, and turned toward the people at the bar.
'
:eh, i don't want to sound concerned or paranoid here or something, but if someone dies in a Circle, then what?' she asked, looking over at Dani and Sylvie, and then the Boogeyman. '
:because i really think he might /kill him.'
"I think that might be a bit premature." Cog said idly, standing up by the window. "Until he stops moving, anyway. Of course, I dont' know if he could surrender now if he wanted." Cog smiled to himself, shaking his head slightly. A bit of glass crunched under his boots as he shifted his weight.
* * *
Coughing incessantly, with tears blinding his eyes, Giles felt the black sting of oxygen deprivation keenly. He'd never run into somone who could simply suck the oxygen from the air itself, although it wasn't the first time he'd run into the technique. Flushing an area out with a heavier-than-air gas is an effective technique for removing the oxygen from the area, preventing both his fires and eventually Giles himself from functioning. It did make several assumptions about the nature of Giles's power, however.
The blackguard resisted the urge to wheeze, silently snarling at the visage of Stygian descending from the heavens - both palms out, smiling with ebony fangs and ivory skin. Confident, arrogant, dismissive, hiding in shadows - with every poisonous breath the creature took, Giles felt his gut tighten even more. He felt his vision begin to blur, and snarled again - just barely resisting screaming in rage, he conserved the air in his lungs, and in the face of the floating, dark man, and all of his conjured shadows, the blackguard raised one black, armored finger. His eyes were death itself, and they were dotted with red.
The man had made two mistakes.
The man was descending towards him. This was his first mistake - just because the fire itself was out, did not mean that there was no longer any heat. Magma burbled and boiled underneath both combatants feet, and with a surge of magma, a wave of the viscous rock rose quickly, first carrying and then launching the blackguard at the man in a full-body tackle. His armor was as hot as the magma beneath him, and the wave of lava quickly followed behind him, intent on burying them both beneath the liquid rock.
The second mistake was in itself twofold - trying to suck the air out of an enclosed space ment, eventually, he'd be fighting to create a vacuum. By adding poisionous gas, he avoided this, but in some ways, this was his second mistake. You can't flood an esentially infinite area.
The Red Sea parted, all fire the blackguard's to command - like a yawning, hideous maw of ash, smoke and cinder, the magma moving itself to the sides of the arena at the pyromancer's command. The gas, heavier than air, barely began to descend into the yawning portal, a hole that was fast approaching a depth too deep to see - but also, it showed part of the man's second mistake. As the volume in the arena increased, the pressure above his canopy of darkness would increase too, the already poisoned air now becoming rarefied as the arena grew and grew, the hole of lava burrowing down deep to some unseen heart of fire, infinitely far down. With every passing second, the pressure began to increase exponentially, with no end in sight.
Dani glanced up at Sahlena when the android first spoke, before turning to watch the fight between Stygian and Giles, starting to pull herself up. Sylvie alternated her gaze between Sahlena and Dani, helping the Red get to her feet and having conflicting emotions between wanting to watch how Stygian was fighting and fearing the inferno Giles was no doubt conjuring.
When the elf finally did glance outside, prompted by Sahlena's voiced concern, she took in a sharp little breath and her eyes went wide. But only half of her shock was because of the flames and magma. The rest of it was quasi-recognition and astonishment at Stygian's "true" form.
"... So?" said Dani, having noticed her friend's shock.
"...Be more careful about who you fight next time, Twizzler-head," Sylvie replied, still mesmerized. Dani gave a half-exasperated, half-affectionate smile.
"No offense, leaf-face, but you're really not one to judge fight choices if you thought you could take a guy like him," she told the Green. Sylvie didn't answer her; instead, she turned to face Sahlena, mindful that she was still supporting the redhead. Dani probably could stand and walk on her own, but with her legs as burned as they were, that would be pretty painful.
"Why would he kill him?" the elf asked. "I mean, he was being a jerk, but it seems like even someone like Stygian would need a better reason than that."
Dani, meanwhile, looked curiously over at Cog. "You're not worried?" she said, only a little incredulous. The Circle could probably prevent death if necessary, but she doubted that Stygian had bothered to include death avoidance in the rules. And the statistic the Boogeyman had given her earlier did nothing to assuage her doubt. Furthermore, from what she'd seen, the two might be evenly matched. "They could end up killing each other if this gets worse."
Giles' strategies were sound. Had it been a normal fight, or had he been fighting someone else, he might well have fought himself out of his predicament. But weakened and trapped in a surrounding now corrupted, devoured by darkness...
There was a sizzling sound, and the blackguard's whole body shook as he stopped with a slam. He could feel the heat of the conjured lava to his sides, striking out, and stopping short. Blackness twisting around it and covering his luminescent skin, Stygian's palm held the man back, seething and hissing as the fire burned the dark substance continuously. He could stand the pain. But he could not keep up force against that increasing pressure. Giles had the environment on his side, and with the masses of stone and the heat around, he was simply capable of commanding a greater deal of energy and weight to put behind his maneuvers.
'Or, I can leave you breathless, if you'd rather wish that'. Face tainted with both viciousness and contempt, Stygian pushed the man away from him before the heat could fully burn through his protection, and watched Giles from above. Sizzling, the blackguard began falling slowly, singeing his way back down. 'I would enjoy watching you suffer. But you're pressuring me. I really do not like that. Don't worry though. I think this will be agony enough... to teach you not to be such a scum in the future.'
Whatever held Giles aloft gave way, and he began falling. Not before he felt a rush though, and began hearing it, a roaring, screaming sound that signaled the re-entry of air into the cavern. Light and fire flared up again, and a sparkle of hope almost rose for the blackguard. Until the illumination gave sight of what Stygian was doing. A sweep of something black from the lucent figure's hand smashed the breath out of Giles' lungs.
Crushing, groaning sounds from all around accompanied roars and screeches, as the blackness stretched all around impacted the cavern walls. His face now blank, Stygian slowly rose on black wings, even as the rushing rocks fell around him, crashing inward, destroying the sight of the darkened sky, and burying all below.
It was moments after the man threw the man into the yawning pit that the arena simply disintegrated, the blackguard hitting a concrete floor instead of falling into the cavern, bouncing on the hard paved stones once before laying still.
* * *
"I'll be damned." Cog said, raising one eyebrow. "Good thing I didn't have any money down."
Mechangel
The cloaked hunchback had been passively observing all the battles that had happened, but upon seeing the battle between [Giles] and [Stygian] start, moved out of his room again to a doorway outside on the other side of the Inn to get a better look at the battle, so he wouldn't have to look through walls. He had expected the battle had been spectacular, but more than that, he had gathered an invaluable amount of data by the time the Circle arena disintegrated.
[Analysis complete.]
[designation [Giles]: new tag. highly dangerous. if [Honor Circle] battle necessary, handle with extreme caution.]
[designation [Stygian]: new tag. extremely dangerous. do not [Honor Circle] battle under any circumstances.]
The cloaked figure abruptly turned back into the building, the door closing behind him.
For a moment there was darkness. A pallid figure wreathed in black floated over the paved stones outside for a flicker of a second, before the lack of restraints made a black something, both smoky and liquid and solid at the same time, spill out all over the place with wing-like sweeps, slithering and swirling. It only lasted a few seconds, before something like a shockwave seemed to pass through the air. Then the black drew together, compressing and wrapping around itself as it drew inward into a far smaller shape. And then, Stygian merely stood there, hands in the pockets of his coat, the last slivers of shadow slipping into place and settling solid on him. Black eyes turned down, he regarded Giles' crumpled form for a few seconds, looking as if disappointed that the man were not crushed under the rocks, or as if he wanted to kick him. Then, he shook his head, turned, and walked back into the bar. Even if it was likely that the man had broken one or two things, he was not about to help him to the infirmary.
Looking both relieved and sour at the same time, upon entering Stygian didn't say a word, but just walked over and took his seat again. And then he sat, blank-eyed and distant, not even wondering what next, his thoughts as empty as his expression. Suddenly, what little joy he had experienced before had left him.
...Keaton:
After her close shave, Keaton distastefully eyed the glass-covered table and edged away from it, still protectively clutching Catastrophe, as though she was worried another blackguard-turned-projectile would come flying at her. Without any regard to whatever direction she was going in or whoever she could have possibly bumped into, she continued to sidle away from the table, until her hip nudged one of the chairs at Sahlena's table. The chair clattered slightly, nearly making Keaton jump out of her skin, and the momentarily-hypersensitive jackal whirled around so she was staring at Sylvie and Sahlena. The two women were having a conversation, apparently, while surveying the current battle between Stygian and Giles. Keaton assumed that was the topic of their discussion.
One look at the conversing women and Keaton instantly felt slightly awkward, particularly because Sahlena, who had finished repairing her arm, was there. She fidgeted a little, scuffing her heel against the floor. "Hi there," Keaton said to Sylvie, then with a decrease in confidence to Sahlena, "Uh, hi." Keaton glanced over her shoulder and at the window through which they were watching the fight, the intense battle now at its conclusion. In a moment's time, a somber-looking Stygian returned to the bar and seated himself, surprisingly morose despite his win. In fact, he appeared more defeated than victorious. This perturbed Keaton.
"Hey hotshot," Keaton's voice said from behind Stygian. "Why the long face?"
~Keaton the Black Jackal
As the Circle faded, Dani and Sylvie stood still. Each left without an answer from earlier, they'd both turned back to the fight just in time to watch Giles get knocked out and the fight end abruptly, Stygian walking back in and not looking the least bit victorious. The girls were equally confused. One was unsure whether to thank Stygian or not; the other was wondering if Giles was still alive, and remained quite clueless about why the fight had even started.
For a few very awkward moments, neither one said anything. Then finally, Dani tapped Sylvie's shoulder with the arm stretched across the back of the elf's neck, speaking quietly. "Um...infirmary?"
Sylvie blinked and jerked herself back to reality. "Right," she said, her voice also low. She finally located the infirmary door, and began leading Dani steadily towards it. The Green glanced over at Stygian briefly, but Keaton was talking to him already. She'd thank him later. For now, she needed a moment to process what had happened, and Dani needed rest.
Stygian blinked, then turned on the bar stool and looked back at the succubus for a few awkward seconds, before his eyebrows jumped up a notch and he seemed to decide on actually answering her. Snorting, one side of his lips quirked up, and though it was hard to see with his eyes, he gave her muzzle a clear look.
'You're one to talk. What do you want? Curious?' he said, a bit challengingly almost, and then leaned forward, giving her an intentionally insidious and suggestive grin. 'Or are you looking to celebrate? From the way you banged up Sal over there...'
':she lost', the machine interjected, with what could be taken as a pointed glare. Stygian frowned back at her quickly, then shrugged, and turned to Keaton once again. 'Consolation prize then. A drink?' he asked. He passed a slight look Sylvie's and Dani's way. Should he talk to them? He guessed that might be a good thing to do. But then he'd have to shrug off the jackal briefly.
"Well shall we?" Paladin asked as he headed out to one of the empty circles. He was curious about the interesting female's fighting style. He had come across many in his travels even though most fights with a large weapon like his and Piix's, were mostly full effort blows there were some attacks used that could catch people off guard.
Reaching back over his shoulder as he stepped into the ring Paladin pulled Cobalt from its holster.
...Keaton:Keaton scowled slightly at Stygian's remark regarding her muzzle, but said nothing derogatory in retaliation. At Stygian offering her a drink, however, Keaton found that she couldn't deny that. She was probably almost out of the money she culminated purposefully for this place, so as long as the drinks were on him she only found this beneficial. After all, free drinks. Fun. Nestling her hands in her pockets, she leaned back casually and eyed a suddenly-very-fascinating groove in the furthermost wall, then sighed. She grinned in resignation and removed one of her hands from her pockets, lifting it palm-up.
"Yeah, sounds good to me," Keaton said amiably. "You paying? I don't have much cash on me."
---
...Piix:Piix nodded to Paladin, following him outdoors and into one of the vacant circles. She spun Orpiment like a baton in her unoccupied hand, her opposite hand clutching the pendant securing her cloak. Again, she ripped it from the black fabric, and the voluminous cloak was instantaneously absorbed into the golden orb with a spectacular billowing effect. Tossing the sphere upright, it quickly adopted a life of its own and started levitating around Piix's body, quickly orbiting and expanding until it had become the Discus again, and was hovering between her shoulder-blades. Its surface rippled briefly, and three identical orbs pervaded from its gelatinous surface, quickly rotating around Piix's body until they spun back into a casual momentum.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Concerned that offering drinks to another lady might make Sylvie think that he was losing interest in her, Stygian hummed and put his chin in his hand for a second, looking at Keaton. He could just excuse himself... but shocking or confounding the jackal into keeping her distance would serve a purpose as well. Not to mention it would be fun. And he desperately craved distraction right then...
'Oh, I'm sure you can find some way to recompensate me later...' he said, with yet another smirk, getting up and now looking down at the considerably shorter jackal, a situation that made the latter feel as if he were looming over her. With those black eyes, that was either terrifying or simply overwhelming. As soon as he'd gotten up, he took her hand, putting a slightly crumpled bill into it, and then rounded her.
'Excuse me for a bit though...' he said. He began walking away toward the infirmary. The next moment, the jackal felt a sharp, pinching squeeze, perhaps an inch right of her tail. But even as she twisted around to try and catch the man's hands where they shouldn't be, he was straightening his coat with both of them, and didn't seem to have moved quickly at all, nor to have been close enough...
Entering the infirmary silently, Stygian propped himself in the doorframe and looked at the elf and the Red as they moved over to a bed, waiting a bit before he spoke.
'Considering how often that seems to happen, I'm surprised you think it enough to go here', he said, with a bit of a deadpan snarker image. 'And, seeing as you seem to lose as soon as you fall asleep, I'm surprised you're even fighting here at all.' He fixed his eyes on Dani, their deep black colder than his smile.
Sylvie noticed the glance Stygian shot to them, but didn't act on it. She didn't want to interrupt, and although there had been a split-second twinge of jealousy when he was talking with Keaton, she brushed it off. He was being polite; if there was something more to it, she'd find out later.
She walked Dani in and watched her choose a bed and sit, making sure that the Red was all right manipulating her blistered, burned legs. Both women looked up when Stygian spoke; apparently, neither of them had heard him come in.
Dani glowered at his smartass comments, but a half-mischievous, half-sinister smile showed that though she was annoyed, her anger wasn't very deep. And wouldn't be for a while. Just because he had scary eyes didn't mean she could be completely cowed after what she'd discovered a while ago.
"The sleep thing is normal; getting burned isn't," she replied coolly. "And I hunted out fights for the same reason every Red does." Her smirk grew a little. "Thanks to Tempered Steel out there, that reason's been fulfilled. So be careful; I can make a manatee fall on the next person who annoys me." Her expression changed now, becoming a still-mischievous look of mock-scholarly curiosity as her eyes focused on the ceiling and her hand went to her chin. "Or I might cause an earthquake. Hell, I don't know what would happen."
Sylvie gave Dani a surprised look. "Wait a - that rainstorm... that was you?"
Dani gave the elf a wider smile and a nod. "Hell yes, that was me." Her eyes shifted back to Stygian and got a bit serious, the smile fading to a more normal one. "But don't worry. I'm not stupid enough to try and fight someone with your power. That was an impressive fight," she congratulated the man, and meant it. She respected his strength, even if she wasn't sure whether to trust him. "Not quite sure why that happened the way it did, but it almost made me wish I could fight you."
...Keaton:
At Stygian's comment about recompensation, Keaton opened her mouth as if she wanted to spontaneously answer, but no sounds came out in the next moment. She simply gawked for a moment, any noise her vocal chords had the potential to produce evaporating on the spot, after she witnessed Stygian loom imposingly over her, casting his elongated shadow over her person. She stared up at him, her face still locked in that same expression, and accepted the bill he proffered somewhat gingerly, as though she expected for the cash to be impregnated with a vile acid, or for it to metamorphose into a terrible beast in her hands. Fortunately, being a mundane bill, the money did no such thing, but in her distraction, Keaton didn't realize Stygian's imperceptibly fast movements until it was too late.
She yelped loudly and practically jumped out of her skin, staggering forward into the place Stygian used to be standing. Grasping the place she was pinched gingerly, Keaton spun around and watched Stygian disappear into the infirmary, her face pale and eyes owlishly wide.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
The smile on Stygian's face flared up for a second, before he fell into a short, nasty-sounding laugh and grinned at Dani, stepping away from the door and walking closer. At least she was in a good mood, and still feisty. He wasn't sure whether if he approved what seemed to be her nickname for Giles, but...
'Try better than a manatee and you might bother me. But thank you. And it's good to see you have some spirit still', he commented, stopping by the foot of the bed, hands in his pockets. 'I don't think it would be a fair fight, honestly. You, I'd just try and knock out quickly. Unlike Ashtray back there. If he hadn't pressured me...'
Stopping himself, Stygian's eyes flicked imperceptibly toward Sylvie for a moment, and he cleared his throat. He wasn't sure what she'd think of him saying that he'd actually drawn out the fight with Giles in the start, hoping that he'd get to squeeze as much pain out of the man as he could. It was a goal that had failed, unfortunately. But he'd made his point, at least...
'Well, either way... I came here to see if you were alright, to let you see that I'm not such a bad guy after all. And, also...' He bent down, and looked at the Red closely, narrowing his eyes and displaying his fangs in a grin. 'You're welcome.'
- -
There was only a moment's pause before Keaton's reaction was followed by a metallic sound. First, she had trouble identifying it, but as it developed and steadied, she realized that it was a chuckle. Over by her table, the same table that the package Stygian had set out before lay on, the machine woman was pulling the last of herself together, literally, self-repairing components managing a very quick and passable though not entirely thorough mending of the damage that had been dealt to her. Reaching over to look at and examine the scattered components, she passed a glance to Keaton, and the jackal could really feel the smirk that the machine's face was incapable of demonstrating.
'
:hope you're not that surprised', the machine commented, a bitterly humorous note edging into her tone. '
do yourself a favor and don't tangle with him. not unless you plan to follow him around for a while.'
Swinging Cobalt around a few times to loosen up, Pal watched as Piix's shield and orbs went through their startup routine.
"Funky looking gear ye have there." Pal said as he crouched into a fighting pose, his axe drawn back ready to fight. "Ready?"
...Keaton:Keaton cocked her brow at Sahlena, but, again, let her comment slide without any exaggerated or overblown interpretations of her sarcasm. Still gingerly rubbing the offended part of her body which had been mercilessly assaulted by Stygian, she inclined her head toward Sahlena, looking somewhat pensive even in her irritation. Keaton's cheeks were slightly rosy with embarrassment, but it was retreating nicely from her face.
"I didn't mean anything by it," Keaton said to Sahlena as though her reasoning made perfect sense, "I mean, nothing
bad at least. I just wanted to see what was bothering him. He won, so I didn't get why he was upset."
---
...Piix:"Ready," Piix said, nodding affirmatively to Paladin, maintaining a determined air. She readied Orpiment.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Paladin started moving towards the Orin, not directly though his line of advance was slightly of to her right. When he was about halfway between them he suddenly cut towards her left and accelerated into a blur of wolf, armor and axe.
Bringing Edge of Cobalt down at Piix's legs he had the blunt hammer like side of the head leading...
Dani was a little intimidated when Stygian walked over and leaned down to look at her, but only for a moment. At his final comment, she got a puzzled look. "Wait... so I'm the reason you took him on?" She looked over at Sylvie now, tilting her head a bit and seeming quite perplexed.
"Well, the firebug kinda dragged you back in," the Green explained. "All of us were pissed, but you weren't really conscious at the time."
"He did?" the Red muttered. She reached back and brushed her fingers over the collar of her tunic. Sure enough, they came back covered with soot. "Hnh. Jerk," she she said under her breath, wiping her hands off on her leggings. Then she faced Stygian, her expression calm and happy again. "Well, thanks, then. I guess I did misjudge you."
At that moment, a nagging little thouht resurfaced in the prison guard's mind. "Hey... has anyone checked to see if he's still alive? Not that I'm not mad at him," she added quickly at Sylvie and Stygian's very probable surprise. "I'm just curious."
Cocking an eyebrow, Stygian's expression shifted to slightly nonchalant incredulity, and he stood straight again. Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked at Dani with a bit more serious air.
'I fought him because he was being an asshole. That simple', he commented with finality. 'You think I'd care? He probably has a broken rib or three, no more than he deserves. I imagine he's laying out in the street, if you want to go wipe your feet on him.'
- -
'
:mhmm. sure you did', was the machine's simple answer. '
:yeah, this lens prevents me from seeing the red on your face.' She tapped the center oculus set into her forehead. '
:and i can't hear you either, since i don't have ears as huge as yours. or smell you. hey, what do i know? i'm a machine.' Looking down, she picked up a screwdriver-like tool from beside the metal bundle on the table, its tip small and delicately fashioned like a surgical tool, and busily got to work on her arm again. '
:you're still rubbing your ass', she added after a few seconds, not looking at the jackal.
"Pop! Goes the weasel."
The air inside the inn called 'The Honor Circle' became thick as it compresses suddenly around a curiously small ball of light emerging out of nowhere. For a moment, a brisk wind swirls around the concentrated energy, before falling silent. Then the smell of ozone wafted into the surrounding area, accompanied by crackling bolts of characteristically blue Cherenkov radiation emerging sporadically from the singularity, eventually converging and suddenly exploding outward like a shock wave, saturating the immediate area with blue light before vanishing.
..!
In the middle of the spectacular event; an ermine covered in bruises, clad in scratched clothes, and valiantly or feebly, depending on the onlooker's opinion-- shielding his face with his forearms and holding his knife with a death grip. He remained in said posture for a good minute before opening his eyes and lowering his hands to observe his surroundings. His expression changes to that of relief, and then, nervous laughter. "No grues. Definitely no grues.", he remarked in an exhausted voice. Apparently he was too consumed in his moment of triumph over overwhelming, sinister, slavering monsters of the deep dark to mind the people around him, up until he realizes he's in what looks like an inn.
Consequently, and obviously, he felt awkward about looking like he's about to be eaten by something deadly, talking and laughing to himself and generally ignoring everyone else as he does so; reflected in his expression as he looks at the people around him. He clears his throat, sheathes his knife into a small scabbard on his belt, and looks around quietly for a seat, someone to talk to about this particular fragment of the multiverse or just a drink. Fighting for my very life makes me thirsty, I guess. Haven't had a good drink in a long...
..
..nevermind.
Finally! Richard broke free in a rush, tripping to the ground soon after. Then Risky did something deeply confusing; she surrendered.
"Fair?" The zombie sat up, elbow resting on his knee. He wasn't really used to fair being a major consideration in this sort of thing, and if anything her trick just went to show him for being cocky. "Nothing unfair there. You sure you wanna stop?" He pushed himself to his feet and hefted his axe, the scenery wavering as it awaited her reply.
--
Boog was seeing to other matters behind the bar when he was asked whether or not Stygian was allowed to fight Giles outside the circle, and thus didn't have a chance to reply before the armored man was stomping in, with an unconscious Red in tow. Initially he sat back to watch the fun... and then Stygian attacked Giles. Broke one of the ONLY rules of the Honor Circle. Right. In. Front. Of. Him. The thought entity watched, livid with shocked rage as the man calmly gave his excuse and followed his target. The Boogeyman snatched up the Keys to the Circle with a snarl and ran after... Just in time to see a fight start. The one thing that, as only a stand-in proprietor, he couldn't interfere with. He pounded at the sealed edge of the fighting ring once with frustration and stomped back inside. Parts of him occasionally faded out of existence or reappeared, cycling through nightmare images as he struggled to maintain his composure. The fight ended, and Stygian came back inside. It was convenient that the man went straight for the infirmary; Boog didn't want to have to lose it with the man in front of everyone, to interrupt the general flow of things, but those who would be present may cause him to think twice before doing such things again. He waited a minute, then followed.
"I never thought I'd see you outclassed by him, Styggy."
The thought entity stood in the doorway, for the most part under control. Every so often parts of him seemed to revert to an artist's sketched frame of a figure, or an old woodcutting out of some medieval tome, or succumbed to a crackle of static like a television broadcast, but for the most part he held himself together.
"Congratulations on the win, don't get me wrong. Such a shame though. Say what you will, the big brute at least had the class to remember the rules of the establishment he was in. He insulted you and scared his opponent, behavior permitted and encouraged here. You lost it and slugged him outside of a circle, and even then he kept the presence of mind to step into one. After he'd been attacked. You couldn't even keep that level of self-control through a few insults." The renegade concept finally settled down to his usual shape. "Try it again, and I'm kicking you out. You wont be able to come here, you wont remember where here is, you may not even remember what here means. No. Goddamn. Fights. Outside. Of. Circles."
And with that, the concept turned on his heel and walked out before the other could reply. He had patience for neither insults, threats nor excuses, and nothing else came to mind that Styg was likely to do. Rather fortunate too, seeing as another patron had arrived.
"Hello good sir, and welcome to the Honor Circle! Where the drinks cost money and the violence is free, despite how practical it would be to do things the other way around." Gigantic grin already plastered back in place, Boog sidled around the other side of the bar and leaned toward the newcomer. "Are you a first time patron? Any questions? Comments?" He looked over the ermine quizzically, "... Pursuers?"
--
Marya grinned as Giles was smacked out of the circle. She approved of that sort of thing, on both sides. By her standards Giles had won the first confrontation; the other one had ran out of things to say first. But points for initiative. The fight was definitely worth watching. Pretty fire, nice dialogue, truly an example of brutality and vulgarity as an art from. And then it ended, as exciting things will do, and the victor made his way inside. And if I know my barfights this is where the other one gets up, has to pay for a round of drinks, and nurses a broken nose.
... But this isn't a normal barfight.
... He ain't getting up...
Marya got up and strode outside to investigate, jumping as some slinky guy in clothes that had seen better days popped into existence right next to her. With a shout of "Rktk! Watch it!" as she passed, she pushed through the doors and made her way to the toppled blackguard.
"Hey." She nudged the armored man with her shoe, producing a clunk but no voluntary movement, "If you can hear me then twitch or something."
Stygian gazed blankly back at Boog over his shoulder through the thing's tirade, keeping his face an empty slate even through the latter's threats, and then his indignant exit. And if he were as prone to retaliation as the concept seemed to think, that particular trait went without any show. Instead, he merely turned his gaze back to the two women.
'Don't mind him. He's just sour because he doesn't get around as much.' The man took on a boorish expression. 'They always let you get away with at least one. So I guess it might be worth it. But that's only presuming he has more than a few broken ribs...' he said, matter-of-factly. 'Speaking of which, I predict someone coming dragging him in here soon, which means that I should go back out. So how about joining me for more drinks?' He cast a hopeful look at Sylvie.
Risky drooped her hands to her sides, and nodded. "A friendly fight was the agreement; I got carried away. You win."
At the sound of her words, the water and sand flowed towards the edge of the circle with a sucking sound. Even the trees were absorbed into the edge with soft popping sounds, leaving Risky and Richard standing in the bare stone circle.
"If there's anything that can be done for your burns, let's get it done. Then I'll buy you a drink," she said, securing the flap of her holster and heading towards the doors.
Mechangel
The cloaked hunchback was returning to his room, and was about to enter the door, when suddenly, a cacophany of alarm bells and sirens went off in the electronic portion of his head. The man swung around, casting his all-seeing eye towards what his sensors had detected.
There was a significant temporal disturbance in progress.
Through the walls, the characteristic radiation bursts and types were clear as day. What was highly unusual was that they very quickly died down completely. Something was not right at all. The cloaked hunchback set off down the corridor at a quick pace, his cloak billowing slightly behind him. He reached the door to the main bar, and quickly opened it, silently sliding through the opening. He immediatly picked out the unidentified arrived entity. After a moment's stillness, he quickly and quietly migrated to a dark corner of the room to observe the newcomer.
Cog shifted slightly on the broken glass, first staring at Giles's unconscious body and then walking away from the window, hopping on one foot for a second as he absently checked his boots for slivers of glass. He found his barstool still unoccupied, and picked up his drink from where he left it. His shades betrayed nothing of his emotions, although it was obvious he was staring at the man of darkness as he sipped his drink. Seemingly ignoring his friend outside, and the proprietor who was giving the man an earful, Cogidubnus simply leaned forward, adjusting his shades as he did so, and rested his chin in his hands. Hunched over like that, he watched the man for just a second as the Boogeyman left, and gave a half grin.
"So, tell me." he said, sipping his drink. "It seems the whole time you've been holding back." he raised an eyebrow. "Why? I confess, I feel cheated." he said, swirling his drink in his hand absently. Besides the grin, his face was blank, although his actions seemed somewhat odd for the normally quiet swordsman.
* * *
To Marya's dismay, the blackguard neither moved nor said a word, laying quite still where he'd feel. His face and neck were mottled, unusual for the generally hearty pyromancer, and the heat that emanated from the man felt like the breeze from an open oven. His spear, brought back next to him by the magic of the circle, burned and dripped blood absently.
Giles lay still, a smoldering ember.
Alex peered at the scene quizzically for a few moments considering the 'unconscious' whatever he is on the floor before assuming that it's a barfight, one that doesn't concern him and ignoring it.
Instead, turning his attention to Boog, he began to answer his questions and introduce himself albeit unsure of what to say exactly. "Yeah, I was just struggling in the teeth and maw of a significantly large undefined creature of unknown origin (TM)." He even says 'TM' out loud. "I'm Alex. A multiverse traveller, planeswalker, timetraveller by accident-- whatever; Would you mind telling me what is this place, dimension or world? -- er." The ermine takes a seat, backwards, still facing him. "Sorry, I needed a seat. I've been running 'all day' in another timeline. There any drinks here I can trade for with anything I found in my travels?" He paused, then quickly amended, "I got a bag of 10,000 bottlecaps if that's the legal tender."
He fumbled around with his right hand in his flak jacket for the bag, flashing the cheesiest grin he can pun on. Obviously he's either been through this before, and/or is just a colossal blithering idiot.
Marya considered the blackguard for a moment, thinking, before turning to Cog.
"You using this, or should I get him to the infirmary? He doesn't look so good."
---
Richard shrugged and followed, getting the door for her again as they entered. Marya was busy, meaning his burns would have to wait, but a certain amount of cheap beer can make any wait comfortable.
"So where you from anyway, Risky?" He leaned back in his chair, a creak coming from either the furniture or his joints. "You look military, but I can't say I recognize the uniform."
--
Boog blinked at the bag of bottlecaps for a moment, calculating frantically. Then he shrugged. "It probably is somewhere, give it here. The boss have a problem with it later I'll work it out then." Having caused his obligatory amount of trouble for the time being he settled in to deliver explanations and alcohol. "This is the Honor Circle, an interdimensional franchise of fight clubs. Each one's tucked away in its own little pocket dimension with a few ways in scattered around, or people show up the way you did. The rules here are simple; challenger picks the who, when, why, challenged picks the where, what and how. All fights occur in the circles. Food, drinks, medical aide and lodging are avalable for what the customer thinks they're worth, and no less." Boog grinned, "So what'll it be, mac?"
The ermine tied up the bag of 10,000 bottlecaps, and gleefully hefted it over to Boog; gracefully slow and carefully so he can catch it.
An interdimensional hub? I'm in luck! Everything I have on me I can probably trade for something good and I might have a chance that my world is connected to this place. Alex considered, Wait. What? Fight club? Uhm. No, wait, I'll ask later. I want to milk this for all it's worth. "Got any non-radioactive cola? In bottle, and cold, preferably. Also, did you say medical aide? Great! I could use some antiseptic and bandages." Alex idly rubbed at his left shoulder, feeling his recent bruises stinging a bit at the moment he thought about it. "After the drink please."
Boog fumbled under the bar for a moment, trying to find a non-radioactive cola. The problem with a bar stocked with every drink in the multiverse was that when somebody asked for something obscure or rare you had to find it amongst the nigh-identical versions from every other Possible World. Radioactive cola was in fact rather popular, mainly because it was slightly cheaper and most reasoned that to begin with the stuff was a nigh narcotic industrial sludge, and the radioactivity wasn't about to make it much worse. He finally located a classic coke, and cold no less, and set it on the counter for the newcomer.
"So, timetraveller?" He went on, "Now, that the philosophical definition in which we all move in time, albeit in the same direction, or are you veering off course of the rest of us? Once knew a bloke moving diagonally in time, he always had the funniest way of telling stories..."
"Thank you." Alex quickly grabs the cola and takes a long hard drink. "Oh, you have no idea how good that is after what I've been through." He quickly wipes off some liquid on his maw and continues, "To answer your question, I honestly wouldn't know myself. It's a little difficult to tell how I'm moving," He takes a brief swig, just to keep him going, "Sometimes I travel normally through time, seeing two different views of the same world. Other times I arrive at the same place on the same time in another universe. Then there's the utterly random drops."
The ermine pauses to take a much longer drink. The multiverse obviously has not been kind to him, as to deny him a drink for so long as to make him forget his manners.
"Ahhh. Er-- I won't go through the details of my journeys. I'd probably bore you to death with them. Anyway, medical aide, right? I got a few bruises and scrapes from some creature of the dark that tried to eat me alive." Reflexively rubbing his shoulder again, you see him visibly wince. "No real injuries but I'd appreciate some bandages for the bruises, and an ice pack."
...Keaton:
Keaton frowned deeply, her aforementioned ears folding self-consciously against her skull. Still looking considerably irate, even with her disarmingly rosy visage (she was still colored with blush), Keaton responded somewhat sharply, although without the acidic quality many of her comebacks possessed, "Hey, that was a low blow. You went for my ears. That's more important than a gal's tits or heart, you know."
Well, actually, it only really mattered to someone who had obvious traces of fennec fox in his or her lineage. Other than that comment, Keaton didn't really have anything important to say - her ability to form coherent speech was temporarily stolen from her after Sal remarked on how her hands kept lingering around her rump. Blushing even brighter than before, Keaton gave her rear one last one-over before she abandoned her position, craning around to face Sal with an unamused look on her face.
"I really didn't mean anything bad by it, though," Keaton repeated.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Inexplicably, with only a swoosh from the door to tell of him having exited the infirmary in the first place, the blond man almost seemed to appear out of thin air with a step from behind Alex, and gave him a very discomfort-inducing smirk from over his shoulder.
'So, you want to get away from things like that? Hideous creatures of the dark that eat people alive?' he asked, his tone bemused. 'Good choice coming here. No, really.' Rounding the ermine, he moved over to his former seat, and rolled his neck a bit as he sat down, then gave Boog and the newcomer both another look. 'I'm starting to think you're running a pet shop here, Boog', he added next, with a dubious smirk in Keaton's direction at that. 'And didn't mean anything bad by what, sweets?'
...Keaton:
For what felt like the billionth time that day, Keaton felt her face turn to fire at Stygian's new "nickname" for her. Her cheeks coalesced to a bright, rosy pink, uncharacteristically feminine, and she appeared almost indignant for a moment, but despite her energy, outright refused to say anything regarding the subject. She just, somehow, could not manage to say something intelligible. Dodging the subject with an almost admirable fluidity, Keaton pointedly attempted to ignore Stygian's sobriquet, and answered his question.
"I... I meant when I came over and asked you what was bothering you." Keaton responded. "Really."
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Cog looked out the shattered window at Marya for a moment before shaking his head, and waving at her to pause, set his drink on the counter and stood up, absently grabbing one of the bartender's towels and walking outside. Glass crunched under his feet as he left, and it was only a few short steps to the edge of the circle where Giles lay.
The wolf bent over the blackguard's unconscious body for a moment before shaking his head, set the towel down, taking off his coat and then handing it to her. He bent over again and picked up the towel, gingerly touching Giles's arm with it and lifting the Blackguard's upper body off the arena floor.
"That armor'll be too hot to touch. Just use the coat and help me drag him inside." he said, rather pointlessly indicating the only building in the entire dimension with a nod of his head.
Alex's ears twitched at Stygian's words, and considered the situation as opposed to the words themselves. Hardly anyone is able to sneak up on me; I guess I shouldn't be surprised though. This is an interdimensional fight club. Have to be on my toes. Damn. I don't want these guys to know what I can do yet and already I'm in a clutch to use time alteration. The ermine simply smiled. "Oh believe me," He looked at the blond man with the most sincere face he can put on, "It wasn't my choice I left the gaping maw of a hideous monster only to see your face. Damn I'm unlucky today." Then, his thoughts triggered a temporal divide.
Timestop:
He wasn't good at masking his attention level, he had a tenser grip with his right hand on the bottle of cola he was nursing up until that point and his thighs and legs were in a position to get up and go. He did. Only nobody can observe him in one frame of time. Alex looked around at the bar, looking for everyone currently looking at him, and trying to assess just how vulnerable he is. He tries to examine Stygian, but realizes he won't be able to glean anything useful just from his appearance. For a second he considered sucker punching him, but that's not his style. Dismissing the bartender and the blushing jackal, his fast eyes then turn to the corner, at the cloaked man seemingly facing in his general direction. Taking note of him, he quickly went back to his seat to assume with as much accuracy as he can the position he had before his time ran out.
Realtime:
He wasn't good at masking his attention level, he had a tenser grip with his right hand on the bottle of cola he was nursing up until that point and his thighs and legs were in a position to get up and go. Something made him reconsider however, and he slouches back on the seat, and offers his right hand in a handshake to Stygian while, at the corner of his eye, observes the cloaked figure at the corner of the room. "Name's Alex. Yours?"
Risky moved back to the bar, wincing slightly, and drew out three red cigarettes, stuck all three into her mouth at once, and lit them off with a pass of her hand.
Mumbling around all three and a cloud of smoke, she answered Richard. "San Angelo, Texas, actually. And I'd be pretty surprised if you did recognize a Time Corp uniform." She glanced at the corner where the Queen still sat, her eyes narrowing a bit.
"You could say we police time, though we-" She blinked, then looked around the bar. "That felt like a temporal shift. That's never good."
Mechangel
The cloaked hunchback carefully heard all the conversation the newcomer took part in. [The Boogeyman] inquired if he was a 'timetraveller', and the newcomer replied with his own explanation. Okay, he has some connection to timestreams- Then something strange happened, something that would have escaped the eye of most people, but not this man. The man's appearence...shifted, slightly but suddenly. What was that? The figure watched for another moment, but nothing else seemed to happen, aside from the newcomer's interactions with the other patrons. In his mind, the cloaked man backed up what he saw, and reviewed it in thousandths of frames, one by one, until...there! The man definately had moved. Instantaneously.
What the...oh. OH. The man thought back to the huge temporal anomaly that had brought the newcomer here. A manipulator. Definately a manipulator, at the least. Then 'Alex' identified himself to the bartender, but also inadvertently to the cloaked hunchback.
[Logging]
[Log new entity as "Alex"]
[Tag as: time manipulator. extent of abilities unknown. standby and continue observation]
The cloaked figue shuffled only slightly, before resuming an almost statue-like state.
Richard raised the remains of an eyebrow. Time travel wasn't exactly his expertise, but the words 'temporal shift' had a limited list of meanings. Then again, we're talking about someone who's dealt with people crazy enough to mess with time...
"How bad we talking then?" He rasped. He hadn't felt anything, but that wasn't new. "Should I be worried?"
--
Marya nodded and hefted the armored man with surprising ease; she was strong for her size. She set off at a brisk pace toward aforementioned building, nearly yanking the wolf along with the blackguard.
--
Boog grinned briefly, picking up on the thoughts triggering Alex's abilities, before something strange wiped the look off his face. The man's brain seemed to speed up, literally washing the room with spun-off thoughts in an instant before returning to normal pace.
Well that was different...
The concept entity was jerked out of his surprise back to the conversation at hand by the newcomer's rebuttal and smirked.
"I like him already."
Stygian didn't so much as flinch. Not even notice Alex, at first, it seemed, completely overlooking the ermine's introduction in face of the comment before it. Leaning over, he instead tapped the bar desk before the Boogeyman, and looked at him seriously.
'Drink. Again. Vodka', he said shortly. 'And a couple for the sprout and the...' He turned his gaze to Keaton, giving her a slightly amused once-over and then fixing his black eyes straight at her hazel ones. 'Tattoo fox?' Just a second or so before Alex might have realized that his comment had not sat well with the man and that he was going to continue disregarding him, and probably would have turned away, those obsidian eyes turned his way, their gaze eerily focused. 'And one for the critter too.' He held his eyes there for a bit, expressionless and cold, never moving to take the mustelid's clawed hand. 'You're quite a bit late for that. And too early.'
Not explaining anything, the man returned his gaze forward, and waited for his drinks.
Dani would have responded to Stygian's question had Boog not come in looking like he was about to kill someone. The Red and Sylvie watched, more than a bit surprised. Not only was it strange to see the bartender angry, his appearance seemed to be... shifting, as he spoke. Dani got an odd little spark in her eyes when she noticed this - the same spark she got when she decided to fight Giles. Sylvie saw this, but said nothing until the sound of a newcomer became audible and Stygian vanished from the room without a trace.
"...I don't care if he and I are on good terms now, that's still creepy," said Dani, hoping to distract Sylvie from what she'd seen earlier. But the Green just gave Dani a knowing look. "What? It is."
"Nice try, Dan. I saw you get that look in your eyes," the elf replied, earning a few half-hearted grumbled curses from the guard. "You shouldn't think about fighting anyone till you've healed."
"It's not that bad," Dani tried to insist, making the mistake of shifting her legs so she could look at Sylvie and hissing in pain. Sylvie gave her another look. "...Whatever. You go out there and get your drink. And tell me how Giles is doing if they've woken him up," she added, almost as an afterthought. Syl waved 'yes' before walking out the door.
She entered just in time to hear Stygian order drinks for himself, the newcomer, Keaton (at least, the description sounded like her), and her. Her cheeks flushed a slightly deeper green at the nickname, then she took her former seat at the bar, looking interestedly between the newcomer and Cog and Marya outside.
Closing his palm, Alex dismissed that attempt at friendship via matching his wit, and instead positions two of his right hand fingers on his forehead. He assumes a more relaxed stance with, at least, his body. He didn't try. Yet. But it seems I won't be regretting not taking a cheap shot after all. Alex makes brief eye contact with Stygian as the man gazes at him; trying to read his expression and his words to little success. More than nothing this time, however. He sounded like he was all for jokes just a little bit earlier. Too sudden a change, and he also isn't taking this too hard. That can only mean I might have hit something on the spot. From the look of it, that's about all I'm getting. Suppressing his urge to shrug, he kept listening up until the dead-end comment. "Whenever.", his only reply.
Facing back towards the bartender for his apparent extended stay and ignoring the fact that the palm closest to his face had small streaks of blood from the bruises he was rubbing on his shoulder, he begins to throw side-glances at the cloaked man in the corner. And how long is that guy going to keep on looking at me? It's as if he was aware I stopped time. That can't be right. Unless-- He had to wait now, he can't do that yet. The ermine resorts to biding his time until he actually does leave, and perhaps isolate him elsewhere.
Boog snickered, "Almost forgot, something's been chewing on you. Infirmery's in the back," He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, "Try not to drip on everything, I'm trying to run a fancy establishment here."
The wolf's face impassive, Cog simply tried to ignore the heat soaking through the towel and dragged Giles to the door of the establishment, nodding his thanks at Marya. Faced without a better option, they simply dragged the blackguard through the threshold of the bar, and straight through the main room. The wolf carefully looking at nothing, Cog and Marya managed to get him into the infirmary, the man's second visit during his stay.
A few moments later Cog walked back out, again wearing his coat, and without saying a word walked back to his seat and again picked up his drink.
That was his cue, and with it he stood up to drag himself to the infirmary. He kept his eye on the cloaked figure still standing in his direction, just in case the man decides to follow him. Actually, between the constant threat of death, the paranoia, and his bruises he felt more battered up than he'd like to show. Another reason why he wants to go to the infirmary was for a bed. At least to temporarily give him some peace of mind. As he made his way he looked at the female jackal near Stygian for a brief moment, noting her continued discomfort and red-etched cheeks, and smirking briefly. Cute. Not my type though. Wonder if the blonde and her are together? They'd make an interesting pair. Heh.
Dani lay on the bed, trying to play mental connect-the-dots with the specks on the ceiling and fiddling with the blackened end of her fire-engine-colored ponytail. She was tired, but because she had just been asleep moments ago, her body needed a little help figuring out that she needed rest. It was annoying and frustrating, but she'd go to sleep eventually.
She sat up when Cog and the mongoose-lady walked in, dragging an unconscious Giles on a coat. Heat radiated off the man even without any motion from him, and Dani was suddenly grateful that he'd dragged her in rather than carrying her.
Then someone decidedly unfamiliar walked in. Some kind of Stoat; or a Weasel, she'd never been able to tell the difference. Shemade a face at the numerous injuries and tattered clothes of the newcomer.
"Yeesh. And I thought I looked bad." She reached out with her non-burned arm, and a friendly/borderline psycho smirk glued to her face almost immediately. "Hi there. I'm Dani."
Taking another deep drag from the cigarettes, Risky shook her head. "Might have just been me being paranoid. I get an odd feeling when time shifts; but it's not reliable."
She took the cigarettes out of her mouth and gave Richard a wry smile. "But that didn't answer your question. It all depends on who is altering time, and how. Most people who have the ability do it for their own ends, screw anyone who gets in the way."
She took another long drag from all three before continuing. "There's also the method. Even people with the best of intentions often have lousy technology,and things get out of hand fast."
The ermine met Dani's hand with his own right, after wiping away the blood from earlier, of course, in a firm handshake. "Alex Keys. A pleasure. I'm sorry, but if you don't mind--"
Alex broke off the handshake to go to the corner bed to undress his heavy flak jacket and undershirt and set both aside on the counter nearby exposing all his injuries. Most of them were grouped into two general locations, his shoulders and upper body, and composed of light bruises and slightly nasty cuts that needed treating right about now. After scrounging around in the medical cabinet for supplies, and sitting on the bed, he begins the meticulous process of applying antiseptic, dressing and bandages on his open wounds while ignoring his bruises for a bit.
"Where do they keep the cold compresses?", he asks as he winces at dabbing an antiseptic soaked cotton bud on one of the larger wounds.
Mechangel
The figure had been watching [Alex] motionlessly, even when [Alex] started stealing glances in his direction. Aw, hell. Gotta start practicing my discreet observation techniques again. Eventually, [Alex] got up, and headed off to the infirmary. Through the wall, he could see that [Alez] started tending to his wounds while interacting with [Dani], whom the man had seen fight earlier. The cloaked man considered discontinuing his reconnaissance to respect privacy, but then quickly waved away the thought on the grounds that the two had just seen each other for the first time, and were hardly going to be sharing any deep, personal secrets with each other. [Alex], however, if he engages in meaningful conversation, might reveal a little more about his abilities.
The cloaked figure continued doing nothing.
The man's head turned maginally to the side when the ermine saw if fit to leave. Whether if he was looking in his direction with those black eyes, no one could say surely. Turning back, he pondered what he had seen and felt. No strange alterations or signs. No cautious examination. Going it over twive again in his head, it seemed to him that the mustelid were one who took things in stride. Or, from the way he arrived and reacted, more likely someone who didn't have either the time or the option of consideration and planning. Or thoughtfulness, he remarked to himself with a bit of amusement. Either way, the little thing had responded, which was good, but the wrong way in the man's eyes, which had earned him the chill response. He couldn't tell immediately what the right way would have been, but it would have been more self-assured and less of a baseless insult. Or maybe it was just that the little guy seemed so jittery...
Completely ignoring Cogidubnus and Marya as they dragged the badly beaten blackguard into the infirmary, Stygian drank and relaxed, wondering if perhaps there were some place outside that one could relax, so that he could enjoy a proper smoke, or perhaps some rooms. Those had been mentioned earlier, but considering the fickleness of the universe, and more importantly whoever might employ someone like the Boogeyman, he was willing to bet they wouldn't quite meet his expectations, even when lowered by the circumstances.
'Is it just me or is it warm in here?' he asked, moving to get up already after a couple of seconds after that statement. 'I'm going out to cool off. Coming?' He offered Sylvie his hand. 'We can bring the drinks along.'
At the very same time, he was wondering what had happened right in the middle there. The ermine hadn't so much as blinked out of apparent anxiety or nervosity. In support of his story, not even what Stygian had been able to hear of his heartbeat or feel from the rest of him had reacted. Except for a single, strange little shift right there in the middle, just before his introduction, where something about him had just twitched for a second, and his heart had skipped a beat, but without a single noise or other indication to show. What had that been?
The wolf picked up his drink, and holding it in front of his face, he swirled the amber colored liquid absently - from behind his shaded lenses, he stared at the liquor, as if trying to glean some secret from its translucent depths. A moment later, he turned and set it back down before standing and stretching, white teeth flashing in the light and glasses sliding down his nose. He snapped together a moment later, smoothly turning on one foot to slide up to where the saffron and sable jackal was standing, and delicately tap her on the shoulder. He bowed.
"I couldn't help but admire the lovely lady earlier, and would be most honored if she graced me with her presence, in the circle." he said, straightening. His yellow eye gleamed. "You have a most... interesting technique. I'd love to see more of it."
Sylvie received a can of fruit juice again, this time pineapple. She looked around the bar, impressed when Cog and the mongoose dragged Giles back in, and mildly curious as the ermine went into the infirmary. If there had been anything wrong with him except for how banged up he was, she hadn't noticed it. Apparently, though, the others had, including the cloaked guy who'd been outside for such a long time, the dark-haired human who'd fought the zombie, and Stygian.
Speaking of the latter, he straightened up and offered to take her outside, holding out his hand. If it hadn't felt warm to her earlier, it certainly did now. Okay, face. You've had your say. Feel free to cool down now... C'mon... there you go.
"Sure, okay," she said, managing to keep her voice friendly and normal. She grabbed the juice can with one hand and reached out for Stygian's with the other.
------
"Not actually sure," Dani said half-apologetically to Alex with a sheepish grin. Even if his hands had been bloody, he'd had the decency to remember it, and he seemed friendly. Her curiosity was piqued by the extent of his injuries, though. How can someone get cuts like that through a jacket that heavy? Bruises maybe, but it looks like someone tried to put him through a blender.
"I'd look around for supplies myself, but, well..." She gestured to her legs. "I can't really move right now. Surprised you can ... If you find a burn salve of some kind, could you toss it over?"
"That's probably the adrenaline keeping me up. Trust me, I'm about to collapse." Least I won't be bleeding. Curiously, aside from what he used for his injuries, it seems he has taken quite a bit of extra bandages; two 2.5 meter long rolls in fact. After treating his wounds, it becomes obvious why he had taken them. He starts to wrap his wrists and fists with them as a pair of makeshift protective gloves. As he does so he looks towards the medical cabinet from earlier, stands up and scans for some burn salve, as he kept his hands busy, to give Dani.
When all was said and done, he set a wide bottle of salve beside Dani's good arm. "Nevermind about the cold compress. I'll just take a nap and hope the stinging goes away." He takes a nearby chair and sits on it backwards, with his chest against the body of the chair, facing Dani. "So what happened to you? Went swimming in a fire?"
Leading Sylvie to the door and holding it open for her, Stygian sipped his drink leisurely and strolled out into the street, looking around. Fumbling with a stainless steel humidor in his pocket, he murmured a bit to himself, then took another swig of his drink and looked at the elf.
'Kind of makes you wish that they had a garden or something around. I wouldn't have had anything against something like the rooftop restaurants in Berlin...' he said. 'Would have been nice showing you what kind of views we have where I come from. But perhaps, in another Circle...'
Catching himself straying onto that other topic, Stygian thought about how conveniently the wolf had caught up the jackal earlier, and was reminded that those two were going to be fighting as well. Somewhat curious, he looked back over his shoulder at the door to the bar, waiting for those two to come out.
'So, anything you're wondering about', he said, as if in passing, gaze turned away from the green still.
- -
Gaze going back and forth between the people around, while she worked on herself, Sahlena quickly grew both bored and frustrated. She did not need that much time, what with her auto-repairs doing for her what tools did not, and all the other people seemed to be challenging each other. Left out, and feeling somewhat disappointed that her upgrade seemed to be going to have to wait a while, she put down the tools in a neat order, looked at the package of metal and cables on the table. Then she sighed, and stood up.
'
:i assume he isn't dead, since he hasn't melted...' the machine said sarcastically, walking into the infirmary and over toward Giles. She looked at the blackguard with that unreadable face for a good while, then made a sighing sound. Turning around, she shifted her gaze first from Dani, and then to the new arrival. '
:you look like you could need some help.' Stepping over to him and looking down at him where he sat, she cocked her head to the side, fixing that large red lens on the ermine. '
:do you?'
...Keaton:Feeling summarily neglected, Keaton stood firmly where she was, shoulders hunched together and a decidedly irate look on her face, as though that alone would attract Stygian's attention back to her instead of actual effort. At the moment, she felt too scorned to actually
do anything, considering how she believed she was ignored. In the next moment, however, she felt someone tapping on her shoulder, momentarily startling her out of her ire. Keaton craned her head around to look at the person addressing her, only to see Giles's companion from before standing there. After a moment of contemplating his words, she grinned, resting Catastrophe on her shoulder.
"Well. That's an interesting way to challenge me to a battle," Keaton said cheerfully, her ire forgotten. Flattery was the easiest way to a Keaton's heart, after all. "Alright then. I'll show you."
---
...Piix:The individual orbs comprising Triad's formation rotating rapidly around her, Piix maneuvered herself over Paladin's lowermost sweep in the form of a somersaulting leap, indignantly wondering how someone so large and armored could move himself so quickly. She repaid him in kind by preparing Orpiment, swinging it at his midsection.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
"Excellent." Cog said, standing aside and gesturing with one arm to the door. "Ladies first."
The wolf set his hat on the bar counter upside down, and then put his glasses inside of it, waiting for the jackal to exit the tavern and then making his way to the circle outside.
...Keaton:"Aren't you a gentleman," Keaton said coyly, grinning deviously at Cogidubnus. She pushed open the door, ambling cheerfully outside, and to one of the unoccupied circles. Once there, she stood, drawing Catastrophe again, and waited for Cog to approach. Once he arrived, she grinned and leaned back, thinking.
"Right. So I guess our first order of business is to set the rules of this little engagement, huh?"
---
...Dekuyaketh:With the medical treatment he was given, Dekuyaketh found that the regeneration of his arm was exponentially accelerated from its previous level. Amidst Dekuyaketh's sleep, the bloodied stump of mangled flesh and ruptured bone was restored to its former, undamaged state, without any traces of scarring or damage. Being a Demon, even if there
was any ostensible mutilation, Dekuyaketh knew it would repair itself. After awakening, he examined his arm a little, astounded by the speed of the restoration, then sighed as he glanced over, instinctively, at Laertes's bed adjacent to his own.
Dekuyaketh didn't see any more reason to linger in the infirmary. It was, apparently, getting rather crowded. On the other side of the room, he could overhear some people chattering in indistinct, unfamiliar voices. Dekuyaketh glanced distastefully at his tattered clothing, then started to unbutton his shirt, pointedly ignoring the rather tight knot of discomfort starting to twist at his intestines. The explosion which had formerly taken Dekuyaketh's arm had decimated the sleeve of his jacket and shirt, also incinerating the cufflink respective to that sleeve. Not to mention he was missing a button from his shirt. His pants were perfectly unscathed, so he supposed he could suffice with simply wearing his pants until he purchased, or uncovered, a replacement for his earlier garments. Finally sweeping off his jacket and shirt, Dekuyaketh bundled up the clothing and deposited the maimed apparel underneath the sterile hospital bed, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. An almost imperceptible pulse of crimson electricity pumped through his mechanical arm, revitalizing its internal system.
Dekuyaketh shifted through his pocket, and finally uncovered his wallet. Walking past Sylvie, Dani, and Stygian, he entered the tavern just as the jackal and her companion left, casting a skeptical look at the booth coated with glass near the shattered window, and then seated himself at the counter. He started rifling through his wallet for some coins. "Let's try this again. Glass of water?" Dekuyaketh asked, scratching at his neck compulsively. He
really hoped nobody would interrupt him this time. "Also, do you have anyplace to smoke?"
~Keaton the Black Jackal
"To the yield, my good lady." Cogidubnus said, standing opposite to the jackal. He stood up straight, his yellow eyes watching the saffron-colored canine carefully. One arm was draped over the hilt of his sword, and the other was inside of his coat, reaching for something. "Other than that, anything goes. The field of battle is yours to make."
He pulled out a few pieces of silver on chains, putting one around his neck and the other two around his wrists, and waited.
After watching Keaton and Cogidubnus emerge without a response, and a few awkward seconds after
that, Stygian sighed and turned his gaze down, turning on the spot and fumbling within his pocket for more cigarettes. Slipping one out between his fingers, he looked up at Sylvie, with an almost apologetic expression.
'Alright, unfair question then', he said. 'I'm not the greatest conversationalist, but I'm trying. I'm wondering what the silence is about though. I really hope I haven't put you off or irritated you or something.' Walking closer, he approached the elf, then realized that he didn't want to loom or give off too stiff an expression, and with a casual step turned and leaned his back to the wall of the building instead, sticking the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and putting his hands in his pockets. 'I can understand if the whole thing with the wall made me...'
Suddenly and at first unexplainably, he stopped, and the slight green gleam in his eyes only visible thanks to the small shade over his brow, Stygian's gaze turned to the side, moving slowly horizontally. Sylvie didn't grow aware of what was responsible for this until after she caught that gleam, and then heard the soft, heavy footsteps of boots rounding behind her. Passing to her right, an almost ocher-skinned woman with short, spiky hair in worn-in jeans and a leather jacket passed, giving Stygian a short, head-on, blank-faced glance that somehow managed to convey so much meaning that it passed anyone looking by. She held that look for just a second, even shorter perhaps, and then just as quickly and with that same decisive way of movement, turned her eyes back to the entrance to the bar and pulled the door open, walking inside. Stygian's eyes followed her to the door and stayed there for a moment, his face almost troubled, before he muttered and then composed himself, turning back to Sylvie as if nothing had happened.
'Look, whatever the case, I apologize, alright?' he said, then made a little bitter half-smile. 'Technically, you've talked to me now, so you kept your end of the deal. If you don't like what I do, I still hope you speak up though.'
- -
The woman who entered the bar was, save for the unusual tattooing that encircled her right eye and her hair which in the murky lighting ranged from black to red, so normal at first glance, and acted so much as if it was just a perfectly normal bar, that a bit of shock and a feeling of sudden apprehensiveness couldn't help but pass through the place. It passed in just moments though, the time that it took for her to take off her leather jacket and expose a well filled-out black tank top and firm arms, and throw said jacket over a chair and seat herself at a table. A couple more seconds, as she leaned back a bit and looked around, and then, as no light bulbs exploded, no monsters started creeping out from under the chairs and the floor remained in place, everything went back to normal.
Boog was in a Good Place, overall. The newcomer was a suitable distraction from his frustrations for him to have left his frustrations with Bloody arrogant blowhard psychotic twerps with more power than maturity comple- well, almost completely behind him. He was busying himself cleaning a glass that didn't need cleaning when someone else walked in.
The man(-like thing) spared a little attention for the woman's physical appearance (even he could appreciate such things on an aesthetic level), but his main attention was upon her mind. Most people, either they kept things to themselves nice and close or they decided they had nothing to bother hiding. But minds that locked down most outer layers, with a sort of gap left via which to vent ideas at their convenience were rarer creatures altogether. To Boog's senses she'd fashioned some manner of funnel out of her mind, shielding and focusing her thoughts in order to...
... In order to something.
Well that's interesting.
"Hello!" A man in a tweed coat who almost definitely hadn't been there a moment ago, leaned in from Andrea's peripheral vision with a grin plastered across his face and a gleam lurking in his eye, "Welcome to the Honor Circle! Is this your first time here? Anything I can get you?"
---
Marya stepped out of the infirmary, rolling her shoulders to get the kinks out of 'em. It always seemed to her that vulgar bastards ought to look after their own. And on the subject of looking after bastards, where was Rich' again...?
---
Richard snorted, which was impressive to watch when the snorter in question didn't have so much a nose as nostril sockets, "Can't think of a responsible way of using that, really. Not that doesn't involve too much risk. How on earth did someone come up with-"
"I already like the sound of this conversation." Marya interrupted Richard with a grin, thumping the zombie on the back. Her smile froze ever so slightly, however, when she noticed Richard's burns. "Oh, don't let me interrupt." She turned toward Risky toolevolently. "Do continue."
Risky raised an eyebrow at Marya, and took another long drag from her cigarettes before addressing Richard again. "Oh, you're married. That explains a lot."
She stubbed out the butts of her cigarettes, purposely ignoring Marya. "There's risk, sure. Without some hellacious computer programming overseeing your every move, you could make things worse, split off another timeline..." She paused to pull a green cigarette from her pocket and light it with her fingertip. "...Or end up stuck in a bar at the ass-end of time."
Quote from: Keaton the Black Jackal on May 25, 2008, 05:43:33 PM
...Piix:
The individual orbs comprising Triad's formation rotating rapidly around her, Piix maneuvered herself over Paladin's lowermost sweep in the form of a somersaulting leap, indignantly wondering how someone so large and armored could move himself so quickly. She repaid him in kind by preparing Orpiment, swinging it at his midsection.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Smiling as the Orin gracefully avoided his swipe, Paladin recovered and set himself for her return. As Piix's hammer arced down at him Pal bought
Cobalt up to block, but one handed as his left darted behind him and drew out one of his shortswords. As the Hammer and Axe met Pal flicked his wrist and swiped the sword at the Orin's hands going for a disarm.
Sylvie allowed herself to be led out of the bar and nodded a thank-you to Stygian when he held open the door for her. For someone who claims to be such a monster, he sure has good manners... She didn't say this out loud, though, because she knew he'd repeat his earlier statement regarding deceptive natures.
Once out in the street, she looked at Stygian for a long moment while he spoke. The question kept her quiet in though for a while, with a brief distraction when Keaton and the grey wolf left the bar to enter a Circle. It was a difficult question, not because she couldn't think of an answer, but because she couldn't think of an answer he'd take well. There were thousands of things she wanted to learn more about: the fact that he was the second person ever (who wasn't a Green) to say she was attractive and (possibly) mean it; why he had gone all-out on Giles when it couldn't just be that he was a jerk; and why he seemed to be switching back and forth between trying to get her to trust him and getting her to understand that he was a monster. And those were just the questions she could think of off the top of her head. One or two of the others sounded far too naïve; quite a few could be dangerous if misinterpreted.
It seemed she had taken a little too long to think, though, because Stygian took her silence the wrong way. The elf watched a newcomer walk in – who looked just a hint like a darker-skinned, punk-rock version of Dani – and answered Stygian once he turned to her again.
"No, that wasn't the reason; you just caught me off-guard and got me thinking," she explained, her face honest. "I'm curious about a few things, really, but ... I can't quite think of how to put them." She paused, unsure whether the real reason would bother him. "In any case, don't think that I don't want to talk to you."
------
Dani's face flushed a little at Alex's reference to her injuries - even if she was mostly over it now, the results of her foolhardiness had left a bit of an impact on her ego. The android from earlier entered and spoke with the ermine, allowing her a little time to recover. The smirk reappeared, though a bit less anarchic than before, and she answered Alex, uncapping the salve bottle and massaging the soothing cream into her arm and legs as she spoke.
"I didn't so much go swimming in a fire as... challenge one and lose," she said a little sheepishly, glancing almost unconsciously at Giles. She shifted a little, avoiding any real pain while doing so, and examined Alex from their relative distance. "What about you? 'Cause it looks like a shark decided that you didn't taste very good after all, but then your blood fooled a few more into trying a bite of you."
The ermine shrugged. "Maybe it was," he answered sincerely. With a straight face. "I couldn't see anything at the time, It being pitch black and all," he muttered "--but it felt like a bunch of sharks trying to eat me." Alex idly rubbed at his left shoulder. I felt my arm getting bit off, doesn't help that I can't erase the memory of the pain., was what he wanted to say, but considering that the odd man from earlier could still be listening to him, he decided against it. The erratic and frequent rubbing his shoulder was, in fact, him trying to compensate for the mismatched blood pressure and the feeling that his arm wasn't really there-- "Not something I want to experience again."
"So uh-- you challenged a fire-- fire creature-- fire elemental?" While stumbling around for the right words, the ermine noticed the ambient heat coming from the unconscious pile that Dani suddenly hinted at with a glance. "Would that be this guy? He looks like he's out cold." He paused then, "You sure you lost?", Alex amended quickly; having not known about what happened earlier.
The single red lens staring down at Alex narrowed, and the machine rolled her fingers once against her thighs, making a strangely tinkling sound. Then, she looked at Dani instead, and Giles, shook her head, and turned away, walking over to a chair and settling down. If no one was going to take advantage of the presence of someone with tons of medical experience and skill, then the less work for her. She was not about to remark on anything.
- -
Had the Boogeyman expected some sort of snappy response or comment or perhaps an order in return, he had clearly been fooling himself. Instead, the woman twitched as she backed up her head on her neck a bit, one eyebrow rising upward and an expression in between profound confusion and nausea manifesting itself on her face. Her eyes flicked away from the thought entity for a bit, but since the other patrons were scarce and no one seemed to have anything to do with this...
thing that was approaching her, she found no help there. Fixing her eyes on the anomaly again, she narrowed them as if she were trying to get a better look at it.
'What?!' she said, in a voice only slightly louder than speaking level, and as a teatray flashed past, Boog felt
something focus about the woman, a greater-than-normal presence of mind trying to discern just
what the Hell was going on.
- -
Chuckling a little in a continuation to that bitter smile, Stygian watched Sylvie for a moment, then looked down, and stepped closer. Cocking his head to the side a bit, he looked down at her curiously, black eyes gleaming off the edges under his platinum bangs.
'Can't help but have a hard time with that. On both points. Personally though, I have to admit that I feel...' he began, then sighed, and carefully, wary that she might back away, reached out and stroked some of her grass-like hair out of the way, down her cheek. 'I think it would be hard for
anyone not to feel intimidated or sad when compared to you. And since I'm not easily intimidated...' Snerking, he showed a bit of sharp, pearly white teeth. 'I have to deal with a plant being more pleasant company than I. But it's alright...'
Realizing that he was digressing, Stygian turned a bit to the side, and looked down again, lowering his hand and rolling his fingers. He watched them, thumbing a claw-like nail for a bit.
'Look, it's okay', he said, after a pause, looking the Green in the eyes again. 'Whatever you have to say, you can say it. What's the worst thing that could happen?' He smiled a bit, then caught himself, looked over his shoulder, and stepped a bit to the side to cover the sight of the hole in the wall of the bar.
Dani glanced over at Giles again, her smirk still in place, albeit still rather bashful. "Actually, that wasn't me. I was unconscious by the end of our fight; someone else did that to 'im," she said, feeling eyes on her for a second. She turned to Sal. The android was giving off an annoyed air pretty well for someone who couldn't express emotions facially.
"Sorry to impose, but you said you could help him earlier," the Red said inquisitively. "Do you know anything about treating second-degree burns? I just know how to relieve the pain, not treat them."
------
Sylvie took in a surprised little breath when Stygian touched her. This was something she really wasn't used to, but she didn't back away. What he said about her made her yellow-green eyes widen just a bit, but not out of fear, just curiosity.
He lowered his hand at last, leaving a warm, tingly feeling where it had been. His reassurance helped her relax, and she smiled gently for a bit before pondering what to ask first.
Once she'd settled on a question, she looked back into his startlingly black eyes. "Well, this may sound a little foolish to ask, but... most people aren't necessarily scared, but shocked, or sometimes a little disgusted when they see a girl with green skin. You weren't. Why's that?" It sounded naive, but it was a confusing matter to her, and she wanted to know.
Stygian nearly snorted, a grin forming on his face, before he dimmed it into a smirk. He couldn't really believe that she was serious, but he decided to treat the question as such anyway.
'Because I've seen girls with spikes and wires coming out of their necks and cameras for eyes', the man replied, still smirking, though more bitterly. 'I've seen girls with half their skin burned off and regrown. I've seen girls with fur and fangs. I've seen girls that weren't really girls at all. I've seen
creatures, in the mirror as much as elsewhere...' He stopped, leaving any continuation to that unsaid, simply fixing his gaze on hers. Hopefully he got the message across, and didn't just sound more self-pitying.
'I can honestly say I'm an expert', he continued, 'and as an expert I can, with utmost assurance, tell you that in comparison you are a
most pleasant sight.' His serious gaze was unwavering, for the few seconds it lasted. Then he chuckled, and turned his face down again. If she hadn't seen what she had of him yet, the elf might have actually believed that he was hiding some embarrassment. 'That might not sound like such a compliment, but...'
- -
Sitting still on her chair, the android fixed that central lens on Dani, and almost seemed to raise her brow somehow. Then, she raised her hand, and rolling her fingers, as the mechanics and surfaces of them shifted, she replied.
'
:i have a great portion of the accumulated knowledge of the quantum age of technology in my memory', she said, matter-of-factly. '
:that includes late 24th century medical tech.' A bit of smugness entered her voice next. '
:i could fix that like nothing happened with what we have laying around. do you want me to though?'
The ermine eartwitched, and simply listened to Sal. It had been a good amount of time since he was up to speed on any sort of medical technology given the nature of his travels, however he vaguely recalled the Earth he came from having just developed mere prototypes of medical nanites and/or reconstructive technologies of that sort. At least he wouldn't have to worry about getting brutalized too badly around here. I sincerely hope so.
Figuring it to be rude to interrupt Dani's treatment, Alex decided to head back to his corner of the infirmary for some rest, giving Giles a brief glance before setting his weary eyes on the bed.
Though it was nice of Stygian to hide his amusement, Sylvie still caught it. Her resulting embarrassed look was genuine, but she was relieved that Stygian treated the question seriously rather than mocking it outright or disregarding it. Seems like he didn't mistake that as a hunt for compliments, though... that's good.
She smirked shyly when he finished speaking. "Well, considering the last person to compliment me besides you was the god of deception, I'd say that's kind of a relief. But that's another story." From the frank way she said god of deception, Stygian got the feeling that maybe she wasn't just exaggerating...
"What else was there..." she muttered, her face getting a more serious cast as she thought. "Hm. You never did tell me how you got to be the way you are. Of course, you don't have to." Something told Sylvie that Stygian would be reluctant to tell her that, even now.
---
Under normal circumstances, Dani would have agreed to have her burns treated in a heartbeat. Thankfully, she swallowed that reaction in time to think. Taking into account what Sahlena was and what dimension she was in, treating her wounds probably would be more unpleasant than healing magic (the worst that ever did was itch a lot). There was always a catch, and having the job she did, it seemed stupid to her to put immediate faith in a medical treatment sh knew next to nothing about.
"That depends," the guard said cautiously. "Does the treatment hurt worse than the burns themselves?"
...Keaton:As Cog prepared himself, Keaton followed suit. Adjusting the opalescent pendant holding together her top, she hefted Catastrophe and slid into a battle position, her feet gliding apart along the dirt, forming great, indented smears in the earth shaped like her zigzag-patterned soles. Deep down, Keaton was somewhat surprised Cogidubnus didn't state any conditions other than what was already addressed, such as limitations on magic or weaponry (Keaton didn't think he looked like much of a magic-caster, with that sword of his), but if he was confident she wasn't going to complain. Besides, it was just to the
yield. Nothing worth complaining over. After Cog finished preparing himself, Keaton narrowed her eyes, white light flashing briefly in the depths of her pupils, and she charged, starting off the match by swinging Catastrophe horizontally.
---
...Piix:As Piix was not anticipating Pal's incoming swipe, his disarming maneuver worked. The shortsword successfully swept Orpiment out of Piix's grip and sent the golden hammer spinning like a pinwheel into the air, over her head, and away. Piix gasped sharply, but didn't relent in her assault, knowing that while she had been divested of her main offensive weapon, she still could hold her own until she retrieved Orpiment. Concentrating a little, Piix started to spin her body away from Pal, twisting her form around. Discus spun between her shoulder-blades, then, miraculously, changed positions, levitating rapidly up Piix's body until it was hovering a hairsbreadth away from her wrist. One by one, the orbs comprising Triad's formation started to pummel at Pal, attempting to distract him while Piix went for her weapon. While very small, those spheres could still pack a punch, quite literally, and aiming for one was quite like trying to knock down a fly with an overly heavy broadsword.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
"You may not have picked up on this, but this is kind of a bar." What is she? That Mind... It looks orchestrated. Controlled. Like there's a few of us in there... Or is that what I'm seeing? "And as the barkeep, I assumed I should be keeping new customers seen to. Brilliant strategy, yes?" He grinned again, setting out a glass of water for Dekuyaketh with a mutter of "don't break the bank, buddy, I only got so much space in that cash register."
--
Risky had suggested something with the express purpose of being offensive, insulting to both the target and an innocent bystander, and was crude to the point of being flat-out revolting. Marya burst out laughing as Richard's attempt at explaination was interrupted by his mouthful of cheap beer.
"Nah, nah. More like siblings. He's adopted." Still snickering to herself, the beastfolk started for the door, "I'm gonna go get the second aide kit Rich'. Keep track of this one, I like 'er."
The zombie finally wiped the alcohol off his face and sighed.
"That was Marya, and I sincerely apologize for her."
Had it not been asked before, Stygian might have hesitated with the explanation to that question, so that it might have showed how he was thinking of some diversion or easy explanation. It wasn't a pleasant subject with him. And he'd veered too close to it
'Well... the nightmares I'd created sort of caught up with me. It would be terribly hard to explain anything beyond that', he said, shrugging a bit and not averting his look. That sort of thing was always a sign of dishonesty; everyone knew that. 'It's a self-afflicted disease. And I've probably deserved it. Not much more to think about it than that, in the long run.'
Silence following, the conversation was brought to a standstill, it being clear that Stygian was not about to explain anything further.
'Look, I'm sorry. Now is just not the best place and time to tell', he said, after that pause. Then he chuckled. 'You know, few have ever seen what I can do, and I usually strive to keep it that way. I should be worried...' He gave her a look that told him that somehow, he wasn't.
- -
The machine looked at Dani in such a manner that she got the feeling of a smirk. It was hard to understand how that was even possible, really.
'
:well, that depends. i am hoping we have some analgesics around here though...' the metal woman replied jovially, the fingers of one hand shifting surfaces and displaying various tools as she rolled them. '
:otherwise i could just paralyze you for just a little bit. don't worry; it's nothing dangerous, and it only lasts for a few minutes.'
- -
Watching the glass hover over to the strange man-creature, whose mind was like a whole arrangement of layers and wraps, all made of different shapes and... if there were different fabrics or materials for making minds, she would have said just that, the dark-haired woman blinked and then just shook her head in confusion, still staring at... whatever it was in front of her. If it was a thinking thing, she had no idea what it was trying to say to her. It all just came blaring at her like an excited crowd of people all screaming in her face from a couple of steps away.
'What... the Hell is...?!' she began, then almost glared for a second. Then, very suddenly, a rather powerful suggestion hit the Boog in the face, a proverbial arm wrench in thought that could have made a lesser mind conform blindly and stupidly:
You want to go away!
I can't sleep.
Alex confirmed the thought to himself while staring at the ceiling, attentively listening to the only two other-- humanoids around the infirmary. He is consciously thinking too much to let himself go to sleep, even if he knew he was tired. Deciding to sit up just as the android mentioned temporarily paralyzing Dani. "Right," he paused for a moment to get off the bed, "I think I'll help you look for the drugs. Should be some around." Stopping before the medical cabinet he rummaged around in earlier, and without knowledge beyond first aid he abruptly asked, "..what am I looking for, specifically?"
As soon as the jackal hefted her mace and swung for the wolf, something seemed to change about Cog. Perhaps the wolf stood taller or straighter - some subtle shift in weight or balance, or perhaps even just some imperceptible change of energy, but all at once the wolf seemed somehow more real – the black of his clothes was deeper, the silver of his charms brighter, and the yellow of his eyes like a candle-flame, or the glow of the harvest moon.
He blurred, and there was a flash of silver, and the sound of metal impacting metal. The wolf slid back as the jackal's powerful hammer-blow slammed into the wolf's blocking sword.
His feet had slid into a wider stance, and with one hand gripping the hilt of his sword and the other pressed carefully onto the dull back of the blade, pressing against Catastrophe in a desperate block. It was evident that despite the jackal's thin frame, the force of using such a massive weapon, even if it wasn't enchanted, might give her the advantage of raw power. Two trails of dust left by the wolf's feet attested to this.
The wolf was fast, though, and knew how to use his weapon. Twisting suddenly, his hand dropped from the back of the blade to join the other gripping the hilt, and he lunged forward, scraping his sword along the mace's side, inside the jackal's guard, as the edge danced like a needle of ice for the jackal's face.
* * *
Upstairs, a doorknob clicked, utterly unnoticed by the patrons of the noisy tavern. A few minutes later, however, the thumping of feet on the wooden stairs that lead to the main room turned at least a few heads, if it didn't exact universal notice. The place was a dimensional tide-pool - surely more than just the few who arrived just that day must have found themselves stuck there, and the rooms were if not cheap, than at least always affordable.
The newcomer appeared to be a black kitty of some sort, and a big one at that - oddly dressed, as though only half-ready to go to work - shirt neatly tucked into a pair of slacks, covering the tops of black leather shoes, and a black-and-white pinstripe waistcoat buttoned neatly over a cream-colored shirt. A white tie completed the ensemble, also tucked carefully inside the waistcoat. Somewhat at odds with his businesslike appearance, in his left hand he carried what appeared to be an acoustic guitar which could only be described as beautiful. It practically glowed, the wood a dark, rich red, and gleamed almost wetly under the lights of the bar.
His eyes were as white as milk, devoid of iris or pupil. Apparently blind, he managed to descend the stairs and find a barstool rather quickly, across from the momentarily indisposed bartender. Along his neck and face, and where his hands were exposed, scrawling blue tattoos glowed an eldritch blue.
"You should have told me there was company." He said, stretching. "I would have gotten up sooner. Coffee, please."
* * *
In the infirmary, Laertes's eyes snapped open.
Then they snapped wider. His jaw was broken crooked, and he began to cough up blood profusely, staining his red robe a deeper crimson as he sat up. More pain blossomed in his head, and the coughs wracked his jaw with yet greater agony.
There was no way he could speak as he was, but his left hand spasmed and then clenched, and then began to slowly began the process of spellcasting. Moments later, his jaw began to shift, and coughed up another mouthful of blood before the blood began to staunch. The area tinged a fuzzy blue as the grievous wound healed, until the priest could speak without feeling like he was talking with fire. He mouthed a few slurred syllables, and with a click the jaw snapped back into place. His eyes bulged, and his right hand dug furrows into the bed, but the priest simply remained silent instead of screaming.
It was almost a full minute before he untensed, relaxing enough to lie back on the bed. He swung his legs over the side, and gingerly stood up, grabbing his scythe set next to him and leaning on it like a cane.
He said nothing, but his eyes turned to stare at the door to the common room, the golden orbs somehow thoughtful rather than filled with rage.
The woman squirted a thought at him. That was the only way of describing it; she opened the gap in her funnel of a mind and shoved it through, right at him. If that was one of ours, they're either incredibly cocky or terminally stupid. Neither was particularly likely in anything able to rearrange a mind to this extent; in a species that reacted to each other with aloofness at best, cerebacidal mania at worst and cannibalism on average something that prone to immediate, inneffective attacks wouldn't have lived long enough to get that powerful.
Boog did nothing visibly, at first. Mentally he played shell games of how his thought patterns were arranged, cycling memories and facts and calculations through one another just so...
And the hurled mental command landed squarely as part of the pattern. You want to go away, Was definitely in the pattern now, but it was a description and facing the wrong way.
Visibly, Boog was still unchanged, but now what was there took on far more sinister connotations. His huge eyes were madder than they were comically impractical, his skinneyness brought to mind more a man starved to death rather than one who was simply built that way... It was distilled repulsiveness; not revulsion, where it is a matter of being disgusting, but some unnamed quality that repulsed the viewer.
The pattern continued its motion, for all the world just as it had been earlier. You want to go away was stretched out, inspected, passed from one part of the pattern to another like a magician holding up his perfectly ordinary deck of cards.
In the middle of being passed again, a set of teeth came down on the thought. It was drifting through the rest and what looked like another perfectly ordinary (or at least as ordinary as this mind got) set of concepts crushed it to nothing and put that nothing away somewhere.
Boog looked like his affable self again, without ever having changed a bit.
"Amateur."
With that, he turned to see to the cat. He rather liked musicians anyway, this would be a good pickup after that disappointment.
"No, you wouldn't have," he replied with a quirked eyebrow as he set out a cup of coffee for the fellow. "But I'd have given points for the attempt."
"Touché." the panther said, and lifted the steaming mug to his lips, slurping the black liquid without further comment. He leaned back in his chair, seemingly at home in the small barroom, and gave the room a brief once-over, looking at the various patrons that had arrived while he slept. He raised an eyebrow, and lowered the mug, raising an eyebrow and giving the Boogeyman and half-smile.
"A full house, huh?" he said, fangs gleaming. He took another drink, cracking his neck absently. It was apparently the man was either incredibly lazy, or used to staying up at night and sleeping during the day.
"Shall I play for my supper again, then?" the panther said, his guitar resting easily on one foot. "I count at least ten...more than ten, wandering around here." he said, changing the subject quickly. "Did I sleep a week, or something?"
"She reminds me of a drill instructor I once had. Not a bad sort, in his own way," Risky said, puffing on the last of her cigarette.
She glanced at the new arrivals as if seeing them for the first time, then stood. "I need to go freshen up a bit. Don't get suckered into a fight with some of these folks."
Risky cast one last glance at the fights outside, and quickly made her way to what was marked as, and possibly even was, the ladies' room.
Looking in Alex's direction, the machine waved a little not-so-directly at the medical cabinets, which she had not checked. Unlike Stygian, she was not pessimistic about the possibilities of the availability of good service and wares in the sort of place they were in, but rather just confused and at a loss to all probabilities.
':if this place doesn't have [lidocaine] it's not even third-rate. check the bottom drawers. it should say "[lidocaine hydrochloride]", preferably on a bottle', she said, getting off the chair and walking over to the side of Dani's bed. ':see if you can find some steroids as well.'
Alex mentally sounded the phrase lidocaine hydrochloride out in his head a few times or more, tipping a few bottles slightly to check for their labels and pushing them back when they disappoint. Eventually, he comes across a couple of red and yellow vials of steroids which he plucks out and sets on the table while he continues to, quite tediously, look for a very specific bottle in the bunch of cabinets.
"Figures as much, on the last bloody drawer. Here we go." Finding the specific bottle. he takes the pair of steroid vials in one hand and the analgesic in the other, then briskly walks over to the android and Dani.
Quote from: Keaton the Black Jackal on June 02, 2008, 08:52:12 PM
...Piix:
As Piix was not anticipating Pal's incoming swipe, his disarming maneuver worked. The shortsword successfully swept Orpiment out of Piix's grip and sent the golden hammer spinning like a pinwheel into the air, over her head, and away. Piix gasped sharply, but didn't relent in her assault, knowing that while she had been divested of her main offensive weapon, she still could hold her own until she retrieved Orpiment. Concentrating a little, Piix started to spin her body away from Pal, twisting her form around. Discus spun between her shoulder-blades, then, miraculously, changed positions, levitating rapidly up Piix's body until it was hovering a hairsbreadth away from her wrist. One by one, the orbs comprising Triad's formation started to pummel at Pal, attempting to distract him while Piix went for her weapon. While very small, those spheres could still pack a punch, quite literally, and aiming for one was quite like trying to knock down a fly with an overly heavy broadsword.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Paladin made to pursue Piix but stopped short as the orbs started their attack. Not expecting them Pal took a hit to his muzzle before he managed to bring his arms up to block. Spitting out a tooth and some blood he took the metal wolfshead helm that was clipped to his belt and put it on after he had sheathed his sword. Still while he was doing this he had still taken hit from the orbs but his armor had shrugged it off. Gripping
'Cobalt' Pal made after Piix the orbs thumping into his armor but not slowing him.
'Few who are still alive anyway. I don't suppose
you have family?' Stygian asked, when another uncomfortable silence began settling, then looked away and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Why all these personal questions? He was not feeling threatened and he had no obligation or reason to be looking into the elf's life. It was enough that she sealed up like a clam once he spoke. He was beginning to sound like some Greek tragedian to himself as well.
'Look, we don't have to be this formal', he said, stepping a bit closer. 'It's easy to get uncomfortable when you're just standing around like this...' He glanced over her for a second, thumbing something in his pocket, then took out his hand and put them together behind his back. 'I'm going to go see if there are rooms. More comfortable ones. With sofas and coffee tables. And preferably with a view.' He looked her straight in the eyes. 'You're welcome to join, if only for more free drinks.'
Smirking, the man turned, and slowly walked away, taking one last deep breath of the clear air before pushing open the doors and going back inside.
- -
Taking the steroid vials while holding the bottle of local anesthetic in her other hand, Sahlena scrutinized them each in turn, placing two down on the table stand next to the bed before she found the right one. Opening the self-sealing top of first the anesthetic, then the steroid concoction, she raised one hand, and with a little singing sound a pair of syringe-like needles shot out of her fingers.
'
:so, now...' she said, and then turned her unblinking red gaze toward Dani. '
:shall i?'
- -
Gaping just a bit, the dark-haired woman looked with incredulity at Linos as he entered into and held conversation with what, to her senses, was essentially a... floating cloud of madness, for lack of a better description.
'Wait... That thing
talks to you?!' she blurted out, her strong, high alto voice full with disbelieving amusement.
Boog shrugged, "Please don't ask me how time works here. You slept awhile, leave it at that. As for your supper, a song would always be appreciated." The entity grinned, just as the newcomer interrupted.
The concept entity shrugged at Linos in confusion. The woman either lacked certain important senses or had rather intriguing additional ones. Then there was that mind... He made gestures for 'don't ask me/help me out here' in a language of signing best referred to as Universal Confused Male (a language he was rather glad he'd picked up a while back, as almost everyplace he'd ever gone intuitively spoke some dialect of it or another).
Linos raised an eyebrow at the woman, his cup of coffee steaming silently in his hand as his head turned slightly towards the gesturing Boog and then back to the girl. He took a sip, and then nodded.
"Yes, he does. I admit, when I first saw him I was impressed too, but he's really full of surprises. He can make drinks too."
The panther drank deeply of his cup, and then turned back to the Boogeyman. "Aha, well. Hopefully I won't die of old age next time I take a nap. And when you feel like it, just give me a request. Something to scour the soul and make longing for a drink, huh?" he grinned, showing those white fangs again, and adjusted his grip on his guitar.
Sylvie turned quiet once again. Now she genuinely couldn't think of anything to say. She wasn't sure how to lead in with another question, and she didn't know what to make of his last statement. This was getting ridiculous; she couldn't kep going quiet whenever she was confused. Anyone would take that negatively. But what could she say to that?
She was still feeling moronic and increasingly awkward when Stygian broke the silence. Her skin prickled a bit at his suggestion, and her eyes were a bit wider than usual, even as he walked in. For a moment, she stood, glancing between the door and the Circles, taking in warmth from the daylight.
In that vague, half-surprised way that just-now-remembered tasks make a person seem, she walked over to one empty circle, standing carefully outside it, and picked up Dani's forgotten weapon. Then she took a last, slightly regretful look at the sun and walked back into the bar.
-----
Dani, for the most part, watched and twisted her fingers a bit as she watched Alex and Sahlena look around for ways of subduing her. She was starting to wish that her body would get the message and knock itself out. After so many years with her condition, it would seem that she'd be used to randomly induced sleep spells, but it had been a while since she'd had an injury needing this level of treatment, and she couldn't help being just a little nervous. She watched the ermine and android attentively, only looking up when Laertes awoke.
Once the appropriate medicine had been found, she looked up at Sal, quelling her anxiety. An analgesic, she vaguely remembered, was a painkiller, meaning that maybe she wouldn't need to be knocked out. She wasn't sure why steroids were needed, but she assumed it was legal to use them. It wasn't technically a real infirmary, true, but laws and limits applied almost universally when it came to medical-grade drugs.
"Yeah, sure. Thanks for this," she said a bit more confidently than she felt, offering her arm to Sal.
Mechangel
In addition to keeping a small portion of attention attached to the time-manipulater, the cloaked hunchback in the corner was now tracking two more newcomers. One of them was a woman, and didn't seem to have any particularly noteworthy physical characteristics aside from a few tattoos. However, the other appeared to be a 'blind' musician, judging by his eyes, but certainly didn't need them as he aptly demonstrated with his observation that there were more than ten people in the room. Interesting...I wonder what the abilities of these two are?.
The man continued his surreptitious surveillance and data-collecting, now splitting his attention between the two newcomers, and occasionally glancing through the wall into the next room to see if anything interesting happened in the infirmary with the time-manipulator.
Walking past the conversation where Linos and Boog were confusing the new arrival, Stygian leaned over the counter to put his glass down behind it, and then straightened his coat before walking up behind the Boogeyman, tapping him on the bony structure he had for a shoulder.
'Are there any available rooms upstairs?' he asked, voice low. '
Rooms. As in ones fit for
people. Not storage spaces or the attic.'
'Okay, someone has got to tell me', came the much louder voice of the dark-haired woman. 'What the bloody heck is that thing? I think it just tried to... shout at me or something. I can't make anything out.' She looked at Stygian as if he somehow owed her an explanation. He returned the look with still, black eyes for a couple of seconds, then grinned, and patted Boog on the shoulder yet again.
'Have a fun time with this one', was all that he said. It was not clear whether if he was speaking to Boog or the woman. She, however, seemed to take it as the latter, and seemed to get a bit offended as well, as she immediately scowled in Stygian's direction.
'You tell me or I swear I'll make you a mess', she replied, with a certainty that was surprising. Stygian's brow simply twitched, and he smirked on.
'Yeah, good luck with that Annie. Anyway...' the man said, glancing to Sylvie as she walked back in through the door. 'Rooms?'
- -
Nodding in return, the machine woman paid no heed to Dani's obvious hesitance, but merely took her arm and narrowed her optics as she leaned in, spotting out the best place to make the injections. After a couple of seconds, she pressed the tip of the needle with the anesthetic down, easing it in with that familiar, uncomfortably intrusive feeling of all syringes. When done, she waited a short while, and then found a larger blood vessel for the steroid, mixed with a slight nutrient concoction, both of which were meant to supplement her body's own immune and recovery system.
'
:there. i would rather have used some nano-mixtures for this, but the regular stuff is cheaper and more available. i recommend you take some antibiotics though. burns tend to get infected so easily.'
"Rooms aplenty, trust me." the black feline said to the man in white, turning to stare right at him and smiling. He drank slowly, gesturing with a tilt of his head towards the tops of the stairs. "Pay what you think they're worth, like the drinks. They do know if you cheat." he smiled to himself, winking one milk-white eye before turning back to the stilll quite-confused lady. He raised an eyebrow again.
"He doesn't shout so much, really. You sure you're feeling quite alright?"
...Keaton:The impact rattled Catastrophe, but didn't falter Keaton's stance, unfortunately for Cogidubnus. During the short interval of recuperation that transpired between the two, Cog took advantage of Keaton's momentary lapse to strike, his sword moving like a quicksilver blur. In the moment his sword started to lance toward her face, Keaton moved instinctively backwards, her feet shifting and sliding rapidly to backpedal her away from the incoming slice. After all, she assumed that a sword that sharp could definitely compensate for Cog's apparent lack of magic by disfiguring her.
The sword bypassed Keaton's muzzle by a few inches, sweeping through a few locks of hair which lingered, suspended in mid-air, and severing them. Abruptly decapitated from their roots, those long strands of hair tumbled lifelessly in clumps to the ground, leaving Keaton to stare in abject disbelief. For a moment, she fingered the now-cut tufts where the right side of her bangs used to be, supplementing their length with additional pulses of metamorphosis magic to regenerate the lost hair. The hair elongated, turning a wicked black as they encroached like intertwining roots, then, betwixt the hue, the dirty blonde hue was restored, caking the darkness.
"That was... quick," Keaton conceded, still seeming quite awestruck by the feat. She swept her hand through her hair, tossing the bangs back. At least she knew the kid gloves would be off.
She prepared Catastrophe again, starting to ready the darkness around her feet as the shadows spiraled up her form, collecting around her back in amorphous tendrils. Almost like a set of wings, the tendrils splayed, hooking like insidious scythes, then started to move in a whirling dervish of blades toward Cog as she advanced on him, going from solidified to elastic in a matter of moments to provide flexibility, and crane like sentient whips.
---
...Piix:Each time the orbs were deflected, instead of resuming their collective assault, they spun out of sync, spiraling in a disoriented, swirling pattern as they struggled to restore their formation. Meanwhile, the Triad's persistence had provided ample opportunity for Piix to collect her weapon. Skidding to a halt near the fallen hammer, Piix used her tail to scoop Orpiment up and deposit its handle into her paw's grip. She made a mental note of installing some sort of strap or handle onto her weapon in order to prevent further incidents from occurring, but right now she had to take care of this battle.
Jerking Orpiment down, Piix charged full-speed toward Paladin, spinning Orpiment in a rapid motion around her. Once the Triad realized its owner was approaching, the individual orbs fluttered back, zipping like oily streaks of gold until they returned to their orbit around Piix's body. Bringing Orpiment back, Piix swung it forcefully, letting out a triumphant battle cry.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
One of the grey wolf's eyes narrowed, a tuft of the jackal's dirty blonde hair drifting off the wicked edge of his sword as the jackal simply regrew the small portion of her hair that had been cut. The wolf's clothing fluttered as he paused, and he watched the jackal take a step back and conjure a almost a dozen blades of darkness that twisted and scythed for the wolf. In a display of eloquence, the wolf grunted.
When someone's got your wrist, use your other hand to punch his nose.
The wolf couldn't hope to simply block twelve directions at once, from tentacles likely sharper than his own steel - so instead, he shifted on his feet, one hand clenching as if trying to grab a handful of iron, and punched. If he had been fast before, the wolf was a blur now, and the wolf's coat flared behind him as a distortion in the air, a wave of pure force, tore at the saffron succubus. Another charm, apparently hidden under his shirt, began to glow, shining white through the black material, and the wolf himself shimmered once before the effect died away.
Looking elsewhere, Stygian fumbled in a breast pocket for a bit. Taking out a wrap of bills, he removed some and put them down on the table. He wasn't cheating, but he was being cheap. It was the least he could do for the Boog...
'I'll be upstairs then. I'd enjoy it highly if I could get a bottle of something fancy-named and chilled, and perhaps strawberries or grapes or the like with it', he said, turning. 'That means fat tip. Oh, and since I know you and you know me; No, I don't mind if you put strychnine in it. Only whoever else will be drinking it might.'
Nearly sighing a bit, the man put his hands in his pockets, and then walked off calmly, slowly up the stairs.
...Keaton:Out of all of the tricks Keaton was expecting for Cog to have up his sleeve, she was
not expecting for him to resort to punching her. Amidst a momentary lull as Keaton started to prepare the barrage of tentacles again, Cog dashed forward with supernatural speed, drawing his fist back and swinging it full-force as he weaved between Keaton's rapidly jabbing tentacles, just enough to get within range. One of the lancing tendrils missed the mark entirely, another speared the edge of his jacket and tore it, but Cog utterly avoided any physical damage. Keaton's eyes widened at the incoming fist and saw the imperceptible rippling surrounding it; she screamed, only for the sound to cut short like a record skittering to a halt on its player once the outward deluge of pressure smacked her in the face.
Keaton would have hit the ground if she wasn't saved by the swift maneuvering of those tendrils. Weaving out of place and bending disproportionately, the tentacles embedded their bladed tips into the soil, preventing Keaton from making contact with the soil. Keaton could feel warm blood trickle from her nose. Not broken, but bleeding. Snarling, she reciprocated blindly, reacting entirely on instinct, as she had a tendency to do when struck - still supported, parallel to the ground by those tentacles, she swept her leg at Cogidubnus, the heavy boot gliding almost weightlessly as she tried to kick him in the stomach. Just in case that failed, she prepared her tentacles, withdrawing the muscles compacted inside the paper-shadow skin so she could spring out of the way of any incoming attacks.
---
...Dekuyaketh:With his sharp hearing and enhanced senses, Dekuyaketh easily overheard Boog's disgruntled murmuring, but decided against remarking on it, for once. He decided it wasn't in his best interests to get in a verbal skirmish with the proprietor of the tavern, considering he had no idea how competent he was at battle, and didn't want to get thrown out so soon after he had finally settled down. Swirling the contents of the glass a little, Dekuyaketh started rummaging around in his pocket for his cigarette lighter, hoping he hadn't misplaced it during his altercation with Laertes.
Fortunately, his hand closed around a familiar metallic shape and he emerged, flicking open a nondescript silver lighter. Resting the glass of water on the table, Dekuyaketh dug around in his other pocket for his cigarettes, eventually slipping out the box - emblazoned with a stylized, archaic symbol which was possibly the company logo for that particular brand - and thumbing a cigarette out of the box. Pocketing the box again, Dekuyaketh held the cigarette to the fire at the end of the lighter, lit it, and took a long drag from the cigarette, breathing out a trail of smoke (and making sure to turn his head so he didn't blow it in Boog's face).
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Observing the android as it went about inoculating Dani with her precise instruments, he sat in a nearby chair. Come to think of it, it's been a long time since I've seen technology the likes of which back at home. Or more advanced, for that matter. Alex looked at the door, wondering if that strange man was still outside, perhaps looking at him through the keyhole or something. The timeshift drive was just about fully recharged, by now, as a slight alarm pierced his senses. It was about time he went about with his plan.
He then decided to get up, not long after he sat, "Will you be alright with the android, Dani? I need to go do something for a bit." As he spoke, he head over to the corner, grabbed his stuff and pocketed them back in his jacket, "Not that I'm implying that the android isn't capable," Alex made eye contact with Dani, "--but if you want me to stay or anything.."
Cog certainly didn't expect the jackal to recover so quickly, using her tentacles like second arms and legs to prevent herself from falling to the ground, and then launching herself at the wolf feet-first in an attempt to knock the wind out of him. The wolf moved quickly.
The wolf reached into his pocket in a blur, and sidestepping quickly tossed a coin into the air that flared like a second sun - hopefully dispelling the dark tentacles, or at least blinding the succubus while he prepared for another attack.
* * *
Something tapped Dekuyaketh on the shoulder.
As the Maine Coon nonchalantly blew a trail of smoke, he turned to see the priest from before, standing as silent as a statue behind him. Before the demon could say a word, however, Laertes simply bowed, shallowly, but respectfully nonetheless. Saying nothing, the jackal walked away, and sat in his corner by the window, looking at nothing in particular.
Underneath his fur, his knuckles holding the scythe were white.
'I like this one shes feisty' Pal thought as the distance dwindled between the Wolf and the Orin. Grinning inside his helm, Paladin pirouetted as they both reached striking distance. 'Cobalt' clashed with Orpiment and Pal slid behind Piix and aimed a kick at her behind.
...Keaton:Fortunately for Cog, the following events proceeded exactly as he had hoped. The coin somersaulted into the air, dusty light catching off its pristine surface and flaring tremendously, the rapidly-expanding balloon of light encapsulating the coin. Exposed to the intense concentration of light, Keaton's tentacles started to evaporate into great, wispy gouts of smoke which, almost as though they liquefied, slithered back into the soil, corroding the earth a pitch-black as they slipped back into the shadows. Keaton herself managed to foresee the dissipation of her tentacles shortly after Cog dispatched the coin, so she was relatively prepared - once she was on her back, released from the tentacles, Keaton sprung back onto her feet, armed with Catastrophe.
---
...Piix:Once Paladin successfully deflected Orpiment, Piix almost immediately recuperated, starting to swing the hammer around. Evading the blow, Pal slipped out of the way of the hammer and aimed a kick for Piix's rear, which, unfortunately for the Orin, connected. Letting out a yelp, Piix was thrown forward and rolled along the ground, recovering quickly enough to jump to her feet and spin Orpiment around repeatedly. Snarling, Piix jumped at the wolf again with her weapon raised, bringing it down in a perfectly vertical arch.
---
...Dekuyaketh:As the smoke dissipated around Dekuyaketh's face, he stared in rather blunt surprise at the priest standing in front of him. A moment passed without either one of them saying anything; Dekuyaketh rubbed compulsively at his neck, resisting the urge to fall into his mostly-medicated tics out of anxiety. For a moment, he suspected Laertes would try and cut him down, so he gripped his cigarette between his digits and elevated his guard.
Instead, Laertes bowed briefly to him and left, leaving Dekuyaketh quite awestruck. For once, the Maine Coon-Manticore looked very speechless, but decided it was best left that way. After all, he didn't want to instigate another fight and lose another arm.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Boog tsked as he snatched the bills off the table; all payment was supposed to be in coin, but he could fetch it from the man later. Strychnine, honestly. How crass. A quickly muttered argument and the desired refreshment was already waiting in the room Stygian selected. Just to be a jackass, the bottle was labeled Fancy. Fortunately, it warranted the name.
"Catboy, see if you can play us something upbeat," the concept entity threw over his shoulder, "Relaxed people buy booze, in my experience." He turned his attention on the new woman again. He was having trouble coming up with a way of communicating with her, which would make it awfully hard to get her to buy drinks. He figured he'd try talking to her the same way she had to him, and tried to drop a thought into her head. You see a strange-looking man in a tweed coat... As blunt as what she'd attempted on him, but hopefully a tad more effective in making the point understood.
--
Marya came back with the Second Aide Kit, a box full of materials useful in repairing your standard zombie (a pair of rowenwood sticks enchanted with fleshwelding abilities, tape, a stapler, paste...) and got to work on Richard, lecturing him about the damages he'd sustained.
Linos raised his eyebrow at the strange woman, tilting his head just slightly at her back-and-forth with the man now walking upstairs, and her reaction to the Honor Circle's mostly harmless bartender. He narrowed one milky eye, not quite looking at the girl as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He adjusted the deeply gleaming guitar resting on his foot, bringing it around in a position to play.
Mess you up, huh? Hum...
"Of course." he said, simply turning on his stool, so that he faced the entirety of the room, adjusting the positioning and grip on his guitar, tucking it in just so before lowering his head just slightly. He closed his eyes, covering the blank orbs, and his hands positioned themselves without guidance. The panther took a breath, the claws of his right hand extending just slightly - as though testing the sound, he plucked a single string. It was a deep bass tone, but without any rhythm or context - the most basic sort note that any idiot with a pick and a guitar could have played. Nothing to scour the soul or move the heart, to cause tears or smiles. Nothing to pay any attention to, certainly - by all right, something to simply fade into the background of the bar.
There was something electric in the reverberating note, something that by no virtue of the note itself, and yet by every virtue of the note itself, made one sit up and take notice, as though the note was ten times louder than it really was, or worth listening to ten times more than it should have been.
The panther nodded, and smiled. Then he began to play.
A rich sound, one that could only be described as the yellow of creamy butter and the blue of the open sky, the endless distance of waving wheat in a prairie without even mountains in the distance. The smell of dust. A curtain billowing in the breeze, wheat bread with cold tea, and slick, wet grass. It was the essence of these things - the essence of wistfulness. Of Wanderlust.
It was just music, although one might say it was only music. But it was music like no music ever heard - it spoke to the soul without trying, tugged at the heartstrings as easily as Linos plucked the strings of his guitar. It was music - very real music. Those who could hear would find that suddenly they were listening closely, and that along with a feeling, a desire to wander, a desire to rest, perhaps a cold one to slake a deep thirst wouldn't be so bad.
Those who were more aware of their mental processes would find that, although they felt differently, it was, really and truly, only music.
* * *
To Keaton's surprise, the wolf simply backed up, smiling softly to himself, and gave her a nod. His eyes gleamed.
"Thank you. I had wondered." he said, suddenly sliding his left foot backwards, and lifting his sword into a middle guard, and saying nothing more. He still grinned, however, and waited for the jackal to make her next move.
Mechangel
The cloaked man had continued his passive observation of the two newcomers, as well as the battles and other going-ons in the bar. Until the musician turned around, and started playing his guitar. For a moment, the man's breath almost caught. The music was simply, in a word, beautiful. Unbidden, he faintly recalled memories of his former self, back when he was whole. Back when he was...truly angelic.
But, the memories returned to the back of his mind quickly as he reminded himself (mainly with aid from the other 'new' part of his mind), that he still was angelic, but in a different way. He then began thinking about this strange musician, and how the song had made him feel something. The augmented part of his mind carefully picked apart the composition, analyzing every nuance of every note, while his eye shifted into several specialized arcane spectrums.
But, despite his scrutinies, he found nothing out of the ordinary with the harmonics. However, that did not dissuade his suspicions. There is no way someone can weave music that well without a special virtue to show for it...
However, what he hadn't realized until he 'rebooted' was that he hadn't even received the full effect of the music, what with half of his mind and body no longer being 'authentic'. However, the very opposite could be said for another occupant of the bar...
Karazkt
The Insectis had remained oblivious to nearly everything that had been happening in the bar in his unwavering vigil of focusing entirely upon the Queen. However, that was shattered when a sudden note twanged through the bar. To his super-sensitive antennae, the note slammed right into them, reverberating down their bases into his carapaced skull. What in the deepest cores of Furrae was THAT hideous thing? He thought to himself, but quickly tried to regain his peaceful posture.
But then, something even more attention-grabbing took hold of him; the music itself. Of course, it wasn't 'music' to him per se, as his species' idea of music was rather different from that of surfacers. Nonetheless, it was still music, and it especially still had power.
Initially, Karazkt was almost paralyzed from the feeling the sounds induced, due to it being magnified by his antennae. His mind was filled with wonderful memories and feelings; the taste of fine nectar-ale, the visceral pleasure of mining underground, the safety of his own hexagon-cell in his hive-city's resting catacombs, the satisfaction of designing and construcing a new clockwork machine with his fellow Engineers, and of course, unwavering servitude to his original Queen.
After some time, he mentally shook himself of this (with extreme difficulty, despite his regimented engineering mind), and turned towards the source. He listened for a small time, desperately trying to hold off the inexorable feeling of motion, although his antennae were gently waving to the melody. Eventually, he tore his focus away from it and turned back to the Queen. She did not seem to have been disturbed by the music. After an intense internal battle, the power of the music and his own curiosity beat out his sense of duty and loyalty. Barely. He pushed his bottle of nectar-ale closer to the Queen, and silently prayed to the Mother Queen that the gift would be enough to placate her until he got back, if she woke up while he was gone.
With that, the bug got up, turned around, and gradually made his way across the bar towards the musician, replacing his goggles back over his eyes as he went.
Quote from: Keaton the Black Jackal on June 09, 2008, 08:39:19 PM
...Piix:
Once Paladin successfully deflected Orpiment, Piix almost immediately recuperated, starting to swing the hammer around. Evading the blow, Pal slipped out of the way of the hammer and aimed a kick for Piix's rear, which, unfortunately for the Orin, connected. Letting out a yelp, Piix was thrown forward and rolled along the ground, recovering quickly enough to jump to her feet and spin Orpiment around repeatedly. Snarling, Piix jumped at the wolf again with her weapon raised, bringing it down in a perfectly vertical arch.
Turning to face the Orin as she recovered her balance, Pal set himself as Piix snarled he fury at him and brought her hammer down at him. Just as he was about to bring up 'Cobalt' to block he switched tactics and stepped back just out of reach of the swing. As Orpiment slammed into the ground after passing a mere inch Pal stomped on its head putting the considerable weight of wolf and armor against it.
"Lass I think we should stop now this isn't exactly a fair fight..." Pal said.
The woman blinked, and twitched a little where she sat. Then her eyes flickered to the others for a brief second.
'Okay, did you just see that?!' she blurted out, before she could catch herself. 'It's some kind of...' She almost said precisely what she thought it had looked like. For a second, the haze of oddity and noise had conformed to a shape, and she had seen some sort of image over it all that had been oddly resemblant of that lobby flasher that had walked in on her once. Long coat, bony hands, hideous face with a creepy grin on it.
'Okay, where's the manager?' she asked out loud, just barely managing to ignore the haunting music. 'I have a complaint.'
- -
The drifting, compelling tones chasing after him upstairs, Stygian's feeling of disillusionment and slight melancholy remained unshaken.
Fantastic of you, Creepman, he berated himself.
You come here to have a good time, and get a shot at the nicest girl in the place, and what do you make of it? He pushed open the first door that he simply stopped by, and then walked in, confident that in the convenient way that this place had of being, it would be the right one.
She's a pretty
sort of girl, and those don't take initiatives, or face difficulties. They either wait until some guy gets lucky or they end up with the assholes who are full of themselves enough to think that any woman would want them, and who thus feel no modesty or hesitation about approaching them. He was not surprised when leather sofas and chairs, a bed at the other end of the room, a tasteful coffee table, a Gibson and an amplifier in the corner and a bucket of ice with a bottle in it and a couple of glasses appeared before his eyes. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he walked in, humming along with the music from downstairs a bit, and sat down.
- -
Turning that single red lens onto Alex, the machine almost managed to look indignant.
'
:she'll be fine. once the [lidocaine] kicks in she won't feel a thing in her arm. really', she said. It was meant to be reassuring, however something that sounded like that never really managed to be.
Sylvie entered and watched quietly for a while, specifically the cat with the guitar and the short-haired lady from earlier. Stygian apparently knew the woman, but the elf wasn't sure why she was so confused... she'd seemed collected enough on her way in. Stygian ordered drinks and went upstairs, giving Sylvie a moment to think. She suddenly remembered the glaive in her hand. She had been hoping to check on Dani... might as well give this back to her too.
She'd moved about six paces toward the infirmary when the blind cat-being began to play.
The Green stopped, the effect of the music so overwhelming that her knees gave way, and she sat down in a nearby empty chair with a soft thump. For a moment, she wasn't in a maybe-existing bar between dimensions, but back home, in the Northern Hemisphere; she was in her forest, where no-one was scared of green skin, or any other strange color, because they all knew not to fear the unknown. She could smell the irises and rosebushes in full bloom, she could taste water from the spring near her home; not just dull tap water, but the purest water in the world, so clean, cold and perfect that the first sip felt like a newborn's first breath of air. The music awakened memories of her safe life, before she left the forest and got arrested.
After a moment or two, she remembered where she was, and blinked herself back to the present. She stood a little shakily, walking over to the infirmary.
-------
Dani watched as Sahlena shot the medicine into her, surprised that it was only slightly more unpleasant than getting a booster shot. She nodded a thanks to the android again, but was distracted from responding to Alex for a moment. She made the "one minute" sign to the ermine and twisted a bit to look out the door. Through the open door, she saw Stygian head upstairs, and Sylvie walk in, looking unsure and a bit flustered. Figures, Dani thought with a mental sigh. She meets a guy who isn't freaked out by her skin in the least and is actually hot, and she's too scared to do anything about it. Not that I blame her for being doubtful...Still, seems she may need a push in the right direction.
These thoughts were rather rudely interrupted by the music... though the intrusion was nowhere near unwelcome. Somehow, the song made her think of Rustburg. Granted, that wasn't exactly a calming place, but the soothing tones of the music made her think of the few stable aspects of her town. How her mom always made cocoa the first morning it snowed; how little kids would flock to the kid who'd just found his trigger; how everyone knew everyone else's name and current problems and triumphs, and was willing to help you out of any scrape, because they'd all been through the same one at some point. If she'd lived on Earth, it would be about the equivalent of a Southern suburb with no accents or gun violence. (The latter, though, was only because gun violence wasn't necessary.)
Sylvie stepped in right after Sahlena had reassured Alex. "'Scuse me," she said politely to the android, kneeling beside her friend's bed and putting the glaive underneath it. "You okay?"
Dani looked at Sylvie, still a little lost due to the music. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said. "That goes for you too," she said, directing the comment and her gaze to Alex all of a sudden. "But thanks for your concern. I'll be okay." She turned back to the elf. "What about you?"
Sylvie looked a little confused now. "I'm fine. Why?"
Dani smirked knowingly and turned her head so neither Sahlena nor Alex could see her lips moving, or hear her if she made a sound. "Go upstairs," she mouthed. Sylvie's cheeks flushed a little. "I was going to already!" she mouthed back, a little indignant when her friend rolled her eyes disbelievingly and mouthed, "Then get going."
Sylvie tucked an errant strand of grassy hair behind her ear and turned her eyes to Sahlena. "Thanks for helping her," she said. "Hope you're better soon, it'd be boring to have that be your only fight," she told Dani, clearly meaning it wouldn't just be boring for the Red. Then she stood, raised a hand in a short goodbye gesture, and headed out of the infirmary and upstairs, slightly nervous, but not really in a bad way.
Slow tones emanated from one of the upstairs rooms, much like those created by the panther's guitar from downstairs, but amplified and sharpened, even if they were muted, and sordined by the walls and door. They seemed to be half mimicking the tune from downstairs, half accompanying it in a sometimes slightly syncopated, lower-key variation of the melody. It wasn't anything approaching to the excellence of Linos' music, but it was pretty damn good for improvisation at least.
It was when Sylvie stepped just outside one of the doors on her right that the music suddenly stopped, and some sort of chilling sensation came over her, much like something she had felt downstairs very recently, as if something were watching her from behind. It lasted for a couple of moments, and then the door right next to her opened a crack, and a familiar pair of platinum-framed black eyes looked out.
'Hm? And here I was thinking you weren't going to take me up on that offer', Stygian said, opening the door and inviting the elf in. Having discarded his coat and loosened his shirt and tie, he kicked back in the sofa, and set the guitar over in its stand, reaching for a glass instead. His pack of cigarettes was laying on the table, next to an opened roll of peppermints.
- -
Looking after the elf as she left, the machine would have smirked if she could properly. She hadn't seen Dani's mouth, but Sylvie's answer she had caught just fine. It wasn't amusing for too long, not when she thought about what whas probably actually going on, but neither was it anything to comment on. Turning back to Dani, she eyed the woman with solid, mechanic precision.
'
:well then', she began, raising the hand from which she had extruded the syringes. '
:tell me when you start to doze off, and we'll get to the fun part.' With a few metallic scrapes and rings, her fingers were transformed into an assortment of sharp edges and instruments, gleaming in the bright light of the lamps above.
Alex walked out of the infirmary without any further word or action other than a nod to Sahleena and Dani, closing the door behind him with a swish of his tail, and was about to find the cloaked man again when he heard the faint sound of music drifting over to the hallway. His ears twitched, and listened intently in his alert state, and found himself lowering his ever present guard for once. The worries of the world; of all worlds, started to melt away from his shoulders, and seemingly along with the pain from his wounds. He reflected upon himself, a broken man running from twisted corridor to twisted corridor, facing the horrors of imagination made incarnate. Ever vigilant but ever afraid, he thought, while he flexed his neck back to release some of the stiffness.
Briefly he stared upwards, almost as if to wipe the slate of his mind clean in the faceless ceiling that seemed to look back at him.
He then shrugged. The rational part of his mind taking control again, and again did his muscles tense ever so slightly in his paranoid alertness while he resumed walking towards the bar again, perhaps to see the cloaked man again and ask the bartender if there was any room and bed available.
The low notes from the man upstairs, muffled through the wood though they were, still made the blind guitarist grin to himself. His own playing subtly changed, and then paused, as if waiting for the other guitar to answer - and then continued playing when the other instrument fell silent. The panther shrugged, although still grinning to himself.
Finally, the song began to slow, and then softly and yet somehow abruptly, the music stopped. The tavern itself seemed to jerk back into reality, the effect of the music passing as quickly as the notes, although leaving a lingering feeling of wide open spaces, of dry air and distance and comfort.
The panther turned, setting his guitar back on his foot, and leaned against the bar. He opened his eyes, and drumming his fingers on the bar once before turning to the strange, distressed woman. His grin widened.
"You're looking at the management, miss. Him." he said, nodding at the Boogeyman. "Personally, I like the ambiance here, but I guess it can be kinda tacky..." he said, looking quite amused with himself.
...Keaton:Keaton narrowed her eyes, slightly quizzical, but didn't interrogate the wolf about his motives. Twisting her heels into an appropriate position, she started to take a few steps backward, twirling Catastrophe like a baton along the way. In spite of its seemingly cumbersome structure, the weapon rotated effortlessly, like a pinwheel, at first simply mesmerizing in its fluid movements, but then becoming outright spectacular as it started to belch sprays of purple and livid red sparks from its clubbed, spiked crown.
She wanted to see what he made of this.
Abruptly, Keaton brought her hand to the center of Catastrophe's shaft, stopping it in its rotation at the opportune moment, so that way it was angled, parallel, its head facing upright, from her body. Trotting forward, Keaton spun Catastrophe again in a sweeping flourish of sparks, then struck forward, a bolt of horrible, intensely red electricity lancing from Catastrophe's head.
---
...Piix:Piix raised her eyebrow skeptically when Pal suggested they stop the match. For a moment, she simply tugged on Orpiment, testing Pal's considerably heavier weight atop the hammer. Even a weapon enchanted to be weightless could be encumbered if additional weight, such as a person standing on it, was added. Finally relinquishing her efforts, Piix let her arm slacken, realizing that Pal's intention was not to attack, but to disarm and formulate a truce. She looked up at Pal.
"Whaddya talkin' about? I don't see wha' yer talkin' about. I mean, I'm only under five feet and armorless, while you're completely... an'..." Piix trailed off, her eyes rapidly scanning over Pal's armored body. "...totally covered in armor an' weapons an'..."
Finally, Piix seemed to get the point.
She sighed, her shoulders slumping, and looked momentarily disappointed, but didn't complain. After all, she
was definitely at an automatic disadvantage, given the significant difference in height, weight, build, and equipment. "...Ah. Well, okay. I see yer point. Want to get a drink an' forget this ever happened?"
---
...Dekuyaketh:As the music played, Dekuyaketh didn't do anything. Seemingly staring off into space, he simply smoked his cigarette, reacting minimally to his surroundings. When Dekuyaketh breathed deeply, the opposite of his cigarette flared a subdued amber and his chest inflated as though he was sucking the smoke right out of that ivory cancer stick, only for him to pinch his fingers tighter around the cigarette and bring it away from his lips, a thick trickle of smoke spilling from his carefully-parted mouth, painting the air like an oily smear.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Karazkt
The song ended as the Insectis made his way across the bar toward the surfacer who produced it. The music made have stopped, but Karazkt's curiosity was still strong; he must learn more about the musician.
He reached said musician just as he finished saying something to another occupant of the bar. Karazkt normally would have known better than to inspect a surfacer without announcement, but that song had done a number on his conscious mind. Immediately he began standard Insectis preliminary information-gathering and introduction; his long and prehensile antennae extended forward and began gently poking and prodding both instrument and musician, acquiring scent and feel. The jaguar may have looked and felt like a Being, but he definitely didn't smell like one. His 'third eye' and other tattoos gave off strange auras in his infravision. The scent of his instrument was also a little off.
He inspected the person for only a few moments, then retreated his antennae.
No one is faster than lightning. Not without some sort of time-distortion ability could one possibly hope to dodge a bolt of lightning before it hit, or try and watch it crawl like living, crackling water through the air. Despite the wolf's prodigious speed, it was no surprise that the spear of red light hit the swordsman straight on, lifting him off his feet and into the air, and then slamming him back down into the cold pavement below.
What might have surprised Keaton was the speed with which the wolf reacted.
A blur of black and silver, Cogidubnus seemed to simply twist back up onto his feet before lunging for the jackal - the succubus would have just enough time to see something blindingly bright glowing through the wolf's shirt before the wolf struck. Another bolt of lightning poured from the wolf's free hand and clawed its way towards the jackal, a bolt of silver and blue in response to the jackal's own bolt of dark red.
* * *
"Can I help you?" the panther said to no one in particular, still looking straight at the Boogeyman, as if waiting for something.
"Oh, wait. Right." Linos turned and stared at the insectis waving it's antenna about at him. He raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you?" he said, smilling that same lazy half-smile.
Sylvie wandered the hall a little ways, hearing a different music up here complementing the music downstairs. It wasn't as powerful, but it was pleasing to hear, and clearly the product of someone very talented. She listened carefully, trying to separate the harmony from the original music.
Outside one of the right-hand doors, she stopped. She had the feeling of eyes on her back. As someone who didn't like being watched by unfamiliar eyes, it was, to say the least, very uncomfortable.
A second later, the very door in front of which she'd stopped opened up, and Stygian's slightly scary, but comfortably familiar eyes looked out. She smiled and walked in, taking a seat at the opposite end of the sofa.
"Thought I'd be too scared?" she asked, keeping her tone light enough for it to be taken as a joke. "You shouldn't be worried about that. Even with what you told me, there's less reason for me to be scared than there was ... before." By before she meant during and directly after the fight, but she hoped that much was clear.
"You play beautifully," she said, partly to keep things from getting awkward and partly because she meant it.
------
Dani was smirking as Sylvie left, but once Sal spoke up, she turned. Then she saw the assortment of menacing medical devices glinting in the light above them, and the smirk melted and turned into a "really-scared-but-unwilling-to-show-it" look. That better be a joke. Or maybe she was trying to shock me into a faint? That idea made her a little annoyed, but there wasn't really any evidence that it was true.
"I should warn you, I can't exactly predict when I'm going to fall asleep," the Red mentioned, lying back and staring at the ceiling again. "And considering that I dozed off earlier, it'll be hard for my body to realize I actually want to sleep for once." Even as she said that, she shut her eyes, slowed her breathing and attempted to fall asleep of her own free will. At least then she wouldn't wake up having no clue where she was or what had happened...
Snorting a little, Stygian began opening the bottle, flicking his thumb to extend a black claw and draw out the cork. Pouring himself some, and then putting up the other glass, he looked up at Sylvie for a moment.
'You want some?' he asked, then filled the glass without really waiting for the answer. In case she wasn't much for strong stuff, he could always down that one as well. 'Please... I'm an amateur compared to "Ray With a Guitar" down there. Who I suggest we go down and listen to later, in case he does another number, by the way...' Kicking back, he stepped off his already untied shoes and turned, laying his feet up on the sofa while he leaned against the back and the armrest. 'I'm more of a vocal artist, actually.' He took a long, shallow draw of the glass, just tasting the drink. It seemed that the Boog hadn't made a poor choice after all. Though, under the circumstances he wasn't so sure that he was focusing enough to really tell.
'No, I didn't think you would be scared. I might still surprise you, but not right now', he said, after a brief pause. 'I thought you'd be fed up though.' Sipping his glass further, he eyed her appraisingly. 'Yes, I know I must seem somewhat strange and full of myself. I try to get past it though.'
- -
A bit of time passed. It seemed almost as if the machine wanted to frown for a bit. Leaning forward, she observed Dani a while, then raised her metallic voice in a more careful, not quite so loud comment.
'
:you know, this stuff is only supposed to numb your arm. are you feeling all well?' she asked. At the same time, she pinched the Red's arm, just a bit away from the burn, rather hard. The lack of a response showed that the analgesic had hit home, or almost as good as. The woman might have felt that, but probably not as anything but a little tingle.
...Keaton:
Red sparks exploded outward from Cog's chest as the bolt impacted him, the immense strength of the lance of lightning lifting the wolf in the air, then, as it dissipated, dropping him back to the ground. For a fraction of a moment, Keaton started to feel a small twinge of satisfaction at having, ostensibly, won, her victoriousness eclipsing her concern for the wolf's survival. Keaton didn't remain on this tangent for long. In almost a heartbeat and a silvery-black blur of motion, Cog was back on his feet and moving rapidly toward her, the wolf almost immediately closing the distance between them at an inhuman speed. White, livid electricity pealed from Cog's palm in bending, writhing arcs, whirling and weaving together like a giant spear as it leapt toward Keaton.
Keaton managed to get out a loud, frustrated exclamation of "You HAVE to be kidding me!" before the bolt collided with her body, igniting the air with glowing electricity. Blackened dollops of solidified shadows rolled and rippled off of Keaton's form as she was flung back, the droplets of condensed darkness evaporating almost instantly as they separated from her body, and therefore what was keeping them solid. With a heavy thump Keaton hit the ground, the vestigial traces of lingering electricity crackling around her body.
From where she laid on the earth, Keaton twitched like a half-dead cockroach. The acrid stench of burned fur and clothes drifted into her nostrils. Catastrophe lay on the ground a few feet away from her. After a moment of recollecting herself, Keaton felt her hands transform on their own, enlarging grotesquely in size and becoming simplistic in structure, each finger ending in serrated nails; monster's claws. Embedding her new, obsidian-black fingernails into the earth, Keaton grappled her way to her feet, glowering at Cog with eyes devoid of pupils. Now that she was on her feet, what protected her was easily apparent: a thin barrier of crystallized darkness glistened around her chest, still flaking away, surrounded by a corroded halo of burned fur and singed clothing. The former had become blackened and charred, the latter peeled back in thin clumps. Given the short interval of time Keaton had before the lightning bolt hit her, she didn't have enough time to protect her entire body, or even thicken the patch of shadow-armor to completely keep the bolt from damaging her. Because of this, the bolt still grazed her body, the damage mostly minimized, but nevertheless there.
Without Catastrophe, Keaton decided she had no more than brute strength to rely on. Claws flashing in the air and darkness swarming underneath the clothes on her back, Keaton sprinted for Cog, bringing her hands around with the intent to slash him across the chest. If that succeeded, she would continue the combo. Either way, she was at a disadvantage until she could get Catastrophe back.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Karazkt
The Insectis cocked his head at the musician's question. "Thoze zounds you produzed...they were unliKe anything I have heard before. IT waz powerful...even though the minzTrelz of my own Kind are very good, I have never heard anything az...deep...az thaT."
His antennae quivered a little. "I wished To learn more abouT the one who Kan maKe muziK zo vivid thaT iT Kan reach inzide zomeone."
Backtracking his way to the bar took Alex a bit of thoughtful repose, not to mention copious idle rubbing of his bad shoulder, which in retrospect contributed to the meeting of his nose and the door with a hearty bump. Reflexively backing up a bit and rubbing his nose with one hand, muttering some things best left unheard by children and opening the door with his other. Boogeyman's face was a welcome sight, which at least confirmed that he didn't travel dimensions partway through opening the door or tesseracted an endless void on the other side of the door.
The ermine puts on a smile, again, while he heads over for a seat, another drink and perhaps a few more things in mind; all the while, perhaps, keeping a paranoid eye on the same hooded man from before.
Marya continued repairing Richard, impervious to most forms of musical expression that didn't end in a guitar screech. Yes, it was beautiful, but she was busy right now. The zombie, on the other hand, spaced out completely. At first he tried to remain focused on his drink, or on helping with his repairs, then back on his drink, then back on his drink- wait, he'd just done that... Too late though, his train of thought was focused too much on what he was hearing. His fingers twitched with the music a little while, and someone passing close by could probably hear what was once a rather well-trained voice humming along.
The mongoose didn't mind his being distracted as she finished off the last stitch. They'd long since gone past the point where she felt the need for him to thank her every time she did this. Waving away the occasional wisp of smoke from flesh seared together again and checking over the sutures one last time she got up and made her way over to the bar, where she found drinks and someone she believed to be very much on the right page.
"Hey," a hand that was probably more like a paw than his own swatted Dekuyaketh on the shoulder. "Spare a cig? My buddy keeps hiding mine." She jerked a thumb at Richard over her shoulder.
--
Boog drummed his fingers on the counter thoughtfully, then shrugged and slipped the same thought into Andrea's head again. Start with being detectable enough to be payed, work out the details later.
...Dekuyaketh:
Dekuyaketh nearly choked on his cigarette when Marya tapped him on the shoulder. With some effort, Dekuyaketh minimized and concentrated his surprise to his fingers, which nearly squeezed the tobacco out of the ivory sliver pinched between his digits. When he wasn't expecting for anyone to approach him, and was comfortable in his solitude, being confronted by someone came as quite a shock to him. The surprise faded rather quickly to indifference. As Marya asked him for a cigarette, Dekuyaketh rummaged briefly through his pocket with the cleverly bladed fingertips of his mechanical arm, maneuvering the tremendously large limb like it was nothing. Drawing the box out of his pocket, Dekuyaketh mashed the remainder of his cigarette into the nearby ashtray with his other, organic hand, extinguishing the light at the end amidst the nest of crumpled cigarettes, and then fished a fresh cigarette out of the box for Marya.
Turning around in his swivel chair, Dekuyaketh brushed some long, black-red hair out of his face, then handed Marya the cigarette. "Here," he said. Because he felt obligated to, he added, "The brand's... probably not what you're used to, as a forewarning."
Now that he got a clear look at the mongoose, he resisted the urge to tilt his head quizzically and scrutinize her. She looked like the typical resident of his planet at first glance, but she appeared less anthropomorphized than the inhabitants of his homeworld; more bestial. This probably deserved some questions - maybe she was from his planet, although the chances were slim. Then again, anyone from his planet would have taken off running once they saw he was a Demon.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Although the jackal's reprising attack was fast, it was in melee combat where the wolf truly shined. Now that he had paused for a moment, the jackal could get a better look at the iaidoka's blurring form - the shining light from before appeared to be one of the wolf's charms, slipped under his shirt and burning brightly enough to be seen through the black fabric. The air around the wolf seemed smudged as well, as though something was distorting the light, although very faintly.
The wolf's sword flashed over his head in what appeared to the jackal as a wall of steel, and then even as the light from his charm blinked out, he struck, a thin line of silver arcing towards he shoulder and aimed to end somewhere around her hip.
* * *
Linos raised an eyebrow, his grin fading somewhat. He sat back, tapping his fingers on the counter behind him. "Look. I'm just a musician." he said, the blind man somehow giving the insectis a look, the guitarist looking uncomfortable. He stared at the little guy for a few seconds, considering, before cracking a small grin, and picking up his guitar. "Most people just ask for an autograph, yeah? he said, a bit of humor back in his voice. "Life's story, not so much. Not much I'm willing to tell, hm?" he said, looking at Karazkt just a second longer than he had to. "But I don't think you're interested in my past, eh?"
The grin seemed forced, but only half so. "My music is good. Always. I can't tell you how or why. I've always been good, although I've not always been skilled. Ah. I tell a lie - sometimes my music is bad. And when that's so, it's very bad. But I doubt you want to hear me play bad songs."
Surprisingly, the panther stretched, holding his guitar in one hand while his back arched and toes flared, and then leaned forward quickly, face only a little bit away from the insectis's face. "But, I can only play instruments - well, things fashioned with care. For example."
With his face only inches away, he lifted one hand and knocked on the insectis's head once. It was nothing more than a dull thud, without any of the qualities the panther's music had expressed before. "Doesn't work that way, you see. But then again, I'm just a musician. I play an instrument like any other."
He stood up. "Most just can't play the heartstrings."
Sighing, the machine set down her hand, and then thumbed the little bottle of analgesic in her other one, wondering if some more would be needed. It shouldn't have been, but with people that might look like humans or at least something close to normal mammalian creatures but who were possibly quite different in metabolism and tolerances, one could never know.
'
:you know, i don't understand how you can leave your friend alone with him so easily', she added in a serious tone right out of the blue when Dani didn't respond, hoping to get the woman's attention by surprise.
- -
A few moments passed, the dark-haired woman's mouth sliding open a little, before she managed to snap out of it, look down, and with a little shake put her hand to her face and rub her forehead.
'Okay, okay... eh... I...' she began, hesitantly. A slight blush spread to her cheeks, and she covered her eyes with her palm. 'A drink. Get me a drink. Something with rum in it. Whatever. God...'
Trying to compose herself, the woman silenced, after a quick look at Linos as the panther moved, then just sat with her chin on her hand and tried to listen in on the thoughts adrift in the room. Marya was pretty focused and empty-minded, only somewhat curious about the Dekuyaketh guy - it was a wonder that she had managed to intercept his name, with all the haziness of his mind - and not as she would have expected her to be. Linos seemed to feel a bit uncomfortable and restless, the guy named Alex was ignoring an aching nose and slowly starting to get hungry, and the humpback in the corner was thinking in a jumble of coherent thoughts and sudden spikes of data and figures and encryptions. Largely, she was getting very few clues as to what was going on.
- -
Keeping his eyes on Sylvie for a while, wondering when she was going to sit down, and hoping to avoid getting back on the self-loathing and arrogant track, he immediately switched topic back to the much more interesting.
'How about you then? Play anything interesting?' he asked the elf. 'There has
got to be music where you come from. No matter who or where or when, I have never encountered any civilized place without music.' He sipped his drink a bit again, then sat up and placed the empty glass on the table. In the same movement, he left more space in the sofa for her. 'And not a place without music that wouldn't have been better with.'
Boog picked up a few of Andrea's surface thoughts and snickered, "Something with rum, coming up. And sorry about the confusion." He strolled off cheerfully, a few features of Andrea's mental image drifting through his overall appearance. Nothing indecent, just a touch more human looking here and there every so often rather than his usual caricature of the human form. While he mixed up a drink he'd heard of that was creatively called Something With Rum (a substance terrifying to watch made and tasted not entirely unlike a rum and coke with some sort of citrusish aftertaste) he wondered to himself how long it would take her to notice that she'd just had a thought slipped into her skull completely under her radar.
--
"Thanks," Marya grunted, snatching the cigarette, "Anything's better than the cheapos I usually get anyway. Damn things are probably 40% fuckin' cardboard anyway, this'll have to be an improvement." She whisked out a lighter that someone has scrawled 'hands off my goddamn lighter!' on with sharpie and lit up with one practiced motion. The mongoose took a long drag, holding it for a while before slowly letting the smoke waft out over her features. "Ahh, sweet nicotine. Best friend a gal can ask for." She flicked off a little less than half the cigarette's length in ash in a neat pile next to the ashtray and finally looked up at the individual she'd just mooched off of.
Richard had been encouraging Marya to think before she spoke or acted, and frankly she didn't much care for it, but the conditioning had took just enough to keep her from blurting out 'Holy crap, is that your real face!?' The guy looked sort of like some hybrid of human, beastfolk and demon, which was a little unlikely as heritages went (not due to their being different species and thus unable to crossbreed naturally, as there's gene therapy and spells for getting around that, so much as the simple fact that by and large the three species found one another staggeringly unattractive). He looked too normal to be a monster and too weird to be anything she'd heard of.
"Hey, if you don't mind my asking... What are ya?"
Dani was a bit annoyed the first time Sahlena spoke. She'd been at the halfway point between sleep and awareness, and no-one likes to be interrupted from that. She couldn't tell whether the android had just tapped her arm or if she'd just imagined it, but she ignored it for the time being.
After Sahlena's next comment, though, she opened her eyes. Now here was a subject she was curious about. She sat up, pushing herself up on her good arm, and looking curiously at her now-very-numb bad arm. "Why? I know he's dangerous, but it doesn't seem like he'll hurt her. If he tries, Syl's more powerful than she seems." There was also the possibility he'd break Sylvie's heart, but Dani could help with that, whether it required a shoulder to cry on or bones to fracture. The Red poked her left arm, around the burn. Nada. The painkiller had done its job.
"But it does seem like you know him better than anyone here. So what else is there to worry about?" She wasn't about to go rushing up and drag Sylvie downstairs, but when and if the elf returned, it would be nice to warn her about any danger she could be in.
--------
Once again, Sylvie was a litle lost as to how to respond. Since she figured Stygian didn't really trust himself too much, reassuring him that he hadn't seemed the way he described might not work. Pointing out her own bad qualities and apologizing might not sit well with him either, and she didn't feel like doing that anyway. Bad qualities should only be apologized for when someone else discovered them. If you said them outright, it gave a bad impression.
As he spoke, the Green looked over at the glass of wine he had poured her, picking it up and smelling it experimentally before taking a sip. The fruity taste was pleasant enough, but she'd never really liked alcohol. It wasn't dangerous for her to drink, she just didn't like the smell or taste. She set the wine down, looking a little embarrassed, but still comfortable.
The change in topic was nice, and gave her a leeway to a topic that interested her, even if she wasn't an expert in it. "Yes, we have music. Nothing quite as complicated as synthesizers or some of the other things I've heard of here, but we have guitars, brass instruments, that kind of thing. There's even a whole school of magic dedicated to music, though I think the artist down there might give any bardaic mage a run for their money." Sylvie knew that bards could hypnotize their listeners and affect their emotions powerfully, but she'd never heard of or experienced anything quite like Linos's music.
"I sing a little for fun sometimes. Never really thought to try it as a career, though. I never studied bardaic magic either, but I met an elf who did once. If she'd shown up here, it would've been fun to watch. A lot of people can break glass when they sing, but as far as I've seen, only bards can break stone and walls using just their voices."
In response, Stygian looked calmly at Sylvie and nodded a little, pondering. It took a little time to start getting into meaningful natural and pleasant responses, but he felt like he was beginning to warm up.
'Sounds a bit less eclectic and more impressive than anything we have back home', he commented, beginning to pour himself some more to drink. 'I like that. There's some fantastically bad stuff back home. Punk, for example, or Death Metal...' He sipped, then hummed a little. His dark gaze studied the elf even more closely for a moment, warm with thoughts and intent and yet chilling at the same time. 'The reason I asked, really, is because... well...' He paused, then snickered. 'Well, beautiful people tend to have beautiful voices. You're an
elf. By all means, you should be...'
Something came to the man's mind with a veritable snap, and he stopped, then smiled somewhat sinisterly.
'Heh. I don't know if you're going to believe this, but I used to sing with a choir. Hymns, that sort of thing.' He looked at her over his glass, then remarked as if just casually in passing; 'I don't suppose you're into that? I mean, the religious.'
- -
The machine muttered something that passed Dani's hearing, then flexed that re-made hand and placed it at her arm. Clicking, the myriad of little blades and pincers, tools and lasers began getting to work. Sahlena grabbed the woman's arm, holding it still as the surgical tools began picking, cleaning and stripping the skin, and a strange burning smell filled the air, little wafts of smoke emerging from between needles and scalpels as small as to be barely visible. The occasional spray of some sort of watery solution only added to this.
'
:i don't suppose you can tell right away from looking at him, but that man is under pressure all the time, not to let himself go too much', the machine commented, looking up to give Dani a serious gaze, all the while keeping up the movement of those instruments as if it didn't require the smallest bit of concentration. '
:he doesn't readily admit it, but it is uncomfortable to him. painful, at times.' That red gaze remained, unwavering. Only the six surrounding sensors in her face moved. '
:he's not supposed to be human, however much he wants to keep seeming that way. not even supposed to be approachable. anything or anyone close to him eventually feels the effects, no matter what. and i am speaking out of personal experience. sure, he's charming sometimes. but that's because he's manipulative. i think he does something to people as well, to cloud their judgment...'
Most of the damaged and scalded tissue was gone now, exposing the open wound, almost down to the muscle in places. Noting this, Sahlena let go, moved over to the cabinet for a bit, and began preparing antibiotics and a protective disinfectant gel.
'
:whatever girls he haven't ended up eating have all been mentally crushed. there might be exceptions; i just haven't seen any.' She turned back to Dani, sat down, and began carefully working the wound again, with her tools and a wet piece of cotton wool, preparing to put the gel and bandage on. The whole procedure had taken a little less than five minutes. '
:i trust him to watch my back. i trust him absolutely to get a job done. but i would never trust him on that level...'
Karazkt
The Insectis remained silent and almost completely unmoving as Linos explained a little about himself and his music, even when Linos demonstrated a point on his own carapace exo-skull. "Almost" unmoving, because even though his body and face were completely impassive, his antennae waved and twitched noticeably as Linos talked. Not erratically, though--expressively. Even though the rest of him almost gave the impression of a spaced-out statue, they way his antennae always moved with Linos' speech made it seem (truthfully) that he was latched on to Linos' every word. Unfortunately, the exact significance and nuances of the motion of his antennae would, of course, be completely lost on anyone outside his race.
When Linos finished speaking, Karazkt's head tilted. He made a buzzing hum. "ThaT iz inTerezTing...iT iz zimply that you Kan play with zuch zKill that you do theze eKzTrordinary thingz. An unusual KonzepT To me..."
Karazkt paused for a few moments, as if unsure of what to say next. Or rather, whether or not he should say something next. "If...you are willing To divulge..." He said slowly, "WhaT are you? You looK liKe a Being, buT you do noT zmell liKe one. You do noT zmell liKe an Angel, a Demon, or a Kubi, all razez who Kan eazily Konzeal their formz, and whoze zmellz I am familliar with."
Mechangel
The cloaked hunchback in the corner, of course, had been silently observing the bar. It didn't look like he was going to get anything else useful from the two newcomers. Slightly annoying, since he didn't have the slightest clue yet what the woman can do.
But wait. The time-manipulator...he had returned to the bar, and wasn't being too surreptitious about occasionally glancing over his shoulder to look at the cloaked man. The cloaked man wasn't sure what he ment by this...but it probably didn't matter. Either way, the man had seen enough.
Quietly getting up, he walked along the wall to the door going to the quarters corridor, and went through it.
...Keaton:Cog's strike was successful - in her disarmed state, and how she was relying on brute force, there was very little Keaton could do to efficiently counter the incoming sword, especially at its accelerated speed. The blade neatly cleaved Keaton's skin through her pants, fortunately stopping before it could do serious damage to her, but disorienting her and knocking her very off-balance with the force of the strike. Yelling loudly, both in surprise and pain, Keaton toppled over, the gash in her side spewing blood. With a loud thump Keaton hit the ground on her opposite, uninjured side, her claws embedding themselves into the dirt the instant her body impacted the earth. Almost immediately, Keaton tried to get up, only to realize that her body would not cooperate, or at least not without a great deal of pain; enough for her to realize that, with her body so unresponsive, continuing the fight would be foolish.
Keaton bit her lower lip for a moment, then sighed. Her gigantic, meaty claws suddenly began to shed their skin, the flaking pieces of blackened matter slinking away and absorbing back into the shadows. Her hands were underneath the fleshy shell, wholly separate from the shadows she used to create the claws. "Alright. Alright. I give."
---
...Dekuyaketh:As Marya enthusiastically took a long drag off of the cigarette Dekuyaketh offered, he looked mildly impressed, particularly at both Marya's lung capacity and her apparent appreciation for nicotine. Dekuyaketh found it fortunate that Marya shared his adoration for cigarettes, although she didn't seem to possess his psychological and compulsive
need for them. Due to Marya's quick thinking and admirable restraint, Dekuyaketh remained unaware of her confusion at his outlandish appearance and focused his attention on rifling through his seemingly-bottomless cigarette pack for another.
At Marya's question, Dekuyaketh looked surprisingly unoffended, although he
did seem slightly boorish, as though the answer to Marya's question should have been plainly obvious. Resisting the urge to say something particularly obnoxious, Dekuyaketh clinically mumbled a reply. "Etaslya. Resident of Etakor, which is a planet in a galaxy... shit, I don't know. Very far away. Or rather, I
was an Etaslya... now I'm a Demon," Dekuyaketh took a drag off of his cigarette. "It's very complicated. I don't suppose you're from Etakor, given your question."
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Marya quirked an eyebrow. "You used to be a certain species? Wasn't aware you could just pick those up. Then again, always used to fail Social Biology class. In my defense though, phantasms and fae being in the same animal kingdom isn't really something you see coming..." She shrugged, shifting the cigarette from one corner of her mouth to the other. "Yeah, I think we ain't from the same place. Think so." The tip of the cig looped in another glowing figure eight, lips working silently as she thought (the same centers of the brain used for aggression were, in many breeds of beastfolk, also used for speech. This results in their exhibiting more than a handful of visible tics or habits when thinking hard, and makes their politicians fantastic fodder for talk shows). "The world's kinda big, I really don't think anyone's explored the whole thing yet. But yeah, seems like a no there. We have demons, and they tend to be a bit more..." She looked Dekuyaketh up and down, "... Sparkey."
There was, of course, the matter of what this meant. Other worlds. Not like other planes, like wizards and fae will tell you about. Those were always either monstrous realms beyond sanity or full of suitably mysterious philosophical conundrums. Unless a combination bar and fight club was some metaphor for society, it was safe to say that this was just a place that was nowhere in her own world. And this guy sure as hell didn't seem like some squiggly nightmare or an ascended spirit...
Ah. She'd bother Richard about it later.
Sylvie's face turned a bit warm again, though her expression was calm. There was very little religious music back home, not counting bards, but they followed Muses more than gods. Half of her wished there was religious music; one of the first real pieces of music she'd heard in this dimension was Mozart's Requiem, and it had instantly become her favorite song.
"Well, it depends on what you mean by religion," she explained, crossing her legs and sitting back. "It seems like over here, religion is mostly about proving who's right about what in the end, and it's based more on belief than proof. Back home, we don't need to argue. There are multiple gods, and they don't require blind faith. They have all the proof they need that they exist. Clerics and faith-based mages are everywhere you look. A few gods even appear in human form sometimes..." She trailed off a bit here, a memory crossing over her face, unpleasant and interesting at the same time.
She snapped herself out of it after a bit and faced Stygian again. "But I guess a few of us are what you'd call religious - people who live under the favor of a particular god or goddess. Reds like Dani are favored by Wrenth, the goddess of freedom and chaos; Greens are favored by Albell, the goddess of the earth." She smirked a little sheepishly. "There's other races like that, too. Probably doesn't make much sense, but it always did to us."
------
At first, Dani could only watch, dumbstruck, as Sahlena began removing the burned skin from her arm. Her eyes told her that she should be screaming in pain, but the analgesic obviously worked very, very well. About the only thing unpleasant about the process was having to keep still. Because the android was talking, and because the painlessness of the surgery denied it that much attention after a while, Dani focused on what Sahlena was saying.
Admittedly, what she learned was something to be concerned about. The Red was pretty sure a machine couldn't lie, no matter how human she happened to seem. And because there was so little doubt as to the truth of her words... She'd tell Sylvie to watch out if she got the chance. Sylvie was used to people being either sarcastic or frank with her, except those who clearly couldn't be trusted (anyone who worshipped a certain god of deception and thievery, for example). She was always careful when first dealing with people; it was just her nature. There was also the chance she was still suspicious of the real reason for Stygian's attention, though the reason was probably the same either way. But from what Sahlena had said, even if Syl was cautious, she was still in big trouble. She was conflicted; on the one hand, Sylvie had never had this kind of attention from a guy. On the other hand, that might end up causing more problems for her in the end.
"Well, there's not much I can do about that now, but thanks for telling me." Dani didn't move her arm, watching everything Sal did again. Wrenth, please don't let Sylvie be that naive... please let her be an exception... Not that praying to a goddess of chaos is going to help much, but that's not all you are, so help me out here.
Humming to himself for a bit, Stygian rubbed his lips with a finger, nodding slowly. What he had spoken of brought back some bad memories for him as well, however he chose to push those away in face of her quite good response. He couldn't say that he had been worried about anything, but to hear her speak so easily was better than he had hoped for.
'Stop it. You're really making me contemplate moving there now', he said, just a hint of sarcasm in that statement. 'Heh... It would be very convenient if things were so easy. Then again, I don't know about those gods themselves. They could be like the Greek pantheon from back home, in which case I would be a lot more worried...' He paused, humming to himself with a smirk on his face. 'Then again, one questions the definition there again. Technically, that sounds more like... Well, where I come from, there was this man who said "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Any sufficiently advanced being is indistinguishable from a God". So technically, one might say that those gods may simply be very, very powerful entities. At least, if you go by the basis that a god should be omnipotent. Monotheists do that...' He sipped his drink, then smirked again. 'Actually, personally I would find that idea rather impractical. If it were not for certain personal experience.'
The man silenced, taking on a more pensive expression for a bit, thinking back on something that Sylvie had said earlier, and then looked up at the elf again. 'So you were serious about that, earlier? Meeting a god, I mean.' He looked at her humorously. 'Are you sure you weren't just
really impressed and confused? Personally, I think that I could do a good job of
acting at least
some sort of entity of power, to the right person.'
Chuckling to himself, Stygian stifled a self-berating comment, and the wish to have another smoke. Leaning his head on his hand as he adjusted his seat, moving a little closer to the elf, he felt a little bit of squirming in the back of his neck. Part of him could not but feel the rush of heat to her face, or enjoy her smell in a way that made his tongue rub a fang inside his mouth. The conversation was more than pleasant enough to let him ignore such things though.
- -
Applying the gel, the machine seemed almost absentminded in her work, until she stopped when the wound was covered, and she took out the bandages for the final wrapping. Delicate tools folding in and disappearing, she wanted a brow to frown with.
'
:look, i didn't mean...' she began, and then, in a quite human fashion, she cut her own words off, and looked up at Dani seriously. '
:please don't do anything rash. i know this guy, and even though it may sound insulting, i really have to believe that...' She paused again. Of course, her hands kept moving with fluid, seamless precision, betraying the fact that with her concentration, she was not really at a loss for words. But much experience had taught her that when communicating with people -
organic people - it was much better to behave as they did, all the way down to the slip-ups. And even if she knew that she was putting conscious effort into it, a personality was a personality nonetheless. And she considered herself to have one.
'
:look, i don't want to be patronizing or anything, but he is just venomous. if you think you have to do something, please ask me for help, alright? i don't want anything ill to happen to people because of him. for his sake too.'
- -
Leaning over the table still, taking her drink once it was served up by what appeared to her as mostly a coherent blur of rude noise and blurry, for the most part incoherent sepia- or brown-colored images, the dark-haired woman glanced up at Linos and Karazkt over the rim of her glass, and then broke in suddenly.
'He's telling the truth. He's... Being? Wait...' she said, narrowed her eyes a bit, and then looked inquisitively at the panther in particular. 'You guys are both from the same world? I see.'
Linos had quirked an eyebrow at the little Insectis, shaking his head just slightly. He slumped into one of the chairs away from the bar, drumming his fingers on the table as soon as he sat down.
"No, no - I just said, I've never always been skillful, but music has always been this way to me. It's not just skill. But I am just a musician."
He was about to continue when the lady from before butted into the conversation. Linos tilted his head, waiting a moment for the lady to continue, before speaking.
"...I was going to say, you tell me. Mr. Antennae man." he turned, looking again at Karazkt. "Adopted nearly at birth. Adoptive parents dead. Long, long time ago. Far as I know, I am what I am. You, though." he said, looking at the woman. "More and more, I begin to wonder if you're quite allright in the head."
* * *
At the jackal's proclamation that she yielded, Cogidubnus instantly stopped, the silver blur of his sword spinning round once as he performed the ritual blood-wipe, and returned the sword back to its sheath. He offered her a hand, prepared to help more if her wound was worse than it appeared.
"My apologies, lady - you are alright, I hope?" he said, concerned. "You fought well, in any case - you very nearly had me with the bolt of lightning." he said, smiling genially. "Drinks are on me."
Karazkt
The goggled Insectis' antennae jerked in obvious surprise when the woman at the counter spoke up. Karazkt guessed this is what a Human was. Very strange thing. She did say something that made Karazkt take note. The musician turned back to Karazkt when she finished speaking, and said that he didn't even know what he was. Karazkt addressed the woman first.
"AKTually, I am noT zo zure if he iz from my world or noT. Everyone haz zmellz on them from where they Kame from; where they've been. Of Kourze, while there are a few otherz here who are definiTely from where I am from, mozT are uTTerly unfamilliar To me. You here-" Karazkt pointed his antennae at Linos, "-do indeed zmell like my home, buT iT zmellz...wrong...zomehow. I Kan'T KwiTe puT my anTenna on iT, buT we are from the zame plaze, and yeT, noT from the zame plaze."
Karazkt paused for a moment. He buzzed another hum again. "You do noT know your own origin? Very well. While I doubT I will be able To zay for zerTain whaT I thinK you mighT be, I will aTTempT to eliminaTe az many pozzibiliTiez az I Kan.
"Az zaid, you are noT an Being; you are a KreaTure of zome zorT. You are Klearly noT a Mer or InzeKTiz or Undead. I am zure you are noT an Angel, Demon, or Kubi. Though I have noT enKounTered either, I highly doubT you are a PhoeniKz or Gryphon, az you are not an avian zpeciez, nor do you have an eKzezz of featherz. And if you had many featherz, I probably would be aTTempTing to remove them from you righT now. Though I have heard liTTle, azide from their eKzTraordinary power, and enKounTered none of them, I do noT believe you are a Dragon or a Fae. Indeed, to appear az a Being you would have to aKTively dizguize yourzelf, and thuz are dezieving uz, which, on the other antenna, iz a pozzibiliTy."
Karazkt paused again. His antennae moved oddly for a moment. "Mythoz, I KannoT be zerTain. I have meT zeveral Typez of Mythoz, buT the problem iz, each zpeciez iz zo differenT from each other, they all zmell liKe differenT razez enTirely." Karazkt paused again. "And Were. I have never meT one, buT I do know they have alTernaTe formz...and their normal form looKz like a Being."
Karazkt let the implication hang.
Sylvie actually giggled, looking a bit bemused with herself. "Would you believe that that possibility had never occurred to me?" She paused here, choosing not to be nervous that Stygian had shifted closer to her - though the backs of her ears were burning a little now.
"Though I guess it makes sense... I had been trapped on a pirate ship for a week or two before that. Along with the people who were with me. But I'm pretty sure he was the real thing. Technically, you're right - we found out he wasn't really a god, just an avatar of one. He and the three other people we fought were the four aspects of a god called Mouph - the god of mischief, deception, thievery, and luck." She smiled a litle as she went over the memory. "We met Dale Sanàl, the aspect of thievery. Once one of my friends figured out what he probably was, he denied it profusely. Then, to 'prove his innocence', he asked those of us with money to check our pockets. The captain did - and found that his money pouch was completely empty."
The girl folded her hands in her lap, looking sheepish again. It was odd now that she thought of it, but she knew it had really been Mouph - for reasons she wasn't sure whether to mention. "We'd never even seen him move. And Kel's pouch looked like it hadn't even been opened." She smirked. "It could've been a trick, I guess, but there were other things too. The other aspects, their challenges... it was all pretty convincing. But I guess in your world, he'd have been deemed insane. His other aspects too... but they seemed pretty crazy to begin with," she muttered, remembering the annoying behavior of the aspect of mischief, and the ratty attire and silence from the aspect of luck.
------
As her wounds were wrapped, Dani thought carefully. Okay, so she would restrain herself from running upstairs to save her friend - partly because she couldn't move her legs, anyway. And Sahlena was right. If the fights outside were anything to go by, Stygian was not to be trifled with.
"Okay," she said, still sounding a bit reluctant to agree. "Like I said, there's not much I can do now anyway. If I do panic, I'll ask you for help first, though. Thanks again," she added, eyeing her treated arm with interest. It barely hurt at all, though she guessed that once the painkillers wore off, it would be rather painful.
Quirking an eyebrow, Stygian shot Sylvie a suggestive look, and chuckled.
'Actually, they'd most likely be in high demand. If someone didn't get too angry with them and they ended up in an accident', he said, the meaning of the accentuation clear. 'That's more likely, really. Because people can be touchy.' Eyes narrow, he looked down for a bit, pensive, enjoying a brief moment of silence. He wasn't about to speak of what he thought would happen to Sylvie herself in his world, or to get into the more appaling parts. Fact was that he was getting frustrated with all the unpleasant reminders sneaking into the conversation. A quick look at Sylvie revealed a troubled face, and he gritted his teeth. This was ridiculous. He didn't care whether if it fit; he was going to break in with something...
'I think you would make a much more convincing image of a goddess', he said, and gave Sylvie an ember-hot black look. 'Persephone perhaps. The classical representation doesn't match your beauty, but gods are concepts, and so we see them as we wish.' He kept looking at her, pausing for a bit, letting the words sink in and hopefully distracting her away from anything else. Then he grinned, showing a bit of his fangs. 'Though I wonder. I am not sure whether if I would want to be tested. I don't take well to that kind of thing. So I just hope you are not doing something like that to me now.'
Less obviously, Stygian hoped that on another level entirely as well. He took another draw of his drink, quelling the thirst welling up and his slight dizziness with the too fragrant and clean air at the same time.
...Keaton:
Keaton looked a little skeptical that Cogidubnus was being so polite to her after his victory, but she supposed that not everyone was like her in that respect. After grimacing a little, Keaton reached out and closed her hand around Cog's proffered hand, allowing him to assist her to her feet. Walking was going to be rather difficult with her hip split open - but it was a short distance from the circle to the tavern, and she could go to the infirmary immediately after she entered to get the gash patched up.
"I'm alright," Keaton said, grinning a little. "Uh.. thanks, but actually, I probably should have been more careful with the bolt of lightning." Almost self-consciously, Keaton used her hand to brush away some of the dead and charred fur around her chest, peeling back some of her burned shirt. She needed a replacement for her clothing, but there was an easy solution - metamorphosis. "I mean, I coulda killed you there. I'm sorry. I do... well, I do need a drink, though."
Keaton thought for a moment, 'And possibly some marshmallow peeps.'
~Keaton the Black Jackal
"Careful with the hip, then - I must be getting rusty, I was going for the shoulder." Cog said, grinning and nodding back, and walked back with the jackal to the tavern. "And, not so much. The circle would have stopped it before I -died-, I think." Cog considered for a moment. Had they said that, exactly? It was just to the yeild, after all...
"I hope." he said, again smiling, and proceeded back inside the Tavern.
* * *
"Well, there you are, then." the guitarist said, sitting carefully, but smiling easy. "I guess you've got your answer right there. Couldn't say, myself. I've never been anything but what I am."
If the panther had pupils, he would have slid his gaze back to the woman who interjected before, humming a tune underneath his breath. It sounded vaguely like certain stanzas of the Lacrimosa of the Requiem Mass, although it sounded mostly just like a person humming to himself. He tilted his head slightly.
I've never seen the bartender get out from behind that bar before. Is that an axe he's got?
Quote from: Keaton the Black Jackal on June 14, 2008, 08:54:54 PM
...Piix:
Piix raised her eyebrow skeptically when Pal suggested they stop the match. For a moment, she simply tugged on Orpiment, testing Pal's considerably heavier weight atop the hammer. Even a weapon enchanted to be weightless could be encumbered if additional weight, such as a person standing on it, was added. Finally relinquishing her efforts, Piix let her arm slacken, realizing that Pal's intention was not to attack, but to disarm and formulate a truce. She looked up at Pal.
"Whaddya talkin' about? I don't see wha' yer talkin' about. I mean, I'm only under five feet and armorless, while you're completely... an'..." Piix trailed off, her eyes rapidly scanning over Pal's armored body. "...totally covered in armor an' weapons an'..."
Finally, Piix seemed to get the point.
She sighed, her shoulders slumping, and looked momentarily disappointed, but didn't complain. After all, she was definitely at an automatic disadvantage, given the significant difference in height, weight, build, and equipment. "...Ah. Well, okay. I see yer point. Want to get a drink an' forget this ever happened?"
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Paladin took his foot off of Orpiment and slid
Cobalt into the sheath on his back. Sticking out a hand he looked the Orin over again, smiling he said "Agreed lass but only if ye let me pay for the drinks. And as for forgetting the fight?" A hungry grin appeared on the wolf's face "Only if ye share a bed with me tonight."
Sylvie could tell something was bothering Stygian the slightest bit; she just couldn't quite figure out what it was. The compliment he gave, combined with his look, made her face turn quite a dark shade of green and simultaneously sent chills along the back of her neck. What she was really thinking about, though, was his final comment. He'd seemed calm, but that statement didn't match his demeanor somehow. And as long as both of them were being honest with each other...
"I'm not anywhere near as powerful as a goddess, though I appreciate the compliment," she replied, looking right into his eyes. "But even if I could test you, I probably wouldn't. Mostly because, well..." She blushed a bit more deeply and her voice became a bit quieter. She was unused to being this open with her feelings. "I'd rather neither of us was uncomfortable right now."
The panther's clever train and ruse of thought almost worked out, but unfortunately the idea of what he was thinking was a bit too ridiculous for the woman to believe it at once, without already having thought it over enough to absorb it, and figuring it out. There was also a slight hint of apprehension to his thoughts, and the very particular feeling that a smart-ass gets when he does what he does best, which together helped tip her off. She only barely turned her head toward the bar a few degrees, before looking back down at the table, and putting her hand to her glass.
The next thoughts that the woman overheard though revealed quite a bit. She might not have picked up on Piix's and Paladin's 'situation' if the door had been closed. As it were though, with her attention actively sweeping the place, a hole in the wall, the door still partly open as Cog entered and only thin glass in her way elsewhere, she could overhear them fairly easily. There wasn't an immediate reaction, but after about a second or just a little more, enough for certain ideas to process and develop, the dark-haired woman snorted, and sneered, lifting her glass and starting to kick back a gulp. Then, the
next generation of thoughts gestated and turned out, and she shuddered, her glass slapping down on the table as she coughed loudly, clearing her windpipe of misplaced alcohol.
- -
Subtle movements and pupil dilations caught his attention, and Stygian quirked his head, leaning a bit with his arm on the back of the sofa. Sylvie's cheeks shifted in color, even though it was hard for him to pick up. The warmth was not lost on him though. And if there was anything that spoke, it was the way she gazed right back at him. She'd looked and turned her eyes down enough times already... She still kept on the topic, but she said so little and in such a way that it was obvious she was thinking of other things. He almost felt like grinning, or laughing a bit, and explaining. Perhaps she would laugh
with him.
Still, there was the ever-present element of caution to the man's thoughts. Not the same caution that every normal man would feel in the same situation, but of a sharper and more knowing kind. Sylvie had not struck him as a frivolous sort, or a planning and cunning either. She seemed more the average girl; well-meaning, gentle but trying to be strong at the same time, and friendly but just a little restrained. Neither jadedly cautious nor senselessly outgoing. And yet she still had no problem with opening up and being this frank and intimate with a man she had just met. A man who had frightened and shocked her, and who it would seem had almost been about to eat her not long before at all. Yet, if she saw something strange about that, she did not show it. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable. Or that he was wondering about the probable reasons for her behavior. He mostly enjoyed the sort of thing that was happening right at the moment. Yet still it tugged on his conscience somewhat.
He was just about to speak, when he actually found himself short for words. He blinked, then almost shook his head, and leaned forward. Slowly, wary of any hesitance on her part, his hand carefully moving to her shoulder, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. With the same care, he moved his head back a couple of seconds later, and looked at her.
'And how about now?'
"Hnh."
Linos resumed tapping his fingers, only glancing at the woman once when she began to choke on her alcohol. He raised a single eyebrow, and half closing his eyes tilted his head. He seemed to be on pause for a moment, completely still, before his face split into a half-grin. He snerked, sitting forward.
"Looks like your friend might be occupied for a bit." he said, again forgetting to look at whom he was speaking to. "If you're going to 'mess him up', I'd wait about fifteen minutes, say. I imagine he might be somewhat distracted."
He paused for a moment, shaking his head. "But I'll guess you already knew that, eh?"
If he had been looking at the woman, he probably would have done so carefully. As it was, his face seemed largely blank.
There was silence for a moment, and Sylvie wondered whether she'd said the wrong thing again, or seemed too awkward. Before she could force herself to calm down and figure out what she'd done wrong, Stygian placed his hand on her shoulder, leaned in, and kissed her.
The Green could only sit there, utterly stunned but not protesting. Though she'd never admit it, she could count the times she'd been kissed before on one hand. When Stygian backed away and asked if she was uncomfortable now, she didn't answer right away, but her breathing had changed a bit, and her eyes had grown thoughtful under the initial shock.
He probably hadn't planned on this, at least, not in an underhanded way. In spite of what experience had taught her about good-looking men, she hadn't felt any tension from him, nor had his actions struck her as 'fake'. There was no reason for her to doubt his intentions. She couldn't deny that what had just happened had been completely welcome, but her lack of experience, not to mention the anxiety every woman feels in this situation, was making her very nervous.
"...I don't know," she answered at last, putting one hand over Stygian's and looking back at him. "I'm not uncomfortable, but...this kind of thing..." She didn't want to finish the sentence, but she also didn't want her hesitation to be misconstrued as disinterest.
Stygian looked at the elf, blinked once, and tilted his head the slightest bit to the side. He very nearly frowned, and for a short moment, Sylvie thought she could see something dark at his neck, moving just under his collar. The next second though, he drew a breath, closed his eyes, and nodded subtly. Removing his hand, he slid a few inches back and put his whole back to the sofa again. Friendly but just a little restrained, yes...
'It's alright. Don't stress', he said, relaxing his voice and expression.
At least I know a little more now. And she's starting to seem more pressured. If only I could read her smell better... His thoughts went on, but unlike Sylvie, he did not believe that she were as inexperienced as she was. 'I don't want to ruffle any feathers, or leaves for that matter.' He looked at her sideways, smiling with a hint of bitterness mixed in. 'I
will admit that I only went up here to get you alone, but... Hm. As long as I can enjoy your company...'
It was only when he thumbed the lighter in his pocket that he realized he had a cigarette in the corner of his mouth already, and frowning, Stygian scratched his chin, then thumbed his earring distraughtly. Finally, he slipped that cigarette between his fingers again, and reached for the bottle once more. He almost felt like humming, or picking up the guitar again.
- -
It seemed that the Panther's mind was set about what he thought, yet his most recent guess had been quite wrong, and covering her mouth with her hand, the dark-haired woman looked up at him, frowning. He did seem to have caught something that she had not, and though she had sensed the elf's thoughts briefly before, immediately figuring out what he was referring to, she picked up a smug, knowing feeling from his direction that was unmistakable. He thought he knew something that she did not. And under the circumstances, it was actually possible.
Her throat feeling somewhat sore, and momentary irritation grasping her, the woman put her hand around her glass again and raised it, draining a few gulps.
Well, she thought,
let's just see how long that lasts...- -
Leaving Dani with a confiding nod, and a neatly bandaged arm, Sahlena stood up and proceeded back out into the bar with only a glance over the extra parts that she had brought in with her. She, unlike the other woman, was quite confident that the wound would not hurt. The efficiency and effectiveness of the treatment meant that she would only feel any discomfort if she started poking it while it was still healing. And, in case there was any, any unexpected pain could always be treated with another small shot, or more likely, considering where they were, with drinks and distraction. Still, even though it had proven a good excuse to talk to the woman, the machine strangely found herself wishing that there were someone who could just magically whisk away wounds like that around. Probably out of a wish not to become the resident doctor...
The moment she entered the bar again, the machine's train of thought processes stopped though, and rapidly changed direction and focus once she saw the woman sitting at a table, right next to the anthropomorphic panther with a guitar, obviously the one who must have been playing earlier. She refrained from showing any sort of alarm, an easy thing given who and what she was, yet those attentive could still notice that she did not go back to her former seat or strike up a new conversation, or get another drink, but silently moved herself to a table behind the woman, up against the wall, avoiding her attention.
Disappointed by the woman's lack of reaction, Linos shrugged, and sat back in his chair. His head tipped forward, as though the panther was going to take a nap, and he brought his guitar across his legs as he did so. His head tilted forward, he brought his hands to the strings, although he didn't so much as pluck one note, simply rubbing on the engraving of two crossed wings, right beneath the soundbox.
"No games, then. My name is Linos. I'm a musician. The pleasure of your acquaintance would be most appreciated." he said, his eyes closed.
...Keaton:"That," Keaton said with playful arrogance, "Or I'm too fast for you."
Admittedly, there was a slight sting of guilt within her insides at Cog's joke, but that quickly faded to slight amusement, if only because Cog's perspective was slightly infectious. Admirable, the way he laughed at the idea of his imminent death. Other people she knew would have been furious with her. Ah well, she wasn't going to complain. As long as there weren't any complications, Keaton had no reason to protest. Leaning a little and shifting her feet in a way which wouldn't disturb her wounds, she tried to follow along, or make Cog's burden in carrying her slightly less cumbersome.
---
...Piix:Piix stared in clear shock at Pal - but while she was clearly surprised, she was not abhorred. Not visibly, at least. For a moment she seemed thoughtful, as though she was entertaining the idea in her mind or pondering her options, until, at last, she remarked with a toothy smirk, "Hmmm... Sounds good."
Reaching up, Piix grabbed Pal's armored hand and started to tug him along with her, as though encouraging the wolf Incubus to follow her. Given his enormous height and the weight of the armor protecting his body, dragging him along was impossible, and obviously required his cooperation. Once they entered the bar, Piix stared in surprise as the psychic woman at her table promptly began choking on her drink. Raising her eyebrow, Piix wondered what on earth was wrong with the psychic, but paid her no more attention, being too preoccupied with leaning against Pal's arm and nuzzling him.
---
...Dekuyaketh:Dekuyaketh stubbed out the remains of his current cigarette, then dug out his lighter again; an impressively sleek contraption, crafted out of silver and intricately engraved at the corner and along the cap, decorating its body in fringed vines. Subconsciously, Dekuyaketh started to toy with the lighter, using his thumb to flip up the cap and slap back down deftly, his mechanical arm scratching slightly at the back of his neck with the clever tips of its clawed fingers.
"It happens," Dekuyaketh finally answered, although he still seemed to be a little uncomfortable. Just as he started to realize the symptoms of his "condition" were beginning to show, he started to suppress them until they faded, although he cursed the fact he forgot his medication. "Though judging by your description of Demons, they're probably just mutually exclusive to my... well, my planet."
After a moment, Dekuyaketh arched his eyebrow, the third, bionic eye implanted above his right eye blinking inquisitively. "Where
are you from, anyway, if you're not from Etakor?" With a flourishing movement of his occupied hand, Dekuyaketh pocketed the lighter, leaving his apparently-bottomless cigarette box half-open on the counter for Marya to use.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
When Stygian withdrew his hand and leaned back, Sylvie wasn't sure whether she should feel relief or embarrassment. Her hesitation had annoyed him slightly, she could tell from his movements and the pause he'd taken before he'd backed away. She was a little annoyed with herself, too; the fight they'd had aside, Stygian was likable. A guy who was smart, attractive, and liked her, who she liked back. It rarely ever happened. She knew she shouldn't be too nervous, and yet she was.
She smiled almost apologetically, her cheeks coloring themselves just a little. "Well, I came up here for the same reason... I just get nervous." She wasn't sure whether to apologize or not. Mostly to keep her hands busy, she reached over and picked up her wine-glass, dipping her fingers in it curiously. It didn't offer much nourishment, but at least through her skin, she couldn't taste the alcohol.
------
Sahlena left, and Dani was alone in the room with no-one around but an unconscious pyromancer. The fact that the latter hadn't recovered yet bothered her, but she couldn't get up to check on him, and doubted she could even get close enough to touch him without getting burned even worse. Besides, even if she was concerned about him, he had beaten her ass into the ground, and that would take a little more time to forgive. Not that the battle wasn't useful...
In the meantime, all she could do was rub a little extra salve into her legs (with only one arm) and wait for her legs to stop aching enough so that she could move them. The burns there weren't so bad she'd have to have the skin cut away. She'd run fast enough and dodged Giles's attacks well enough to avoid that. But they would still need a little time to heal.
She stared at the ceiling, listening detachedly to the people outside and wishing she was better at falling asleep at will.
Watching Sylvie curiously from the corner of his eye, Stygian sipped his drink and took a deep breath, trying to relax and to stop obsessing about the elf's reactions. Humming to himself, he studied her hand, coming immediately to the conclusion that she must be absorbing the drink through her skin. He had no understanding for the reason though. Not that it mattered...
'Nervosity isn't ever a good feeling. I'd opt for tension or caution instead', he said in a neutral tone. 'Especially around people like me, however skewed that might sound when I say it myself.' He gave her a meaningful, confiding look. 'But, if you really believe that you have reason to be anxious, then I can't advise you but to trust your instincts. Anything else would be self-serving. Of course, that again begs the question; am I just manipulating you into liking me more by supporting you, or am I honest in my intentions? And even that question can, and should have, a complex answer.' He leaned back, refraining from letting an amused smirk creep onto his face. 'And am I bringing this to your attention to illustrate the problem, or to keep from having to say something else that might be uncomfortable? Is it to highlight your anxiety? Or am I trying to make you tired of the conversation, the question and the problem itself? Then again, it might be that neither of us would really think of it as a "problem" if I didn't present it as such, and
that's the reason.' He leaned forward just a little again. 'What do you think?'
A part of him fumed and cursed at himself, but once he'd begun, there really had been no stopping. Looking at the elf again briefly, he reached over to the table and the hamper which had come with the bottle, picking a green grape from a cluster and popping it into his mouth.
Alright. If she takes that seriously, she really is nervous, and I should move away and strike up something new... he thought, imagining a weary back and thinking about getting some sleep later.
- -
The woman's answer was short, clipped and completely neutral in tone, obviously one of conscious effort.
'Yeah, I know. Linos Maurits', she said. Leaning on the table, she sighed, and then looked up at Piix and Paladin as they passed. Watching the cuteness of the Orin was somewhat offset by hearing what was going on in some people's heads. 'My name's Andrea. Pleased to meet you.' In a strange gesture, she stretched out her hand, not looking at the jaguar either.
For a few seconds, Sylvie sat there, a bit dumbfounded. Though a few statements and questions matched what she felt, she couldn't figure out why he'd said it like that. She put down her glass, wiping off the little wine that clung to her fingers on the palm of that hand. She thought for a minute, looking nowhere specific. Then, as when he'd made his 'firewood' comment, a spark came into her eyes. And she gave a small smirk.
"I think," she said, keeping any slight amusement out of her voice, but allowing slight tones of relief and carefulness, "that I should have explained a bit better." She felt like something hadn't quite been understood, and just in case she was right, it was a good idea to clear things up. "I didn't mean that you are making me nervous. I meant that situations like the one a few minutes ago make me nervous. No matter who is involved. It's just that for me, that kind of thing... doesn't happen very often."
She was looking him in the eyes again, a bit more confident even if she'd just admitted that which embarrassed her. "And there is no reason for me to be anxious, not right now. That's just my natural reaction. I guess I should have said that I get... cautious when that kind of thing happens." She turned a little bashful, realizing that there was no other way to summarize this feeling. "No matter how cliché it sounds, you're not the problem." She smirked a little wider here. "Of course, you did nearly confuse me so badly I might have thought you were..."
Relief filled Stygian's mind, even though his usual conflicted thoughts still tugged at the edges of it. Her explanation though, still did not sit well with him, even if it was reasonable. Suppressing a slightly pressured feeling, he shifted where he sat, turning a bit against the elf, and leaning his head while he idly rubbed his temple with a pair of fingers for a moment. His look was amused but skeptical.
'I'm not entirely sure that's believable, but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt', he said, putting his hand down. 'Though everyone has their fears and anxieties, I guess.' He leaned back and sighed slowly. Then, not looking at her, he snerked. 'As much as a relief that it is to hear that I'm not a problem though, I can't help but feel a little worried that it's not me that you're nervous about.' He gave her a smirk and a rather sharp look.
There it was again. He was beginning to skirt that issue again. But then again, some just needed saying. And if he could put it forth in a good way... Sighing again, he stretched, rolling his neck a little and thinking.
'If that's what I did, then I'm sorry. But if it's that close between, it might be bad enough anyway', he said, his face more serious now and his black eyes almost cold. 'I'll admit that I'm not always a pleasant man. Not anything near, actually. And I do manipulate and toy with people, even unconsciously. It's not all something that I can control; if I'm right, you might just be affected by a certain part that I cannot right now.' He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in before he continued. 'So even if it causes you to become even more conflicted, I'll say it right now. Look at what's been said and done for the short time we've been here. And what it is that it might be that you see in me. And question it, and whether if you can look past it.' His eyes were cold now, and serious, his gaze awling into hers. 'Because if it's just the face and image that you like, if I may presume you like me, then those are very shallow.'
Something moved up the inside of his shirt, and as it trailed up his neck, some slithering, sinuous thing stretched Stygian's skin. Another thing followed it, like a tendril shifting under his chin and moving under his jaw, like a centipede crawling up under his cheek and vanishing somewhere behind his ear, leaving his veins just a little blackened as it went before his skin assumed its regular color again. His gaze remained fixed on the elf.
'It's what's on the inside that counts.'
He might have ruined it all, for what he knew, but at this point he wasn't sure whether if there was much to ruin. He wasn't even sure what he was looking to do. But one thing he knew; if this sort of thing didn't put into perspective what to actually be nervous about...
The wolf shook his head and scoffed, opening the door after the diminutive alien and the armored canine entered for the jackal, and then grinned. "You clearly bested me, madam." he said drolly, and gestured inside. "Victory drinks await. And possibly a bandage for that cut. Speaking of - if you get a bandage first, I don't think you mentioned which you wanted."
The wolf waited for the jackal to enter, raising one eyebrow at the little alien snuggling the arm of the brown-furred canine.
* * *
Linos grabbed the hand and shook, turning his head to look at the woman. "Aha, I see." he said, grinning again. "But ah. I'll just keep my thoughts on the matter to myself, shall I?" he winked one blind eye at her, and leaned back in his chair. "But the pleasure is all mine, truly."
Paladin grinned big as Piix agreed to his proposal, his gamble had paid off. When she grabbed his hand he let Piix drag him inside.
When Piix stopped dragging him and started nuzzling his arm, he directed her over to the bar. "Barkeep got any spare rooms with a king size bed?" He asked grinning widely.
Boog made his way back to the counter, considering his next step regarding he psychic. A funny side effect of being a datavore was nigh-insatiable curiosity, and he wanted to properly get a handle on what she was. I've seen hives that were capable of some of this stuff before; half-mad from too many of us taking up residence at once. She looks perfectly sane though, and a healthy degree of insanity too. More than a couple psychiatrists end up with minds like this. Politicians. This looks more like something she consciously does though. Maybe- Hm? Paladin jerked the manlike thing out of his extrapolation.
The Boogeyman openly stared for a couple seconds at the two patrons. A thousand jokes, snarky comments and observations rocketed through his hypothetical brain and were discarded, on the basis that nothing he could say aloud would really do the situation justice. He was speechless.
Oh, right. Reply.
"Right upstairs." He jerked a thumb at the stairs. "Just go, leave what you figure the room's worth on the counter." Well, different strokes for different folks. He thought, as the two made their way toward the stairs. Boog blinked, then shut his eyes as tight as he could and tried to force the word 'stroke' out of his currently conscious thoughts. Yeah, not needing that as part of my day.
---
More cigarettes were being offered. Marya could hug the skinny bastard. She grabbed one and pocketed two more, finishing off the cig she already had greedily and lighting up the next. She didn't get many chances to smoke, she lived with someone who cared about her health.
"Tannes," she replied with a nod, "Most just call it the world, but the name the scientists give it is Tannes. Big planet compared to most others we've observed, gar-fuckin'-gantuan. Don't think anybody's ever really explored the whole thing, most globes have like half the world filled in with HTBM space. Ah, that is..." he probably doesn't know the term, "'Here There Be Monsters'. Bit of an old joke, technically not PC. Yeah, you find monsters everywhere, and every so often you get some real oddballs wandering out from who-the-hell-knows-where with territorial drives and an axe to grind with everything in sight up to and including the scenery, but it's rude to mention someone else's embarassing instincts." She shrugged and took another drag on the cigarette. "I'm from Redland anyway. Big city-state out on the plains, near the edge of the Submerged Expanse. Nice sorta place, gets people from all over."
All Sylvie could do was listen intently, focusing carefully on what Stygian said. This wasn't simple self-deprecation; the two veins of shadowy power crawling beneath his skin reaffirmed that for her. This was a warning - nothing but pure honesty. The dark entity she had fought was as much a part of him as the more pleasant side he was showing her right now. Somehow, when he'd asked her to act like the fight had never happened, she'd let even herself forget what else he was - not completely, but still, it surprised her how quickly she'd overcome her own fear. Next to this remembered problem, her own anxiety about relationships suddenly seemed pretty trivial.
She grew a little pensive, considering every aspect of what he'd just told her. If this really was the result of some hypnotic side he couldn't control, she should be worried. She knew it wasn't just his appearance she liked; the earlier conversation had proven that to her. But that side of his personality could just be a result of this manipulative side he was referring to... as much a part of his "image" as his looks. And she had only known him for half a day... not that she had a very good grasp of time in a place where the sun never set.
"All right," she said evenly. "I'll keep everything you just said in mind..." She let a little smile sneak onto her face, half-reassuring and half with a sense of 'i have no clue what this will result in, but i'm going to try it anyway.'
"It's still not going to make me run out of the room, though." Not unless he suddenly presented a real threat, rather than a possible/probable one.
If there was anything that she had said so far that could be interpreted as a challenge - Hell, those eyes and that smile were one on their own - Stygian hadn't caught it so far. She got her meaning across all too well this time though, and both his sense of concern and his hungrier urge reacted. For a moment, the man's look intensified, and thin black lines started spiderwebbing at his collar and his temples once again. He made some sort of growling sound, and got out of the sofa. He took a few paces with his back toward the elf, then turned, and gave her a thoughtful, yet still dark look that was more than easy to make, courtesy of his eyes and the subtle hints of taint growing in his features.
'Why do you keep challenging me? Do you find it that interesting?' he asked, taking a step closer and fixing his gaze dead straight on hers. Something made it more clear than ever where his attention was. 'Because for someone who fears fire, you certainly seem to wish to play with it much.'
Something flickered, and for a moment Sylvie almost though that she had blinked. She was almost distracted away from Stygian long enough not to see the subtle grin sliding onto his face. Once it did though, she could barely take her eyes off it. He moved closer still, and something triggered an almost reflexive urge to back away, even though the sofa made that impossible. The room loomed around, darkening by shades slowly, the walls seeming farther and taller than they could have been, somehow. Some seething sound went and came in the background. It sounded almost like breathing...
The world flickered again. And for an instant, sheer terror gripped the elf. The images that flashed past her vision, of shapes... faces... twisting, howling in anguish, fangs bared, watching her... They were over in an instant, impossible to imagine, and yet there right in the back of her mind...
'Do you want to know the truth?' Stygian's voice seemed disembodied, coming from everywhere around her as he spoke. He was still smiling, and now those veins were crawling onto his face, shapes rippling under the edges of his skin. '
The truth is... I faced horror. I went where sanity ends. Into darkness like most people never can imagine.' There was a twist to his voice, somehow, a deepening rasping, acidic flanger edging its way in, taking it over. Her sight was slowly failing, but Sylvie still saw the movements rippling under his shirt, starting to strip and tear it asunder, turning it to black dust. Along with his skin. Cracks in his neck and cheek started growing as something ripped its way through, snaking and wet and ridged, and his blackening, glistening teeth parted around an oily dark tongue like a snake rising from his throat. Glistening talons clattered on the table as he bent over it against her. And more things followed their movement. The darkness, and all in it, moved with him. '
Into nightmares untold.'
It was too horrid to watch, and yet there was no way to escape. The sofa was the one, lone point of solidity in the darkness. Everywhere else, Sylvie could only guess what was. But there was no way she wanted to. She could feel it. She could
feel the breathing as chills along her spine, hear the subtle, moaning voices of pain and rasping hisses. The black nothing was alive around her. And all that she could see now was the green glowing flares of Stygian's eyes before her, the glint of his obsidian teeth, and hints of those horrid shapes snaking around him...
'
And I brought them back with me.'
- -
It was not quite visible at first, but even downstairs, some of the darkness could be felt. And in that sort of crowd, not a few could at least guess at what was happening. Something dimmed the light, causing the lights to flicker for a moment. The air went just a hair colder. And for those particularly sensitive, their attention was drawn upward. Not least of all, the Boogeyman could feel some sort of 'shroud' developing upstairs. Likewise, Andrea blinked, and looked up. As did the android in the corner...
'
:no...'
To those in the room, Boog's gaze snapped up to glare at a point on the ceiling in the direction of the rooms. He recognized it and expanded his metaphorical maw to take in more thoughts from the room in question, inhaling and examining the concepts to check and see if he had to jump in.
This I've seen before, under These and Those conditions. That time, he was insane. Properly insane, not this functional variety he opts for. I probably have little to worry about until his monologue gets more creative, but the last thing I need is another of his famous blowups. After all, I can't remember where I left the mop...
Linos seemed to pay the sudden flurry of activity upstairs little mind, looking around only at the bartender's sudden staring at the ceiling, and the priest in the corner's sudden lifting of his head. Laertes, roused from his rest, clutched something hidden beneath his shirt, one eye narrowed as he stared at the wooden ceiling.
Mere seconds after the disturbances above started to happen, a few painful and frustrated noises came from the infirmary. There was a thump, like someone trying to stand and falling over, and a few curses muttered in an angry, gritted-teeth whisper. Then there was the sound of something scraping along the floor, like a pole. Then came a series of little hisses of pain, uttered oaths and self-assurances, and finally the sound of slightly labored, uneven footsteps.
Dani appeared in the doorway of the infirmary, leaning against her glaive, her limp reasonably better than when she'd first awoken in the bar. The burns on her legs were a little better, but still painful; at this point, it was the least of her concerns. She walked over to Sahlena's place, using her weapon as a walking stick, and remained standing so she wouldn't have to get up again. She wasn't hypersensitive like a few who had looked up, but as with anyone who forms a close bond with a person, she knew. Sylvie was in trouble. Not big yet, but not a minor threat either.
"What now?" was all she said, her eyes turning toward the ceiling before looking straight back at the android.
---
Sylvie couldn't figure out where she'd gone wrong, but whatever it was, it must have been bad. One moment, everything was reasonably okay; the next, Stygian was off the sofa and looking more than a little cross - and slightly more inhuman.
The lights flickered, and Sylvie looked around for a moment before looking back at Stygian - only to be fixated on the slight grin that had appeared on his face. She couldn't think of a way to respond to his question before he moved closer. Somehow, that made her nervous - no, scared, and she wanted to get away from him, but she was cornered, and her shock about what was going on rendered her immobile anyway. The room was changing as he did - or was this an illusion? The walls were taller than before, and the room was growing darker, almost as if she was at the bottom of a growing pit.
When that flicker happened again, she nearly screamed. In what was by any judgment the most terrifying split second of her life, she saw pained, tormented faces, with sharp teeth and eyes that burned into her... Even when it was gone, it lingered behind her eyes and thoughts.
Stygian spoke again, and although the elf didn't move her head, her eyes darted around the room before focusing on him. She didn't want to focus on him, but his eyes; the blackness beneath his skin; his fanged, wicked smile... In an impromptu flash of memory, she recalled what he had said about the worst people being able to smile at you while longing to kill you.
His warnings. Their bargain. The fight. Why didn't I pay attention when he gave me the chance?
That regret, though, blinked out in favor of a strange mix of fear, survival instincts, and a few clinging threads of logic that even now refused to die. Stygian neared her again, his voice twisting as it had during their fight, though it seemed almost...stronger now. Considering what had happened only moments before compared to what had happened at least two hours ago, this was worse. The room was darkening faster, or she was going blind, whichever one, it didn't matter. Even as the room became dark as the night she couldn't survive for very long, her terrified chartreuse eyes remained wide open and fixated on the only anchoring point in the room - Stygian. She could barely see his shirt getting destroyed by whatever form he was taking, and his skin along with it, but his own darkening skin and fearsome shape-change were hard to miss.'
She thought of maybe running for her life, but she could no longer see the door, and in any case she didn't want to get up. She didn't even curl her legs up, though something in her wanted to do that. These shadows that surrounded her now were part of him, as much as his glowing eyes and jet-black teeth before her. The dark power was breathing down her neck as she shivered uncontrollably, the shadows moving around her. Even now, though, he couldn't kill her; it wasn't allowed, and even if no-one in the bar was as powerful as Stygian, there were more than enough strong people to be a match for him. And if he wasn't going to kill her...
Almost unconsciously, Sylvie's eyes began to glow from her own power - she had started a hypnosis spell, she realized. She swallowed, then began to speak. Even if it wasn't going to work, she could still show that she was serious. Of course, she didn't want to be taken the wrong way again.
"Whatever you think I meant, it wasn't a challenge, I promise. You said you were dangerous; I believe you. You also said you could control parts of this. So please let me go, and I'll leave you alone. I won't tell anyone what happened." She didn't say it out loud, but she hadn't been challenging him to reveal his true form; she'd been trying to say that unless he lost control, she'd trust him. Whether this counted or not had yet to be seen, but either way, her reaction towards him would be the same.
Watching Dani hobble out with a look of surprise and disbelief, the machine half got up from her table, looked up again, then around, and then to the Red. She seemed genuinely hesitant, somehow.
'
:we... please sit down. you can't do anything like that. you're only going to hurt yourself', she said. Standing up fully, she turned around, searched, and then found what she was looking for. Moving with her mechanical decisiveness again, she crossed the floor, ignoring Andrea's apprehensive look, and approached the ermine present. She grabbed Alex gently but firmly for just a second, to get his attention.
'
:you. i think we might need some help', she began, then stopped and lowered her voice. '
:more specifically, i might need you to... can you...? you know.' She gave him a look that conveyed hidden meaning in spite of her lack of facial expressions, resisting the urge to say '
oday ethay imestay optay'. '
:in case something happens? tell me when i get back.'
Turning on the spot, the machine left Alex sitting, rushing outside to get something from the packing she had brought with her. When she returned, she was holding what looked like either the largest, most advanced rifle in three star systems, or the largest, most advanced portable electromagnet of the same. It was a long, ventilated, precision-made thing of smooth, gunbolt gray metal, armored wiring and machinery. The main part of its length was made up of what looked like two perfectly straight, rectangular rods of steel, polished to a mirror finish. It gave off a menacing, electric hum, as she hefted it with no visible effort.
- -
Sylvie's reply, if it could be called that, went unanswered for a long time. The darkness kept seething and slithering around her. She actually felt something brushing her leg, snaking past underneath the sofa, and no one could blame her for imagining fangs responsible for those wet, slicing sounds and hisses to her side. It was impossible not to recall that thing that he had summoned forth during their fight. If that was something he could just casually create in broad daylight, what might be surrounding her
now?!
'
I do not enjoy when anyone attempts to toy with me. This is not a menagerie, nor a game', his voice continued. Something moved through the dark; a hand, the blackness starting to flake and fall from it. '
Some things are simply best left undone, undisturbed, difficult though that may be.' There were lights, wispy and dim, growing from within the blackness of his form, licking it, coalescing as the darkness began to unravel, revealing slithering forms of black. White-green flares that began breaking through as his skin of black evaporated. There was another flicker, and then a rush shook Sylvie where she sat, rustled her hair and stung her eyes as a wave of black swept out through the room.
A ghost. An angel. Attempts to find a suitable word to describe failed in view of the pallid, off-celadon light that made up the Apollonian shape that floated before the elf, its feet inches off the ground. A man, made out of the fire of burning phosphor and a dash of copper, which turned in veins and scars to glistening black and long, wicked claws from his forearms and ankles out to his hands and feet, where the darkness seemed to snare him, and he it. The black that surrounded him was a roiling, horrid swamp of movement; tentacles, impossibly fanged maws, hideous ridges, spines and claws, all meshing and seething and glistening in the green light. One faceless, hollow-eyed head of many, hovering next to Sylvie, had fangs like kitchen knives, and yet more maws
inside of it that showed when it stretched its jaws. And all that darkness seemed to be spilling out from his back. He leaned in.
'
Do not feel secure because of the others downstairs.' His voice was fire and acid, and his face... It was perfect, and yet blood-curdling. Deathly white curves over empty, dark eyes and long, razor-sharp, glistening black teeth in a maw of complete darkness that turned his beautiful features into a skull-like mask. '
You do not know me. You do not know this', he continued, knife-like teeth slicing the words inches from her face as he spoke. '
It is not a question of power or of possibility or even leverage. There are many worse things I could do than hurt you.' His words echoed against the fear inside her, powerful enough to entrance and command in themselves. The hiss that made up half of them made them whispers, and yet they shook the darkness around her as he spoke. And suddenly, it came to her. Something that at least came close to describing him.
Wraith. His hand touched her skin, and she felt it
pass through it, a spike of painful, numbing chill the result of the contact.
'
I do not wish for you to fear me. It matters not whether if you do or not. I do not wish you harm, and no worse. I do not wish, and I do not hope', he intoned. '
But I do want you to know.' He straightened again, stared down at her for a long time. And then, it ended.
A ripple passed through the whole room, snapping through the air, preceding the following rush by a fraction of a second. The darkness drew inward in a tidal wave, wrapping together, compressing, obscuring all vision until it had drawn in so far as to pass the elf by, accumulating into a single, pitch-black form before her. Coagulating, it at last assumed form. Skin, hair, clothes, all took shape once more, wisps of shadow rolling off them as they gained color, and at last, with a final cloud of smoky black drifting off him, Stygian stood before her again, a mournful look on his face. He turned, shoulders slouching, and walked over to the bed. With a tired grunt, he sat down on the end of it, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and sighed. Now, with his eyes hidden behind bangs of blond hair, he looked no more than a weary, sad young man.
'You seem to want to leave. I can't argue against that', he said, then looked up. 'I promise that I will not attempt to manipulate you or do anything to you, if you will show me the same courtesy. Ignore me, if you wish. I hope you would bear reassuring the others that nothing is amiss with you though.' His speech seemed to have changed, and there was a subtle difference in his accent which made him sound worlds more resigned. Not to mention disappointed.
...Dekuyaketh:Once Marya had finished her description, Dekuyaketh thoughtfully echoed the name "Tannes" under his breath, as though ruminating over each syllable for some sense of familiarity. After a moment, he resigned, not recognizing the name anywhere. Etakor's knowledge of other worlds was simply speculative, although not disregarded as
entirely chimerical due to the magic fueling the whole planet. Most other planets in Etakor's solar system were uninhabitable, and technology which could safely enable the inhabitants of Etakor to colonize other planets was not available. Dekuyaketh was at least hoping he had heard of Tannes or Redland from some form of literature, but he supposed not. He guessed that it would be fairly interesting to find out that one of the fictional worlds he revered as a child was actually real.
"Huh. Sounds a bit like Etakor," Dekuyaketh reminisced, drumming a crimson-tipped fingernail against his temple. "The planet's fairly large, but that's a bit of a virtue, given how many races of creatures there are. Disproportionate to its level of gravity, too. At the size Etakor is, if it wasn't all equalized by the magic in the atmosphere, life would be rather... difficult."
The lights flickered, momentarily dimming the tavern, and Dekuyaketh glared irritably at the ceiling just as the lights returned. He was about to dismiss the phenomenon as something unimportant until, as he started to turn his attention away, a far more demanding sensation started to tug at the back of his brain. His third eye independently swiveled toward the ceiling again, locking onto the mildewed boards. As Dekuyaketh focused on that insistent pull, an eerie coldness suffused his insides, almost as though someone had injected him with poison. Unconsciously, Dekuyaketh's pupils dilated into felid slits as his gaze matched the angle of his third eye, the amber wreaths intertwined in the gold of his irises flaring.
Dekuyaketh returned to Marya. "Did you feel that?" he asked, for clarification. His more visceral Demonic instincts, usually triggered by something impending elsewhere, were very rarely inaccurate, but he wanted to make sure he wasn't alone before he decided to investigate. Something akin to the sensation he experienced was acutely unnerving.
---
...Keaton:Keaton grinned sardonically at Cog, flashing her rows of pearlescent fangs in a manner almost insidiously upbeat. Fortunately, by the time they reached the tavern, she felt she was capable of walking on her own, and released Cog so she could limp into the tavern. Her pace was still labored, but she was considerably faster and less haphazard than before. The gash wasn't hurting so badly anymore, either. Once inside, Keaton dragged herself, although at a decelerated pace, to the booth and collapsed in a chair, scratching languorously behind one of her (as Sahlena noted) uncharacteristically large ears.
Dekuyaketh wasn't the only one who felt something. The lights flickered, and Keaton felt something inside of her snap, although not necessarily out of infuriation. A crawling sort of sensation was wriggling along her spine, as though someone had released thousands of icy spiders underneath her skin, and she felt compelled to pull her feet up and away from the floor while she was sitting. She almost expected for something to reach out of the floor, grab her by the ankles, and toss her into a waiting maw. Keaton could feel her eyes ache as her pupils pinpricked into obscurity, the chocolaty irises vanishing as a white, grotesquely lifeless white light pealed from her eyes for a few minutes. Suddenly self-conscious of her hypersensitive sight, Keaton shut her eyes tightly. When that sort of sensation disappeared, retreating with a flourishing motion and beckoning all the scrabbling, frenzied ice-insects that accompanied it back into the darkness, Keaton was still not reassured, as she still felt as though it had lingered. Like those bugs had laid eggs inside her skin, and they were prickling at her flesh as they developed.
Keaton reached up and pressed her palm to her forehead, momentarily overwhelmed. She opened her eyes again - they were back to normal, although her prosthetic eye was unfocused and glazed over with a dead, crisp color. When she blinked again, that lusterless color was gone, along with most of the creeping sensations underneath her skin.
---
...Piix:Piix may have felt something when the lights went off, then returned, but she forgot it quickly enough amidst her rabid anticipation. Plus, the darkening of the tavern went mostly unnoticed due to her ability to see in dimmed environments. Instead, she wound her arms around Pal's a little more thoroughly, so that way she was securely anchored to his body, and grinned, remaining blissfully ignorant. Piix wagged her tail furiously.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Paladin smiled down at the Orin as he reached out to pay the Boogyman, as the lights went out Paladin winced at the flood of images and emotions filtering down from above. Looking up at the ceiling when the lights came on he frowned and reinforced his mental shields. He was not going to get distracted from the task at hand...Or in this case hanging from his arm wagging her tail very much like a puppy.
"I may as well pay for a weeks worth, might stick around for a while" he said forking over enough furrae script and coin to pay for two weeks at a upscale furrae hotel.
"Physical keys? or do the rooms have a mental lock on them" the wolf asked.
While observing the machine, Alex kept silent, but anyone with fine senses could tell something different. His breathing was forced to be calm, so much so as he did not even so much as react at the machine bringing out a weapon. Yet he still feared; as he put one hand in his pants pocket, to pray to whatever deity governs this universe. His other hand is in the left side of his jacket with a tense grip on the combat knife. Exquisite and remorseless, cogs in the watch of eternity, turning another until crisis. Time is not kind, so I pray that I do not falter.
In a moment, it would seem, he would have to openly use his powers. Best time as any to fully utilize them.
After the impressive, terrifying, and quasi-enlightening display and explanation from Stygian, Sylvie sat still for a minute. One couldn't say that her gaze was fearful; it certainly wasn't the frightened deer-in-the-headlights look she'd had prior to subconsciously attempting to hypnotize his presumably monstrous form in the dark. It wasn't quite the awestruck expression she'd assumed when he turned into the beautiful/hideous wraith-form either, though her skin still had a numb, almost sharp feeling where he'd 'touched' her. No, she was looking right at Stygian, her eyes almost sympathetic and a little sad, feeling and looking like someone who has had a profound shock and perhaps learned more than they wanted to know. Knowledge may help a person in the long run, but it's not always welcome.
After a second that seemed like an eternity, she stood up. Purely out of habit, she straightened her skirt and tucked back a strand of hair, never taking her eyes away from Stygian. She walked away from the sofa, turning to face him halfway from the door.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "I'm sorry I provoked you. I'll tell the others nothing's wrong." The way she said it, telling them that wouldn't be a lie, though she did seem more than slightly rattled. She nodded with a subdued expression, and left the room.
-----
Dani was clearly annoyed by Sahlena's warning, but she did as she was told and sat. The Red scanned the bar; almost everyone had noticed, but the concern was ... infrequent. The winged Wolf from before looked annoyed, if anything; Piix looked too lost in Paladin to care; the rest looked more on edge than worried. She was on the verge of becoming truly impatient. There weren't too many other noises upstairs, though one could feel the power used in whatever the hell was going on up there.
Almost right after Sahlena walked backin holding a gun big enough to make most men self-conscious, the power-feeling stopped. Dani looked up at the ceiling, confused, concerned, and unable to do much about it in her current state.
As it turned out, she didn't have to do anything. Mere minutes after the feeling was gone, Sylvie Dahl walked back down the stairs, disconcerted but unhurt. Dani's eyes could have rolled out of their sockets and back into the infirmary and the guard wouldn't have noticed. She started to get up, but thought the better of it and sat back down. The last thing her friend needed was more attention drawn to her.
The elf walked quietly to the bar, sitting down in the chair where she'd draped her cloak earlier and placing a gold coin on the table.
"I don't care what it is, as long as it has sugar in it," she said, sounding not entirely normal, but in no way angry or afraid. Either way, she felt eyes on her, so she looked over her shoulder at the others.
"Nothing dangerous happened, and no-one is hurt, so you can stop acting like the Apocalypse is about to happen." With that, she turned back to the bar and focused her eyes on the table in a distracted way.
Keeping his gaze down, even when she spoke to him, Stygian
felt Sylvie leave more than he saw her, and an empty silence filled the room. He did not know how much she had managed to deduce, but to himself the problems and the pains of his
condition were so intimate that they became difficult to put forth. And then of course, there was the very issue that he was not, and
could not be, as disinclined toward what he was as he sometimes seemed. Nevertheless, this was one of the times that he only regretted it. Almost.
Laying back at last with a hard sigh and letting himself relax, Stygian raised his hand, and watched it. The sensation, the faint taste of the elf still fresh in his memory, he rubbed his fingers together. The chilling sensation she felt would pass in minutes. He wondered if she was suspicious about what he had actually done.
Great work, he commented to himself.
Maybe words would have been enough. For now you've just convinced her that you're slimy and dangerous. Then again, there was the question of whether if she realized how volatile his 'condition' was, and whether if that had been better to speak of.
Well, it's all pretty much screwed up, either way. She should thank me in the end, he continued, even as that hand before his eyes rippled with movement and claws tore open his fingers, and the blackness around him began deepening once more. It crawled out over the bed in tendrils, beginning to thicken, slithering over the floor and up the walls, enveloping the room.
Now, I can cut loose just a bit...- -
Standing absolutely still and watching Sylvie all the way from the top of the stairs and to the bar, Sahlena waited with switching off the weapon in her hands until the last second, her tension fading together with its electric hum, then made a sound akin to a relieved sigh, and set the gun down next to a table. She gave Dani a brief look, then an unnoticeable one with her peripheral sensors to Andrea. Hesitant for a glimpse of a second, processing her thoughts and wondering whether if she had perhaps been a bit paranoid, she turned to Alex next, gave him a shrug, and then walked up to the ermine.
'
:sorry for the turn down', she said. '
:actually, sorry for the inconvenience in the first place. can i buy you a drink or... something?'
- -
Andrea's gaze did not stay on Sylvie for long, but her attention never left the elf. Downing the last of her drink, thoughts raced through her mind, far from all of them her own. She felt like smiling. Now that the Green was out of that damn monster's vicinity, her thoughts were as easily plucked from the air as anyone else's again. And among them were quite a few useful ones. She had only managed to sift scraps and pieces of Stygian's image and the feeling of his presence before. Now, she had a whole image to work with, since the elf didn't seem to be able to stop thinking about the ordeal. She could have grinned. But she kept herself under wraps.
A feeling of that cloudy numbness from above, and someone else's feeling of apprehension and discomfort touched her again, and Andrea shifted her gaze upward once more, muttered, and set down her glass. Then, she smirked, looking slightly toward the panther next to her.
'Well, we don't have to clean. That's good enough for me', she said. 'Hey, I think it feels a little stuffy in here. Why don't you play something relaxing, to take people's
minds off things?'
Her smirk solid on her face, the woman gazed over at the elf once more. Useful thoughts, oh yes. She was not about to go back on a promise...
Karazkt
Karazkt listened to the strange musician converse with the other surfacer, but soon lost interest. He was going to return to his vigil for the Xenoqueen when suddenly, he felt somewhat...sick. He looked around, a little disoriented, and realized the sensation was being radiated from above. Looking up, and seeing the world with infravision through his goggles, he saw, even through the wooden ceiling, heat being leeched out of a room, the area turning dark, rapidly becoming a cold dead-zone. After a little time, it subsided, and color started to seep back in, though not as much as before. A few moments later, a strange green surfacer female walked into the bar from the quarters corridor, seeming somewhat...off in her demeanor.
Karazkt glanced at his surrogate Queen, who was still in regenerative slumber, then back to the woman. He was picking up a strange scent off of her with his antennae, a scent that his mind told him shouldn't be emitted by a surfacer. However unusual though it may be, Karazkt knew he must return to his duty. He had already lapsed in that regard, and couldn't afford to continue. He walked back toward the Queen, and sat back down where he was before the powerful music had been played, removing his goggles again, and making sure his bottle of nectar-ale offering was in place.
Mechangel
The cloaked man was standing at the door to his room. He had seen everything of course, it was hard to miss. He certainly wasn't happy about it, but it wasn't like there was much he could do about it anyway. He was about to enter his room, but then stooped, and turned around. He scanned the main bar again, the last thing his gaze settled on being that time-manipulator, [Alex]. He hadn't forgotten that [Alex] had noticed him, and wondered if anything was going to come of it.
The cloaked hunchback leaned against his door, continuing his watch of the bar.
...Dekuyaketh:
In the end, Dekuyaketh didn't wait for an answer from Marya. He was already convinced that his instincts were correct, judging by their consistent history of accuracy. His decision was partially encouraged by impatience, because such an irregularity in the otherwise tranquil - or as tranquil as could be allowed, given the circumstances and the customers' natures - disturbed him. Signaling to Marya that he would be right back, Dekuyaketh swiftly, almost elegantly, climbed off of his stool and turned toward the nearest stairway. He left his cigarettes on the table, assuming Marya hadn't satisfied her nicotine addiction yet. He assumed it would be better to keep her busy in his absence.
Relying on that pulsating presence oscillating within his artificial, third eye as a directional tool, Dekuyaketh crept up the staircase, his footsteps gradually disappearing, petering away in audibility until they were utterly silent. Unconsciously and quietly flexing his mechanical arm's claw, Dekuyaketh approached the doorway to Stygian's room, but did not enter. He remained close, however, and indulged his curiosity. That creeping, horridly cold feeling had intensified as he advanced on the speculated source. Dekuyaketh couldn't distinguish it to any sort of aura emitted by a Demon, or any kind of corrupted "Mortal," either. It was individual.
For now, he laid his ear against the door, listening for any abnormal sounds.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
There was ghastly silence. At first, Dekuyaketh might as well have listened on any of the other unoccupied rooms. But slowly, unnervingly unclear and right at the edge of hearing, some sound grew, whispering, seething. Like sand shifting under a slow breeze. But this sound held a far more eerie quality, wet and acidic. It was like a manifestation of that crawling, chilling sensation before. Like unsettlement turned sound. Captivating, the slow rolling of it almost like breathing, despite the fearful sensation it instilled it somehow drew one's attention. Like when one sees a corpse, and just can't look away.
It was only when he felt the door somehow grow cold against him that Dekuyaketh realized. The corridor was so dark he could not see the end of it. The sound was around him, inching closer with every moment. It was breathing. He heard faint scraping, imagined that he could feel something on the other side of that door, and yet he could not move away, some dark gravity of fear holding him right where he was. The air throbbed with a slow, immaterial pulse.
'
We can feel you.'
The voice was many. Dying men's rasping breaths. Flesh slowly being ripped asunder. The burning of skin. It suffused the air around him.
- -
Tilting her head at Alex, Sahlena studied him as she waited briefly for a response, then sat down, propping her chin in her smooth, hard hand. She was not quite sure of what to say. Being able to draw on or emulate many examples of conversation and being quite imaginative for a machine was only useful if the opposite party wanted to converse. She was also somewhat out of practice when it came to small talk. Working with Stygian made sure of that. And then, of course, she was not sure why she had approached the ermine again anyway. She supposed that she was simply curious.
'
:it's good to be alert, but tense...' she said, giving his hand, still gripping his knife under his jacket, a quick look. '
:i thought you looked tired at first, to be honest.'
Behind her, calmly and smoothly, Andrea got out of her seat, bringing her glass along and walking over to the bar to get herself a new drink. She casually slid into a seat, seemingly by chance choosing one just one spot away from Sylvie, and pulled out a crumpled bill, slapping it on the counter.
'Hit me again, please.'
Boog shook his head and handed Pal a key. "Just... Try not to make a mess..."
His attention turned back to business as soon as he heard money. He grinned and swiped it off the counter, pocketing it. "Same as before? Or something more interesting?"
--
Before Marya had the chance to figure out what the hell Dekuyaketh was talking about he'd already wandered off in search of the source of... Whatever it was. The mongoose got up and followed, on the basis that if there WAS anything she didn't want to miss it and if there WASN'T then it would be good to know if the guy was going nuts, so she could grab whatever other cigs she could get out of him and vamoose before the little yellow pixies in his head or whatever told him to do something REALLY weird.
"Hey, Dekky?" (as she'd already personally nicknamed him), "Yanno, I don't know how things go where you're from but lights flicker all the time, it's probably nothing to-" Looking around upstairs, things were so dark she almost couldn't see Dekuyaketh. The audible errata of horrific violence suffused the area in a susruss of the agony of others... "-Worry about..."
The Queen shifted slightly. Something had awakened her, fully healed and very hungry. Casting about mentally, she could sense that something, somewhere above her.
A concern for a later time; there was no threat nor easy prey that she could feel. The creature before her, though, was another matter.
The massive head slid forwards from under the armored edge of the comb, and she regarded the silent Karazkt thoughtfully, her senses sweeping to include the rest of the room.
"You are not of my hive," she thought at the Insectis in cold, black waves. "Yet you serve. As it should be."
Taking the key from the Boogyman, Paladin replied "Heh I'll try my best."
The armored wolf lead Piix towards the stairs and up them. Arriving at the door marked on the key he unlocked the door and opened it, "after you Lass" he said waving her though.
Karazkt
Karazkt had almost completely tuned out the sounds of the bar again, when the Queen in front of him finally moved, awakening from her slumber. Her sleek black carapace, now once again flawless, shined in the light as she moved. As she warmed up her mind, Karazkt made sure that his antennae were in the most submissive posture he could manage. She took in the activity of her surroundings, before focusing her attention on Karazkt.
When she projected her thoughts into Karazkt, they slammed into his mind, enveloping it in cold darkness for a moment. He was unprepared for this mental intrusion, and it did cause him some slight pain, but the beleaguered bug quickly marshalled himself to accept it for the next time.
He responded in his own language, the collection of buzzes and clicks, still hoping she would be able to understand him... "Of course. The hierarchy must always be observed, something these-" His head turned for a moment, glancing at the other occupants in the bar. "-surfacers...don't understand. Even though you are not of my race, I wish to place myself at your command, to serve you any way possible while you are here. And as a tribute, though it is small, I offer this to you."
Karazkt picked up the bottle with the golden fluid in it, and held it up to the Queen. "This is a bottle of the finest Insectis nectar-ale, brewed by the best makers of liquid nuitrition in all Insectis hive-cities. Though the portion is small, it can fill one with fire, and its taste is exquisite."
As Karazkt said the last bit, he suddenly remembered that taste is relative to race, something he had observed in surfacers. What was appealing to one could be repulsive to another. Karazkt suddenly found himself dearly hoping that the Queen would like the offering. Things could be very bad for him if she didn't.
...Dekuyaketh:
Remaining utterly soundless, Dekuyaketh, unconvinced of the silence, pressed himself a little closer to the door and attempted to listen, keeping alert for any impending noises. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marya meander up the staircase and approach down the hallway, her light footsteps a precursor to her appearance. Under normal circumstances, he would have been bemused, or at the very most, irritated by her newfound nickname for him, but he was too concentrated on other matters. She didn't seem to understand why he had left, so he assumed she didn't feel anything unusual before.
Dekuyaketh noticed, around that time, that the wall was beginning to feel like ice beneath his cheek. Underneath, he could barely hear a scratching noise, which intrigued him, compelled him to remain, although, as his eyes selfconsciously shifted away from the surface of the wall, he noticed the darkness encroaching upon the hallway. Suddenly, Dekuyaketh started to feel claustrophobic; at first he thought his heart was picking up, but then he realized the pulsing was coming from the air itself. Marya had gone eerily quiet from behind him. Dekuyaketh wanted to move away, but somehow, he couldn't force his body to pull away from the wall.
"We can feel you."
Surrounded by that voice, a myriad collection of horrific sounds swelled. All of them he was methodically able to identify. Dekuyaketh's pupils pinpricked, and this time he was certain he had felt his heart leap into his throat. He felt something flare in his mechanical arm, and forced himself away from the wall, although his impulses were slower than normal.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
The shape of Karazkt's thoughts were more surprising to the Queen than anything else she had encountered in this place. Creatures had worshipped her before, but they were clearly insane, often not fully comprehending ven what they were doing.
But this creature was fully sane, reasoning, even a touch fearful of her. Truly amazing in a lifeform from outside her species.
Considering the offering, she extended her smaller left hand and took the bottle slowly and with a delicate touch that belied her powerful muscles. Her lips parted slightly, inhaling, and the scent that came to her caused her hunger pangs to sharpen.
Drawing the bottle close to her chest, she sent her thoughts to the Insectis, softer in volume but no less a command.
"Accepted. I hunger. Bring me something still warm."
Karazkt
Karazkt was relieved as the Xenoqueen accepted his gift, and promptly gave him a task. When she entered his mind again, not only was he prepared, but she was even slightly gentler about it...but still completely dominating. Karazkt welcomed this entirely, he wouldn't have it any other way.
Waving his antennae in something of a salute in his own culture, he got up and rushed across the bar, over to the counter where the Boogeyman was. "You!" He said, once again speaking in his heavily-accentented surface language. "I need zeveral large dishez of anything filling and warm, KwiKly!"
The darkness did not fade, following Dekuyaketh even as he moved back. Another throbbing pulse seemed to make the world shift. It was not physical, and yet somehow it made the floor tremble underneath him. Or maybe it was
he who trembled.
Weakling. The first whisper reached his ears. The silence that followed only accentuated it.
'
We want to rest. To soothe our temper', the voices continued. The doorknob clattered, then slowly moved. The door began creaking open. '
And then you come here, echoing...' The crack widening, Dekuyaketh still could not see anything but darkness beyond the frame. It swung open fully, the knob hitting the wall, and yet... '
Shattered, frail creature.'
The world flickered, and an image of a bleeding, screaming face appeared before Dekuyaketh's vision. A face he knew too well.
Creep. Something tugged on him, invisible evil reaching out for him through that darkness, and it felt as if he had to tense his legs and push back with his feet just not to tumble in through the open doorframe. Another flicker, faces shattering like glass, crumbling like porcelain to a hammer.
Scum.
'
Your soul is full of shards', the voices intoned. Another flicker, like a flash of lightning, and standing down the corridor Marya thought she could see, just for a moment, a man-figure hovering in front of the manticore.
Weakling. A nightmarish thing, reaching for him.
Rapist. The sight vanished, yet remained caught in her memory, on her retina. '
Filthy. Your pain...'
Something trailed down the side of Dekuyaketh's face. He felt warmth run down his chin. And only when that brought his attention did he feel the agony.
Filth! Three slashes, as if made by claws, one by one biting deep into his skin and slowly running down his cheek.
Abomination. Nothing touched him.
Idiot! The darkness was there.
Scum! It was horrible!
'
...your pain is far too ugly for our tastes.' Something stared into his head. The voices.
You little weakling creep! Melting together.
To dare come here... They were in his mind!
Scum! I should...! He couldn't make them stop! Stop!
Never! You filthy broken Horrible!
rapist! You deserve to burn and there is nothing that can Stop!
me from making you...!- -
Watching over her shoulder at the Queen and the Insectis, Andrea made a brief expression of mixed puzzlement and distaste. That alien thing, she had not sensed any thoughts from earlier. Its influence wasn't forceful, likely not intrusive or focused, but it still discomforted her when its attention swept over the bar, and her with it. She did not want to try and block its attention though. Likely, she could have faded from its vision, but it could probably still smell and hear her. And with an alien mind like that, she would likely incur its anger long, long before she could really convince it that she were not there.
Suppressing her annoyance, she turned back to Boog, trying not to mind the roiling of the darkness overhead. He was doing something up there, though she did not know what, and probably did not want to know in too much detail either. For now, she busied herself with trying to puzzle out exactly what the flurry of thoughts in front of her was doing. It wasn't moving to make her drink, so she guessed that it was waiting for her order.
'I'd like a... um... a Screwdriver. And a glass of water', she said. Folding her hands, she looked next to the elf beside her. There was a dilemma. Had that damn bartender not been around...
'Had enough?' she asked the elf with a bit of a smirk. 'I was actually worried for you a bit, but you seemed to figure out that you wanted to
go somewhere else pretty quickly...'
She was not sure how easily she would be able to get away with it. The words weren't accentuated, but the compulsive power that she gently slipped along at just the right time ought to have made them and the idea they conveyed slip rather easily into the girl's mind. Not to mention, it was possible that synchronizing things like that, she could completely slip them under that
entity's radar...
Dani watched Sylvie long after most people had stopped, thouh she did glance at Sahlena when she felt the android's lens focus on her. When that lens flickered over to the woman with the short hair, Dani noticed it and glanced at her too. The Red instantly mistrusted Andrea. Maybe it was her own impulsive nature controlling her, but still. Something about what she said, the way she said it and that smirk she wore irritated her. And she knew that the woman had been talking about Sylvie when she said her piece.
Speaking of which, she needed to talk to her friend, even if it drew extra attention to her and meant the guard had to stand again. Sighing a little, grabbing her glaive and standing up slowly, Dani kept her eyes trained on the elf as she limped over.
-----
Sort of dejected, very confused and unsure whether she was still scared or not, Sylvie was patiently trying to drown her emotions in apple juice - and failing miserably. Maybe ordering something alcoholic wouldn't be a bad idea... factoring out the taste for once. She barely registered what was said about her or the earlier situation; her own thoughts were noisy enough without the opinions and comments of others creeping in.
When the Maine Coon and mongoose headed upstairs, she got a slightly concerned look, which deepened when she sensed a familiar sort of darkness upstairs. Her senses weren't greatly heightened, but she knew how to sense power and magic, and the power-feeling right now was unmistakable. A few conflicting feelings pushed at the confines of her skull, asking whether she should go up there or not, reminding her of her other mixed-up emotions, giving her one hell of an annoying headache...
And then the woman who looked vaguely like Dani addressed her. Sylvie looked over, half-surprised and wondering what she meant. Had enough of what? She was about to ask when Andrea spoke again, and somehow the Green got the feeling that maybe she should leave. The sensation felt out of place somehow, but she couldn't figure out why right away. In any case, the woman wasn't acting entirely friendly, and there was still the issue of what might be going on upstairs. Going somewhere else might be a good idea...
Fortunately, she was distracted from all this by a finger tapping her shoulder. She turned her head quickly, accidentally hitting Dani in the face with her hair. But the Red didn't seem to care, apart from a slightly annoyed blink and briefly rubbing her nose. "Come with me," the guard said, quietly enough not to be heard, but with a familiar blunt tone.
"But-" the elf started, quiet and almost indignant, getting cut off by her friend.
"We need to talk."
"Wh-"
"Now."
Sylvie sighed a little herself, albeit with a smile; it was Dani's nature to try to help her whenever she felt something bad had happened. Her first run-in with Stygian was Exhibit A of the usual negative effect this had, but even so, the elf found herself wanting someone to help her reason through what had gone on and soothe her whirling thoughts. She slid off the chair, supporting Dani (although the Red did rely more on her own steps now than before), and the two walked into the infirmary - but not before Dani glanced back at Andrea suspiciously. It was for the shortest of moments, almost unnoticeable, but it did happen.
Marya stepped back a moment in shock. Dekuyaketh crumpled for little discernable reason and then, then...
'**** **** ** **** ** ******', the voices intoned. Another flicker, like a flash of lightning, and standing down the corridor Marya thought she could see, just for a moment, a man-figure hovering in front of the manticore. The sight vanished, yet remained caught in her memory, on her retina. '******. **** ****...'
There was the sounds of grease boiling, and the former owners of said grease objecting. There was that frantic breath that one usually only hears at the other end of an anonymous caller. That voice, like someone speaking through a bad intercom...
It was horror. It was death and control and all too familiar awfulness. It was the sort of thing that only people did to each other, or things that people made.
An old tent, filled with smoke. The man lying on the mat, frothing at the mouth. The chants being said, the rags and bones being waved, and it was her job, always her job...
Four blunt, pawlike fingers curled into a fist and slammed into the door of the room and for a second that single, flat noise was the only thing that could be heard. Marya liked hitting things, on a deep and personal level. It was simple, effective, and it focused you on the here and now so damn perfectly. Her hand raised again, like the hammer of some forge-related deity of ancient times before coming back down on the door with a slam.
"Keep it down in there! Some of us are trying to fuckin' drink!"
Regardless of what her job had been, she was a bouncer these days.
---
"And I need money, before I get that food to you!" Boog replied to Karazkt, mimicking his enthusiasm cheerfully. He then turned back to his other customers. "Screwdriver? Sure thing, Toots." He said to Andrea, glancing at the Green and Red and shooting the psychic a last second I saw that, look.
The thought entity disregarded the thump and the vibes from upstairs, but Richard's head snapped up from his beer and toward the stairs. He knew the sound of that impact. He scooted his chair back to make it easy to get up in a hurry and placed one hand on the head of his axe...
Karazkt
Karazkt was, put simply, shocked and aghast. His normally swaying antennae had gone stiff, then started twitching madly. Of course he could and would pay for the food, but right that moment? He needed that food now, and all the valuable metals he had were back in his digger mech! Of course, since it was for the needs of the Queen, there shouldn't have to be payment, but Karazkt did not have time to argue.
Emitting a noise that sounded an awful lot like an angry hornet, he ran off down the hallway that led to the garage housing his mech. Twenty seconds later, he ran back in, went to the counter, and dropped another lump of gold on it, all the while making a somewhat restrained stream of noises that resembled an overturned beehive, one in which the bees also had mandibles that could make snapping sounds.
"Now Kan you produze the food I need?"
It looked like Dekuyaketh were about to slump. He was still tense, but whatever had been assailing him slowly turned its attention to Marya instead. The air instantly grew pressing and thick, the acrid scent of smoke welling up around her again, and faces in pain flickering. But only for a couple of seconds.
It ended as quickly as it began, simple, dark stillness settling as the whispers withdrew at first. Then, the lighting seemed to ease up, the darkness retreating in an eerily crawling fashion. At last, the door began turning, gaining speed, until it finally slammed shut and locked. And the corridor was silent and still again.
- -
If she had caught the entity's look, Andrea might have cursed herself and ceased outright. But, in lack of any intervention, or much of a response at all - she was fairly sure that the thing had somehow tried to talk to her, not that it was in any way intelligible, so it could have been anything - she put on a surprised and slightly indignant face, and took her drink once it was served. Looking after Sylvie, observing Dani as she interrupted the elf, she seemed hesitant for a moment, then walked after them as they headed for the infirmary. Dani's look though made her blink, and almost flinch, her expression turning into a glare once the Red and the Green were both out of sight.
The mix of orange juice and vodka going instantly to her mouth for a hefty swig, Andrea stopped, leaning on a chair to think and focus. The woman had so much as challenged her! Now
there was an obstruction that she had to get around. Not that she was not confident she could bend that one as well. It was just that the two of them together, and one feeling suspicious and hostile, would make it that much more time-consuming. And perhaps outright hard, if she wanted to avoid attention. She sipped her drink again, eyes narrowing. Perhaps she should pick a fight, to give her time to work off her temper and think?
Composing herself once again, righting her facial expression and putting on an outer calm that betrayed little or nothing, Andrea sighed, let her drink hang from her fingers, and slowly walked over to stand by the infirmary door, planning and waiting.
Across the room, sitting beside the still silent ermine, the machine-woman followed the psychic with a sideways, intense red gaze, before turning away. Her fingers drummed once, flexing as though they wanted to grip something.
...Piix:Piix broke out into a toothy grin which nicely brandished her poisonous cuspids after Paladin opened the door for her. Under normal circumstances - that is, if Piix was on her home planet of Oriaendi - people, such as other Orin, would find such a gesture relatively attractive, but in the company of a species that didn't follow animal courtship tendencies, she probably looked insidious. Given the situation, however, this was probably appropriate.
"Why thank ya," Piix replied cheerfully, and scurried inside.
---
...Dekuyaketh:Dekuyaketh's mind was starting to fall apart. He felt those haphazard barriers protecting his sanity burst at the seams, threatening to spray his subconscious all over the insides of his head, rupturing like the St. Francis Dam. Over and over again, grotesque images flashed and flickered through his head like a monochromatic montage of memories, chipping away at his defenses and cutting away toward the fragile mind cocooned within its protective shell. Every word uttered by that apparition was like an ephemeral blade, slicing away thick layers of Dekuyaketh's ethereal shields, almost as though it was meticulously peeling an apple. Around him, there was no longer the tavern. Dekuyaketh could only see naked apartment walls, bearing cracks and dents testament to its age; wooden floors; eviscerated window-frames; and rotting, vermiculated furniture. Without realizing it, Dekuyaketh felt the Herculean strength in his body start to fly away, even as the gemstones ornamenting his mechanical arm regurgitated gouts and sparks of red electricity as though it was backfiring.
Red was flickering in front of his vision. Dekuyaketh was hyperventilating; although he didn't realize it, his pupils were contracted and he was baring his fangs, even in his state of horror. He couldn't think straight, his mind kept flickering from the tavern he didn't recognize to that dilapidated apartment, and sometimes to the sight of an arm outstretched toward him. Wherever he went, as his mind circled and ran and crumpled, screaming, to the bottom of his brain, he couldn't escape those
words. They all felt like they were stabbing at him. He felt something syrupy trickle down the side of his face, and for a moment he thought it was his tears. Instinctively, without any control over his body, Dekuyaketh glanced down, and had to stifle a scream with what little tatters of insanity that adhered to his panicked mind. There was so much agony, so much horror, so much
madness -
Those words were repeating like heartbeats. None of them seemed distinguishable. None -
You little weakling creep!Nothing -
Scum!It wasn't -
You filthy broken -He didn't -
Dekuyaketh felt his eyes go blank, and he uttered a low, rasping sound akin to a dying animal's groan. The strength was siphoning away from the muscles in his knees. He started to buckle and wanted to scream and let everything grow unintelligible -
Until there was a magnificent
BANG like a thunderclap, and the door slapped shut, cutting off both the apparition from its victim, and the victim from the spiraling world. Everything seemed to go silent, and Dekuyaketh opened his eyes. He couldn't hear anything aside from his accelerated breathing, and the fingers of both his organic hand and his mechanical arm were curled in his hair. For some reason, his mind had just... silenced. There was no longer any fear of suddenly collapsing and
reverting, but he still felt some discomforting instability, present in the absolute terror that gripped his body, the way he bit down on his lip until his teeth split the skin and he was tasting his own blood, the red rivulets running down the dark fur of his chin, the way his eyes seemed wide and horrified, his hair disheveled, his heartbeats thumping in his ears. There was residual horror, and he still couldn't think straight, even if he was technically coherent. But one look at Marya and he somehow got the impression that he owed the beastfolk his life.
They had to
leave.Dekuyaketh fluidly dashed forward with inhuman instincts, his organic arm swinging around and hooking underneath Marya's torso, tucking her neatly underneath his arm like a mongoose-turned-football. "We gotta go.
NOW!" Dekuyaketh said, far quicker and far more panicked than what the situation called for, and he
ran down the hallway, far away from the door.
The derelict state of Dekuyaketh's dismembered mind shields sat in subaudible silence, suspended in the middle of his brain. He felt his mind bleeding and climbing out of its death throes.
It was like watching a caged animal.
And in the back of his head, he could hear a raspy voice, uttering in a darkly humorous way that was, truly, only amusing to one person.
So. Was it good for you?~Keaton the Black Jackal
Despite being followed to the door by Andrea, Dani and Sylvie walked into the infirmary without much trouble - though both looked up when loud quick footsteps sounded upstairs. Sylvie moved to sit on the bed that Dani had been lying in before, but the Red herded the elf over to a bed at the end of the room. When both sat down, Dani faced Sylvie directly, speaking in the same low, quiet, direct voice.
"Okay, then. So, what happened upstairs? It's great that you weren't hurt, but it's pretty clear that you're freaked out-"
"I'm not freaked out," the elf tried to insist, also speaking quietly. "I mean, I am, but - " she cut herself off. "...I don't know how to put it. I'm feeling way too much to just be freaked out."
Dani sighed. Elves could get so dramatic...even shy ones like Sylvie. "Okay. Start from when you went upstairs."
One long discussion and a few reassuring pats on the shoulder later...
"...Then he just let me leave," Sylvie finished, sighing a little and slumping forward. Telling someone did make her feel better, but reliving her experiences wasn't all that pleasant. Dani pouted in thought. She wasn't too surprised by what Stygian had done - she'd already seen what he was capable of, and if what Sahlena had told her wa-
"Actually, Syl," the Red spoke up, "Sahlena mentioned something like this to me after you went upstairs. She said his powers are subconscious, but he manipulates peopl-"
"Dan," Sylvie interrupted with a blank look. "Stygian told me the same thing, remember?" The latter looked a bit shamefaced for a second, but shook it off quickly.
"Right. Sorry. But why didn't you leave when he told you that?" The Green got a half-wistful, half-embarrassed look.
"Well, like I said, I told him that I'd keep that in mind, but that I still wasn't worried he'd do anything to me. Then he got angry for some reason..." She looked up at Dani, who had a look of dawning realization on her face. "What?"
"That isn't what you said you said," Dani muttered.
"But that's what I meant," Sylvie asserted. "Couldn't you tell?"
"No," the Red answered honestly. "It sounded like you were trying to provoke him. I guess you meant it as kind of a joke, but he took it as a challenge." Now Sylvie had the realization look. Dani looked at her and added, "But that doesn't mean you should trust him completely yet, after what you told me happened. It may have been an accident, but given what he showed and told you, he's dangerous and he knows it." She resisted the urge to add But I guess you know that now to that. The girl had been through enough for now. "Either way, we'll both be on our guard from now on. You wanna get some drinks?" she said, her voice at normal volume now.
Sylvie smiled weakly and nodded. She was feeling a little more normal herself. "Sure, but wait here while I get them. It looks like you shouldn't be walking around much more yet," she answered, standing up walking back towards the door. When she noticed Andrea, she got a curious look. She had a feeling the woman didn't like her, and Dani had sent some bad vibes toward her before, but still, it would be worth it to find out at least a little about her.
"We were never properly introduced, were we?" she mentioned, the fact only now occurring to her. She gave a slight bow - she'd never been one for handshakes, and she had a feeling that offering her hand might bother Dani for some reason. "I'm Sylvie Dahl."
If the psychic was surprised or upset, something that was very hard to imagine, she composed herself so quickly that Sylvie did not have the time to catch it. She seemed to sense the momentary hesitation, and gave the elf a quick frown, before sighing. Within though, her thoughts spun as fast as ever, partly to try and shake off the discomfort that the Green herself was giving off.
'I'm Andrea Muniz. Look, I'm sorry about that', she said, almost ignoring the bow, and nodded slightly toward the bar. She had never been one for formality. And that sort of thing was even more hard to keep up, when one could distinctly hear just how informal people were in their minds. 'It was supposed to be a... joke of sorts. I'm sorry if it came off the wrong way. It's just that... I know him. Okay?' She gave the elf a meaningful glance that dared her to challenge the statement, but she did not wait for an answer. 'Don't let me interrupt you. I didn't mean for it to be anything significant, but if you don't want to talk to me, you don't need to come back to me.' She gave a sort of shrug, and then turned toward the infirmary door. 'I'll go and do this thing, and see if I need to leave later...'
Giving the elf a last look that she could not help but find somewhat strange, as if the woman wanted to assure herself of something and excuse herself at the same time, Andrea turned, and walked into the infirmary. Giving Dani a glance, it was by talent and concentration that she kept any signs of satisfaction back. It was too early to try and assert any sort of direct control, but she thought her suggestions were working well...
'Sorry', she said as she walked past the Red, moving to stop at the edge of Giles' bed. 'Didn't want to intrude.' She eyed the man for a while, before she gave Dani herself a quick, seemingly casual glance.
'That looks like it hurts a bit', she said, and returned her gaze to the blackguard. 'Maybe you really ought to lie down a while.' She frowned at the armored man. 'By the way, did Stygian beat up this guy, hm?'
It was a rather good situation. The blackguard was still alive, but unconscious, and considering how he seemed... She did not want to start delving into his head quickly. One could not know what was lurking about in that sort of heated darkness. She could barely catch any thoughts or dreams from him at all. So if she wanted another tool to work with against the bastard upstairs, she would have to be careful...
Grinning widely the armored wolf followed the diminutive alien inside the room closing the door. The door opened again a few seconds later and a hand darted out, hooked a 'Do not disturb' sign on the handle before closing it again.
Andrea seemed bothered by something, but Sylvie wasn't sure what. When she mentioned that she knew Stygian, the elf was only a little surprised. She remembered how he'd been talking to Andrea right before Sylvie had re-entered the bar, and what the other woman had said when she'd come back downstairs. That, and somehow she was convinced that Andrea was telling the truth. In the meantime, she headed out to get drinks. She'd come back to talk with Andrea and/or Dani later...
Wait. When did I decide to do that? I thought I was just gonna drink with Dan. She paused for the smallest of moments, then shrugged it off and headed to the bar. Still, a little piece of her brain kept that question itching furiously. To ignore anything like that completely, as she'd learned in the Northern Hemisphere, could lead to death if you weren't careful.
Walking over to her chair and pulling two gold coins out, she dropped them onto the table, purely for the distracting and pleasant clinking sound. "Kosher grape juice and a mug of Bailey's coffee, please."
------
Dani watched, still a little mistrustful, as Andrea spoke with Syl before the latter left for the drinks. The tattooed woman's gaze was on Giles, for the most part, but after a few minutes she spoke to Dani.
Dani's eyes would have narrowed, had they not widened the next second in slight surprise. Now that she mentioned it, her legs were aching a little more noticeably... She pulled them up, biting the inside of her lip so she wouldn't make any pain-noises in fornt of Andrea, and sat with her back straight against the wall, facing the woman and Giles.
"A little bit, yeah, but I'm fine. And Stygian did hurt him, but he was being kind of a jerk anyway. It was really cool to watch, but I'm a little worried. That was more than an hour ago, and he still hasn't moved or said anything." She twirled the end of her ponytail nervously. She still had something to tell the blackguard; besides, if he was dead, that meant she'd been sitting in the same room as a corpse, for Wrenth's sake. The very idea made her shudder.
The psychic's dipping into the pyromancer's head revealed little about the man's state, if only because it was without context. Heat and darkness, cool at the edges and burning hot in the middle. Touching it was like touching an ember, and like a coal, it flickered and glowed without the bright flame of conscious thought. Not even dreams tossed about in that slumbering fire.
Keeping on frowning, Andrea persisted in her listening to the man in front of her. But he seemed comatose, and when she did not receive any sort of a response for a couple of minutes, she sighed and at last gave up, walking over and seating herself on a stool. Well, at least she was alone with Dani now. Which meant she could try something. Something far more considerable...
'I know you don't like me. It's easy enough to see. But I think you should
listen to me', she began, an odd note entering her voice. Slowly, she raised her gaze toward the other woman, and the room seemed to ripple for a moment. She didn't give the other woman the time to perceive anything, or to let resistance or hesitance develop in her mind. '
Nothing is wrong. You are feeling dizzy because of the injury and the painkillers. You might want to take some morphine or such.' Her eyes almost burned, the way she focused on Dani, leaning in toward the other woman, whose gaze was helplessly drawn to meet her own. It wasn't all a result of leaving the woman "open to suggestions". When she had the opportunity to exercise more force, she could make people do far more particular things, even when they were
aware that they didn't want to.
'We don't need to discuss much. You already agree with me, that Sylvie has to stay clear of Stygian. You loathe him.' The words seemed to be slipping and sliding through the air, in and out of attention and consciousness, as if they were burrowing themselves in Dani's mind. Going past hesitation and caution, and slipping right into the area of thoughts and ideas. As if they had been hers to begin with. It was an insidious and vile method. And effective.
'
We haven't talked at all. But when your friend comes back, you feel that you have to agree with me...' Andrea went on. It was too late to stop, and only part of her felt bad for doing what she was about to. A part that she had no problem pushing out of mind. '
When we insist that she get away from that monster.'
Licking her lips, the psychic leaned back, relaxed where she sat, and exhaled. '
Now, you're a little dizzy and your memory's somewhat fuzzy. Shock and medicine can do that to you. You don't remember talking to me, but you're not worried about that. You know the disorientation will pass.'
Now, there was just waiting for the elf.
- -
Sliding her chair out and getting up once again, the machine made a sighing sound, and then took on an entirely new expression of decisiveness. If the ermine was not going to do anything, then she was going to deal with this new problem as swiftly as possible. Giving the bar a last passing glance, she turned, and headed for the stairs, her odd feet eerily silent on the floor. She passed up the stairs with a clashing combination of precise grace, and the grudging air of someone doing something reluctantly.
The corridor upstairs lay nearly silent, even to the machine's hearing, save sounds that she did not care to think about. That didn't really deserve thinking about, unless you were the sort of person who got off on it. Walking slowly, she wondered briefly how she would identify the room that she was looking for. That was, until she noticed the inexplicable dimming and bending of the light near one of the doors. Stepping up, she looked down, and nearly poked a "toe" at vine-like hints of black just edging out from the crack under the door.
'
We thought you had better things to do.' The voice - voices, really - that echoed out from just beyond the door didn't shake the machine like they probably would have any more usual creature, despite the horridity of the sound.
'
:it's Andrea. she's u-' Sahlena began, but was cut off harshly.
'
Of course it's Andrea! She knows she can't get to us, so she'll use someone else for that', the voices growled. '
And of course that means Sylvie. Now tell me; why should-'.
'
:-you care, yes. don't interrupt me like that, asshole. and don't bullshit me like that either.' She waited just a moment for emphasis. '
:it matters to you.' That statement was met with a tired growl.
'
They are critters. This is a madhouse at the edge of nothing and nowhere', the voices snarled back with cold disdain. '
There's no reason to do anything but exploit it. Which is precisely what she is doing. How very clever of her, if she thinks that's going to amount to anything but getting her in trouble. Or makes it.'
There was a tense silence and a few seconds of increasing darkness and discomfort. Sahlena clenched and unclenched a fist, giving off every bit of the very human impression of someone who wants to punch something. She lowered her hand though, at last, and moved away from the door.
'
:really impressive. all i hear is a disappointed, cranky man', the machine muttered. '
:you think you can be a creature like you are, and still be better than the people here? and then be below caring about what's going on? or do you really think that saying that you don't care is somehow a good thing, when it comes to that?' She shook her head. '
:you know, for a monster, you're still damn human. but only up to the point where you're an idiot.'
Not waiting for any sort of comeback, she turned on the spot, and then stalked right back down the corridor, leaving only silence behind.
Marya was swept up into Dekuyaketh's arms with a yelp, still yelling a few curses at the closed door. Typically such actions would have earned not only an elbow to the ribs but also possibly partway through them. Fortunately for him, the mongoose remembered at the last second that she liked this guy and settled for flailing and cursing some more. Of course, the flailing sent Dekuyaketh off balance, causing him to step on Marya's tail. And that made the flailing worse, and then an elbow accidentally caught the demon upside the head and then the floor was all the way up there until finally the world stopped spinning and the two of them came to a halt right at the edge of Richard's table.
The zombie looked the two of them up and down, silently, then opened his mouth to comment. Then closed it and looked them over again. Then made another attempt, ending the same way. Marya yanked her bandana out of her eyes and glared.
"Shut the hell up, Rich'."
"I didn't say anything yet."
"I can hear what you're thinking, and it's loud."
"You don't know what I'm thinking."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." Richard looked over the rather pretty looking demon and the beastfolk he was thoroughly entangled with, giving thought to the noise he'd heard upstairs and the bedraggled look on the young man's face. "If you did you'd have hit me by now."
"FUCK YOU!"
---
Boog already had two rather large buckets of some sort of gumbo waiting for Kazarkt when he returned, grinning as he graciously accepted payment.
"Now go on, your date's waiting." The barkeep returned to daydreaming before Kazarkt could get offended by the implication, casting his perception about and zeroing in on the infirmary. The thoughts eminating from there were getting a touch too orderly, and Dr. Holic was still too incapacitated by his little Condition to deal with it. The thought entity sent a tendril of consciousness to investigate.
Ah. The psychic. Fucking duh. Andrea felt something brush the edge of her mind, something terrible. A thought like the wing of a bird caught in an oil slick.
"GeTtInG a ToUcH uNsUbTlE tHeRe, ToOtS..."
Karazkt didn't quite understand what the Boogeyman said, but he didn't really care. The food was warm, and that's all that mattered. He tried to pick up the big gumbo buckets, but they were too heavy for his weak, spindly Engineer form to carry one-handed each. His antennae and fingers glowed brown softly, and some dirt seeped up from the floorboards. Shaping them into two disks, he slid them under the buckets, and effectively levitated them.
With the now-floating buckets in tow, he made his way back across the bar to the Xenoqueen. Setting the buckets down in front of her, he bowed his antennae and said, in his own language again, "Here is your food, and my apologies for the delay. Is it satisfactory?"
The return of the Insectis interrupted the Queen's observation of the lifeforms around her, but his posture of humility, the obedient shape of his thoughts, and the scent of the food drove away any resentment she felt.
She dipped her head low, outer lips and jaw peeling open, and extended her inner jaw on its' pistonlike tongue. She slipped it into the first bucket, and took a hesitant taste.
"Adequate." she commented mentally, then proceeded to suck the container empty in one short, loud inhalation. The sound was loud enough to be heard across the room, and akin to thick sewage being pulled through a narrow hose at high speed.
Emptying the second bucket as swiftly as the first, the Queen withdrew her inner jaws and closed her mouth, regarding Karazkt without eyes. With a coating of thick, clear drool dripping from her chin, she debated his worth as a host.
There was value in this one as a host, but more use to her unchanged. She raised her head to scan the bar with her senses instead, looking for a creature to host her offspring.
Karazkt was relieved when the Queen seemed appeased by her meal. However, there was something that had been hanging in at the back of his mind the whole time, something that he knew had to be dealt with. It was time to get it over with.
"My Queen...there is something I must inform you of." He said cautiously, or as cautious as a language of bugs could be. "Earlier, you were hibernating...resting. And...I was unaware of this. During your rest, I disturbed you, though you did not wake.
"In my society, this is an enormous breach of protocol. Therefore, I am obliged to inform you of this, and accept whatever punishment you deem appropriate."
Karazkt nervously awaited what she might decide.
Dani watched Andrea intently, which she would later discover was her mistake. Her own dislike and mistrust of the woman was, ironically, her downfall. The room seemed ... off-balance for a minute, as something like a shockwave went through the air. But all she could focus on now was Andrea's voice and her own traitorously obedient mind. It all somehow made sense to her...the thoughts slipped into her brain, they'd always been there, she'd never liked Stygian, damn her legs were starting to hurt.
Once Andrea was done taking, her eyelids drooped a little, and she laid back. She wasn't feeling well... and her friend's ordeal with the monster upstairs was still fresh in her mind for some reason. She was tired, and everything seemed unclear. If she just lay down and stayed still for a while, it would all be over...
-----
Even as she received the requested drinks (despite the fact that the bartender was paying no attention, she'd still somehow received them...), Sylvie could feel a little power in the air. Not Stygian's this time, but she couldn't place it. She knew whatever was going on involved nomagic, but that didn't exactly narrow it down, given the people here.
Speaking of. Marya and the Maine Coon who'd headed upstairs before her headed very quickly back down the stairs in a tangled mess, the Insect-creature and the Queen were interactingin a language she didn't understand, and the winged Wolf and Piix were nowhere to be found. The elf watched all this with some interest; she'd been too wrapped up in her own thoughts before, and felt like doing a little people-watching. In this place, interesting things weren't hard to come by.
She didn't ask after anything she saw, though, having a deadline to keep. She headed back into the infirmary after a few minutes. But the moment she set foot in the room, something felt wrong. Dani looked a little worse than she had, even than when she'd hauled herself up to talk with Sylvie. At least then, she'd been ignoring her pain. Now, though... it looked like it had gotten to her.
And the look on Andrea's face was just unassuming enough to look...practiced.
"Is anything wrong?" she asked, trying to keep any wariness out of her voice as she approached the two.
...Dekuyaketh:
Dekuyaketh honestly thought, when he was bolting down the hallway with Marya under his arm, that the floor was going to buckle under his feet and trip him up.
When something to that effect actually did happen, he was quite shocked. There was a very loud thump as Dekuyaketh's three-hundred-pound body slammed to the floor, and the Maine Coon rolled over onto his side, groaning and clutching his head with his organic arm's hand, the other, mechanical arm embedding its curved claws into the floorboards. For a while, as he was completely immobilized by the sensation of his mind seething and writhing in its ephemeral restraints, he just remained there, completely unaware of Marya and Richard's banter. In the back of Dekuyaketh's mind, a more analytical part of him unmolested by his turmoil mumbled how it hoped Richard and Marya would just dismiss Dekuyaketh hissing on the floor as him accidentally hitting his head in the fall, or something. Anything further that would involve interrogation was out of the question.
When Dekuyaketh realized someone (he couldn't quite see who it was, exactly, nor could he identify the person by his or her voice due to his momentary delirium) was standing over him, he withdrew his mechanical arm's nails from the floor and recoiled as though struck, quickly rubbing at his torn lower lip with the back of his hand to smear away the blood. His mind was reassembling itself, but he still felt delusional.
All he saw through the lingering, corroded veil partially obscuring his vision was an indistinct, uncharacterized blur of nondescript red. "I'm fine!" he forced out unconvincingly, panicked, "Fine! Nothing to worry about! Really! I'm fine!"
~Keaton the Black Jackal
It was fortunate that Dani was under control and looking away, because when she felt what came to her awareness that time, Andrea shuddered and almost jumped from her seat. Now that, she had understood. Had that been the damnable thing outside? Did it know what was going on? She was in too deep to cut any strings as it were, but now things were just getting too risky. What was more, she felt offended and insulted. The damn thing thought that it could intrude on
this?! No, she had to risk it. She couldn't do much more, but she'd be damned if she gave up like
that...
Her consternation and irritation helped Andrea somewhat, actually, as she quirked her head at Sylvie with surprise as the elf entered, and hesitated just a bit before responding. Just as if she hadn't known the elf was going to come in from the start. One leg kicked over the other, she folded her arms across her breasts as she sat back.
'I don't know. You don't seem to think so', she said, looking critically but not hostilely at the elf. 'So I don't know whether if you'll actually listen to my opinion. Or that of your friend, who you're clearly worrying.' She added clear disapproval to that last statement.
Waiting for Dani to pitch in anything but a sour look though, seemed futile. She seemed to have decided to grouch and just feel her pain for a bit. And unfortunately, what was more, not putting some weight behind her arguments did not seem a good choice to Andrea either. Fixing her eyes on the elf, meeting her gaze head on and stretching her mind's influence as subtly and carefully as she could, she focused. She would try to slip this one last thing below the radar, and if it was not enough... she would just have to pick a fight with the elf.
'Look, I don't know how much you think you know or care, or whether if
you are going to listen', she said, with a bit of a bitter defeatist tone thrown in for believability, even through the slowly heightening dizziness of the compulsion, that drew the focus to her eyes, her voice, her words. 'You might as well be one of those who goes looking for trouble, thinking it a "challenge". I'm telling you though, if you think that of this, and you're wrong, you're not even going to find out that you're in over your head before it's as good as off your shoulders. You've talked to him. Fine. I've seen what he's done. And I can tell you right out;
he is a fiend.
A freak. And that's not even why I
loathe him.' She bored her gaze into Sylvie's. '
You should really think about this. I'll admit that I'm saying this out of self-interest, sure. That doesn't mean that I'm wrong though.' She leaned forward, almost wanting to risk it to make physical contact, so that she could be sure that
thing wouldn't overhear what was going on again. And that she would get a
real grip on the girl. 'Not when I say that
you ought to be feeling discomfort and revulsion around him. Not when I say that
the only right thing is to detest someone like that.'
- -
The corridor lay still and silent for a good while, the sound of the commotion at the bottom end of the stairs the only disturbance around. That, and the near-silent sounds that emanated from a door further up the corridor. Though, of course, in the wake of the machine's departure, and her swiftly squeezing past the others in the stairs on the way back down with only a glance and a shake of her head, there was another tension as well. One of irritation and hesitance. It lasted for about as long as the source of it realized that, no matter most of its sentiments, its problems would only worsen and it would not be able to sleep before things were solved.
The first sign was the lights flickering briefly, and then a clatter from the door. Then, slowly, as the thing opened with a minor creak, the darkness spilled into the hallway, dimming and bending the light immediately around the entry to the room. It swirled and smoked and fumed, even as it stretched and bound itself around the pitch humanoid that stepped out of it, taking shape along with the rest of the dark and letting it wrap around it. The door closing behind it without so much as a gesture, it slowly started walking down the corridor, oily blackness rolling off it like smoke as the blackness formed folds and thinned out, a long coat manifesting and taking full shape even as it stuck its hands into its pockets, smooth and tight black cloth under it, and boots starting to thud on the floor as they gradually took shape. Lastly, skin oozed and emerged over its long-toothed face, and the green glow of its eyes dimmed to a gleam.
Even though the boots were meant as a warning, in his preoccupation and state, Dekuyaketh did not notice the steps passing behind him, heading for the bar but stopping right at his side. Not until Stygian was already standing beside him and looking right at him with a cold stare. For several seconds he just stood there, looking. Then, with only a quick rush of black veins through his neck for a warning, his face
melted, turning back into that hideous visage somewhere in between that of a skull and a leech of some kind, and he parted his teeth in a rasping growl.
'
Boo.'
Sylvie watched, seeming distressed by something, but listening to Andrea without question ... for a while. The more she listened, the stronger the woman's influence got; all she could think of now was how Stygian had frightened her beyond measure, in the Circle as well as upstairs. And not just her, but others; she remembered the fight with Giles, and how Stygian had been so impetuous and furious he'd knocked a man nearly twice his size through the wall. He was dangerous, there was no question about it; he was ev..
You're forgetting something, whispered the back of her mind. Sylvie blinked, a little out of her trance. Something about all this seemed... off. Sure she may have thought some of this on her own, but somehow, she felt that these ideas were out of place...just like before. And there were other things too; if he was such a monster, why had he let Sylvie live? Not only that, but hadn't he proved her own fears wrong at the end of their fight? Anyone else would have manipulated 'victory terms' to far more twisted purposes, but he'd actually sensed her fear and let it be...
"Y'know," Dani said, sitting up a little even if she did look worse off, "I hate to admit it, but she's got a point, Syl. He can't be trusted. I let my guard down earlier, but I know now. I was right the first time I talked to him. He's a monster. Stay away from him." Her gaze was hardened, like a child firmly stating that Santa Claus is real and there's no way you can convince her otherwise.
Any suspicions the elf had were now confirmed beyond all reasonable doubt. After the look she'd given Andrea earlier, the icy tone she'd heard right before she left, Dani was agreeing with this woman? Something wasn't right. It all started to piece together... that power-feeling... Dani showing pain and agreeing with someone she'd clearly mistrusted... the out-of-place ideas she'd had. Sylvie focused on Andrea's eyes, her own yellow-green orbs burning brightly. But not just with anger; magic was lacing through her eyes and straight to Andrea. Two could play at this game...
"Tell the truth; what the hell are you doing to me? And what did you do to her?" Dani sat up a little more. Now she was more confused, and the slight dizziness wasn't helping.
"Syl, what are you talking about? I mean it! Every word! She hasn't done anything; I just started feeling a little sick and then-" Sylvie cut her friend off, still facing Andrea, a little extra ice creeping into her voice as Dani reminded her of what had likely just happened.
"Snap her out of it, or I will. NOW."
...Dekuyaketh:
Dekuyaketh started to feel his vision clear up, restoring along with the first, few, reassembled pieces of his mind. The burned-out shell of his mind-shields, wrapped in a protective cocoon around the crumbled remains of his head, were gradually siphoning everything broken back into place, replacing everything that had been taken. The reintroduction of color back into his sight was one of those. Even then, Dekuyaketh still felt far too unstable, and couldn't muster anything close to a coherent thought. Struggling to recall his name was a tremendous task that nearly made his memory snap under the weight of the burden. Eventually he just gave up on thinking in general, and focused on trying to keep his trembling body up. Feeling extremely self-conscious all of a sudden, as though operating on the vestigial traces of his dignity, Dekuyaketh tried to sweep his hair back into place, but his hands were shaking too much to do anything. He was mumbling incomprehensibly under his breath, too inaudibly for anyone to hear.
He heard something, like an acrid fuming sound, and instinctively glanced up with slightly-red eyes. Overwhelmed by the sensation of his third eye, Dekuyaketh immediately tried to close the apparatus, sealing the eyelid shut into a thin, puckered line indistinguishable against the scar on his forehead. Much to his horror, the wall seemed to be starting to... seethe and distort, as though the shadows around it were blurring into a kaleidoscopic wreath. When something shaped like a man started to emerge from the wall, however, Dekuyaketh felt his breathing start to accelerate until he was hyperventilating. He wanted to run, but was inexplicably frozen in place, incapable of movement, even when Stygian stepped out from the wall, and even when his face distorted and twisted into the visage of a hideous monster's.
"Boo," Stygian hissed.
Dekuyaketh screamed, and he felt his mechanical arm and hand start to flare with crimson energy. However, he couldn't conjure up the concentration needed to launch a full-fledged blow, and instead a few sparks tumbled to the floor, bouncing harmlessly off the veneered wood and vanishing. Dekuyaketh didn't seem to realize this in his panic and delirium, however, and used the opportunity he believed he had opened to twist around and try to escape, his feet scraping and paddling against the floor as he propelled himself for the closest door. That of the infirmary's. In the middle of one of his steps, it seemed as though the floor did a somersault, looping the whole room around, and he tumbled to the ground again as his feet caught up on one another, to accommodate this sudden reversal. Dekuyaketh felt his chin hit the floor, and blood spurted from his lip anew. Running when one was shaking too badly and couldn't think wasn't a very good idea.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
The elf's influence was as forceful as she could make it, and seemed to rely on differing underlying principles than whatever it was that Andrea was doing. Yet, she only felt a hint of her magic slip past, and saw a bit of surprise on Andrea's face, before something stopped her magic in its tracks, like a thick, syrupy barrier, growing thicker and harder until it was deflecting even her angered, hardened efforts. The woman frowned, then scowled and bared her teeth.
'Oh, you think you have the upper hand all of a sudden?' Andrea hissed, her glare still as powerful, but not affecting Sylvie that way any more. The human's whole eyes were beginning to pale, her pupils pinpricked and going milkier by the moment, together with her irises. 'Fine then. Dani, forget what I said.' She paused for a moment, then sneered a bit. 'Forget everything.'
For a moment, there was the Red's blinking eyes and a welling realization in them, and the next... nothing. Exhaling slowly, Dani seemed to go half-limp, her head slumping forward and her eyes unfocused.
It seemed that the elf's mind was either slippery with whatever magic or power she was using, or it was too alien for Andrea to tamper solidly with from the start. But she still had a bargaining chip like none other. Sylvie couldn't assault her. But
she could turn the elf's best friend into a semi-conscious package. Or make her attention span or short-term memory measurable in milliseconds. Or, simply make her hate the Green or develop a phobia for her, or a tendency to regurgitate when she was around. All sorts of nastiness, all without actually causing physical harm.
- -
Stygian's face didn't remain as it was for long enough that anyone but those who had been looking at him during the shift could catch it. A grin already spread across his features, he barked a laugh and almost applauded Dekuyaketh's display. His slick black eyes though, remaining on the demon for a while, watching him twitch and shudder in shambles on the floor, did not share that amusement. After a few seconds of watching the demon's struggles, he shook his head and turned around, pacing back over to the bar and sitting down with a sigh.
'Boog, a cold and hard one', he said, amusement quickly slipping from his expression. Past the facade for social purposes, he had been feeling rather like his order before he walked back in, and even more so after. He could feel the tension in the air. Whether if he should go see if it was what he was suspecting, or act on it though, was still very much in doubt. Most of all because of his previous warning. He'd try and remain as he was as long and far as possible.
Something was interfering with the Queen's senses, something nagging at the edges of her perceptions like a sore tooth. Trying to pinpoint what it was caused her to completely miss what the Insectis had thought towards her...for a while.
She thought a wordless blast of hatred towards whatever it was, followed by a snarled thought: "I will find and devour you!"
Turning her annoyed perception to Karazkt, and vented her frustration mentally on him, in tones of death and shattering machinery. "If I desired to punish you, I would have already. Go. Fight. Return with a suitable host for my hive."
Without waiting for a response, she began her search anew.
"Dek!" Marya barked as the demon scrambled away just to slam to the floor again. She got up and scrambled over to him, checking over his latest damages. "Ah, shit kid, that ain't gonna clear up fast. Hold still, let me get a look." Superficial injuries like this, she knew. "Come on, up you get kid. Richard, get over here and gimme a hand! Fucker's heavy..."
"I'm kinda enjoying my beer..."
"DAMMIT RICH'!"
"Fine, fine..." The zombie made way over and hefted Dekuyaketh under one of his arms, Marya getting the other. As they made their way toward the infirmary, the mongoose glared over her shoulder once at the offending man in black. JUST like what she used to deal with. "Asshole." With that, she turned her back on the man and got back to what she was doing.
---
"Coming up," Boog reached under the counter and set out the drink, "Rooms to your liking?"
Sylvie almost snarled when Andrea blocked her spell. Like the other woman, she bared her teeth in frustration, and for a moment, she looked every bit like the prisoner she was at one point. Her eyes were steely in anger, not even relaxing when Andrea relaxed her control on Dani.
But that anger fell to her stomach and metamorphosed into sickening worry when Dani slumped forward, a blank look in her eyes.
Without a care in her mind about how Andrea would react, Sylvie moved forward, almost shoving the other woman aside to get to her friend. It wasn't a sleep spell; she'd trained herself to fall backward or to the side whenever that happened, and she never slept with her eyes open. And with that little dreg of hope out of the way, the obvious and frightening truth was the only other thing that could explain this. Andrea's words now took on several possible meanings in the elf's mind. Forget everything...
"Dani?" Sylvie said, shaking her friend a little by the shoulders. No response. "Dani?" she repeated, her eyes losing their hardened edge completely as fear started fresh in her mind, the elf now gripping Dani's shoulders so tight that her knuckles were the color of the inside of an aloe plant. "What did you do to her?!" she shouted at Andrea, and without waiting for an answer, looked past her and screamed at the open door, "HELP!"
Andrea grinned momentarily as she watched the elf desperately, and futilely, try to rouse her friend. The Green's agitated scream at her though, and her next cry for help, caused her face to crinkle in anger again.
'
Shut up!' she spat, glaring daggers at Sylvie. 'There's no one here but me who can help with this sort of thing, so if you're smart, you'll sit down and be
quiet!
Now!'
Before either of them could do anything, their gazes were drawn to the infirmary door, which opened a hair for an eyeblink and then clacked shut just as quickly, not a hint of who it had been standing there evident.
- -
Stygian, having turned and eyed the door to the infirmary with some hesitance in his expression, sighed sourly and returned to his drink, with an off glance to the Boogeyman. Yet he did not need to hear the hard footsteps to know that after having peered through the door, the machine would be coming right over to him. He felt her presence as her steps stopped right behind him. He could pretty much feel the way she had her fists balled at her hips, watching him with irritation.
'
:well?!' her voice ground, a moment later than he'd thought.
'
Well, that's out of my hands', he replied dully, not turning to look the android in the face. 'Unless you've noticed, not only do I not have a reason to go over there, but- NGH!' He bent forward, and spilled some of his drink, as the machine fisted him in the side. Glaring, he turned around, wiping his mouth and setting the glass down with a slap.
'Unless you happen to be blind, I also have a reason to not go there! I'm not exactly on good terms with the establishment...!' he hissed at her, and cast the Boogeyman a flicker of a look. 'It's not as if I could do something to intervene
then, now is there?' His question was met only with a continued fuming stare from the machine. She looked like she wanted to knock him out.
'
:you can do something about that. you're just too pathetic to without someone threatening to kick your balls in if you don't!'
Stygian stared at her, frowning just the slightest bit. There was a tiny twitch to his eye, and then he sighed and turned back around. He stared blankly forward, and the machine looked about to fist him again, except with her claws this time. But just when she pulled back her arm, he broke her off.
'Boog... Fighting is prohibited except within a circle, right?' he asked, looking at the thought entity. Not waiting for an answer, he threw back the last of his drink, and set the glass down, turning on the spot and walking back toward the infirmary.
- -
If it could be called a standoff, it was not a fair one. Andrea looked as if her threat was very real, and even if fighting was prohibited within the premises of the bar, the size advantage and look of hardness that she had on Sylvie added a bit of intimidation as well. She thought she had the elf under her thumb.
The first sign of change was the sudden burning smell. Then came a sound like acid being poured on a porous material. Andrea, who had just been about to speak, snapped her mouth shut and looked around, and down, toward the source of the sound. On the floor, smooth, curved lines were being etched as if with a blowtorch and hot iron, sizzling into existence seemingly out of nowhere, along a circular pattern very closely resembling that of the circles outside in the street. It was nothing like them, really, and more tainted than magical. But it was still a circle. And it was centered right around the two women.
'Seems that
everyone gets stupid when they are being egoistic.' Stygian, his voice a low, cold rasp, seemed to have materialized out of nowhere, standing a few steps outside the still sizzling, coal-black pattern, dark eyes fixed at them both. Andrea spun her head to look at him, and seemed ready to bark something again. The man interrupted her immediately.
'Give her one, Sylvie. Actually, give her as many as you'd like.'
Sylvie spun around almost immediately when Andrea yelled at her, and once the words registered, her shock and fear swiftly gave way to anger. She was about to scream at her that she'd get the whole damned bar in here unless she fixed Dani right now when a little click near the door distracted both women. The Green focused in the door for a second or two, trying to discern who'd been there, but there was no way of telling now. She looked back at Andrea, growing frustrated and her face growing stormy again. She was at a physical disadvantage, being about three inches shorter than the woman and lighter as well. There was also the aggravating no-fights-outside-a-circle rule, and the fact that Andrea could likely mold Dani's mind like clay while she was in this state. For a moment, it seemed like she might have to do as the human asked...
And then a familiar smell distracted her - the smell of burning and smoke. She looked down and tried to find the source, taking care to keep her movements controlled and not show any fear while Andrea was around. Then a low hissing noise started, and glowing lines became clear in the floor.
A Circle was being burned into the floor. And she and Andrea were in the middle of it.
A familiar voice came from nowhere, and its owner soon followed. At his words, her initial confusion melted away ... and became vengeful malice. "Thanks," she said to Stygian before facing Andrea again, her eyes narrowed in a Medusa glare.
"I'll only ask you once," she said, her voice dangerously quiet. "Help Dani and never mess with either of our minds again, or else once I'm done with you, you won't even be able to look at a dandelion without having a heart attack."
After that, the elf muttered a few unfamiliar words and her right hand started to glow. But before Andrea could do anything about it, Sylvie smirked, curled the energized hand into a fist, and punched her in the stomach as hard as she could.
...Dekuyaketh:
Sprawled out on the floor like an expensive fur rug, Dekuyaketh shuddered and spasmed, apparently going through the residual symptoms of a rather intense seizure. Such behavior was typical when he was still recovering from nearly having his mind-shields broken, as restoring the barriers protecting his fractured and distorted mind without any external assistance - specifically by the person responsible for erecting those shields - usually belabored his mind and body. White noise filled Dekuyaketh's brain, and even amidst his paralyzing fear he didn't think to try and move, even though his antagonist could still be present, and with murderous intentions.
He heard a short, loud laugh that resonated like a thunderclap across his his splintered subconscious before fading into anonymity, and Dekuyaketh spasmed like a cockroach that had its legs pulled off in apparent horror. Was that bastard laughing at him? Dekuyaketh felt too distant and detached from his body to feel affronted or vengeful, as though he had just drifted away from his corporeal shell and was observing everything, narrating everything in an impersonal inventory, from a third-person perspective. His emotions bounced harmlessly off of his suspended subconscious. He wasn't hurting anymore other than a dull throb.
Dekuyaketh felt a furry arm go underneath his own. When Marya examined Dekuyaketh, she'd notice a sizable bruise on his chiseled abdomen and the excessively-bleeding cut on his lip and chin, but no other damages. Some of the blood creeping down Dekuyaketh's chin had trickled over his Adam's apple and was snaking in little droplets onto the chain of his bizarre-looking necklace; an untarnished silver wedding ring looped on an equally pristine silver chain. Dekuyaketh was largely unresponsive, and just let his head roll to the side; his eyes were half-open while his third eye remained firmly sealed shut, and he was trembling. His shaking had abated, for the most part, at least, and Dekuyaketh was starting to feel himself return to his body, although he was gripped with an inexplicable exhaustion.
Another arm helped Marya heft Dekuyaketh back to his feet, or at least upright enough to properly drag him to the infirmary. Dekuyaketh faintly recognized that it was Marya's decomposing companion - the fact he could assign identities to people seemed like a relative improvement, even if he couldn't speak coherently or remember his own name, or anything else for that matter. All he could dwell on was a flickering montage of past events that life refused to let him forget. Dekuyaketh's head flopped forward so he was staring vacantly at the floor, and he hung weightily against Marya and Richard's bodies. Since he weighed over three hundred pounds (with the addition of his unnecessarily weighty mechanical arm, which currently throbbed, mostly deactivated, with a dull luster) and stood at a relatively proportionate seven-foot-one, and considering he was acting very unhelpfully catatonic at the moment, he was extremely uncomfortable to carry. All the way to the infirmary, Dekuyaketh just mumbled and droned in completely incomprehensible tones, until his lips were moving and no words were coming out, and he was starting to fall asleep.
~Keaton the Black Jackal
Had Andrea not been so hesitant or tried to salvage the unmanageable situation, she might have dodged. Instead, her next snapping comment was smashed out between her lips in a grunt, as Sylvie's strike took her right in the solar plexus. Strengthened though she was, she was still only human, and the strike knocked all the air out of her lungs and made her shake, crumpling together a bit against the sickbed.
'F-fuuhck...' she groaned, then tried a swing, which was cut off by another strike from the elf. Sylvie felt her skin beginning to sting somehow, but if the other woman were trying to do something to her then either something was holding her back, or she was too dazzled and winded at the moment to put in the focus needed. And beside the whole spectacle, Stygian stood smirking.
'Two for a ring, Ann. I'm not going to pull her away', he said, chuckling. He inspected his claw-like nails, thumbing them a bit, completely indifferent to the elf severely bruising the woman just a few feet away. Andrea tried to speak, but neither he nor Sylvie seemed in the mood to listen. 'You've gotten yourself deep enough with what you've already done. Quitting now is advisable...'
'Okay...!' Andrea finally hacked out, watching Sylvie raise her arm again. Raising her head and looking at Dani, she seemed to have a hard time focusing, until in a couple of seconds the Red blinked to life again with a look of confusion. Defeated, Andrea sat down and clenched her ribs, catching her breath.
Sylvie's surprise at actually landing a punch on Andrea was, thankfully for her, outweighed by her anger at what the woman had done to her friend. She felt a little spark of satisfaction when her impromptu opponent sank against the bed, but when Andrea tried to hit back, she quickly countered it with another successful punch. The psychic seemed to be trying to speak and explain herself, and the tingle of Sylvie's skin felt like she was still trying to get some kind of influence over her, a fact which incensed the elf even more. She barely even noticed Stygian, who looked content to sit back and let the show go on.
At last, just before Sylvie could strike again, Andrea gave up. The exhilaration the Green had been holding back now overcame her, and a strange little smile formed on her face. Her race tended to rely more on magic and trickery than any physical combat. There was a fire in her eyes like she'd been staring at the sun; she'd won her first fight... using the least magic she'd used so far. I almost wish she'd do it again; I'd watch her leave her limping, a part of her mind said coolly. She refrained from saying that out loud, though; beating the crap out of Andrea was enough.
She glanced over at the bed and noticed Dani, perking up and looking rightly confused. "What happened?" she said in a dazed tone, Andrea's influence gone completely. Sylvie didn't bother to check if the Circle had faded, simply stepped over and went right to her friend's side. Dani looked around - her eyes catching a little surprise when she saw Stygian, and even more when she saw Andrea slumped and defeated, and the Circle burned into the floor. "Who...what..." At last the Red looked up at her friend and saw the odd little sparkle in her eyes. "...Guess you gotta lose to know how to win," she said in a bemused and confused tone. "But what the hell happened here?"
"Let's just say there's more people than me who can hypnotize," Sylvie responded, warmth for her friend interacting with ice for Andrea and making an odd catch in her voice. The Green looked up at Stygian. "She tried to get me to hate you, and she'd already gotten to Dan. But there's plenty of ways you can hurt a man. Why'd you use me and her?" she asked, directing the question at Andrea and, to a lesser degree, Stygian. Her eyes were a little hardened now under her relief and excitement. "And don't try that again, by the way; I meant what I said before, and I never make a threat I can't carry out." Dani's eyes widened further at this new knowledge, gazing at Andrea from her prone position. Seemed she'd been right not to trust her...
Standing still, Stygian tapped the circle with the toe of a boot. It seemed seared right into the floor. Hands clasped behind him, he licked a fang absentmindedly, looking elsewhere and seeming pensive.
'Well, would you have had it any other way?' he said, eying Andrea shortly, and then turning to Sylvie. He looked at her for a while, then simply shrugged. 'I usually try and live by the rule "Don't get mad; get even". It was your fight, even if I had to put a word in and... draw the line, so to speak.' He gave the elf a smirk, and then shook his head. 'Not that I didn't need a kick in the face to get a grip first.'
'I picked you because it was easiest and least harmful. That's the bloody truth', Andrea groaned suddenly in a low murmur, bitter defeat in her voice. 'You should have it hard enough. Don't do this. He's a freak, and you don't have a leash. Not one that can hold him.' She looked up at Sylvie. 'I don't care what you think. You'll regret this. That's not a threat.' Stygian raised an eyebrow, yet remained completely still otherwise. He made a "tch"-ing sound, and then shook his head.
'Honey, shut ya lip', he said, somewhat oddly. Then, he made a little formal bow to both Sylvie and Dani both, scarcely more than a nod, and made to leave. 'I suppose that concludes this, now the wrong's been righted. I hope I was convenient. Now, I think I'll go back to drinking my drink even though I don't want to...'
Richard cursed creatively at the Demon's reluctance in making getting him to safety easy. "Oughta drop the little-"
"Down, Rich', he's just been through some shitty stuff."
"Ain't we all?"
"You able to make out what he's saying? You've done the whole catatonia thing before, this is your expertise. You speak crazy."
"Fuck you."
As they made their way through the door of the infirmary Marya received another surprise, which she skillfully ignored. Impressive though it was that he got there before them, her experience with Things Like This dictated that letting such things KNOW they'd surprised you was a little less helpful than stabbing yourself in the forehead (Don't ask). She shoved by him and dragged Dekuyaketh to an empty bed with a grunt, Richard stopping to look over Andrea, Sylvie, Dani and the circle burned in the floor before raising both forearms to the traditional 12 o'clock "not asking" position of people everywhere who knew they lived in glass houses.
Sylvie's blush wasn't quite as intense as it had been before under Stygian's prolonged gaze, but it was present. True, he had just saved her friend from catatonia and herself from mind control, but the previous circumstances still made this the slightest bit awkward. She opened her mouth to thank him, then Andrea spoke up. Sylvie looked down at the other woman, her gaze still a bit hard, but with slight curiosity once she made it clear she wasn't threatening her. As Stygian started to leave, the elf bowed back and said "Thanks..." before turning and crouching in front of Andrea.
"As long as you're not threatening me, I feel I should tell you this," she said, quietly so that the group tha had just entered couldn't hear. "Dani received a warning from Sahlena about Stygian already. Stygian told me himself. You, however, are the only one who tried to force that warning on me. I'm not a ragdoll living in a movie. And as much I appreciate the misguided attempt at warning me, I think you need an attitude adjustment. Misery is not my friend..." she started to straighten up, still looking in Andrea's eyes. "But I'll break before I bend."
---
Dani, a bystander through all this, was the only one to pay attention to Richard and Marya dragging the Maine Coon into the infirmary. She gave the zombie an "I don't really know either" look, and nodded to thank him for his courteous indifference. She glanced back at Sylvie; the elf had stood up and was approaching the bed again.
"I'm gonna go upstairs and get some sleep, I think. Will you be okay?" she asked, her voice still pitched a little low.
Dani smirked ambivalently. "Three cups of coffee, hon; I can't clear my head." She reached into her bag, grabbing the key from the room she'd stayed in after her first sleep spell. "Long as you're okay when you're not sleeping in a bed of roses..."
Sylvie rolled her eyes and took the key, moving to leave. Dani re-focused her attentions on the group in the corner; Andrea, at this point, wasn't much of a worry to her. "What happened to him, anyway?"
Hanging her head, Andrea rubbed her cheek, then slumped even more, if it was possible, deflating like a punctured tire. She didn't even look at Dani, but something told the other woman that it was her that she addressed, when she mumbled.
'Which one are you talking about...?'
- -
Feeling less of a jerk but much stiffer to compensate, Stygian walked back into the bar, conflicted as always. He'd have wanted someone to talk to him or more of a show of appreciation. But you couldn't have everything. And he never really expected much of either of those things. People were usually sparse with that toward everyone, not to mention those like
him.
'Well, there we are. Smashed up my integrity a little more', he added, sinking down on a chair once again, looking at the Boogeyman. 'Sorry about the floor. But what'cha gonna do when time runs out on you? You use it or lose it.' He shrugged. 'Got anything to clear my head?'
Boog looked up from his eternally-polished glass (which was starting to get a little thin around the edges) and grinned. "Well, you know that I'd always be willing to clear your head for free, Styggy." He snickered once, setting the glass down, "But if you mean drinks, I've got everything from Absinthe to Ether to Shirley Temples. Or all three." He snickered. "'Something with Rum''s been popular so far. Which reminds me..." He flopped down onto a chair behind the bar and chuckled to himself again. "I'm gonna have to have a chat with that girl about waiting until someone accepts a challenge before slugging them. Of course, the management will appologize sincerely for the misconception..."
--
"The asshole that just waltzed out, that's what happened to him." Marya groused. "We go up there to make him quiet down and stop interruptin' our drinks with his aura bullshit, he does SOMETHING that freaks out Kid-Freakin'huge here," she thumped Dekuyaketh's arm once, "And he falls down the stairs."
Dani raised her eyebrows at Marya's brief, but telling version of events. "Funny how these things come together," she said, half to herself. When Andrea spoke up again, she looked down at the woman, and began to shift on the bed. Though twisting and turning caused her legs to burn a bit, it was much more bearable without Andrea's induced hypochondriac pain. The Red twisted herself around so that she was peeking over the foot of the bed at Andrea, a twitch of a smirk on her face. It wasn't amusement at either situation; Reds just tend to smile a lot.
"Sorry you got your ass kicked, but hey, the truth...well, you know there's no stopping it." Her hand moved a bit, then hesitated. "You're not gonna try anything if I help you up, are you?"
-----
"The way I see it, she challenged me, and even if not, man she had it comin'," came a voice from the other side of the room. Sylvie walked in, looking calmer, and still carrying a bit of energy from having won her first fight. She moved to her seat, setting down the still-full glass of kosher grape juice on the counter and moving her cloak and bag so she could pick them up in a minute. "But you're the one serving and keeping us here, so, whatever you say. So sorry..." But not really, she thought. Even if she had broken the rules, nothing could have stopped her from swinging at Andrea once she got her friend involved.
On that note, she turned to Stygian, one hand on her glass. "I didn't say it the best way earlier, but... thanks for saving me and Dan back there. If you hadn't shown up, I don't know what she would have done to me, and Dani might have ended up..." The Green paused, biting her lip a bit as she hesitated to say what she really thought. "...One of the lost ones," she finished quietly, taking a sip of grape juice to calm herself down.
Andrea just muttered something, waving a hand in Dani's direction. Slowly, she pushed herself up to sit on the end of the bed, rubbing her cheek. She looked like she wanted to break something, and for a moment there was a tension in the air. A few ripples ran through a beaker of water standing on a tray. Then, she sighed, and it was gone as if it had never been there.
'Don't bother. No, I'm not going to do anything', she said, wearily. 'What good would it do either way? I'm...' She cut the sentence short, and sighed. Then, after a minimal wait, she looked to Dani.
'You should lay down and rest, really', was all she said. Then, she stood up, and walked over to a chair down at the end of the room, sinking into it.
- -
'I didn't
save you. You're exaggerating there. I did come in just in time to be convenient though', Stygian replied, coolly and calmly. He seemed to have ignored returning the Boogeyman's jibe completely. Rather, he had taken him up on the Absinthe, and downed a near-undiluted shot of chlorophyll green in a little glass. 'It was necessary. That's about it. I don't really doubt you'd have found a solution, eventually...' It was hard to tell whether if he really meant that, with his tone, and the way he kept his eyes turned away from the elf. Whatever the case, they both knew it had to be said though, for common courtesy. And then, more importantly, there was always the question of whether if there could even have been as bad a situation as Sylvie seemed to imagine...
'Be more confident in yourself. Worry less, before you learn to think more', he said, after setting the glass down with a dim clack. 'I think that's all you have to work on. The rest... you seem to have.' He still didn't look at her.
"And your lucky numbers are 7, 42, 54559.5, Pi and 12," Boog added with a snicker, "And doll, if we were aloud to consider someone having it coming to them a challenge, everyone here would be in the infirmary. Future reference, all that. I'll let it slide, since you didn't get the rules completely..." There wasn't so much a wink as the implication of one. A vocal wink, "But I'd like to wait until after someone's drunk enough to accept a challenge before they slug one another." Or greedy enough, he shot a glance at the book he'd left out, with the sign still waiting there forlornly. So far, the curiosity of the patrons had greatly disappointed him.
--
Marya was Tired. Tired and grouchy. She'd vastly prefer to be drunk any day.
"Keep an eye on him for me Rich', I need drinks."
"Fine." The mongoose made her way out, leaving the zombie to watch over Dekuyaketh. She ordered something potent looking and made her way to a table toward the back -
Wait.
That guy in the cloak was giving the room a once over again. His eye had settled on her, briefly.
Marya was in a Bad Mood.
"Th'hell you looking at?" She snarled at the cloaked man nearby.
Mechangel
The cloaked hunchback turned slightly as [Marya] came up to him. His voice sounded in his head.
[Acessing Data Log...Done.]
[Tag: Marya. Physical form: Anthrpomorphic mongoose. Analysis of equipment and physical build suggests melee proficiency. No recorded confrontations of subject. Full combat capability unknown.]
"Everything." A strange voice replied from under the shadowed hood. It had a slightly...distorted, buzzing quality to it. A small red light shone from within the blackness, changed to blue, then green, then went out again. "I am looking at everything. I am gathering information. Knowing things is important, is it not?"
Dani sighed a little and crawled back to her former spot on the bed, wincing just a little. "All righty," she answered Andrea, leaning back on the pillow and looking decidedly more tired. She'd been through a lot, and she felt like sleeping on her own now that the chaos was all over. "If he wakes up," she mentioned, pointing at the blackguard with her foot, "Tell him I said thanks..." A minute or two later, she dozed off. Whether it was narcolepsy or her own will wasn't discernible.
----
Sylvie looked at Stygian as he spoke, the lack of eye contact not going unnoticed. She flushed a little in embarrassment; okay, maybe it hadn't been that bad, but watching a trusted friend turn catatonic didn't really convince her that what had happened was a little thing. And she was grateful. She scanned him again; at one point, her eyes settled on his shot of Absinthe for a moment, then flickered to her hand, then back to the drink before she snapped herself out of that thought derailment and refocused. The only outward reaction she showed was an almost demure nod when he offered her his advice. Her face was pensive, a little solemn.
That moment was broken by Boog's quip, to which Sylvie's reaction was a bitten lip and an annoyed/amused glance at said bartender. She gave a shrug, having already apologized for her 'mistake' and having no reason to regret what she'd done. She dipped her fingers in her drink, swirling them a little and glancing at the book she'd tried to read when she first came in. Boog had looked at it again... he seemed like he was expecting something...
At that moment, an unfamiliar voice spoke. Sylvie looked back, then did a double take, nearly spilling her drink, but catching it with the hand still in it. The cloaked mystery-man had actually said something. Her eyes darted to the infirmary door, then back to Mechangel. Why wasn't Dani around at the times when she'd be most interested?
"'S important to mind yer own fugghin' business," Marya growled back, mentally filing the weird eye and voice under some psychological folder equivalent to what the cloaked man said he was doing and tagged 'things that may be used as a method of kickin' someone in the jimmies'. "You gonna sit in one corner all day and not associate fine, you stare into your damn beer like a good little recluse and don't make nobody uncomfortable."
Mechangel
Beneath the shadows of the cloak, the hunchbacked figue chuckled, in a very distorted way.
"Personally, I'm surprised you noticed me at all." He said in his strange voice. "But if I make you uncomfortable..." The figure stopped leaning against the wall, actually standing. "Perhaps you'd like to fight me against that? This is an interdimentional combat club, and while I have dropped some invitations for a certain event I'm planning, I've gone with hardly any conversation with anyone, let alone an actual fight.
"What do you say? Shall we dance the dangerous dance?"
"Dance the dangerous-? Snrkrk!" Marya laughed into her drink, "Th'fuck, you some refugee from a bad soap opera? Yeah, I'll fuckin' fight you. Gimme a minute to get my weapons outta the car." She scooted her chair out and made her way for the door, snickering. "Dance the dangerous fu-huckin' dance? Gotta be shitting me."
--
Richard glanced at the girl laying down to sleep, again knowing better than to ask too many questions, before jerking up at the sound of Marya laughing at someone. He knew that laugh well.
"Aw hell..." He made his way out of the infirmary, on the basis that anything that went down would go down better in his field of view.
The conversation, or conflict, if one would rather call it that, managed to draw Stygian's attention. Though, it was not with a very enthused look that he looked at Marya and Mechangel during their exchange. At last, they would get to see the hunchback in action. The question was whether if the wait really had been worth the revelation to come. He was always skeptical about that kind of thing. Well, at least he could not tell much about this new contender, other than that he had a weird smell and feeling about him. Not quite... natural. And it was certainly not pleasant.
'Well, this ought to be amusing...' he muttered over the edge of his glass. 'Bets are that with these two, it will all be black and blue at the end...' He took a deep swig, finishing the tiny drink off, then made a gesture toward Boog for another. And he made sure not to look at Sylvie when he noticed her surprise. People felt more comfortable when little slip-ups like that went unmentioned. He did pass her a glance when he saw her staring at that book though, and immediately his attention shifted to the book itself. If it really were what he was thinking... And why was he thinking of it? Concern?
'She should learn to talk about her aggressions. With the people whom they concern', Stygian said, then chuckled, hearing her companion exit the infirmary. He gave Richard a sneer and a shrug, then turned back to his next shot. 'Cause I know what she's thinking. Oh, yes. I know what's on her mind...'
He swigged back, then sighed pleasantly.
Mechangel
The cloaked hunchback was still for a minute, then started quietly snickering to himself. "Philistines...everyone is a philistine..." He continued snickering for a moment, then headed out the door, stopping in one of the vacant Circles.
Sylvie's initial surprise changed into anticipation for the imminent fight. She looked up at Stygian when he spoke, removing her hand from her glass and rubbing both hands together. "I was starting to wonder what his story might be, but this is gonna be fun to watch," she said, not really looking at Stygian, but directing the comment at him. He'd seemed to be speaking to the bar in general.
At his next comment, she smirked and took a gulp of her grape juice. "I can get that she's a little worked up, but still. By her logic, he was in trouble for the things he hadn't got to yet." She glanced over at Stygian, noting that he was looking at the book too. "Not that he seemed to care." Once again, her eyes were drawn for just a second to the lime-green shot before she looked back to the fight.
The Queen ignored the other creatures in the bar, mentally blanking them out one by one, then extended her senses to their fullest. Whatever had been causing them to act up seemed to be lessened if not gone for good.
Nearly prepared to give up, she felt a tug on her awareness, something familiar and infuriating. Hungry and frustrated, her instincts overrode her reason, spurring her to action.
Rising from where she had been seated for so long, the Queen moved for the front door of the bar, her long tail extending behind her for balance. Swiftly threading her way past the tables, her clawed feet made clacking noises as she made for the door.
One great clawed hand reached out and opened the door, and she squeezed her bulk outside, scraping the doorframe slightly as she kept her focus on her prey.
Her tail flowed through the air behind her and, almost as an afterthought, flipped the door to the bar closed behind her. Striding through the dark and mist beyond the bar, the Queen disappeared into unknown.
'Does he have much of a reason to?' Stygian muttered to himself. The hunchback had really been doing what he himself mostly did. And what might have been best to have done, in hindsight. Sal was the one who got along with people, not him. And he hadn't even done much of what he had originally come from, which was to stress off and exercise the full of his powers like he couldn't back home. Then again, he didn't blame those who didn't want to fight something like him. If he weren't too powerful, he was probably too creepy...
'Can't say that I understand his motives, but then again it's more as if he doesn't really have one to be here', the man muttered. 'So he doesn't need any. Just a clean fight. Decent. As it should be. Instead of working off one's stress by flaunting or being a jerk, rather than actually doing something...' He straightened, and pointedly ignored the huge hunched shape lurching across the room and out behind him, as he finished with a third glass and a lump of sugar. 'Time I was decent as well.'
Standing up and straightening his coat and shirt perfunctorily, Stygian gave a neutral look back to the bar, a raised brow to Sal, and then a hapless glance to Sylvie. He shrugged, making an almost apologetic face, and then turned and slowly walked back toward the stairs, heading back to his room.
Torn at first between the Queen's departure and the impending fight, Stygian gave Sylvie something else to focus on, though what he said was a bit confusing. It seemed like the lack of fights had left him a little bored, and slightly disappointed. But then why was he leaving? A new fight to watch at least gave them all something to do, and reminded everyone why they were really here.
As Stygian headed up the stairs - looking back at Sylvie almost regretfully - she felt the sudden urge to follow him. But after so much had gone on in the past few hours, she couldn't help but secretly want to watch the fight instead, to relax her mind. Besides which, he might want to be left alone for a while again, given what he had said before leaving. She half-stood, then sat back down, watching him ascend until she couldn't see him anymore. Her fingers drummed a little on the side of her glass, and she glanced out the window and back to the stairs at least twice.
Marya rummaged around in the van, grumbling to herself. She knew she'd packed the damn things, never left home without them these days. Were they under the seat? Don't tell her it was underneath all THIS crud- aha! She finally pulled out a pair of gauntlets that looked like the result of someone trying to crossbreed a sledgehammer and a gyroscope for fashion purposes. Something about the fingers looked related to your common set of brass knuckles, in much the same way a tyrannosaurus was related to your common chicken. She put them on, pulled a few straps to tighten them into place, and stepped into the circle.
The mongoose turned to grin at the man in the cloak and slammed the gauntlets against the ground, causing parts of them to start moving in a most worrying manner indeed. As the pieces continued to turn and spin along her forearms a dangerous-sounding high-pitched whine was soon heard. They only way of putting it was that the implements SOUNDED fast.
"I'm waiiiiitinnnnnng!" She called to the hunchback, grinning the only way she ever had cause to. He's probably not too fast, maybe opt for something nice and open. Not too much so; I want to be the one who wins this, not the terrain.
--
Meanwhile, inside, a dead man heard a high-pitched whine...
"Oh SHIT!" Richard was on his feet as soon as the sound (a faint buzzing by the time it had reached the infirmary) reached his ears. It was a noise that usually meant someone was about to get rattled until their teeth shook, and he had to find out who he was going to have to pry Marya off of.
Mechangel
The shadowed hood cocked for a moment, regarding Marya and her 'toys'. After a moment, he spoke on a seemingly random subject:
"I supposed it was foolish of me to conceal my form in this place. Despite the fact that I have met with hostility repeatedly because of it, even I cannot hope to compete with some of the more...eccentric characters who have graced this little dimension with their presence..."
With that, a white-furred left hand slid out from the folds of the cloak, grasped it, and with practiced flourish, smoothly whipped the cloak off, swinging it into a roll and depositing it outside of the circle.
The figure now standing before Marya was almost certainly as far from what she was expecting as possible.
The man's body was covered in smooth, silky, pure white fur. Beneath it, a solid but limber build flowed with perfect proportions, with noticeable but not overly-defined musculature showing on his bare arm and chest. A wing, which seemed a little larger than it should have been, was filled with soft, plush feathers. His face was that of a feline's, the man behind it firm but gentle. His expression was haughty and smug, but experienced. His eye was a brilliant and vibrant blue. In all, his body was a perfect epitome of an Angel. As he was, he was rather handsome. Had he been whole, he would have been downright gorgeous. But he was not whole. That was only -half- his body. His left half.
The other half could not have been a harsher, yet perfectly balanced, contrast.
Split perfectly down the middle, his right half was made up of hard, edged, and razorlike sleek black metal, a form of menacing machinery with subtle predatory features. The wing was covered in what looked like a multitude of razorblades that imitated the basic shape of feathers. A small red light made up his right eye, and as he looked at Marya, it shifted into several different colors, but then returned to red. The craftsmanship of his machine side was definitely superb, and despite its harsh appearance, it posessed own deadly elegance.
He wore only leather chaps with a single leg, to cover his flesh side while leaving his machine side mostly uncovered. His flesh foot was clad in a leather sandal, while his machine foot was formed in something of a tri-claw configuration.
A few things became immediately clear. First and foremost, he was obviously not actually a hunchback. His folded-up wings under the cloak had merely created an illusion of such. The distortion in his voice also followed a logical conclusion: it had to be party artificially synthesized. His choice of words earlier was also explained. Angels were prone to flowery speech and grandiose displays of sophistication.
Finally, he began spreading his wings. They stretched, and stretched...and stretched! Finally his wingspan reached it's full extent, and it had to be at least double, almost triple, that of any of the other of the winged occupants of the bar. Oddly enough, his organic wing equaled the size of his mechanical one. It even seemed to have an extra joint or two, which seemed most unnatural. In any case, it was somehow perfectly symmetrical with his mechanical wing.
"Ahhh..." the half-machine Angel breathed, stretching his whole body with his wings, which he now started fanning. "It has been some time since I've been able to spread my wings properly."
He then stopped stretching, and folded his wings again. "My apologies. I don't believe I've formally introduced myself." He spread his arms open. "I am the Mechanical Angel, but I am more easily referred to as simply The Mechangel."
[Beginning analysis of unknown gauntlet weapons...]
Alright, so I misjudged things a bit. Marya considered her target. Probably favors the bits that're still all meaty... He wasn't in bad shape, but it looked like the wrong shape to Marya; well defined muscles, but muscles where a human would have them. The overall effect of that with the face and machinery was more than a little disturbing, like when someone was singing a song but didn't know the words, so they just made sounds that were like the words.
"You also talk too damn much." Marya rushed the Mechangel, the battlefield still forming around her. She'd decided where she was fighting this guy; the roof of an apartment building coalesced around them as she was about to throw the first punch... Before feinting to the side and swinging around to try to slam the back of her fist into her opponants still-organic ribs. Testing the waters, and keeping one hand ready to block an assault from the robotic components nearby.
From having stood peeking in through the door to the infirmary for a while, next having moved off to chatter with Keaton for a bit, the machine's attention was suddenly drawn when Stygian left. She passed a glance between him and Sylvie and Boog, 'blinked' with her large red eye, and looked rather surprised. She turned to the jackal, who was rather wholeheartedly kicking back a Mojito in a talking pause.
'
:ehm... excuse me for a moment...' she said, with that practiced personable and humane hesitance. She slid out of her seat with an excusing look, and then went over to the bar, as if to simply get herself another drink. But, as she did, ordering a Gin and Tonic, she also slid over next to the Green, and after a couple of seconds she turned to her, giving her a quizzical look.
'
:what did you do?' she asked, at last, voice brimming with incredulity.
- -
Steps heavy and comparatively noisy and his thoughts cloudy, Stygian trudged up the stairs, ignoring scents and sound around him and seeing mostly shadows. He should have brought a drink or something to read with him. But then again, he could just sleep to take his mind off things for a while. Humming lightly to himself in a solemn tone, he began walking down the corridor, heading for his room.
Mechangel
The battlefield formed around the two dualists, making the roof of an apartment. [Analysis twenty-five percent comple-]
[Warning.]
Before the Circle was finished adjusting, Marya suddenly rushed at the Mechangel, making to throw a punch. Despite the suddenness, the Mechangel's wings immediately began to spread again. The Mechangel's computer tracked her easily, despite the blitz, but then she reversed tack and tried a heavy backhand slam. While the electronic half of his brain--and by extension and augmentation, his organic side--was still able to capture Marya's actions and even project a suitable defense to the feint, she was too close and had come at him too fast. Worse, he wasn't even in his proper combat stance.
Put simply, he couldn't react properly in time.
His 'soft' arm ineffectually attempted to swing up to block, but the leverage and angle was all wrong, and he couldn't steady himself right in such a fraction of a second. Her gauntlet smacked the arm, crumpling it into his chest instead of warding off the blow. The only good thing was that his arm acted as a partial cushion, which took most of the force instead of his chest. It still hurt in both places. Very much more so in his arm.
However, his wings had fully extended behind him, and now, they beat forward with incredible force. Marya was suddenly blasted by a hard gust of wind, while the Mechangel went rocketing right off the rooftop. Another flap behind him, and he stopped almost dead in the air. Then they started beating up, and down, up, down. He was now in a comfortable hover, but also gaining height.
The electronic side of his brain calculated the actions in a fraction of a second.
[Damage assesment by bio-sensors. Forearm damaged. Blunt force trauma sustained. Abrasion sustained. Subermal capillaries damaged. Contusion imminent. Estimated severity: moderate to heavy. Secondary damage to upper torso. Subdermal capillaries damaged. Contusion imminent. Expected severity: light to moderate.]
[Recaculating tactical data...done. Uploading new calculations. Tactical recommendation: maintain superior range.]
The Mechangel tried to ignore the rapidly growing pain in his arm. "You know, some might call beginning a battle before it has officially been initiated cheating." The Mechangel climbed a little higher, and increased his horizontal distance a bit. He was hovering sort of sideways, his flesh side partially hidden behind his mechanical right. "Then again, those same people might call this cheating as well. What was that about bringing a gun to a fistfight? Especially one that can fly?"
The Mechangel's metal arm then snapped up, his wrist angled down. A compartment then popped open behind his wrist, exposing two barrels.
They erupted in rapid flashes of blue light, sending a barrage of dangerous photon pulses to pepper the space Marya was occupying. While his computer automatically compensated for the up-an-down motion of his hovering, his aim wasn't as accurate as it normally would be if he was standing on the ground.
The moment Mechangel removed his cloak and the fight began, Sylvie couldn't rip her eyes away from the circle. She'd been wondering how he might look underneath it (just a passing thought), but what she saw wasn't even possible yet where she came from. Marya's gauntlets looked like they might have been a little more at home in her world, but if that quiet, high-pitched whine was anything to go by, they were a bit more powerful than most non-magical artifacts.
When she saw Sahlena shifting towards her, and heard her question, the elf finally turned her attention away from the battle and to the android, her expression now somewhat puzzled. She wasn't sure how Sal had been involved with anything that happened, but considering the way she acted, it was probable she knew Andrea before seeing her here.
"What, to him?" She made a small gesture in the direction Stygian had gone. "Nothing. If you mean Andrea, I didn't do anything serious. I just wanted her to stop whatever she was doing to Dani. She tried to hypnotize me, and she'd already hypnotized Dani, but when I told her to stop, she... well, she did something to her." She grew quiet, but she didn't look upset, just perplexed. What had that been, anyway? It was like catatonia, but she'd never seen it happen so fast...
"That it's a good way to piss off the person with fists!" Marya shouted back, dodging almost bonelessly. Lets see, gotta get him to come in close. How...?
She grinned.
The gauntlets sounded like they were going into overdrive as she yanked a chunk of asphalt out of the roof and threw it at The Mechangel like a fastball. It was accurate, and thrown with the force of a pitching machine, but she just meant it to be a distraction as she bolted for the door into the building itself. Make it so he has to come inside after me...
The Mechangel
The Mechangel was rather surprised when Marya seemed to effortlessly dodge his bolts. He was not as surprised when she seemed to collect up a ball of asphalt. His electronic eye tracked her gauntlet as she scooped up the material, and his electronic brain projected the most likely scenario.
[Warning. Incoming projectile predicted.]
On his next wing stroke, the Mechangel wrapped himself up in a winged cocoon while he twisted back a little, just as the chunk came flying at him. It went sailing over him as he fell into a dive after the backflip, then snapped his wings opened again. Catching the air, he was sent into a quick swoop towards the rooftop.
But Marya had already entered the building.
He glided over the rooftop, turning around and settling into another hover on the other side. There was no way he was going to follow her in there, unless he either had no other choice or deliberately wanted to humor her. The tactical situation he would be in if he went into such confined space against an enemy specializing in close quarters would just be horrible.
His eye started shifting into several different colors as he scanned it. Marya was easy to track inside the building. In fact, he had several armaments that he could use to take her down instantly, and since the building was now between her and him, it would be impossible for her to realize it coming. She wouldn't even realize she'd been hit until she looked down and saw the hole in her body. However, the Mechangel didn't want to end the fight that way. Especially since the battle had commenced without any rules or victory conditions actually being set, so he couldn't be sure if any safety conditions were active as well. This is why I don't trust magic anymore, he thought to himself. A properly programmed technological device with the same effects would never have let this start.
Were the circumstances actually life-threatening, he wouldn't have had any qualms about what he had in mind, but this was meant to be a civilized battle for sport. However, another idea came to him. His flesh side grinned slightly. Of course, it was going to be very dangerous (for Marya, and this was a battle, so danger was an integral part of the equation), but at least it wasn't an automatic death sentence.
Begin structural scan sequence, he thought.
He then flew a circle around the building, his eye mapping out the apartment complex inside and out. After the pass, he had a full 3-D schematic of the building superimposed over the real building in his vision. Identify and mark load-bearing points. Some components of the schematic acquired targeting squares around them, with information brackets. The supports holding the building up. And now...
The Mechangel then maneuvered to one of the adjacent buildings. As he flew up to the wall, he turned and jabbed his metal leg and arm behind him. The limbs plunged into the building, anchoring him in place. Since he was in a sort of crouching position, perched on the side of the building, his mechanical knee was bent, and his thigh was roughly parallel to the ground. His kneecap then folded open, and a barrel quite a bit bigger than his pulse blaster ones slid out. He had calculated the spot he was in carefully. He let his electronic brain take over the targeting. His leg shifted slightly as the targets were lined up.
Bracing himself, the Mechangel fired a heavymetal slug at a velocity in excess of that of sound from his railcannon. His leg was slammed back into the building he was perched on from the massive recoil, his metal body leaving an impression. The slug tore clean through the building Marya was in as if it wasn't there. At the carefully calculated angle, the slug ripped right through several of the building supports. There was a crunching sound, and cracks appeared on the rooftop of the building.
Pleased, the Mechangel took to the wing again to reposition along another side and knock out more supports of the partially-weakened building.
...Piix:
Down the hallway, not far from Stygian, the bronze doorknob of one of the doors twisted, jostling the conspicuous "Do Not Disturb" sign hanging off of its neck. A moment later, the door swung open, and Piix stepped out, adjusting the golden collar supporting the front of her top. Her clothing was askew and a few articles were missing; particularly the long-sleeved shirt underneath her top and the golden bands that would festoon her arms. In addition, the sash around her waist was falling apart, as she had tied the knot very loosely. She looked as though she had gotten dressed in a hurry, but the absent aspects of her apparel could easily be blamed on her obvious inebriation. Her hair was mussed and disheveled, and a sizable, but empty bottle formerly housing an exotic liquid was dangling from her hand.
Piix giggled obscenely to herself as she closed the door behind her. She was just taking a minor reprieve to fetch some more Issalyune Illidisin - she and Pal had easily depleted the supply of her favorite beverage inside their room. Although she was more than slightly drunk, she wanted to take a breather and stretch her legs. Piix grinned stupidly to herself, pivoting on her heels, and ambled with an intoxicated, swaggering gait down the hallway, heading straight for Stygian.
The machine seemed a bit puzzled for a couple of milliseconds, then made a snerking sound and leaned in a little toward the elf, making an appearance of trying, and failing, to look serious.
'
:no, i meant with him. you got him to shut up and just leave, no hard feelings. how did you do that?' she asked, trying on a sound like a chuckle afterward.
Of course, in the background she was running the probable lines of conversation with Sylvie's inquiry as to what Andrea had done and how, and caching it.
- -
Still mostly lost in his thoughts, Stygian looked up for a moment to assess the form of Piix exiting her and Pal's shared room and heading for him. He frowned for a moment at her clothing, then passed his gaze to her top, narrowed his eyes, and then put on a wicked though distraught smirk. Then he turned his eyes away, as though expecting the Orin to pretty much vanish once she didn't have his attention, and stepped up to his door, unlocking it with a clack. They had no business, really.
When he was halfway through the door though, he noticed that she was still moving toward him, so swinging it open a bit further and leaning around it, he looked down at the little creature.
'Yes?'
...Piix:
The little she-alien was swaggering and stumbling aimlessly, clearly struggling to remain in place, even as she looked up at Stygian with all the unabashed confidence that she could muster in such inebriation. After a moment, her face went blank. "Hey. Don' I know ya' from somewhere?" her voice was garbled in a drunken slur. "Y'... y' look kinda familiar, like..."
Piix perked up almost instantaneously, her face brightening with intoxicated recognition. "Oh yeah! Y' were tha' smokin' hot furless guy a' th' bar! How're ya doin'?!" Piix leaned in slightly, expectantly, probably bypassing the radius that would be considered socially acceptable or polite. She flashed him a lopsided leer, only for it to fade away into confusion. "Fuck, y'... y'look so glum. Why're y' so glum? An' since when were there three o' y'?"
Sylvie blinked at the machine's sarcastic question at first, then bit her lip as she fought off a small smirk. "Oh, that. I was just talking to him; he decided to leave on his own. Pretty sure I had nothing to do with it, so I'm not the best to ask if you're looking for advice." She gave up trying to hold back the minor grin, and took a sip of her juice again, secretly trying to reassure her nagging thoughts that she really wasn't the reason he'd left. She was telling the truth when she said she wasn't sure, but there was always the chance...The mild amusement passed, and her brain refocused on her earlier question.
"Anyway. It seemed like you knew Andrea earlier. What exactly was it that she did to Dani? One second she was fine, then she wasn't moving. And whatever she was doing to hypnotize her, it wasn't like anything I've seen back home."
Very nearly sighing, Stygian stepped out fully from behind the door, preparing himself for having to pick up the little creature and place her off somewhere else. It was more than evident what she had been doing, besides drinking, and what mood she were in. He knew that odd, slightly venomous but intoxicating smell now. Yet somehow, like before downstairs, he just couldn't fathom that Piix's behavior might be a come-on.
One of Stygian's many flaws was an incurable way of trying to perceive things as more complex or deep than they actually were, often searching for intentions or hidden motives that weren't even there. A habit he had developed through his work and rather uncomfortable social life. And one he was aware of. Yet he could simply not bring himself to quit it, at most times; it was in his backbone. And together with the shred of a sense of decency he had and his mood, it was far more than enough to curb the other thoughts that passed through his mind at the sight of the little creature, some wicked and others just twisted.
'Miss, you might want to consider your situation a little closer', he said, pointedly avoiding to state the obvious that she was drunk and ought to mind herself more, and keeping still despite her intrusion on his personal space, though he had to bend his neck a good bit to look straight down at her. And perhaps he spoke a little too harshly. 'I am far more well off than you. I think you should go back to your room', he went on, placing a hand on her shoulder and gently turning her around, though it was more difficult than he'd expected with her being strong for such a little creature and her swaying balance, 'and we can speak later if you wish to.'
- -
'
:/mind control', Sahlena said, not missing a beat. Her voice had dropped into a matter-of-factual, serious tone without a hitch. No reason not letting the elf know, or being too humane until you had to make the real explanations. '
:mental stasis caused by pattern-induced pervasive signal blockage or process interference from an overpoweringly and probably chemically boosted organic transceiver in the form of a highly developed, reinforced and exceedingly powerful complex nervous system capable of interpreting any set of electric impulses approximating a thought process and "interfacing" with any nervous system close enough in composition and design to its own.'
The machine took a sip of her drink, sighed, and then looked at the elf jadedly.
'
:it means that the shrew can hear others' thoughts and send out her own to overpower them, because her brain and the rest of all the nerves in her body have developed in some extreme kind of way, making them almost like some sort of biological control device. she can probably even mess with peoples' heads to cause lasting damage, or just trap them in their own thoughts.' She shook her head subtly, then sipped again, and made a metallic, muttering sound. '
:quite a bitch, innit?'
...Piix:
Piix merely looked at Stygian in a blunt portrayal of confusion before he turned her around, making her brain spin and whir excitedly in her head. If he was being harsh, his tone clearly wasn't registering in her mind - neither were the depth of his words; they were all just unintelligible, garbled jargon. Inebriated as she was, the sudden change of direction disoriented her, and Piix blinked wearily. "Mmka'," she groaned affirmatively, suddenly feeling unnaturally burdened. In spite of the invisible weight bearing down on her, Piix started to try and walk off, dragging that oversized bottle of alcohol with her.
She didn't even get one step before she felt the world come crashing on top of her, and, in accordance to this, tipped over, landing, back-first, on Stygian's arm. One of her sizeable quills embedded itself in the flesh of his arm.
It was as if a shudder ran through both their bodies, for just an eyeblink, and then Stygian's gaze veered unerringly against the wound in his arm. Right through the cloth. Those spikes were sharp. And he felt a painful tingle. He shook his head, then balanced out Piix's weight against him.
'Okay, get up...' he said, pushing the little alien away and removing the spine lodged in him with a sense of irritation and impatience. This time, he put his arms to her sides and actually lifted her, walking down the hall toward the door she had previously exited, ignoring the pain as the wound closed. 'If we go on like this I'll end up bloody having to lecture you, and I don't want to do that, much less think I have the... right... to...'
Suddenly, Stygian silenced and slowed to a halt. Something was wrong. Feeling a twinge run up his arm, he set Piix down, relaxing and looking at his limb, telling himself he was imagining things. His hand though, was trembling. He was looking at it, trying to make it hold still, and it just shook more.
'What did you do?' he asked, tension suddenly in his voice. Pulling his arm out of the sleeve of his coat and pulling up the shirt, he looked at it. Black veins, slowly creeping out under his skin and actually making it writhe, were fanning out all over his forearm, and shooting up toward his shoulder. Already, his skin was taking on a dark ashen color in blotches, like ink spreading on paper, and his nails extending. It didn't hurt, strangely, but with that tingling and shivering feeling all over it couldn't be good. Immediately, he pressed his free hand down right above his elbow joint, trying to shut the main artery. The blackness just wriggled on by, speeding up through his shoulder, his muscles flexing and clenching.
'What the shit did you do?!' he snapped, and this time he barked enough that Piix was able to notice. Eyes starting to seethe in that sickly green color, he looked down at the Orin even as he craned his neck as if his head were trying to get away from the dark lines running up the side of his throat.
...Piix:
Piix flinched at Stygian's response - the volume and intensity of his accusation definitely registered, in spite of her drunken behavior. Suddenly fearful, she abandoned the empty bottle of her beloved beverage and scuttled away from Stygian, backing into a wall. "I - I didn't do anythin'!" she exclaimed defensively, ears flattening against her head. She finally noticed the wound in his arm, and the corruption crawling underneath his skin. "O - Or a' leas' I didn't MEAN t'..."
Snarling, Stygian shuddered, and took a step against the little alien, his movements shaky but still dangerous. A single line of black was reaching out onto his cheek and his fangs were bared.
'Well, I promise you', he said, clawed hands tensing as he approached her, 'that if you don't fi-'
The man blinked, and his eyes seemed to almost flicker as he stopped, the glow in them focusing into tight little points. One of them went on twitching for a while, the muscles around the obsidian orb spasmodically trembling for about a second. And his expression smoothed out into dumbstruck surprise, the whole of his form absolutely still.
'Oh.'
Piix had just the time to edge a little further along that wall before his eyes flared up again, and a wicked grin, unlike anything she had seen or expected from hitherto, slid onto his face. Skin still squirming, black tendrils crawling and circling around his wounded arm, his gaze focused on her once more. His teeth seemed like knives.
'Oooohhh you', he rasped, taking a slow step toward her. 'You. You, youuu...' He raised a hand, rolling and clenching it, then pointed his index finger at her. 'This. See? Yes. Yes! You!' He laughed, shortly at first, but then harder just before he could speak again. And then more, the insanity of the sound heightening. He barely seemed to be able to control himself. 'You! I feel! I feel it! This...!' Another laugh, and something crawled down the back of his neck. 'Oh, thissss! Yes! I need!' His eyes flickered back and forth, and then locked, straight on Piix, his expression going blank for a fraction of a second.
'I need. This. You.' He grinned again, eyes flaring, raising his hand. 'Now.'
A shadow, perfectly straight and without anything to cast it, shot out against the Orin across the floor like an arrow, and before she could react, something snagged Piix's ankle. She was swept right off her feet, lifted into the air by a tentacle thick as two arms, rising right up out of the floor, and swung back across the hallway along with Stygian, who glided over to the door to his room. She barely had time to see his still grinning face before she was hoisted through the doorway.
'This will be fun.'
The door slammed shut behind them, and a silence so complete that it could only be purposeful settled.
...Piix:
Under Stygian's glowering gaze, Piix withered and whimpered, looking thoroughly intimidated as a stark juxtaposition to her previously boisterous behavior. For a moment, she contemplated using the alcohol bottle on the floor as a blunt weapon, or at least something to threaten Stygian. This was probably the most reasonable thought that passed through her mind since her inebriation.
Just then, Stygian started acting peculiarly. The corruption encroaching on his features was thickening, starting to seep into the syllables of his voice. She saw things crawling underneath his skin. Looking highly disturbed, Piix tried to back away, unnerved by Stygian's virtual one-eighty. Almost the instant she budged, she felt something ensnare her ankle and fling her toward Stygian, who apparently grabbed her. Given her dazed and panicked state, Piix couldn't really comprehend what was occurring. It felt like she was still flying.
Right through the door and into Stygian's room, apparently. Piix's pupils pinpricked as she realized this, and let out a cry of protest which was immediately silenced by the slamming of the door.
During the first half of Sahlena's explanation, Sylvie stared blankly. The android was talking about technology and physiological discoveries centuries away from Sylvie's time. The latter part consisted of layman's terms, mercifully, so the elf understood. Her eyes widened just a bit, and she looked into nowhere for a moment.
"Wow," was all she really had to say. It wasn't magic, and saying so would be stupid, but that people could develop such powers through no learning or magical affinity was astounding. "So why did she do it? She wanted to make Dani and me hate him, but she didn't really explain why. It can't just be that she knows him; what does she have against him?" There were a lot of people here who knew Stygian, but no-one quite hated him that much. Not even Dani, who usually kept her first suspicions about people, had been able to completely hold her grudge against him once she'd gotten used to him.
Marya tore down the hallway, grinning. She broke down doors and particularly thin walls, doing everything to insure that this jackass lost track of-
-Bracing himself, the Mechangel fired a heavymetal slug at a velocity in excess of that of sound from his railcannon.-
There was a building-shaking "THUD," followed by a slow creak like the belly of some huge, starving creature. Or at least that's how it sounded to someone who could hear it all around them, and knew what that meant for the structural integrity of the building. She glanced out the window and caught a glimpse of the angel as he disengaged from the wall and cursed at length. Cowardly sonnova BITCH! Choking back the instinctive battlecry of "RkTKTKTKTKTK!" rising at the back of her throat Marya quickly threw together a new plan. And a sofa. That is to say, in addition to throwing together the plan, she threw a sofa that she found in a room of the building.
The furious whine of the whirling components of her gauntlets rose like a thing in pain seconds before the sofa smashed out of the building toward the passing angel, immediately followed by a furious mongoose. Marya lunged, arms outstretched and grasping for her opponent.
"RKTKTKTKTKTKTKTKTKTKTK!"
Mechangel
The Mechangel's electronic eye was scanning around, the electronic half of his brain calculating the best angle for the next shot. Thus, his eye was not shifted into the proper spectrum to see what Marya was doing inside the building.
Ah, that's a good spot... The Mechangel thought, adjusting his flight to take him-
[Incoming.]
WHAT the-
The Mechangel's feathery, fleshy wing was clipped by the thrown sofa, hurting the wing and completely throwing his flight off. In the next moment, he beheld a chittering, thrashing conglomeration of flying fur shooting straight at him. Her grasping hands did not fail to latch onto him, but for the moment, she was on his mechanical side.
With the extra weight, and the confusion that made it utterly impossible for the Mechangel to fly in a controlled manner, the two combatants began a tumbling freefall.
The machine seemed to smile at Sylvie for a moment before shaking her head very briefly, amused by the girl's naïvité.
':you've only seen his by far most positive side. and mind that's even after taking into account his charm factor', she said. ':and also the fact that he clearly has it in for you now. always goes for the sweetest around because he knows he can.' She very nearly looked about to give Sylvie a little nudge with her elbow, but realized that would not only be a little too familiar at the moment but also a little too boyish. She looked down for a moment instead, drumming her fingers on the countertop. She emptied her glass.
':actually, the way he is right now is very, very tightly controlled and stable, compared to what he used to be like. he's had a good long time to ease down and find himself', she said, a little bitterly. ':his "condition" used to be a lot more... volatile.'
Sylvie couldn't help feeling the teeniest bit exasperated at Sahlena's initial, rather patronizing reaction. She took it with a wry smirk, as she did the android's good-natured jab about her and Stygian (with an added eye-roll and blush about the latter). At the back of her mind, though a few other thoughts were present: Assume that by "most positive," she isn't referring to what happened during the fight and upstairs... or is she?
Sal grew more intense now, and the elf's smirk faded away. She wasn't so sure about what Sal meant by a "good long time," but that was a matter for later. "That explains a little, I guess, but I still don't understand what happened between him and Andrea, specifically. It must have happened while he was less under control, right? And how long ago did his ... problems ... start?"
Not long after Piix left, a very happy, sober and fully dressed and armored Paladin exited the room they had shared.
Whistling a random tune he made his way past Stygian's door and down the stairs to the bar area. Pal found Rex still in the jug of Guinness. "Ye going to end up pickled again Rex." He said chuckling, turning to the barman. "I'll grab another Red Bull and Vodka if I can."
He'd forgotten that both set of his wings were out and had been since he left the room.
The machine hummed a little before answering, sitting back and crossing her arms beneath artificial breasts, absolutely structurally superfluous save for decorative purposes and some coolant storage, tugging a little on her jacket.
':about a decade and a half ago. i was with him from just after he got a grip of himself again, but even then he had... difficulties', she said with a bit of a sad tone. ':the thing is that his condition is infectious. or, at least, it is if he doesn't hold it back. i don't think it's really something he does. rather, it's like a disease he's carrying. or like radiation poisoning.' She glanced toward Sylvie, a little concerned that the elf's idea of what 'radiation' was might be insufficient, but it seemed she had gotten the idea.
':thing is', she went on, 'he's unaffected by it because he's so inured and adapted to that kind of corruption that it might as well not exist to him. that's actually the way of nature almost everywhere; everything's contaminated somehow by something, like a disease or a virus. and it might not even be harmful to a creature that's used to it; even the most normal human lives in symbiosis with the bacteria in their mouths and stomachs that helps them digest their food, and many creatures have survived carrying lethal diseases for millions of years. but that doesn't mean that it can't infect something or someone else. someone who's not at all used to it. and when it does...' She gave Sylvie a meaningful look.
"Adapted my ass." The Boogeyman peered out from under his hat and snickered, "Physically maybe. Psychologically... I doubt it. And I know what I'm talking about on that one." He poured himself a glass of something amber colored and took a swig, "Know what you mean about the infection though. Once saw it happen to a house..." He pondered the memories for a second, "It didn't like my sense of humor either. Mebbe that's a symptom."
------
Marya snarled as she clung to the metal half of the angel, one hand and both legs keeping her in place while the remaining limb rained blows on her target. Planting one last blow in what looked like the shoulder joint with a grunt she pushed off from The Mechangel and smashed through the window of another building, raising her gauntlets against the hail of glass.
Well that went better than expected.
Sal was right in guessing that Sylvie understood what radiation was, but that wasn't what was on her mind right now. Infectious. She willed her hand not to move up to her mouth, but she did tuck a strand of hair behind a pointed ear. She tried to convince herself she was being silly; there was no way anything severe could have happened to her in the span of a few hours, right? The Boogeyman's comment almost refreshed the worry, but she was able to overcome it, not by deluding herself into a false sense of security, but by the feeling that something ... wasn't quite right here. As distressing as Sal's explanation and Boog's agreement were, even with what she'd seen upstairs that confirmed it a million times over, something tugged at the back of her mind. There was something missing from all this...
Ah. Of course. Sylvie relaxed herself the slightest bit, not too much just yet.
"Well, I'm not sure what to think of that. But you still haven't answered the question I asked first. That's twice you've ignored it, actually," she added, relaxing a bit more and keeping her tone curious and polite. "I'm sure there's a reason why, because I did ask other questions besides that. But this'll make three times I've asked the same question, so I think it'd spare both our voices if you just answered now." She looked Sahlena right in the eye now. "What happened between Andrea and Stygian?"
The machine seemed a little confused at the Boogeyman's statement, giving him a quizzical glance, then watched him down his glass. After all, to her the bartender was more of a dance of erratic and erroneous phenomena than anything apparently comprehensible. She didn't even see or hear him as directly as she appeared to be, but she could work out the 'traces' well enough to bridge that little kink.
':i'm not sure we're talking the same thing here', she said. 'but at least you got the part about his sense of humor right...'. She made a snorting sound.
The elf's demand seemed to come more as a surprise to her. Her large red oculum blinked once, and the machine looked right back at the elf for a second, considering before she answered, turning her gaze just a little to the side.
':he killed her husband', she said, after a pause. This led to another moment of silence, which she promptly broke. ':i don't know the exact details, but... he was one of the people investigating some of the things they found in Styg's tracks, and he decided to try a more direct approach to get hold of samples... well, i think you can understand.' She looked at the elf again for a moment, then turned forward. ':the guy got out of their first meeting alive, but it was pretty much just a matter of time from there and on. as i said, infectious. and it does not produce pretty results.'
Sylvie said nothing for a few long moments, only stared wide-eyed at Sahlena, then looked away and down a little. Her eyes calmed down, but as had happened when Giles had shown off earlier, her mouth was a thin line, and she was breathing a little deeper than she needed to. Her feelings had just started to calm down before, and now they were just slightly more conflicted than when she'd left Stygian's room. Her confusion from when she'd first entered the bar was petty compared to this. Now there were a few more questions on her tongue, but she had no idea whether she wanted to ask them or not.
The Green glanced at the infirmary door, then up the stairs, then down to her own hands, and shook her head gently. She took a long drink of her grape juice, finishing off the glass, then reached into her bag and set a coin down on the bar.
"...Can I get a glass of the mildest wine you have? Elven wine, if you have it?" she asked quietly. Then, almost as an afterthought, she glanced back at the android. "Thanks for telling me."
The Mechangel
Well...
The Mechangel desperately tried to disengage from Marya's clutches to no avail as she pummeled every inch of him she could reach.
I suppose I have no cause for complaint...
Marya then landed an extra hard blow on his metal shoulder.
My plan worked perfectly. She's out of the building.
The viscious mongoose finally shoved off, crashing through the window of another building. I will not underestimate her unpredictability again.
[Impediment absent. Reengaging flight. Beginning damage assessment diagnostic.]
The Mechangel beat his large wings with several powerful strokes, regaining stability. Let us see how you deal with this... On his next wing stroke, a few hidden launch tubes opened up on his metal wing. The air was suddenly filled with a very loud, high-pitched whistling sound as two micromissiles streaked from the wing. Guided by The Mechangel, they shot right into the window that Marya went through, and exploded.
...Piix:
Around half an hour later, a single doorknob in the tavern turned. Following this revolution, the door started to open - the moment it had inched open, it swung to the side, and the occupant of the room tumbled. Piix clutched desperately to the doorknob, wearing arguably less clothing than she had been after her escapade with Paladin. Her hair was disheveled and matted, hanging about her head, and she looked both distraught and slightly delirious; like she was uncontrollably drunk. Considering her face was very flushed, this wasn't a very inaccurate description. Piix staggered forward, her footsteps clumsy, and nearly tripped over her feet once or twice as she limped away from the door at a very decelerated pace.
Even as she stumbled forth, the darkness from within the room seemed to trail after the Orin, as if the shadows had somehow manifested themselves as some smoky substance and the drag from her movements were pulling them out. Before Piix managed to take more than a few steps though, before a voice from behind her stopped her in her tracks. A smoky shape began emerging from the door as the shadows cleared up.
'You have my thanks, short stuff', Stygian literally purred, his outline sharpening as he stepped into the light of the corridor, the glowing, venom-green light in his eyes fixed unerringly on the little alien as it flared and flickered. His features were a haze of crawling black veins still, but he seemed to have regained at least a little composure...
'I needed that. Dear Hell did I need that...!' he said, grinning wildly and stretching as he stepped away from the door, which smacked shut behind him without a touch. Still leering like that, he chuckled, the sound more akin to a stifled maniacal laugh, and looked down at the Orin in her immodesty, not the least mindful. He petted her on the head.
'We must do this again some time', he said, knife-like fangs gleaming. 'Must. You hear that?' Laughing, he then gave Piix a firm squeeze to a buttock, turned promptly, and walked off downstairs, steps slightly rolling and drunken and that grin still affixed to his face. Practically skipping off the last step, he snerked a bit as he wallowed over to the counter and leaned on it, smelling of smoke and something perfumed yet toxic.
'Heeeheheheheheeheeheeheheee...!' he offered the Boogeyman.
...Piix:
Piix let out a distressed squeal as Stygian pinched her backside, but did very little to resist him. Instead, she shuffled somewhat blindly down the stairs, staggering and swaying, her mind spinning in her head. Any other reaction seemed somewhat delayed by her incoherent demeanor, and she was a little too drowsy to even consider where she was going. Her first instinct was to trail down to the bar and limply retrieve the beverage she left the room to grab, as though her memory of the previous events had been desperately erased. She happened to breeze by Paladin.
As Piix passed the part of the bar Paladin was sitting, Pal first cringed from the thoughts he was picking up then looked alarmed once he recognized the emitter. Spinning round Pal picked her up and sat her on the seat he had been occupying.
Looking over at the Boogeyman he waved him over. "Look after her will ye, I need to go talk to someone." Pal said as he looked around for the monster that put Piix in her current state.
Spotting him the armored wolf stomped his way over to Stygian, a slight whine indicated that the pistol that was normally holstered on his chest and now in his hand was powered up, and pointed at the blond human's eye.
"You sick son of a bitch. You, me, circle NOW" Pal said not in a shout but in a far more level tone than his rage should normally allow.
Paladin approached the man, and while Stygian should have noticed at once, it wasn't until he was about four feet from him that he spun suddenly and dramatically, eyebrows shooting, to face the oncoming Cubi. Pal's weapon thrust into his face, he stood frozen in an expression of shock for a moment, before, with a rippling motion from the black veins under his skin, he grinned broadly and sharply again.
'Heeheheeheheeeheheeeheheeeee!'
The man's eyes flared, and the shadows immediately around him stretched for just a second. He flicked his gaze over toward the door for a moment, that hideous leer still locked on his face.
Paladin's grey/brown eyes turned into small balls of flames. "Either you pick a circle you bastard, or I drill you right here and now" He growled as his grip tightened on the pistol.
Boog looked from Stygian, to Piix, to Paladin, and then shot Stygian a look that by all rights should have left him a charcoal outline and a comically smoking pair of boots. It was a look that implied that it would be followed by Words, when there was time. Setting out Sylvie's drink with an absent minded "'scuse me, ladies," he slipped out from behind the bar and crouched down to get a look at Piix's eyes. A tendril of thought reached out to assess the damage.
What'd he do NOW?
--
Alright, so I gotta just keep getting him between buildings and hope I bring him down before he takes apart the whole city. Piece of- what's that whistling noise?
The last thought fragment was mostly a courtasy. Oftentimes Marya's body was far cleverer than the brain that it housed, and her advanced reflexes had already sent her streaking for the door of the room. OfukOfukOfukOfukOfukOfukOfuk! She punched the door off its hinges and out of her way, made to lunge around the frame-
BOOM is a much overused sound effect. There are reasons for this.
The blast slammed Marya against the opposite wall in the hallway, and she slumped to her knees.
PAIN.
PAIN.
PAIN.
PAIN.
Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
Pain...
...
Anger.
She sucked air between her teeth, willing what was left of the feeling to recede. Felt along her back gingerly to assess the damage.
Anger.
Mostly superficial damages. The back of her shirt was a mess, but she hadn't caught the brunt of it. She slowly stood back up, testing how far she could go as the pain receded.
Anger!
Marya whirled and was off down the hallway. She had Shit To Do.
ANGER!
"RktktktktktktktktktktTKTKTKTKTKTKTKTKTKAAA!"
His own eyes narrowing right back, Stygian kept his gaze locked on Pal's for a few more seconds, before with a sudden, mercurially fast and snake-like movement, he slid around the Incubus and over across the floor, toward the front door. Little wisps and smoky streamers of shadow trailed across the floor after him. His grin looked so hard that one could imagine his sharp teeth creaking.
Swinging out the door into the seemingly perpetual dullness and mellow weather outside, the man stepped out onto the paving and paced straight into one of the free circles, which seemed to react, a tension filling the air and its outline glowing slightly somehow. It was the same as for the other challenges, and yet not. There was something just the slightest bit out of place...
- -
The Orin's mind was about as intact as her physique, that much was clear. But it was so rattled that she was stunned into a state of complete shock, or something nearing disembodiment. As if someone had plucked her mind right out of her head, toyed around with it and put it back in, or jostled her so much that she'd simply lost orientation, and now she was in the state where she was shielding herself with detachment while trying to find the controls again. Dark images flickered and swam past Piix's inner vision, mostly just blurry things though some were quite intimidating in their own right. She didn't seem to have
seen so much. The
feelings though, the sheer emotions and twisted sensory intake remembered, the intertwined sensations of pleasure and pain, of despair and abandonment and of presence and shivering, creeping, crawling, squirming touches, every possible intrusion whether psychological or physical, were just too much. Too much for her to process at once.
It was a state of disorientation that the Boogeyman recognized, the sort of condition that took place after some horrible or overwhelming revelation was made to a mind too conventional or just not flexible or tolerant enough to deal with it. Some jokingly called it 'Lovecraftian Shock', though there was little humorous about it. If made too painful or traumatic, it could cause permanent insanity. In Piix's case though, it just seemed to be a state of utter confusion and overwhelmedness. She didn't even seem to have any perception or underlying emotion as to what she thought about the whole thing in hindsight.
Holstering his pistol, Paladin clamped down on his anger and his eyes returned to normal. Staring at the back of the human's head hard enough to bore holes in it, Pal followed him out to the circles.
Casting a spell on himself Paladin stepped inside.
The air curled and waved as if suddenly heated for a moment, and then the jarring, merciless and twisting rush as the space within the circle distorted to correspond to the new arena. The transition seemed even more violent than it had been though, and a chilling feeling intruded upon Paladin even before an acrid, ashen scent entered his nose. The air darkened and fogged, and smog and distant fire filled the sky, as the blurred reality finally fixed with a shuddering, eye-stinging movement, like the image on a half-burned out TV-screen.
It was easy to see what had made the circle's transition so 'painful'. The whole of the surroundings seemed tortured, for lack of a better way of putting it. The landscape was a blasted, desolate wasteland of industrial remnants and the skeletal remains of great towers and buildings against a backdrop of massive and wicked cliffs in the distance, sprawling and spindly from across an empty, cracked bed of land that looked as if it had once been a bay, now with merely a glitter of sea on the horizon. A scar of blackish, veiny green and crimson growth cracked the center of it, running up a long canal and under half-crumbled bridges, and elsewhere flecks of more tainted, unliving growth stained the landscape intermittently. Grays and browns blurred together in the heavy air, thick with pollution and an ashen, noxious stench. The landscape was locked in an agonized twilight, painted by a poisonous green sun, yellowing at the edges, and every so often acid lightning ionized and crackled in shades ranging from viridian to orange in the burning sky among shifting black clouds. At times, right at the edge of hearing, the wind howled faintly among empty spires and steel structures. Or, at least one could hope that it was the wind. Whatever creatures that might live in such a place were best left unthought of as long as one could.
It was a world in its dying throes. No, worse, it was a poisoned world, on the verge of death but still alive with the most twisted and horrid kinds of animation. Tainted. Hellish and undead. And from the rocky, heightened outcrop of a cliff that shot out into the empty bay, in the shadow of the crumbled base of a cathedral-like tower whose smooth structure might once have stretched a mile into the sky, gleaming and pristine, but now looked like a broken, blackened fang in the dead jaw of the earth, Stygian and Paladin had a perfect view of it all.
'It's the kind of sight that can make one cry,' Stygian rasped up ahead. Standing some twenty meters in front of Paladin, nearing the edge of the cliff and with his back turned to the Incubus, his voice was filled with dark reverie. His eyes cast a vile, green gleam that complemented the landscape perfectly, as he turned to Pal and grinned.
'Isn't it beautiful?'
Looking around at the environment for a half second, Paladin replied "Not particularly" as he plucked the M1x Lancer railgun off his thigh, and triggered a burst at the blond human.
There was the flash of the gun, the electrical, smattering rapport of the powerful rifle lighting up the dusty ground and reflecting off scrap metal and glass far away, as the hypersonic bullets ripped through the air, leaving sizzling streams and distorting the air and light around them for the flicker of a moment their effect could be seen. That flash and the flick of distortion and the shadows around left a silhouette on the Cubi's vision, and for a moment he almost though that his attack had struck home. Then the outline of the human form up ahead, pierced through the right side by the strike of the bullets, simply faded. A leaping, liquid movement of black to his left alerted him just in time before Stygian landed next to him, half-crouched and with his coat billowing.
'That... wasn't very sportsmanlike of you!' the man laughed. 'Mind the rules! What are they?!'
"One of us leaves as a breathing bloody pulp" Paladin uttered through clenched teeth as he pivoted on one foot, bringing the other up to smash the smug bastard in the chest.
'My kind of game!' was the man's sharp retort, and his face froze into a grin, a hint of that glow in his eyes as he rolled his fingers. Then, Pal swung around for a retaliation attack. In a flicker, Stygian shifted his balance back on the balls of his heels, left foot lifting and his other arm swinging out and forward in an almost ballet-like move. High roundhouses were strong moves that only left one exposed from the underside. If you weren't even sure how much power your opponent was putting into it, you could only play it safe and flow with the movement, hoping to trip the other up. Catching the movement was an option, especially if one was so strong as to be able to throw the other off, but Pal was armed and armored and Stygian was not. Not to mention coming at him so bold and strong so early was bound to be some sort of lead-in. But, when one had monstrous powers...
In a blurry movement, thick and full darkness sweeping along with his arm, the black coat became like a great sweeping wing of black, a rush that met the Incubus' blow head-on, a ripple of distortion in the air blinking outward, barely visible. A shadow slid from the exploding blackness, flickering back toward the darkness under the ruined structure next to them in one solid movement, so fast that it could barely be seen. The shadowy outline in front though kept going in its movement.
(Sorry for taking so long on a reply. I fail :<)
The Mechangel
The Mechangel had managed to restabilize his flight quickly after [Marya] was no longer burdening him. The diagnostic of the damage on his shoulder was completed as well. The damage wasn't too severe, but it certainly wasn't negligible. It's range and speed of movement was now inhibited, which limited the usefulness of his pulse-blasters and plasma beam. His shield was right out, even from the beginning of the fight. He may have no choice soon but to try to directly hit her with one of his railcannon slugs. And that would be messy.
As he was contemplating his next move, he had also been watching her with his scanning eye, and saw her start moving again before he heard her now-unmistakable chittering. With a few powerful strokes of his wings, he had risen several floors in a span of a five seconds, heading back for the roofline. Her fighting style relies on overwhelming offense, momentum, and inertia. Disrupt her attack waves, cause her to lose momentum, and her effectiveness drops dramatically. And due to her limitation of close-quarters-combat only, and my favoring of flight and ranged combat, she is put at an utter inability to attack effectively if I remain out of her reach.
The left side of The Mechangel's face dipped into a slight frown as he continued to rise. But that's not a gentlemanly way to fight, not at all... While he would continue regaining altitude, he resolved to see what [Marya] would do next before making another move.
Ahh. So round, so firm, so fully packed... Wait, that's not it.
The gruff, solid human figure stopped just short of opening the front door, smoldered remains of a cigarillo in one hand and the door's knob in the other. That's Lucky Strike. What're these? ...Screw it, he thought, flicking the cigar butt aside, figuring the gardener wouldn't mind picking up another piece of tobacco-related litter. Let's just see what this madhouse's all about.
As he stepped inside, it became evident the man had little more to him than a human figure: bald head, chinstrap beard, gray shirt, size-thirteen kicks, old and slightly ratty cargo pants paired with an even rattier-looking camoflague jacket... at least it didn't have something stupid sewn on the back like "rage against the machine" or "born to kill." No, this was an outfit worn by a typical, non-affiliated thug with a sense of refinement slightly above your average stoner's. Given the fairly ritzy interior of the club, however, he found himself with a sudden, uncomfortable feeling of self-awareness. Oh, Goddamn it. A fightin' joint with class? This better get real down and dirty in the rings. Despite a lack of more appropos duds, he strode calmly towards the bar, picking out a nice seat. Not some loner seat at the end, but a nice spot just left of center. After all, nobody liked an antisocial barfly.
"Barman!" he spoke loudly, "where's the suds? It's like the Sahara over here." A Groucho Marx expression would've followed, had he any cigars left. Though shortly after the remark, he'd noticed the tweedy twerp examining some short, animal-like biped nearby. "Hey, Mac, you know where the bartender is? My thirst needs slakin'."
A short, dumpy hedgehog shouldered his way in the door, looked around at the clientèle, and muttered something inaudible - and better for it, being probably unprintable - about the number, before stumping up to the bar and parking himself on a stool at one end.
He removed his hat - a german war helmet, with spike - and rapped it against the side of the bar to shake the dust loose, then dumped it in front of him with a quiet clang, before producing a coin from somewhere and rolling it across his knuckles, back and forth, while waiting for the bartender to, well, appear.
In the mean time, he surveyed the smoky human figure (heh. Figures. You can always smell when a smoker shows up.), the green spiky creature on the floor (not bad, but a bit lurid. And unconscious, which in Witt's experience was a bad sign.), and the vague collection of sticks (Ah. One of those bars.) that appeared to be tending to her. Having exhausted the immediate possibilities of people who might try to talk at him, he glanced out over the circles outside. There seemed to be some fighting going on in at least one of them. Might even be something worth looking into, but not before a drink.
Definitely not before a drink.
Bart's gaze strayed over to the newcomer, turning his head just enough to get a decent look through the corners of his eyes. "...*Snrk--* *Cough, cough*" He raised a hand casually to cover his mouth, lips twisting as he tried (and just about failed) to stifle a smile. Whenever Bartholomew saw some smaller, evidently male creature, his mind soon turned to the typical jokes. What's the weather like down there? Can you tell me about the Lollipop Guild? Hey man I'm a little SHORT on cash, mind if I borrow some?
Though, the rational quarter of his brain reminded him that this was a proving ground and lobby for some pretty rude, crude dudes. Even someone that short could have a real mean streak capable of ripping his head off for even the smallest offense. That, and the guy chose an end-seat. People on the ass-end of bars didn't often take kindly to ribbings, jovial or otherwise.
For the love of whatever higher power governs our meager existence, his grandfather warned before shoving him off, don't start a fight within the first 10 minutes. With that on his mind, Bart figured he'd keep his mouth shut and glanced away. "...baha, Shortround." Well, he'd mumble just one thing under his breath before shutting up, anyway.
Boog cursed under his breath. Dammit Styg, gotta learn some discretion. With a heave that sounded like he was lifting barbells the thoughtform slung Piix over his shoulder and was about to head to the infirmary when-
"Hey, Mac, you know where the bartender is?" Tweedy little twerp...
"Yes." He replied, his voice sounding quite capable of dissolving the floorboards, "He's very busy, and will be around to gob in your drinks in a moment." With another grunt, he continued his difficult trek to the infirmary.
---
A harsh BANG of the roof door slamming open heralded Marya's arrival, striding out onto the roof. Calm, stay CALM. You can't spend yourself all at once. Breathe... She lowered herself to all fours, took a deep breath, cast out with her senses...
Humming, buzzing. Servos?
Fwoosh of jets. Sounds like a chemical-based fuel.
Pennies. Copper. Ozone.
... THERE.
Slowly, keeping herself calm, Marya turned her head to follow the Mechangel. When he rose to her level... She'd be ready.
At Bart's comment, no matter that it was low enough to be inaudible, the coin froze for a moment.
Witt raised one eyebrow at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar, then lowered it, and the coin started moving again. He muttered one short sentence. "Not before a gods-forsaken drink."
"Awww..." He groaned as Boog hauled off poor Piix. 'Very busy'? The only thing bartenders should be busy doin' is mixin' Mojitos and tellin' guys 'Hey, you've had enough.' With nothing better to do, Bart entertained himself by glancing over the room and pondering.
Mirror, table, Glenlivet, chairs, books, pool table-- Both eyes stopped very momentarily on Witt before skipping to something else. ...wonder if cosmic horrors ever come here. Or monsters that actually look like rubber costumes. Godzilla ones, even. It was a pretty stupid train of thought, but it kept the boredom away.
Andrace Kithara was feeling particularly grumpy today. The tall, statuesque lioness stamped along the road, not really paying attention to where she was going, her paws kicking up a small plume of dust at every step. A flicker of motion off in the distance caught her eye. Where had those buildings come from? And those... circular somethings set out to one side. She was too far away to see details, but one of them seemed to have occasional flashes of light, or maybe explosions, inside it. Curious. Definitely worth investigating more closely. The lioness shrugged her shoulders, settling her backpack more securely, and strode off towards the buildings.
- - - - -
The door opened, its frame almost filled by the tall, muscular figure of a lioness. She pushed her fiery red hair back over her shoulders, blew a few stray strands out of her face, and entered the room, her bare pawpads making almost no noise on the floor. She wore a leather jerkin over a silk shirt, and silk trousers that came to a little below her knees, all in various shades of red and black. She grunted quietly as she shrugged the straps of a backpack off her shoulders. A leather baldric across her chest held the scabbard of a long sword across her back, the hilt poking up behind her shoulder, and a large pistol was holstered at her right hip. She walked up to a vacant spot at the bar, set her backpack down, and snagged an empty barstool with one foot, pulling it closer and sitting down. She leaned on her elbows on the bar and sighed heavily, whether glad to be off her feet or just emanating a general air of not-having-a-good-day-ness. Her tail flicked back and forth, then curled around one leg of the stool. She turned her head just enough to see the projected image hanging from the middle of the ceiling, and watched the fight in the cityscape with mild curiosity.
Bart arched a brow at Andrace as she sat down, face quickly contorting from mild curiosity to sudden awe. Sweet Jesus, she was a good head taller than he was, not to mention possessed of a very sour demeanor. He could practically feel the unhappiness.
Damn, what's with these people? He mulled quietly; yeah, not all bars attracted cheery, upbeat people, but this wasn't some old downtown dive. "...so, anybody hear the one about St. Peter, the dead trio, and the refrigerator?" Speaking to nobody in particular as he turned his back to the bar in a slouched lean, giving a friendly grin. Surely nothing could break the ice better than a little shaggy dog story.
Witt glanced up at the mountain of a woman, sighed, and muttered something about shipping air up there by donkey. He didn't mutter it very loud, though. He hadn't had that drink yet, so...
And then the hairless monkey chimed in. Witt half turned, and disparagingly commented at Bart, "Frequently, but I don't expect that to stop you from telling it again. 'Why stop now, just when I'm hating it?'"
He flipped the coin around again, placed it edgewise on the bar, and spun it, one-handed. The coin declined to move more than a fingers width from where he'd put it, even as it spun down. He waited, patiently, for the bartender to return from wherever he'd taken the unconscious girl. After all, a barkeep who looked after his customers was worth keeping around, right?
... at least until the drinking got serious, that is.
Andrace turned to glance at the hedgehog and the hairless-monkey-critter, one ear flicking back and forth between them. Her muzzle quirked in a half grin. "Well, not all the old 'uns are good 'uns," she said, her voice a deep bass rumble that still sounded unmistakably feminine.
Bart's grin faltered slightly, reverting to a tight-lipped smile. Deep down, he had an urge to turn to Witt and say, Did you hear the one where I stuffed you in a garbage can? 'Cause it happened, I was there. No, he'd keep his cool for now.
"Well then," he said, still maintaining a pleasant tone, "what doozies do you two know? I could use a good laugh." Both arms firmly crossed over his chest, still in a comfortable lean. "C'mon, lay one on me."
Witt snorted. "You are a good laugh. Don't bloody bother me, child, I'm waiting for a damn drink."
He tapped the coin on the bar a few times - meditatively, not imperatively - and went back to his thoughts, spinning the coin again, and watching it settle.
Damn, tough crowd. A different approach was in order. "...so, you a drinkin' man?" Not that it was very hard to guess, given Witt's demeanor, stature, and speech. "Iffin' you are, how about a little wager?" That big grin shone again as he turned in his seat. "I bet I can down a whooolle bottle of single malt scotch, without puking, before you can finish one glass worth of beer."
Bart casually set an elbow on the bar, still beaming that big stupid smile. "How about it? Think you can whup a young-ass whippersnapper like me?"
Witt snorted.
"Two, no, three questions. One, how big a glass did you have in mind; is it larger than the bottle you intend to empty? Two, why would I fill it with something like beer? Why not something worth drinking? And three... " He glanced over the bar, then turned to survey the room. "How were you planning on getting the drinks?" He waved one arm at the empty space. "The barkeep is busy, hadn't you noticed? Or did your ego get in the way? No, if you want a drinking contest, you'll just have to do it the hard way. No tricks, no weapons. Drink for drink."
He paused for a moment, then spun the coin again. "And you'll still have to wait for the barkeep to come back." *spin* "You're welcome to try to keep up when he does, though." He didn't place any emphasis at all on the word try.
"Answering in order, it'd be smaller than my bottle since I'm just that amazing, beer because it's, like... everywhere, and finally, we'd just wait for Mr. Barman to come back." Bart gave a sarcastic glare. "I was gonna ask if you wanted a straight-up shot-for-shot drinkin' contest, but you'd give out maybe halfway through." Big and boastful talk coming from such a punk.
"Not to brag, but--" He polished his knuckles for effect. "Every guy in my family's got an iron stomach, spleen, skull, and liver, me included. So, the question you oughta be asking is, 'Can I beat the result of generations worth of heavy drinkin'?'" That grin still stuck plastered to his face. "...well? Can you?" He was in the challenging mood now; he wanted to see this pan out, courtesy and calmness be damned.
Witt sniggered. "Shots. He still drinks in shots. How cute. I'd ask what your limit was, but I think you'd lose count after ten. And by then, you wouldn't be able to untie your shoelaces to let you keep counting." He spun the coin again. "Loser pays the bar tab. And a round for everyone in the bar who wants one, every ten drinks." He tilted his head to the left, then back again to the right, cracking his neck. "We alternate calls on the drinks. First one to pass out loses." He grinned. "Oh, and no peeing on the floor. That's just low class."
He rubbed his hands together, and picked up his coin again.
"You start."
Both of Andrace's ears perked up, and she turned on the stool to watch the byplay between the hedgehog and the hairless wotsit. A slow grin spread over her muzzle, just enough to show the tip of one fang poking over her lower lip. Her mood seemed to be improving, at least.
"You got it, Spike." Bart immediately smacked both his palms flat on the bar in preparation to hop over and grab some drinks, but stopped himself just short of leaving the seat. "...that is, when the barkeep comes back." And slumped down in his stool. In fancy bars (hell, any bar), going behind the counter was a good way to get kicked out.
Bummer, man.
Paladin's foot connected with the shadow being Stygian had left behind, shattering the semi-solid construct and making its return blow turn to smoke that washed over him.
Spotting the retreating shadow, Pal brought the railgun round and fired over another burst this one longer, and slightly leading the target.
Just like the time for Paladin to aim had been enough to give Stygian an opening in the very beginning of the fight, so it did once again. The bullets hit instantaneously, even more so than regular ones, their speed absolutely fantastic. Yet, so long as one's finger didn't squeeze the trigger... The shadow left a haze that turned the already murky and mottled surroundings even more difficult to see anything more through. And by the time Pal had fired, the man was already deep within shadow. The Cubi had just the time to see Stygian's grin in his sights before the bullets sizzled straight through it, and dispersed it as smoke and air.
There was silence, though the tension seemed to hang like a lingering note in the air, before that cruel voice reached Pal's ears again, smooth yet corrosive, sizzling and decaying even as it spoke.
'
Mmmh... Nice gun,' Stygian hissed, the direction of his voice indefinite. The shadows, thick and almost viscous, lay heavy and solid, and whatever little movements could be observed could easily be attributed to either the wind or his own tension. '
Too bad I didn't bring mine. But I won't need it for this...'
Something creaked overhead, a groaning sound of already fatigued metal, and a long scrape following it, but nothing seemed to move. Yet. The image of the broken, skeletal beams of the nearby structure, barely the lowest of the group still, suddenly became a lot more threatening.
'
You know, I don't know you. I don't, and I doubt if I will,' the voice seethed on. '
But why this?'
Just at the edge of Paladin's sight, a couple of patches of blackness began to thicken and grow even deeper, stretching from the surfaces they were glued to...
'
Was it because of that fuzzy little piece? You're that touchy, tough guy?'
- -
Having gone silent with caution from the moment Styg came down and started some sort of mess, Sahlena's attention had only momentarily slipped to the fight between the Mechangel and the mongoose-thing. The moment the first revealed his true nature her attention had been prickled; machinery that she knew and understood, and most of all that which was 'unintelligent' was rarely a curiosity to her. Something like
that though drew her like a magnet. And the moment Marya revealed those gauntlets of her, the android had become
really curious. The sudden flurry of activity and new entrees though, had taken her off guard, and now, sitting in the middle of what was looking to become a genuine drink-off, the machine felt a little out of place, even. Then again, with people like
these, what else
could one feel like?
'
:psh! if you're going to make a mess, at least give people time to get out of the way. or to place bets,' she rasped, after a moment. Her gaze turned for a moment to Sylvie, but she figured after a moment that the elf would leave in case she was too discomforted, and thus slipped back off her seat and stepped down with a heavy thump as the result of her weight moving that casually. She eyed the two newcomers quickly. The gangly, muscled, apparently human man looked tough, but his off-beat style, besides from the cocky and boastful attitude that had him come off as trying a bit too hard at once made her a bit uneasy. The squat, spiny fellow though, from what she could tell, was the 'dirtier' of the pair, and probably hard as a brick as well.
Rounding the taller human to get out from between him and the hedgehog, the machine gave them both her best disarming look, which wasn't really much to speak of, courtesy of her difficulty in expressing 'looks'
at all. She was just about to say something to aid in the effort of getting out of there, and not having to talk more uncomfortable things with Sylvie, when she bumped against something. She turned, and was surprised to see another newcomer, this one also somewhat imposing, sitting there. What was with this place and large, fuzzy people?
'
:ah, 'scuseme,' she said to Andrace, taking half a step back and nodding an apology.
Witt turned, and raised one eyebrow at the mechanical marvel. "We're waiting on the bartender. If you want to place a bet, the floor is open." The eyebrow lowered. "If I was you, I'd put my money on the hairless ape over there, he looks like he can drink more." He grinned an evil grin. "Of course, if I was you, I wouldn't trust my advice, either."
He turned back to the bar, grabbed the coin from where it was balanced on it's edge, and then spun around on the stool, leaning one elbow on the bar and rolling the coin over his knuckles. He eyed the red-eyed lady thoughtfully for a minute, then commented "I wasn't planning on making any messes, though I can't speak for my playmate, here. I presume the bar has a policy about such things?"
...Piix:Piix was utterly unresponsive as she dropped obediently into one of the unoccupied chairs at the bar, her limbs limp like a rag doll's. Her mind seemed to be full of hissing, white static, fizzling and darting over her barely-intelligible thoughts, as she struggled to comprehend her rational thought processes and reorganize her state of being. Her shock was by no means detrimental or life-threatening, but it certainly left her confined to a state of uncooperative silence and a few, methodical actions, such as fidgeting her paws or sheathing and exposing her virulent claws.
---
...Keaton:The jackal was sitting at the bar not far from where Piix was resting, looking quite perturbed by her behavior. Cogidubnus had departed a while ago, but she had occupied herself with a few more drinks before preparing to leave as well. She cast a furtive glance at Piix, clandestine and yet scrutinizing, and mumbled something to the Boogeyman along the lines of "Is she alright?" Without really waiting for an answer, Keaton devoted herself to draining the remainder of her beverage and left the appropriate amount of currency on the tabletop, including a complementary tip discarded beside her very empty drinking glass. Scooping up Catastrophe, Keaton nestled the giant mace in the crook of her arm and turned around, striding toward the exit. She had enjoyed her stay in the Honor Circle, but interactions among the patrons were becoming bristled with animosity. It tasted unpleasant. Since Stygian and Paladin were busy outside the bar, Keaton purposefully took a route that would allow her a slightly more discrete exit and not interrupt any of the fights.
Keaton pushed the door open and walked outside, closing it behind her. She looked around at her surroundings, breathing the air in deep, feeling the air rush through her ballooning lungs. With that, she picked a direction and walked forward, although that angle was no different from the rest of the virtually featureless landscape. As she ambled further and further away from the Honor Circle, her form seemed to darken against the sandy backdrop, the yellow of her body corroding into a deep bronze, then melting away as the black of her markings crawled up her form and enveloped the outline of her skin. An errant breeze drifted past, and with that insistent tug of the wind, her body fell apart into thousands of tiny particles, drifting away.
---
Around that same time, near the entrance to the Honor Circle, a tiny white light sizzled from out of nowhere, as though an invisible flammable material had been clapped together by God's hands to create a spark. It was imperceptible, and yet brilliant, a momentary fluctuation in the electrified air - and after its disappearance, yet another light sprung up and arched in a fluid, instantaneous motion, like a sword of light was cleaving a big, bleeding wound in the atmosphere. The descending rivulet of energy plummeted and widened, its divided ends parting and trailing to the earth like a slit, and with a flash that laceration in the world's dimensional barriers vanished.
All of that damage was erased in a single eyeblink.
In the cleft light's place, two figures remained: one austere, yellow and black, distinctly canine, and the other black, small, and levitating a good distance off the dusty ground. The black figure's whiplike cord of a tail unraveled and cracked against the ground with a dramatic snap, white electricity teeming and seething off of its length, before it retreated into the creature's body, shortening into a more manageable state. The other figure, presumably its owner, extended her arm and held it under the creature's feet, gesturing for the creature to perch on the proffered limb. The black creature gratefully accepted this reward, floating gingerly and landing on its master's arm. Although it was roughly the size of a housecat, the taller, saffron-sable figure was unencumbered by any apparent weight. She smiled to herself, whistling, and approached the Honor Circle, jostling a drawstring bag slung over her shoulder.
---
When the Honor Circle doors opened, all the occupants presumably saw Keaton, now accompanied by a strange, atramental imp, re-enter the bar as though she had never left.
Smooth movements slowing down, her posture shifting on her legs as she stuck her hands in her pockets, Sal looked down apprehensively at the hedgehog, curiously looping his gravelly voice in a separate process. Something about her seemed apprehensive, but also something more than that...
':hm. well, there's to be no fighting in here, though depending on the kind of 'mess' that may not be the issue,' she said, a little bemused note having entered her metallic voice. ':if you have any questions on the specifics, you should ask 'Tweed' over there, who just left,' she continued, and gave a nod toward the door to the infirmary at the very back of the place. ':he's the caretaker of the establishment, after all.'
The impression of a smirk somehow on her featureless face, the machine awaited the coming response.
"Don't worry, Six of Nine," Bart eyed Sal with mild interest. Given the fact he'd just been chatting it up with a hedgehog and lioness, the presence of an android didn't do much more to surprise him. "I think we adults know how to drink without makin' a big mess. At least, I know I can." Another grin, glancing once more at Witt. "There'll be time for real fightin' later. Right now, let's get some bets goin'. Who here thinks I can outdrink this buster without throwin' up on his shoes?"
As Keaton entered, he immediately stood, raised an arm and pointed. "You, with the little vermin! Wanna make an easy buck?" The thought of having a good ol' fashioned public wager got him just a wee bit active. "Anyone wanna make some easy cash, bet on who you think can keep his drink down: me," he said, thumb pointed square at his chest, "or Mr. Pointy here." Noogie-ing Witt would've followed, but Bart didn't feel like having his arm torn off outside of a more appropriate venue. "C'mon, let's pass a hat around, see who stands where."
Andrace glanced thoughtfully at the shiny black metallic creature that had bumped into her. It was heavy, certainly: a lot heavier than she was, and the lioness suspected it could have easily bowled her over with only a little effort if it wanted to. As for what it said about fighting... hmm... interesting.
She looked back towards the hairless critter, snorted, and her grin widened just a little. "Y' picked th' wrong sister t' agree t' a blind bet like that," she said cheerfully. "F'r all I know y' always keel over b'fore y' finish th' second bottle, an' Prickles here —" she cocked one ear and nodded towards the hedgehog "— don't drink anything stronger 'n ginger beer. Nope, if y' want t' see th' colour o' my money... or anything else... I wanna see how y' perform first." Her voice lowered to a sultry, husky purr at her last few words, and she leaned forward, giving a slightly better view down the front of her shirt, and a very much improved view of a muzzleful of gleaming white fangs.
"Unless..." the lioness grinned slyly and licked her whiskers, "y' wanna make this a bit more fun, an' th' three o' us have a three-way... contest...?"
...Xianxi and Keaton:
Almost immediately, at the derisive comment, the black creature seated on Keaton's shoulder pivoted his head around to peer humorlessly at Bart. The creature's features were modeled similarly to a stylized anubis, crowned and ornamented with horns and other little barbs, its forehead furnished with a single alabaster stone matching its equally pearlescent eyes. Although it did not respond derogatorily to this statement, it seemed nonplussed.
"Vermin?" the creature repeated uncertainly.
Keaton looked at Bart somewhat incredulously, but whether or not it was true disbelief was up to interpretation. In actuality, her expression was truly genuine: she couldn't comprehend the fact that someone was challenging her to a drinking competition. In most of her altercations, she had emerged from those particular contests victorious. "You come into MY house?" Keaton asked, sounding almost insulted. "You spit on me in MY house?"
After a moment, she narrowed her eyes at Bart, as though assessing him and his alcohol capacity from afar. She snorted determinedly, swiped her knuckles across her nose, and stormed over to the table at which Bart was seated, the challenge accepted.
"Three way?" As Keaton stalked over, Bart was almost awash with giddiness. "I say it's lookin' like a four-way now: you, you, you, and me." Andrace, Witt, Keaton and himself, respectively. Man versus Nature in the slightly more disgraceful arena of senseless drinking. "Oh, we're gonna need some hard liquor. No Jim Bean, no Jack Daniels, no Johnny Walker." Between the four of them, one bottle wouldn't last very long; they'd need something nice and headache-inducing to weed out the lightweights before the booze runs dry. "We need some grain-alkyhol in here. 190 proof sounds about right." And it was right, so long as you didn't go blind after two or three shots.
"Unless," he teased, shoving both hands in his jacket pockets, "that's a bit too much for you fine folks." Bart bounced on his heels, still keeping up that goofy smile and jingling the change in his pockets. With three other people willing to take him on, it was all he could do to just keep from breaking out into a merry little swagger.
Witt shrugged. "So, you're calling a shot of grain alcohol, 190 proof or better, for the first round. All right, I can see that." He turned his face up to Andrace. "Fuzzy-face, I think you were next, then Buzz-o-Bumble over there. If you're in, propose a round. And when the barkeep returns, we'll get started."
He stretched, then commented "I spose we should all pony up for the tab, too. Don't want anyone skipping on the bill when they pass out. You all want separate rooms to sleep it off, or should we dump you all in the same bed?"
Andrace glanced at the brightly coloured newcomer. "Th' more th' merrier, girl," she said, "an' we're goin' t' be pretty damn' merry soon." Her gaze went back and forth along the rows of bottles at the back of the bar, before she grinned and pointed a claw at an oddly shaped bottle with a dusty old label.
"That'll do f'r my round," the lioness said with satisfaction. "Cause, y' know, Absinthe makes the mind go yegodsy'wantmet'drinkthat?..." She grinned again, showing fangs.
It seemed that if the machine had been able to make an eyelid twitch, she would have. Now, after just these last few statements, she knew these people had some classifiable issues. The lioness not least of them. And that there was going to be a mess. Maybe not as a direct result of the drinking, and maybe not the way she'd thought, but nonetheless... She chose to back down, but to do it with style, seeing as one could get a lot of crap one's way if one didn't stand up to the situation in the presence of people like these.
'
:fantastic. i'd join you, but i think you understand why i can't compete,' she said, almost muttering. '
:whoever doesn't finish off his or her drink can give it to me. i'll use it for de-greaser.'
- -
For whatever reason, this was precisely the time that Andrea chose to walk back into the bar. Hands in her pockets, she swung up the door to the infirmary, a dull look on her face. It remained for about a second, before she came to a halt with a twitching movement.
One might have perceived some wariness or curiosity on her face as the human woman witnessed the gathering at the bar, but it melted away just as quickly as her bitterness. It was replaced by a somewhat puzzled and sickened look, and a strange mix of red and green tones creeping onto her features.
Spinning on her heel, Andrea turned a perfect one-eighty degrees and slapped open the infirmary door, and walked right back in.
Bart reached for his wallet, giving a quick glance through, noting the few green bills in the folds along with several stamped, lustrous coins in the zip-up change pouch. He knew better than to hit up an interdimensional watering hole without something in the way of hard currency. "Yeah, I'm good for puttin' a little somethin' up front." He slipped the wallet into his back pocket. "I won't be needin' a bed, though." Real manly macho men could stay awake through drunken stupors, naturally.
Suddenly, an epiphany struck his small brain. "...say, I don't think I got anyone's name. Poor form on my part."
He extended a hand down to Witt, then Andrace, and a little smile and nod to Keaton. "Name's Thompson, Bart Thompson. Short-order cook and man of action. And you all?"
Andrace shrugged out of the baldric and propped her sword against the bar, beside her pack. It was a very large sword, more obvious now that its wielder's size wasn't fooling the eye, nearly five feet long with a huge hilt and crossguard, but the lioness was apparently strong enough to heft it as if it were no more than a light rapier. She unbuckled her gunbelt, draped it over the pack, then turned back to the hairless critter as he introduced himself and took his hand in a firm grip.
"Pleased t' beat y', Bart," she said with an impressively toothy smile. "I'm Andrace Kithara, an adventurer. Dealin' wi' pesky critters a specialty. Best t' let y' know now, there's only one person y' c'n rely on t' drink me under th' table, an' m' big sister Irene ain't here." Bart's hand almost disappeared in hers, but still Andrace was careful. She didn't quite shake his arm hard enough to dislocate an ordinary man's elbow or shoulder, and her grip wouldn't have permanently harmed the small bones in his hand. She made sure to keep her claws sheathed, though; she wanted this to be a friendly contest, after all.
To begin with...
...Keaton and Xianxi:
The little black imp, Xianxi, made sure to hover off of Keaton's shoulder as she approached the bar. He floated away effortlessly, his tail curling precociously like a spaded banner. In the Demi's absence, Keaton shrugged her shoulders and pulled up a chair, seating herself. At Witt's words, she looked slightly nonplussed, although this was hardly the worst thing she had been called in her life. No, this was just a humorous remark, it seemed, but Buzz-o-Bumble was quite a confusing epithet.
"Buzz-o-Bumble?" Keaton muttered incredulously, but regained her composure easily enough to formulate an introduction. "Nice. But the name's Keaton, Prickles."
Keaton wasn't earning any points in the Original Insults aspect of her intro, but she was improvising. Keaton sat down in her selected chair shamelessly and pulled the drawstring bag off of her shoulder, resting it in her lap and starting to undo the ties. The edges of the bag, drawn together in a puckered knot, unraveled as the bands holding it were released. Keaton rustled around in her belongings and finally pulled out her wallet, still assessing her opponents with her visible eye. The eyebrow over her eye-patch, neatly bisected with a thin scar, arched in a smooth curve.
Meanwhile, Xianxi occupied himself with exploring the bar, observing some of the patrons. Having no need for conventional sustenance, he wasn't interested in ordering a drink. Finally, he noticed an appropriate resting place nearby - the top of the seat of one of the booths - and floated toward his destination, nestling on the ledge. He flung his tail around his lithe body and relaxed, tucking his hands under his chin like a contented cat.
Witt sniffed, and took the hand offered in a crushingly strong grip. "'ccording to these two, I'm called Prickles. Not the worst I've been called. Close enough." He let Bart's hand go, without trying for a knuckle-breaker; shook the hand of the towering feline, again with a strong, but not aggressive, grip; and cocked one eyebrow at the jackal. "Keaton it is. What's yer poison? Can't order the drinks if you don't say what you want."
He paused for a moment, then continued "We should get the rules straight, too. First one out pays up till there, second one up till they're out, third one pays the rounds to the end. Whoever's paying pays for the round for the house every ten. Money on the bar before you start, and d'you ladies want a bed after you pass out, or are you happy to kip on the floor like apeface here?" He indicated Bart with a jerk of his thumb. "Oh, and try not to make a mess when you pass out."
He glanced around. "Now where'd that barkeep get to..."
...Keaton:
Keaton scowled a little as she fished a fistful of coins out of her wallet, keeping them prepared. "I was about to say," she stressed, juggling the coins in her hand and slapping the appropriate amount on the countertop, "I'll have an absinthe."
Andrace found a chair that looked as if it would take her weight and sat opposite Bart. She reached inside her jerkin and pulled out a small pouch that clinked when she dropped it on the table in front of her. She nodded at Witt. "Rules sound okay t' me. An' I dunno 'bout Keaton here, but I won't need a bed. Y're not suggestin' us girls might lose, are y'...?"
Though Andrace's was bearable, Witt's vicegrip damn near broke Bart's hand, sending him into a pained grimace for those few seconds. Ow, ow, ow-- "...Prickles it is." He flexed and shook the waves of pain from his poor appendage. "Yeah, rules sound good enough to me."
"And not to be a sexist pig," Bart took his seat at the table, palms lying flat, "but men're naturally built for drinkin' contests. Not that it's stopped some ladies from thinkin' they could beat me." Both eyebrows raised, along with another one of those stupid grins. "Guess we'll see which gender reigns soon enough."
"Creatures like ye sicken me....And yes Piix needs an avenger after what ye did to her..." Paladin said as he reached into a pouch and pulled out what looked like a string of bead, sliding them into the barrel of the Lancer.
Bringing the rifle up, the armored wolf fired the magnesium flash rounds into the various shadows around him, lighting the area up as bright as the sun.
The forest had called to her. Amber rays sliced through the cloak of night, twinkling behind the leaves of the lush treeline, bringing with them a state of gentle repose in place of the shadows. Heavy booted feet kissed the forest floor, accompanying a hunched shape that slowly made its way from cover to cover, a small blur amongst the natural beauty surrounding it. To Kaela, it was like she was home again, amidst the trees and loamy ground, the smell of dew and wet earth playing a nostalgic tune for her nose. The forest fled. She suddenly found herself in a clearing, and casting her gaze about her, found no trees or foliage, only the thick grass of the plains. Ahead of her, silhouetted by the rising sun, she made out a set of buildings.
What sorcery is this...? With precious few other options left to her, she began to move again, vanishing like smoke into the grass.
---
Kaela nudged open the building's front door apprehensively, her metal-clad bulk occupying most of the space within the frame. Her salt-and-pepper fur was standing on end, her hackles raised, braced for action. Instead, she found a strange menagerie of various people within what appeared to be, for all intents and purposes, a pub. A few of them were sitting down to drink, boasting about their alcohol-related accomplishments. Taking a step forward, the black metal plates covering her body jostled and clanked lightly. A single white bar ran down her right shoulder, opposite a wolf's head biting a knife on the left. A snub-nosed submachine-gun hung from a lanyard at her side, and a long thick-bladed knife was thrust into a scabbard that sat on her left hip. Stretching, yielding a staccato series of cracks from her back, she made her way to an empty chair at the end of the line of drinkers, gazing about herself with curiosity as she gently set herself down, keeping a healthy dose of paranoia about her.
Oh-ho, what we got now? Bart immediately perked upon hearing the front door, sizing up the clanky new patron with a scrutinizing eye. ...damn. Another tall one. A lesser man would feel inadequate in the company of taller, quite possibly stronger women; fortunately, Bart had thicker skin than that, his glance stuck on her as she crossed the floor and took her seat. Hmm... to pester a dangerous-looking and armed stranger, or not?
...aw, why the hell not? "Hey, you with the piece! You a bettin' lady?" He slapped down on the tabletop twice for emphasis. "Come on, we could use s'more stakes here." More stakes, more people to impress, and more respects if he won. A simple formula. "What've you got to lose other than a few bucks?" Besides the comfortable sensation known as "not being completely wasted and hungover," of course.
Witt grinned - evilly - at Andrace. "Oh, heck no. If I pass out, park me outside to sleep it off." He paused, then added, "Ask someone to help. I'd hate to be drunkenly dropped on my head."
He placed both paws behind his head and stretched, cracking both shoulders, then wrapped his arms around himself and cracked them the other way - entirely incidentally showing off some impressively muscular physique - then put his elbow back on the bar. Fishing with his other paw in his jacket for a moment, he pulled out a bag of coins - not small - and dropped it on the bar next to Keaton's change, with a thump. "Might as well ante up, now we're all in. All we need now is the barkeep, and a row of drinks."
Andrace glanced up as another new arrival entered. "Oh, great, another wolf-in-a-can," she muttered very quietly under her breath. Still, out of habit she kept the wolf in the corner of her eye as she clanked towards the bar and sat down.
She flicked an ear towards Bart at his "made for drinking contests" comment, but she made no reply apart from a brief are-you-kidding glance.
"Y' think I'll need help, Mister Pointy?" she said to Witt with an amused gleam in her eye. "I don't make a habit o' droppin' folks... accidentally... that I've decided t' carry. Did it once, when some impolite person put an arrer in m' leg, an' that's all." She picked up the full-of-money-sounding pouch and tossed it just over Witt's shoulder. It skidded along the bar-top and came to rest against the other contributions to the pot.
Boog came back from the infirmary, dusting his hands. Corporeal things were HEAVY. He got back to find the newcomer and another two newcomers, plus one of the earlier patrons, clustered around the bar and talking. Another newcomer was sitting further down, giving off a general aura of one who lacked any desire to be trifled with. He'd have to trifle with her, in just a-
"All we need now is the barkeep, and a row of drinks."
On the one hand, in this particular crowd Boog probably should have known better than to encourage a drinking contest, but he couldn't seem to hear his common sense over the sound of slot machine payouts in his head. Besides, it had been awhile since he'd indulged in his own favorite vice, and plastered people had the BEST bad ideas.
The sleazy (thing that looked like a) man slinked back behind the bar and grinned at the group. "You rang?"
--
Richard strolled out of the infirmary and collapsed into a seat at the bar, wincing at what he saw of Marya on the camera feed over the bar. "'Ey barkeep! Something strong enough to make my head ring," he muttered, putting his bills on the bar and waited for Boog to make his way over. His gaze happened to glance over Kaela and Andrace briefly before returning to his money. Brilliant. Well, if Marya gets herself dead, good to know there's people around here who could take up her slack.
Witt sniggered at Andrace. "No, of course not... now. Later, though, might be a different matter..."
At about that moment, the bartender showed up - or at least something that moved behind the bar and acted like a bartender. Witt turned to address it. "These three challenged me to a drinking contest." He waved a hand at the three of them. "First person to pass out pays the bill, and we shrink to three players, then two, then the winner. Money's on the bar there," he waved his hand at the tidy pile "other than the big man at the end, who's holding on to his at present. He wants a shot of grain alcohol, 190 proof or better, for the first round. The ladies called for a shot of absinthe. And I'll start off easy in the fourth round with four pints of Afterburner."
He turned back to the others, and put his elbow on the bar again, then looked back over his shoulder at the barkeep. "Oh, and they'll want four each as well." He grinned evilly at the ragged jumble of clothes.
Bart couldn't help but make a few childish snickers at Andrace's glance, retrieving his trusty wallet once more. "Yeah, I'm all in," he affirmed, digging out a decent number of pale-yellow coins, twenty or so in total. Hopefully, the place would accept minted electrum. "But Goddamn if this isn't takin' forever." The coins shook and clanked in his hands as he stood and sauntered towards the bar once more. All this anticipation was making him fidgety; the poor guy could hardly stay in one seat.
Seriously, where'd that poindexter go? He slapped the coins down onto the bartop with a moderate clunk. "Some bartender, walkin' off with payin' customers around. Why, I got half a mind to--" Though Boog had snaked his way back behind the bar before Bart could finish his irritated musings.
"...yeah, what Prickles said." No point in repeating others like a parrot. "Make mine Everclear if you got any. Or anything from a jug with three X's on it."
"Ooh, tough guy," Boog snickered at Bart, reaching under the bar, "By the by, a heads up?" He pulled out a jug of what looked like drain cleaner and made a flourishing motion with one hand, revealing one nasty looking claw on his index finger. He quickly scratched three cursive X's on the jug and gave the newcomer a meaningful look. Some Bartenders don't need lip from the patrons. With that he put it right back under the bar and set out the requested drinks, sniggering as he did so. "Now then, as your barkeep I'm required by law to make sure you don't try to drive yadda yadda gennelmen start'cher livers," he leaned back and grinned. This was gonna be good.
Witt snorted, impressively.
He reached out, taking his three shot glasses in one paw, and one of his four pint glasses in the other. Downing all three shots in one practised move, he then tilted his head back and did much the same with the first swirling, greenish-black pint... and the second, and the third, before pausing halfway through the fourth, letting the absinthe and sambucca twist and turn through the ouzo.
He turned his apparently unaffected head towards Bart. "So. What d'ya want for your second round?"
There was no time to respond, before bright flashes burst into life with a glaring, synthetic light that cast hard shadows outward from the ground, vaporizing the moving darkness even as it took shape and burning bright in the cold, acidic dusk. There was a sizzling, crackling sound, painful and unnatural. Like wet wood being forced to burn.
'
Hahahaa!' For a moment, Pal thought he could see a moving humanoid outline made hard by the glare of the phosphorescent rounds, before it was shattered. And the voice had come from above. The light made it hard to see, but...
He had a fraction of a second to blink away the light and react, and then, with a jarring impact that shocked the Cubi, a long beam of metal came down straight on the first point of light. A broken half of another hit the next, and the ringing sound as they struck through and lodged themselves in the ground and reverberated from the impact was accompanied by another one of those metallic groans. Perched atop a jutting bit of superstructure, shadows billowing around him in a haze that as much hid him as made him eye-straining to even look at, Stygian sat, his hunched shape somehow hanging down over the beam.
'
I wasn't rough on her. I was careful, like she was... comfortable... to me,' he - it - hissed, the venomous green of two dimly glowing eyes the only point Pal could focus on solidly. From that distance, with that sort of target...
He didn't have time to take the shot though. The thing raised its arm, curling back and tensing up somehow, and then, with a pang of something hard hitting metal, it struck down, the force traveling through the already unsteady structure and crumbling it. Repeating what he'd learned from that stone golem from earlier, Stygian brought the mass of concrete and steel down in an avalanche onto the few lights that were left burning, riding at its front amid a tidal wave of dust and shadows, laughing maniacally.
- -
Having rolled her eyes, all seven of them, even though such an action was barely visible save upon close examination, and turned her back to the business the moment that Bart started talking about genders, thinking that a few bits of the latest events were just too stereotypical for her to put up with, Sal retreated to her table, leaning on an elbow as she sat down and diverting her full attention to the fight between Marya and Mechangel, trying to catch whatever glimpses of those mechanical gauntlets she could. Her idle hand played a clicking tantrum on the tabletop as she wondered something about when she'd get her new face mounted so that she could properly express her distaste for certain things.
(sorry for another late post. I have been in the shitters this week :cry)
The Mechangel
As the Mechangel rose, he made sure to keep an eye on [Marya]'s progress through the building. She had seemd to be gearing up for another window-jump assault, but changed track and instead went straight up for the roof. He was impressed at how fast she ran, zipping up stairs to the roof faster than the stokes of his large wings brought him to that altitude. As he neared the roofline, he saw that she was readying herself to surpise him. Well, in a suprise contest, the victor is usually the one with the more impressive fireworks.
On the final stroke of his wings, he rose above the roofline, the half-Angel-half-machine man, seeming like something out of a mythology text as he simultaneously released two more micromissiles. The same whistling, screaming sound filled the air as they shot straight for Marya. At the same time, he brought up his slightly damaged right arm, deploying two barrels from the wrist. They erupted in flashes of light, spewing pulses of photon-bursts to assail Marya. Since the arm was damaged, the compensation and tracking targeting was a bit off, but no matter; its purpose was to keep [Marya] under a constant barrage of fire, thus preventing her from advancing on him if she managed to escape the missiles again once they exploded.
Which they promptly did.
"*Koff, kaff--* Uah?" By the time Witt had faced him, Bart had finished each piddly shot, wiping the corner of his mouth with a sleeve before chugging down on his first pint. The following three went down in similar fashion. Being a simple man (in more than one way), he never let any kind of taste linger. Burning, fruity, dry, minty-- As far as he was concerned, he drank to harden his liver and loosen the muscles.
The end result? ...ow. A rather acute, painful tingling at the back of his skull. "Psshh, that wasn't so bad." Liar.
His eyes shifted to Boog. "Hey, wiseguy. Bring that jug back up, I got an idea." If the peculiar, clearly inhuman creature had drain cleaner under the bar, then what other odd little substances could he conjure up? "These straight-up drinks are for chumps. I want somethin' special." He leisurely propped up an elbow. "For round two, make me a cocktail with two ounces maple syrup, a quarter-ounce of drain cleaner, half an ounce of peppermint schnapps, and another quarter-ounce of liquid smoke." He spoke his request politely, as though ordering something not completely wretched.
Kaela half-smiled, the left side of her face fused and pitted by scar tissue, refusing to make the expression her mind desired. She wasn't sure if she should be impressed or stupified by the amount of liquor the burly hedgehog was knocking back. At this rate we'll need to call for paramedics. Especially with mixed drinks like that. "Sorry, but I'd like to remain sober and alive tonight." Her voice was a rich contralto, gritty from years of battlefield exposure. Not really looking forward to drinking antifreeze or pipe cleaner, even for that kind of money. Reaching into a pouch on her abdomen, she produced a couple of coins, hoping that they would pass for money in this strange place, sliding them onto the bar. "I'll just have a lager, thank you," she muttered, appraising the strange looking barkeep. Strange proprietor for a strange place, I suppose. "And can you tell me exactly what this place is?"
Andrace's only reply to Witt was a wink and a sphinx-like smile. Her grin returned full strength, though, as the drinks were set out. "It comes in pints now?" she said, "What will they think of next... bottoms up, folks!" The lioness picked up each of the shot glasses and downed them with a practiced toss of her head and a gulp. The first two pints went down in a single long swallow each. On the third, her throat bobbled once as she tipped her head back for the last few mouthfuls of the swirling green goop. She put the fourth empty down with a flourish, licked a few drops of green from her whiskers, and belched daintily.
"Ahh, that's laid down a good linin' f'r th' rest o' th' evening," Andrace said with satisfaction. She turned to the bar-thing with a moderately convincing innocent look on her face. "Y' been able t' come up wi' everything else so far," she said, "so y' gotta have some 307 in stock. Let's have a bottle o' that f'r th' next round."
...Keaton:
Once Keaton's drinks were served, she immediately snatched up the first glass, peering over the glossy rim of the cup to watch her opponents. Witt went first, downing each of his three drinks in an impressive succession, while Bart finished his virulent-looking beverages next. Keaton tried not to appear intimidated by Witt's considerable capacity for alcohol. Tipping her head back, Keaton began gulping down the contents of her first glass, then once she was finished, she slapped the emptied glass back on the counter-top and grabbed for the other one. Again, the glass flew to her muzzle, and she gulped down the absinthe with renewed vigor, having adapted to the taste, while she prepared the third shot glass. Almost the instant the second departed from her lips, she drained the last one and scraped it to the side, casually pushing it into a neat arrangement with its other two companions. All three shot glasses were tipped upside-down and organized unconsciously in a row before her, their glassy vessels still glistening with residual amber.
Next came the pints. Keaton braced her stomach, knowing that this was going to overwhelm her, even when she was relatively inured to the effects of alcohol. Seizing the pint, she upended it in her mouth, greedily and relentlessly swallowing down the deluge of intermixed alcohol that poured into her throat. Once she was finished, she pushed the pint away and grabbed for the second, drinking it with the same amount of vigor, although she was more than a little at a disadvantage with her more mortal limitations. She tried not to seem affected by the overwhelming taste of the amalgamated concoction. Being an Etazekyn only ensured a slightly superior imperviousness to alcohol. Already, she felt like her stomach had been plowed by a freight train once she finished that second pint, leaving her to lifelessly discard the pint. The third wasn't much easier; she felt like her head was going to explode once she finished the drink, and even coughed hysterically once she depleted the glass. The pint would've dropped from her hand if she hadn't regained her glassy-eyed composure and rested it among the ever-growing row of empty glasses.
A triumphant look colored Keaton's features in-between inebriated deliriousness. She steepled her fingers, as though anticipating the next move in a chess game, even though her vision was swimming. She still felt more than a little woozy from devouring her drinks in such a short amount of time, which certainly taught her to pick a less alcoholic drink for her next turn. A short belch from the side alerted her to Andrace's turn. Keaton's ear twitched, and she gestured again, scooping up her wallet and piling another mound of coins on the counter.
She shouldn't have been interested, but the foreign, green substance Andrace had cleaned from her whiskers looked distinctly otherworldly. Keaton groaned a little, suddenly at a loss of creativity for what to choose during the next round. She wanted something less alcoholic and more sweet. Anything to have less of a reaction on her body - but oh, she wanted to prove her perceived superiority at this type of competition! Such hubris would be her downfall, but Keaton sounded shakily confident as she pointed to Andrace and shuddered, leaning against the counter top. "I'll have what she just had," she instructed.
Off in the background, Xianxi gave Keaton a concerned look, and contemplated intervening to remove his master from the contest. However, out of the interests of remaining servile, he simply tensed his paws uncomfortably and tried to stop bristling protectively. To any of the other contestants, he probably looked like an incensed guard dog awaiting any excuse to rip out its master's antagonist's throat.
Annoyed that the flares had little effect against this child of the darkness, Paladin holstered the Lancer. "What be comfortable to ye is horror to others ye beast" he growled out.
As the avalanche started Pal put his helm on and locked it. Pulling 'Edge' out of its holster, Paladin crouched and then shot up and forward in an almost imposable blur on an inception path, the massive axe over the shoulder and arcing forward to split Stygian in two.
Witt raised an eyebrow at the black and yellow canine. "You missed one." He nodded his head at the remaining, fourth pint resting, innocently, in front of her.
"Did ya wanna drink it, or give yourself a minute to pass out?" he asked, archly.
...Keaton:
Keaton scowled irritably at Witt, suddenly raging with overwhelming dislike for the prickly creature. Grabbing the final pint, she finished it, routinely ignored the reeling sensation in her head that felt like a cannonball had smacked her in the skull, and dropped the glass at the end of her little line of pints. She flipped him off, her eye twitching, her amiable demeanor effectively evaporated.
Witt snickered evilly, raised his pint to the jackal, and grinned. "Up yours, too." he commented, amiably, then took another drink.
He turned back to the bar(man?). "So. One shot of pipe cleaner, one bottle of 307 ale, one 'I'll have what she's having', and another four pints of afterburner. Each." He topped this off by finishing his fourth pint, and putting the glass with all the others.
"Hey, hey," Bart chuckled a bit at Keaton, "keep it friendly. We can slap and scream at each other after I win." Much of the buzzing at the back of his skull had subsided by then, allowing him to remain cheerful. "'Sides, that wasn't very ladylike." ...though on further pondering, she might not take his own comments much better than Witt's.
Andrace glanced at Keaton's reaction to her first few drinks impassively, although she hid a triumphant smirk. Hah. Lightweight. she thought confidently, She'll not last long. One pickled jackal, t' go, comin' right up.
The lioness wasn't unaffected, though, by the massive amount of brain blaster in just the first round of drinks. Her tail began to make slow, random curls and loops. She'd never really been able to see the bar-thing clearly, but now he — probably — appeared to be little more than a constantly shifting agglomeration of approximately the right number of arms, legs and heads. Most of the time. And her common sense was rapidly becoming very un — she'd already started thinking about tricks and jokes she could play on... and with... any of the others who passed out before she did.
Most of her ideas were, if looked at in the right way and with a very good defence lawyer, relatively harmless; but not all of them could be considered "nice". After all, Andrace Kithara wasn't a tame lion.
The dust rolled in against Pal, a choking cloud that blended with the shadows into a mushy soup. Steel and ash collided and in the furious clash the Cubi swung his axe. Yet once again he found himself striking out at air. Stygian remained right at the forefront of the rolling destruction, but as soon as the dust and the shadow of the taller structure behind them fell upon him that haziness made him somehow blur before Paladin's eyes. The shadowy something that was split by the axe's edge felt cool and choking together with the dust. Yet it must have been the real man up until the very last few instants. And judging from his direction, he'd have to have overshot him and gone around his left. He was moving fast...
'Ah, but you just said it yourself!' the man's voice hissed out at him from the murky space around. 'Horror is just a matter of perception...'
There was a slicing, sharp sound to Paladin's right, and a silhouette approached, wicked clawed fingers drawn up to strike. Illumined dimly by that sickly light from the horizon off to the Cubi's left, smoky blackness falling around its feet, it approached the Cubi quick and intimidatingly, sharpening as it went.
The ambush was set. From his vantage point within the settling ashen smoke, Stygian made for the kill.
Boog raised an eyebrow at some of the drink orders he was getting. Ooh, iron bellies. This oughta be worth watching. Muttering a quick argument to give him a hand, the barthing got to work mixing up Bart's order and setting out the others. "Draino, liquid smoke, lessee here then..." Finally the various drinks were set out again, Bart's being served in half a pineapple with a dinky umbrella sticking out, smoking gently where the wood contacted the substance within. He quickly mixed up the rest of the round of drinks and set them out. All of Barts drinks being served in pineapples.
"Have fun, kids." He then slinked down the bar to set out Kaela's lager. "So, not familiar with our fine establishment?" The... thing leaned on the bar and grinned so broadly it looked like the top of his head would fall off. "Welcome, my dear, to the Honor Circle, interdimensional fight club franchise. Fighting is not only permitted here but encouraged, as it gets people to buy more drinks, so long as you follow the rules. One, fights take place out there." He pointed outside to the circles, just in time for one of the skyscrapers in one of them had something on it explode. "And you wait for someone to accept a challenge before you take a swing at 'em. Challenger choses the when and why, challenged choses the where, and the rest is essentially left to chance." His grin, somehow, broadened. "And don't worry, we got a top-notch doctor on hand. We hope you enjoy your time with us."
--
Marya whipped around to face the Mechangel and lunged to the side, raising her gauntlets against the barrage of fire. Guy ain't bad... The whine of the missiles reached her ears. She ducked behind the roof door with a curse for a temporary respite from the photon bursts and did some quick mental physics. The missiles are pretty fast, moving at This Speed with This assumed manuverability... The missiles curved around the side of her tiny cover, whipping around and inward like a pair of pincers...
The one on the left...
Marya's right arm flashed out, backhanded the micromissile into the other one and raised her arms to guard herself. The gauntlets caught much of the blast, although a good amount of shrapnel scraped her shin and shoulders. The mongoose hissed through her teeth and dropped down.
...
It was quiet. Marya undid the clasps on her left gauntlet with a snarl and hunkered against the only structure on the roof. Figure he'll come around the side, and when he does...
Witt raised one eyebrow at the pineapple, and watched the umbrella sink into the drink, dissolving gently. He reached out, took the straw (glass) delicately between thumb and forefinger, and swirled the drink, mixing the remnants of the umbrella in, then brought the straw to his lips and sucked the whole thing down in one go.
"Aaaah. That clears the sinuses out, good and proper."
He grabbed the the shot of afterburner, that being what Keaton had ordered, downed it, took a bite of the (now fairly toxic - discounting the poisons in the skin, anyway) pineapple, followed that with a swig of the 307 ale...
At which point he paused. He blinked. He looked carefully at the bottle. "Oh." Then he smiled. Beatifically. "Oh, my. I think we've just found me a new favourite brew. Mmm, mmm, mmm." He put the mostly full bottle carefully down, took another bite of the pineapple, downed one of the four pints, another bite, another pint, yet another bite, the third pint, munched down the last of the fruit, and washed it down with the last pint.
And then he sat there with the klein bottle, drinking the 307 ale slowly, savouring it. And making pleasant little mumbles to himself, all the while.
Slightly disturbing pleasant little mumbles. Ever so slightly.
"Hot damn," Bart muttered and stared at the tiny parasol's disappearing act, downing a shot and pint of afterburner as it disintigrated into nothingness. Oh, this was the real stuff: the sort of drink that separated the boys from the men, and Witt shrugged it off without so much as a sniff. Not one to be outdone, he drained the remaining pints as swiftly as before and gripped the pineapple vessel. The caustic drink went down his hatch easily enough, but once it hit his stomach...
"*Aacck--*" It was almost enough to make him retch on the spot. In retrospect, ordering something that was the equivalent of a mouthwash, toothpaste and hickory ash cocktail wasn't such a smart idea after all. Desperately, Bart gripped the peculiar bottle of 307 and chugged it, hoping to douse the vile taste of acrid cleanser and smoke in his mouth. In another period of retrospect, that was an even worse idea as the implacable liquor hit both his digestive tract and brain in a nice one-two punch. With his stomach screaming and head pulsing, Bart leaned forward in his seat, both hands gripping the bar's front edge tightly.
"...That was--" He belched suddenly. "-- Good. Good, yeah." After a few moments, he straightened up and wiped his brow gently with a sleeve. Second round down. And yet...
This might not be so easy, Bart couldn't help but think as he glanced to Witt; the hedgehog was completely unphazed and even liked the dreadful 307, not to mention taking the Draino cocktail in stride. ...what the hell is this guy, anyway?
The Mechangel
The Mechangel kept up the stream of photon-fire until after the explosions, as Marya ducked behind the roof access door to avoid them. Then he stopped shooting, and gently glided down to alight on the roof, across from [Marya]. He shook his head in disappointment. That was it? She could have made a hole and tried to loose herself in the building again, but instead she hides behind effectively two thin walls? Of course, the Mechangel could still see her, very clearly with his electronic eye. She had just unknowingly trapped herself.
Well, in her defense, this hadn't exactly been a "fair fight" in the first place. He had not gone all out. Oh well. Time to end it then. The Mechangel steadied the aim of his metal arm, retracting the dual barrels from his wrist. The metal hand then split, and began folding away, revealing a large barrel housed within the forearm. A white light then glowed from within it's depths.
The plasma beam weapon was locked firmly onto [Marya] easily, even through the roof access. However, he stayed it from firing. The Mechangel's behavioral analysis of [Marya] suggested she may not give up easily, she seemed one who would always pick "fight" in the "fight-or-flight" response even if cornered and in danger, so he opted to try his best to convince her it wasn't worth it. The Mechangel then amplified his partially synthesized voice, and called out to [Marya].
"Marya, was it?" (of course he knew perfectly well that was her name, but the uncertainty subtly made him seem more like a person, which helped quite a bit in diplomacy) "Marya, listen to me. Don't make any sudden movements. I can see you perfectly well, if you haven't already figured it out. I have, aimed at you, a weapon even more powerful than the railgun I used earlier. Of course, it can hit you behind those walls, and if it doesn't outright kill by vaporizing your entire torso, it will at the very least maim and dismember you irreparably. I am informing you of this because, since this fight was started without any victory conditions being explicitly set, I don't know if any of the inhibiting safety magic of this circle is active, because it seems to be an "on request' option.
"I say all this because, to be blunt, this fight is over. You cannot move without being torn apart by my weaponry at this point, and even if any safety magic is active, the Circle will still register a victory for me. However, I do not want to take that risk. This pocket dimension is meant for decent, clean fights, and we have had that. You have nothing to lose by surrendering, and I have nothing to gain by harming you. I'm sorry that this wasn't quite a fair fight, but I haven't even been as lethal as I could be, for the very reason that I didn't want to hurt you too badly.
"So, what will it be? Will you concede, and end this now?" He thought for a moment, and then cheerfully added something, figuring it could only help with someone like her. "I'll buy you a friendly drink if you do!"
Marya considered the angel's words carefully, doing some more quick math in her head to figure out her chances...
Eh, it'll do.
"Eat me!"
Two lone words echoed throughout the circle. Echoed forever in the empty cityscape it had made, and bounced back to the mongooses ears. Marya did a bit more math...
Then raised the unclasped gauntlet and punched through the walls near her, aiming for the barrel of the weapon the Mechangel was holding, and aiming a punch with the other hand at the ground below her. She raised the arm for a second punch even as the next floor approached.
Andrace looked dubiously at the drink in the pineapple that the bar-thing had put in front of her. With a paper umbrella in it. Which was steadily dissolving and sinking into the morass. Then the scent hit her nose: sweet, and smoky, and something that would have curled the hairs around her nosepad if they'd been long enough. "What in Tarim's name is this stuff?" she muttered. The lioness shrugged and picked up the pineapple. She'd tossed worse down her throat, that time when Irene and Zoe were settling once and for all the question of who could drink who under the table. Trying hard not to breathe in through her nose, she tipped her head back and gulped down the drink in one go.
And nearly coughed it up explosively all over Witt and Keaton. The smoky taste hit her first, scratching and clawing at the back of her throat as if she'd swallowed someone's camp fire that they'd extinguished without benefit of... water. The cloying sweetness made her stomach churn. Then the "something else" smacked her across the snout. She coughed hoarsely, her fur fluffed up, her eyes wide and bulging, her ears laying flat back on her head. She grabbed the first pint in front of her, and downed it in three quick swallows. Then the second. Then the third. She was panting roughly, with her tongue hanging out and tears streaming down her face by the time she'd finished the fourth pint. She tossed back the contents of the shot glass, and picked up the eye-twisting bottle with a noticeably shaking hand.
Andrace's other hand shot out, grabbed a firm hold of the front of Bart's shirt, and pulled him close to her. "Listen carefully, I'll say this only once," she rasped hoarsely, breathing right into Bart's face. "If y' order this stuff again..." In a quiet, steady croaking voice, the lioness described several acts of hideous carnage, none of which were guaranteed to kill Bart... immediately... but he'd definitely not be a happy camper by the time she licked her claws clean. She talked eloquently, enthusiastically, in fact, quite cheerfully, and without repeating herself once as she took a few gulps now and then out of the odd-shaped bottle to soothe her throat. At this point, she couldn't actually taste it. When she was finished, she let go of Bart's shirt, belched like a small earthquake, and put the bottle down next to her other empties.
"Y' know, I think I got m' second wind now," she said slowly and unsteadily. "C'mon, Keaton — drink up, girl, y're fallin' b'hind!" She nudged the jackal with an elbow and gave her what would have been an encouraging smile if she hadn't been feeling the effects of her spectacularly mismatched binge thundering down on her poor abused brain like a herd of tapdancing elephants.
Witt sniggered, putting down the ale to applaud, politely, Andrace's enthusiastic descriptions.
"Don't go holdin' back, now," he chortled, unconsciously falling into imitating her mode of speech, and picking the bottle up again. "Go on, tell us what you really think."
He snickered to himself, and took another swig of the ale. "So, while fuzz-o-bumble here is working up her courage to drink her second round, what did you two want for the third?" Witt waved one finger in a sort of loop, indicating both Bart and Andrace in his request. "Surely you can come up with something better than that? I mean, the ale was nice enough" and he nodded his thanks at the big lioness, "but the fruit punch was a bit weak and watery. Too much faffing about, not enough drink."
He swigged the last of the ale, put the bottle - somewhat regretfully - down on the bar, and raised one eyebrow over at Keaton. "You might think about what you want to drink next, too. If you think you can make it that far, of course."
He paused for a moment, then innocently added "You never said if you wanted a bed, after."
...Keaton:
Once again, the drinks were delivered. Keaton stared despondently at the assortment of revolting drinks, most of which would have been extremely appetizing if it weren't for the fact she was starting to feel sick, already, from drinking so much alcohol. Without a doubt, if she consumed the chemical abomination that Bart had devised, she would inevitably collapse. But after she made such an embarrassing proclamation earlier and with her arrogant pride, Keaton felt obligated to continue the contest. Her pride was at stake! And what mattered more than her pride?
Well, maybe she would come to regret her hubris after she was diagnosed with alcohol poisoning.
Somewhat hesitantly, Keaton grabbed for the pint of Andrace's mysterious beverage and immediately upended it in her mouth. The green fluid gushed down her throat, which she eagerly drank down - although her throat was protesting with every flexing movement of her esophagus. Even then, Keaton suspended any reaction as she slammed the glass down and reached for the other, hoping it would smother the horrific taste of the first - somewhat like she was hoping for Jesus Christ himself to turn water into wine, only in a reverse demonstration. Unfortunately, the next one was purely alcoholic - like concentrated amounts of the stuff. Impossibly so; Keaton couldn't imagine how a drink could be impregnated with that much alcohol. Keaton sat through that one, although her head was pounding and throbbing by the time she was finished. That glass was discarded on the table as well; carelessly swept to the side, where it coincidentally joined with the others in the neat stack Keaton had arranged.
In a magnificent stroke of Horrifically Bad Luck, Keaton had grabbed for the barbaric concoction Bart had made - her blurred vision couldn't distinguish the drinks aside from color, and she assumed the umbrella indicated something pleasant and relieving. She gulped the fluid down, but not before plucking the tiny paper parasol complementing the abomination and tossing it to the side. She did not stop to realize that it was dissolving.
The drink felt like she had just swallowed a cup full of vomit.
Oh, how appropriate, Keaton thought, her eyes wide and watering, even as she forced her reticent throat to swallow the drink, Seeing as I feel like throwing up right now.
She was able to handle all of the drink, and dropped the pineapple shell lifelessly on the table. Good thing it wasn't a drinking glass, otherwise Boog would have given her hell for being so careless with Honor Circle property. The instant the vestiges of the concoction slithered into her stomach, Keaton erupted into a horrific explosion of coughing and hacking, her hand clawing at her neck. Keaton had to resist the urge to regurgitate all of her precious booze on the floor. She had to prevent herself from keeling over from revulsion right there and then. Whereas Witt had reacted pleasurably, Keaton was occupying the extremities of the opposite end of the reaction spectrum. If taste buds were people, the nerves populating her tongue probably would have revolted against their superior.
Only then, Keaton was able to mute her reaction by slapping her hand on her muzzle and slumping in her chair, rolling her mortified, stone-cold gaze to the ceiling. Far away, across the room, Xianxi looked very much like he wanted to throttle all present, as though he indirectly blamed them for his mistress's indignation. Catapulting from his perch, he flew through the air and leveled expertly near Keaton's head, assessing her apparently catatonic state.
Before Xianxi could speak, Keaton lifted her hand and signaled to the others, still keeping her face downcast and cradled in her hand as she coped with her splitting headache. In case nobody properly translated her use of sign language, she spoke in a very hoarse, thin voice, slightly muffled by her hand. "Yeah. I'm going to have to sit the rest of this one out."
Witt cocked an eyebrow at the little floating menace beside Keaton. "You want a hand with her, or are you set?"
While waiting for a response, he leaned over, grabbed the four pints she had yet to get to, and started downing them. "Waste not, want not..."
...Xianxi:
Xianxi shot Witt a judgmental, deterring glance that would have made a flower wither, and gently coiled his tail around Keaton's arm. His tail reacted instantly, becoming a long, tether-like cable. With some effort, he lifted Keaton out of her chair, making sure to support her, although with some effort. Still looking irate, the Demi concentrated, the gemstone centered on his brow sparking violently, and as the light pervaded to the rest of his body, both he and Keaton vanished. There were no fireworks - there was just a momentary eye-blink before they had simply disappeared, other than the small particles of light drifting in the air.
Not too far away from the group, another flash resounded in the infirmary, but that light died as well.
Witt shrugged, and downed the third pint. "Can't say as how I didn't offer t'help, there. I hope she drinks some water to wash that lot down, though, otherwise she's gonna regret it in the morning."
He promptly chugged the fourth pint, put the glass back on the counter with the impressive array already in front of him, and belched.
"More than now, I mean." He turned, and placed one elbow on the bar, eyeing Bart. "So. What was it you wanted, Heavy Drinker?" he requested, cocking that expressive eyebrow once more.
Bart couldn't help but snicker and chuckle stupidly at Andrace's initial reactions. Not only were they great fun to watch, but they indicated this warrior woman wasn't nearly as impervious as Witt. Ahaha-- His expression changed abruptly as she gripped him by the shirt to deliver her little chat, however. With each bloody, visceral detail, he reasoned just how long it would take to heal, and factored in just how excruciatingly painful this dame could make each wound. Receiving such threats was nothing new for Bart; hell, family members would do it all the time during reunions, but Andrace was the only person whose words seemed to convey a certain blunt, genuine honesty and malice to them. "...yeah, no more bathroom cleaner cocktails." He didn't feel like being nailed to a wall, skinned alive, and otherwise shredded to confetti anytime in his foreseeable future.
And it was even more obvious why such drinks were a bad idea after Keaton dropped and was whisked away by Xianxi. He'd expected the diminutive jackal to last more than one and a half rounds, but on the other hand-- "...gee, looks like I did beat her in her own house. She's gonna be pissed when the headache's gone." He needed an amusing thought after listening to Andrace's dire proclamations of violence.
"Okay, so barring another cocktail," he said while palming the back of his neck, "how about a shot of blue agave tequila?" Even he could use something relatively pleasant after drinking so many horrible spirits.
Andrace turned her head to look at Witt, and succeeded on only the second attempt. "Not enough drink...?" she said in disbelief. She snorted, caught herself before the recoil toppled her backwards off her chair, and fixed the bar-critter with a gimlet, if slightly cross-eyed, stare.
"Right. N' more Miss Nice Kitty. Spike here wants somethin' wi' fru... fu... fruit in it? Scumble. Two thimblefuls. Each."
Witt smirked widely up at the huge lioness, commented "Ooo, good call," then turned to the barthing. "So, the yellow and black fuzzy thing should have paid up to now. You should probably hold on to her change, and return it after she recovers, though. Big Shiny down the end wants tequila. Miss Nice Kitty here" - here, he turned and grinned at her again - "wants two thimbles of scumble - obviously, not in thimbles. It'd ruin the flavour, and make a mess of your bartop. As for me, I'll go for another bottle of that 307 ale, I think."
He paused, then added "Oh, and you might make up a cup of Klatchian Coffee for Keaton. Red Desert Special. On me. Tell her to be careful with it, though."
Andrace's ears perked up, rather lopsidedly, when Witt ordered the coffee for Keaton. She looked around, turning her head slowly and carefully, and counted the others. Then she counted again, getting a different answer. A third count confirmed it: they were short one jackal, and she hadn't even noticed. "Say... uh... wha' happn'd t' Keat'n?" she said, speaking very slowly and precisely in the manner of the truly sloshed. "She's packed it in? Aww, an' we're jus' gettin' started!"
"...Big Shiny? You--" Bart pointed down to Witt with an accusing finger and shifted in his seat. "You makin' fun of me 'cause I'm bald? I'll have you know that chicks dig the look, Spiky. It lets them know they're with a real man. And it tells the other guys in the room that this bald guy's one mean sum'bitch, y'know?" The alcohol hadn't gotten him stupid-drunk, but his speech gave hints he was approaching it.
"You're a lady, aren't you?" He turned to face the lioness, finger still in a pointing gesture and tapping on the bar. "Tell me, am I right or am I right? 'Cause I know I'm right." His hand tapped against the bar for another minute before he realized just how pointless and annoying it was. "...right?"
Andrace looked intently at Bart's pointing finger, her eyes crossing a couple of times as if she was seeing more than one and wasn't sure which one to focus on. Her gaze travelled back up his arm, and finally settled — after overshooting only once — on his face. She leaned forward until she was looming over Bart, her eyes flat and emotionless, giving the impression of staring at the throat of something small and tasty. Her jaws opened on a dentist's nightmare vision of gleaming, sharp fangs surrounding a cavernous red gullet...
... then she breathed on Bart's head, pulled a scrap of cloth from a hidden pocket on her jerkin, and gave him a quick polish. She sat back again and grinned. "O' course y' are," she said, "... Shiny."
"Eat me!"
The Mechangel
The moment [Marya] uttered that, The Mechangel's fleshy side turned slightly cold as he consciously registered what was about to happen...
His electronic eye registered her movement as she turned to punch through the roof access, and instantly fired off his weapon. An intense, concentrated beam of white energy erupted into existence, utterly disintegrating all in its path, almost completely draining The Mechangel's reactor, and then dimmed away as [Marya] tore up the roof access. From the other side of the roof, The Mechange hastily crouched and covered himself with his metal wing to try and shield himself from the flying debris, but a few pieces of rubble beaned him.
Marya continued punching, this time actually going down through the roof. However, she'd realized that, for some reason, breathing is coming a little difficult. If she looks down, she'll notice she's missing half a lung due to the 3-inch diameter hole in the right side of her chest, which looked almost as if it was taken out by a cookie-cutter.
Quote from: Stygian on November 07, 2008, 09:33:17 PM
The dust rolled in against Pal, a choking cloud that blended with the shadows into a mushy soup. Steel and ash collided and in the furious clash the Cubi swung his axe. Yet once again he found himself striking out at air. Stygian remained right at the forefront of the rolling destruction, but as soon as the dust and the shadow of the taller structure behind them fell upon him that haziness made him somehow blur before Paladin's eyes. The shadowy something that was split by the axe's edge felt cool and choking together with the dust. Yet it must have been the real man up until the very last few instants. And judging from his direction, he'd have to have overshot him and gone around his left. He was moving fast...
'Ah, but you just said it yourself!' the man's voice hissed out at him from the murky space around. 'Horror is just a matter of perception...'
There was a slicing, sharp sound to Paladin's right, and a silhouette approached, wicked clawed fingers drawn up to strike. Illumined dimly by that sickly light from the horizon off to the Cubi's left, smoky blackness falling around its feet, it approached the Cubi quick and intimidatingly, sharpening as it went.
The ambush was set. From his vantage point within the settling ashen smoke, Stygian made for the kill.
Impaling the charging shadow-Stygian though the chest with a wing tentacle, Paladin span around to face the true threat.
Focusing on his target, Paladin roared, the microphone built into the helm picked it up and transmitted it out speakers with a force and sound that had stunned many opponents into inaction before.
As two of his tentacles drew the short swords from his back Pal charged. Just as he struck out at Stygian, he released the spell he had stored and suddenly Pal was as bright as the sun as viewed from space.
"Oh..." Marya gasped, coughed, staggered backwards, and gave the Mechangel a look that should by all rights had left him a pile of scrap metal and smoking jerky. "Held back. Sonovabitch was holding back. I'll, I'll..." She coughed again, a slight liquid edge to the noise, and fell.
Back in the bar, Richard swore profusely and bolted for the door, knocking over a stool in his haste to get outside. He ran to the edge of the circle, pounding at the still-dissolving edge. "MARYA!"
"Oh, har har," Bart mumbled as Andrace leaned back to her seat, wiping his now glistening scalp; in a more cartoony setting, it would have given off a nice *shing, sparkle sparkle* sound. "...and the hell's that guy's problem?" He gave a slight leer to the departing Richard before finally noticing the televised Honor Circle match and carnage therein. Just like any other bar would show football or college basketball, only this place displayed all the carnage taking place just several yards away in high definition. Not too shabby.
"So are there, like, any rules for challengin' people in this place?" It couldn't hurt to learn a few things before the next round of drinks. "Like someone who's ten feet tall can't challenge a midget? Or is anybody fair game?"
Witt sniggered at Bart's reaction. "Now, would I do something like that?"
At Andrace's reaction to the attempt to bring her into it, he chortled. "Now he's real shinee. All we need is some pins, and we can have a game..." He frowned, in thought, and looked back over his shoulder at the thing behind the bar. "That and the next round. It is showing up, sometime, right? I wouldn't want us to lose our stride..."
At Bart's final question, the spiny little ball of muscle shrugged. "No fighting in here. I'd guess they don't like breaking the fixtures. Anything more, you gotta ask the feller with the drinks." He looked Bart up and down - or, at least, up, and further up - and sniffed. "I'da thought you should stick with the one challenge at a time, thought. You seem to have more than enough to handle here."
"Are you kiddin' me?" Bart leered down at the hedgehog. "'More than enough to handle'? She looks like she's about to keel over!" A thumb pointing over his shoulder to Andrace; her little mannerisms made it clear she was being affected by all the alcohol, moreso than Bart was. "And then it'll just be down to you n' me." At which point he'd still be in a losing position. Not that he would admit it.
"There's never been a time where Bart Thompson was in over his head." He placed both arms on the bar and leaned forward. "Never ever, and I've been in some crazy-ass situations."
Witt shrugged. "I wasn't referring to her." He smirked up at the half demon. "Want another drink? We can play double-or-nothing..." He flicked his fingers, and the coin from earlier appeared between them, rolling over his knuckles in an almost hypnotic fashion.
"As for being in over your head, I do believe your ankles are swimming now..."
Behind Bart's back, Andrace glared in mild annoyance at this idiotic hairless monkey's cheek in thinking she was nearly finished off and about to flake out: she'd only just got started! She made a face, stuck her tongue out, and thumbed her nose at his back. Perhaps more the sort of thing her baby sister Eugenia would do when she was this drunk, she thought, but oh so satisfying.
Suddenly she hunched her shoulders, winced and laid her ears back at a particularly spectacular pyrotechnic outburst from the viewer that had been showing the ongoing fights. She got herself turned around (without falling off her chair) just in time to see the skinny but tough little mustelid-looking woman collapse in a heap of gory fur.
"Ouch, that's a bad 'un," the lioness muttered, "hope she lasts long enough t' get healed up." She turned back to the bar-critter, looking noticeably less drunk than she'd been a moment ago. "Say... ah... do many folks come out o' these Circles feet-first? Or in a bucket?" She didn't sound all that worried, or overly nonchalant, just intensely interested in hearing the answer.
Bart had to give a quick look into his wallet before answering Witt, noting a distinct lack of coinage. "...depends. Do you take bills?" Which was a stupid question. What use would a creature like Witt have for paper money? "If not, then I'm droppin' out after the last round." But as he glanced once more to the Circle match, the little cogs in his head began to turn. ...unless...
"Barman, can you challenge anyone for anything?" If so, all he'd need to do is find an easy target, challenge them, pummel them, and walk away a richer man. The only problem was, how could he readily identify a patron as a weak opponent? Like Witt: he was small, but obviously tough as nails and sheet metal. And Andrace... as he gave her a good, hard look up and down, it was clear she could cause some damage. Tough calls all around.
For a moment, Stygian flashed two grins; one from atop the beam solidly planted in the ground not far behind Pal, another one shadowed before him. The unexpected tentacle stab seemed like just another melee move, one that his shadow would not even have to recover from to strike at the man. Even as Paladin turned, he felt confident. Any sort of attack would just bring him closer.
Then, the Cubi seemed almost to explode, and that shadowy image was obliterated in a static-like, momentary cloud of dissolving particles. Stygian's world turned into blindness and misery, and with a breathless scream he tensed and leaped back. A flicker of a second later he flickered backwards, seemingly instantly twenty feet back where his shadow had fallen previously, leaving only another afterimage that was shattered by the burning light. Another moment of focus, and he was even further away. He seemed to float across the ground as he at last slid into the image of his own shadow, mercurially moving behind cover into shadow that he felt, rather than saw, wrecked metal and acid-stained concrete shielding him.
Up until then, the delirium of whatever that poison the little alien had pumped into him and the promise of an easy fight had filled Stygian's mind with dizzy joy, drowning concern and effort in a drunken haze. Now, instead, pain jarred all that loose, and he felt himself flood with fury behind his blinded eyes. Ideas and images, estimates and equations, attempts at forming a plan formed halfway, and were immediately shattered by the tidal wave of rage that filled him and made him tense and bite down until his joints and tendons ached and creaked. He was shaking, he realized, claws formed from his distorted fingers digging into his burned features even as they seethed and healed. Droplets of black blood trailed them as he ripped his hand from his face and gouged into the concrete behind him instead. He tried to think clearly once more, but his focus was blown away like smoke to a breeze. He growled, and the black veins through his skin crawled, growing. Some tainted green light, dim but burning to the eyes, crackled, almost in time with the distant lightning in the sky.
'So that's the way you want it, you piece of shit meat?!' he snarled. The weight behind him groaned, and cracks and creaks sounded over it. 'Then you'll have to come get me!'
A piece of wall, about the size of a dinner table and a couple times thicker, came loose, spun, and was hurled right at Paladin at breakneck speed. Holding it like a shield before him, Stygian crouched together in the air and shifted his balance.
The Mechangel
As [Marya] collapsed, the Mechangel swore loudly. "DAMN! I knew the safeguards weren't active!" He rushed over to her, scooping up her limp form. "Oh, why couldn't you have just taken the drink, you silly berserker?" Before the buildings beneath him completely shrunk, the Mechangel took to the wing, gliding over [Richard], and touching down next to the door to the medical ward. His left hand darted out to snatch the handle and twist it, and retreated to catch [Marya] before she fell. Shouldering through the door, he put [Marya] down on the nearest hospital bed and called for the Doctor of the Honor Circle.
Extremely pleased he'd finally managed to tic off his opponent, Pal sized up the attack, hauled back 'Edge' And then let fly the massive cobalt rune covered axe right at the incoming block of wall.
Not wanting to get hit by the chunk of masonry Pal, still shining like the sun, rolled gracefully, but in a blur to the side.
Just moments before the slab of armored wall hit the Cubi, from his new position, Stygian spun and pushed off, flying backwards, still in the shadow of that concrete shield, flipping over and landing on the ground with scraping feet and hands. Then Paladin's axe hit it, and the reinforced block was cut and split neatly in two, though the sharpness and the force of the impact only sent the pieces spinning as they continued on their course, their momentum rather great. Hissing, moving after their shadow, Stygian swiveled back and flew backwards onto his hands from a crouch, throwing himself up. In a moment he was a flicker in the air again, speeding backward against the cover of darkness beneath the buildings. Gliding just inches off the ground, he seemed to fade, the darkness around him flowing onto his features like liquid, the faint green glow of his eyes the only hint of him, before those too dimmed away.
There was no trap set, but there were the makings of one. At the moment though, the rage clouded Stygian's mind too much. He needed an outlet.
From within the black there came an acid, electrical crackling, and flickering green light sparked to life, leaping and burning, weaving within the darkness. Beyond Pal's glaring brightness, the surroundings seemed to dim, and the clouds to darken...
Kaela sipped at her lager, enjoying the smooth frothy taste as she listened to the bartender-thing's discourse with mute interest. It was just her kind of luck that if it wasn't one kind of fighting, it was another, although she hadn't quite expected to run into a magical all-encompassing fighting arena in the middle of the forest, and the interdimensional part certainly explained the strange patronage at the bar. Nevertheless, she wasn't quite sure she even wanted to talk part in such an event.
She considered her options as she watched her companions at the bar drink themselves into a stupor, the black jackal taking her leave after a particularly vicious round involving a drink that was more hazardous material than liquor. She mused to herself as the three remaining competitors asked queries of their own regarding the strange place. "Judging by that poor girl's predicament, I imagine this place has a fairly high mortality rate," she muttered, answering Andrace's question for her, watching one of the fight screens intently.
"...say, how drunk is you?" Bart asked Andrace in eloquent fashion. "Better question: how fast can you sober up when we're done?" His fingers drummed anxiously on the bar as he spoke. In terms of opponents, there were worse choices. Witt was... well, how could he wrestle somebody with spikes all over? And the robot? Yeah, right. Kaela wasn't a good choice either, and looked pretty tired. Bart had enough sense to not bother people kicking back with a good drink. That just left the slightly inebriated Andrace.
"Putting it real simple, I need money. You got money, I fight for money. You beat me, you get..." He thought about that for a moment, but the alcohol in his system made it hard to consider the consequences of a failed duel. "...I'unno. I could give you my jacket. It's never been washed, but it's a damn fine jacket."
Kaela grinned, downing the rest of her lager in a couple of large gulps, and wiped her mouth clean of foam. She felt strangely invigorated at the prospect of a decent fight, wondering if that was a particularly healthy thing to do. "What say we up the ante? All three of us in a circle, winner takes all." Flicking open a pouch at her stomach, she withdrew several crisp bills, raising them up as proof of their existence. "I'll put five hundred in the pot," she growled confidently, leering at Bart with bared fangs. "Unless of course you're afraid you'll be beaten by a couple of girls."
Andrace snerked loudly at Bart's question. "I'm not nearly drunk enough t' lose t' a weedy shrimp like you... Shiny. As f'r soberin' up, why bother? Soon as th' grown-ups —" she waved one hand (not entirely accurately) to indicate herself and Witt "— are done here, we c'd get started." She grinned toothily, raised a hand to breathe on her unsheathed claws, and idly buffed them on her jerkin.
Her grin widened. "Assumin', o' course, y're still vertical an' not horit... horo... laid out flat in th' corner."
"Oh hell yeah." Bart felt relieved knowing he wasn't the only one with paper cash. "I can put up something. Say about..." He rifled through his wallet. "...250 bucks. Three of us go in, one comes out richer and with all their limbs attached. By 'one,' I obviously mean 'me.'"
That one rational piece of his brain screamed that going up against two vicious animals was suicide. Don't do it, it cautioned, it's not worth having your throat ripped out. Why can't you just sit back and enjoy a couple drinks?
To which the larger, more boisterous part of his feeble mind replied, Shut up, you puss. They're just a couple broads.
"So all we gotta do is set up the terms. Some rules of engagement, where we throw down, all that."
Boog set out the drinks silently, Barts suggestions again served in fruit (this time a pomegranite, just to mix things up), "Yeah, you can challenge anyone to anything." He replied to his patron's query's, adding as an afterthought, "So long as they accept the challenge. That bit's important."
--
"Guy never shows up until everyone else is gone. Think he's shy, I've seen him skulking around the back a bit." Richard entered the medical ward after the Mechangel, his face even more unreadable than usual. "Probably a good idea; after the stunt you pulled out there she's pretty likely to rip your arm off and beat you with it, and I just might let her." The dead man walked over to the bed, unclasped Marya's gauntlets to get them off her. "These are just gonna get in the doc's way, better get 'em to the car..." Giving the angel another Look, Richard wandered back through the bar.
Andrace looked at the armoured wolf speculatively. She's old, she thought, must be more 'n twice my age. Looks tough as nails, though, an' one heck of a fighter. Yeah, me, granny, an' Mister Optimist, should be a fun fight!
The lioness fought hard to keep a straight face when she saw what Bart's selection was being served in this time. "What's this, fruit juice?" she asked. "Bottoms up, then, kiddies." She picked up the pomegranate and tossed its contents down her throat in a single gulp. Then she coughed slightly, chewed for a moment, and swallowed something a little more substantial than tequila.
The bottle of 307 was next. She turned it back and forth for a moment before drinking, trying once more to see how the two loops of glass, one outside, one doubling back inside, curved round and met without actually making a hole in the side of the Klein bottle. As always, she soon went cross-eyed, gave up, shrugged and started chugging back the more-than-200-proof booze. She could taste it now, and her fur fluffed up several times as her badly confused tongue signalled some incredibly wrong guesses as to just what the stuff should taste like.
The lioness belched, a little quieter this time, and picked up the first of the two tiny glasses set out in front of her. She looked at Bart and smirked. "Hey, Shiny, don't f'rget y' scumble. It's good f' y' — puts hairs on y' chest! Look what it did f' me!" She brought her hand up and hooked a claw in the shirt lacing at her throat, pulling it down just enough to reveal a shadowy hint of furry cleavage.
Andrace snickered and took a miniscule sip from her own glass. Perhaps a little too much: her eyes bugged out, and she gave a single explosive cough. "Oh, that's good stuff," she wheezed with a barely audible squeaky whisper, "goes right t' th' back o' y' throat, don't it?" A single stray drop ran down one whisker and splashed on the bar top, where it dissolved the varnish and started to discolour the wood underneath. She finished off the rest of the innocent-looking liquid that was just apples... mostly... in even smaller sips, although her eyes were watering by the time she emptied the second glass.
Kaela coughed softly, locking eyes with the huge lioness briefly. She found herself taking a rapid liking to the girl. She seemed derisive but genial, perhaps even out-and-out nice Overall, Andrace seemed like a friendly, although potentially quite frightening, person. The huge wolf stifled her laughter at Andrace's antics, amused by her combination of aggressiveness and playfulness.
Their companion was a completely different story. He's got his head so far up his own ass it'd take a particularly painful thrashing for him to find it again, Kaela thought, shaking her head ever so slightly. Kaela had certainly seen arrogance before, as it was the most common vice among warriors, but rarely at such a ridiculous level. "Don't let too much of yourself go to your head, kid. Wouldn't want my new friend and I have to relay the news about how your head got so bloody big you went and broke your own neck before the fight started," Kaela chided him, rumbling with suppressed mirth.
Still chuckling, she extended a friendly to hand towards the now expectantly drunk lioness., holding it in a clear manner as not to visually confuse her. "I don't believe we've really met yet. I'm Kaela Silverstone. And you are Miss...?"
Bart cocked up one eyebrow before quaffing the tequila, taking a bite out of the pomegranate as he finished up. Only after chewing and swallowing did he remember that the flesh wasn't the part you were supposed to eat. "...hair on my chest, huh?" Something told him Andrace wasn't keeping in the alcohol as solidly as he was. "How can you tell when you're already--" He stopped, realizing that it really didn't need any kind of explanation as he dumped the two small glasses of stiff applejack into his pomegranate. ...man, if I didn't know any better, I'd say this bartender's tryin' to say somethin' with these damn fruit cups.
Though as he locked eyes on the bottle of 307... he couldn't help but shudder in disgust. The agave was nice, and scumble went down smoothly enough (albeit with a slight rasping cough afterwards). The mystifying bottle of gut-rotting spirits, on the other hand, was just a little too much to deal with a second time around. "Okay, I'm out," he muttered and pushed the bottle aside gently. "Gotta keep a semi-clear head for a fight, or I prolly would slip and break my neck. Not 'cause my head's, like... big." Real smooth response. 'Sides, Spike's not tippin' at all. All these Goddamn drinks, and is he even buzzed yet? He mulled quietly, giving a casual glance to the iron-livered Witt.
Paladin put a hand out as the first heavy drops of rain fell from the clouds. "Oh I'm sorry did the little nightlight hurt you, you bastard? That's right go slink off and hide your kind always does!!" He called into the gathering darkness.
Calling the sun spell back into himself, the Armored Wolf Incubus recalled his axe back into his hand. Bracing it against the shoulder Paladin walked into the ruined city.
Witt sniggered at Andrace' suggestion about "hair on her chest", and downed the tequila in one quick shot, followed by a careful drink of the first scumble shot, making sure to avoid getting any on his teeth.
He shuddered, closed his eyes, and cracked his neck.
"Ahh, that's just sweet. Good year, there." He nodded to the barthing, and threw back the second shot, before shuddering happily. "Mmmmmmm."
Eyes still shut, dreamy smile pasted across his muzzle, one paw swung out and captured the odd bottle, cradling it to his chest.
He shook himself, then, and opened his eyes, looking around at Bart. "You're out, then." He raised an eyebrow up at Andrace. "So, me girl, are you still in, or are you folding as well?" He took a drink of the ale, and waited for a response.
(OOC: Ah, my first post in God knows how long. Thank God for the occasional lurk.)
Sylvie waited for her drink, her mind a-whirl and giving her a slight headache. She hated alcohol, but elven wine being as mild as it was, it might help calm her nerves just enough.
Then she felt a familiar presence in the room. She looked up to see Stygian, acting ... very, very strange. He was grinning psychotically and almost drunkenly, giggling in a way befitting a true madman. The Green's eyes were wide with tension and confusion, and she looked almost as if she might leave the bar purely to avoid being anywhere near the man while he was in this state. She'd never seen him act like this before, and wouldn't have expected it of him at all. What's wrong with him?
Shortly after Stygian's re-entry, Piix walked in, and Sylvie's muscles tensed. Something was definitely wrong with the little alien as well. She was missing more than a few articles of clothing, stumbling almost like she was lost, but most distressing was the blank, vaguely distraught look on her face, like someone who has just witnessed a terrible accident. Sylvie's demeanor was now more conflicted; she wanted to find out what had happened to the other girl, but didn't want to leave her seat for fear of going near Stygian.
The final notable thing occurred when Piix brushed against the winged wolf she'd fought earlier. Pal had looked happy when he'd come back downstairs, but the moment Piix touched him, his expression changed. He looked upset, then shocked, then purposeful and furious. And all that fury was directed at Stygian, the latter only looking confused for a second before going into hysterics again.
Sylvie received her drink, but didn't care at all. She watched the scene unfold before her, the Boogeyman and Pal each giving Stygian a look that could have made a demon curl up and cry, and Boogey going to tend to Piix. Then Pal menaced Stygian and challenged him, but all the human did was laugh and zip out to the Circles.
The elf sat there, stunned and uncomprehending, unable to understand what had happened. Stygian must have done something terrible to Piix, but not having seen the little alien with Paladin earlier, she didn't understand the wolf's reaction. When they at last went out to fight, she watched the feed nearest her for a little while, and looked away when it got too horrible for her to watch. She drank her wine in three prolonged swallows, just barely noticing when several new people walked in. For a long time, she just sat there, glancing up at the fight occasionally, only to look away again and refocus her eyes on a groove in the table.
After a while, though, she couldn't stand the combination of normality in the bar and thoughts fluttering around her head. Her mind felt like a file cabinet someone had upended and opened, scattering papers everywhere, and the dissonance caused by the feeling outside her own mind was frustrating. She got up, not bothering to even stretch her legs after sitting for so long, and headed for the infirmary.
She didn't look at Andrea, knowing that any look would be misconstrued, and that she wouldn't be able to control it after what she'd learned about the psychic's history with Stygian. Instead, she turned to Dani's bed – and found the woman to be wide-awake, smiling strangely as usual. Unbeknownst to many, she had woken up right about the time when the drinking contest started. (No, there was no connection.)
Sylvie blinked, shook her head, and approached her friend. She was about to speak when Dani raised a hand and gave her a knowing look.
"Don't tell me. Things went batshit-insane for a while, and confused the hell out of you. But even though everything else is normal now, you're not. You're confused, scared, and upset, and feel out-of-place. So you need someone around to help you cope and maybe calm down a bit."
At first, Sylvie said nothing. Then, her expression changed to one of familiar bewilderment, as when a sibling beats you utterly at a video game for the fiftieth time in a row.
"...How do you DO that?" the elf asked incredulously.
Dani grinned toothily. "No offense, honey, but your emotions might as well be a neon sign on your forehead." She rubbed her legs briefly, and finding them nearly painless now, stood up. Of course, Sylvie still helped her get her balance, but she could walk with little difficulty.
"Before we go, though..." Dani spoke up suddenly, picking up her glaive. "...There's something I think I should do." The only warning she gave was to turn towards Giles. Then, fast as lightning, she swung her glaive's blade at the unconscious blackguard, hitting his armor with a loud and vehement clang! Just as quickly, her arms dropped to her sides and she shouted "HEY! WAKE UP!"
When Kaela introduced herself, Andrace smiled warmly, took the old wolf's hand in a firm grip, and gave a good hard shake. "Good t' meet y', Kaela, I'm Andrace Kithara." She glanced over her shoulder at Bart, grinned mischievously and winked. "Think we c'n take 'im without leavin' too much mess t' mop up? I'd say "hand him his tail", but th' poor dear seems t' be just a leeeetle bit... under-endowed that way." Her tone of voice might have been innocent — or at least, "not proven" — but the gleam in her eyes gave away her true mood.
The lioness made a satisfied little "hmph" noise and nodded in an "about time too" way when Bart threw in the towel. "Oh well," she said offhandedly, "if y' think y' need t' be sober t' fight a couple o' sweet little girls like Kaela an' me, go right ahead." She fluttered her eyelashes, smiled vacuously and struck a pose, in a valiant but hopelessly doomed effort to appear demure and innocent.
"Me? Fold? Hah, not by a long shot!" Andrace growled cheerfully in reply to Witt, "I'm still good t' go." She was definitely beginning to show the effects of her binge, though: she swayed very slightly on her stool, and her tail, which had swished about eloquently when she first sat down, now hung limp with only an occasional random twitch or flick. On the side of her muzzle, one whisker — the one that the drop of scumble had run along — slowly curled into a tight spiral.
Witt chortled cheerfully. "Ha! By the gods, a woman who can drink!" He slapped the bar, and waved the half-empty bottle in her direction. "So... Now that we've weeded out the lightweights, what say you and I get down and do some serious drinking? Pick another round."
He grinned viciously, yet cheerfully, up at Andrace, and downed the rest of the bottle, before placing it with the rest of the extremely large crowd of empties in front of him. Sadly for his accounting, as soon as he turned his back, the bar started clearing itself, the empty glasses cleaning and returning to their storage places.
Kaela returned the sentiment, squeezing Andrace's hand tightly in greeting. The old woman grinned, her lips pulling back to reveal rows of gleaming white teeth, although there was no malice in the gesture. "The feeling is mutual, Andrace Kithara." She turned slightly, eyeing their bald and burly human companion. "I'm sure we'll do fine just as long as he isn't chunky salsa when we're through with him." A smirk plastered itself on Kaela face at Andrace's seemingly innocent comment. "Maybe he could help himself and us by letting his ego go to his tail instead of his head," she chuckled, her eyes twinkling knowingly.
Releasing Andrace's hand, Kaela took a seat back at her chair, letting the lioness and her prickly companion get back to their drinking competition. Her claws tapped an idle rhythm on the bar as she cast amber eyes over the short, stout hedgehog. There was most certainly something supernatural about him; Few people could drink so much alcohol and remain relatively unaffected. Briefly, she toyed with the idea that the man might be cheating, but the thought didn't seem to fit with his personality. He was too boisterous and lively, and his tolerance level went above and beyond mere alcoholism, although Kaela certainly didn't dismiss that as a factor. Whatever the case seemed to be, the wolf was content to sit and observe.
Mechangel
The half-machine Angel looked down at the injured [Marya] one last time as [Richard] spoke to him. If what he was saying about this apparently shy Doctor was true, then the Mechangel was no use here. The beam had partially cauterized [Marya's] flesh, but she needed emergency care if was going to recover.
Shaking his head, he hurried out the door back to the Circles just after [Richard] left the room. The Mechangel scooped up his discarded cloak, and draped it around himself again, though this time he left the hood down. He returned to the Honor Circle bar, where he noticed several new patrons, all whom seemed to be involved in a drinking contest and planning a brawl in the Circles. Old habits die hard, so the Mechangel sat down and started observing these new individuals. However, he still felt a pang of guilt over what happaned to [Marya].
After a few moments, he also noticed that the Insectis he had seen earlier was now, for some odd reason, walking in a small circle, and looked as if he had been doing so for some time...
Karazkt
The Insectis in question was, in fact, a total confused wreck. He had gone to take care of the task given to him by the Xenoqueen, and for apparently no reason at all, had simply gotten up and left. Which left the Insectis in the aforementioned state. He couldn't figure out why she had just left like that. Was it something he did? Or didn't do? But that wasn't even the biggest problem. He was now without a Queen, and mostly without the ability to function otherwise as he had not properly detached from the Xenoqueen.
The poor bug couldn't do much else than wander in a circle for almost an hour, completely oblivious to all the drama that had been occurring in the Honor Circle.
From somewhere within the shadows emerged a sound that could only liberally be interpreted as words, hard and foul and dripping with rage. The alarming crackling in the sky was growing more intense, but it was not the only sound. Seething and grounding sounds were emerging from the shadows amid the ruined buildings, their outlines sharpened to razor edges by the bright, burning light. Agitated, they hissed and rolled, the blackness only giving so far to the light as it thickened.
Suddenly, a tremor ran through the ground, and for a second Stygian's figure was visible as he rushed forward out of cover, his form hazy and thin, some sickly green light burning as he focused his effort. He was only in the light for a scant few moments, before the ground seemed to rise up with a shriek, monstrous forms emerging from the dark. Maws, talons, glaring eyes, teeth, stretching arms, barbed and wiry tentacles and skeletal forms rushed forward in a tidal wave, burning as they entered the light yet pressing on still through sheer fury and force. The light intensified the closer to its source, of course, and the advance seemed to slow fast enough that it would not reach all the way.
Then, over the shrieking and roaring voices of the hideous figures, Paladin heard a ripping, rocky sound. And then, advancing fast from his front, Stygian's hateful voice.
'
SHUTTHEFUCKUPYOUCOWARD!'
A fraction of a second passed as the burning shades parted, and that was all the warning the Cubi had before he saw another slab of concrete heading right at him like the front of a freight train.
- -
Andrea witnessed Sylvie's return to the infirmary with only a casual glance, paying more attention to her thoughts. There wasn't anything off or too much different or more significant than what she'd picked up earlier. The interaction between the elf and the newly awakened Dani was worth a little interest and approval, but other than that...
The surprise came when Dani suddenly and noisily tried to rouse the blackguard laying beside them, and Andrea blinked, looking back and forth between her and the man. When he did not respond immediately, she muttered.
'I am not sure he's going to wake up that easily...' she said.
Andrace returned Witt's grin with a somewhat toothier one of her own. "Thought y'd never ask, Spike," she said, "now... lessee whasson offer..." The lioness turned her by now noticeably unsteady gaze towards the row of bottles on display behind the bar. The huge amount of drink she'd already put away was still working its way into her system, though, forcing her to make her movements slower and more deliberate. Her speech was affected too, but not to the point that her words came out in one long vowel movement. Not yet.
Finally Andrace grunted in satisfaction and pointed to an oddly-shaped bottle that looked as if it belonged in an old-fashioned chemist's shop. "That 'n... 's green."
Witt nodded. "Right you are. Two bottles of the green one, and two more of the one, oh, six to the left of it," he selected randomly.
The eight bottles - four each - arrived in short order; two of the green, chemist's nightmare bottles and two more made of obsidian. Although, on closer inspection, they made normal obsidian look dark grey. Short and square - a little like the hedgehog themselves - they squatted ominously on the bar, smoking gently.
"Down the hatch, then!" Witt chimed in, in cheery abandon, before upending the first green bottle over his gaping maw. It gurgled and glooped for quite a remarkably long time, as the bubbles and liquid exchanged places in the convoluted depths of the pipework. Eventually, the last drops sighed out, and Witt put the bottle back on the bar. "Aaah, that went down nicely, at last." He reached over to grab one of the obsidian bottles. His paw even closed on the bottle in question, before sliding off as if the bottle itself was greased. "What the-"
He tried again, with just as little success. "Oh." He let go - although that implies some sort of actual valid contact with the item in question - and shook his paw, hard, spreading the claws out. He then tried again. The claws made just enough contact to whine as they slid free. He blinked, tapped the bottle with one claw. It made a perfect chime, vibrating gently and moving about just a little. "That's a very nice bottle, there." He grasped the bottle around the neck, under the rim, and, carefully gripping the bottle, moved it over in front of him, took a drink, and put it down again. All very, very, carefully.
"Now that, there, is one slippery little bottle." he opined. "Almost as slippery as the drink in it, in fact..."
"Two?" Andrace muttered very quietly to herself. "Each?" The lioness sighed, shrugged and started to down the first green bottle.
Not bad stuff, really, she decided after a few mouthfuls. She eyed the black bottles dubiously as she worked through the green ones. She had no idea what
this one was: the bottles were unlabelled, and the black glass... or was it a black liquid inside... had an odd sheen to it. She paused to watch in rapt fascination, though, as Witt solved the problem of picking the things up.
Hmm...Finally Andrace gulped down the last of the "green stuff". She was slowing down now, but as she'd said earlier, not quite finished yet. She reached out with one hand, fingers spread, claws extended, grasped the neck of the bottle, and... with an almost audible <plop> the bottle slipped out of her hand and shot straight up in the air. The lioness swore, lunged, grabbed... and it slipped away again, skittering and spinning along the bar like the one skittle in the bowling alley that just won't fall over. She chased after the wayward bottle, with a muttered "come back here, dammit!" — but with no more success.
She pounced, leaped, lunged and grabbed several more times before at last she held the bottle firmly in both hands, and clamped tightly between her knees. By this time, calling Andrace "dishevelled" was an insult to anyone who'd ever been dragged through a hedge backwards. She lay sprawled on her back half on the bar, one paw almost in someone's drink, her hair flying in all directions, her clothes as rumpled as a scarecrow's. Without shifting her grip, she rolled over a little and shifted her head just far enough to catch the mystery drink in her mouth as it poured out of the bottle.
"AAARGKH!!! ACK!" The lioness coughed and spluttered, all her fur standing on end, rolling off the bar and grabbing it for support, barely managing to keep her feet. The bottle skittered off along the bar again, somehow never quite falling over. Her coughing fit gave way to loud gasps and gurgles, her chest heaving, her eyes wide and streaming with tears. Finally Andrace got her breathing back under control.
"Ugh. That. Is. Vile." she said in a voice of utter disgust, her face screwed up and her tongue hanging out as if it wanted to be as far as possible from her mouth. "I'll drink a lot o' things, but that tastes like someone already did!" She turned to face Witt, staggered unsteadily towards him, and loomed over the hedgehog. She smiled. "Awrigh' y' spiny beggar, y' win!" Just in time, she stopped herself from kneeling down, throwing her arms round Witt and giving him a hug. Slapping him on the back was just as bad an idea: instead she slapped his shoulder. "Tha' was friggin' magnificent!" she growled cheerfully, "never seen a performance like that in m' life!"
Witt grinned up at the towering lioness, the thumping paw on his shoulder barely shaking him. "Heh. And here I thought we were about to get serious." He tipped some more of the black bottle in his grip into his muzzle, and swallowed. He glanced down at the bottle, then back up into the shiny teeth. "It's not all that bad, is it? I kinda like it..."
Still gazing upwards, he reached one paw out, and slammed it, sideways, on the bar, without looking. The loose bottle skittering along the bar slapped into his paw and stopped dead. "Now, miss. Wouldn't want yer wasting a good drink, now, would we?" He glanced at the bottle, and considered. "Or even a poor drink, for that matter." He shrugged. "Yer not such a bad drinker yourself. Come back when you've planted Baldy, and we'll drink to your success."
He grinned, toothily, at Bart, and swigged yet more of the bottle. "When yer recover, come back, and I'll beat some more sense into ya." The grin turned vicious. "If the girls don't, first, that is." Witt emptied the bottle, and swapped it for the second of the green bottles. He propped himself against the bar, resting on his elbows, and showing every sign of being prepared to watch the fun and games with the big cat, the bald half demon, and the wolf.
A thought occurred to him, and he glanced at all three of them. "So... is it one person losing, or two? I can't see the ladies being interested in pounding on each other once you're toasted, Baldy. And it's not like you'll be around to watch..."
"...How could he not wake up after that?" Dani groused, addressing both Andrea and a slightly surprised Sylvie. The Red glared at the blackguard for a while, pouting in frustration and almost looking like she might try hitting his armor again. Finally, she set her weapon down on her bed and put her arms up in a yielding gesture with an angry sigh. "Even I never sleep that long. Syl, not a word," she added, when the Green opened her mouth to respond. Sylvie let out a sigh of her own, turning away briefly to look at the Mechangel and Marya, the former of whom left the infirmary along with Richard a few minutes later. The mongoose looked to be in bad shape... Sylvie tried not to let herself worry about it too much. She had enough on her mind right now anyway. With that, she turned back to Dani.
"...So, are you gonna stand here and wait until he wakes up, or what? Because that might take a while," she pointed out. Dani folded her arms and drummed her fingers a little, apparently actually giving the rhetorical question some thought. Once she'd reached a mental compromise, she turned to face her friend.
"Nah. I'm willing to take a break for a quick drink, I guess. But still, if he doesn't get up soon, I'm gonna start stabbing him." The guard looked tempted to do just that right now, but she resisted. Sylvie got a bit of a look at Dani's hesitation, but nodded once she succumbed, and headed for the door with the Red in tow. But as the elf left the infirmary and went to the bar, Dani stopped. Something was still tugging on the corners of her mind. Slowly, quietly, she turned to Andrea, one foot still on the threshold so Syl would know she hadn't lied about intending to leave.
"Hey... you're a mind-reader or something, right?" the Red asked carefully. She remembered what she had witnessed before, but she had only seen so much, and was unsure of the woman's exact powers. Even so, she had a feeling Andrea was the best person to ask about this. She glanced meaningfully at Giles, then back to her. "He's not dead or in a coma or anything, is he?"
Needless to say, Bart's expression throughout Andrace's little bottlewrangling affair hovered somewhere in the realm of "slightly amused" and "abject leeriness." This clown's my opponent? This'll be a cinch an' a half, easy. "Welp, if nothin' else, I can say man triumphed over one furry little animal today," he declared, referring back to Keaton's less-than-stellar withdrawal. "Now that that's out of the way, we can get down to brass tacks."
"And," he said, giving a particularly stiff glance in Witt's direction, "I wanna know what makes you think I'll get planted by these ladies." Aside from the obvious facts that they were taller, older, meaner, and had all the traits of predatory animals. "Seriously, just what do they got that I don't got? More hair? An extra appendage? Big... teeth?" That last line delivered after a quick once-over of Andrace.
"I'm not sayin' I'm the strongest lug here, but if you think I'm gonna get creamed by some Amazon and an old-ass doglady, you're nuts."
Paladin stopped walking an simply laughed at the shadows as they halted. "Is this really all ye have? Shadows and flying masonry? I guess I shouldn't expect any better...."
Hands on hips he was almost caught looking the wrong way when the flying wall appeared. This time instead of diving to the side Pal sprang up and over in a lazy looking movement. Landing, he sucked a tiny bit of his light spell for another, this one a thin beam but powerful, which he pointed along the line of shadows.
"Hide if ye want I can keep this up all day."
Witt sniggered, and uttered one derogatory word. "Brains." He then raised the bottle again, saluting Andrace and Kaela, with a grin, before downing another mouthful.
He lowered the bottle again, before continuing "After all, you challenged them, didn't you?", with a particularly evil grin in Bart's direction. "And you're avoiding the question."
Andrace snickered at the byplay between Witt and Bart, walked slightly unsteadily up beside Kaela and leaned back against the bar. She blew some hair away from her muzzle and ran her claws through the disarranged mop the rest of her hair had turned into. It didn't help much. "Spike's got a point, Kaela," she said to the old wolf. "Once we've tent-pegged Shiny there —" she hooked a thumb over her shoulder in Bart's direction "— is that it, or do we keep at it?" The lioness had a totally neutral expression, her face giving no hints whether or not she wanted to carry on the fight.
"Well damn..." he gave a quick glance to Witt's left knuckles, "...son, I figure they want a free-for-all. That's usually what happens when you get three people in one cage." Not that he counted on either Andrace or Kaela to keep going if he got KO'd. They'd probably have a draw and split Bart's ante down the middle.
Witt did raise a point, though. "Hey, Andrace," Bart turned towards her and Kaela. "What's the terms of our little fight? No guns, no knives, no plastic explosives, what?"
The smooth, precise movement that carried Paladin over the edge of that piece of wall wasn't enough to clear the beam of metal coming flying along behind it, hidden behind the concrete slab. Moving around mid-air without anything of enough weight to give some momentum to move against wasn't the best way to maneuver. And he was still in the thing's flight path as he noticed something approaching from above. Another jagged metal beam, this one with a roaring, foaming Stygian attached to it.
'
News for you, asshole; so can I!'
- -
Andrea raised her eyebrows and cast Dani a skeptic look, before sighing and returning to a deadpan manner, looking at the blackguard and hesitating to speak for a couple of seconds before she found an adequate way to express what she wanted to say.
'Coma sounds about right. Except not, really,' she said, gaze unwavering. 'I've seen one or two cases of people knocked out before, and worse. There's always stuff going on inside, or things being picked up by the senses even though the mind isn't really keen on processing anything. This guy though seems all empty for the moment.' She cast both Sylvie and Dani a look, then shrugged. 'It's not the best way to put it, and I think that I must be wrong, because he
can't just not be there. But it's as if he's just an open seat for the moment. There's nothing there.' She frowned - scowled actually, once she turned her eyes back to Giles. 'Either that, or something's
holding back what's going on in his head.'
"We have a lot on you. Six inches of height, age, experience, temperament, and the good sense to feel threatened by people who do this kind of thing for a profession." Kaela leaned back up against the bar, giving her bald companion a sideways glance. "'Afraid the size of my 'teeth' stopped doing me any good fifteen or twenty years ago though, although judging by the way you keep looking at Andrace, not sure I can say the same for her." She gave him a warm smile, a knowing twinkle in her eye.
Her jibing finished, she turned her attention to the huge woman eyeing her questioningly, planting her feet on the floor, elbow on her leg and her head in her hand. "Unless one of us goes down first, which I don't think will happen unless he has some surprises in for us," she smirked, thumbing over her shoulder at Shiny, "we fight afterwards. It's not very often, and I mean this as a compliment, that I really get a good challenge anymore." Placing one hand on Andrace's shoulder, she drew her long bladed war knife emphatically. "No guns, no explosives. Just blades, claws, teeth, and our wits."
Andrace nodded to Kaela. "Acceptable," she said, with the beginnings of a fierce grin on her face. She looked over her shoulder at Bart. "That okay with you too? Or... y' don't look t' have a knife on y' — unarmed, then, while it's the three o' us?"
Witt sniggered, and chipped in with "Challenge him to a battle of wits, he'd be unarmed there, too."
Ignoring Witt's wit remark, Bart fished around in his jacket pocket. "Naw, I got somethin'."
With a quick little *shwing* and *whoosh*, he pulled out and twirled a black Model 42 butterfly knife, exposing its shiny, four-inch blade after a few little flips and toss-ups. A pitifully small weapon compared to either of his opponents', but a lot more fun to play with.
"You best hope I don't get close enough to slice your mugs," Bart warned with a chiding snort, "'cause when I do, it's gonna hurt."
"You think I really care about a knife to the face?' Kaela replied, nonplussed, scratching at one of the many scars that criss-crossed her cheeks and jaw. From one of the pouches at her waist she withdrew a smooth, fresh orange, and began to absently peel it. The blade in her hand was nearly twenty inches of deadly well-tempered steel, but not once did she cut past the outside of the orange and into the vulnerable flesh beyond, and it emphasized her control and skill with the weapon. Sweet juices flowed down her chin as she bit down into the fruit. "Delicious," she muttered to herself, enjoying the citrus flavor. Her throat bobbed once with an audible gulp. "So when are we going to get down and dirty?"
Andrace looked respectfully impressed at Kaela's long knife, and at her scars. "Picked up a bunch o' them m'self," she said quietly. "Kept a few good 'uns t' lie about, but I had th' rest all healed up. How's about we sit down afterwards with a drink or three — just normal drinks — an' swap... ah... embroideries?"
She broke off her not-really-trying-to-seem-innocent expression to turn and look at Bart's weapon. A tiny smirk twitched one corner of her muzzle. "That all y' got?" she asked in a mildly amused tone. Still leaning back against the bar, the apparently unarmed lioness put both hands to the tops of her thighs. Each forefinger claw disappeared into what had looked like a fold in the silk of her trouser legs. There were two quiet clicks, a whisper of steel against leather, and abruptly she held a slender dagger in each hand, the blades about eight inches long and the cross-guards little more than stubs. "Y're playin' wi' th' pros now, Bart," she said, "an' when we play..." This time Andrace's grin was almost completely humourless, and she didn't appear to be quite as drunk as she'd been just a few minutes before.
Suddenly she tapped the side of her muzzle with the tip of one of the blades. "Wait a bit," she said, "nearly forgot somethin' — I've not put a stake in yet." Holding both daggers in her teeth, she rummaged in the open throat of her jerkin and pulled out a small flat packet. She slit one end of the paper with a claw and showed Kaela and Bart a thin sheaf of intricately printed notes. "Fould ge hree, hour hungreg hhere," she mumbled around a mouthful of steel.
"...you're right." He flipped the knife shut, placing it back in his pocket. "With a face like that, what's left to shred?" Not that he meant it with any kind of spiteful inflection; just playful banter.
But taking one look at Andrace's blades and hearing her comments put him in a slightly more serious mood. 'Y're playin' wi' th' pros now, Bart, an' when we play...' It wasn't until this little declaration that he starting taking things with more than one grain of salt.
"Okay, so enough screwin' around now that we got the money in order. What locale you girls gonna choose for our little brawl?"
Andrace glanced at Bart for a moment, a quick ears-to-tail... or in his case, head-to-toe examination taking in his build, temperament, probable fighting abilities... she looked at Kaela and winked. "Looks like we got ourselves a bar brawler here — how 'bout..." Her eyes flicked from side to side, indicating the barroom itself, then she nodded to the viewer hanging from the ceiling, showing the circles that could magically recreate any desired location...
Dani listened to Andrea, looking nervously at Giles as she heard what the woman said. If what she was saying was true, and something was suppressing the blackguard, there was only one explanation that fit...and it would upset Sylvie even more. Speaking of, the elf was tugging half-heartedly at the Red's tunic, having not really listened to Andrea, but gone to spread her cloak over two seats at the bar to reserve their place and then returned.
Dani brushed off the girl's hand, and looked back at Andrea. "I have a feeling we'll need to talk more about this later," she said, almost sotto voce. Then she grabbed Syl's shoulder and turned away from the door - noticing at last that the drinking competitors had stopped, and were going to have a three-person virtual barfight. The distraction worked like a charm. The Red grinned and rolled her eyes, the smile conflicting a bit with her mock-disappointed expression. "Dammit! Missed out on the fun stuff again!" She looked over at Syl with a rather strange face.
"...What? Are you blaming me for the fact that you missed something that would have been incredibly dumb of you to get involved in?" the elf joked.
"Yeah, maybe dumb if it were you, Miss 'What-happens-when-you-throw-cheap-wine-into-a-potted-plant.'"
"So, even though I had nothing to do with the fact that you didn't get up when you woke up, because I don't drink as much as you, I'm responsible for the fact that you missed out on a chance to get wasted."
"Yes," the Red replied, her face fake-serious.
Sylvie didn't respond for a second, then rolled her eyes, shook her head good-naturedly, patted her friend's shoulder and said, "I can't believe I'm saying this... but I think you're more sane with coffee in your system." At this admission, Dani punched her fist into the air with a triumphant grin and walked to her seat, her scheme successful.
Paladin laughed at Stygian in the moment before the wolf incubus both flapped his wings and triggered the powerful thrusters built into his armor, narrowly avoiding the blows.
Zigzagging for a moment, he then blasted straight at the human, terrible axe shearing through the I-beam Stygian was wielding like a plasma torch through butter.
As he reached his target Paladin swiped his axe at the the madman in front of him.
"A good old fashioned bar fight?", Kaela suggested, finishing the end of Andrace's sentence for her. "In another bar of course," she added quickly, winking at their rather strange host. Standing with a bounce, she tossed her knife in the air, deftly catching it behind her back without looking. An all too practiced habit, to be sure. "Enough improvised weapons for Baldy, with a nice enclosed environment well suited to close quarters combat." The old woman bared her fangs. "A good fight and we can all swap drinks and stories afterwards."
There was no room for error. Up this near the scalding light that Paladin emitted, Stygian's outline burned with sizzling black, trails of dark, dusty smoke seeping from him and his features blistering and burning, pain driving his fury further. This close, his protection was nearing nil, and he'd be vulnerable to whatever came his way. Fortunately, he had a few other things he could fall back on, at least for a while. If only he could think clearly... But this obnoxious prick was in his way! This pitiful, lowly creature, dependent on his devices...! That he had the insolence to insult him...!
Acid rain was starting to hit the ground, a few drops smattering quietly on the dust and ash. The roll of thunder overhead was getting stronger, deeper. Both combatants could stand it, but once it started coming down in earnest the conditions changed. The dry, dusty ash of the ground was a good concealing measure, and would be knocked down by the rain. Then again, fighting on slippery, muddy ground and metal was a greater concern...
The attack was fairly direct, and even though much of his advantage in speed was lost against someone with Pal's capabilities, Stygian pulled back well in time. There seemed to be something, even through the fuzziness and the rage, that was just... slower about things than usual. The metal beam in his hands jerked a bit against the thickness of the axe as it slashed through it, but it gave him the fraction of space that he needed. He wanted the man close, not flying around with that bloody light on. How long could he keep that shit up?!
An axe like that was a heavy weapon, and having just swung it and had to dodge more blows, Paladin was off his balance, and in no state to respond when Stygian shunted the part of the metal beam above them down into the ground again, then grabbed him by the neck and slammed his head right into it. Keeping the Cubi there, Stygian ground his teeth, and his voice crackled as he stared wild-eyed at the other man. From the beam's shadow, a huge, sharp-edged gap in the glaring light had formed.
'I'LL PUT OUT YOUR FUCKING LIGHTS!' he roared.
In a mere moment, Stygian had extended his hand, and the shadow as a whole deepened and thickened, rising up like a huge black wing behind him. He threw his fist forward, and with a howling roar, the blackness came forward in a storm, a house-sized torrent of blackness and dry earth and dust driven up by it, smashing into them both.
Hmm... Nice, close-quarters, plenty of breakable furniture to smash over each other's heads: sounded perfectly reasonable to him. "Alright," he smiled and stood, giving his neck a quick crack, "good enough for me." He walked forward about a half-step and stopped.
"...oh, right." He grinned. "Ladies first." And politely gestured for them to lead on. "Unless any of you gotta hit the bathroom 'fore we go."
Dani sat at the bar, plunking a coin down. "Something with lots of sugar and a little kick to it," she said, directing the sentence at the Boogeyman without really facing him. She was watching the combatants for the barfight eagerly. "It's like Drunken Brawls Lite; all the fun of a real fight without any of the property damage and arrests!" Her smirk stayed in place, but lost a bit of its mania. "Wish I was hammered enough to get involved."
"Like I'm gonna let you do that when you just woke up," Sylvie responded from across the room. "Or let you get that drunk." She staarted to head for her friend, but cast a glance at the hedgehog who'd been drinking with the others.
"Speaking of which, nice job winning," she said perfunctorily. "It's a shame you're not taking part in their fight, though - it leaves us to put up with you." All of a sudden, she felt a bit snarky and tired. She was still in a better mood than she had been before, but the emotions she'd run through had drained her a little, and hardcore drinkers had bothered her ever since she'd been in prison.
Andrace actually snickered at Bart's suggestion of a potty break before the fight. "Tryin' t' delay y'r inted... inva... inna-vittible moment o' gettin' pounded int' th' ground, Shiny?" she asked mockingly, with only a slight drunken tongue-tiedness. She turned and strode towards the door, her tail swishing in a relaxed fashion, and gave the old wolf a pat on the shoulder as she passed by. "C'mon, Kaela, let's get out there... say, are y' goin' t' be wearin' th' tin can f'r th' fight? Must weigh a ton. Don't wear th' stuff m'self — hot, noisy, rubs m' fur th' wrong way, an' it slows m' down."
Witt raised an eyebrow at the comment from the green girl. Whilst he wasn't exactly unused to people objecting to his presence, they usually had better sense than to take it up with him directly. He then looked her up and down, slowly. "You really sure you want to take that tone, Greenie?" He took another swig of his drink, placed the empty bent green container back on the bar, and - carefully - selected the second of the black, shiny bottles to replace it. "I mean, I'm just sitting here drinking peacefully, and waiting to watch the girls there show Shiny how it's done. You can't be objecting to a little drink. That'd take a mighty small minded person to be objecting to something like that, while standing in a bar..."
He gazed over at Silvie, slouching on his bar stool, and took another drink.
Kaela sneered, snickering to herself as she began to make her way towards their destination, swiveling her neck with a loud crack. "Much better. No need for the bathroom for me. I was the person who wasn't downing foul drinks like candy, remember?" She made a crude noise, her lips vibrating against her tongue, and turned to regard Andrace. "S'hot and uncomfortable, I'll give you that much." She suddenly switched her method of walking, feet seeming to glide silently across the floor. "But with a good amount of practice, it can become more of a benefit than a hindrance." A clawed finger reached out and poked one of the adventurer's biceps. "And if it's too heavy, then you should grow stronger."The old warrior knew Andrace was probably stronger than the wolf, and the gleam in Kaela's eye said as much.
"If I shoved you on your back, could you still get up?" Bart quipped, keeping himself behind the two femmes with both hands dutifully resting in his pockets. That'd be one jackass move, to be sure, but the temptation of doing so in the midst of their fight would be great. Insurmountable, really. "Hold up, lemme rephrase it: when I shove you on your back, will you be able to get up?"
Andrace shrugged at Kaela. "S' y'r steambath," she said offhandedly. "Me an' m' brothers an' sisters, we get along fine without." She glanced over her shoulder at Bart, and the last of the humour in her grin faded away and vanished, leaving only the lioness. This was considerably more disconcerting than the other way round. "If y' try that, Shiny, then granny here'll just have t' hurt y' — which I don't mind, so long as she leaves some f'r me."
She pushed the door open and strode briskly towards the nearest empty Circle, humming quietly, tossing one of her daggers up in the air and catching it again.
*Shields offline....Repair status: 2 minutes*
Pal grunted as his helmet hud glitched out for a second. Twisting about and out of Stygian grip he swept his leg through the humans trying to upend him, the motion propelling him back on his feet. The blast hand been a fantastic release of shadow magic and done some damage to the armor's systems.
"Nice shot. Not many people can generate enough magic to wipe my shields in one go, let alone cause em to short out" He said as he aimed an armored boot at Stygian's guts.
Growling, fingers clawing, Stygian staggered backwards as he took Paladin's boot in the gut with a resounding thump. The kick was hard, but to a man who could shrug off being hit by a speeding car even a well-directed metal-shod boot with good force behind it was fairly harmless unless directed at a bared throat. Snarling wildly, features twisted and skull-like, his mouth a distending, snapping jaw, he struck out against the incubus with a mauling hand, the tips of his fingers stretched to claws long as kitchen knives. That faint, sickly green light kept crackling around him, and during that last swipe, he rose up, putting more forward force into it than merely the reach of his arm. Even as he began moving in on Pal again, he didn't seem to be moving his legs...
'INSOLENCE!' he fumed, somewhere between overly dramatic and brutally twisted, shadows once again starting to gather behind him. The casual tone, the almost dismissive manner... Pal seemed to be disregarding who it was that he was fighting! The idiot! The swine...!
Sylvie's expression changed a little, showing a slightly amused, challenging look. She sat on a bar stool nearby, still facing Witt, and leaned forward onto her knees. "It's not the fact that you're in a bar drinking, really. It's just that I've only ever been to one other place where people drank so much that their clothes smelled like they'd been washed in a distillery, and the people there were the biggest bastards I've ever met." At this comment, a little snerk came from a few seats away.
"Syl, only half the inmates at Diekan-Duria smelled like that, and only when they first came in. Given your circumstances, I'd say you were just as bad at first, even if you were sober," Dani called to her friend, unable to resist putting in her two cents any longer. Now the elf looked a little annoyed, and shot a look to the guard. What did she think she was doing, telling him that...
"S'not very nice to go around pushing over old ladies," Kaela admonished, twiddling with her knife as she turned to observe Bart. "Give an old woman some credit, please. It's not as if I'm wheelchair bound and need a nurse. Although I'll do my best to make sure you need one when you do," she growled darkly, turning her attention back to Andrace. "Well, when I get hit with what might have been a killing blow and my armor saves me again, we can agree to disagree." Her knife clacking lightly against her armor as she fidgeted with excitement, she followed Andrace into the circle, eyes tracing the path her casually flung daggers followed.
Witt raised an eyebrow at the green girl, then wordlessly put his bottle down on the bar. He hopped off the bar stool, then straightened up to his full height. Then he tilted his head back, and looked up into her face.
"They musta been some big bastards, then. What'd you do to them? Piss in their drink or something?" He reached over to grab his bottle back, and leaned one elbow on the stool. "Anyway, why are you so upset?" He glanced at her skin, and went on. "Envious?"
The subtle pun not escaping her, Sylvie straightened up in her seat and a little of the amusement that had been there faded. "Cute. Usually I just get tree jokes." She stood up and faced Witt more directly. "If you mean what did I do to anyone who harassed me in jail... well, just ask her," she said, pointing over her shoulder at Dani. The guard grinned more widely; though she wasn't quite at the Boogeyman's level of scary smile yet, she was getting closer. Sylvie continued, "As for being 'envious', why should I be? I can drink safely, but alcohol tends to kill off my kind a bit quicker than other races, so forgive me if getting drunk doesn't sound pleasant."
"She could just be jealous, but I'm not saying what she did to those guys," Dani commented, leaving her last thought unspoken - 'Cause I really wanna see what's gonna happen.
"Just tree jokes? I'm sure I could come up with four or five without branching out. Maybe yew need to stick around..." Witt snickered. "Getting drunk isn't supposed to sound pleasant. It's supposed to be pleasant. Maybe you should try it, before you leaf. No pressure, though."
And he punctuated his comments with another swig from the bottle.
Both Dani and Sylvie stiffened, the former more noticeably so. Here it comes, Dani thought, examining the room for any potted plants Sylvie might intend to use to strangle the poor bastard. But instead of using any magic, Sylvie relaxed and gave a wicked little smirk.
"And there it goes," she said, sounding amused again. "Honestly, though, there's no need to be sequoia-bout it if you're heading staight fir the puns now. They might be a birch to come up with, but I've heard way worse than that. You're not gonna let me think you're all bark and no bite, are you?" She felt a strange little adrenalin rush as she spoke. This was a tactic she'd never used before, and she was thinking it might just work.
"You two seem awfully sure you're gonna kick my ass," Bart astutely noted as he took in the sights of the empty, featureless circle. "You people give me no credit, no respect." No respect at all, I tells ya.
"...even though we're obviously armed and dangerous, just how brutal're we gonna be in this thing?" Bladed weapons (knives especially) had the ugly tendency to pierce vital spots on the (in)human body with ease, including such juicy areas as the chest and jugular. Given this was just a semi-friendly brawl, Bart didn't want to outright kill or cripple anybody without being given the all-clear. Especially not Andrace. She looks like she comes from a pretty vengeful posse.
Witt laughed. "Oh, I'm just larking about. Ash-tually, it's not like I expect you to start pining away; not even if we go into over-thyme. And at least I can cedar wood for the trees..." He bowed, and grinned. "I'm taking a lichen to you, but I like to keep my feet firmly planted. Maple you should take that to heart?"
"Oh, we'll def'nit'ly kick y' somewhere," Andrace said with what the charitable (or blind) might call a piously innocent expression. "How c'd we resist such a lovely big target...?" She turned and winked at Kaela, making sure not to turn her head too far for Bart to see her do it.
Then, almost like turning a switch, the lioness was all business. "Y' want t' talk conditions? How 'bout just keepin' it simple: keep goin' 'til y' surrender, get knocked out, or can't fight on, that all right wi' y'? Oh, an' let's be p'lite — any bits left on th' floor afterwards gotta be handed back." She didn't sound as if she was joking with that last statement.
With Bart inside the circle, the whole area seemed to blur and twist for a moment, only the three combatants clearly visible to each other. When their vision cleared, they were standing back in the tavern. It looked exactly the same, except there weren't any doors leading to the back rooms, the view out of the windows showed only empty landscape, and there were no other people.
Sylvie smiled fully and did something between a bow and a curtsy in reply. "Maybe so, but I've been known to be a sap about such things. I think I moss-t have misjudged you. I don't usually challenge people from the ginkgo, but in your case, I'm glad I took the elm." She paused, then gave a short laugh. "Oh, Gods, I feel plum rude; how could I knot have remembered my manners? I'm Sylvie Dahl. Who are you?"
"Dismemberment, huh?" Bart hardly noticed the change of scene, given its speedy shifting to a more appropriate fightin' locale. "I can work with that." In fact, he could work with a lot of things in here: chairs, tables, bottles, mugs, pool cues, sliding someone across the bartop like in all those Western movies... part of him had a strange desire to quote something from The Angel and the Bad Man before they started.
"In fact, I'm feelin' mighty generous right now." He stood at ease, arms swinging back and forth. "Ladies first." And tapped his jaw with an index finger, gladly inviting either of them to deliver a nice right hook to his face. Or a knife slash. Or a chair. Or anything else not conducive to his good health.
Andrace raised her eyebrows and flicked one ear. She didn't speak, but the expression on her face for a moment clearly said, "is he really that stoopid?"
The lioness seemed to tense her muscles, then from a standing start, she leaped at Bart, twisted slightly in mid-air, and her right leg whipped out in a lightning-fast flying kick aimed right at the helpfully indicated chin. Her heavy, sturdy paw was little more than a blur as it headed straight for Bart's face.
Andrace's blow landed square and true, easily launching Bart in an impressive arc and slight twirl through the air before landing on a conveniently placed tabled, easily smashing the furniture to splinters under his falling bulk. "...awwk, low--" Not to mention dislocating his precious jaw. Nothing a quick and painful cracking into place wouldn't fix, of course. "*Crricck--* ...okay, no more Mister Nice Guy." Bart grabbed a broken chair leg before getting to his feet. The makeshift club smacked against his open palm as he advanced. "I give you an inch, and you take a mile? Now you done and make me all ornery!" He swung low at Andrace's thigh, figuring a charliehorse injury would be as good a starting move as any for a larger opponent.
Witt snorted. "I see you're a chip off the old block. I'm usually called Witt - at least by those who aren't leaving. I twig, you pre fertilize on a rolling stone, but that might be going a bit far afield. You needle spruce your game up; otherwise I'll start pining, and we both know where that cones. After all, aren't we all, at trunk, much the same?" He swigged another mouthful of the obscurely bent green bottle, and scratched his expressive eyebrow thoughtfully. "Since we're growing so close, I should ask, I guess. Is this a root ball, or are you spreading? I mean, the tendril care you take is obvious, but everyone nodes that you'll vine your way out of things." He paused. "Acorn-y joke, perhaps, but wasn't that what we were growing towards anyway?"
He took another drink, and bowed, waving the almost empty bottle in Sylvia's direction, indicating, possibly, that it was her go.
Sylvie laughed. "And the plot thickets. You're blooming clever, I seed – quicker than a firing pistil. You've got more style than I thought. I need to be less ginger, orchid-ing around is the best I'll get out of this. Not that that doesn't make me cherry-er." There was a beat as she considered what he'd asked. "Since I can't shrub off your question, I don't know whether I'll take root here, but blossoming has been oak-ay for me so far. Of course, something might aspen to soil my opinions, but bonsai see something like that, I'll transplant myself."
She smiled and relaxed a little again. "What about you? Here just kudzu wanted to branch out?"
A few seats away, Dani was watching - completely confused, but entertained nonetheless.
Kaela looked on with interest, grimacing slightly as Andrace's vicious kick connected with Bart's chin, a loud crack accompanying the impact. She dodged a piece of stray wood that flew up from the now quite destroyed table, unsure of whether or not a three-way brawl was particularly fair. Then again, how many bar fights were there were it wasn't complete chaos? This thought was at the front of her mind as she watched Bart retort, lashing out with what was sure to be a particularly painful, and possibly crippling blow. Striking up a proper boxing stance, she took a few hops forward, leading with her left, tightening her abdominal muscles as she threw a vicious right straight aimed at Bart's jaw, and, given that Bart didn't put her in a grapple, turned and made to execute a body blow aimed at Andrace's midriff. This was looking to be a load of fun.
In the circle, blow after blow clashed with ferocity. Shadow verses light, technology verses the unknown, large unstable amounts of power verses the shielding of a rather hastily made ring...
Boog smelled the problem before he noticed it, a tang in the air wafting from outside like ozone with a hint of pepper. Then he heard it, like the buzz of an electron caught in bicycle spokes...
And then he thought Wait, did I finish all the runes before I opened that one up?
There was an inrushing of air, like something huge and alien taking a deep breath, and a sound like the staticky channel on a TV set exploding. The circle containing Stygian and Paladin erupted in smoke and sparks, light twisted in a way that looked painful, openings in the air displayed other places, beautiful and horrible...
One humanoid figure landed with an undignified "FWUMP!" On the roof of the circle, still trailing smoke. The other fell through one of the openings.
The bartender hurried outside, looked at the mess and groaned.
"Dammit, I knew I'd missed something." He glanced up at the smoking mess of a person on the roof. "A little self restraint next time, hm?" The thought-entity strode toward the jumble of fractured circle, grumbling arguments to see to repairs. It was always something.
Witts' grin, if at all possible, grew wider. He put down his drink, rubbed his hands together, and put his spiked hat back on the bar, before running back hands backwards through his eyebrows, and up through his spines, straightening them all up. He then shook himself, almost like a dog, shaking all the spines on his back, before snapping back into place. He cricked his neck to the left, then the right, then rolled both shoulders, loosening them up.
After all that preparation, he placed one elbow on the bar stool, picked up his drink, and orated.
"Oh, I'm here fern-o good reason at all; perhaps acacia joint, perhaps just looking. You know how it is - eucalyptus, you clip that, sooner or later you hedge your bets. I thank you for the compliment, I've seldom herb a betel phrased one, but I'm chestnut such a fungi to drink with. Now, I don't want to alder the discussion at all, but almond-tion the duplicates... willow those for now, but poplar as they are, y'just can't win the laurel with teaks like that. It's not that I give a fig, you realise. One just has standards one has to grow to. You conifer go again, if y'like. As for me, by gum, I'm just plane willing to see if we can make people sycamore puns."
Sizzling, the figure somewhat lodged overhead crackled for a short while, then seized the tiling with a creak, and raised itself from the roof with a crumbling sound. A couple of scrapes were heard, before a dark something landed hard on the ground next to the Boogeyman, and shot up, seizing him by the collar and lifting him, hissing into his face.
'What. The. FFUUCK?!' Stygian growled, dust and charred stains on his face and his eyes wide open, beaming intimidatingly. The drug-fueled rage mixed crazily in his eyes with confusion and eerie amusement. The darkening aura of his usually still and unreadable mind twitched and crawled all about as well, less apparently but obvious to a thought-entity like Boog, a snarling tangle of invisible teeth and claws. He was on something alright.
Andrace recovered from her kick, landing lightly on her paws and fingertips, and scrambled to her feet. She just had time for a moment of smugness at the spectacular success of her attack on Bart. Her smirk evaporated, though, when he got up again and lunged at her, swinging a broken chair leg. She yowled, flattening her ears, and scrambled back from his attack, but not quite quickly enough. The jagged stump end of the wood hacked at her leg, ripping open her left trouser leg at mid-thigh. There was no blood, though: a piece of scuffed leather could be seen through the ragged hole in the silk, the sheath for one of the hidden daggers she'd appeared to produce out of thin air.
The impact was still enough to make the lioness stagger, her back thumping heavily against the bar. She grunted and glanced over her shoulder for a moment, took both daggers in her left hand, reached out and picked up a bottle from the bar, and tossed it in Bart's general direction. She had no time to aim properly, as Kaela picked that moment to launch her own attack. The wolf might be old enough to be her grandmother, but she still had the moves, as Andrace discovered when her block came a moment too late and an armoured fist hammered into her stomach. She doubled up with an agonised oof, her tail tuft fluffed like a powder puff, breath hissing between clenched fangs. She snapped right back, though, her body unfolding and her arm lashing out in a tremendous haymaker punch aimed right at the underside of Kaela's muzzle.
The lioness snarled and grinned exultantly as her hair flew about, obscuring her face for a moment. Her leg hurt, she felt as if she'd been kicked in the gut by every single hoofed Being living on the Mytilene estate, but this was a fight she could really get her teeth into!
Bart reeled from Yugo's fist and dropped his club, the upside of it being that he was just able to avoid getting a bottle thrown in his face by Andrace. In most circumstances, he would gladly step back and allow the two animals to beat each other senseless and without pause. Kaela's near re-dislocating of his jaw put that idea on the backburner. He rushed the old vet, wrapping both arms around her torso as he dug and pushed his feet against the floor. Armor or no, he was gonna topple her over.
"C'mon, c'mon! I'm gonna fold you up like an old wallet!" He attempted a quick punch to her side, but the dull crunching of his handbones on heavy metal demonstrated how futile an attempt it was.
So, Boog was being held up by a man in a blithering rage. The rage was a little understandable, but he most certainly wasn't going to let him know that. A delicate, spindly-fingered hand reached up and gently disengaged Stygian's hands from his collar.
"The fuck was that I was pumping out circles too fast to keep up with all the patrons, ended up doing a rush job on that one. Which works out, because you don't look like you're in any condition to keep going. You've been acting odd since whatever-the-hell you did to Piix and, while I try not to judge people's recreational delights," although I might start, given what's going on in that amorphous little skull of yours. What did you DO!?, "You're not in control of yourself right now. Go sit down before you do something you'll regret."
Sylvie's grin twisted a little as she watched Witt's display; she was doing her best not to crack up. Once he was done, she let the grin widen again, and answered. "Well, I think I'll take your ad-elweiss. If they haven't cactus out of the bar yet, they will if I re-peat myself anymore. By the way, in cashew haven't noticed, that's not something Iris-k too often. It's ama-zinnia haven't caused my impatiens to grow."
At that point, unfortunately, Sylvie noticed the power-feeling coming from outside. She had half-heard the thud on the roof, but she'd been distracted. Now she felt something going on outside. She looked over her shoulder and finally saw what was happening between Stygian and Boog. Her eyes widened a bit and her smile faded. She glanced back at Witt once more.
"I think we'll have to continue our barley sometime in the fuchsia..." she muttered. "I'm worried things will get violet out there." She started to walk over to the window to keep an eye on what happened. As soon as she did that, Dani got a strange-ish look and scooted closer to Witt.
"How did you get her to do that?" she said disbelievingly.
Witt shrugged at Dani. "I just started shovelling. Sooner or later something was gonna start growing."
He promptly collected his drink, drained the last few drops from the bottom, parked the empty back on the bar, and sighed at the lack of bar-thing to collect another full one from. Shrugging, he turned back, and trailed after Sylvie, watching out the window. He paused, glanced back at Dani. "You coming?"
Twitching, shivering with the tension, Stygian let the Boogeyman down, but far more out of distractedness and less because of courtesy. Staring wildly, he breathed in, a long hissing sound that culminated in a distasteful grunt.
'Don't get your hopes up, you daydream!' the man spat, one of his eyelids twitching and the tendons in his neck stretching taut, his fangs gleaming in something that almost looked like a grin but was far too distended and insane still to pass for it. 'You can't threaten meeeeeeeeeee...!' he hissed next, expelling all the air in his lungs with the last drawn-out syllable, before turning on his heel and snapping back to the door of the bar with a few steps, so quick that one might have wondered how he managed to get there so fast. The rage was gone, replaced with glee and twitchy excitement from the shock, and there was a slow buzz in the back of his head that told him that whatever he was feeling was winding down. But those black veins still throbbed in his temple, and he still couldn't shrug that grin off despite himself.
Opening the door with a smack, the speed of the movement surely jolting the more attentive or edgy inside, which at the moment happened to be the very much close by Sylvie, Stygian snapped inside. 'COFFEE!' he announced, alerting whoever might have not noticed, and then approached the bar with a low, heavy tromp of heels that was quite unusual for him, nodding toward the elf and saying something that sounded like 'whyllotheresmilenice', before he sat down and froze completely still.
"A lesson for you," Kaela growled as she fell on her back with a loud thump and a clang. "The last place you want an opponent is on their back in a brawl." She aimed a gauntleted fist at Bart's throat, making to throw him off, muscles bunching up like pistons. "They can still punch you in the face." She planted her feet on his stomach, placing all of her weight on her back, coiling her body up like a spring before releasing it and attempting to launch him onto a nearby table. Unless Bart planned on landing some blows to her head, Kaela had confidence that she could win an out and out fight against him. Boxing champion for a few years running. Not giving that up to this chump.
Andrace watched Kaela and Bart struggle for a moment, then a thoroughly evil grin crossed her face. She slipped her daggers back into their leg sheaths, turned to the nearest intact table and picked up two chairs by their backs. As she turned back to the struggling pair and Kaela pulled them to the floor, she yelled cheerfully, "Hey, y' lovebirds! Get a room!" then she raised the chairs above her head and swung one at each of them. She didn't use her full strength, of course, which might easily crush skulls or shatter bones: this was still a friendly brawl... so far.
Bart had been in that kind of position before and quickly gripped Kaela's ankles with both hands, nearly knocked in the throat and bucking sharply as she attempted to launch him off. All those little family brawls were starting to come back to him. "My nephew Mal tried the same thing a couple weeks back," he rasped, quickly shifting to slide off Kaela's boots from the awkward position and get to both feet. Getting chair'd by Andrace, though mildly painful, still left him standing. Unfortunately for her, she'd hit the hardest part of his brutish body.
"And my cousin Rafa did that one last Wednesday," Bart spoke, gripping the front of her jerkin with a tight fist as he pulled her down to eye-level. "That was a mistake, 'cause then it left him open for this--" 'This' being a nice foreheadbutt right to the nose. You couldn't have a legitimate bar brawl without at least one headbutting.
Sylvie hadn't quite reached the door yet, but she could see what was going on well enough. Stygian had released Boog, but was still acting strangely. Before she could head back to the bar and attempt to look inconspicuous, the door slammed open and Sylvie found out firsthand that just because nothing violent had happened didn't mean that Stygian was normal again. He was still twitchy and smiling painfully. After shouting an order to the empty bar, he greeted her in an almost forcibly polite and quick manner, then sat down at the bar, motionless.
Blink. Blink.
Her face showing only unnerved surprise, the elf slowly headed outside. If she wanted to think clearly, she was going to need sunlight.
-----
Dani had, thankfully (in her eyes) gotten up and away from the bar before Stygian came in. She wasn't sure how long he was going to be acting like that, but until then, she didn't feel like being near him. She looked wordlessly at the human, then at the door Sylvie had just gone through, then at Witt, with a questioning pout. Then, finally, she asked, in a quiet voice, "So... follow her, or leave her be?"
Witt glanced at Dani, and snorted. "Leave my drink? Are you nuts?" He took another swig, then went on. "Besides, I can see her from here." He waved a hand at the windows. "And so far, all she's doing is waltzing about and waffling. No need for anyone to help her with that, I'm sure she's got it all under control."
He shrugged. "Nothing to see here, move along."
For a few seconds more, Stygian sat absolutely still. A half euphoric, half aching sensation just having surged through his head, he felt just a moment of clarity coming on. One that would probably not last too long. There was something burning in him, some feverish sensation as the toxin was being consumed, or possibly consuming him. Either way it was too still and too slow to be something that could threaten him. He had been poisoned before, and he knew. Or, at least he had every reason to believe so. But it was curious...
'What? Are you worried?' he said loudly at Dani's question, his vacant eyes turned away making it clear that he wasn't actually with her in the response.
The sudden spike of heat that rushed up the back of his neck made him blink, and cleared the concern tinging that curiosity away, bringing a half-grin to his face again. He angled his neck and turned his head the slightest bit with a resounding crack, and then grabbed the cup of coffee that had somehow appeared in a hand still tainted with black, slithering sub-dermal things. He kicked the black, hot liquid back in a single gulp, and set the cup down with a clatter.
It was only when he had already reached into his pocket and fumbled around the package three times that Stygian realized that he were trying to get out a cigarette. Blinking, half of his brain still running chemistry in the background, he bugged his eyes in that typical overwhelmed way that people on a high do, rubbing his temple, and then got up. Fingers rolling, crackling, he headed for the lavatories, sticking a smoke in the corner of his mouth before shutting the door behind him.
Dani rolled her eyes and shook her head at Witt's summary of Sylvie's actions. When Stygian addressed her, she flinched and looked over at him, but before she could reply he had turned away. So, getting a little confused herself, she turned back to Witt.
"Well, elves get like that when they're confused. So overdramatic..." she sighed. "Whatever. I'm gonna go keep an eye on her. Nice talking to you." With that, she headed over to the windows to watch Sylvie. So far, it appeared all she was doing was enjoying some "dinner" and trying to relax. That was a good sign...if nothing else happened inside, that was.
Witt watched Dani wander off, then gazed out the window for a moment, meditatively.
Then he finished off the most recent drink, and flicked a coin along the bar to the bartender. "I'm off to drain the python. Do me a favour, and have a 307 ale up when I get back..."
And with that, he sauntered off, mostly steadily, in the direction of the lavatories. Mere moments after he entered, a clearly audible groan of relief echoed out again.
Bart had the luck of being struck on the back. Kaela was not so fortunate, grimacing as the wooden chair splintered and shattered upon her forehead, opening up a long gash between her eyes. Her vision swam and her stomach churned as she collapsed in a heap, losing her sense of balance and place in the world. It appeared that Andrace was upping the ante. Kaela grinned viciously, tightening the straps on her gauntlets as she stood to her feet, glad for the brief respite. She stood, swaying briefly as she assumed her previous posture, and awaited Andrace's next move.
Andrace never would have let it happen if she'd been sober. But there was still so little blood sloshing around in her alcohol stream, her reactions tended to be fuzzy and sluggish. She just had time for a moment of satisfaction as she caught Kaela right in the face. She didn't really notice Bart grab her jerkin, she just felt the front lacing go tight across her chest, then suddenly his face was right in front of her snout, large as life and twice as ugly. There was only time for a brief protesting noise before —
WHAP
— it felt as if fireworks had gone off in her nose as her muzzle tried to concertina itself. The lioness yowled in shock, her head jerked back, blood spurting from her nostrils, and she staggered a few paces. She swiped a hand (with her claws out) at whatever was clutching the front of her jerkin, twisted her body back and forth to break the grip, and her other arm came up in a backhander aimed at what she hoped was head-height. She couldn't see anything for a moment; the smack on her nose had brought tears to her eyes. She could taste blood, though, where it dribbled down the sides of her muzzle and into her mouth. Andrace shook her head, sprinkling drops of blood from her battered snout, and blinked quickly to clear her vision. Even if Bart wasn't about to follow up on his attack, she realised she'd completely lost track of Kaela.
Bart released Andrace shortly after the headbutt, just quickly enough for her claws to rake across the back of his hand like a bunch of knifetips. It wasn't deep enough of a wound to dampen the nerve endings; IE, it stung like a pain in the ass. He'd need to make a quick assessment before retaliating. ...Damn, old lady. We just got started and you can't even stand up right? I'm disappointed. Least you're givin' me some breathing room that way. He began to shuffle and bounce on his heels. "Whatsa matter? Can't take a little punch?"
His arm whirled in an exaggerated wind-up before-- *bop* Stiffly bonking Andrace right in the nose. Not a particularly powerful punch by any stretch, but most likely painful to someone whose nostrils had already been bloodied. He would have followed up with something equally Stoogey like a poke to the eyes or smack across the cheek, but that'd just be too unsporting.
Standing next to the hedgehog, Stygian seemed to have frozen up a bit once again. He didn't so much as make a sound, save the steady trickling from before him, and the odd spark of his lighter, which he flicked erratically, trying to produce a flame with some difficulty as he held it under the tight stick of carcinogens in his mouth. His eyes were 'shivering', his gaze flickering erratically for a bit, until he suddenly seemed to notice Witt standing beside and below, and his eyes widened fully open once more. He stared at the hedgehog for a good bit, his evident surprise hard to miss. Finally, he opened his mouth, and uttered the first thing that came to him in a methodical, disoriented manner, trying to sound casual. Well, as casual as anyone can sound in that sort of situation, and with fumes and the smell of alcohol thick enough in the air that one might have thought it should start rolling around them.
'How... do you do with that?' he asked. There was confusion for a moment, and he waved his hand a bit, toward Witt's spines. 'You know. Leaves. And things.' He smirked stupidly the very next second, shaking his head as if he could not believe what he just said. His gaze lost itself, as he put his cigarette to his lighter once more, and flicked it.
The explosion shook the whole of the bathroom and cracked a few tiles, scorched a good bit of wall black and set the urinals on fire. As with all sorts of open, oxygen-rich fires with well-dispersed ingredients, the sound and the flame were the worst parts though. The windows shook, and there was a tension still in the air for quite a bit after that could only come from the hypersensitivity of abused eardrums and attentive hearing.
Staggering out of the bathroom, spreading a cozy amber light through the dusky locale, with the stump of a cig still stuck in the corner of his mouth, tangled with his hair, Stygian came out laughing insanely. He hobbled over to the counter, holding his side, shivering and convulsing, tears rolling down his right cheek - the one that wasn't on fire.
Sylvie was in a state of near-meditation outside. She was photosynthesizing what she'd drank, tuning out the noise from the circles, and doing her best to keep Stygian's erratic behavior out of her head. She was doing pretty well at all of this so far. She just had to focus on the warmth of the sun, and keep "Mozart's Requiem" playing in her head. It seemed she was finally calming d-
BOOM!!!!
The noise would have made even a Zen Master jump. Not being nearly as controlled as a Zen master, the Green jumped straight to her feet with a loud gasp. Then the smell of smoke hit her nose. Her pupils dilated, every muscle tensed, and she slowly turned to see what had happened in the bar.
Stygian. Convered in flames. Laughing. The bathroom burning with rich...orange...fire.
Sylvie let out a blood-curdling shriek, but didn't sprint away just yet. Her legs seemed indecisive. Part of her wanted to run into the bar and help him. The rest of her wanted to run as far away from the blaze inside as possible. So, she was stuck in that position, looking in the windows nervously, and at the same time edging little by little away, glancing back over her shoulder and whimpering.
---
Dani had stopped watching her friend the moment the explosion occurred. Much like Sylvie, she jumped to her feet and hunted for the source of the noise. Thankfully, it wasn't too hard to find - Stygian staggered out of the bathroom, burning and not seeming to care. In Rustburg, this would have been hilarious. But Dani's time as a prison guard had conditioned her to find these sort of situations much more serious.
"SHIT!" she shouted, whipping her head around to find something to help - a fire extinguisher, alarms, anything. When she didn't see anything right away, she tried to see if there was a clear path to the ladies' room so she could at least have a water source.
Witt staggered out of the gents, between the stuttering flames, tripping over the shattered remains of the door, black from head to foot with soot - barring a single patch at about waist height, where his paw had been. All his spines were fully raised, and every single hair on his body had been blown backwards. He looked rather like he'd been shoved face-first into a cannon, then held there while it was set off.
He patted out the few smouldering hairs, ran a paw over his face - smudging the soot - and turned to glare at Stygian. As he turned, it became apparent that the soot covered every inch of his front - but nothing on his back. He stumped over to where the tall dark shadow was giggling freely, and gazed up at the broken visage for a moment. Then he reached up, grabbed the chin for a moment, tilting the face down, and slapped gently at the flames with his other paw, patting them out. As they died, he brought the arm back, then swung it forward in a mighty arc, connecting with a massive thump, and rocking Stygian's head back on his shoulders.
"Are you back with us, you crazy fucking lunatic? What the flying fuck do you think you were doing, striking a light with those gods-damned fumes around? Couldn't you bloody smell the blasted things? Hell, even the rats have better sense than that, for fuck's sake. At least they don't bloody go lighting fucking farts, you maniac!" He stared Stygian in the eyes for a moment, then snorted. "High as a fucking kite, no bloody wonder you're non compos mentat." He turned to the bar, and raised an eyebrow at the thing behind it. Or, rather, at the lack thereof. He looked around, spotted the barthing outside, cleaning up glass, and muttered. "Never one around when you need it. Fuck it." He looked back up at the still giggling dark man in front of him, and sighed, brushing soot from his arms. "What to do with you, until you sober up? Hmmm. And me without a bloody drink to think with..."
A cracking sound emanating from the exchange between Stygian's head and the counter behind it. The man ceased giggling for just a few seconds, enough to turn his look back to Witt and to stare confusedly at the hedgehog for a bit, before involuntary shudders started rocking him again. His cheek, turned into a deep, blackened scar, sizzled painfully, his wounded skin cracking as he grinned. His yellowing teeth were stained with blood, as he opened his mouth, trying to utter words in between the salvos of laughter.
'It hurts! Hehehaha! It hurts so fucking much! Ha! Burns! Hahaaa-haHA!' he barked, eyes widening. A trembling hand seized Witt's arm. 'Inside me! HAhahaa! Fucking crazy! HaaaHAha-haHAhAHAHAHAHAHAHA!'
The man's grip was starting to cramp. It would have been less of a worry for Witt, were it not for the fact that Stygian seemed to possess claws for whatever reason. And so, when the sharp edges managed to poke his skin, his attention was immediately drawn to the man's hand. It was sizzling. The same black cracks that were diffusing out from the wound on his face were spiderwebbing out over his arm. And somehow, the ashy smell was taking on a sharper edge, the air around them warming. Stygian's laughter was turning into cramps, convulsions that grew stronger and stronger...
Right then, these rifts shouldn't be here. Better tidy up those runes too, lessee now... Boog was dusting away the lines he'd scratched in the dirt earlier, muttering something under his breath to slowly close up the holes torn in nothing at all by the failed circle, when he heard the laughter. He froze for a moment, then dropped the broom he'd been using and turned back toward the bar.
"Goddammit didn't I tell you to go sleep it off?" The thought entity strode through the doors without so much as bothering to throw them open with a dramatic 'bang!' and interposed himself between the hedgehog and the madly cackling man. He scrutinized the flames crawling across Stygian for a second before reaching an important conclusion.
"You're not this dumb, usually, which means either you're sick and thus gotten dumber or there's something I've missed, and I'm inclined to bank on the former." He slipped the Key to the Honor Circle out of his sleeve and held it up. "You've been to these places before, yes? I assume you've seen one of these used, like I promised to if you threatened any more patrons? You like these circles, I'm sure you've seen some of their other functions once." Again Boog was taking on that amorphous quality; across his sleeve calculations and symbols chased and attacked each other, one of his fingers detached and slithered across the back of his hand. "Go to the infirmary or go home before I send you to both at once."
If Stygian heard any of the Boogeyman's tirade though, he didn't show it. His shaking and contractions seemed to grow longer, more steady, his body stiffening. There might have been some recognition and presence in his eyes earlier, though there really was no way of telling from the blackness of them. The way they had gone completely still though, suggested they had rolled back. And together with how he seemed to be seizing up...
Then, all of a sudden, in a flash the previous warmth turned into a biting chill. The next second, Stygian shook, his back bending him into a curve with a lengthy crack that sounded as if his spine were spinning inside him. He managed an agonized groan, something grayish frothing at the corner of his mouth, spitting between shaking teeth, before his throat seemed to swell shut. Something green crackled. And then, his tongue exploded.
There was a scream from within the infirmary. The wood in the counter started blackening and cracking, and patches of black and frost started to spread on the floor around the spasming man. The light bent, shadows distending all around, dark things squirming right at the edge of visibility everywhere. Black things that might have been tongues or tentacles were spewing out of Stygian's mouth, and through his cheeks. All over his body, his skin and clothing was shredding like tissue paper, ripped open from the inside and burning up into sooty little flakes that dissolved into nothing, and from within fanged, twisting, undescribable black... something was emerging. Lots of it. Limbs cracked and snapped, his arms contorting even as he reached out, and more than one of the lashing and rasping pieces of darkness slithered or scuttled away across the floor. Even before the next crackle appeared, frying a piece of lighting overhead, and poisonous green symbols started appearing in little spatters in the air, reaching for the streaming glyphs on his arm, the Boogeyman felt something that made him want to back off. Something was streaming right out of the writhing mass on the floor that had been Stygian, wrenching at the reality around, poisoning it. Whatever it was, likely the psychics around them would have felt it first. But, as venomous surges of flame started breaking out on the expanding horror, adding their hissing sound to the multitude of growls and grating screams coming from it, he realized it wasn't anywhere near limited to that.
A hard, clattering sound cut through the cacophony, as Sahlena got up from her seat with a jolt. If a machine could look terrified...
Boog looked down at the squirming mass that had become of Stygian. It was giving off concepts that were terrible. Nigh-incomprehensible, alien and vile. He filtered a few out for later scrutiny. He noticed part of whatever it was reaching for his arm and swatted it away with a quick rebuke ("Words are meant to hold still, and you've no cause to move").
It was about when the thing started catching fire that Boog decided that this probably wasn't just Stygian doing the whole him thing.
"Right then, first thing's first," The Boogeyman knelt down next to the whatever-it-was, "Lets keep this from causing any trouble for anyone else." The thought-entity knocked the key against the counter once, producing a ringing noise like a tuning fork that began to amplify in volume rather than fade. He drew it along the floor, letting the vibration rattle slightly, before finally snapping out and nicking part of the churning mass with the key. There was a pause like a jet turbine stopping to gasp and the thing that was technically Stygian simply... Stopped.
"I've locked away his access to time in the establishment. He can't do anything." He glared at one of the skittering things that the Stygpile had spawned and skewered it with one claw deftly. "Someone get him to the infirmary, I gotta clean this up too before anything takes root or whatever the hell it does."
Witt glanced down at the hand on his arm, his eyes narrowing. Before he could do more than raise an eyebrow at the sizzling and cracks, or tense the muscles at the grip, the barthing slammed into the room, and interposed itself between the two.
Barely in time, as the biting chill bit into his arm where it was held, and then Stygian's tongue exploded, spraying bits over Boogeyman; fortunately missing Witt entirely. And then things got really hairy, with the arm attached to his own... melting into a shadowy mess that sucked the heat from his arm, like licking a glacier. Without actually releasing it's grip at all. Witts' eyebrows went up, then back down, and his eyes darkened. He attempted to withdraw his arm from the unsettling gloop, but it... stretched, disconcertingly. Finally, it burst into flame, singing the hairs on his arm - but not actually warming it at all; if anything, it merely increased the freeze.
And then it stopped. Totally; the flames froze, mid-roar; the green poisonous-looking glyphs stopped, mid-air; and the life started to creep back into his arm. He raised one eyebrow at the back of the barthing, and resolved, quietly, not to cause it any more trouble than he could avoid. He relaxed his arm, which gave him enough space to extract it from the molten-looking collar. Just; if it hadn't been for the singed hairs, he wouldn't have made it, and he had to remove the fingerless leather glove from his paw to do it, as well.
He took a single pace backwards, then to the side, fitting the glove back on, massaging the life back into his arm, and looked over the molten, livid, unhealthy-looking, and totally still mass. Then he glanced at Boogeyman, and reached forward to lever the mass off the ground, using the outstretched arm. He crouched slightly, grabbing each side of the, well, base, and, with only a subdued grunt, hefted it off the ground. The short, squat hedgehog took two paces towards the infirmary, then paused, and threw a glance back over his shoulder at the barthing. "I'm hopin' you don't find it fucking funny to unfreeze him before I get the bastard there."
With that, he stumped off out of the room, pausing only to manoeuvre the unwieldy mass out through the doorway. Once in the sickbay, he looked around, and, selecting an empty bed off away from the others, stumped over to it, hefted the mass up, and dropped it, somewhat perfunctorily, on the bed. Then he looked around, selected an empty washbasin, and started to wash some of the soot and debris from his face, working his way down to his boots. After a while, as he worked, the constant sub-vocalised curses became somewhat more audible.
Kaela rankled at Bart's comment regarding punching, braiding up her muscles as she launched herself forward and laid down a devastating hook aimed at Bart's jaw. Really, she held no rancor against him, but she desperately wanted to teach him a lesson in humility before it cost him something more severe than just his pride. She unleashed a hail of punches, taking advantage of her armored shell as she slowly advanced, doing her level best to gradually wear down her opponent. Blood began to run into her eyes, blurring her vision, and for a moment she left herself open to an attack as she wiped it away with her forearm lest it allow Bart to hit her at his leisure.
Andrace's reactions might have been affected by the amount she'd drunk, but even she couldn't miss seeing the punch Bart threw at her. It wasn't just telegraphed, it was semaphored as well. She ducked sideways, just far enough so his fist grazed the side of her nose and muzzle. It still hurt, and spurted a little blood over her whiskers on that side, but not nearly as much as a direct hit on her already sensitive nose would have been.
She sidestepped a bit more when she saw Kaela coming in to the attack: the old wolf looked determined, and Andrace wasn't about to get in the way of such enthusiasm. Besides, if the other two managed to weaken each other, all the better for her. She dabbed at her nose with the back of her hand to see if the bleeding was slowing down yet.
Barely humanoid, and with more than a few poking and sharp things to its form that got in the way, teeth and claws and spindly joints, the thing was certainly not easy to carry. Approaching, Sahlena seemed to stiffen and want to protest as Witt hefted the huge weight, but didn't have time. She was then interrupted by one of the crawling, scuttling things, as it seemed to try and bury into the floor. She made a modem-like sound of consternation, and then squashed it like a cockroach under her foot. Still, the darkness hung overhead, and there was a more than unnerving feeling in the air, accompanying the chill.
'
:what do you think you are going to do to him?' the machine asked, crossing her arms over her plated chest and looking at the Boogeyman. Her tone, her stance and directness, demanded an answer.
- -
The blackness of soot and clinging substance came off easily enough. At least by comparison. But it wasn't until he came to his arm that the hedgehog noticed the
other blackness. His jacket had come out reasonably clean, though the leather had cracked slightly, a finger-like diffusing pattern embedded in it. The hair on his arm though, was gone, and a patch of his skin was tinged faintly black and blue, with yellow-white edges to it, in the precisely same pattern. It didn't hurt, but it felt rather numb. It looked as if he'd had frostbite in just a couple of seconds.
Suddenly, a sound managed to find its way in between the curses and odious oaths, a little sizzle growing in the air. Witt had barely had a minute to inspect the wound. He didn't manage to react though, before he heard someone shout.
'OhshitGod
NO!' Andrea howled. Having backed up against the wall as the hedgehog had entered with his cargo, she had apparently approached Stygian slowly while Witt had been minding himself. Right then though, she only spared the writhing, black mass a second horrified glance, before rushing past and out into the bar once more.
From down the back of the room, the copper-tinged flames and lights flickered again, ever so faintly, the writhing black mass moving so slowly that it was impossible to see clearly with the naked eye. Most horrifyingly though, were the green flares of eyes, locked in something almost like a human face frozen in agony, staring right at Witt, piercing him with their mindless pain.
"What do I think I'm going to do or what do I want to do?" the barthing swatted at another scuttling thing that had been unfortunate enough crawl across the counter at the wrong time. "What I want to do is make him pay for the damages, apologize for the other patrons and then, for good measure, suspend him from the ceiling and beat him until candy comes out. What I think I'm going to do, however, is get him cured of whatever the hell has him acting particularly this-ish, find out what he did to Piix that got him like this, and get him to remember to control himself," The thought-entity thumbed the key in his hands distractedly, "Lest it become necessary that someone else do so."
And then he heard the yelling from the other room and groaned. For chrissakes the man shouldn't even have any time to work with to alter himself. I left the bare minimum timeflow for the doc' to work with him, it should take him years to so much as read his own DNA. As he entered the infirmary it wasn't half so bad as he'd expected, the alarm caused more by the appearance of the thing than anything it had actually done. He looked at the expression on Stygian's face and grumbled something about sucking it up, before glancing over at Witt's arm.
"Knowing Styggy that's probably infected, you may wanna wait around for our doctor. Where the hell's Holic?"
Marya rolled over in the infirmary bed with a groan, and opened her eyes to an amorphous mass of what seemed like it was at some point, mostly like a person. The face really struck her though, and the eyes...
The eyes...
She recognized those eyes...
The mongoose snickered and rolled over in bed.
The Mechangel
The Mechangel, once again wrapped in his cloak but without the hood down, had been casually observing and cataloguing the "bar brawl" between the newcomers in one circle, and the heated match between [Paladin Sheppard] and [Stygian] in another. The latter battle ended with a bang--literally. The two combatants were thrown out of the circle, which was partially broken. After the apparent circle malfunction, the Mechangel resume observation of the bar battle. Hmmm...none of the newcomers seem to have any genuine firepower or defence, like that Marya...I guess it wouldn't be a proper one-on-one fight, but... The flesh side of the Mechangel's face broke into a smile as he looked at the rest of the patrons. I've got a better idea.
Just then there was a BOOM, and the restrooms went up in flames, with [Stygian] stumbling out of the wreakage. Gods-damn that infernal man...hasn't he caused enough trouble already?
Apparently not, as after another slight altercation Stygian then seemed to erupt into a mass of writhing shadow-stuff, spewing little squirming things left and right. At this, the Mechangel whipped off his cloak and jumped backwards onto his feet, knocking back his chair. His right arm was up, hand folded out of the way with a cannon barrel exposed and a white glow pulsing within, ready to unleash the remaider of his energy. Fortunately, that turned out to be unnecessary, as the [Boogeyman] seemed to freeze the bastard on the spot. He then had the spiked fellow [Witt] take the malformed shadow-man to the infirmary, while muttering about the pest problem.
The Mechangel stowed his plasma beam, locked his metal hand back into place over it, and deployed the pulse-blaster from the top of his forearm. He then came up behind the [Boogeyman], expertly picking off all the things that [Stygian] had left behind with single shots from the pulse-blaster. The last little nasty was blasted to smithereens as the Mechangel stopped beside the [Boogeyman].
The Mechangel spoke in his half-synthesized voice. "Personally, I would prefer if he were simply evicted from this establishment altogether. He has caused much distress to other patrons, and not answered for it. I'm almost surprised the customers he has harassed haven't left yet. Such unpleasantness is not conducive to the ambiance and atmosphere of this saloon."
The Mechangel looked at the [Boogeyman]. "You can lodge that as a formal complaint, though it probably doesn't make a difference either way. Simply my input on the matter."
Shrugging, the Mechangel returned to his table, retrieved his chair and cloak, and settled back down in both.
Karazkt
The circle-walking Insectis was finally snapped out of his despair by the initial restroom explosion. Still upset, he finally decided he needed some rest, and had to get away from this commotion. He exited the bar through the door to the garage to go nestle up in the cockpit of his digger mech.
Witt sniffed, having removed his jacket to wash it, and himself, off, and glared at the burn marks on the front. Of the jacket, of course. "Spose at least they bloody look ok." The musculature displayed, although at least partially hidden by his spines at the back, was significant; mute evidence that Stygian was heavier than he looked was given by the size of the dent in the bed he was currently frozen on, the muscles on the 'hog explaining how the molten mass was moved.
He dropped the jacket on a bed, then turned his attention to himself, and flexed his left paw, inspecting the damage to his arm. Before he could do more than smudge the soot, or more than glance at the bruise, the quietness was broken by the scream from Andrea. Glancing up, his gaze was arrested by the stare from the face in the mass. He froze for a moment, then relaxed, and stepped back across the room, arriving at about the same time as Boogeyman.
"Knowing Styggy that's probably infected, you may wanna wait around for our doctor. Where the hell's Holic?"
"I'd about figured that myself. Sneaky bastard." This last in slightly admiring tones. He looked directly at the face, then addressed a comment to the barthing. "This thing is frozen in time, you said." He glanced over at Boog for confirmation, then returned his attention to the face. "You look fucking miserable, there." He reached out one hand, and tapped a knuckle on the forehead of the face, making a clear ringing sound. "You bloody oughta get that seen to, I reckon. If the wind changes, your face will freeze like that." He chuckled an evil little laugh, and went on. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I have my own problems."
He waved a cheery little wave, said "see ya!" and sauntered back to the sink, to continue washing himself up.
Dani relaxed a little once the flames covering Stygian were put out by the hedgehog Sylvie'd been punning with earlier. Some little part of her head once again reminded her that in Rustburg, she would have been cracking up at this situation.
What happened in the next ten minutes silenced that part of her.
Stygian was not all right. He was looking sort of like he had when Sylvie had scratched up his face...and he was talking about something hurting inside of him. Dani could feel the skin on the back of her neck starting to prickle - this was all uncomfortably familiar, considering what she'd seen in the Circle fight and what Sahlena had told her. When the bartender came back in and began to tell off Stygian again, Dani noticed the same thing she had before, the first time Boog had gotten mad – when he got angry, he started to look ... different. Her last blissfully distracted thought was: I gotta find out if I'm allowed to challenge him.
Then, everything went to hell.
Stygian's body did things no ordinary human form should be able to do. Then something exploded from his mouth and began crawling outwards. Black frozen patches formed on the floor around him, his skin and clothing ripped apart, and a twisting, horrible mass of something came forth from the twitching body and caught fire. It took all Dani had not to scream, throw up, and/or lose control of her bladder. Even though nothing she'd seen in her workplace was as horrible as this, her training in keeping her self-control mercifully worked.
The Boogeyman, she noticed was remarkably calm about the situation, sticking the key he'd been menacing Human-Stygian with earlier into Crawling-Demon-Stygian. The gesture seemed to work, and the CDS released Witt and froze. Boog explained, and Dani now wanted to fight him even more, but that part of her could only speak in frightened whispers now.
A muffled retching noise outside reminded her of a certain someone's likely reaction to this. The redheaded correctional officer stood up, fingers clenched tightly around her glaive, and walked over to the door, grabbing Sylvie's staff before she stepped outside.
-------
The elf was on her knees, away from the windows, panting, wiping off her mouth and looking like she'd just witnessed a murder. A few freshwater tears were on her face, but she wasn't sobbing; her eyes had just welled up when her stomach and chest muscles cramped. What she'd seen in her fight with Stygian, what had happened between them upstairs, was tame compared to this. She heard footsteps behind her, and immediately knew who it was. A pale hand grasped her shoulder, and her former guard gently said, "Get up, Sylvie."
The Green shook her head weakly. Dani crouched down next to her, seemingly unconcerned with the dark stain on the ground in front of them. "Come on, we might need you inside."
"For what?" the elf replied in a faint voice. Dani sighed a little and answered, still keeping her voice low so no-one would come out to see them.
"Well, for one thing, so I can keep an eye on you..."
"I'm fine."
"I can tell."
"......Why else?" Sylvie responded, still hesitant, but shifting her position so she could get up. The Red next to her looped an arm around her ribs to help her friend steady herself.
"You could help with him. I think he's really sick or something - " She was cut off by the elf's voice, which was a little angry, but more with distress than real hatred.
"Dani, he himself said he was dangerous, and Sahlena told you the same thing. How is this different from how he acted before?"
"You know it's not the same thing making him act like this, and so do I. He's hurt himself, Syl, and Witt too; why would someone do that – even someone like him – if everything was okay? And without any provocation? You challenged him to the fight, Giles had been an ass since he came in, and you made a mistake upstairs. What did you see that provoked him to do what he did just now?" The irony of defending a man she'd wanted to kill only hours before didn't escape Dani, but it worked. Sylvie went silent, her eyes still fearful and upset, but with a spark of understanding. With no trace of smile whatsoever, Dani turned Sylvie and locked her own dusty red eyes with her friend's light green ones. "As bizarre as I know it sounds, I don't want you to hate him for this. You're scared? That's understandable. It was scary to watch. But to refuse to help him over something he didn't even direct at you is the dumbest thing you've ever thought of doing." There was a lengthy pause, and both girls were grateful that no-one could see them. After what lasted only a minute but seemed like an hour, Sylvie squeezed her eyes shut tight, took a deep breath, and opened them. Then, with a slight nod to Dani, they both walked back in.
Sylvie picked up her cloak from the bar stool it was lying on and brought it over to a table, hanging it on the back of a chair. She signaled with her eyes to Dani, who nodded and let the elf sit down to get her composure fully restored. The Red herself headed closer to the infirmary door to see what was going on.
Irritably, the machine sizzled at Mechangel after he made his proposition, that very sound decrypting into an assortment of highly unappreciative comments on its own, clarifying what she thought of his opinion. When their host decided to up and leave though, she stalked after Boog as he moved into the infirmary, running processes calculating precautions and probabilities in the background, scanning the surroundings passively for any sort of oddity or sign of taint that might crop up.
':firstly, even if you slow him down, that's just putting the problem on hold, not actually dealing with it!' she aggravated. ':secondly, i don't think it's going to take. if you want to cope with this, you have to...'
Andrea rushed by, as they stepped in, and Sal made yet another of those sounds, this time with a grating edge to it. Looking down the infirmary, she caught the look of and instantly timed Stygian's movements, watching him with her main eye and trying to make an estimate of the progression he had in breaking his 'time suspension'. Her other eyes swiveled in their sockets, identifying the floodlights and objects present. They were going to need more...
':look, you want to do something about this? bring that little fuzzy, caramel-colored thing in here and let me examine it,' the machine said sourly, turning to Boog. ':but first, we're going to have to set up something better to contain him. quickly. if i'm right we've got about twelve minutes. then he'll be completely with us again.' She looked around, head turning smoothly. ':have you got any blacklights here? fluorescent lights? anything made out of titanium, or paint with some in it? mercury thermometers? a microwave would be good too, not to mention perhaps a car battery...'
"We can get any of those things from under the bar, some patrons that show up at these places have well and truly odd definitions of drinks," someone said, footsteps approaching from the infirmary's back room, "If you mean dear little Piix, she's in the bed over there that's walled off by privacy screens. Try not to wake her, and by that I mean no high explosives in the immediate vicinity. She hasn't so much as twitched since she was brought in. Whatever your friend did, he was very thorough about it." Something in a lab coat strolled into view, a creature that looked like some combination of a burn victim, a truly immoral genetics experiment, a crate of medical supplies and an ermine. Its chest was bare, showing a series of small sleeves or pouches along it's rather slight pectorals containing crudely functional-looking surgical and medical tools. One hand was covered in some manner of leather sleeve covered in belts up to the elbow, and in place of fingers were syringes that veins visibly extended into from the hand.
The smiley face bandaid on the thing's forehead didn't make it look much friendlier.
"My name is Dr. Holic. How may I be of service?"
Witt threw back over his shoulder "You tell me. Can you be of service?", then went back to washing off soot and blast marks.
Bart staggered sideways at the first blow, immediately turning himself around to face Kaela. "Oh, hit a guy when he's not--" But couldn't very well complete a retort with her fists continually pounding against his face and chest. By the third blow, he was dizzied. By the fourth, delirious, and beyond that he could barely stand on both feet. He feebly grabbed at her wrists and hands, but with vision bordering on triple it was pointless.
...*whump* He finally fell flat on his ass, spitting out a mouthful of blood (and one or two teeth). "...is that the best you can do, grandma?" The only constant tactic Bart used was to play human punching bag for the first several minutes, keeping just enough distance at odd intervals to let himself recover. "That ain't nothin'. I-- Shit, hold up," he mumbled and got to his feet with the assistance of a nearby chair. "I got roughed up worse by my own mama, you old bag. Hit me with somethin' real." The heavy breathing and blood on his face certainly didn't back up the bravado.
Standing absolutely still, Sahlena merely observed the new arrival for a quite long time. At first, she was conflicted as to whether if she should react as if Stygian might already have caused some trouble, but she quickly realized that the creature she were faced with really just looked that horrid all on its own. Even for someone who had seen bio-engineering, cybernetics and medical cases of the more horrible kinds, his grafted, damaged looks were something truly outstanding.
':i...' the machine began, then blinked a lens, and turned away, not saying a word more directly at the thing. ':retrieve those things then, or this place is going to be a mess soon.' She turned next, walking over to the screened-off section and disappearing from view, taking a stool and placing it next to the top end of the bed. First, she had to get a rough feel for the thing's physiology, then draw some blood, some venom, and then eventually she might get around to a CT- and EMG-scan. The question was whether if the place had good enough machinery for that sort of thing. Because she certainly wouldn't want to do it without, or trust that mangled, unhygienic patchwork man...
':if you have any equipment that might be of use here, i would very much appreciate if you told me so,' the machine-woman vocalized, after a second. Asking to orient herself was far from accepting aid. At the same time, she reached over to the bedside stand of equipment, searching out an empty syringe. Hands and fingers dissolving at joints and in the tiny incisions between the smooth, flexible metal of her body, becoming a clicking, whirring assortment of individually mobile, spidery digits and tools, she extended a small burner from within her hand and produced a very low-key but intense, warm flame, which she swept the needle with a few times along with small bursts of high-energy UV-light, sterilizing it. Already, she felt more processes and warnings make themselves known in the background, translating into a worry that the whole place might be as wicked and crude as its caretaker. Which, while much better than what Stygian might unleash, really didn't make for good circumstances for real medical work...
Andrace's nose had stopped bleeding by the time Bart finally landed on where his tail should have been. The brief rest had helped her get her breath back, now she was ready for round two. Her eyes narrowed and her tailtip flicked as she watched him closely, though: Kaela had given him a thorough beating, but he got back to his feet faster than she'd expected. Did he have some out-of-the-ordinary talent for healing? She didn't think he'd used a conventional healing spell. Maybe he was just very tough?
The hairless critter's boast of "hit me with something real" gave the lioness an evil idea, and a perfect opportunity to do a little experiment by way of throwing herself back into the fight. She turned and grabbed the nearest table, her claws digging in to the edges for a firmer grip, then she lifted it a little off the floor and spun it as hard as she could in Bart's direction like a gigantic frisbee.
"Hey, Shiny! This real 'nough f'r ya?" she shouted as she crouched slightly and leaped with a gleefully bloodthirsty snarl, claws and fangs bared, her pounce timed to land right on top of Bart about half a second behind the table.
Dr. Holic quirked what we will for the sake of argument call an eyebrow and stepped forward, placing one hand at the base of Sahlena's spiderfingers to slightly nudge her hand away.
"That will not be necessary. I've already examined the patient. Give me some credit here, after all, I am a professional." He reached into the lab coat and around to his side, made a jerking motion, and removed three vials of various fluids, made of what looked like natural volcanic glass. "The various scans of her physiology are in the top drawer of my desk, they might mean more to you than they do to me. After all," he gave the very slowly shifting mass of Stygian a look, "I know little about what I can do about your friend. You, on the other hand..." Dr. Holic turned toward Witt, face thoroughly unreadable, "Are not going anywhere until I have a look at that arm. Sit down." He patted the side of an empty examination bed.
Boog had already left to fetch the things Sahlena had mentioned. The idea of something that would keep Styg from making a nuisance of himself WITHOUT using the key appealed to him immensely. He hated using the thing, it scared the hell out of him.
...Keaton and Xianxi:'You are certain you are well, mistress?''For the last time, yes, Xianxi.'After a good hour of spitting, hacking, and generally regurgitating every foul beverage that had accumulated in her stomach, Keaton finally felt well enough to entertain rudimentary exercises - trying to leave her bed, for example. Almost instantly, after she took the first step, she felt her nausea return and had to collapse back under the sheets, vomiting into the container Xianxi had helpfully provided. Fortunately, with enough water, rest, and a periodic ritual of cleansing her insides, all of which was diligently supervised by Xianxi, Keaton was able to wander out of her bed and away from the infirmary around the time it began to grow crowded. As she was in desperate need of privacy and didn't want anyone to witness her indignity, Keaton was glad that her bed was segregated away from the rest of the patients and separated with a large curtain. Her departure went largely unnoticed, since the doctor seemed to be preoccupied with a new arrival. Keaton didn't see how serious the injury was. Her stomach was already in a tender, easily-provoked state and she didn't want to agitate it further, lest she see her own gall bladder.
When Keaton looked outside, at the tavern, she noticed the drinking contest had ended. And as it was, she didn't want to drink anything alcoholic for a week. The bartender seemed rather disgruntled, so Keaton crept surreptitiously past the busily chattering patrons, cradling Xianxi in her arms so the levitating creature wouldn't attract any unduly attention. Without any sound whatsoever, she shimmied into one of the booths and pretended to not look conspicuous. Of course, with her obnoxiously bright color scheme of yellow and black, she stood out like a sore thumb, but she thought she should have been applauded for the effort.
---
...Piix:Piix, feeling thoroughly exhausted by the day's events, hadn't witnessed the altercation between Stygian and Pal. She had fallen asleep on the table just after they left the tavern, and hadn't realized that she was moved into the infirmary. She hadn't so much as twitched, but was clearly alive: color hadn't drained from her face or the complexion of her ears and she was still warm - plus her body was imperceptibly mobile with breathing.
---
...Dekuyaketh:The giant Maine Coon felt himself stir; even while suffused in utter black blindness, he could feel the muscles of his body tense and rattle inside his body. That was enough indication that he had recovered: he could still
think, and now whenever his memory tiptoed back to previous events he wasn't assailed by unpleasant things. Dekuyaketh was almost certain, as he assessed the progress of his recuperation, that he was well enough to walk, but remaining lethargy prevented him from rising from his bed. Judging by the pressure against his face, Dekuyaketh was lying on his stomach and his cheek was resting on a pillow that still smelled faintly of commercialized bleach. His surroundings held similar scents: different medicines and soaps used to purify the instruments contained in the room. The sheets of his medical bed (coincidentally large and strong enough to accommodate a creature of his height and weight) were draped just beneath his wings.
Dekuyaketh registered something unpleasant. Something that stank of smoke, like freshly-incinerated roadkill. And he heard people
talking. Fisting his fingers of his non-mechanical arm in the sheets, Dekuyaketh opened one eye and stared wearily at the source of the smell - the doctor hadn't closed the curtain separating their beds yet.
Dekuyaketh came face-to-face with one of the most horrific, thoroughly mutilated things he had ever seen. It was a smoky black mass of antimatter, sizzling and writhing and somehow
alive although no creature could survive something so terrible.
Dekuyaketh stared at it for a good, long time, the glazed gold-amber disc of his iris unreceptive and as emotionless as the rest of his face, as though he was seeing and yet not seeing. And without a single sign of acknowledgment, Dekuyaketh did what a professionally-trained monstrosity of his caliber did best when confronted with a mutilated inferior: he pointedly ignored it. His wings shriveled and shrunk into his shoulder-blades, disappearing underneath his scarred skin, allowing Dekuyaketh to roll onto his back and avert his gaze toward the ceiling. One of his hands raised high in the air, gesturing with a hooked claw-finger.
"Hey, doc," he said - his voice was extremely groggy and distorted, "Not to interrupt or anything... I know you're a busy man, after all - but am I okay to leave yet?"
Witt glanced over at the doc, then shrugged expressively, dropped the sooty rag (all that remained of the flannel he was wiping himself down with) in the sink, and ambled over to where the doc was indicating.
"You sure you want me to sit there?"
The doctor nodded.
Witt shrugged. "Your bed, I guess." He then put one hand on it, and bounced up with a "Hup!", before landing - with a decidedly crunchy sound - on the bed, both legs hanging over the side. He raised one eyebrow at the doc, shuffling a bit, with more crunchy-sounding effects from his spines where they were embedded firmly into the mattress under him. "Something like this?"
It had to be wrong, really, but somehow it looked as if the machine actually
shivered when she felt the Frankensteinean meld touch her. Her face turned quickly to the side, sensors and actuators moving and buzzing irritably, and then followed his hand as he took out the vials, snatching them up as she got to her feet once again. Without a word, she walked over to the desk indicated, and sat down, spidery fingers spreading the pages and plastic-print pictures as she began reading them all at once. It took her about five-six seconds to copy their data, and then she turned to the vials. Now,
those on the other hand...
By the time the machine-woman turned around again, Stygian's tongue - the one that had grown out of the formerly ruptured one - was growing a small maw of its own, along with the socket around his burned eye, it seemed, and had extended another inch and a half. He was staring directly at her. There seemed to be something simultaneously pleading and frustrated in his gaze by now, as if he were just coping with the pain and could now spare enough attention to despising his predicament. His eyes managed to almost follow her the entire way over to him, as she got up, and extended her digits toward him.
'
:turn up the lights a bit more. and burning some UV on that wound might be a good idea...' she commented to no one in particular, as she calmly snipped off the end of the writhing flesh between the thing's wicked teeth, and then punctured a spider-like thing that seemed to be emerging from his shoulder. Sending an electrical jolt through it, she took the sample back over to the desk, then calmly set about distributing the biopsies in little doses, monitoring and analyzing.
- -
Having emerged making faces and cursing out into the common room once again, Andrea had immediately stomped over to the bar, grabbed a glass, and downed a hefty load of cold water. Figuring that she ought to go with tea next, or even better coffee with just a tiny something in it to give warmth and a comfortable buzz, she rubbed a temple hard. Usually, Stygian was just an annoyance and a hole in her otherwise nearly perfect awareness of the thoughts and things happening around her. What she had felt in there though had actually clawed at her mind, as if it were trying to infect it. In hindsight, reviewing the feeling, she realized that she hadn't really been in any danger, but the sheer
feeling... She could still feel some of the grating blackness beyond that door, but blocked it out with ease.
Her eyes ventured behind the counter, as she shook the thought off, along with her worries. But she stopped when she became aware of snippets of thought and conversation, of fear and worry, affection and slight embarrassment, from outside. With familiar 'flavors' to the thoughts. She frowned at Dani and Sylvie both as they re-entered, but kept silent up until Dani started moving toward the door to the infirmary.
'What're you looking for?' she asked out aloud. At the same time, she cast her thoughts out toward Sylvie, harmlessly bouncing her internal voice off the elf's mind.
If you are shocked by that sort of thing, you really should put him out of your thoughts, she echoed in the Green's head. Her gaze lingered on Dani for a few seconds, then turned toward Sylvie, her expression blank.
Dani couldn't quite see what was going on in the infirmary and was about to move closer when a familiar voice addressed her. She looked back over her shoulder at Andrea.
"I wasn't looking for anything specific. I just wanted to see what they're doing and whether he's okay." She didn't completely turn away from the direction she was going in, but she turned enough to face Andrea comfortably and politely. The psychic hadn't done anything harmful to Dani to stop her, so she guessed she was trustworthy. The only thing that bothered Dani was the surprised look she'd seen on Sylvie for the briefest of moments when she'd turned around. The elf wasn't looking anywhere near either of them, and she settled down quickly enough. Then Andrea had turned to face her.
Dani bit her lip. Even if it was well-covered-up, she knew what had probably just happened, but no-one was bleeding yet, so she decided to say nothing and wait. And keep one ear open for anything that might make Syl run outside again.
---------
Sylvie wasn't calm, not yet. She almost wanted another glass of elven wine, just to take her mind off things. Part of her wanted to look into the infirmary, but she knew Dani would do that and tell her what was going on anyway. She was worried, and wondering still if it was safe for her to be this concerned about St-
If you are shocked by that sort of thing, you really should put him out of your thoughts.
She sat up a little noticeably, her pupils dilated for a minute. Then, realizing that she recognized the voice, she turned the tiniest bit apprehensive. She relaxed herself and didn't look at Andrea or Dani - she didn't want to worry her friend, and the psychic hadn't tried to control her yet, so there was a chance she just wanted to have a conversation without alerting anyone else.
I thought I said to stay out of my mind, she thought indifferently. And believe me, I wish I could stop thinking about what I saw. If that is what you meant. She traced a fingertip along a groove in the table, only half-expecting a reply.
With mere seconds to react, Bart quickly brought down his big right fist on the airborne table, smashing it in two uneven pieces with his greater-than-average might. Sadly, his reflexes weren't nearly honed enough to avoid being floored by Andrace's 220 pounds of muscle. Her tackle brought him down to the ground like a ton of bricks; no room for tumbling around and playing the "now I got you pinned, I win" game. First instincts immediately took over.
"Shit, get it off, get it off!!" He grabbed at her throat and pushed to keep her sharp fangs at bay. "Get offa me or I'll skin your hide!!" His trusty butterfly knife was just the tool for that, but the fall's impact sent the weapon out of his pocket and across the floor, just inches out of reach. His free hand frantically reached and grasped for the weapon, face tensed and awaiting a merciless shredding from Andrace. All the worst-case scenarios raced through his head: eyes scratched out, jaw ripped off, fangs digging through his jugular and spraying hot lifejuice like a ruptured firehose. It all boiled down to, What's this crazy broad gonna do now?
People say and do a lot of things that they regret, Andrea reflected back at Sylvie. I wouldn't say that you seem very sure of what to do, so... She let the words hang for a bit, then crossed her arms beneath her breasts and leaned back on the counter, staring irritably at the infirmary door. I think that you should remember very well what you saw. And not think about it beyond that. But that's just me.
Silence fell, and the lack of some backdrop of music or speech in the bar became painfully apparent. The only sounds and activity seemed to be coming from the infirmary and the flickering images of battle elsewhere, whereas a lurid darkness had fallen over the bar itself. On the table across the floor from Sylvie's, scattered mechanical parts and a pair of firearms gleamed metallically, and a stubbed-out cigarette stuck up from an ashtray.
Sylvie twisted her lips a little, frustrated at the cryptic response and still rather upset. 'Don't think about it beyond - ' what does that even mean? She knew the psychic didn't trust Stygian, and had a perfectly good reason to hate him. It was whether she herself should hate him (or wanted to) that bothered her. Dani was right, an unprovoked attack wasn't quite like him, but she couldn't figure out what could have made him act like this...
She started to think back. She'd had the fight with Andrea, then she'd left the infirmary and watched the fight between Mechangel and Marya. Stygian had left at the beginning of that fight...then the elf and Sahlena had talked and she found out what he'd done to make Andrea hate him. Not much had happened between then and when Stygian came back down...except for whatever was wrong with Piix -
Wait.
A series of emotions crossed over Sylvie's face, as clear as a vocal reaction.
An idea forming, incredulity at the idea, and careful recollection.
Sinisterly slow, dawning comprehension as the facts presented themselves.
And finally, fearful, disgusted shock and disbelief.
No. Oh my God. It can't be - why would he - he couldn't have... Oh my GOD, did he - NO! No, it can't be that! There's got to be another explanation!
At the other end of the room, Dani stood up straight, looking tense and concerned for her friend, glancing briefly at Andrea, then at the infirmary door.
Andrace's snarl hiccuped and her eyes widened as she saw how apparently easily Bart smashed the table — with one hand, even. She barely had time to think oops before her leap ended with the meaty thud of her entire weight crashing into his chest, leaving him flat on his back with her crouching on top. The lioness grinned at his panicked reaction, but the grin faltered and she made a strangulated hrrkh! noise when Bart's hand clamped around her throat. He might only be interested in keeping her fangs away from his face, but still... Aw frig, he's strong! she thought, Got t' break his hold, an' not let 'im grab me again!
If she weren't choking, Bart's efforts to reach his knife would have been funnier. With her weight pinning him down, his arm wasn't quite long enough no matter how much he wriggled. It might be a small blade, but all the same, she had no intention of letting him stab her with it, so just to make sure, her tail flicked out and sent the knife skittering across the floor.
Andrace decided things had gone far enough. She wasn't hurting yet, and she wasn't completely unable to breathe, but this was no fun at all. She raised one hand and brought it down again in a blurringly fast swat aimed at the side of Bart's head. He might or might not have had time to see her claws were sheathed again. This time, she couldn't afford to hold back, now that she'd seen how strong and tough Bart was: she used her full strength and speed in the blow.
Boog plugged in the last of the apparatus meant to keep Stygian in place and flipped a switch. The strange, eclectic mess of parts ranging from the majority of a microwave to what looked to be components of a missile began to clank and whir for a moment, then slowed to stillness before a set of floodlights at the top illuminated the frozen Stygian's privacy-screened bed with a harsh light ranging from white to an eye-aching shade of ultraviolet. He then threw a sheet over everything of it apart from the lights at the top. Some of the components were scrutiny-sensitive.
"Yes," Dr. Holic said evenly. "This way you probably can't pry yourself out easily if you get alarmed." He then licked the side of one fist and swiped it over Witt's wound, which soon faded from an ache to a comfortable chemical numbness. He then raised the hand covered in syringes, started searching for a vein, and began talking.
"So, any medical conditions or medications I should know about beforehand?" He said almost absentmindedly.
Looking back, observing Boog as he set up the requested items with uncanny speed, if not much of a clear idea as to what would specifically go where and how, Sahlena whirred, then shook her head and returned to her investigation. Gathering data, she started compiling just as she got up, having applied some of the poison to slices of the bit of tongue-thing she had taken. Tapping one of the blacklights, she seemed to almost frown, then made a sound almost like a sigh. Bending down, she avoided one of the increasingly rapidly flailing and seething tendrils of black that extended from the writhing mass on the bed, and took up a thin glass phial filled with a reflective, perfectly silver liquid.
'
:the light disables his manifestation of that "shadow mass". seems to dissolve it, more specifically, at certain ranges of frequency. i'm not sure how it works,' she began explaining, pulling out the plastic top. '
:i've examined it several times, and it just behaves in ways it shouldn't. there are things it moves "around" that i can't analyze. i can only assume that these are what it interferes with, since that relatively low amount of energy shouldn't really be harmful to him at all.' She began pouring the mercury on the squirming mass, instantly causing a sizzling, crackling sound. Sparks started leaping off the thing, and a dull roar of pain emerged from too many mouths. '
:the microwaves bounce off the high amount of metallic compounds he seems to contain, and cooks him from deep enough in that the heat gets caught in the tissue. and he seems to absorb the mercury too readily, building it up along with the rest of the toxins in him, which seems to weaken him. it also helps with the heating.'
The thing on the bed seemed to shrink, just slightly, oozing little drips and flakes of black. It was moving much faster than before, though at least now it resembled something close to a man.
- -
The cluelessness and underlying stubbornness of it all perplexed Andrea. She stiffened, frowned, and her eyes widened as they turned toward Sylvie once more. For a good, long bit, she just stared as the elf with incredulity, as the realization wormed its way forth between her convoluted, excusing thoughts. And when it at last burst forth, distaste and pain in its wake, she snorted loudly.
'You didn't-?!' the woman started, then turned her palms and eyes to the ceiling in an exasperated gesture. 'You're worse off than I thought! What exactly did you
not notice? That he was crazy and so wound up he could barely keep his pants on, or that she was shocked and
half naked?!'
Witt raised one eyebrow at the doctor.
"Does alcoholism count? No, no medications, and the only fucking medical condition I have is I ain't bloody dead yet."
His arm, braced in front of him, didn't move at all under the doctor's ministrations, although the bed creaked a little. He considered, for a moment, then commented "I might have Tourettes, but anyone who sees a bloody shrink needs their damn head examined." He sniffed. "And then they damn well deserve whatever shit they get."
His breath, heavily laden with ketones, belied his stability. A little.
Having his only weapon knocked out of reach was cause enough for anger. Getting his cheek and temple smacked roughly doubly so, teeth bared and clenched, he tightened his grip upon her throat and reached up with his other hand, bringing down his thumb upon the subclavical pressure point between her neck and shoulder as hard as he could. Bart's knowledge of pressure points was effectively nill, but he'd had cousins press down on his subclavical with their knifenails enough times to know just how painful it could be if done right. From her first strangled choke, he knew she could feel just how strong he really was; it was time to play it up a bit.
Sylvie's hands were entwined in her hair, her eyes were wide and flooded with confusion and fear. Even though she responded quickly, she was clearly distraught, and her voice was almost trembling.
"I didn't know....I-I didn't think that he...God, I'm so stupid! How could he do that? I trusted him!" she said, more to herself than Andrea. She didn't bother thinking the words anymore. This probably wasn't a very smart idea, though, as Dani was now more confused than ever.
"Am I watching the sequel to a movie I didn't see or something?!" she almost shouted, frustrated at her own confusion and Sylvie's distress. Sylvie gave her friend a look that was half-angry and half-pleading.
"Be quiet, Dan!" Sylvie knew Dani wouldn't feel the same pain as she was experiencing right now, but this was something she should find out for herself. The Green turned to face Andrea, her mind spinning with questions and feelings. "Why would he... it doesn't make sense! What could have made him do that to her?!" At that question, Dani seemed to hook onto a vague idea. It was blissfully unclear, though, as she'd been asleep for the whole ordeal between Stygian and Piix, and the aftermath as well. All she knew was that she'd missed something important...
Snorting, Andrea rolled her eyes so pronouncedly and in such a well-timed manner, beefing the maneuver up with a contemptful little 'pah!' with such expression, that one might well have thought that a jury would pop up behind the counter to give her a score for perfectly executed snarkiness.
'Yeah, you're absolutely right. Why would he do such a thing? I mean, he's just a drug-addled, sociopathic monster and murderer. What possible harm could he be? Let's call
him the next time we need someone on a moral committee...!'
Pressing a pair of fingers to a temple again and rubbing it, Andrea leaned back, a sour, gruff expression on her face.
- -
It was with a sigh that, after some extended observation and applying of more mercury to select hot spots of activity on Stygian's form that Sahlena turned her back on the man again. Having shrunk to a man's size again, his 'skin' and tissue seethed and bubbled, moving away from areas of more focused exposure and concentrations of burns and metals before it welled over them again, desperately trying to shield him from the stinging, searing light. As it moved around, portions of the structure below the blackness often came into view, making him look on the whole like a skeleton covered in and entwined with some grotesque black oil-thing. Moving fully in sync with the surrounding time now, he had been strapped to the bed, then chained when the straps started tearing and the bed breaking. Now, he just lay twitching, shuddering, making jingling noises in between the seething ones, green flames spouting up everywhere. Sal sat down by the desk again, metallic fingers tapping her chin as she put it in her hand.
'
:seriously, i can't make much of this,' the machine sighed. '
:seizures, physical hyperactivity and changes in behavior can be explained. the composition is right. well, actually, since i haven't been able to ask him about anything, i'm just judging from his former reactions to drugs. the whole "spazzing out" thing though, and why he's... changing like that...' She turned to stare at the man.
The machine stopped suddenly. A gun was pointed at her from right under the cover hung over the lamps and magnetrons, shaking hard. The chains for Stygian's right arm hung, black-rusted and corroded at the ends where he had eaten through them.
'
C-cold...! B-b-bitch... n-nnn... cold...!' he sizzled.
Andrea's talent with snarkiness did not excuse what she'd said, apparently. Sylvie's eyes grew cold and angry, and her hands moved from her hair to the tabletop, as if she was about to stand up. "That isn't - "
" - What she meant," Dani finished, facing Andrea. Sylvie almost started to speak up again, but Dani held up a hand. "Sylvie, I just want to ask her a few things. Don't get defensive, please." She knew that Sylvie wasn't quite coherent enough to ask for information properly right now, nor would she really be hearing it. Even if all Dani knew was that something bad had happened, she'd seen what had happened to Stygian himself and knew that she and the elf both needed answers.
"What was that you said about him being 'drug-addled'?" she started off, her tone firm and her face serious. "I'm not going to try to excuse whatever he did, but an explanation would be nice. So did you mean that literally, and how did it happen? Is that what's making him act like this?"
Kaela lept backwards as the blur of a moving wooden table passed into her peripheral vision, smashing to pieces against Bart's knuckles in a spectacular display of wooden bits and splinters. She hesitated as she watched Andrace and Bart struggle on the ground, Andrace landing vicious full-force blows about the chin and cheeks. It was amazing to Kaela that Bart could withstand such punishment and remain conscious. The camraderie she had acquired with Andrace pressed Kaela to interfere on her behalf, but her personal sense of honor would not allow it. She certainly didn't want to give Bart the idea that the fight was rigged against him, and there was also the burning curiosity to see Andrace's full strength without having to be on the receiving end of it. She took a step back, leaning against the bar to catch her breath, and watched the brutal combat rage on with muted interest.
Andrace began to realise how much trouble she was in when the hairless critter stayed conscious after she whacked him on the side of the head. Frig, he's not weakened me that much already with th' stranglehold, has he? she thought with a worried frown. That little lovetap shoulda laid out any o' th' others 'cept maybe Irene — what th' blazes is he?
She realised what Bart was up to a moment after his free hand started moving towards the angle of her throat. He just had time to get his fingers into position and started putting pressure where it would do her the least good. She'd already started to throw her left arm up in a forearm block, too late for it to be stopped by the brief flash of paralysing agony that ran all the way down her arm. His hand was knocked away before she felt the effects for more than a second, then she reached out with both hands and grabbed his shoulders. Her hair had fallen forward during the struggle, shadowing her face and muzzle, but Bart could still clearly see gleaming fangs bared in a snarl, and glittering eyes that appeared to be fixed hungrily on his jugular.
Y' fight like m' baby sister, she thought, but that's a move m' big brother likes t' use on us. Let's see how y' like what I taught Eugenie f'r her fourteenth birthday... A growl rumbled deep in Andrace's chest, and her grip on Bart's shoulders tightened. Suddenly she dug her claws into the floor and threw herself violently sideways, tumbling both of them over. The lioness drew her legs up to her chest as they rolled. If she could plant her paws in the pit of Bart's stomach and kick out... if he let go her throat, he'd go sailing across the room. Maybe he'd even land on Kaela (where'd she go, anyway?), and if not, well, it might hurt a bit more, but at least he didn't have claws to rip out her throat with.
Bart awkwardly smacked at Andrace as she tumbled to the side and launched him through the air. Strangulation wasn't something he wished to resort to (just yet), and so he allowed himself to be vaulted from the floor, past Kaela's head, to the wall, and back down again with an *oof*. It took him a moment to get his bearings and stand. No more floor-rassling. She certainly had a much better aptitude for close-quarters manuevering than he did. "Okay," he spoke, adjusting the sleeves on his jacket and doing a quick shuffle, hopping up and down lightly.
"Sassau au' ritek." He gave an odd gesture with his right hand: almost like the Vulcan greeting sign, but with the thumb, index and middle fingers crooked, and the ring and pinky fingers spaced a little closer to the other digits. "Stand and deliver." He rolled up the sleeves of his jacket up to nearly his shoulders, revealing a part of inked flesh on the right upper-arm. A small hint of some gang tattoo, one could surmise.
Andrea flinched, but watching Dani's look and hearing the tone in her voice, she realized her mistake quickly enough. She was actually trying to find a way to lighten the gravity of Stygian's actions! It was easy enough to see, and for her to feel, that this stemmed from a concern for Sylvie. But everything indicated that it extended beyond that. And she thought she had been able to sympathize with the woman...
'You've seen him down drinks, but that's water compared to some other stuff that he does,' Andrea replied gravely, staring the Red down. 'Don't dare to think he's likable without some poison though. I wouldn't be surprised if he's worse then.' She scowled, then turned her gaze away again, uncomfortable with being confronted with questions that she wanted to answer, but couldn't.
'But in all likelihood toxins barely affect him anyway, meaning that he's responsible anyway. If you want to know what happened still, you're going to have to pry it out of him, because I can't tell,' she admitted, then hardened her glare as she turned her eyes toward the other women, daring them to challenge her words. 'What I do know is that I've seen him do things that you wouldn't understand, and certainly wouldn't enjoy having showed to you, for no apparent reason. Even worse, I've seen him do things to people.' Her gaze was as set and steady as her words. 'He is no man. He is a monster. In all he says and does. And whenever he's ar-'
Andrea did not get to finish her sentence. The sound of the gunshot was muffled, yet produced a discernible snap that was hard to put a direction to. The crash of medical equipment though, could be heard clearly from within the infirmary.
"Right then, no perscription medications or painkillers. Would you like any? I've got a few." Dr. Holic fished around in his coat, "I've found lollipops to be an insufficient reward for good behavior, such as insulting psychiatrists. Oh, right, one other thing." He made a quick jab with one of the needle-fingers and injected Witt with something at the elbow above his wound. "That should flush out any of the infection that's already started spreading into your system. Try not to use that arm too much for a bit." He said, as the syringe-finger slowly emptied its contents into the hedgehog's arm. He glanced over at Dekuyaketh, "And yes, you may leave."
The sound of the gunshot was muffled, yet produced a discernible snap that was hard to put a direction to. The crash of medical equipment though, could be heard clearly from within the infirmary.
Boog stood, key again held out, shifting and livid. The bullet hung in the air amidst some of the smashed components of the light rig. It was still on out of the sheer bloody-mindedness of the arguments that had been used in its construction, but that wasn't going to last.
"Hey, shiney chick." The muse said, his voice extremely even and calm in that special way used by people who aren't actually all that calm, "You know him better than I do. What, if you'll pardon my impertinence for asking, the hell?"
Dani listened, feeling a little indignant about Andrea's warning about thinking Stygian was more likable without drugs or alcohol. What part of 'I'm not going to excuse whatever he did' didn't she understand?! Especially considering what she just told me... True, she somewhat respected Stygian, and may have been feeling a little soft because of Sylvie's connection with him, but that didn't mean she would hesitate to kill him (or try to) if he became too dangerous. The explanation she'd requested was simply her police logic at work. If a man kills his wife and her secret lover after finding them together, he has a good explanation for his actions, but that doesn't mean he won't serve jail time, nor does it mean everyone who knew him will forgive him.
There was a bang in the air, and these thoughts, as well as Andrea's answer, were cut off. Then there was a metallic crash. Sylvie's eyes half-lost their harsh look, and she moved to stand again, but there was another snap, this time, from Dani's fingers.
"Syl. Not yet," the guard said quietly, through her teeth. Sylvie hesitated, but all she did was tighten her grip on her staff and lean to get a look at the infirmary door. She knew better to argue with her friend right now. The last time Dani had used that tone on her was when she'd still identified the Green by a five-digit number.
Stygian's groans and growling sounds grew high as he rose up off the table, his back arcing as he seized up, gun pointing toward the Boogeyman now. Sahlena, meanwhile, had shifted her weight into a low stance, looking ready to pounce upon the thrashing 'man' in a heartbeat. Her sensors flickered and shifted with alarming speed. If she'd had the energy stream gun in there...
':i don't know! how can-' she started, only to be interrupted by another roar on Stygian's part. In response, she moved forward and snatched the gun from his hand, cracking her reinforced elbow into his jaw.
'Unngh! C-collld! Ne-eeed-d...!' he growled, a wound on his cheek sealing within moments. 'Get th-aaaugh! Aaawaaay! Hsssss!'
':hold him down!' the machine commanded, throwing the dangling chains back on his right arm haphazardly, before darting back to a cabinet. Rummaging through drawers and boxes, she retrieved the strongest, most vicious sedatives and paralytic agents she could get her hands on, readying a couple of syringes.
'N-nooh! C-cold! Fffssss-...! D-drrk...! G-get... in th-he darkk...!' Stygian thrashed, but the machine wrenched the gun from his hand before he could get off another shot, dashing over just in time. Pushing him back down into the bed, which creaked and whined underneath the pressure, she stabbed his neck and injected the potent cocktails of drugs violently and fast. The man didn't react immediately; the toxins sizzled through his system, but were not only resisted for the most part, but started metabolizing too fast as well. Still, after some residual twitching and twisting, Stygian fell relatively silent and slack to the table, though he still shivered and seized visibly. The blackness, smelling like burned pitch now, twisted and rolled all over his form. Its scent was beginning to fill the air, at about the same pace that his shuddering was dying down. His eyes flickered and flared, their glow fading slowly.
Andrace grunted and dipped her ears as one of Bart's flailing fists connected with a less heavily muscled portion of her anatomy. Still, she allowed herself a moment of satisfaction as her roll-and-kick move came off perfectly, and the hairless critter went splat against the wall. While he scrambled to his feet, she glanced around. Kaela still leaned against the bar, catching her breath. Tables that hadn't been knocked over (yet) there, there, and...
...And she realised Bart didn't seem to like closing with her for a good punch-up. Too bad. Yeah, this could work. The lioness took a running jump onto the nearest table, bounded from there onto the bar, then leaped high and fast, right at Bart. As she kicked off the top of the bar, she took a deep breath and roared.
Several years ago, as a teenager, Andrace had been given voice lessons. Like her brothers and sisters, her roar could be heard clearly almost a mile away on a cool night. In a small enclosed room, at a range of only a few yards — fewer every second — her roar could be heard very clearly indeed. There were no words in the roar, but it spoke eloquently of feral savagery in the night, and gutted carcasses found half-eaten in the morning with their throats ripped out. As her leap ended, and she descended on Bart like the wrath of... well, of a P.O.'d lioness, Andrace grinned exultantly. She reached out with her left hand to grapple him, while with her right, she threw a punch aimed right at his chin. A good solid hit anywhere would do quite nicely, though.
Bart tensed up as he saw Andrace make her hop-along across the furniture towards him, putting up his dukes in preparation for a nice, strong blow. But as soon as the roar hit his eardrums, all Bart could do was jump back and throw up his arms in a semi-instinctive cower. Due to the bad positioning of his right hand, Andrace's fist bent the thumb back with a sickening crackle as her fist struck it and continued on to pound him dead in his eye, causing a sudden little eruption of red. Two very painful, distracting injuries, and caught by the neck in her grip as she brought him back down to the floor. He couldn't help but wonder how much less pain he'd be in had he just grabbed her with both arms or did anything other than act like a frightened rabbit.
And to think this was something martial arts could've helped with. If only he'd listened to his grandfather all those years ago... 'Bartholomew, take heed, for what I teach you now will--' '*Zznnnkk--*' 'Wake up!! Oh, why do I bother? You may as well just sit in front of the idiot-box and watch professional wrestling all day. At least you would pay attention to that.' '...hell yeah!' While emulating the WWE and improvising helped for taking on more practical foes, a lack of formal combat training would be his downfall at the hands (or, claws) of the disciplined lioness.
He stared up at Andrace through his ruined cornea and gritted his teeth, grabbing and squeezing her left wrist with all the might he could muster with one good hand.
Andrace's grin widened as she felt bones crunching under her fist. At last, she'd managed to hurt Bart with more than a few bruises, or at least make an impression on him. Her other hand clamped around his throat as she slammed him into the floor and crouched over him, her knees planted firmly in his stomach. He looked ready to panic, though, and she realised why that might not be so good when he clamped his unhurt hand around her left wrist and squeezed. Hard.
Ow-ow-argh-frig-he's-strong-it-hurts he's breakin' m' wrist! she thought desperately as she laid her ears back and yowled. Her grip around his throat loosened, only her weight keeping her hand in place. She wasn't sure if she could hear her bones creaking, but it certainly hurt enough. Drilled-in reactions took over. Her right leg drew back, then her knee hammered into Bart's groin. With her free hand, she punched him hard in the solar plexus, then reached up and grabbed his wrist, digging her thumb into what she hoped was a pressure point on his weird anatomy. "Let go, y' little squirt," she growled through clenched fangs.
Bart yelled out a pained hooting as Andrace knee'd him directly in the manhood, which was mercifully cut short after the winding blow to his abdomen. "Haaaooww--" He croaked piteously under her grip. God--...damnit!! She'd hit him so hard it felt as though his already messed-up eye would finally vacate the socket by transference alone. His breathing was quick and infrequent, and the grip slowly weakened as Andrace's thumb pinched into the radial ulnar. Half of his body screamed to give in before the Amazon decided to just rip both his arms off and toss him to the side like a piece of meaty tissue paper.
As he turned his head to the side and shut his eyes, his right hand pushed along the floor, finally managing to shove the thumb into a close enough position for his bones to crack it back into place and reattach. Oh, sweet Jesus, much better. Now-- His renewed hand grabbed her other wrist and squeezed right back. Now it was a pretty awkward setup: her left hand to his neck, his left to that wrist, her right to that wrist, and then his right to her right. "Forget it, you broad." The ropey, ruptured texture of his right eye had already smoothed out and was beginning to take on its previous luster. "You're not dealin' with some small-town chump, here. You're dealin' with a Thompson Fury Boy." It took so much effort to speak normally with the intense aching in his loins.
Boog stood there, watching the machine work and thinking furiously. What the blithering hell was Stygian talking about? Eugh, the man never does think straight inebriated or otherwise. Maybe just completely cut off his access to time so he can't keep siphoning himself more, or just reduce his coefficient of friction to zero so he slips and falls if he tries to do anybloodything. Leave him in a closet until he can-
Sahlena felt a tapping on her shoulder, the metallic clink of needle on metal.
"Excuse me." The creature blinked once, its eyelids apparently being slightly translucent, "Was he talking about needing the cold? There's a closet in the back that's been altered in some way that heat can't enter it. I use it to store the transplant organs, but if your friend needs it..."
Marya started snickering again. "Yeah, stuff th'creep inna closet. I like this idea..."
After the noise died down, you could almost hear Dani and Sylvie's muscles unclench. Both still had wide eyes as they looked at the door, some faint burnt smell in the air and each feeling a little cold. Some colder than others.
For a time, neither of them moved at all. Then finally, the elf shifted in her seat and stood up. Dani looked at her, her eyes holding a firm, but protective air. "Sylvie. You don't have to - "
"Yes I do," she responded, but not with the vehemence she'd had earlier. Her tone was not quite flat, but it was disappointed and weighted down a bit. The girl looked at Andrea for a moment, her gaze resigned, and it was clear she had sunken quite a bit. But even underneath this, there was something else, some understanding mixed with need. When and if Stygian was able to do so coherently, they had to talk. And the entire time they did, she was going to keep what he'd done to Piix fresh in her mind.
The last suggestion seemed to cause some sort of response within Stygian, because he gritted his teeth and made a twitching, shuddering motion that could loosely be interpreted as a nod, followed by a groaning sound from somewhere down in his twisting gullet. Sahlena just stared at the doctor-thing for a good, long bit, then turned and surveyed the sizzling man. What Holic had just said went against all the knowledge that she had of Stygian's physiology and behavior, and what she had seen so far. Or did it? She didn't have an organic mind; didn't have, and didn't trust, anything like 'intuition' or 'hunches'. Yet, in this case, when she had no way of knowing all the symptoms, perhaps...?
':alright', the machine said, after a long, tense wait of weighing the risks against each other. If they stuck him in some dark place, at least there was a much less severe chance that he'd die. How they would work from there on though, was impossible to decide. ':let's just... open it up then. make sure it's dark. and if you have any organs that you want to keep...'
Roughly hoisting the blackened, seething, half-limp thing off the medical bed, Sahlena turned toward the back of the infirmary, looking to Boog for directions.
...Dekuyaketh:
After spending a good moment waiting for the doctor's answer, Dekuyaketh tested the responsiveness of his limbs and sighed, waiting for his mechanical arm to fully activate. Once it finally hummed to life, reconnecting with an affirmative click in the back of his head, he climbed out of his bed and stood. He sighed, still pointedly ignoring Sahlena dragging the disfigured mass of charred black away and out of the room, then muttered a quick "thanks," to the good doctor before leaving. Although Dekuyaketh had just emerged from an almost catatonic state, he felt elated knowing that the person responsible had gone through a great deal of hell.
Andrace had yowled before: when Bart unexpectedly regained the use of his other hand and clamped another crushing grip on her right wrist as well, she just moaned and gritted her fangs. The sudden pain made her tail fur fluff up, and shocked her into extending all her claws, including the one on her right thumb that was digging into Bart's pressure point. Something snapped audibly in her left wrist, and she yelped and started to fall forward.
The lioness turned the movement into a downward lunge, a snarl like ripping cloth coming from her throat as she ducked her head into the tangle of arms and opened her jaws wide to sink her fangs into Bart's right forearm. She wasn't holding back any more, if she managed to tag him this time, she was going to bite. Hard. If it was something his healing ability couldn't handle... too bad.
Bart immediately yelled in agony as Andrace's claws and fangs went through his flesh like a hot knife through butter. It was, in fact, something his healing factor could handle... provided he had enough breathing room for the wound to close up. He couldn't very well recover while she was still clamped down on his arm. "Shit, shiiiiittt!!" Now he was getting scared and sweaty, not unlike a wildebeest in the deathgrip of a bigger, toothier predator. And to think things were going so benignly in the first few moments of their fight.
"Get your teeth outta my arm you damned savage!!" Bart had to admit the outlook wasn't too good. Despite all his violent struggles, her fangs were still dug deep through muscle and sinew, leaving his right hand dead while failing to worm his left out from the stabbing grip of her claws. He could stand being in such a position longer than most other beings, but Andrace obviously wasn't going to give in anytime soon, and anything else from that point on was just going to be much more debilitating. He did nothing more than thrash spastically, waiting for the other shoe to drop and flatten him.
Kaela watched Bart and Andrace systematically destroy one another with muted interest, noting the way each one of them fought and storing it away in her mind for further use. It was involuntary of course, a habit of a seasoned soldier, but that did not make it any less useful. She admired Andrace's brutal, if perhaps predatory and animalistic, method of fighting, wincing as Andrace drove her knee into Bart's groin, although she certainly didn't look forward to facing it.
Bart's sheer strength and toughness shocked her, though. She flexed her bicep pensively, looking at it, and did not imagine for a second she could cause such obvious pain simply by closing her hand and bunching up the muscles in her arm. There was certainly something more to him than at first glance, that much she could gather. If he came out victorious, which was quite possible, she would have to tangle with him, and she doubted she could beat him in a combat of strength. She was not as strong and spry as she once was, but it did not seem honorable to use a blade. Kaela sighed, arms pressed against the bar, and watched the continuing fight.
Bart's flailing about did actually give a benefit: he whacked Andrace on the ear and thumped her broken wrist, twisting it in a direction not suitable for her anatomy. She opened her mouth to yell, and immediately realised she'd let go of his arm. She sneezed Bart's blood out of her nose and rolled quickly away from him, doing her best not to damage her wrist any more. She had an idea now how quickly he could recover from the immediate shock of an injury: much too quickly for her comfort. How about if she injured him a bit more... or a lot more?
As she came out of the roll, Andrace snatched up the longest plank she could reach from the shattered table. Perfect. Rising to her knees, she turned back towards Bart with her left arm dangling limply. "Jump up again from this!" she snarled as she swung the plank with all the strength she could muster one-handed and brought it crashing down towards his head.
As she did, she caught a glimpse of Kaela again. What was the old wolf doing? Had she given up? Was she waiting to see who won? Was she taking it easy having a drink? Probably with an umbrella in it?
As soon as Andrace let up and rolled away, he tumbled off in the opposite direction, gently cradling his punctured arm and panting tersely. He'd heal, but that didn't mean it wasn't one of the more painful experiences of his life. "...jump up from wha--" The plank smashed Bart's dome straight down into the floor, causing both legs to lift up and quickly thump back to the ground. His body twitched... and stopped moving entirely. A great fatigue soon settled over his mind.
Andrace may not have downed him entirely, but that blow left him feeling very, very sluggish. "...m' gon' lie down 'ere," he muttered, face still buried partway into the floor.
While Bart was out for the count, Andrace climbed to her feet, took a few steps away, and leaned heavily against the bar. Working quickly, she took hold of her left wrist and — grunting and laying her ears back — pulled hard until the bones crackled and popped back into place. She took a bandage pack from a hidden pocket on the inside of her belt, ripped it open with her teeth, pulled her sleeve up a little and wrapped the bandage tightly around her injured wrist. Finally she murmured a few quiet words and made a grabbing motion with her uninjured hand. A soft, sparkling green light appeared, flowing like syrup between her fingers. She spread the light over her wrist, where it sank through the bandage.
The lioness sighed with relief. The whole process had taken only seconds; while her wrist was nowhere near completely healed, it didn't hurt as much, and it should hold up until the end of the fight. She grinned toothily and turned towards Kaela. "Right, granny," she said almost cheerfully, "your turn..."
Kaela smiled, impressed by Andrace's use of improvised weapons. She wrote a reminder to herself in her mind to watch out for that in future. As Andrace fixed herself up with both traditional and magical methods, Kaela watched her silently, before slipping off her breastplate and pauldrons and tossing them to the ground beside her rather loudly. The rest of her armor quickly followed, and she finally stood without it before Andrace, dressed in black cargos, leather boots, and a simple black sports bra. Ceremoniously, she drew her long knife from the wood and cast it through the air, catching it deftly in her other hand. "Good, I was getting tired of waiting," she grinned, flashing her fangs as she sprung forward low and hunched to the ground, kicking out at Andrace's ankle as she aimed a wide slash at the lioness' abdomen. Her blood began to sing at the prospect of a duel.
Andrace cocked an ear curiously as she noticed Kaela stripping off her armour. Well, that makes things a bit more interestin' all round, she thought, th' doggie don't want t' be weighed down too much, so she can move faster. An' she's not so worried 'bout losin' th' protection o' her armour as she was grousin' 'bout. The lioness stood poised, her tail swishing languidly from side to side, her hands hovering over her hips just like she'd pulled her knives out of their hidden sheaths earlier.
The waiting ended when Kaela tossed her long knife flamboyantly, caught it, and charged. Andrace's hands dipped and drew her own knives, although there was a loud ripping noise and a chunk of her left trouser leg — where Bart had torn it — fluttered to the floor exposing more of the sheath strapped to her thigh. She hopped out of the way of the wolf's sweep kick, and brought her left-hand knife forward to block the slash aimed at her stomach. Her ears dipped for a moment as the blades met with an almost musical clash: the impact sent a warning twinge through her injured wrist, but she forced herself to make no other visible reaction.
Andrace twisted sideways and stepped clear to let Kaela charge on past, raising her right-hand knife and stabbing forward in a probing attack at the wolf's face. She didn't expect to score a hit so soon, but watching how Kaela avoided being sliced up might come in handy for working out tactics later in the fight. In the meantime... maybe she could be annoyed into making a mistake.
"Nice strip act, granny," she called with a cheerfully lecherous grin. "Bit noisy, though, was that y' creakin' old bones I was hearin'? What d' y' do f'r an encore, wag y' tail an' dance? Or do th' thing wi' th' pole?"
Kaela shifted to the side slightly as Andrace's brilliantly polished blade sailed gently over her head, ripping open one of her ears in a brilliant ribbon of scarlet. Her knife hand twitched sharply as steel clashed against steel with a resounding clang, sending bolts of discomfort jarring up her arm. She ignored both the pain in her arm and head, twisting on the spot with a joyful smile on her face and blood running through her fur.
"I wasn't aware you were so interested," Kaela snorted derisively, her lips twisting into a smirk. "Then again, some people just like fit, older women." She wagged her tail teasingly before turning about and sending the sharp end of her elbow sailing towards Andrace's gut, following it up with a rapid slice aimed at the thigh intended to take a chunk of muscle, fat, and perhaps even bone. While Bart and Andrace may have brawled, Kaela played hardball. The lioness was clearly skilled with her blades, and Kaela was curious to see just how good this clan warrior was. At least she could take comfort in the knowledge that there was medical assistance nearby should one of them fall.
Andrace grinned impishly at Kaela's reply to her taunt and looked down as if she were admiring the old wolf's swaying rump and swishing tail. This might be a fun fight as well as an exciting (and dangerous) one. She hadn't dropped her guard, though, and the sight of blood dripping down the side of Kaela's head from her slashed ear made the lioness think quickly for a moment. So, she's not afraid t' take a minor hit or two. Whittlin' her down wi' lots o' little cuts prob'ly won't work, then. Okay, plan B.
Her musings were interrrupted just then as Kaela broke off her posing and returned to the attack. Andrace managed to twist her body just enough to let the wolf's elbow sideswipe her stomach instead of hammering into her gut. That would not be good, she thought, as she suddenly realised all the booze she'd poured down her throat in the last hour was doing more than making her drunk; she could feel an unmistakable pressure on her bladder that was beginning to build up. One good punch — or worse, a stab — in the wrong place would really leave her hurting. Maybe she should have gone to the little kitty's room before the fight, after all.
She saw Kaela's next move start, almost too late to do anything about it. She thrust her knives down and across each other in front of her leg, just in time to catch the descending blade... almost. The point of the wolf's long knife stabbed at least an inch or two into her left thigh before she forced it back. Andrace gritted her fangs and scowled as blood spurted, then started trickling down her leg. The same leg Bart had bruised back at the start of the fight, dammit. She grunted and forced Kaela's knife arm further back, then she flicked her right-hand knife away, lashed out across the wolf's chest, then scrambled quickly backwards to clear a little space between the two of them. She was limping slightly on her bruised and (now) stabbed leg.
Kaela gritted her teeth, blood streaming down into her left eye and her mouth as she smiled devilishly, happy to be engaged in a one-on-one battle with an equally matched opponent. It was a wonderment to her that she found the concept of battle and bloodshed to be fun. Was it an intrinsic trait to her people, or was she simply an unstable person? Whatever the case, it was what it was, and as she struggled to push her blade into Andrace's leg, she knew that fighting like this was what she lived for. She could've retired and earned a comfortable living years ago, but that would be boring.
She broke from her thoughts as Andrace suddenly pulled one of her knives back, sending the old warrior off balance and off guard. Cloth and flesh tore apart with a spurt of blood as Andrace raked her blade across Kaela's chest, passing just beneath the woman's clavicle. Stumbling backwards, Kaela checked her wound during the brief lull in the fighting, giving the two fighters a bit of breathing room. Andrace's weapon had bit down hard, exposing dark red flesh and creamy white bone beneath Kaela's fur. "Good blow," Kaela complimented the hefty lioness with a smile, spinning her knife in her hand idly, waiting for Andrace to make the next move.
Andrace muttered a quiet "gotcha!" in a satisfied tone as she saw and felt her knife slice across Kaela's chest. Not an immediately dangerous injury, but — as she knew from painful and messy experience — a cut like that would bleed a lot, and hurt a lot. She crouched slightly forward, rocking from paw to paw, watching the old wolf's reaction. Her own injury wasn't too serious either, she thought: she could feel the patch of blood-soaked fur slowly spreading down her leg, but at least it wasn't gushing out, and it wasn't slowing her down yet. They were more or less even, then. Time to change that.
The lioness bounced more energetically from paw to paw, ignoring for the moment the sharp pain shooting up her leg, her ears and whiskers perked forward, and her tail flicking back and forth as if with excitement. "Wantin' a rest already, granny?" she said with a cheerful grin, and her left-hand knife flicked out in an obviously feint attack at Kaela's eyes. "Can I get y' anythin'? Rockin' chair?" Right-hand knife, feint at the throat. "How 'bout a walkin' stick, or nice warm slippers?" Left-hand knife, feint at the right leg. "Or maybe a lie-down in a comfy bed!" At the last word, almost shouted, Andrace lunged forward into striking range.
Leaving her left knife free to parry or block if Kaela counterattacked, the lioness roared nearly as loudly as she'd done at Bart, and thrust forward with her right-hand knife. She was aiming at the centre of the wolf's body, but the strike could easily be turned down to slash a leg, or turned up to stab at throat or chest, depending on how Kaela reacted.
"Right, it was, ah... That way." Boog marched toward the back rooms, Sahlena and Holic in tow. Aspects of the building around them got strange the further down this hallway they went; supporting pillars where one wouldn't seem necessary, exposed wooden boards bent in loops, light fixtures swinging slightly with no noticeable force to have moved them. Eventually, after walking down a ways that one would be almost CERTAIN would have been too far to still be in the building they reached a row of doors, each exactly next to one another. Holic opened one of them, reached in and pulled out a large and slightly lumpy sack of objects over his shoulder. Inside the room it was dark, and cold, and that was about all one could make out of it.
Boog jerked his thumb in the direction of the closet and looked around. "Lets hurry it up, this place gives me the creeps."
As per the Boogeyman's guidance, Sahlena hurriedly, and with a great deal of evident and rather understandable disgust at the horrible thing she was holding, moved along, peering over it as well as she could so that she stayed on Boog's and Holic's tail. This kept her occupied, and had the fortunate side-effect of distracting her away from the building's layout, which in defiance of most basic guidelines of physics behaved however the blazes it wanted to. Finally, they arrived at a rather heavy- and solid-looking storage door, evidently airtight, which the doctor-thing swung open. Long, billowing clouds of condensation flowed out with the draft, turning the opening to the room beyond into a slate of mist, until natural laws that even the Circle was not exempt from kicked in and made it into a rolling, swirling mat instead, driven by the pressure exchange, over which Holic reached, behind the frame of the door, to haul out a large sack of some kind. Sahlena didn't even notice. She just stared past him.
The storage room was indeed dark, and very, very cold. The walls to the sides were hard to see, and the back of it was merely a dark patch of nothing which even the machine's fine-tuned sensors couldn't pick up. Nothing immediate, at least; it gave off the impression of a wall somewhere, but it was in the same way that the dark entrance to a forest road at night gave off the impression of safety and a destination. It was far too easy to imagine that darkness just stretching on and on, the blackness swallowing up the walls until even they became insubstantial, and more than one type of horror that might be waiting somewhere at the depth of it. In short, it was a veritable playground for Stygian.
For a moment, the machine did hesitate. It might seem logical to think that when in that sort of situation, faced with either just doing what needed to be done or standing around imagining all the horrid things that might happen if Stygian's power was given such a place to roam freely, the machine would naturally choose the former option; would even come to the conclusion that drawing too many conclusions and extrapolating too far would be a bad thing beforehand. The simple answer though, was that it was not so simple. Apart from the fact that such a choice depended on a mode of thought that was really too esoteric for a machine mind, it also faced a fundamental problem; machines too stupid to make it would just go on to imagining and predicting away, but ones that might have been smart enough to make it would already have thought out the consequences before they could stop themselves. And Sahlena was of the latter kind.
':aw, crap ', she said, at last, after a few seconds of hard staring. She had dropped Stygian, who had huddled up into something approximating a fetal position, his skin and shadow melting together and stretching for the doorframe as he shuddered and twitched. One big red lens glaring down at him, the machine thought hard. Would it be necessary doing what they were about to after all?
The answer was obvious. At least to her. She didn't like it, of course, but that was just the way of things.
':bugger it all', she muttered, and kicked the curled-up shape into the shadows, then slammed the door shut before she had a chance to see what unpleasant things might result of it. She turned her back on the door, folded her arms, and for a moment Boog thought he could actually see her shudder. Then she looked at him, and just gave the tiniest nod, before making her way back through the corridor toward the bar with such measured steps that they had to be the result of tightly controlled fear.
At the threshold of the infirmary door, Sylvie and Dani stood and watched the motley procession down the corridor to the closet. It was almost impossible to tell who'd been trained to be a guard and who'd been guarded, the way the two women were standing. As time passed, Dani glanced over at Sylvie and noticed a strange look in her eyes. It was almost like the look Dani had had when she'd been waiting for Giles to wake up, but less impatient and more worried - though she knew that right no, Sylvie wouldn't admit to the worried part.
She tapped the elf's shoulder. "Syl - "
"Nothing wrong with me," the elf responded, in the same tone as before, but quietly and a little too quickly. Dani sighed.
"I'm gonna start counting the number of times you say that." She gave her friend an even expression. "Look, I know you want to talk to him, but I'm pretty sure he's gonna be...indisposed for a little while. If you sit there waiting all day, you might get bored or impatient. And if you get bored or impatient enough, you might do something stupid. And if you do something stupid enough..." Chaos only knows what will happen. "So humor me. Don't spend all day standing here."
For a little while, neither of them said anything. Then Sylvie let out a little breath, and looked at the Red. "Okay," she said, but made no motion to leave. She watched Sahlena heading back down the hall, and Dani turned a bit to face the bar, and the book on the counter. Sure, she was concerned for Sylvie, but she couldn't stand it when things were this quiet for this long.
Back at the bar there was an uncomfortable silence that stretched for an indecently long time. People silenced, sighed, leaned against tables and counters and generally managed that unique sort of contemptuous slouch that has just a bit of ill-willing apprehension to it so it doesn't go quite all the way to loitering. There was only the sound of the fights being held, dimmed and tiny as they were delivered to the spectators. Or at least, they seemed such to the ones not really watching the spectacular brawl taking place 'elsewhere'. The discomfort was only enhanced for a particular occupant, who stood straight with a grunt, taking in the elf with boorish disappointment.
'It's not exactly what I wanted you to see,' she admitted, grudgingly, then turned to stare at nothing in particular. In someone else's mind is not exactly... she thought to herself. Then she sighed. She had to find some sort of distraction, do something productive before the place lapsed into such moodiness that there was no getting out. Literally. Having surveyed the outside of the establishment when arriving, she knew it was about as hospitable and eventful as a mountaintop on a rainy day. So having to choose between that and a tar pit of depression... What she needed was a fight. Some excitement, and the opportunity to bend and break some curious person, preferably someone else she could use to...
There was an almost audible click, as a thought slid into place in the psychic's head, and a sudden grin spread across her face, an acrid look to it that could make one's eyes water. She suppressed it quickly, then turned, and approached Dekuyaketh.
Kaela grimaced as she returned to her previous crouch, the ton folds of her flesh rubbing together wetly and painfully, causng the nerves in her chest to sing at her of white-hot agony. It wasn't a serious wound by any means, but it was one that, with time, would begin to nag at her strength and willpower, slowing down the speed of her reflexes and strength of her blows. She flexed her hand absently, her hot-blooded nature clawing at her to attack and draw more blood before being rebuked and set back down in its previous place. Her fury had its place, but at the moment it could cost her both the fight and possibly her life. It might have been a staged one, but Kaela had no illusions as to the abilty of Andrace's weapons to rapidly end her life.
She took the lioness' goading in stride, standing stock-still like a compressed spring before each of her feints. There was no need to react, Kaela would know when the real attack would come. A grin spread across her face at the woman's insults. "Come on, I'm not that old am I?", she asked, a serious tone to her voice. The joking facade dropped quickly when Andrace made her move, and Kaela quickly assessed the situation. At times like these her mind worked at light-speed, and she aimed to use that to her advantage.
If she did nothing, the lioness' blade would punch through her abdominal muscles ino one of her lungs, for what would surely be a debilitating, it not fatal, injury, but if she parried, it could result in a worse situation. Kaela compromised, and punched out at the incoming blade with her free hand, opening up the skin along her knuckles with a fine red spurt. Better that than dead, she thought, and if she kept her fist clenched it shouldn't hurt too bad. Knife in her other hand, she made a half-hearted slash at Andrace's face. It was the easiest part of the body to defend, she knew, but causing an actual cut with the attack with her weapon was not the intent. Using the opportunity of a possible distraction, she bull rushed Andrace, attempting to push her onto the floor.
Andrace's eyes narrowed, her ears flicking slightly back and forth and her tailtip almost quivering as she watched Kaela intently. So, she was hurting badly from the slash across her chest. The dark colour of her sports bra made it hard to tell how badly she was bleeding, although the lioness couldn't really complain: her own clothes were chosen for colour in the same way.
She almost swore out loud when the crazy old wolf actually punched her knife thrust. She'd only had that done to her once before, by a rampaging Demon, who'd been able to harden his fist to shrug off the damage. (Unfortunately for him, two seconds later Andrace's little sister hacked his head clean off his shoulders with her axe. He hadn't bothered to harden his throat.) Kaela was no Demon, though, her counterattack stopped the thrust — and wrenched Andrace's other wrist and nearly sent the knife flying — but the blade sliced open her knuckles, in what had to be another painful injury.
Andrace didn't bother to parry Kaela's stab at her face, she just ducked, leaving her left-hand knife free to jab upward at the wolf's lunging right arm. She almost made a disastrous mistake, though, ducking a moment too late: perhaps it was the drink slowing her reflexes. The lioness hissed and flinched as the point of the long knife ripped open a bloody gash along the top of her muzzle and up her forehead. A few locks of hair fluttered to the ground at her feet. Her blood froze as she realised how close an escape she'd had: if her head or Kaela's wrist had twitched as little as an inch or so, that knife was long and sharp enough to go into an eye — or even up her nose — and punch through to come out of the back of her skull.
She snarled angrily, more at her own carelessness than at her opponent, and met Kaela's charge by... falling backwards. As she fell, blood spattering into her eyes obscuring her vision for a moment, her right leg swept across, aiming to smack her big, heavy paw into the wolf's ankles, and she raised both arms, her knives sticking up like a rather sparse bed of nails for Kaela to (hopefully) trip and fall onto.
From the sealed cellar door, down in the deep recesses of the Circle, silence radiated. Not regular silence, as in the absence of sound, but rather silence as in something that would deaden sound, that would
kill it at contact. And behind the door were something even more terrible. Not darkness, as in an empty, void thing, but as in something charged, something that
were there.
Darkness, theoretically, is only an absence of light. In an analogous system there can only be two ends of things, after all. However, it is widely recognized by mathematicians that in order to be able to begin contemplating the really interesting aspects of problems, you have to start using negative numbers. Physicists have also discovered antiparticles, and philosophers and psychologists dabble in these matters as well as a natural result. Now, contemplate these things for inspiration, and then imagine something so black and thick that it swallows up light, rather than reflecting it. Something that has to be observed in the absence it creates in the surroundings, rather than in anything directly emanating from or mirroring off it.
It waited behind the door, at the same time both moving with evil purpose and lurking in motionless, intent and ready horribility.
- -
Dekuyaketh didn't even have the time to look up, having only just emerged and probably still feeling somewhat fuzzy, before Andrea placed herself perfectly in front of him and slapped her palms down lightly onto the table he were seated at. Bending down, she restrained herself from influencing him to think anything particular or see her in a certain light, and merely focused on his thoughts for the moment, as she made a nosy little smile at him.
'Feeling better?' she asked him, in an entirely unnecessary show of interest. 'Well enough to take your anger out on someone?'
Kaela managed a grim smile of satisfaction despite the throbbing pain in her hand as her knife punched across the top of her head, drawing thin rivulets of blood along its path. Nothing fatal of course; it was just another ornament similar to her own facial scars. "Too slow! Now you know how I feel most of the time," she grinned as she rushed forward, shoulder pushing towards Andrace's chest.
What surprised her wasn't that Andrace had fallen intentionally, but rather that she hadn't met her charge head on. Stumbling, it only took Andrace's careful trip to send her wholly off balance. She floated in the air briefly, snarling as Andrace ripped the fur and flesh along the top of her right forearm, causing her knife to drop to the ground from a suddenly nerveless hand. Kaela stared at the sharp little daggers pointed upwards, Andrace watching expectantly through the blood in her eyes, and threw all of her weight to one side. It wasn't good enough, but it was a lot better than the alternative as the blades tore two huge gashes side-to-side across her abdomen. If it hurt like a bitch now, which it certainly did, Kaela didn't want to think about how painful it would be after the fight. Sparing a glance at the wounds, Kaela measured how close of a call it had really been. Any deeper and her intestines would be pouring out onto the floor. She rolled over painfully, scrabbling with her left hand to find her fallen knife.
Andrace's smile was triumphant through the blood running down the sides of her muzzle as she saw Kaela lose her grip on her knife. It shifted to a look of satisfaction more associated with lesser felines and dairy products when she saw the spray of blood and felt the tugs on both her own knives, that signalled a definite hit on the wolf's stomach despite Kaela's efforts to twist out of the way.
The lioness rolled over and rose to a crouch. Kaela rolled the other way, her right arm hanging limp and bleeding freely from a long, deep cut, but her left arm... Andrace tossed her right-hand knife up in the air, and before it came back down again and she caught it, she pulled a small blade from a hidden pocket on her left sleeve and threw it hard at the wolf's left hand as it groped for the dropped knife.
Andrace hopped forward and straddled Kaela's body, sitting down hard and clamping her knees tightly around the wolf's waist. She thrust her knives down... and stopped. The point of one blade poked into the fluffy fur at the side of Kaela's throat, right over the jugular vein. The other prodded the soft tissue somewhat left of centre on her chest, angled in to aim at her heart. The lioness leaned forward and purred persuasively into Kaela's uninjured ear. "Y' ready t' surrender? Or do I lean on y' a bit more?" She wiggled both knives, pressing just barely hard enough to break the skin: Kaela now sported two more small patches of reddened fur.
Andrace hurt all over, her face and left leg dripped blood, the bones of her left wrist were held together with spit and sticky tape, and her right wrist felt sprained. But she grinned toothily and ferally, confident that this time, she had the old wolf beaten.
After several minutes of lying on the floor like a throwaway rug, Bart finally mustered up enough strength to push his head out from the wood panelling and rise. Aside from a monster headache, wooziness, and several splinters lodged up his nostrils, he felt fine. Nowhere near as combat-ready or capable as before, but standing nonetheless. And with Kaela and Andrace on the floor in their little spat, it was the perfect chance to move in and lay some smack down on his tiring opponents. He grabbed a nearby chair and staggered over, but once he got close enough, his cocky expression softened.
...nah, that's a dick move. Bart had managed to be relatively sporting so far, and now wasn't a time to break the streak. He set the chair down and took a seat, quietly observing and wishing he'd brought some beef jerky to snack on while he watched the women tear each other to pieces.
Kaela's body burned viciously as she slowly watched her arm stretch across the room, her fingers scrabbling on the wooden floor to grasp the leather-bound hilt of her blade. Her claws scraped against the hide, pulling it slightly closer, and she clenched her fist around it, just as a hard flung piece of metal sliced along the top of it, bringing a strange tingling sensation to the surrounding muscle. That was a nerve, she told herself calmly, turning about and making sure she could still use the weapon as she tried to reface her opponent.
She almost made it. Kaela barely stifled a groan of pain as Andrace leapt on top of her, squeezing the ripped flesh on her stomach, adding to the array of blood spatters on their bodies and the floor in a burst of agony. Reversing her grip on the bloodied knife, Kaela thrust out at Andrace's face as if she were using an ice pick, just stopping an inch short of the lioness' eye socket. They both panted furiously, from both the exertion and the vast amount of blood loss and injury the two warriors had incurred. "I'm only ready to surrender if you are, Kithara," Kaela growled softly, stressing the last word with a measure of respect. "That was a good fight, so I hope you're ready to get good and drunk, and maybe swap a few stories. You can keep your share of the money." The old wolf grinned toothily. "I just wanted to fight."
Quote from: Stygian on February 25, 2009, 07:00:34 PM
Dekuyaketh didn't even have the time to look up, having only just emerged and probably still feeling somewhat fuzzy, before Andrea placed herself perfectly in front of him and slapped her palms down lightly onto the table he were seated at. Bending down, she restrained herself from influencing him to think anything particular or see her in a certain light, and merely focused on his thoughts for the moment, as she made a nosy little smile at him.
'Feeling better?' she asked him, in an entirely unnecessary show of interest. 'Well enough to take your anger out on someone?'
Dekuyaketh glanced up almost drunkenly at the woman leaning over his table, suddenly becoming rather conscious of his personal space. However, he was feeling too intoxicated on residual traces of painkillers that hadn't been completely washed out of his body to completely resist, or formulate a sardonic comment regarding the woman's forwardness. Instead, Dekuyaketh did not interrupt; he deliberately took a swig from the glass of water like he was guzzling heaven's honey, then slapped the glass down on the table. At least what the woman said intrigued him enough to actually
consider what she was saying, although he certainly wasn't going to charge headlong into a situation that - sadly - was beyond his ability. It wasn't cowardice, it was pure pragmatism (as he liked to think), something a lot of inexperienced Demons
did not have, and had died for.
"That depends," he answered in a low rumble, "I'm not in a bad enough mood to even
think about running into the face of someone who could have me locked up in a mental institution in a heartbeat."
Dekuyaketh bluntly assessed the woman, managing to keep his gaze intrusive and yet pointedly nonsexual, like he was doing it purposefully just to annoy her. "What about
you, sweetcheeks? Are you in the same situation as I am?"
Andrace kept her confident grin for maybe three seconds. The expression on her face went completely blank when she realised she'd forgotten to keep track of the knife Kaela dropped. Aw, crud... was the first thing to go through her mind — then the wolf's thrust at her face stopped, just as her own attack had done. She tried to focus on the very sharp tip of the blade, but it was too close: she thought she might be able to brush it with her eyelashes if she blinked.
The lioness fixed her golden-brown eyes on Kaela's bloodstained hand, then looked down at the old wolf's face with an implacable hunter's stare. A drop of blood ran along one whisker, fell and splashed on Kaela's chest... then her grin returned, and she started laughing boisterously. "A draw it is, Kaela," she said. "Hell, after th' week I've had, I was just lookin' f'r a good fight as well, just t' unwind." She lifted her own knives away from the wolf's throat and chest, and released the crushing grip of her leg-lock. Then she shifted her weight as she began to sit up, and paused with an flattened-ears wince. She tried to hold herself up, but her knives clattered to the floor as her wrists gave way and she flopped back down with a grunt to lie on top of Kaela.
"Ow. M' leg don't like me doin' that, I think I strained somethin' just a bit." The exertion of the leg hold hadn't done Andrace's stab wound much good, it felt as if the fur on her left leg was now soaking wet from hip to hock. She flicked one ear back and raised her least injured hand. "I heard y' lurkin' about back there, Bart. If y're done fightin' there's a couple o' classy ladies here needin' a hand t' stand up. If y're not done, I'll gut y' an' crawl back t' th' tavern, draggin' th' pair o' y' b'hind me." She didn't speak in a threatening tone, she just sounded matter-of-fact confident that, despite her injuries and blood loss, she was still capable of carrying out the required mayhem on Bart if necessary.
"Depends. Do I win just by bein' able to stand on my own?" Bart shifted in his seat, laid back with both legs stretched and one ankle propped over the other. "If so, then I accept victory. If not, I'll just have to kick you again and again 'till you surrender." But that was still in the territory of "unsmooth moves." With both opponents down and almost crippled, was there really any kind of honor to be had from further combat? It'd feel incredibly one-sided, and the pensive look on Bart's mug conveyed showed that he knew so.
...screw it. "Hell with it, just get your carcasses in gear." He stood and reached out a helping hand to Andrace. "Let's swap some yarns, figure out just what kinda women can actually get good knocks in on a Thompson boy." The headache from the lioness' last move still lingered tenderly in his skull, as did the little aches in his jaw.
Boog swaggered back up behind the bar cheerfully, his job done insofar as he was concerned. Yes, Styggy and dark places get on a bit too well, but then that'll just be a NEW problem wont it? He simply took in the atmosphere in the bar... Which was listless, bored and irritated. Nearly gagging on the taste of ennui in the air the concept entity wracked his brain for something to drum up business and hit upon a most pleasing idea. Pleasing for him, anyway. Picking up the sign he had left by the Storybook, he added "inquirers get free drinks," and placed it back where he left it.
--
Marya sat up in her bed and started stripping off bandages. The doc' did good work, even if he was a creepy bastard...
The moment the Boogeyman re-entered the bar, Dani perked up and started feeling a little more like she had when she'd first seen the thought-creature changing shape. About freaking time! she thought gleefully, and stood up to head to the bar. She grinned at the addition to the sign, and plunked herself down on the barstool nearest the book.
"Y'know, I was gonna ask anyway," she addressed Boog. "But I could use another Bailey's coffee as long as you're offering."
-----
Sylvie didn't really respond to what Andrea told her, though whatever thought was involved did her credit. She wasn't sure what to do other than wait and see what happened to Stygian, and though she knew she was a contributing factor (at least in part) to the current atmosphere, she wasn't about to be the one to pick up spirits. It would seem very strange and she didn't feel like it anyway.
When Dani approached Boog, Sylvie glanced at them out of the corner of her eye. She almost looked at Dani's healed legs and arm-bandage, but all she could think of was the moment when the guard had threatened to drop a manatee on Stygian if he annoyed her too much. The elf finally picked herself up off the threshold to the infirmary and headed to a seat just far enough from Dani and Boog to indicate she wasn't going to interfere. There was more of a possibility of a smile on her face than an actual smile, but it was close enough.
Witt, who had sauntered out of the medical area after the bartender (why shouldn't he follow the single most important person in the bar?), absently sucking on the lollipop that Doc Holic had left him, raised one eyebrow at the addition to the sign, and parked himself on the barstool next to Dani.
He waved a thumb in the direction of the sign, and cryptically uttered "How many?"
The muse looked Dani up and down, having not payed too close attention to the girl previously. The most striking feature was the obviously-artificial-cherry-flavoring-red hair. It seemed to announce her, like a visual bullhorn. Next were the eyes, which Boog admittedly only skimmed over. They weren't REALLY the window to the soul, he'd checked. It was just how you saw things. Then there were the tattoos, and the weapon...
Boog's face split into a grin, tombstone-shaped teeth seeming to multiply and grow larger for the purpose of expression, "Well don't I feel silly then." He turned away to fetch Dani's Baileys coffee and toned the grin down to a smirk at Witt's inquiry. "Depends on the inquiry, I suppose. After all, play your cards right and one question can result in many, many free drinks indeed. Questions beget more questions, little coincidences build up... According to chaos theory, anyway." He set out the Red's drink with a thunk and ran his finger along the spine of the book absentmindedly. "Short version? I'm not bartending here for my health. It's my community service. And this, here..." He drummed his fingers on the book once, "Is my crime. And I need it disposed of. Admittedly, it's not the SAFEST of options one could have..." The muse shrugged sheepishly, "But the only currency that really keeps its value these days is owed favors, don't you think?" Given the list of rewards on the sign, it could be assumed that The Boogeyman was capable of some interesting favors indeed...
Andrea blinked, and resisted cocking her head to the side in confusion, yet some puzzlement did make its way into her features nevertheless. She wasn't quite sure what Dekuyaketh was saying, nor did she get too many hints that she could interpret from his immediate thoughts precisely what he had meant. His mind was a mishmash of different elements, all evidently painstakingly wedged and forced together, from what she could tell from the 'noise' he broadcast. It was a nervous sort of noise, a discordant 'sound' to his thought processes that hinted at stress and tension running through them. It was like listening to punk rock; technically it was still music, but the difference in harmony and quality from the regular stuff was glaringly obvious. But, at least it wasn't trying to crawl into her head...
'I'm just itching for something to take my mind off all this,' the woman replied in a haughty, challenging tone. 'I was thinking either a drink or a fight. The way it seems though, you might just have to buy me one, seeing as the others get theirs for free...'
- -
There was a light, peeling sound at the edge of hearing from somewhere on the indistinct horizon. Slowly, a strange vessel revealed itself to the eye. Slowly, yet traveling very, very fast. Slender but hard-edged as a blade and colored a harsh off-red color, it cut the air with the characteristic disregard for things of all machines, hovering just a couple of feet off the ground and holding a razor-straight course as it sliced forward at the speed of a bullet. It gave off a sound that can, grossly simplified, be described as a 'mechanical thrum'. The characteristic, half electrical and half burning sound of a variety of complex, mostly unmoving parts cooperating with any manner of discomforting amounts of energy sizzling through them. The sort of sound that is practically the hallmark of all self-respecting devices of highly advanced and powerful technology. Behind it, very faint trails of red-orange streamed from exhaust ports, causing the occasional crackle or spark in the air, particles ionizing randomly.
The thing kept its speed for a good while. The horizon was quite far away in a place like the one the Circle was located in. But after a couple of minutes, it started a calculated, slow deceleration, as precisely devised and disregardful of most anything but function as its own construction. Turning a long, low curve across the ground, it passed on the outside of the circles inscribed outside of the entry of the bar, and then came to a gentle halt, before dropping to the ground on claw-like folding supports. Its leech-like shape sat still, condensation forming on some of its hind metallic parts in the damp air.
Witt snorted. "No, I don't think. Or, at least, not without another drink." He made a pass of his paw over the bar, and a sparkling coin remained spinning on the surface.
"Another one of those ales, and I'll think about it. Any further details you can provide about that..." and he nodded at the book "while I drink?"
Dani ignored Boog's examination of her, and returned his grin almost in kind when his mouth stretched farther than she'd ever seen before. Her smile wasn't nearly as wide as his, but it carried at least half the madness. She took her coffee gratefully, sipping it and looking at the book while the barkeep spoke. It looked pretty ordinary, but why shouldn't she take his word? Oh. Wait. ... Actually, I don't know whether the fact that he reminds me of home means I can trust him or not.
"How exactly would you have to 'dispose' of that if you can't just chuck it?" she asked, glancing back up at Boog for a second before looking back at the book.
"Smart girl," Boog cooed, brushing some imagined bit of dust off his coat, "The reason I can't just chuck it, or rather them, it because they'd come back. You see, my dear, I'm a bit of an artist and, like many artists, some of my creations can be found offensive. Or dangerous. The thing is, it would appear that I offended and endangered enough to attract the attention of some truly ruthless critics." He drummed his fingers on the book again, "To destroy this would require the death of each and every last one of the entities bound in its pages, and it appears they're a bit too resilient to be gotten rid of all in one go. I'd be proud if it wasn't such a pain in the ass." He set out Witt's ale. "They're... Sort of like me. Renegade phobias and archetypes and whatever else I could throw in for the work. Multilayered, open to interpretation on a number of levels, and linked to the viewer to ensure they're something on par with the audience's critical eyes or any of the other weapons ever brought to bear against creativity."
Witt snickered. "I usually meet critics with a barstool to the face. I've found it to work so far..."
He paused to take a drink from the unsettling bottle in front of him, then went on. "I'm guessing that that's not gonna work, though. Likewise shoving that thing," with a nod at the book, "through an industrial shredder." He pondered for a minute, mulling the idea over in his mind.
"So, let me get this straight. That thing is an index of imaginary beasts, all of which are actually real, live, imaginary beasts. Um. And you want someone here to get into the ring with them, one at a time, and kick their heads, or whatever analogue they have, in. Only, because they're imaginary, they might not have heads. Or they might not be kick-able. Or they might also be phobias. Or things that go bump in the night, or what have you. And they'll read what passes for the mind of the person they're up against for more ideas."
He paused, to let that sink in. "And in return for this, you're going to do us the lordly favour of getting us a drink." He shook his head. "Unless there's something far more interesting involved, you're gonna need to find another sucker, boyo, 'cause I ain't buyin' that. Not for all the tea in China."
And with that, the short, squat, irritating ball of prickles punctuated his pronouncement with yet another swig of the bottle.
"Oh, the drink's just for asking. As I said, the reward is that I owe you a favor." Boog grinned broadly, "Any favor, so long as it doesn't involve outright breaking any of the circle's rules. So, a question for you then is..." The thought entity poured himself a drink, something deep red and fizzing, "Would you like all the tea in china? Take me a bit, but I'm sure something could be arranged."
'Sounds like you have an idea what China is,' said a voice by the door, suddenly. It was the sort of voice that can make asthmatic people shiver and regular people start sniffing the air without the slightest reason, coarse and murky and slightly peculiarly accented. A hooded figure had entered the doorway and stepped in in deep silence, a slight gleam of eyes and trails of smoke under the hood of what looked slightly like a quite heavy and gold-trimmed deep crimson priest's robe. 'I might not be
entirely off then. This is...?'
A boot, smoothly fashioned by black synthetic material and tipped with a dome of steel, made a slightly crackling noise as it swung out from the shadows beneath cloth colored deep red and a green so dark that it was black, as if there were fine grains of ash or sand under it. There were the faintest of metallic clinking sounds emanating from within the figure's robes, as it raised hands wrapped in black cloth bandages and strange gloves, and pulled back its hood.
The face that came into view might have been very handsome once, a face to match the voice in smoothness, direction and strength, with clear-cut and favorable features, a slight hint of a hook to the nose and a straight jaw and strong chin. But that would have to have been before it had been burned by a jet exhaust. Actually, most seemed to find it was rather hard to explain that face to a third party, or to guess at what might have caused the man to look as he did, because he hardly bore the shattered or molten, clay-like features of someone who has been burned or damaged by shrapnel or acid. His skin fit tightly and precisely where it was supposed to. It was just that it was graying and cracked so much that it looked more like a mask of ash laid over the muscles of his head, ready to come off at any second. Over it long bangs of frayed jet black hair with thin gray-brown lines embedded in places fell over his brow, and a pair of eyes so orange and gleaming they belonged on some nocturnal predator rather than a man. A golden earring of some sort hung from a nicked ear, showing a somewhat cross-shaped symbol that matched the one dangling from a thin chain around his neck.
'I guess I
am lost,' he admitted, after a couple of seconds, showing slightly yellow-gray and occasionally jagged teeth as he spoke, watching the bar's occupants.
- -
The machine had been watching intently from the very moment she picked up the first traces of sound. It was a sound she knew and had analyzed before. A pair of Zephyr ground-level 'electro-cramjet' engines, it sounded like. Combination fan effect and ion reflection engines that worked by saturating, compressing, driving and burning intake air to achieve the effect of a jet engine without having to blow out gallons and gallons of fuel, or lug around too much two-component chemicals like some simple rocket engine. An economical sort of drive, though not too powerful or scalable, that belonged on high-speed low-altitude craft, mostly surface-effect flyers. The sort of stuff reserved for special purposes or those wealthy enough to own that sort of vehicle. She sidled closer to the windows and took another seat.
Her suspicions were confirmed when a slimmed-down shape like a cyber-punk shirt iron slowed to a stop within view right outside the bar. A low tearing sound slowly died out, and she peered out through the dusty glass. The color and markings, and even more the involved technology of the vehicle, all gave her hints, however it was the figure itself that stepped out of the hovercraft and its dress that finally settled it. She drew back, and had she a face that could move that much she would have frowned.
Devout were mostly stereotyped as idiosyncratic, dull and as seclusive as pious. Not the sort to go on adventures. So why was one there right now?
- -
There was an echo. There shouldn't have been any, since there was nowhere for any noise to travel there from, but down in the corridor, outside the somehow looming door to the room beyond, there was one nevertheless. And then another. And then more. Little fragments voiced that were secrets, slipping through cracks that were not spaces but
possibilities. Things that one had better not listen too intently to.
The door remained closed. But the longer it did, the deeper the darkness around it became. It was as if the shadows gravitated toward it, drawn by some imperceptible force. It was far too easy to imagine something behind the door, drawing on them through sheer weight of... something. Evil. Power. Horribleness. Probably a combination of all three.
A fraction of a voice slipped through the hair-thin crack of reality that was the seal of the door. It slunk away through the dark, turning into something horrible. A half-truth followed it on little skittering, slipping tendrils of slyly used technicality, sent with the same purpose but uninterested in or incapable of pursuing its goal. But the whispers had caught the idea now, and were driven by the dark. They reached further, searching for someone to hear them...
"I'm getting damn tired of your arrogance," Kaela growled weakly, trying to roll Andrace off of her broken body before her stomach wounds tore open even further. Summoning all of her strength, she brought herself to a sitting position and brandished her knife. Kaela ground her teeth together in obvious discomfort as she pointed her weapon at Bart. "If you're going to come over here and kick me or Andrace, I'll fucking castrate you." Her knife cut the air in an obvious demonstration.
She changed her demeanor quite rapidly when Bart cast away his posturing and swaggering. If there was one thing Kaela could stand, it was too much pride. All warriors were proud, and she was no exception, but there was a level she couldn't tolerate. Bart possessed it in spades. "Good," she said with a warm smile as Bart dropped the issue, heading over to bring Andrace to her feet. "Can you help me too?", Kaela asked, neglecting to mention her preivious threats.
Sylvie had been watching Boog, Witt and Dani interact with mild amusement when the strange voice spoke up. It sounded familiar somehow, but she couldn't quite place it... she turned around to look over her shoulder at the newcomer, and her eyes grew a bit. Had she been familiar with the DC Comics Universe, she'd have known to think of the man behind her as "Bizarro-Stygian." Having no such knowledge, she could only stare in wonder at what appeared to be the man in the storage closet as a negative photo. And with a degree from a seminary.
Somehow, though, he wasn't quite a mirror image. His skin seemed to be...weathered somehow, and his voice had some underlying similarities to the other, but it wasn't as smooth or pleasing to listen to as Stygian's. The pointy teeth were the same, though, and unnerved her just slightly, in the same way.
Stop thinking about it, her mind commanded her. You're going to drive yourself crazy if you don't calm down. So she just turned away from the not-Stygian and turned back to the discussion between Boog and Dani. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something very strange was going to happen soon...
-----
Dani laughed at Witt's summary of his opinions on challenging the monsters and other possibly horrific things in the book. She agreed, it sounded insane, but that was precisely why she was so curious about doing it. Just have to make sure I don't become part of the 30% margin he mentioned... She was hoping to ask more about how fighting the monsters in the book would work, but the new guy's entrance interrupted her. She glanced over, and had a somewhat milder reaction than Sylvie to the similarity this guy had to Stygian. Sylvie recovered and distracted herself from any stressful thoughts soon enough, but she still looked a bit wary.
Doesn't matter as long as she's not going to scream or throw up, I guess, Dani thought with a mental sigh. She looked at Boog. "So, should I save my questions for later?" she asked, casting her eyes at Nega-Styg to clarify.
"Ow — y' okay down there, Kaela?" Andrace said as she rolled herself off of the slightly flattened wolf. "I dropped on y' a bit heavy there, m' leg gave out all o' a sudden, an' m' wrists don't want t' take m' weight." She grunted as she grabbed hold of Bart's offered hand and he pulled her to her feet. "Thanks f'r th' lift, Bart, much 'preciated." She gave him a brief but crushing hug, and a chin-to-forehead lick that was probably meant to be friendly, although her tongue was dry and had a texture like coarse sandpaper.
Andrace's other hand was clamped over the stab wound in her thigh. "Yep, that's def'nitely bleedin' pretty bad, better get that seen t' right now." she muttered as she examined her leg. The lioness stood balanced easily on one foot, tail flicking back and forth, her left paw barely touching the floor. She winced, clenched her jaw and performed the same healing routine she'd done earlier, summoning a handful of syrupy green light and pouring it over the wound. She sighed in relief as the bleeding slowed, but didn't quite stop.
"How 'bout you, Kaela?" she asked the wolf. "Need a bit o' quick fix t' keep things hangin' t'gether while we hobble off t' see th' doc?"
"I think I might," the wolf grimaced, fearing that at any minute her intestines might flood through her wounds. "Y'damn near disemboweled me," Kaela said between her gritted teeth as a compliment rather than an insult. That lioness certainly knows what the hell she's doing, and baldy too. Shame I didn't get to experience his skills firsthand, she whispered in her head, feeling a burst of sparks and pain at the concept of thought. Her claws clutched at her ragged stomach in an attempt to stop the bleeding, which was sure to kill her eventually without the attentions of a qualified surgeon. "Keep it for yourself though, girl. If that wound in your leg keeps goin' on like that, you'll bleed out in a few minutes. You need it more than I do." Kaela scrabbled to her feet, threatening to fall over several times as she finally brought herself to her feet. God, I think I'm going to throw up. The loss of vital fluids was beginning to make her dizzy and nauseous, and she would have doubled over heaving if the screaming nerves in her torso told her otherwise. "Been a while since I've taken a wound like that. Forgot how bloody terrible it is. Can you help me over here? I think I'm gonna be sick."
Pointedly ignoring the green elf-thing's stare with the accustomed expertise of someone who's been mocked or feared for their appearance for a very long time and has come to a sort of grudging peace with and pride at it, the man laid a few coins of slightly odd design on the bartop. At least, considering the company he couldn't stand out that much. His eyes wandered around, searching the bar for something. Something he obviously didn't find. Smile dimming, he cleared his throat, and sat down on one of the stools, watching the fight abating in one of the rings. Idly, he slid a hand down under his coat and toward his side, where it stopped and moved subtly, just ought of sight. A few odd clicks could be heard if one listened carefully enough.
'So,' the man said, after a silence-saturated pause. 'Does this menagerie have some sort of a tender?'
- -
There really was no way for the whispers to rise in volume or strength. They weren't really sounds, after all, but ideas. And thus their chorus was like an organ; it could only play louder by playing more intensely and possibly creating more resonance. And because there was no way for the darkness to tell what heard it, or where it cast its shadow, it could only call out more. Call out for someone in particular.
In the end it was, of course, a lie that persisted. For natural reasons. The truth mostly blends in too much and goes down too smoothly to make an impact. And the best lies are easier to believe than truths, or at least people seem more willing to believe them. This is a tendency found not just in most humans, but
all sapient beings without some ridiculous bend or heavy cultural indoctrination. There's just something about nasty falsehoods that make them so clingy and pervasive. And this particular one was very good, considering the subject matter and the target. Viciously, it coiled and suggested its way up the corridor and stairs, echoing past doors and into the bar, where it snuck into one green, pointed ear.
I didn't mean to deceive you, Sylvie... a voice echoed somewhere in the elf's head. She felt it far more than she heard it.
Bart wiped his face after Andrace's friendly licking, feeling semi-disgusted and amused. "Okay, okay, I had fun too," he said as he faced Kaela again, "but let's get priorities straight. Kaela, lean on me." He placed an arm around the wolf's shoulder, making sure he was in a nice, solid support position. "Hurts like a bitch, don't it? I'd know." He slowly began to shuffle forward, taking a steady, but somewhat hurried pace. If she bled out before they even left the circle, Bart wouldn't ever hear any stupid or funny bootcamp stories. "Just keep your hand over it, catch anything that tries to spill out."
It was almost odd how plainly he regarded her injury. "Don't worry, you'll make it. If movies taught me anything, the body holds about 40 gallons worth of blood, and you lost like two so far. You could go on for another half hour if you sat still the whole time."
"Thanks," was all that Kaela managed to blurt out as she forced herself to take each step, her body failing her despite her mind's intention on going further. Come on, you're not going to give out on me now. She clutched somewhat frantically at her chest to make sure her pendant was still clasped tightly about her throat. Last thing I need is for my heart to go pitter-pat and fail when I'm bleeding to death. "I'll make sure to keep it all in, don't worry about it." The much older fighter gave Bart a sidelong glance. "You're much more likeable when I don't have to deal with any kind of competition with you." It was meant to be a compliment of course, but it was about as socially tactful as the old woman could be.
Kaela sighed briefly. She herself probably wasn't very likeable when she was threatening to take someone's balls off either. Probably why I'm still single even though I'm in my fifties. "To look like this means I've lost at least a fifth of it, although I already have low blood pressure. Just hope I don't need a transfusion or an IV." A grimace crossed her face. "I hate having things stuck into me."
"Just a few moments while I get the new bloke settled," Boog eyed the newcomer and looked back to Dani, "Remember Doll, all the tea in China," He winked. The girl struck him as a Doll, albeit one designed by Boris Vallejo. He swept his way over to the burned looking man with a grin particular to when he heard the sound of money and snatched the coins off the counter. "That would be me, sir, and this menagerie would be called the Honor Circle. Extrareality fight club franchise, and might I say sir you look like you might appreciate what we have to offer. Or have appreciated it in the past." Or hell, appreciated going down on a furnace, I wont judge. "How may I be of-?"
--didn't mea------cive-yo-----lyvi----
The Boogeyman cocked his head, as if hearing something odd. "... Service..."
--
Marya strolled back into the bar proper and stretched, grinning. She felt good as new. Better than she had in a while. Eyes passing over the new guy and filing him under "some other freak." She wandered over to where Richard was nursing a few drinks.
"I'm back."
"Noted. Got you a beer."
"Thanks."
"No problem. Don't get yourself that fucked up again or I'm making you rest it off in the car."
"Pfft."
"Suit y'self," Andrace replied to Kaela with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "I'll be right here if y' change y' mind, or y' need a hand t' pick y' guts up off th' floor." The lioness winced and flattened her ears as she bent to pick up her knives, and Bart's dropped weapon. The leg wound was her only serious injury, but whenever she moved, every single one of them hurt. And she could definitely do without the taste of her own blood where it trickled down the side of her muzzle and into her mouth.
As Andrace limped off, wiping the blades clean on her trouser leg, the fake tavern shimmered and faded around the three fighters. The array of Circles came back into view, all of them apparently unused at the moment. She barely noticed the odd-looking vehicle parked near the building, all her concentration was going into placing one paw in front of the other. Her muzzle quirked into a grin, though, at Kaela's last remark before they staggered into the Tavern. "Y' don't like things stickin' in y'...? Heh, a night out pub crawlin' wi' m' sister Zoe ought t' cure y' o' that. I swear, that girl needs patchin' up every time she goes on a bender — includin' when she's gone out huntin' f'r a new boyfriend..."
Kaela was panting loudly and raggedly now, with the empty circles in front of her waving and shimmering strangely. "I think I...I think I might change my mind soon," she managed, down to a pitiful limp now. "Don't think I'm gonna make it." She winced at a final step, her vision swimming at a startling pace, her entire body weakening and sending bolts of fierce pain to her head. It was all too much. Her blade, still clutched in her left hand, clattered uselessly to the ground with a high metallic note as she slumped face first into the ground right before the tavern's entrance.
"Hate this bloody career sometimes...too old," she grunted at a whisper's level before she finally passed out, glad to be rid of her physical burdens and comfortable knowing that she would probably be fine in whatever medical care awaited her in the building before her.
Dekuyaketh hummed noncommittally. Well, it looked like he misunderstood the woman's intentions. Fucking hell, he probably made himself out to look like a buffoon, but it wasn't like he cared what people thought of him. If he actually took others' opinions into consideration, then he would have shattered from his abused sensibilities a long time ago. Unaware of the woman's inconspicuous infiltration of his mind-shields - just enough to penetrate the surface and listen to his tumultuous thoughts. It was not enough to trigger any sort of hemorrhage; it was like she was pressing her ear to a wall and listening to people conversing on the other side. Languidly, Dekuyaketh stretched out, exercising his sinewy muscles, and looked at Andrea.
"I'm more interested than fights than a drink," Dekuyaketh said, "Alcohol. I've had a bad effect with it. Runs in the family."
This was a casual fabrication. He didn't feel like indulging Andrea with his life story.
"Do I have to buy that from you?"
Sylvie was only half-distracted by the back-and-forth between Dani and Boog. The feeling of something strange happening hadn't gone away just yet, and the newcomer was on her mind as well, though she'd tried to get those thoughts out. SHe wanted to think of something else - the Confutatis movement of Mozart's Requiem, the hopefully-soon fight between Andrea and Dekuyaketh, there had to be something else for her to focus on.
I didn't mean to deceive you, Sylvie...
Her eyes grew wide. She blinked. Her body had almost frozen in place. The tone of the thought - feeling - whatever-it-was was not hers. Or Andrea's. It was the one voice she'd expected NOT to hear.
She was, of course, a little paranoid. But it did sound awfully sincere, and for a moment her heart softened and she forgot why she was so afraid of Stygian, thinking back to what had gone on between them that was good.
Then she remembered how he'd scared her, during the fight and upstairs afterward. And before the memory of him helping with Andrea could overcome anything, she remembered Piix's broken, dull expression when she'd come back downstairs, and his psychotic, gleeful manner. That steeled her outwardly and gave her paranoia a bit of a justified boost. But inwardly, it was too late. The first chink in her logic's armor had been made, and it was there to stay.
The Green looked around. Andrea was busy with the Maine Coon, and Boog had turned to the newcomer, but apparently had noticed the same thing the elf had. Good. The bartender seemed like a bit less of a biased judge than Andrea, and he clearly had some power over Stygian. She didn't want anything to happen between her and Stygian at this point if someone else wasn't going to notice and help her when things got dangerous.
She went over the memories that had saved her from complete entrapment in her head, trying to convey a message back to Stygian through them rather than words: That doesn't change the fact that you did.
---
At the other end of the bar, Dani's grin toned down a bit as Boog talked to the other man. It faded away when she saw a confused expression on Syl and the bartender at the same time. She gripped her weapon a bit tighter, a reflex to unknown danger, and waited to see what more would happen.
"Are you kidding me?" Bart kept the pace up until Kaela hit the floor, actually hobbling along for another couple steps before realizing she'd fallen. "...wow, guess you weren't." He bent down and rolled Kaela over before picking her up like a rag doll, one arm hooking under her knees and the other under her back below the armpits. As he gently kicked the bar's door open, the one question burning into his mind was "is there a laundromat in this place?" Blood stains were such a pain to get out. "Hey, which way's the nurse's office? I gotta palm this lady off before she bleeds out all over my shoes."
He made a quiet aside to Andrace. "And we gotta talk about families after dumping grandma here, 'cause there's no way your sisters could be rougher than my brothers." Oddly enough, it seemed like his accent and speech were evening out. The fight must have taken the edge off his previously cocky-as-hell demeanor.
Andrace was half-expecting Kaela to collapse: she'd noticed the wolf's nosepad going pale from blood loss and her tail dragging. Her limping progress was slow, though, so she was several yards behind when Kaela lost her grip on Bart's shoulder and flopped muzzle-first on the ground. She'd just caught up when Bart picked the unconscious wolf up and carried her inside. She picked up Kaela's dropped knife and followed them in.
The lioness raised an eyebrow and smiled at Bart's remark about families. "I'll look forward t' that," she said, "long as y' don't mind waitin' a bit, I'm needin' some patchin' up as well." Her magical talents had never been powerful enough to allow her to perform a full-fledged healing spell, so the stab wound in her thigh hadn't closed up: it still needed attention, preferably before she collapsed from blood loss as well. She knew from experience what that felt like.
There didn't seem to be any way to communicate back. What Sylvie had heard was, after all, merely a free idea. A few hazy images drifted around, along with some rising whispering sounds, but there was no response for the elf to go on. Then there was silence. No, not silence. There was still something there, but... to hear it was...
'You can start by giving me a glass of red,' the man said, still with that confident, implacable expression of a man self-assured and confident of his own good fortunes, and who won't be troubled by anything as long as he is. 'And by telling me more. Because I certainly didn't intend to end up here...'
Behind the man, backed up against the wall, the machine made a sudden yet silent motion, and blinked the camera-lens shutter of her large central eye twice. Then she settled down again, absolutely still. It wasn't her. It was no one. No one seemed to notice.
'No,' Andrea answered the feline demon, snorting a little and narrowing her eyes at him. 'You beat me though, you could at least show that kindness. Or maybe you'd do me a favor instead? Your choice, really.'
Something was wrong. Sylvie could feel it in the back of her head. It was the sort of feeling that achluophobes know very well; the feeling of walking out in the dark woods at night, magnified several times over. The sort of feeling you get when you turn your back on the dark and then hear a horrible stound, and stop dead still because you know that something is behind you. The sort of feeling that goes together with a racing heart and the kind of paralysis you experience when you are too frightened to either move or run away.
Then there was a sound. Low, so low as to be almost inaudible. A breath. It seemed to come from all around. And the elf though she could see the shadows around shifting ever so slightly.
'Let me out...!'
The Boogeyman set out the one and raised a finger. "Hold that thought, you showed up when I was in the middle of something I just need to wrap up." Customers are all well and good, but some things take priority. "Few minutes, I'll get right back to you."
He whisked back over to Dani, opportunistic grin plastered back in place. "So, I believe you had more questions?"
Let -e ou--..!
Boog was less concerned this time. While it may not have reached its intended recipient, Sylvie's reply had rang out like a gunshot before in a beautiful psychic "go screw yourself." His eyes flickered when he heard it, but it didn't give him the jolt it had earlier.
Kaela was not kidding, and slammed face first into the wooden floor quite dramatically. She made no complaint as Bart stooped to retrieve her unconscious form, limbs draping uselessly to the sides as he carried her off to the medical wing of the tavern. She floated in helpful oblivion, and would've been glad to be rid of her physical ailments had she been mentally aware. Speech, noise, and feeling bounced uselessly against her body, inciting no reaction. Hopefully she would wake up feeling considerably better. A pity she couldn't get to drink and talk about old times with her fighting companion yet.
Bart didn't have to shuffle for long before locating the medical wing, being as gentle as humanly possible with Yugo's unconscious carcass as he entered, just short of bonking the wolf's head on the doorway. "Hey, is there a doctor in the house?" A classicly fitting line if ever there was one. "We got a bleeder here," he said as he looked down to Kaela's gutwound, "and be thankful she's not a squirter. Low blood pressure'll prevent that, I guess." He'd carried wounded people before, and some were particularly... spurty. Those people weren't very pleasant to cart around.
Rather than wait for attendance, he placed Kaela down upon the closest free bed in sight, wiping his bloodied hands off on his pants. Kind of a shame. I was hoping she'd last long enough to at least tell me some war jokes.
Dani was trying to ignore a very minor clash of emotions going on in her head right now. On the one hand, Sylvie still looked a little concerned with something, and elves could perceive certain things easier than Reds - well, easier than humans in general. On the other hand, she didn't look like she was about to panic yet, and no-one else was panicking. After careful consideration, Dani decided that when chaos came to pass and she wasn't the cause, that would be the time to react.
She smiled again when Boog returned, releasing her weapon and tapping the book in front of her. "Just wanted to make sure of a few things before making any decisions. If someone challenged ... whatever's in this thing, would they be able to pick the nightmare they wanted to fight, or would it pick them?" There wasn't much the Red was afraid of, or at least, her fears weren't as clear-cut as other people's and tended to be much more sensible. If the book wanted to scare her, it was going to have to know about things from her world. Then again, there was always the chance it DID know... But what if it wasn't just some nightmare? What if it simply wanted to slaughter her in the most painful way possible? Whatever happens, this is going to be very interesting.
-----
Sylvie had felt a little good about herself at first, but it seemed that Stygian hadn't heard her. She supposed it made sense - she wasn't a direct telepath, so the ideas were probably just floating around freely now. Thankfully, no-one seemed to notice.
But even though there had been no response, something didn't feel quite right. The feelings she had were the ones she associated with the smell of smoke, the sound of crackling embers, a glow of bright, angry orange off in the distance. The sensation was familiar: a tightness of her muscles, an acute awareness to all her surroundings, a strong desire to either remain perfectly still or run as fast and far as she could, and a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. But those feelings were amplified to the point where she was almost physically uncomfortable. She saw the shadows moving just slightly, and knew immediately it was not the product of her fearful mind.
Then she heard it. A whisper that was just barely above silence.
Let me out...!
She glanced over at the Boogeyman. He was still talking with Dani, but he seemed to have noticed. She glanced at the infirmary door, which the barfight participants were walking through. She bit her lip and shifted one verdant hand back, as one would to push themselves up to stand. But she didn't move more than that. The urge to get up and at least go look was strong, but what would happen if she did what he asked scared her worse than anything he could do now.
By the time Andrace followed Bart into the infirmary, she was moving in an interesting combination of a limp and a cross-legged waddle. "Yeah, looks pretty bad," she said with a nod towards the unconscious wolf, "but we've got her here in plenty o' time. An' now, I'm gonna be a squirter if I don't hurry up an' find... aha!" She grinned and hobbled off to the haven she'd been looking forward to since about half-way through the fight: a door labelled "toilets".
The lioness came back a few minutes later, clutching her injured leg and snarling fiercely. "Ow... friggin' ow," she muttered, her ears dipped and tail lashing back and forth as she sat gingerly on another examination bed near Bart. "Now that I'm not burstin' I can put all m' concentration inta feelin' this friggin' leg. An' th' face cut ain't much better, it started bleedin' again when I tried t' wash it." She put her own knives at the foot of the bed, and tossed Bart's puny little claw sharpener — closed, of course — back to him. "Here, y' forgot t' pick this up. Dunno what'd happen t' somethin' y' leave lyin' in one o' these Circles when it fades away. Say, Bart, where's th' doc? Thought he'd be here by now."
Bart took it upon himself to rinse the blood off his hands and from around his eye as Andrace made use of the facilities, wiping his hands and face with a paper towel afterwards. "Headwounds tend to--" He paused to catch the butterfly knife, dropping it into his jacket pocket. "Thanks. Headwounds tend to do that." Since Andrace was still capable of talking, he figured he'd stick around and make smalltalk before the doctor made his way over. "Not sure where the doc's at, though. Prob'ly busy sewing some guy back together."
He looked at Kaela once more, then back to Andrace. "...bet you weren't expecting me to come out without a scratch, huh?" He grinned cheerfully. "Come on, ask me how I do it. You know you wanna."
"Sorry, it doesn't seem to have a table of contents. You just open it, read what you find and hope for the best," Boog shrugged sheepishly, "If it's any consolation, I don't think they see it coming either."
--
Doctor Holic strode out of the back hallway, screwing a jar with something lumpy and organic looking floating in its contents shut and setting it on a counter. "I'm sorry, what appears to be the-" He noticed Kaela on the bed and sighed, "Ah, right. Well, let me take a look." Holic unbuttoned his lab coat and already had a few implements in his hands by the time he'd gotten over to the wolf.
There was no reaction. No indication of anything changing in the slightest. But somehow the sudden silence in the air, the silence as all sound is knocked asunder the very instant of an explosion, told Sylvie that this time, her hesitance had been noticed. And whatever was calling out to her did not appreciate it.
Actually, she couldn't be sure it was silence at all. Sylvie could feel it, beyond the gut-twisting feeling of being watched. There were some sounds that were so low in pitch that no one with a normal hearing register could feel them. Infra-sounds, after all, could cause feelings of disorientation and discomfort, among other things. Was it not possible that...? But it had only been for a second...
Thn-thump...!
The glasses dangling gently from the hangers overhead and standing around clinked slightly, and a couple of seats beside Sylvie, the robed man stopped with his glass halfway to his mouth, looking suspiciously at the dark, dark red of the wine, little ripples just having vanished. He waited a second before unconcernedly taking a long sip. But while he seemed nonchalant enough, the elf didn't miss it. She couldn't have. Two quick pulses, tremoring through her. So deep and distant that it wasn't the vibrations themselves that created the sound, but the little residual shocks resulting from them. And the room was dark. It was shadowy to start with, but now it seemed so much worse, both choking and looming in the distance the slow, amber light had to travel, blurry and vague. It was almost as if she could see behind the shadows, something...
Her eyes, searching, were drawn over the dark glass pane of a cabinet in front of her, as one of the lights overhead seemed to flicker, slowly fading. She saw her reflection, as the deepening shadows behind the glass made it a vague mirror, and...
Two red points, glowing dim but somehow glaring still, stared at her from the human-shaped darkness, right behind her shoulder. The thing raised what looked like a hand toward her.
It was silence, and not silence. Sylvie couldn't be sure if it was real for everyone in the bar, or just for her, but either way, she knew something - someone - was angry with her. She felt eyes on her, and knew simultaneously that no-one around her was looking at her. And there were ... feelings of sound in the air, sounds that were near impossible to consciously produce or hear...
Then she felt it. Two pulses, like a heartbeat, running through the bar and herself. And the room was starting to get dark... her eyes couldn't focus, and her mind begged for the comfort of light. She wasn't in pain yet, but in her deepening fear, the anticipation was worse than pain. The shadows shifted, and though her vision was strange, she felt like she was looking past the shadows, through them.
A lightbulb flickered out, and brought her attention to a glass-paned cabinet. She saw her own reflection, but as she continued to look, she started to see something...else...something familiar...
Two glowing red pinpoints that that could only be narrowed eyes, just behind her. And the body they were attached to, reaching for her...
Not caring if she was imagining this, not caring if no-one else noticed her or the fearful atmosphere, Sylvie brought one hand to the edge of the table and one hand to her staff, and, just barely keeping her movements controlled, slowly looked behind her.
There was nothing there. There was just the bar, lazily offering Sylvie its dank view, no darker or more remarkable than before. The only thing that might have seemed ominous or scary was the door to the back, slightly ajar, past which some darkness that normally wouldn't have appeared so frightening lay. If there had been...
A sharp, shattering pang shook Sylvie out of her thoughts. Little crystal shards clinked across the floor, the glass that had somehow inexplicably dropped onto the counter top and shattered with unreasonably great force spread in a fine circle. For an instant, the elf thought she could feel the hint of a shudder. And then came that voice once more, deeper and more hostile.
'Let me out, girl...!'
Andrace gave Bart a long, measuring look. She'd punched him, kicked him, tossed him about, beaten him up, clawed him, bitten him, and even smashed his face through the floor, and he still looked relatively fresh as a daisy. If it weren't for his mussed-up clothes, she wouldn't think he'd been in a fight at all, never mind been pounded into a rug by two tough, professional fighters like herself and Kaela. "I thought it might be a healin' spell," she said thoughtfully, "but it's nothin' like th' half-assed one that's all I can use, or th' full power one m' sister Despina knows. It's not a spell at all, is it? It's you — what are y'?"
Andrace's musings were interrupted when the doctor bustled in from a back room and began to work on Kaela. The lioness was a little taken aback by his weird appearance, but he seemed to know what he was doing as he made sure the old wolf's insides stayed that way.
"Ah, doc," she said when the wild-looking mustelid paused for a moment, "When y' finished wi' granny there, I've got a few chopped-up bits needin' looked at, an' I think at least one broken wrist." Only a slight tightness in her voice, and the set of her ears and whiskers, showed how much her assorted collection of injuries hurt. While she waited, she took off her jerkin, stuck her hand (not the one with the definitely broken wrist) down inside her trousers and tugged at the buckles fastening the no longer hidden sheath around her left thigh. The doctor couldn't work on her leg while she was wearing that, after all.
"Hey, Bart," she said, "could y' do me a favour an' haul m' backpack in here? I'll need a change o' clothes — these trousers have had it, an' th' shirt an' jerkin'll need cleanin' 'fore I wear 'em again."
Bart seemed all too happy to divulge the secret behind his rugged endurance, but decided he'd shut up for the most part and haul Andrace's things in first. "I'll just give you a little hint to ogle." He tossed his wallet to the lioness. By this point, the only thing left in the thick leather trifold was an ID card and several photopockets stuffed with small pictures. "Give you somethin' to think about while I fetch your pack." He turned and sauntered out, both hands resting comfortably in his jacket pockets.
All of the good dozen or so pictures in the wallet prominently featured Bart, some of him younger and with a moptop of unruly brown hair, and all had him accompanied by at least one odd, vaguely humanoid creature with pitch-black flesh and assorted monstrous characteristics: segmented tails, some with canine ears and heads, others reptillian, straightlegged or beastlegged, tall or short, red eyes, sharp claws and nails the size of ginsu knives, the works. And they weren't pictures of pure carnage; one featured him in the midst of a concert audience, shirtless, painted with a navy-blue vortex pattern, and with arms around two of his kin as they gave the horns gesture and rolled out their long, purplish-black tongues. Another was him being tackled and wrestled to the ground by several smaller demons, possibly nieces or nephews. Typical photo subjects, but with... well, monsters. No wonder Bart was such a pain in the ass to incapacitate: his genealogy was far from mortal.
She'd known there was no-one there. It was all in her head. But she could see the shadows in the open door at the back, and knew it wasn't just her. It was him. He was making Sylvie feel this, think this, twisting her mind between his fingers...
A glass fell from the ceiling and broke on the floor, making her jump. The elf knew immediately who was responsible, and was proven right a second later. She felt a shiver in the air, and heard his voice again, angrier and harsh, commanding her.
Let me out, girl...!
Sylvie swallowed the rising lump in her throat and glanced around the bar. The only two mind-readers in the place were both busy, and she knew Dani would get very antsy if she was denied a fight much longer. But that wasn't what she was really thinking about. Whether she got help or not, she was at Stygian's mercy right now. He could drive her totally insane and leave her a shivering, scared husk of an elf for the rest of her life, or trap her in her own hallucinations. She couldn't, wouldn't let him out, but if she DIDN'T...
She stood and moved to the back of the room, trying her best to look unassuming. She almost did, but the wide, fearful green eyes were a signal of what was really running through her mind as she headed for that door....
The door was the same as it had been, but the darkness beyond was not. It wasn't really evident at a first glance, yet it was clear to anyone who had eyes to look closer with that even the dimmed illumination of the bar should have been able to cast more light down the hallway. Instead, the darkness practically throbbed, blackness deeper than black slithering and creeping around at the edges of the corridor, the shape of it so hard to distinguish that even finding one's way forward was difficult. There was something else to it though, some dark, dark sheen that filled out the emptiness between the shadows. Like a fine mist of blood spread thin through the air, carrying the faintest glimmering traces of deep red to the observer's eyes...
'Procrastination is not a very good idea.' The voice was closer now, and Sylvie could clearly catch all the hidden undertones of it. Or maybe it was just that it was a voice now, rather than merely a thought. There was an acid flanger to it, beneath the directness of the man's murky voice, something that growled and seethed. The idea of something forcing words through a throat not actually meant for speech, using that normal vocalization as a mask, was discomfortingly easy to imagine. Something crawled away from her foot.
'The more you drag this out, the worse it is going to get,' the darkness continued, cruelly nonchalantly. 'Personally, I'd much rather like to resolve this quickly. The more effort I have to put into this, the messier it gets...'
Dani frowned a little at the slightly unhelpful information about the book's fighting style. I wonder if it ever resorts to papercuts? she smirked mentally. Then she noticed something ... off about Sylvie. The elf looked increasingly nervous, but the Red couldn't place what there was for her to be nervous about. Of course, she couldn't see what was going on inside her friend's mind, but when Syl grabbed her staff and turned around, she knew something was wrong. Something that was worse than what had gone on before, because she couldn't see it and help her.
Her muscles tensed when the Green stood up, trying and failing to look normal. She looked like she'd been slapped and was being led over to the door. Even so... Dani looked down at the book in her hands, then to Sylvie, then to the Boogeyman.
"Tell you what. I'll fight something in this book, but you can let the Chinese keep their tea. Instead, do me a favor and keep an eye on her for me." She glanced over at Sylvie with a meaningful expression, then picked up the book and headed for the door.
-----
Sylvie's skin was cold as she watched the darkness beyond the door. This had started as something like an idea, a figment of her imagination being twisted by someone else. But whatever was going on now was completely real, she was sure of it.
She heard Stygian's voice - his voice, not just her mind - and almost shuddered. But when he threatened her, something in her reacted. Something refreshing, that she'd felt the first time her forest was attacked, during the incident when she'd met Dani, and more recently, when Andrea had been trapped in the circle with her after attacking Dani. A kind of righteous anger, that made her want to react in such a way that would throw the fear he was making her feel right back in his face.
"Does it matter?" she whispered, gripping her staff a little tighter. "Whether I let you out or not, terrible things will happen. The only difference is whether they're only worse than what might happen to me, or worse than what you did to Piix..." Her knuckles turned almost-white as she continued to speak. She was still terrified of what he might do if she kept hesitating, but that only seemed to justify her words. "Who do you intend to hurt this time? Tell me, or I'll grow poison sumac in that room and let someone light it on fire."
'Please,' the horrid voice replied, untraceable in the dark. It was dismissive, nonchalant, yet still tinged with just enough irritation that one could sense some tension to it. 'If you haven't realized that was an accident by now, I credited you too much to start with.'
There was a short silence of the sudden and awkward kind, during which Sylvie was treated to a discomforting plethora of low, seething, creeping sounds from deeper down the corridor. Perhaps Stygian had thought she'd answer immediately, or perhaps he just wanted that last statement to sink in before he went on. Either way, he did, right before she had a shot at responding.
'No. It doesn't matter. That's where you're right,' the dark admitted. 'Because I'll get out of here either way. And then it will merely be a matter of whether if you've been an... inconvenience to me, or not.' It seemed to chuckle for a moment, though the sound was so faint that Sylvie might just have imagined it. Still, considering Stygian's tone as he continued, it was quite easy imagining she were right. 'Still, you could try the bushes. At least that's deciding to take a stand. Only cowards decide to do nothing...'
By the time Bart returned to the infirmary, Andrace had carefully examined all of the photos. She grinned at him, one eyebrow raised and her tail swishing languidly from side to side. "You," she said cheerfully while pointing a forefinger claw at his chest, "are one sneaky S.O.B. — I like that. So, th' big secret is, y' got a bit o' Demon in y'? No wonder y' kept gettin' up again every time I smacked y' down, I was fightin' as if y' were just a plain Bein'. I was beginnin' t' suspect somethin' was up, but if I'd known f'r sure, I'd have been a bit... ah... rougher. Might not have got m'self so much banged-up, then. Mind you, when I'm fightin' a Demon f'r real, I use all m' weapons. One o' th' things m' mum taught me — th' safest way t' take down a Demon is in th' back o' th' head, from fifty yards away, when he ain't lookin'." Not a muscle shifted in her toothy smile, but suddenly the lioness seemed much more... predatory.
Sylvie almost scowled. Although she had guessed that what he'd done to Piix wasn't exactly intentional, it still didn't change the fact that it had happened. Still, even though what he'd said didn't tell her anything about his feelings toward her, she couldn't deny that that chink in her logical armor had ached a little. And a part of her, although angry, was upset over all this, wondering why he had bothered with her in the first place if he really was as awful as he'd acted...
His next statements chilled her, but it didn't surprise her that he didn't really need her to get out of there. But she knew what she wanted to do. She wasn't going to hold open the door for him as he caused destruction and live with the guilt for the rest of her life. But she was smart enough to know that what he'd said about it being worse if she didn't do as he asked was probably right, whether she'd get hurt or not.
"You didn't answer my question," she said in a soft, dangerous tone, her hands beginning to glow. "And I don't like being manipulated." If there was any irony in that statement, she ignored it. She took a few steps closer to the door, doing her best not to pay attention to what might be crawling around her feet. "But you're right too. I can't stop you from escaping, but if I don't try, it makes me worse than you. Tell me what you're going to do when and if I open that door, and I might let you out. If you lie to me, I'll make you regret it."
"Bet you didn't see that one comin', did you?" Bart had Andrace's pack slung over one shoulder as he re-entered the medical wing, just as laid-back as ever. "Part hellion and Goddamn proud of it, that's me. Take a few shots to the chest, get hit by a bus, drink all night and shake it off the next morning, 420 smoke weed every day, and all the other awesome shit normals wish they could get away with." Lounging around in bloodied clothing was another thing he could apparently get away with; then again, he hadn't the foresight to actually bring another shirt or pair of pants to change into.
"Your mom's right-on about that, though. Not that I would've let you get that far away." He unslung the pack, catching it by a strap before letting it hit the ground. "'Cause we Thom'sens," he said as he rolled up his right sleeve to the shoulder, "always keep nice and close." On his right bicep laid a nice, black tattoo of what appeared to be a four-inch diameter circle, cut in half with three snaggletoothed fangs, one jutting from the bottom half and two from the other, and a pair of slanted brows etched over the top. Some kind of custom family marking, to be sure.
Silence fell again. Still silence. Not the one permeated with with low sizzling sounds and little scrapes, but the truly silent, heavy kind. Only in the context it was terribly reinforced with expectant tension. It was like something massive was drawing its breath in the dark, and it was anyone's guess if it was going to try and snap its jaws around something, and what. Sylvie was acutely aware of the feeling.
'And I didn't answer because that's a more unfair and complicated question than you realize. But when you ask it like that...' He stopped, and gave what could have been a mirthless chuckle. 'I suppose that I shall maliciously endeavor to have a drink, heinous though it may sound. Now...'
There was a shudder, and Sylvie's hair rustled very gently, as air that should have had nowhere to come from or go to moved. There was an almost corrosive feeling to the atmosphere, as though whatever was tinting the air that horrible red was starting to dampen and singe her skin.
'Would you kindly open the door?!' There was another still shudder, as though someone had invented a very silent sledgehammer and was just testing it on the nearby wall. 'Or I swear I won't be as well mannered much longer...!'
Boog nodded to Dani and slinked down the corridor after Sylvie. He kept quiet, saving a decent number of paces behind her. Just the barkeep here for something else, pay him no heed. No need to alarm the girl, after all. Besides, from what he could hear of the conversation, Stygian was trying to do quite enough of that himself.
The slamming, however caught his attention. That could damage bar property. He finally stepped closer and nodded to Sylvie, trying to ignore bits of himself trying to bleed into the walls. He HATED this part of the building.
"You weren't that well mannered to start, as I recall. Something about setting the bathroom on fire and accosting the guy with the needles all over..."
Andrace looked thoughtfully at Bart's tattoo for a moment before she nodded. "Comin' in close works, but y' got t' have somethin' t' come in close with. Like this guy here," she said as she handed back the stack of photos, the top one including a critter particularly well endowed in the way of horns, fangs and claws. "He'd be able t' chop me int' cutlets, if I was clumsy or stupid an' let him close enough. Y'r little claw sharpener? No way. Oh, y' coulda stabbed me in th' wotsits, an' it'd bleed a fair bit an' hurt like hell. Wouldn't kill me, though, at least not quick enough t' stop me gettin' m' teeth wet."
The lioness paused and slowly shook her head with a humourless smile. "Whoa, listen t' me, I'm ramblin'," she said, "must've lost more blood than I thought. I hate this, it's like bein' drunk, but I've not been drinkin'... except I was... at least, I drink I was thunk..." Andrace swayed from side to side as she sat there, and Bart might have noticed her eyes went out of focus, then slowly crossed.
"Don'feels'good," she mumbled, then she slowly toppled over sideways.
Sylvie tensed at the almost-laugh, then her shoulders fell a bit at Stygian's next comment. Had she been too harsh from the start, or was he lying to her? She was able to reassure herself that the former wasn't quite true, given what he'd done, but she also wasnt too sure about him lying to her. After all, he'd told her from nearly the moment she'd shown serious interest in him that he was dangerous, and he'd shown to be exactly that. Maybe she hadn't taken those warnings altogether seriously, but at least he'd given them and not been lying. But if he wasn't lying, then there was no reason to threaten her, or slowly break her armor, or any of it.
Boog showed up when Stygian's voice started to sound rougher and more threatening, appearing in such a timely way it would have been puzzling had the Green not known better now. She nodded back to the thought entity and turned back to the door, her charged-up hand powering down, slowly.
"I think he might be telling the truth," she muttered, still keeping a spell at the front of her brain in case she was wrong.
"Sometimes, friendship means doings things based on what someone's done in the past, not what you think they'll do in the future. Isn't that right Styggy?" He knocked twice on the door, and yanked his hand back when his knuckles tried to stick to the the wall. "Yeesh, I hate this part of the building. Personally, I'm all for letting him cool his heels until he gets over himself a bit and stops trying to menace my patrons."
--
"Bollocks," Holic muttered, hearing Andrace fall with a thump without turning around. He finished suturing up another wound on Kaela and injected her with something quickly, then turned to Bart and rolled up his sleeves, "Be a dear and help me lift her back up onto the bed, I hate it when they make me take the big ones..."
'If your patrons weren't so eager to be menaced, they'd hardly have come here in the first place, you inflated imaginary sack of shoggoth feed!' the voices roared behind the door, Stygian's indignation finally getting the better of him. Some dust fell from the ceiling, and a small line formed in the wall with a dry sound, shooting out from the side of the door. Something dark and wet started forming at the cracks of it, leaking out. The hissing in the air was frantic.
'Yes, we all know how you care so deeply...!' the thing continued, its voice scathing with spite. 'If you want to take a cheap shot at locking me up, you can well afford to have some balls and say so. And that it certainly isn't out of a concern for what's best for your beloved customers.' The thing beyond paused, its last word stretching out into a silent growl, then seemed to turn its mental attention back to Sylvie, something that was almost palpable to the elf.
'Open the door, Sylvie,' the voices requested, their tone fillied with determined firmness of the kind that promises to do just about whatever it takes, no matter how horrible or cruel, unless it gets its way. 'If it takes a favor in return on my part, then you can name it here and now, but it is in your best interests to open the bloody door!'
Andrace's eyes were open, but they didn't seem to be focussing on anything as she lay on the floor where she'd fallen. She twitched and mumbled for a few seconds, then her voice became clearer. It was different, though: faster-paced, and somehow a little higher pitched, than her usual slow, measured bass rumble. The lioness sounded like an excited teenager.
"Yeah, Mum, it hurts a bit. I got 'im, though, did y' see? Did it just like y' said, just a little twist o' th' wrist as y' swing th' club, so when th' spikes whap 'em 'cross th' side o' th' head — splat! Bit messy, though, just look at th' state o' m' fur. An... eww, is that brains slippin' down inside th' front o' m' shirt? ... Ah, shaddap, Irene, y' think y' so smart, sis, you figure out how t' ID th' guy f'r th' bounty..."
Her voice faded again to a vague mutter before trailing away into silence. Andrace seemed to be unconscious, or maybe asleep.
"Yeah, my cousin 'Stafa there's pretty--" Bart took a moment to flip through some of his more choice photos before noticing that Andrace was bordering the fine line between delerium and consciousness, just catching her toppling over with his peripheral vision. Such was the dilemma of mortal companions. "I got 'er, doc," he grunted as he approached Andrace and got his hands underneath her armpits, easily lifting and transfering her back onto the bed. "Too bad you couldn't hold out longer; how can we argue over whose family's tougher when you're passin' out on the floor?" Still, it wasn't something he could really fault her for. You can roll to a new rhythm, but you can't choose your roots.
"Doc, I gotta ask you somethin': how long's it usually take for you to patch people up? I was hoping I could catch a few drinks with these ladies before it's time to head home."
Sylvie listened to the Boogeyman and Stygian argue, hand twitching a little at her side like she couldn't decide whether to slam the door with it and storm away or yank it open and run for her life. Stygian's threat to her, as well as the changing and multiplying voices speaking for him let her know that he was getting more impatient, and judging from the mild destruction going on around the elf and the thought-being, he was being very honest.
Sylvie Dahl was many things; a pushover wasn't one of them. At his offer of a favor in exchange for freedom, her brain perked up. She wanted safety for the others, of course, partly not to anger the manager and partly for her own ethical standards. But she also wanted to let Stygian know, in at least a small way, the confusion he'd caused her. Of course, what she had in mind might seem a bit melodramatic, and was nowhere near as confusing as what he'd made her feel. But it was the best she could think of right now, and she didn't want to anger him much further...
"I want two things," she said quietly, placing one hand on the side of the doorframe. "One, don't do whatever the hell you did to Piix to her or anyone else again. Two, when you come out, hold still for about 20 seconds."
"Yessss, lets talk about balls. Lets talk about how much of them it takes to threaten little girls. Couldn't find any good elementary schools near you back home? Hey there little fella, want some candy?" Sylvie's declaration, however, stopped Boog mid-rant. He gave her what could only be called a look, "You sure that's what you want to do, kid?"
There was a long, pensive silence, tinged with acidic suspicion. The voices didn't dignify any of the latter comments with any sort of response, presumably as they didn't deserve any. For Stygian, suspicion and extensive forethought were the norm. When someone faced him with a demand like that, posed so that it was as if it were meant to set him on edge, he could go practically autistic with silently focusing on unraveling the best course of action. The fact that he felt pressed for time, clashing with it all, only made him more aggravated, more introvert.
'Fine,' the thing conceded at last, and then lapsed into another silence, more reservedly expectant this time.
The elf paused, for about as long as was acceptable given the impatience of the one behind the door and the doubts of the one on her side. She seemed sure of what she thought should be done, but she clearly wasn't going to enjoy it much.
"No," she admitted to Boog. "But I think if we don't, it'll be worse." Then Stygian answered, and at least a little of her fear was allayed. He wasn't going to cause trouble - at least, not the kind she dreaded most. She wasn't sure whether to be pleased or not that he'd agreed to her latter request, but it would feel right, anyway.
Swallowing and relaxing her surprisingly tense shoulders, she put her hand on the knob and opened the door, stepping back a bit and facing the open passage.
The moment the door opened so much as a few hairs' breadths, there was a low but sudden sound as air seemed to rush backwards. All the crawling darkness, all the dripping horror that had been, instantly slithered back into the cracks, disappearing behind the concrete slab and leaving the corridor in mere gloomy silence once more. The heavy door swung open slowly, not a single other thing moving in the hallway. Then, smoke curled out toward the elf.
There was the crackle of a hard sole hitting tiny granules of dust or sand on smooth concrete. Then another. Slowly, a figure approached the door from within the blackness. Normally, it would have been eye-strainingly hard to see, but by comparison to the previous lighting, this new normal darkness was a relief. The steps came closer, as did three faintly glowing points, flickering in and out of view.
Stygian stopped just behind the door frame. In the shadow, he looked about the same, except he was wearing a long jacket and a scarf, and looked like he'd been out in the cold for a while. Steam rose off him, thinner than the long, seeping tendrils of smoke stemming from the half-burnt cigarette-thing in his mouth. When he had a drag on it though, it was evident that what had seemed like just an hour in the bar had been longer for him. His face lit up, revealing darker rings under his eyes than there had been before, his skin looking unhealthy and coarse, thin cracks of black forming at the edges of his temples and around his neck. It was as though those burns he had sustained before had worn off a few layers of his exterior to start showing what was underneath. And those glowing little pinpoints at the heart of the dark caverns he had for eyes certainly hadn't been red when last they saw him. He was holding something under his left arm; a glass jar filled with little black and pinkish red things of some indiscernible nature.
'Well?' he said, after a couple of moments, standing on the spot. Those blood-colored dots turned Sylvie's way, made clear only by the glow of the cigarette in his mouth.
Sylvie's muscles tensed noticeably when the darkness rushed into the door and left the normal, everyday shadows behind. She hadn't been expecting it to be so quick... She didn't move for a bit, though she noticed the smoke tendril near her.
The slow exit from the closet was more what she'd been expecting. She hadn't really noticed before how dark it was before, focusing more on what was being said than her surroundings. Now, she was almost blind, except for the light coming from Stygian's glowing red eyes (hadn't they been black before?), and the half-cigarette in his mouth. He looked...not unlike his old self, but unhealthier. She didn't want to think about why he couldn't heal, or what the hell was in that jar, or any of it. She hadn't anticipated him looking like this, but it didn't matter.
She walked up to Stygian, setting her staff against a wall for now. Without a word or a hint of what she was going to do, she reached up and took the cigarette out of his mouth. Then, with her other hand, she reached up behind his head, pulled his face closer to hers, closed her eyes and softly kissed him. After a few seconds, her hand withdrew, her eyes opened and she pulled back...only to slap him across the face a moment later.
There was a pause. "I think that about covers what I wanted to say for myself," she said quietly. "The others can speak for themselves." With that, she placed the cigarette in a balanced position on the jar under his arm, picked up her staff, nodded to the Boogeyman, and began to head for the door.
Boog was trying very hard to stifle a laugh. He was succeeding for the most part but, as he turned to watch the girl walk away, he had to bite his lip for a minute before turning back.
"Well? Don't look at me, all you'd get is the second half of that anyway." He chuckled to himself and strolled back down the hallway after the girl, scraping one nail along the wall languidly, "Do try to keep yourself out of trouble this time, Styggy." The concept smirked to himself as he made his way back to the bar. After all, there had been a reason he'd left the door unlocked.
--
"Are you serious? These women are built like tanks made out of stubbornness, I'm amazed the older one hasn't sat up yet," The doctor began seeing to Andrace, poking and prodding to find the fractures and set them straight. "Give it a few minutes."
Stygian was left standing, looking about as deadpan as anyone could imagine it was possible to pull off in such a situation. Carefully, he reached up with one bandaged hand to touch at his cheek, then looked at his fingers, flexing them, sharp black tips protruding slightly from the frayed cloth. Then he licked his lips, and sneered. He hefted the jar, raising it on one palm and inspecting it and the mottled, half-legible label slapped onto it, shrugging.
'Fair, I guess,' he said to no one in particular, and stepped out into the corridor, throwing his cigarette butt to the floor and putting it out underfoot. He moved to close the door. Then, sharply, he stopped. He looked around.
The darkness in the room beyond was so deep as to be impenetrable to normal sight. That only meant that he saw better though, if what he did actually counted for seeing. And yet even he could not perceive the back of the room, nor the walls for that matter. He suspected there weren't any. Not anymore. And now there were... things strewn around everywhere. Which was quite curious. A few moments' pondering and observing brought no more insight into things. But he couldn't feel anything actually moving except far, far away in the pitch blackness, so...
Sneering, Stygian walked back into the dark for a moment and picked up a deck of cards. He inspected it, then put it in his pocket and slipped out another cigarette, wedging it in the corner of his mouth, leaving the door half open.
He caught up to Sylvie just after she walked into the bar upstairs, walking past her and giving her a meaningful look as he did. He set the big jar on the counter, earning surprised and suspicious looks from all around. In the relatively clear light it was fairly easy to see what it was filled with; little rock candies of some sort.
'A present,' he said. 'And while we're still in the swing of things... Has the little fuzzy thing recovered?'
Andrace had barely twitched a whisker when Bart grabbed hold of her and hoisted her back up onto the bed. When the doctor picked up her roughly bandaged arm, though, and began shifting the crushed wrist bones back into place (properly, instead of the slipshod job she'd done in the middle of the fight), the lioness reacted instantly. All her claws extended, her tail thumped hard against the bed, and she sat up as if levitated, with a high-pitched yowl — high-pitched compared to her normal tone of voice, anyway. Mistaking it for the mating call of a particularly large bull elk would have been perfectly understandable. She leaned further forward, stuck her snout into one of the doctor's lab coat pockets, and was spectacularly and noisily ill. Finally she hiccupped and flopped back like a rag doll on the examination bed, definitely out for the count this time. The half-formed scabs on her muzzle and thigh had torn again with her exertions, and blood from both wounds dripped slowly onto the bed.
...Dekuyaketh:
Dekuyaketh nodded in what seemed like acquiescence. He suddenly had the inexplicable craving for a cigarette, for precious nicotine, but he momentarily ignored this compulsive addiction. Instead, he settled for playing with his lighter, like he insisted on keeping his hands occupied.
"A favor? Well shit, fire away," Dekuyaketh said, leaning back, "What kind of favor?"
When Stygian reappeared back into the room, he cringed away almost begrudgingly - he passed a glare to him through his shawl of hair, too surreptitious for him to take any blame for, and growled. The sound was like an infuriated lion.
...Piix:
Somewhere in the infirmary, Piix stirred in what she thought was death. The ascension to consciousness was a lot like paddling through a syrupy, impenetrable quagmire, starting from the underbelly and stroking toward the surface - the process was cumbersome, occasionally feverish, but every successful moment seemed to be rewarded with a glimpse of coherent thought. The sight of the white infirmary walls flashed in Piix's vision as she managed to open her eyes, only to seal away her sight as she closed them - she smelled acrid medicine before her nostrils refused to yield - and that was what compelled her to keep going.
Piix groaned a little. She felt sick, and she had a splitting headache that was far, far too unbearable to be compared to a hangover. She plunged back into darkness, was thrust back to the surface, and kept bobbing between those two spectrums before her consciousness alternated on the borderline. She was awake, but not quite. Like a comatose person who had the potential to be alive, but wasn't just yet.
Had Dani been with Sylvie when she went downstairs, she'd have been doing her best not to clap. Thankfully, that life-threatening situation had been avoided, and she was currently outside, in a very different, only-potentially-life-threatening situation. She was sitting in a circle with the storybook on her lap.
"So....how does this work?" she asked the book. She didn't want to go in and ask Boog how it worked when her exit earlier had been perfect; she would appreciate being able to check up on Sylvie, but she had her heart set on this fight. It occurred to her after a few seconds that maybe opening the book would be a more effective way to challenge it. So, she flipped open to a random picture, set it on the ground in front of her, and stood, propping herself up on the sort-of-a-naginata and being mindful of the bandages on her arm. She felt a little silly, but she and other Reds had done stranger things before than fight something you could kill with an ember.
"All right. I challenge whatever monster you see fit to throw at me to a fight."
-----
Sylvie was just going to walk over to the window and watch Dani fight, thinking that after what she'd just done, there was agood chance Stygian wouldn't want to talk to her. Besides, she'd said what she'd wanted to say already - most of it. However, at his look and the mention of the candy being a present, she stopped and looked. It was too coincidental to be him trying to appeal to her sweet tooth, and the candy didn't look too threatening. Besides, he'd addressed everyone, not just her. Even so, she decided to wait a little before taking one of the sweets, looking out the windows at her friend with the book. She didn't know what was going to happen, but she knew if a book was too dangerous to read in a bar, there had to be a hell of a creature hiding in it.
The pages fluttered, once. The hiss of paper on paper almost seemed to say "How very cordial."
Then things got weird.
In an instant the book shredded along its spine, its pages and cover floating into the air and scattering across the circle. As they hit the edges the circle stretched out wider and wider... At least by the perceptions of those in it. Great masses of earth burst from the ground, rock crumbling off them to reveal the man-made facades beneath. Greenery sprung up beneath her feet, and the pages of the book return and whirled together to form...
A man in coke-bottle glasses and a pocket protector, standing with a slight hunch, looking to be maybe 110 pounds if he was an ounce. The field within the circle had become a suburb, with identical white houses and green lawns stretching out to infinity.
"H-hello." The apperation said to Dani, nervously. "My name is Big Bad."
--
Boog picked up the jar and shook it once, hearing it rattle and quirking one eyebrow. I thought Holic had gotten all the stuff out of there? He shrugged and put it on the shelf behind him. He'd take a closer look later. In the meantime, the girl in the circle warranted his attention. Lets see what she had-
Oh.
Oh crap.
--
"Orrrr it could be a bit..." Holic winced, fetching more bandages. "Here, hold this." He tossed his now-dripping lab coat in Bart's direction, "I've got work to do."
The Boogeyman had barely set the jar down before something dark and slick whipped out in a blurry, indistinct motion, whisking the large and heavy object from his hands with a speed and lightness that seemed almost cartoonish. Before anyone could catch a glimpse of just exactly what it was, the jar was once again on the counter, as Stygian set it down with the heavy sound of thick glass on hardwood, holding it pinched between his fingers over the top. He shot the thought entity a hard stare, the sharp tips of his fingers clicking against the glass as he removed the lid and placed it on the lacquered surface.
'Ask, and
maybe,' he uttered in a harsh tone. 'I know you have your little problems, but that part about stealing and claiming for your own indiscriminately applies to thoughts
only, and barely even that. At least as far as I'm concerned...' He plucked out one of the black-reddish things and popped it into his mouth, then turned his head to glance with some puzzlement at the situation Dani had just gotten herself in, pointedly ignoring the way the red-robed man down the bar suddenly gave him a very short but hard look.
'Oh,' Stygian uttered, the first few bits of candy rock shredding and crackling between his teeth. 'So
that's what it is. Sense of humor, has it?'
- -
For a moment, at just about the time that Dekuyaketh growled, Andrea's face twisted in sympathetic disgust. And then, she half-smirked yet again, something which she momentarily smoothed out to a mere mild sneer. Her eyes locked at the cat-demon's until he could ignore her no more, and was forced to meet her stare.
'I think you can guess what I have in mind. I also think that you would be kind of eager to help,' she said with insidious suggestiveness, then lowered her voice to a whispering hiss, leaning forward even more. She didn't care how or what he thought she was trying to do by now, since he'd likely have gotten the hang of the main thing, and if he hadn't, then he was probably no good anyway.
'It would be better to talk in a circle. Too many prying...
things, here.'
Dani went straight into a defensive pose when the book tore itself up and started turning into scenery. Huh. Never thought that sentence before. When she lowered her arms and looked, she saw a neighborhood very unlike the one she'd grown up in. Pretty houses, neat lawns - true, there were a -few- houses like that in Rustburg, but none of them looked the same. This wasn't exactly imposing to her, it was just...unexpected that the book would choose this. Then again, that was probably why the book -had- chosen this. As for her opponent...
Really? she thought. She'd worked in a violent criminals facility, and while these kind of guys did show up there every now and then, it always came as a surprise to her. She was too surprised to laugh, thankfully, but the blink was a bit telling. However, she was quick to put that aside, and at least the guy hadn't immediately thrown a punch. She didn't lower her weapon completely, but her stance relaxed enough not to seem hostile.
"Hi. I'm Danielle Sanders, but call me Dani. And apparently, I just challenged you to a fight. So, now might be a good time to lay out terms and conditions." Once again, her smirk seemed to be more out of habit than anything. This was going to be more interesting than she thought...
Big Bad scratched the back of his head, blushing slightly in that manner that's usually accompanied by the thought "Gulp! G-g-girls!" When she mentioned she was there to fight him, though, he brightened up considerably.
"Oh, alright, that's not so bad. Not too many rules though, alright? I mean, I'll try and all, but I'm bad at keeping to rules generally." He grinned sheepishly "Sorry."
--
Boog rolled the question around in his head for a minute, looking it over from every angle, shrugging.
"Not really, no. I wouldn't say it has a sense of humor at all."
Witt would have responded with a disgusted snort, and a comment about "what would I do with all the tea in China?", but was interrupted after no more than the start of an admittedly very impressive snort, by the entrance of the hooded figure.
After that, he laid low and nursed his 307 Ale. After all, with the thing behind the bar not behind the bar, it'd have to last him a little while.
And then the little girl wandered out to the circle. He raised one eyebrow, and glanced up at the screens, looking to see which one she was on. Identifying it, he sidled somewhat closer, dragging his drink with him, so he could hear what was going on out there.
At the introduction, he quirked one eyebrow. At the comment about rules, he winced, and then glanced over at the barthing. "No humour, huh. She's really fucked." He shook his head, and took a drink. "You've got to watch for the weedy ones. They're often tougher than they look, and usually have something up their sleeves."
He pondered for a moment, then went on, "Fireplace poker or something like, I reckon. He doesn't look like a wrench to me."
Grunting something and at the same time somehow producing a peppermint schnapps to go with the candy, Stygian tapped a little tantrum on his knee as he swiveled around, feeling a sharp, yellowing tooth with his tongue in an unnerving way.
'I don't know. Looks more of the type to mess with your ideas of fighting, if you ask me,' he directed toward Witt without actually looking at the squat hedgehog. There was something piercing to his gaze, some comprehension that gave his dark eyes an even more menacing look. Then again, perhaps it was just tension brought on by disgust; the battleground the book had chosen looked like some sort of idiocy to Stygian's darkened perceptions, like the product of an obsessive-compulsive mind, so bright and regular and perfect that it crossed right over into surrealism. 'If this is what all these fights are going to look like...'
Meanwhile, Sahlena's attention had been drawn. She'd been observing from the very moment Sylvie started acting eerily, and even more so when Stygian re-entered, though probabilities and priority calculations meant she just couldn't take her attentions off the newly arrived priestly attendee. She 'had a bad feeling', so to speak. Though, as in the case of most things like that, it wasn't far from plain prejudiced paranoia.
Now though, the machine's interest was drawn to the fight. She started recording, observed for a while, then stood up and approached the bar. Something needed clarifying, in her opinion.
':i thought that the book was supposed to contain... well... ideas, or perhaps archetypes. the Jungian type, you follow?' she said, looking at Boog quizzically. ':what exactly isthis ?'
When he got no immediate answer, and another hint of an uncomfortable mood made its way into the air, Stygian narrowed his eyes, and then looked around at Sylvie. By now he didn't care if he came off as both frightening and overwhelming; whatever expectations of good and kind behavior she had on him had probably vanished, or more accurately been brutally forced out of her by then. He was seriously doubting whether if it was 'good riddance' though.
The twisted-looking man fixed his eyes on Sylvie with such unrelenting determination that it was merely a question of time until she returned the look. Then, he arched an eyebrow at her, and pushed the open jar an inch closer to her.
'I don't expect you to forgive or forget. All that's needed is that you understand,' he said, plainly. 'Talking helps.'
Bart caught the coat, holding it out at arm's length in his re-soiled hands. "Wait, what the hell're you doin' shovin' your dirty-ass clothes on me? What do I look like, a nurse?" Though if it meant Holic could get down to work on Andrace and Kaela all that much faster, he wasn't in much of a position to complain. "...how long I gotta hold this for, anyway?" The sterilized odor of the med lab and the acrid stench of his former combatants' blood was starting to make him feel uneasy.
Sylvie was watching the screens as well, just as confused about the book's choice as Dani and Witt. What the hedgehog said got her thinking, though. As a female prisoner and a strange-looking one at that, she'd received the same surprised reaction. But true to what Witt said, she too had had an ace in the hole - her magic. It was entirely possible this apparition was also more than it seemed...and if Boog's brief pause when he'd seen the creature was anything to go by, then judging Big Bad outright could lead to death. Relax. Dani's a cop. She'll go with her smarter instincts...I hope. But as she watched the screen, something else caught her attention.
She tried not to look at Stygian. She really did. She had no idea what to say to him after...well, everything. She didn't even think he wanted to talk to her. But the way his eyes burned into her, it was clear she'd thought wrong. She eventually felt so uncomfortable she had to look at him, and the subtly proffered jar of candy. What he said sounded close to comforting, but listening to the words, Sylvie knew he wasn't going to try that. He wanted her to talk, but the elf wasn't sure if he wanted her to understand what he was, or why he'd done what he had when drugged.
"I don't know how Piix is doing," she finally said, in a quiet voice. She didn't reach for the candy, but she did look at Stygian sidelong through a few strands of her hair.
-----
Dani did her best not to blink again at Big Bad's demeanor. He was acting so unlike the monster she'd expected that she was unnerved. Of course, this didn't make her drop her guard. It had just the opposite effect, in fact. On the surface, she looked calm, but in truth, she was tense and waiting for this guy to snap and attack her.
"Right, then. Rules." She propped her weapon against her shoulder now, her stance relaxed but her guard up. "I'm unhappy to say that I was told to try to kill you, but I expect you to try and kill me back or it's not fair. Oh, and there is one...special condition." She looked Big Bad straight in the eye. "You see, I have narcolepsy and can't control when I fall asleep. So if at any point I should fall asleep during the fight, please wake me up before trying to kill me. Killing someone while they can't attack just doesn't seem right, I'm sure you agree." She gave a semi-threatening smile (not entirely intentional), and shifted her stance just a bit. "Agreed?"
Boog smiled at Witt, keeping tight lipped as to details, but had no intention of ignoring Sahlena's question.
"If you mean Jung's personality archetypes, then no. I've met them, and they're a damn bore. These aren't archetypes of personalities so much as things that live in them; phobias, assumptions, particularly commonplace secrets, all that." Boog smiled, "As for ideas, well, it's got those too. Just watch, see if you can pick up on them."
--
"Agreed!" Big Bad grinned like a kid in a candy store. One surrounded by close loved ones giving him money for things. "I was worried it'd be something difficult."
Meanwhile, people were starting to come out of the various houses in the suburbs. Old ladies picking up the paper, kids hopping on their bikes and pedaling away, businessmen walking down to the bus stop.
Big Bad fell back into a stance that looked tailor made to be the most amatuerish boxers stance in the world. His hands were too high, his head was too low, his knees were too bent...
"Whenever you're ready."
--
"Just throw it on the chair." Holic slipped a suturing needle out of one of the built-in pockets on his chest and drew a line of some thin, fiberous thread out from under his tongue. "So," He sighed, getting to work, "How goes, then? What brought you to the honor circle anyway?"
Witt snorted, expressively. Addressing Stygian, while still watching the screen, he commented "There's not much to mess with. Fighting is merely an interruption to a decent drink."
He then turned to the thing behind the bar. "Speaking of which, this one's empty." He drained the rest of the bottle, flipped the empty up into the air, fished a coin out of a pocket and slapped it down on the bar, then caught the descending bottle and placed it neatly on the coin. "I reckon there's a catch somewhere, with that." He nodded at the screen. "You wouldn't be as cautious about it if he was all he seemed to be."
He rested one elbow on the bar, and continued to watch Big Bad, Dani, and the screen.
For a moment, Dekuyaketh's glare lingered longer than what was socially acceptable on the back of Stygian's head, his gaze wrathful and accusatory all at once. Before he could smolder any longer in his humiliating ineffectualness, Andrea leaned in to grasp his attention. Stiffening, the Demon passed her a somewhat hesitant, skeptical look.
"I would. But I'm not interested in getting killed, or going through what I went through before again," Dekuyaketh explained resentfully. "I don't suppose you have a solution."
That question was answered with Andrea's final hiss. Dekuyaketh's ears flattened apprehensively, and he looked at her penetratingly. He did not trust her, clearly, but the prospect of vengeance was too tantalizing to ignore. If Dekuyaketh had the opportunity to punish Stygian for the turmoil he went through, and had refused it, he would feel even more angry than he already was. After a moment of consideration, he agreed somewhat reluctantly. "Alright," he conceded, and spread his wings slightly. He prepared to envelop them around Andrea and himself, so they could be tucked into an impenetrable, conversational circle. Before he did so, he advised her sharply, "Don't even think of leading me on."
The man's blood-colored gaze lingered on Sylvie for a short while. Then, he turned his eyes to the floor, and sighed. Well, if
that was what she was concerned about...
'Excuse me for a bit,' he said in a dull tone. He stood up, straightened his collar, then flicked a few of the candy rocks into his hand, crunched one between his teeth, and walked off toward the infirmary.
In her alloted bed at the very back of the infirmary, Piix drowsed in half-slumber behind partly pulled curtains. Glazed, confused eyes stared at the ceiling. Running idle, so to speak. It was the sort of catatonic state that could keep a person laying for weeks, fat and heavy as it ruminated lazily over the little Orin's mind. It didn't stand a chance.
There were a few swift, low thumps of footsteps, and the inevitable angered protest from the other people present. Then, the white curtains were jerked aside, and Piix's vision was filled with the image of slithering blackness and shades of blood and rust, glistening oily muscles and jaws, and yellow teeth, all shuddering and shifting and snapping. Her ears quivered and folded as they were bombarded by a gruesome many-voiced scream with some underlying roaring note to it, and her whole body jerked in reflex, fur and hair standing on end and every tendon tight like a violin string.
The Orin didn't even realize she were sceaming along until Stygian quit, and all those hideous things seemed to fold in on themselves into his face once more, leaving only a fanged grin. Piix kept screaming some more. Then, a salty-sour something popped into her mouth, and the man shut it with a pair of fingers on her chin.
'Good. You're up,' he said.
- -
'Not
here!' Andrea hissed, looking at Dekuyaketh as though he were a little boy who'd been caught doing something plainly inappropriate in public. She scowled at him and his wings both, not seeming to be able to decide which she found more conspicuous and infuriating. 'I meant a circle! A
circle! I'm challenging you to a fight, damnit!'
- -
The machine seemed to frown, somehow, sitting down on one of the unoccupied stools so that she could turn and watch the fight more efficiently.
'
:that might be a little harder than you seem to think,' she said, tapping the counter with an alloyed finger. '
:i guess it might seem stereotypical, but i'm not very good with the abstract. and since i'm under the impression thatyou've created these things somehow, or at least that you areresponsible for them...'
Sylvie watched Stygian as he went into the other room. Contrary to what he thought, that hadn't been an invitation to check on the little alien, nor was it really the reason why she was so stressed out, but it would help her relax a little to know Piix was okay. The rest, she wasn't sure she wanted to bring up in mixed company - but then again, considering where they were, what had gone on, and what was going on right now, it was doubtful anyone cared much.
Then she heard the screams from the infirmary. Her gaze whipped over to the door and she practically jumped up from her seat to run over and see what was wrong.
She saw Stygian, leaning over a terrified-looking Piix and holding her jaw shut, a grin fixed to his face.
The elf blinked. "I didn't even directly ask you to check on her and you scare the crap out of her?" It was the first thing she'd said at a normal volume since she'd been threatened. True, she looked angry, flushed, and surprised, but at the very least, she was out of her depressed stupor.
-----
Dani couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow up at the amateur stance Big Bad took. But hey, if it was a beating he wanted, he'd found one. Besides, it would be kind of fun to watch if the little suburbanites in this dystopia-for-Reds would react to her, a crazy-looking, strong, agile prison guard, attacking this harmless, skinny target who clearly was at a physical disadvantage.
"Okay then," she said, taking an offensive stance with her weapon, then quickly running in low and fast to slice at the man's gut.
"Very astute," Boog said, setting out Witt's drink, "Honestly, the damn thing was pretty dangerous before I made him into that." He turned back to Sahlena, "Yes, I created them, although admittedly if I was all THAT responsible for them I wouldn't be serving my community service in this dive. Suffice to say that some things are better considered in either the abstract or very, very concrete rules that I probably don't have time to explain all of."
--
As soon as the Red started running, Big Bad shifted position. Rather than standing like a boxer he simply stood as if waiting for the bus. Arms at his sides, slight hunch, for all the world perfectly calm. When Dani finally swung he turned, sidestepped the charge by a narrow margin and stepped in, getting too close for the glaive to be swung effectively against him. A machette was in his hand, one that Dani was almost CERTAIN he hadn't been holding a minute ago, already slashing at neck-height past her own weapon.
Big Bad smiled. In the distance, something howled.
Leaned over the little alien on the sickbed, Stygian turned his face toward Sylvie in an almost nonchalantly calm fashion. He stretched out a hand, and held up a single clawed index finger.
'Ah,' he said, 'But now she is awake.' He straightened, smirking somewhat, patting Piix on the head as he did and depositing the remaining candy rocks on a little tray on the stand next to her, flipping a last one into the air and catching it behind sharp teeth. He didn't wait until he cracked it, splitting it into a myriad fragments of taste with a disconcertingly clear crunch. He put his other hand in a pocket and strolled a few steps away from the bed.
'I think you ought to calm down and have a thinker, sweets,' he said after a brief pause. 'I can't make people better,' he continued. 'I can affect them, that's true. I can change them. But if you merely want healing...' He shrugged.
Blushing intensely with embarrassment, Dekuyaketh quickly withdrew his wings and straightened his posture, leaping out of his chair. "Sorry," he said with excessive sharpness, perhaps all-too-eager to cover up his social mistranslation. "Let's go, then. Do you have an arena in mind?"
---
Piix's incomprehensible screaming was cut short by those fingers pinning her muzzle shut; her pinprick pupils darted back and forth, from Sylvie to Stygian and back to Sylvie and returning to Stygian, her gaze uncharacteristically timid and frightful. While she didn't remember what had incapacitated her, she sure as hell knew who was responsible. Eventually, she forced herself to swallow the morsel cradled in her mouth, then retched as Stygian relinquished her mouth, as though the treat was impregnated with a vile poison. Piix's paws fastened around her sheets; she tensed like she was going to lash out and strike Stygian across the forearm, but before she could counter he turned away. He deposited a tray of suspicious, yet inexplicably enticing candies on her bedside table. Poisoned or not, they looked rather appetizing, even if Piix hadn't registered the taste of the force-fed sweet.
He conversationally continued to talk to Sylvie, who Piix had already (mentally) designated as "That green hussie" and "Stygian's accomplice." For some reason, she felt irrationally offended that he was ignoring her.
"HOLD IT!" Piix shouted, "WHAT THE
FUCK d' ya think yer doing!? Ya try to STRANGLE me and then walk off like... like..."
She stammered, struggling to hold the next word, or recover her train of thought. The flavor of the candy had registered on her tongue.
When a well-trained person is in a fight, their thoughts are very detailed, very fast, and are more often plucked from pure instinct than rational thinking. Thankfully for Dani, this meant that not only did her surprise about Big Bad's quickness fade once she realized surprise would only hinder her, it faded in a matter of seconds. He had gotten too close for her to slice at him accurately, that was true, but that didn't mean she couldn't attack him at all.
Rather than letting her head get cut off, she slumped lower and shoved his legs with her shoulders. Of course, there wasn't much she could do to block the machete, but if she could disrupt his attack and move fast enough away, it might be enough...
-----
Sylvie seethed quite a bit at Stygian as he beatifically smirked at her and treated Piix as if he hadn't just scared the hell out of her and had simply jostled the alien awake.
Sylvie took a few steps closer to the man, half-ignoring Piix's angry yells. "I didn't ask you to heal her, or affect her, or any of that. You had no excuse to do what you did, unless you're actually trying to make me hate you; why I don't hate you yet is becoming more and more of a mystery to me, so I guess you're succ-"
At that point, the Green stopped. Piix had gone silent in the middle of her own tirade. She looked over to see the Orin lost for words, and looking a bit...lost. The elf's brows drew together, and she walked past Stygian to Piix's bed. "What's wrong?" She looked over at Stygian, then back at Piix again, then at the candy. She was smart enough not to taste any, but she picked up one of the little rocks and looked at it, rolling it between her fingertips and examining it before looking back at Piix.
The apparation was momentarily surprised by Dani's reaction time, and missed his swing with the machete. Big Bad took two staggering steps and continued, moving with the shove and letting it take him back outside of the reach of the Red's glaive as she barreled by. His hand came up, pointing a revolver at Dani. The machete had vanished somewhere, presumably back to wherever he'd drawn it from.
What's wrong? Piix seemed to be utterly deaf to Sylvie's inquiry; she glanced numbly around the room, pupils contracted into tiny, luminescent slits that appeared inherently ghastly against her black sclera and flared golden irises. For a second, she looked like she had no idea why she was there, momentarily bereft of memory, before she returned her attention to her hand and admired the claws encrusting each finger, like she had never seen them before. Inexplicably, she giggled. A crooked smile branched across her muzzle, nicely brandishing her pearly teeth.
"Ooh... ooh, these are..." Piix leaned to the side and immediately snatched up the candies that Stygian had generously left. Tipping her head back, she tossed the handful into her mouth, chewed them to a fine powder with one tremendous mastication, and swallowed impressively. Once she straightened, the look on her face had exacerbated; she looked absolutely intoxicated, yet inherently sinister in spite of her incoherence. "These are GOOD!"
Piix leaned across the sheets of her bed, grinning widely. Her bioluminescent gaze was rather disturbing to behold, accompanied as it was with her wide and toothy beartrap-grin and her almost delirious expression. "Got any MORE, sweet stuff?" she asked Stygian expectantly, "Do ya? Huh? Do ya? Otherwise I just might EAT YOUR LITTLE FRIEND UP." One assessing look at Sylvie and Piix keeled over, cackling loudly and uproariously, the sound almost wretched.
Bart half-assedly tossed the dripping coat onto the chair's back, shaking the excess fluids from his hands before walking back to the sink. Stupid re-dirtying. "Not much. Long and short of it, my grandpa said I was too stupid and soft to take on anything tougher than a man. I said that was bullshit, so he sent me here to get it on with some freaks." Being one himself, of course. "Not sure if I really won that match, but... well, I'm not the one bleedin' all over the floor here."
But he was nothing special compared to most of the inhabitants, and he knew it. "...I dunno, I should prob'ly leave you alone if you're patchin' 'em up." In honesty, the smell of antiseptic was still making his head and stomach ache. "Don't need me gettin' in your way."
'Uh-huh...' was Stygian's only response for a while, together with a raised eyebrow and a slow nod, and then a narrow-eyed look toward Sylvie. This was quickly exchanged though, in his typical mercurial manner, for a toothy grin. He reached out and placed his wickedly shaped, cloth-wrapped hand on the alien's head, ruffling her warning-colored hair and fur. When he turned to the elf once more, he did so with a mere half-smile, the muted result of control applied to a self-satisfied smirk. A few thoughts about poetic justice and points of view tiptoed through his mind for a moment, before he adopted a well-moderated tone of voice and went on.
'Don't mind. It's probably the shock. As I said, I can
affect people...' he commented next, giving Piix a bothered little glance that he let linger. 'I do apologize for what happened before, but I can only stress that it was an accident,' he continued, and then a slight note of sharpness entered his speech. 'Please don't incur any more, if you catch my drift?'
Before the Orin could respond though, Stygian decided to take his hand away from behind her ear, and stick it down into a pocket, assuming an expression of neutrality once more. It was a little awkward, petting her like that, regardless of how much she resembled an animal. Sighing, he began strolling off back toward the bar, apparently forgetting to regard Sylvie anymore by mere chance. Though, of course, he
really just ignored her because at this point, she'd have to come to him with any more remarks. Insecurity and social awkwardness could make it so much easier to go on the defensive sometimes...
- -
Sahlena's cameras whirred and flickered, adjusting, panning and zooming. Part of her processor just stopped and put things on playback, analyzing while the rest passively recorded the progression of the fight for the main programs to get on with later. Just what had happened there right in the middle?
If there is anything that machines take badly to, it is inaccuracies. Naturally, there really isn't much of a difference between mechanical and biological things when you look at it from a particular perspective, other than a matter of structures and redundancies. But since even those machines that aren't too simple to have said redundancies are often quite capable of much more consciously and precisely narrowing down the tiny irregularities than normal organic creatures, none tend to react too well to said occurrences.
Before part of Sahlena's inner vision, an image flickered past at camera-shutter speeds, back and forth, back and forth, passing through filters and focusing programs, again and again. This went on for a couple of seconds, during which she managed to perform quite a few operations. First, the machete was there, then -
Flick! - it wasn't.
Without turning toward the Boogeyman, the machine directed her voice toward him, twanging with criticism.
'
:that doesn't make any sense at all,' she said plainly. '
:and why the Hell is his name "Big Bad"?!'
- -
Waving a hand in a gesture as disinterested in conveying its disinterest as the disinterest it was meant to convey, Andrea stood up and brushed past Dekuyaketh's right wing, circling the table in the direction of the exit out toward the circles.
'I don't know, and frankly it doesn't matter. We don't have to fight that seriously, do we?' she said, her voice so nonchalant that it was getting hard to believe. 'Just somewhere. Fancy the city or somewhere out open? If you don't have an opinion, I'll just try and pick something neutral...'
Sylvie could only watch with eyes not wide in fear, but pure, unbiased bewilderment - at least until the coment about getting eaten, when she blinked, then scowled in a way that suggested she had to remind herself that tying the alien down with grass and thornbush branches and letting her stay there for an hour or so would contradict her yelling at Stygian earlier for tormenting her.
In regards to the latter, he apparently had nothing to say about all this. No explanation of Piix's behavior, no explanation about why he'd done what he had, not even anger about the Green's outburst earlier. It didn't seem purposeful, but that didn't mean Sylvie was going to leave this issue alone. If he thought she was too scared to talk about it because of her earlier reactions to certain events,... well, he of all people should know that this was much less scary than, say, having someone turn into a monster when they took offense to something you said. Hell, any reaction beyond bewilderment and telling someone what was going on was overreacting in this situation.
She looked at Piix with some worry and confusion, and offered the girl a shrug before leaving her to her devices. She walked back out into the bar after Stygian, knowing that a threatening look and tone would only hinder any progress on finding things out (and on other things of which she wasn't consciously aware), but not wanting to act friendly just yet either. So she spoke without grabbing his shoulder or stopping him, but directing her words at him either way.
"Since I'm guessing you're the one to ask, you mind telling me what the hell that was?"
---
Dani fell and rolled when Big Bad backed up, having more slammed into the idea than charged him in the hope that she'd be able to pin him down and slice his throat or something. This gave her a second or two to think: DAMN, he's fast! And where the hell did he get that knife from!
She stopped herself on her hand and pushed up, meeting eyes with the barrel of a gun. Rather than waste any time doing a slow smirk or some other stupid dramatic move that could give him time, she did the only thing that would work. She put her right fist into her left hand and cracked her knuckles.
(thump)Squeak.
The Red blinked. Something small, gray, and fuzzy was blocking her view of Big Bad's face.
(thump)Squeak.
And another one was now next to her. On closer examination, it was a squirrel. She heard another thumpsqueak. And another. And now there were more....
It's raining squirrels.
...
Hallelujah.
Halfway out the door, Stygian stopped as the elf spoke, and turned to the side to look at her. He didn't have to stop, of course, but to send a clear enough message he felt like he had to face her.
'So now you've got this idea that you can't take anything at face value when I'm around, am I right?' he said, in a tone so devoid of emotional undertones or hidden inflections that it stung. 'I don't know whether if I should be aggravated or depressed.'
He made another turn, walking on toward the now more lively bar a few steps, before he stopped as if he'd thought of something more to say just then.
'Just what exactly are you asking? 'Cause I have no idea,' he prompted. Despite his near-blank expression, the gaze he gave her could have been used as a torture device for its accusatory solidity.
It wasn't that Sylvie wasn't still angry and confused about all this, but when Stygian faced her with no emotions at all, she felt a little surprised and hurt. And now, curious at -why- she still felt surprised and hurt when, considering everything that had happened, she should feel as emotionless toward Stygian as he was acting towards her. But if she wanted a direct answer, she had to be direct in the first place, at least with him.
"No idea?" she said, her eyes a little wide, and betraying only a little of her inner emotions. "Funny you should mention that, because that's pretty much the exact summary of what I feel or should feel for you and everything you do. Well, maybe that's not right; I have no clue what Piix did to deserve that in there, so unless I hear a reason, I'm going to have to assume that that candy messed her up worse than what you already did to her, and you're as horrible as you said you are. By the way, why the hell would you show interest in someone and then tell them that having interest in you is dangerous? I don't know about other girls, but I don't like playing games when the odds are so high and the dealer is trying to trick me." It seemed there was a little more to what she was saying than the present, the way she spoke...
With every word uttered by the elf, Stygian's eyes narrowed another tiny distance, until he was truly glaring at her, though most of his face save his brow remained the same, now a hostile, stony mask. A tendon at his neck tensed for a second somewhere in the middle.
'Once again, too much rambling and too little thought. Are you ever going to stop with that?' he replied half a heartbeat after she silenced, his words almost spat at her, sharp as a gunshot. 'She poisoned me and caused me a real mess. A little scare after that, just to get her up, is less than she deserves.' Then, he shifted his stance, gave the elf another sharp, silent stare, then hindered her from saying more.
'As for that other thing, I'm not the one playing apparently without knowing the stakes. I'm not the one faffing about as though there weren't any stakes in the first place, in fact. You don't like it when the odds are high? Then you fold, and make damn sure the dealer sees you do it. You want to bluff? Then you just play on calmly, because you're not getting away with it otherwise. Either way, you've got to make a decision. You don't just sit about and piss off the other players.'
Stopping sharply, Stygian turned his face away from her for a moment, making a face of disgust. He was saying too much, saying the wrong things. He had to make a point, or do something that would get to her, otherwise it would just be ranting. He sighed, and drew a deep breath. The words came quickly.
'You don't even know what your interest is and you haven't taken a stance for yourself, so you have no idea what to do with me. And so you go about fumbling and criticizing, because you just don't know any better. It ticks me off!' He turned his gaze toward her once more. 'At least I'm being sincere. And I know what I sincerely want with you right now...'
Turning toward her again, the man positively stalked over to Sylvie, looming over her as he stopped inches away from her and arced his neck, staring her down, red points glowing within the shaded depths of his eyes.
'I challenge you. No holds barred this time; we fight until either of us drops. The winner gets to ask anything of the loser,' he hissed, gaze drilling holes in her eyes. 'And you can set yourself up with whatever advantage or handicap you need to even things out, if you think that will help with your insecurity.'
A little surprised by Stygian's outburst, but not much, Sylvie stood her ground as he explained his side of the story with Piix, called her bluff(s), and challenged her to another fight. The hair on the back of her neck bristled in slight fear as well as anger and indignation. What he'd said had hit home, it seemed, in several ways, not all of them known to the Green herself yet. How could he expect her to be clear about her feelings when he'd made it so damned easy NOT to be clear on whether he could be trusted or not? Not to mention the whole drugged-up episode, regardless of whose fault it was, had messed up her thoughts even more. And as for another fight, the very idea of accepting those terms made her shiver on the inside. How, after what she'd been afraid would happen in her own fight, could she accept this one knowing that what he'd been nice enough to avoid then he wouldn't be so keen on n-
A pause. A spark in her eyes. A sense of purpose. No smile.
"Fine," she said, almost sounding like she didn't care about the way he'd read her and thrown her own mind in her face. Almost. She walked calmly over to her seat at the bar, grabbed her staff, and began heading for the door. He'd said no holds barred to a mage who didn't have a reason to be kind to him once they stepped in the circle. Oh, she wasn't going to kill him; she'd experienced that, in a small way, and didn't want to repeat it. But she wasn't going to keep from trying.
The musician, apparently asleep, shifted in his chair. Lids drew back over milky white eyes slowly, the orbs filmy and strange looking as the panther woke up. His feet, bare, were propped up on the table in front of him, his guitar resting in his lap. His ears flicked, and as soon as a sour expression covered his face, a half grin replaced it.
"I used to work in Chicago, at a con-ven-ience store," he sang, his voice his only instrument. "I used to work in in Chicago, I did, but I don't anymore~ A lady walked in with Chartreuse skin, and I asked what she came in for - "Licker", she said, and licker I did, and I don't, work there, anymore~"
Witt accepted his new drink, and kept watching the scrap on the screen. He raised an eyebrow at the machete, then blinked when the revolver appeared. "Okay, that's slick."
And then the squirrels started falling. "That's... new."
He took a drink, then choked on it as the musician at one of the tables chipped in a commentary. He raised his bottle in that direction, and took another drink, then returned his gaze to the screen.
((I kinda want to join in on the music, if only because that particular ditty amuses the heck out of me, but Witt couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, and has about as much sense of musical timing as a fish has wings...))
Following Sylvie without a word, Stygian fell into step five paces behind the green. His hands moved smoothly and expertly in well-practiced motions, a cigarette slipping out from the back of a hand, immediately finding itself wedged in the corner of his mouth and lit by a flick of silver. Next, he checked the insides of both the sides of his jacket, little clinking noises and the sounds of smooth metal on metal, of polished steel pieces locking together. Was he jingling as he walked...?
Stepping out onto the stone-paved yard outside, Stygian passed the Green with a sideways glance, stony and set, removing his hands from the inside of his jacket and straightening it. He flexed one hand's fingers, gripping and adjusting the black wrappings around the equally black flesh, the leather of a fingerless glove creaking audibly as he clenched his fist. He stopped to a halt and turned with a scrape of rough soles, waiting.
- -
The red-cloaked man at the bar, distracted from puzzled observation of certain proceedings, set down his empty glass, and then heard the quavering rhyme in the background. He blinked, then laughed. His gaze turned toward Linos.
Sylvie met Stygian's eyes for the briefest of moments when he passed her by, her gaze uncustomarily emotionless as well. She already knew where she wanted to go, and as she was the one challenged, she didn't see any point in giving him a big advantage. The moment her bare green foot stepped into the Circle, the environment spread around them, and things sprouted, grew, and changed...
It felt warmer. Not boiling hot, but pleasant and almost rejuvenating. The sun overhead was bright, revealing that it was about noon and showing every detail of the clearing around the two combatants. It was a small, open area, right in the middle of a lush, beautiful forest. There was a clear freshwater pond off to one side, little green bushes and patches of violets or daisies in some areas, and surrounding them, towering like a protective fortress wall against the outside world, impressive and leafy trees stood. It was completely free of the cold iron hands of industry, and indeed seemed to have stood its ground against time itself.
"Ah, it's good to be home," said the elf at last, looking much happier on familiar ground regardless of the circumstances. Truthfully, this wasn't her home but an area near the village where many Greens went when they needed time alone with themselves. It had been one of Sylvie's favorite places, and seeing it again calmed her. A small smile was almost on her lips as she surveyed the pretty area, but came close to totally fading when she remembered where she really was. She looked back at Stygian. "So, any rules you want to set in place besides what we already agreed to?" Her fingers clenched on her staff, and her muscles tensed just the slightest bit.
A glade. The harsh sunlight appeared in a blur and stung Stygian's eyes, and he instantly felt too warm. Going from biting chill to the full onset of summer in half an hour put anyone's sense of temperature off, regardless of their disposition, and as what the elf seemed to feel to be a pleasant temperature put the man to sweating even without factoring in the sun, he felt discomfort prickling at his temper. The air was almost painfully clear and sharp as he breathed in and sighed, readying to lose his jacket. Did he have any sunglasses on him?
'Nothing,' he said stilly. A bloody glade. Of course there were the trees toward the sides, but leafy foliage surprisingly didn't make for good midday cover. He had shadows where he could lose her in toward the trees, but considering what she'd done in their earlier fight and the thick carpet of grass beneath and all around him, and the good fifty paces to the nearest thick vegetation or stone he could use for cover, he wouldn't get five steps. Not that one should have anticipated that taking cover would be much use anyway. Maybe she could even use the vegetation to track him when she could neither see nor hear him, what did he know? No, the key would be going on the offensive right off, and so extensively and quickly and in such a flashy manner that she would not catch up...
'Whenever you're ready, my dear,' he muttered. 'Women and saplings first.'
The first cigarette butt that the fat, rich earth had ever felt landed on the grass, and was promptly smothered by a thick, callous sole. Nonchalantly yet pronouncedly and sharply, as if it were out of spite for the clear air and the purity of the surroundings, Stygian reached into an inner pocket and brought out a slender brass-colored lighter, biting down on a cigarette that came out in the same movement, which he lit quickly, fouling the air with a couple of first puffs.
(thumpthump)Squeak.
A squirrel struck Big Bad's arm and bounced off onto the unfeeling asphalt. Another knocked his glasses askew. The apparation's face took on a worried cast, similar to that of a tax accountant who, after having spent all night working on getting their client's papers in order, asks said client if they remembered to sign everything, prompting a reply of "err..." It is the face of one who has heard one of the great machines that run day to day existence go "ping-CLUNK" and knows that they're the one who will probably have to get in there with a screwdriver and fix it.
First though, he should probably shoot this girl in the face.
Big Bad fired, but another unfortunate (thump)Squeak threw his shot wide. There was a faint, strange echo to his revolver. Like the baying of a hunting dog, or the yipping of coyotes on the attack. Realizing that he probably couldn't aim too reliably in a hail of squirrels he gave yet more ground, angling toward one of the houses to find cover and line up a proper shot.
--
"What, that he's better considered in the abstract?" Boog laughed, "Come now, computer girl. You're smart, you'll figure it out. As for his name, well..." His smile downgraded into a smirk that stretched his face to accomadate it, "You know what they say about names, mon cherie. Can't just hand them out everywhere. Too dangerous. But tell you what, if the girl doesn't figure out why he's called that, I'll let you in on the secret."
Linos turned his head quite sharply towards the man in red, shifting on his chair so that he was sitting down, instead of resting his feet on the table. His neck cracked as he tilted his head this way and that, and surprisingly for a blind man caught the red-cloak's gaze.
"Yes? Who are you?"
Bart grumbled to himself as he walked back to the bar, his eyes peeled for the few acquaintances he'd made. The bartender and robot lady were busy with... something important, no doubt. Pestering them would be unwise. But the unpleasant little hedgehog man was just sitting and drinking at the bar, and out the corner of his peripheral vision, he caught Keaton's anti-camoflague of a fur pattern. He felt equally tempted to bug either one of them. ...Spikey hasn't been much for small talk. Maybe the dog and her rat-thing make better chat.
He walked over slowly, muttering a quiet "play Free Bird" and tossing a quarter onto the table as he passed Linos. Approaching Keaton's booth, he placed a hand on the top and looked down at the jackal with simple, friendly smile. "So, having fun yet?" He felt tempted to ask "how's your head," but reminding her of the drinking contest probably wouldn't get a very cheerful response. "...uh, don't mind the jacket stains. This place doesn't have a laundromat, far as I can figure out."
Sylvie's lip twitched a bit with contempt when the cigarette butt landed on what, to her, was close to a sacred ground. Then again, she supposed, if she felt so strongly about this place she shouldn't have chosen it as a battlefield. But Stygian smothering one cancerous paper-stick under his boot, only to light up another in HER clean, pure home... it seemed a little too spiteful of him for her to handle. Not to mention that the presence of the lighter gave her a slight twinge. Just a sligh one, nowhere near as bad as, say, a live ember on the ground, but it was there.
He allowed her the first move, something she wasn't about to squander a second time. "Suit yourself," she said, stepping back a bit and meeting his eyes dead-on. Then her eyes dropped a bit, and one hand quickly raised toward the ground as she whispered a spell and her hands and the ground around her feet began to glow green with energy. In no time flat, two huge, thorned vines were growing out of the ground and beginning to wrap around Stygian's neck. Oddly nough, her other hand stayed at her side, still charged, but not with the same sort of charge her fist had had when she'd punched Andrea...
---
Dani didn't have time to be relieved that Big Bad's aim had been put off by a squirrel, nor to think about the health of the little critter who'd bounced off him to save her. No, she had bigger things on her mind, like how to get to the porch when her gambit was now backfiring just a bit by surrounding her with cute gray fuzzy things skittering around and making it hard to run to the door where her opponent was headed.
"Oh, like hell!" Dani shouted as Big Bad ran for cover. She darted after him, ducking out of the way of falling rodents and choking up on the glaive to aim better and make running easier. She readied the blade against her arm, dull-edge on her skin, to aim a slash at whatever limb of his she had a clear shot at first.
No time flat seemed rather a lot of time for someone like Styg though. Mainly because he'd started by twisting the top of the lighter clockwise a bit the moment she so much as blinked. No time flat could be counted in several milliseconds, which was quite enough for him to close the lighter, push the top, and flick it toward the elf with a lazy motion of a wrist and two fingers. His hands continued in a smooth, almost delicate manner, one set of claws slashing upward, the other reaching under his jacket. The lighter kept on spinning through the air for about half a second more.
A red gleam flashed off the little metal flicker for a fraction of a moment, and then the air literally exploded into a swelling black cloud, stinging and sizzling as it swept forward, choking a good chunk of the glade with some sort of oily smoke. The foul stuff held itself aloft in the air, obscuring nearly all vision past it. But not enough that Sylvie didn't see the figure emerging from the back, raising a hand holding something long and slender and menacingly mechanical toward her, walking calmly and steadily forward.
Almost at the forefront of the cloud now, little pinpricks of glowing red sizzled at the heart of each of Stygian's eyes, as he took aim. She could really only go back toward the trees, or face him head on...
- -
The man didn't flinch, but seemed a little taken aback either way. He hadn't expected such...
tension. Well, maybe that was the reason he didn't get out as often...
'Nobody, really. Just a fellow appreciator of music,' the man said distantly, while turning and swiveling his head around a bit, studying Linos' reaction. Those eyes really were rather unnerving. Well, not the eyes in themselves, he'd seen worse. But the
stare...
'No chance of being able to challenge people musically, I reckon? No?' he ventured, looking aside at Boog a bit, then scratched the side of his neck. With his skin, this was enough to make observers shiver. 'In that case, play something hot. This place is a little low.' He smirked. 'I'll buy you a drink or two in return.'
Sylvie saw the lighter, but she didn't have time to think about being scared of the fire that might be heading for her before a cloud of something that smelled toxic and made her eyes water exploded in her face. She coughed and wiped her eyes quickly, the smell and the abrupt change from clean, open air more bothersome than any way that the smoke might affect her body. But as the freshwater tears dripped out of her eyes and she became used to the haze, the first things she saw were two red pinpoints of light and the silhouette of something metal, modern and deadly...
She stepped a bit back, looking as though she might in fact run to the trees. But as she retreated, she uttered a spell under her breath, and vines with thorns as long as letter openers grew quickly up the length of her staff. Once that was done, she rushed forward, bringing the staff down onto the man's hand and praying to Albell that she'd have enough time to defend herself...
Stygian saw the motion clearly. Swinging the gun and parrying the blow, he shifted his stance, and braced himself. His other hand came out from within his jacket, with another lighter in a tight grip. The metallic, flicking sound as the reddish-golden lid was opened was muffled by the saturated air, a smell like ash and burnt methanol and paint varnish thick all around. He swiped the staff out of the way again, stepping closer to Sylvie with a fiendish grin, one that could have caused heart attacks together with those eyes of his. There was no cigarette in the corner of his mouth anymore.
'"I am the Lord of Hellfire,"' he laughed, holding the elf's staff down by the barrel of his gun. Something crackled at his feet. '"And I bring you...!"' He flicked a spark from the lighter, and blurred as he drew what shadow he could together around him.
The ball of flame expanded outward from the now thoroughly oxygen-rich mixture, rushing outward into a rough half-sphere of fierce heat and a shockwave that tore Sylvie off her feet and flung her a good distance backwards. Little rocks and lumps of charcoaled substance that had been grass or bits of dirt launched outward, cinders that fell in warm and dry vegetation starting new fires of their own. The flames stood high and almost crimson for a while, as their fuel combusted, turning instead into ash and deep red, acrid vapors. Then they were snuffed out by their own pressure, dispersing around the humanoid figure standing still amid them, still grinning.
Stygian's boots crunched on the charred remains of plants as he walked forward, two small imprints of unharmed grass where he had previously stood. 'I'll have to remember to thank the hedgehog for the idea,' he sneered, smoothly and efficiently pulling a second long, metallic black revolver from within his jacket, a few particles of soot dust falling off him, the only apparent sign he'd been in the conflagration at all. He was
humming, she realized.
Singing.
'
Like corn in a field I cut you down~...' she caught, before some chuckling. 'Did I throw the last punch too hard?' Slowly, he approached, gently raising one slim black shape with careful precision, like a craftsman about to attempt a particularly sensitive yet rewarding task.
'
You make me feel like a bullet, honey~...'
- -
The machine tapped her fingers on the countertop, then slapped her palm down on it gently and shrugged. Something from within her frame whirred for a moment, sounding almost like a sigh.
'
:i can't say i can see a connection. i mean, if the speculations up until now were all wrong,' she muttered, then knuckled the lacquered wood for another drink and deposited a pair of coins on top of it. '
:maybe it's just experience from where i come from, but the ability to apparently materialize weapons doesn't stand out that much to me. not enough to earn somebody such a fancy cliché of a nominer...'
Boog's grin broadened. "You're right, it's not. So what is it?" He propped up his chin on his knuckles and tried in vain to stop smiling. Yes, he'd created monsters. Set them loose upon worlds to wreck havoc before they and he were captured and sent to the circle. Yes, a girl who he had no reason to dislike was fighting one of them for her life.
But LORD, was it satisfying to see his creations put to use.
Boog set out Sahlena's drink and toned the grin down a notch. "In all honesty, he hasn't properly shown the cause of it yet. And the symbolism's a bit convoluted. Not my most readily comprehendable work, but it makes sense once you know."
--
Big Bad fired off two more shots behind him, more covering fire to keep the girl at bay. He whirled around as he finally stepped onto the porch and attempted to line up a better shot before the girl got to him. Both hands gripped the firearm, one finger squeezed the trigger...
Sylvie's eyes widened as her strike was parried and another lighter was produced. Was he pulling them from nowhere simply because of her fear, or had he planned this out earlier? It was a good thing she didn't have a heartbeat either way, otherwise it would have jumped every time she saw one of those plastic containers of instant death. But as she looked at Stygian, she realized that at his face, she would have actually had a heart attack. He was grinning at her like even though she didn't have blood, he wanted to rip out her heart and lick it clean while she watched just for the satisfaction it would give him. He gripped her staff, and she nearly winced, thinking he was going to pull her close like last time.
She didn't recognize the quote he used, but it didn't matter. The moment he finished, a fireball exploded between them, causing a huge shockwave and sending her through the air. She landed and opened her eyes, only to gasp at the small fires starting and spreading all around her home. Those awful, red-orange tongues of destruction devouring her favorite place so quickly...She scrambled backwards and was getting up to run, but at that moment the flames just stopped. And standing amid them, with a nonchalant, sadistically amused grin, was Stygian.
The elf's fear faded bit by bit as he approached her, and swiftly she turned to anger and annoyance. That he exploited her fear was acceptable, but to destroy part of her home, even if it wasn't real, and act so calm as he was about to shoot her - wait, was he actually...singing, about that?
Sylvie's eyes narrowed as she pushed herself up so she was fully standing. For a moment, it seemed like she was using her hand (the one that had been glowing since the beginning of the fight) to balance herself, but her fingertips were touching too lightly. As he slowly aimed at her with his other gun, she muttered a few eldritch words quietly, and her skin began to...change. Over the smooth light green flesh grew a hard, slightly flaky, light brown material. Soon, the armor-like stuff was covering her entire body, even beneath her clothes and around her face.
Stygian's bullet was going to have to go through about a half-inch of bark before it hurt the girl.
And she wasn't done. There was always the chance he'd try another fire attack. She planted the end of her staff on the ground, saying nothing, but charging the soil with plant magic. Then she smirked at Stygian, and sang softly in reply.
"You're gonna need an ocean...of cala-mine lotion...." Vines sprouted up in between the two fighters and around Stygian's legs. "You'll be scratchin' like a hound..." Her voice picked up, and she swung her staff up like a bo staff on the last line. "The minute you start to mess around!"
The crackling sound from beneath him and the feeling of the ground shifting tipped Stygian off immediately, and he hissed as he ripped his feet from the vines and threw himself to the side and rolled. Sharp cracks echoed between the trees as he fired away, inaccurately as he was moving but still sharply, the bullets sizzling through the air. Curving a path over the blasted ground, his steps smoothed out with perfect balance, his movements evening out and his muscles tightening up like springs. He was building momentum.
At the end of the lazy curve, with half-empty magazines, Stygian exploded up into the air. He tumbled over slowly in a high arc, one of his pistols disappearing into a holster within his jacket, and then stretched his hand. The black, pointed tips that ended his fingers extended a few inches, sharpening, and then he came full around. Eyes focused on the elf, he plummeted in a long, roundhouse swipe, cracking the ground as his boots stamped down. Certainly not expecting that to be the end of it, he swept the barrel of the gun in his left hand up again, watching for motion anywhere in his sun-blurred field of vision.
'No place for hidin baby, no place to run,' he sang in a gravelly and slightly exerted voice. That he could sing so well considering the situation was surprising. 'You pull the trigger of my...!'
The end of that slim, black barrel spewed flame.
On her examination bed in the infirmary, Andrace twitched. Her slow, steady breathing hiccupped, then she snorted and blinked her eyes open. The lioness sat up, and prodded warily at the top of her muzzle and her left thigh, where her most serious — or at least, most messy and painful, injuries had been. She nodded in satisfaction as she couldn't even smell any blood on her fur, then held her hands up and twisted and flexed her wrists. Good, not a twinge. She swung her paws off the bed, stood up, and performed a stretch that involved every muscle in her body, from her ears to her tail-tip. Even better, no lingering stiffness. She felt completely sober, though: have to do something about that. With a curious glance at the furry little yellow/black critter who appeared to be having quiet hysterics in the corner, she grabbed her backpack and rummaged around inside for fresh clothes.
When Andrace reappeared in the main room a few minutes later, she was wearing a rather more colourful ensemble than before; trousers with thin turquoise pinstripes, a soft shirt with a frilly laced front in contrasting quarters of purple and rusty brown, and a black leather belt over the shirt decorated with thumbnail-sized glass studs coloured like precious gems. She had a mischievous little smile on her muzzle as she padded silently on bare paws along the bar until she stood right behind Bart. The lioness snuggled herself pneumatically against his back, and grinned over his shoulder at Keaton. She wrapped her arms round his chest and laid her claws playfully against his throat. "Hi there, Bart," she purred huskily, her whiskers almost brushing his right ear, "guess who's back?"
The panther smiled languidly. "Something hot?" he paused to consider, tilting his head just slightly. "There are many kinds of heat...but I suppose I can."
He plucked a string. An advantage to having clawed hands - you didn't need a pick, although you had to be careful about breaking strings. But it had been a long time since this particular musician had broken even one.
It was a quiet note, barely noticeable, and yet heard by every person in attendance. A whisper in the ear. The panther closed his eyes and smiled.
A few distant notes, quickly, and echoing. The sound of the desert, of places desolate and forgotten, where there is neither cloud nor star but only the eternal sun, and the endless blue sky, the sound somehow conjuring an image of the dry places where blood once ran freer than water, a brown wasteland of a different age. He plucked the strings, instead of strumming - and played, a song of yearning and tension. There is something sinister in the notes, a promise that the desolation will not remain so forever.
The distance closes, the clusters of notes coming closer together. Soon, the tone changes: the pace quickens, the blood runs hotter, and one cannot help but think of the smell of smoke - the sweet smell of tobacco, and the acrid smell of gunpowder - and the image of a gunfight. One cannot help but grin, and feel the chill rise up through one's spine as one's heart fills with bloodlust, the drama of the moment - and yet, merely the drama of the music. His pace again quickens, and he smiles yet wider.
He opened one milky eye to look at the man in Red.
Sylvie almost growled as Stygian ripped himself free, switching to an offensive stance and dodging the not-quite-well-aimed bullets. One of them grazed past her hair, and she shivered a bit as she ducked away. When the gunshots stopped, she turned to face Stygian - and saw the jump. Like before, it was far too high and had far more power behind it than a normal human should have. Hell, it was more than an above-average human, too. Even if he wasn't turning dark like before, he was strong enough for his limitations not to matter.
She backed away from the landing, still facing Stygian as he sang some unfamiliar tune. But while she was turned towards him, her eyes were on the black gun. She had never actually seen a gunshot this close before, and it had never really occurred to her just how close the propelling force for a bullet was to that thing she feared most. Maybe it was because of all the fire she'd seen already that day, or maybe it was the adrenaline rush, but whatever it was, it was clear that the flash was enough to set something more off than just the bullet.
Sylvie let out something between a gasp and a short scream and dove off to the side, not remembering to roll. She hissed a bit when her wrists braced against her impact, but the hissing sounded a bit like it was covering something up. Then her voice grew a bit in volume, and the hissing quality ended.
"Oh such grace... oh such beauty... so precious, suspicious, and charming, and vicious," the elf sang, as something snuck along the ground to Stygian. "Oh darlin'...you're a million ways to be cruel!"
From the ground, like something from the Viet Cong, or a video game, spiked branches tore through the ground in front of Stygian, sharp and deadly and unlike anything a forest usually had.
---
Dani dodged the shots, though one did graze her arm a bit. Thankfully, it didn't scrape her very much, as that was the arm she'd pulled back to swing at Big Bad once she got close enough. As she rushed ahead, she saw that Big Bad had stopped, and was readying another shot. Not quite close enough to swing at him yet, the Red pulled her non-blade-holding hand up to her chest, and used her thumb to snap one knuckle.
There was a rumble beneath Big Bad's feet, like an earthquake, but with something more to it. Then, there was a rushing noise, and a few seconds later, a geyser spouted up beneath the idea's feet. And though it was completely wrong to do so in a fight, being both a bad idea and slightly more disrespectful than usual, the sight was just too funny. Dani slowed her run, looked on in amazement for a moment, and then cracked up, hands on her knees and a huge grin on her face as she laughed.
Stygian took the time to stand up and smirk when he watched the elf throw herself away, apparently stumbling. She was not used to dealing with people up close, that much was for sure. From the way she hung on Dani then, or vice versa, it was quite possible that she was far more used to simply fighting in the company of others, as backup. What abilities of hers he had seen so far had certainly been specific and precise enough to work to that purpose.
Stygian sneered. He knew he was guilty of having some fairly plain deficiencies in his own combat abilities, at least when taking into perspective what he could be capable of doing if he didn't have certain limitations, but as a singular fighter who knew to rely on himself and only himself, he had learned many ways to try and compensate for that. The handguns were just an expression of this. If the elf's weakness was that evident and considerable...
He didn't get any further in his reasoning. She was still close to the ground, still capable of manipulating all those damnable plants. Spears of hard, sinewy roots shot out at him and he just remembered not to throw himself back over onto his palms as he was still holding a gun. Instead, he vaulted to the side onto his open palm in a free hand-flip, dodging the tips by inches. Quickly on his feet again though, he threw himself forward, though the expression fails to describe the true nature of the motion. He merely threw himself in the same way that a swordfish merely swims, or a peregrine falcon merely dives. It was a deceptively relaxed motion, once in progress, but the deep treads left by his boots in the ground and the sheer speed clearly hinted at the force behind it. Arched forward, he bared his fangs in a vicious grin, stretching out his fist and readying to flip over once more if she dodged, aiming for her stomach.
Mechangle
The Mechangel had been watching both of the new battles with a decent amount of interest. One battle in particular. He replayed a few parts leading up to the battle, then got up and walked over to the Boogeyman.
"Proprietor," the Mechangel said in his half-synthesized voice, "I have a few inquiries about how the Circles function. Two combatants enter, and settle on vitory conditions, and, if so desired, victory...spoils. I assume the Circle compels them to carry out their bargain, in case one party is insistently reluctant, but...what if two combatants agree on something before entering the Circle? Will it be enforced?"
Despite her potentially fatal injuries, Kaela was now propped up in the infirmary, her hands clasped over her stomach almost as if she were taking a light afternoon nap (which the elderly were wont to do). It was exactly the opposite of the situation she had expected; her body was weak as it was, and she had anticipated a certain death without immediate surgery. There was no fear or regret there. Her career choice was rather death-prone, and even at a young age she had always made preparations for her demise. What amazed her the most was that she had made it into old age without being crippled or six feet under. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Kaela coughed, her eyes fluttering open to the confused and jumbled image of a spotlessly white medical station. One of her hands immediately traveled to her midriff, and a light grin of satisfaction crossed her lips. She had been half expecting to discover that it was all an illusion, and that her fingers would dip into the bloody tear that had led into the depths of her lungs.
The old wolf rubbed her eyes as she slid off of her bedside, examining her body for any unwanted stiffness or pain. There was nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual arthritis and back pain that those of her age had to often deal with. Rubbing her wrists and elbows, she stood to her feet, and examined her clothing. Torn, bloody, and ripped in a dozen places. Not the most presentable image, but she hadn't exactly planned on coming to this place, let alone with a spare change of clothes. Kaela stretched as she left the medical wing, heading back towards the bar with a raised eyebrow as she slipped in behind Andrace, who seemed to be taking delight in surprising Bart with a visit from her claws. "Looking a lot more colorful today, eh?", she rumbled from behind both of them, flashing her fangs in a malicious grin.
Bart's hands reflexively grasped at Andrace's claws as he stiffened and jerked. He calmed himself upon realizing it was her and not some transdimensional psychopath, but the sensation of razor-sharp claws on flesh was uncomfortable enough to cause some fidgeting. "...jeez, you hug everyone like that or am I just special?" Though deep down, he figured part of it was a kind of respect for his ability to take a licking and keep on ticking. "Nice to see you feelin' better, though." He gently pried the lioness's claws away before turning around, getting a good look at the lioness' more casual outfit. A colorblind joke seemed in order.
Nah. Too obvious. "Nice to see you two with your blood on the inside, by the way." Especially Kaela; Bart had expected her to be down and out for the rest of his stay, or at least bound to a wheelchair. "The doctor give you any lollypops?"
As Sylvie got back up, her arms still a bit sore from her previous awkward landing, she swiveled to see how the attack had gone and tensed quickly for a follow-up. When she saw he'd avoided it yet again, the elf grew a bit frustrated. He was dodging her attacks all too easily. The long-range attacks she relied on as a mage were almost no threat to him; any directly aimed attacks were as easily dodged as if they took several minutes to complete. She had to try something more indirect and keep him from getting in too close. And she was going to have to do it now.
Stygian flung himself at her in a way that looked like it was second nature to him. She had barely any time, so she went with a short, sweet spell. The grass in Stygian's path suddenly straightened, looking pointy and dangerous, and Sylvie moved quickly to the side and readied her staff in another bo-like grip, hoping to dodge him and use her staff to shove him into the grass as he charged.
Andrace cocked one ear and spread her whiskers as she glanced from Kaela to Bart. He hadn't said anything, unlike the wolf, but the expression briefly appearing on his face as he saw some of her favourite partying clothes was eloquent enough. "Hah — th' two o' y' wouldn't know fashion if it bit y' on th' tail, I s'pose." She gave a disdainful sniff, but there was a mischievous gleam in her eye.
The lioness turned suddenly, reached out and wrapped one arm each around Kaela and Bart's necks, hugging (or, more accurately, squashing) their faces nose-to-snout against her chest. "Hey, we got somethin' t' celebrate, r'member," she said boisterously, "that was a nice little fight, an' we ain't none o' us dead yet! C'mon, first drink's on me!" She released her friendly but octopus-like grip and strode towards the bar, rummaging briefly in her pockets until she fished out a small money pouch. The two fights going on in the circles outside caught her eye on the big suspended screen, and she watched with interest as she counted out a few coins from the pouch.
The change in the texture of the grass looked so subtle as one moved that it was hard to see, but while he was in no position to change his direction or to come up with a quick solution to the immediate problem, Stygian reacted out of sheer instinct, catching himself on his thick-soled boots. The immediate friction as the blades of grass cut into them threw him over, and he tumbled, scratching up his side, puncturing his jacket and tearing at the black cloth around his arm. Rolling, he grunted as he missed Sylvie just barely, ending up on a patch of dirt right next to the grass.
The elf switched her stance, and looked ready to try and take advantage of her position above him. Fortunately, as a staff could not be called the optimal instrument to strike a prone opponent with, and as he had speed on his side, Stygian threw his hands up over his shoulders, curving back, and then kicking himself up. He'd have liked to tumble right back over to take another shot at her, but that would have landed him in the grass once more, not to mention put him right in excellent striking distance from that staff. Instead, he brought his right hand up in a vicious hook toward the elf, swinging his gun out to the side and aiming for a shot that would land in her stomach if he could connect and keep her in place. Another song started up in his thoughts and he hummed a few notes. He could almost hear the guitars in the background...
Out on the streets, I'm stalking the night... I can hear my heavy breathing. Paid for the kill, but it doesn't seem right...- -
The man in red closed his eyes, nodding and clearly enjoying himself throughout the whole of the session. There was something to the tone of the music that appealed to him, and he smiled, burned teeth gleaming in an almost similar manner to the panther's. Almost.
'I don't suppose there's a piano somewhere around here?' he said in a low voice after a while, once again directing his question toward the Boogeyman.
Sylvie almost smiled when her grass nail bed worked, at least partly. But as she aimed to pin him and hopefully knock him out, he quickly flipped back up and retaliated. The dual attack was unexpected and caused a few complications. She had no time to think of clean xtrategies, and she didn't want to risk breaking her staff to block a bullet. So she did the only thing she could do and, as his fist struck the side of her head, she flung her staff along the ground and allowed herself to fall hard and fast to the ground, safely out of range of the grass. It wasn't a perfect dodge - the bullet clipped her upper arm, and when she rolled to avoid more damage, the air and the non-pointy grass stung the open cut. She grit her teeth, scanning her surroundings quickly. The water, while helping her cuts heal faster, was clearly not an option, nor was heading back towards him. Her eyes gravitated towards the shadows under the trees ahead of her.
It was a poor choice to make, but there was no other way to go. She grabbed her staff, stood, took a corner of her skirt in her hand, and ran towards the trees.
Stygian growled, bit his lip, and then stopped. Things were going a little quickly but he still had time to watch with fascination and ponder as the elf turned tail, and ran in under the trees. Immediately, his eyes flashed and he tensed, neck arching forward as he made a sweep over the surroundings with his vision, suspicion of a trap flaring in his mind. Unlike most other fighters, who would have pursued the back of a fleeing opponent with little hesitation, Stygian carefully lowered his gun, and closed his eyes, walking forward at a measured pace, a frown creasing his brow. The music focused in his mind...
'You can't escape, sprout!' he growled at the retreating elf, his eyes still closed for whatever reason. Was there a rhythm in the background, behind his voice...? Either way, the shadows under the trees weren't quite deep enough to make for an ideal environment for his abilities, but it was close enough. Fingers like claws gripped at the torn sleeve of his jacket, pulling it up over his arm. The black bandages wrapped around it were slightly frayed and shredded, and came loose with ease as he tore at them, just as he stepped into the shadow. The gun clicked at his side, as the darkness seemed to thicken in his immediate presence, growing so subtly blacker that it was almost impossible to register at first.
'You're only making this more enjoyable, you know that?' he snarled, a sneer spreading over his features. His hand was crawling, somehow. 'It would be in your best interests not to encourage me to hurt you to make it more fun, because all I need...'
Once again, that pistol rang out in sharp, terrible rapport, bullets whizzing at the elf's back
'...is just a shot in the dark, one step away from you...!' he sang. His voice was clear and sharp, music seeming to accompany every syllable.
Sylvie heard the ripping cloth and the man's voice, but didn't see that Stygian had closed his eyes. She knew better than to turn around right now - but when she heard gunshots, she threw herself to the ground and rolled over to the nearest tree. She had more of a plan in mind than simply getting away from him. She needed to attack him without getting too close to him, especially in the changed light of this environment.
She looked at the tree to her left. It was tall, but not so tall the branches were unreachable. She tucked her staff into the back of her vest and stepped on a root to push herself up, grabbing onto the first branch and getting her footing before hoisting herself up. The lack of shoes to destroy and the rough bark covering her skin made the task that much easier. As he slowly entered the forest, she watched from the safety of a highish branch. She creased her face a bit in confusion at his closed eyes, but shook her head, drew her staff from her vest and oh-so-quietly uttered a spell, pointing her staff at the tree nearest him. A slow, smooth rhythm started in her head, the guitar strums sounding and lowering in key, a bayou flavor pervading them. She smirked as a set of vines dropped down from the target tree's branches, swinging to wrap around Stygian's arms and neck, and the words played in her head.
Thought it was a nightmare...lo it's all so true...they told me don't go walkin' slow, the devil's on the loose...
For a few seconds, Big Bad honestly had no idea how to react. The blast of water was surprising and had thrown it off its feet for a minute, and now the girl was laughing...
He didn't much care for laughing. Something about it had always struck him as inefficient.
There was some manner of large shape visible through the water. Something that looked almost related to a wolf.
"That... Is very strange. You're obviously much more than you look like..."
The nightmare burst through the spray, completely unchanged save for being a good deal wetter and grinning madly. Grinning, he found, was very effective. "I haven't seen something like you in ages," he said in fascination, machete already coming in low toward the Red's stomach. "Not since the earliest I can remember, and that's quite a ways back. What ARE you?"
--
"Absolutely," Boog nodded to the Mechangel, "So long as the both of you have agreed to it it'll stay enforced. And a piano?" he blinked at the man in red. He honestly hadn't struck him as the type. "I suppose I could see about something, give me a minute." The concept went to check at three doors set into the staircase, unlocking each one in turn and checking inside. The third, when opened, turned out to be some manner of fold-out piano instead of the closet it looked like, and probably only had the space to be.
The Mechangel
It was hard to tell, seeing as only half his face was not metal, but if anyone was looking very closely, they might have caught the Mechangel frown slightly. "I see..." The Boogeyman had gone to fetch a piano for another customer. When the Boogeyman returned, the Mechangle asked another question. "And...how do the Circles interpret conditions? In context, or literally?"
The vines snatched at him, but with cat-like reflexes, as if having seen or heard the things reaching for him all along, Stygian turned and rolled. The grasping, tough tendrils stretched and swiped, creaking with an ominously leathery sound, as he backpedaled to avoid them. He frowned with concentration and tensed up, but the moment he did so and slowed down, a green, ropey length snagged his aiming hand. He fired once, twice, and twisted and pulled on the clinging growth with inhuman strength. It resisted his efforts, and he snarled, swinging his other hand back and spinning to the side. The torn wrapping around his right hand came loose in a flurry, black cloth trailing behind his arm as something rushed out of the sleeve of his jacket.
In an instant, pain flared through the connection between Sylvie and the plant she had manipulated. Something wound up the length of the vines, agony trailing it, and then tore them off clean, as Stygian spun up into the air and twisted around, adding the full momentum of his body behind the maneuver.
'I accept my destiny; I shall start a legacy, the likes of which you've never seen; make them rip it, rip it clean!'
Coming down in a low, crouching stance, Stygian held the twisted piece of greenery up for the elf to see, his black eyes directed at her and filled with malice. Joints almost having disappeared and the ends of his fingers having extended into whip-like, barbed tentacles, his hand slithered around the green rope. The plant was smoking, sizzling and crumbling in his grip. He flashed a grin as he dropped it, and then swept his hand around again, black trails forming in the air and a sharp cutting sound reaching the elf's ears as those claw-tipped tendrils sliced the air, aiming right for her.
Dekuyaketh cocked his head as he followed Andrea, briefly contemplating his options before answering with relative indifference. "The ring doesn't mean a thing to me," he admitted. "You can choose. Anything I choose will just be overkill." He folded his arms; his tail swung in a languid, pendulous motion behind him.
Dani finally calmed down and remembered where she was. She pushed herself up into a standing position again - and saw the silhouette. She tensed, but before she could stand straight, Big Bad spoke up. He rushed for her, still holding that machete and now bearing a grin that she'd only seen on Reds and Fiends before. She was far enough away to move her glaive into a defensive position, but even though it was a pretty tough weapon, just blocking him wouldn't be enough. She had to gain ground somehow. So as he ran towards her, she kept her stance defensive, but just a bit loose...
"Unfortunately, I'm not quite dumb enough to tell you just what I am," she answered, smiling. "All you need to know is that my kind and I aren't really the type to think before we act."
And as he gained momentum and drew closer, Dani quickly turned to the side and curled up on the ground, her own smile turning quickly into a grin again.
-----
Sylvie recoiled and nearly fell off the branch she was standing on as pain shot through her. Instant rotting was one thing, but being uprooted - no, ripped apart callously - that was a type of pain she'd hoped to never experience. She looked down at him, holding onto the trunk of the tree for support and giving him a hateful glare as he showed her the spoils of his attack with a sadistically pleased look. She watched, feeling a chill as he rotted/burned the vine in his grip. But when she finally noticed the wrappings on his hands and how they were heading straight for her, she forgot her own pain. I can't attack him head-on, but...
She took on a grim expression. It wasn't the best idea, because there was always the chance he wouldn't mind, but it was the best she had at that moment. She uttered a spell quick as lightning, and just as quickly, the bark-armor sprouted thorns, not as long as those on her staff, but just as sharp and just as painful.
Whipping and lashing, Stygian's tentacles caught Sylvie right on the side of her shielding arm, the supersonic snap of the tips of those black tendrils passing the sound barrier cracking in the elf's ears. They snagged, and both flesh and wood tore and cracked with sharp agony twinging and flaring between the both of them. The man gritted his teeth, something black and sizzling spraying the elf's skin and his clothing, but inured to the pain he fought for a grip and pulled hard. Thorns broke and flesh tore, and Stygian lost his grip, but soon followed up with another sharp, furious attack, driven by the adrenaline. He raked the branch she were standing on that time, and it was sliced and cracked into four neat and tidy sections. Black, acrid blood spat again, and the seething tentacles seemed to dissipate. That is to say, what didn't turn into something like black, oily smoke, evaporating fast, shrank back into overly-long fingers as the man shook his hand in irritated pain. He tossed his hand at her, the six-gun in his hand aiming to the right of her sternum. She didn't seem to have a heartbeat, so likely she didn't have a heart, he thought, but best be on the safe side. Then, he remembered, quite late, that he was out of bullets.
There was a very slight pause.
'Ah, Hell. Just a sec...' he muttered, and directed the palm of his other hand at the elf's face in a forward thrust, his forearm like a piston behind it.
- -
The man watched the keyboard with an unreadable expression from his seat. He seemed pensive, and frowned for a moment, humming something under his breath before putting his hand to his chin and stroking what might have been stubble or just ashy grains of charred skin with a low scratching noise.
'Favors, hm...?' he said, as he spun his thoughts around an idea. Then he looked at Linos with some sort of glint in his eye, and made as good a try at smacktalk as he could.
'I bet I could play your pants down around your ankles,' he spoke out loud. 'But I'd need a proper piano. And besides, I'd rather just whoop your behind and get it over with.'
- -
'Fine by me,' Andrea said noncommittally, and kept on walking. The door swung open for her without so much as the push of a finger, and she stepped forward. But then, just to be sure, she stopped right on the instep, and turned. She directed her attention toward the Boogeyman, and offered him a questioning yet challenging look.
You are allowed to do anything
to your opponent in a circle, right? her mental presence rang out, insidiousness resounding through the thought.
The black tendrils snagged and tore on her thorned skin, and Sylvie winced in pain. She hadn't expected it to hurt this much, but then again, he was strong even without total darkness on his side. She tried to think of a spell, but before she could utter one word, the branch supporting her was sliced to pieces and she fell to the ground, landing on her backside. The tentacles either disintegrated or shrank back towards Stygian, and she quickly stood and faced him - and the gun pointed right at her heart. It wouldn't kill her, but it could come damn close. She prepared to run away quickly...
But then he paused. And she realized what the problem was. It was a short minute, but it was just long enough.
She hadn't expected the thrust, but it saved her the trouble of swinging at him. Sylvie brought an arm up to block his strike, swinging to grab it and caasting a spell silently. The ends of those thorns had begun to glisten with some sort of liquid...
There was a thick sensation of tension as Andrace regarded Kaela sternly, and Kaela was unable to keep herself from smirking quite rudely at her. Of course, the old wolf had no room to be making any real fashion judgements in the first place. She was lucky to still have clothes at all. "Well, I won't lie, you're certainly more fashionable than our balding friend here." Kaela chuckled, giving Bart another once over, raising an eyebrow as she did so. "Denim pants, stained jacket, and sports shoes. How wonderfully cosmopolitan," she grinned, peeling back her lips to reveal several rows of gleaming white teeth at him mockingly.
"Whu-mmph!" One eye closed, and the other squinted, she suddenly found Andrace's thick arm crushing her face-first into the apparently quite cheerful lioness' chest. Kaela said something unintelligibly, Andrace's fur and flesh absorbing whatever reply she might have made, and pulled away with a flex of her shoulders and a push from her legs. "Okay, okay, I'm excited too." The grizzled woman laughed heartily as she hopped onto one of the bar's seats, thumbing to her lioness companion with her right hand. "I'll have whatever she's having." The statement was delivered with considerably less confidence than she might have hoped for.
All Bart could do was flail as Andrace dragged him and the veteran to the bar, but who was he to refuse a free drink? Besides, Andrace seemed rather... insistent. Actual words came out as soon as the lioness' grip finally let up. "--y... yeah, drinks are good. I'll have a boiler."
His brow tensed slightly at Kaela's comment. "It's called 'street,' woman. It's plenty fresh where I come from, so you're obviously not hip enough to understand." And given her age, he just couldn't help but wonder... "When was the last time you were into something cool? Like my mom, she was around for swing music, and my grandpa was big on croquet. What about you?" Really, what did old dog soldiers do before joining the military?
Andrace grinned, her ears and whiskers perked forward and a mischievous gleam in her eye. "Two beers," she said to the bar-thing, holding up one hand with two fingers extended, "An' Kaela here'll have two beers, an' a boiler for Bart." She smiled sweetly at the old wolf and pushed her money across the bar.
"Oh, an' I got somethin' f'r y', Kaela, might come in handy," she continued as she lifted her backpack, rummaged inside and pulled out a t-shirt that she tossed over the wolf's shoulder. "Mum got these made up a few months back when m' little sister Eugenia started comin' out on jobs wi' us, I got lots o' spares. Heh — in that cut-up top, y're a couple wiggles an' a bounce away fr'm puttin' on a free show... 'less y' want to..."
The shirt was plain white, and looked like it would be a tight fit on the slightly more muscular and definitely more... ample frame of the lioness, who now wore a cheerfully lecherous grin. It would probably fit Kaela like a tent. There was something printed across the chest that appeared to be an industrial safety sign: a black and yellow square with a small warning triangle, stylised flame, and two words:
"CAUTION HOT"
Kaela returned the friendly smile, tapping her claws idly against the bar, relieved at Andrace's rather mundane choice. Nothing too hard, and unlike drinks that had been consumed earlier, it was something her body could actually metabolize. Compared to a fine mug of antifreeze and motor oil, anyways. Her ears and eyes perked up towards Andrace as she continued, a sly smile crossing Kaela's face as she glanced downwards at her chest, pulling the shirt off of her shoulder. "At this point, I think I'd be flattered if anyone was looking for a free show from this old girl," the wolf chuckled, opening up the shirt by its sleeves to eye the front of it.
"I hope this isn't some kind of cruel joke," she muttered, smirking to herself as she slipped the shirt over her head, pulling it all of the way down to her waist. The only way it could've looked even more silly was if Kaela hadn't also been a big girl, in which case it might almost be a dress. If anything, the old wolf seemed to be more amused than embarassed by the shirt at the moment. "There's something inherently wrong about this. I'm old enough to be your bloody mother, and you're old enough to have kids. What am I, some kind of GMILF now?"
Andrace had just opened her mouth to say something when Kaela spoke. The lioness coughed and spluttered, all her fur fluffed up, and she started laughing.
His punch already thrown, Stygian barely had time to try and redirect his fist. His knuckles ripped, and there was a very distinct stinging sensation as his skin tore around the envenomed barbs. Still, with a strength like his behind it, the punch threw her arm, and he was actually rather surprised that it didn't knock back a bit more of her, which would have ruined a follow-up. However, persistent as she was, she chose not to fall back but close her hand on him instead. He glared at her.
'You think that will work?!' he spat at her, tugging as he shifted his balance onto his left foot. Turned as he was and with her standing as she did, a kick was more economical and likely effective. His boot came rushing upwards in a ruthless movement and with a car crash-like force behind it, aiming for her side. He had more bullets, but he had to get the space to reload, even if he could do it while attacking at the same time. He didn't want to pull off something more explosive though. Not at that range. The fight was somewhat pointless if she died...
Sylvie gritted her teeth against the pain of her arm being thrown back, but felt cold satisfaction at the sound of ripping skin around her thorns. The poison wasn't enough to kill him, but it should be just enough to make him so sick and drowsy he'd be forced to give up. If he was too stubborn to do that, he'd probably still collapse anyway. There was always the chance it wouldn't work, what with the toxins humans exposed themselves to already on a daily basis. But even then, most people couldn't ignore poison flowing through their blood. And if she could just weaken him a little, that would be enough. Like he did for her, she had a reason to want him alive at the end of this fight.
These thoughts all took a second to run through her head, just long enough for her to notice the kick coming her way. She let go, but rather than diving out of the way, she let herself fall with the kick and landed near Stygian's feet. She'd have a hell of a bruise, but that wasn't what she was focusing on. She muttered a spell to get particularly strong roots climbing out of the ground to ensnare Stygian, then straightened up while breaking into a run. All she had to do was knock him out, or wait. Whichever one took less time.
Clenching his fist in pain, some eerie sizzling sound following it as he retracted it, Stygian pulled his other hand back, boots scraping as he shifted his stance and made ready to give the elf's now vulnerable face, so close to his foot, a swift stomp. And hesitated. It was seldom that he ever did such a thing, but things were passing quite fast even to his heightened perception, and he always tried to plan ahead. Ruining her face seemed... wrong. He twitched, but his foot remained steadily on the ground. The fluidity of his movements broken, he snatched at her with his other hand instead, as she darted away, his fingertips scratching her arm.
From the ground, a tangle of roots shot out, growing out. It looked as though someone had taken one of those speeded-up sequences of plants filmed over a long time and superimposed it on reality. The roots didn't move so much as they grew forward, snaking around Stygian's boots with unnatural alacrity. He watched Sylvie's retreating back, bent forward and falling, and then his face contorted into a snarl. Snared to the ground, he was just about to tip past where he would be completely unable to redirect his center of gravity, when...
His eyes flashed. There was a sound most accurately reproduced in onomatopoeia as 'whoomt!'; a rush of flame ended by a flat, hard sound as air was simultaneously pushed away and drawn in toward an empty space. And then, the roots, now singed, grasped nothing.
In front of Sylvie, Stygian stepped out from behind a tree. His right hand raised, his forearm was on fire. Not with great billowing flames as though doused with burning liquid, but sizzling through cracks in skin that was charring, turning into cinders before her very eyes. He had his fingers together as though he were about to snap them, and behind his hand, over his shoulder, she thought she could see something blurring the air. His eyes gleamed as he scowled at her, and there seemed to be some sort of glow behind him.
Sylvie felt Stygian's fingertips graze her arm, but didn't even think of looking back. The roots she'd used weren't so strong he'd stay put, and even if they were, she didn't doubt he'd rip through them eventually. With the precious time she believed she'd bought herself, she was hoping to get back into the trees, try to wear him out and let the poison do its dirty work while she tried to stay alive and far away-
And then there was a sound, where she'd left him. Once again, she knew enough not to look back, but her eyes went wide. Wider still when Stygian walked out in front of her, as if he'd been there the whole time and had simply been waiting for her to catch up to him.
Sylvie brought herself to a halt and stared at him in amazement. Then her eyes traveled to his right hand and her shock began to change. Clearly, the ability to teleport hadn't been all he was hiding. She saw the skin burning off his arm, the haze bending the light behind him, the fiery glow of his eyes, and knew exactly what he had in mind.
"No. Nononononononono..." she whispered fearfully, backing away a few steps. She had to think logically, had to come up with a plan before things really got dangerous, and she had to think of it NOW.
Thankfully, it came to her in a split second. Before Stygian could come any closer, she pointed her staff at the ground and whispered a spell in a panicked tone. Almost simultaneously, a large tree root pulled itself up from the ground, crumbling large chunks of dirt and stone and flinging itself and them at Stygian. Sylvie once again turned and ran, quickly making it out of the forest and looking for the place that she hoped to make her sanctuary against any and all fire attacks...
Linos stopped playing, the strange pitter-patter of strings halting abruptly. The panther turned, a half grin covering his face, and looked at the red-cloak with one milky eye. He paused, as if waiting for something.
"Very well." he said, taking his bare feet from the table. He carried his guitar gingerly in two hands as he walked out, the bottoms of his pants scuffing across the wood as he headed for the nearest arena. "I'll play you a better song, then."
The large demon eased his way into the bar. His stride spoke of the arrogance of his race, while his movements held a level of grace that would leave a gymnast in envy. He moved towards the bar, then paused. Instead of getting a drink, the stranger found a nice empty table and sat himself down. He looked around, observing the other patrons. He tried to gauge their reactions, particularly to his rather impressive set of horns which instantly distinguished the canine... where he was from demons were either feared or hated, if this place was like the latter, he didn't expect it to take much time at all before he was confronted.
The eruption of dirt came only half a second or so before Stygian released his power, dashing forward and snapping his fingers clearly. A spot right before the wall of earth and mud and root-threaded soil flickered, before a lance of fire streaked forward, circling and dense flame intermingled with razor cinders shredding through the dirt. The hole it left wasn't larger than a man's head though, and the caked earth mixed with rocks went on rising up against him. So he took a bigger step.
Rising gracefully, kicking off the tip of the wave of ground coming up beneath him, Stygian somersaulted, thin streaks of fire and blackened ash trailing behind him. And then, at the apex of the curve of his leap, he... exploded. There was no other description adequate enough. For a moment a pair of fiery, flaring curves rose up behind him, and then his whole form seemed to disintegrate, ash and cinders standing out as dark spots against the glowing backdrop of flame. There was that hard, compressed sound again, and a momentary shadowy emptiness where there should have been a descending body. And a flicker of a moment later, Stygian re-emerged in a comet-tailed streak, re-assembling out of a haze of flames and black fragments appearing in mid-air and traveling at high speed. He'd seen where the elf was headed. Another instant dash from one place to another and he appeared in front of her, and then he braked with a skidding motion that gouged a scar in the dirt.
Bisecting her path to the pond, sweeping up from the left as his arm came around trailing fire, a blaze like a huge wing made of flames and ashes burned forth from behind the man's back and around him, ripping its way forward in a long curve.
- -
It wasn't quite what the man had expected, apparently. He raised his eyes to meet Linos' but remained in his seat long enough to watch the musician turn and head for the door, during which time he considered his options. Ambiguous though the conditions were, the challenge was still clear enough. And he needed a warm-up. It was just that he had expected a somewhat musical battle at least, or some banter and passing of remarks back and forth to perhaps get a few hints, and now he was faced with an opponent the techniques of which might be too unconventional for him, to say the least. Oh well...
Putting his glass down carefully, the man straightened his collar and rolled his left shoulder. Somewhere within his robes, metal clinked. He'd gotten himself into it, so now he just had to go through out the other side. That was the usual way of things. He got up, and trod slowly after the panther. He spared an apparently only casual glance for the horned, massive figure that made its way into the bar, but for a moment his hand twitched, before he sighed and just pointed his gaze fixedly at the back of Linos' neck instead, emerging out into the street.
The battle was still on Sylvie's mind, but was only in second now, The first thought, the one circling about her brain was: Gettothepondgettothepondgettothepondgettothepond... She wasn't quite as surprised as before when Stygian once again popped up in front of her. The flames that formed behind him and trailed straight for her, though, elicited a scream. She skidded to a stop, but only for a moment. If the flames touched her, shed burn just as quickly as any tree. She'd be severely injured and probably would die. But the fire wasn't blocking her completely from the pond, only splitting the route there. Soon, a plan flashed into her mind. It only had one shot to work, but if all went well, one shot would be all she needed.
The Green bolted to the right side of the spreading wall of flames, pointing her staff straight at the pond and screaming a spell. Then, out from the surface of the pond, a reed shot, growing quickly and snaking in a curve the staff directed before ensnaring Sylvie's wrist. Just as fast, it began to slither back into the water, pulling the elf with it.
Big Bad's foot struck against Dani's side, hard, but the plan technically worked. TECHNICALLY, he tripped on her. Technically he fell to the floor and rolled. Technically Dani saw scratches open up across the man's forehead.
Then there was an old man sitting on the sidewalk looking very confused. She recognized him as one of the suburbanites from before. The one who'd retreated into the house they were in front of right now...
The door on the front porch slammed open, and out stepped Big Bad slamming another six bullets into the revolver. He was starting to look unamused.
--
Boog finished dragging the piano out of the closet and exhaled deeply. Really, what he'd done to summon it there wasn't so much an argument as an excuse, he was amazed it worked at all. Not for the first time he wondered who the hell had actually DESIGNED the pocket dimension that the circle was in, and why they made the laws of its reality so lax when they could enforce the whole thing with the circles themselves. Fortunately, new money walked in in the form of a rather large demon, derailing this train of thought EXACTLY like a penny on the tracks.
Someone tapped the newcomer on the shoulder, and soon the demon was looking into a grin the approximate size and shape of a football. "Evening sir, and welcome to the Honor Circle! Come for the reputation, stay for the ambiance, leave for the hospital. We like to remind all patrons that fighting outside a circle or breaking the rules of an agreed-to match are strictly prohibited. Then we make them drink until they forget that because we're bored easily. How may I help you, sir?"
Bas looked at the huge smile staring him in the face. He wasn't sure if he should be amused or horrified, he'd never seen anything quite like the thing that was looking at him. "if you've got some, i'll take a pint of mead... if not, well, i'm sure i'll find a way to get my stress taken care of some other way."
The demon's own toothy grin bespoke both a genuine friendliness, yet also an inherent sadism. As if to change his slightly wicked mood, Bas caught the sudden flash of yellow from his peripheral vision. Following it, and focusing on it, he noticed the rather small and athletic looking canine. Mind you, just about everyone seemed small when one's eye-level was a little over 6 feet in the air.
Nodding towards Boog, Basilisk's grin grew into something more akin to amusement with a predatory edge. He replied, "Actually, cancel that drink order, if i need something, perhaps i'll stop by the bar. For now i think i'll be fine on my own." While speaking, the demon brought himself to his feet, and approached the booth in the corner.
He gave the girl a quick once over while standing next to the open seat across from her. He said in a deep, yet strangely soothing tenor, "my my, what a cute little thing you are... Is this seat taken?" Bas's grin hadn't changed a bit since spotting the girl, though when posing the question his head cocked off at a slight angle. It was quite clear from his body language that he was going to stay, whether she wanted him to or not.
The elf's response to Stygian's attack, as a maneuver, was certainly not gracefully pulled off, but had the terrible speed born of adrenaline-fueled desperation and was quite unexpected. The flames sweeping over Sylvie's head as she was pulled along the grass toward the water just a short series of steps behind him just barely grazed the tips of the elf's hair. Hand going to his gun, feet shifting as if in a dance, he sidestepped, expecting an attack. He then had only a few milliseconds to realize what she was actually doing, his eyes widening, and try and jump up and out of the way from that awkward stance. Her arm caught his boot as she passed under him, and he spun, firing off a wild shot and tumbling before clumsily catching himself with a grunt, almost on his face. Launching himself back up with a hard push as he heard the splash behind him, he spun around sharply, a drawn-out snarl departing his lips.
Water. And lots of it. At least, a body of it large enough to shield her from whatever he decided to throw at her right then. Stygian's temper heated, and the glow in his eyes flared brighter. For a second he thought he might be able to use the Kanzius Method to light the water on fire and make the elf panic. But it clearly wasn't salt water, ruling that option out. And heating it up would be too slow and clumsy for him to boil her out. So what could he do? All he had to use was dirt and trees, neither of which seemed like a good implement against her. And if what he suspected of her biology was true, she could possibly remain submerged for a very long time. Oh, it was at least reasonably safe to assume that she would have to come out sooner or later, but to give an enemy reprieve like that...
As he slowly approached the water, glaring at the surface of the pond and wary of any sudden movements, a slight glow began to envelop Stygian, the grass around him singeing lightly as he passed, his clothes billowing just the slightest in a breeze that wasn't actually there. Metal. That was the trick. If he'd had a big, solid piece of metal he could have done something with that. His guns wouldn't do; not only did he not want to ruin the things, but they were made up of composites and ceramites as well and probably had too little metal in them and too bad a contact surface to start with.
'Come on out...' he muttered. He couldn't feel any signs of particularly strong magnetism. But was there anything in the trees he could separate and make use of? 'Come out and I won't burn your precious fo-...'
He stopped. And then, with a grim smile over his shoulder, he patted his pocket. It was too simple to see immediately, and would take a bit of effort, but it was so self-evident that he hadn't thought about it until then. So much fuel. It was possibly a waste of some good opportunities; there was always some better solution if you looked hard enough for it, but one just did not always have the time, as he did now. The trick in this case, if things turned out as he wanted them to, would not be to make the method effective enough, but rather to avoid overkill. He wanted her alive, after all.
Slipping a cigarette into the corner of his mouth, Stygian took out another one of those lighters, then manipulated it until it clicked, and tossed it back over his shoulder into the heart of the trees. It exploded into a black, choking cloud simultaneously with his first exhalation of smoke. Then he slowly raised his hand, and snapped his fingers.
The fireball engulfed a sizable part of the glade, spilling out over the water and instantly darkening the sky with ash and smoke. Fire, encouraged not only by the abundance of fuel and underbrush, rushed forth with terrifying, even unnatural fervor, almost as if guided by a will to destroy or some unseen, evil spirit. It engulfed the vegetation around in a matter of seconds, causing red and amber hues to dance on the surface of the pond. And amid it all, in the glow of the fire, Stygian's grin was a razor gleam.
The panther moved across the sunlit stone with liquid grace, crossing the line into an unoccupied circle. Around him, ruins sprang up - broken pillars of marble and granite, ancient shrines covered in green lichen, long forgotten to time and men. A moat surrounded it, and in the slivers of sunlight that peeked through the canopy of broad leaves and thin willows, the green water reflected a lethargic light.
Linos made his way to a stone bench, and sat. He crossed his guitar over his legs, strumming the strings absently, and played strange snippets of melody and song.
As she was dragged through the flames and past Stygian, Sylvie kept her eyes shut and breathed deeply, trying to ignore the flames inches away from her face and body. When she finally felt the splash of cool water and heard only the sounds of bubbles and quiet, she opened her eyes and dared to smile. She was safe. And she still had weaponry to spare.
She watched beneath the clear blue as Stygian approached the edge and hunted for her. It shouldn't be too much of a task to find her, she thought, but then, locating plants underwater was a little harder than finding people. She saw his mouth movin, but couldn't make out the words. She caught the pause and the smile, though. And the lighter. But instead of tossing it into the pond, as she'd expected, he tossed it over his shoulder.
What? ...Oh. ....Oh God, it can't really-
The forest she so loved turned into a roiling hell, tongues of angry red and bright, demonic orange obscuring the lush green and turning the sky black above her head. And in the middle of it all, Stygian, his grin like a knife in her heart.
Sylvie almost made the mistake of gasping, her eyes growing wide and her tears of fear and shock mixing with the water. It was worse than loggers, worse than saws, worse than a thousand cases of blight felling a redwood grove. It was pure, unadulterated cruelty, one that she couldn't face without dying herself. For a second, she was reduced to not an opponent, but a spectator to the worst destruction in the world.
The next second, she blinked, clenched her fists, and focused all the fear into raw, all-consuming anger. She couldn't save her forest. She didn't need to; it was an illusion created by a fighting circle. But she could take out her anger on the grinning figure above her. Even if it was an illusion, though, it was still her home. Without really realizing she was doing it, Sylvie focused her next thoughts into a silent prayer. Forgive me, Albell, but I need the help of you and your sister to protect your gift to my people. Poseid, I am part of the reason your realm has returned to you. Please let the waters help me in my task.
The elf aimed her staff at the bottom of the pond and whispered a spell very carefully, but very quickly. In seconds, several reeds like the one that had pulled her in were snaking up - some to splash water on the flames around the pond and Stygian (none aimed at the forest - it was far too late for that, and she needed to focus on the fight), and the others slithering nimbly around Stygian's wrists and ankles. Let him try to destroy THIS safehaven.
---
Dani looked up when she felt feet catch her side and a body fall. When it wasn't the body she expected, her dusky red eyes widened. That's new. She was beginning to sense something off, yet vaguely familiar, about this apparition. Of course, stories vary from universe to universe, so what exactly it was she knew, she couldn't pin down.
But it didn't matter. What did matter were the bullets in the gun. Coming from a universe that had armor instead of Kevlar had its disadvantages. So Dani straightened up, and put her fist in her hand again. "I haven't met anything like you in a while, either. Not since I left home, anyway. How are you doing this?" Immediately after saying it, though, she made it apparent that the answer would have to come later, as she sprinted for the side of the house, her sharp-edged glaive aiming straight for the woodwork there.
The particular crackling hiss of water flash-boiling and turning to steam suffused the air, occasionally penetrating the sheer roar of the flames. Stygian's brow creased, as a few droplets actually managed to prickle his face, and then seethed while the heat kept on rising. Even through the amber illumination and eerie shadows cast by the fire, there seemed to be a clearer, lighter aura around his features, as though the heat were gathering and condensing behind him. It seemed to be drawn to something, coalescing and moving around a shape that, strictly speaking, wasn't actually
there. Which any sensible person would have found greatly worrying.
There was another splash, and Stygian looked down. Some sort of red-green root scrabbled out of the pond, and tried to latch onto his ankle. It was followed by a whole array of similar water-slick vegetational tendrils. Immediately, he felt the beginning of a tug from down below. He smiled again, and his eyes flared.
The surface of the water turned into a blurry foam for a moment, and a couple of streaks of steamy bubbles cut down almost to Sylvie herself as the already burned rootlets were swiftly cut up. Once the view cleared up enough, she could see the dark figure above still in almost the same spot, though indistincly through the ripples. But he didn't seem to be standing. And the flames climbing above him were far closer than they should have been. And rising up above him...
Grinning wildly, his skin charring and crackling like paper, little surges of glowing heat rupturing it from within at places, Stygian was floating inches above the edge of the pond. His eyes, charcoal black with glowing dots of fierce, vicious rage at their heart, were locked firmly on the vague figure down in the water. Above him, the flames were circling, drawing inward, twisting around each other, slowly forming a funnel shape. The branches of the blackened trees that still stood started to bend and snap.
There was no warning. The figure above did not so much as move, simply levitating while streaks of black and burning red and orange surrounded him. There was just the sky, gradually drawing inward and turning red. And then, the vortex of fire and ash hit the surface of the pond like a giant drill. A deafening noise filled the elf's ears as water tumbled and sizzled into steam, the full contents of the pond slowly starting to swirl and draw inward. And getting hotter around her as well, she realized.
Her safehaven wasn't coming down; it was being burned straight up around her.
- -
The man waited at the door for a short while, to watch the stage of the fight form. He whistled slightly as he watched the process, raising an eyebrow and smirking in a manner of mild appreciation. Then he shrugged a bit, feeling the assuring, hard weights under his clothes, and walked forward. The lengthened, broadened fold of sateen cloth on the left side of his robes - the one bearing what appeared to be his symbols of rank over an embroidered circlet with four ornate beams emerging from it, like a celtic cross without a center - fell away to the side, and he reached in behind it. A metal something, dark gray and brassy, came out in his right hand.
It looked far too heavy and mechanically complex to be a sword, rough metal, cables and vents all over, but the rectangular blade apparently studded between two prongs extending down the length of it meant it could only be either that or an industrial cutting tool. Perhaps it was both. The man spun it and laid it up on his shoulder with nonchalant ease, as though it were made of cardboard, walking into the circle.
'Alright,' he said, stopping just under one of the columns to study it with the same calm semi-interest that he seemed to grant everything. 'Whenever you're ready. Boxing rules; we fight until the other man can't fight back. Oh, and no guns. I don't think either of us likes the idea of getting turned into a sieve. Unless you're one of
them guitarists.'
The panther grinned widely at the man's last remark. His fingers danced, playing a few bars of spanish guitar - the old saw that had been used so many times as to become comical. He looked up at the man in between his bangs, a strangely useless gesture for one who was blind. He closed his eyes and looked back down, his fingers resuming their aimless wandering.
"No guns, fine by me. Inauspicious weapons, my master used to say. He was a great supporter of them." his smile wasn't quite smug, but there was a tinge of self-assured amusement to it. "Not for me, though. No, I said I'd play you a song. An old, old song."
He set his hands across the strings, stilling them. The silence grew large, filling the ruins. The wind in the trees, the sound of water lapping at old granite columns only highlighted this silence, were a part of it. The silence of the void, of something essential missing.
His hands brushed across the strings, too loudly. The sound, however, was not the same sound from before.
It was strange. Ethereal - nothing a real guitar couldn't play, but at the same time like nothing he'd ever heard before, either. The music cut through the air and the silence like a knife, filling the ruins from corner to corner until it was overflowing. The sound was everywhere. The tempo increased, going faster and faster...
Linos grinned toothily.
The column next to the man in red chipped. Then again, a long, narrow rend in the stone. The breeze picked up, and his eyes caught something - when he turned his head just right, and the light caught it...
Distortions forming and reforming. One brushed a platform of sheer rock, and tore a gash in it. There were dozens, and more and more were joining them, moving so fast as to be dizzying.
"An old, old song." the panther said. Eight whirling, dancing distortions wheeled through the air like snakes, crossing the distance between them disturbingly fast.
The water still acted as a one-way glass for the swimming elf, doubly so now that the sky was so dark. Her meager attempts at putting out the fire didn't seem to bother him, and he only smirked when she tried to pull him into the pond with her. She watched the roots burn down and almost panicked when the water looked like it was boiling above her for a moment. Then, as she watched the flames move...closer to him, as she watched him levitate above the pond, as her eyes boggled and the vortex formed above him, she started to get it.
It didn't really hit her, though, until the flames and soot spiraled into the surface of her pond.
Her mouth opened in an unashamed, incomprehensible scream and she swam quickly away from the vortex, but she felt the drag against her as a whirlpool started to form. He was going to take away her last shield... if she didn't act quickly enough. She had no time to look resilient, or even think about what she was going to do. As the water boiled around her, she swam to the bottom, sinking easily due to loss of air from her scream. When her hands touched the silt and rocks at last, she didn't say a spell. But her hands and the dirt suddenly began to glow.
The land around the lake began to rumble. Something was barely visible spreading along the bottom of the pond, growing up like a mushroom and spreading like carpets around it. As the blanket-like creations folded around Sylvie, she smiled. The dust had shaken off and it was apparent to her, at least, that she had succeeded. The petals fully closed around her, trapping the Green and a great deal of water inside the massive flower. She placed her hands on a petal and charged it, and the giant lily rose out of the water – only to burst open seconds later.
The man's head twisted and his eyes flicked as the first gash was rent out of the rock, his whole body tensing almost imperceptibly with lightning speed. In a moment, his calm smirk was evaporated, replaced with an expression of nearly thoughtless focus. He swung the dull, oversized blade into a firm handhold, slipping it easily between one hand's thumb and fingers into a backhanded position, and fixed his eyes forward. The sounds were coming from the panther himself, as were the motions. That might make it a little easier to aim, but sound did travel fast...
'It's all new to me...' he commented absentmindedly, fingers creaking on the grip. He shifted his stance, trying to anticipate the attack that was surely only moments away. His other hand settled at the bottom of the sword, and then there was a click as he pressed a switch.
A dry, hard crackle erupted from the long blade, an arc of actinic sparks sizzling across the metal and fizzing out into the air at the end of it. A low, menacing hum emerged from the base of it as the metal slowly began to glow a very faint, dull red, something glowing enveloping the surface of the blade which had assumed a whole new luster and its wedge-like edges a menacing sharpness.
A chord. A flurry of movement. The man spun on the spot, his sword going into a quick, complex flourish as he leaped, eyes fixed dead forward. Twisting himself in the air and almost laying down, minimizing his profile, he swatted the first two blurs out of the air on the upturn via a blurry horizontal swipe, turned over as he began to fall, and blocked another pair with a less graceful but very effective diagonal slash. The whole maneuver was over in half a second, relatively speaking a long time before he hit the ground again with a hard stomp, blade already out and ready to go back into motion at a moment's notice. A couple of gashes had been torn in his clothes, but they were loose after all, and he had advanced on the panther...
'You can't make a good melody all out of sharp notes,' he said.
- -
It was rather difficult for Stygian to sense the oncoming attack; he could control the flames he created with minute precision, given the right circumstances, however any 'feedback' through the control was harder to read the more heat and fire he was directing, the faster he was doing it. And in the violence of the vortex he had just created, he might as well have been trying to track the movements of a bird from across a large room by feeling the vibrations from its wings on his palm. The rush of water spouting up that pushed back his flames came as a surprise, and before he could move anywhere the next wave came. He barely had time to shout something foul and see the enormous flower rising from the pond before another great gout smashed him in the face.
There was a moment's pause, and a whole lot of steam. The flames in the background kept burning, albeit slightly less violently it seemed, flakes of ash and cinders dropping from the sky as the twister of fire came to a halt. Standing in the middle of a growing cloud of billowing white, shreds of burned cloth hanging off his sooted and cracked skin, his hair singed and slicked down, Stygian glared. His eyes were burning, glowing deep in their sockets amid the soot, and his hand was clenched hard around something metallic. He literally sizzled, and the corner of his lip twitched.
'...and many people died from the waters that had become bitter.' he growled under his breath. 'You're going
down, you little green fairy...!'
As she caught sight of the landscape through the rising steam, Sylvie was grimly pleased. It had worked. She wasn't going to die from being boiled like a string bean. And many of the fires were out, though some still stubbornly burned. Ah, well. At least now she'd gotten some of the forest so soaked it couldn't light. The only thing to worry about now was the so-angry-he-couldn't-move arsonist in front of her.
His statements made her blink, then narrow her eyes. She wasn't too familiar with the Bible, but the absinthe reference couldn't possibly escape a plant. "So, that's the feeling you were expecting?" she smirked mirthlessly. "Why didn't you say so?" She remained on the lily, but pointed her staff towards Stygian's feet and her free hand aimed at the ground a few feet away from him. As she uttered the spell, massive stems began growing tightly up Stygian's legs and to his stomach – but this time there were tulips blooming on them. As for that other spot, a plant began to grow out of that, but nowhere near as pretty. No, this was a fanged, multiheaded creature that immediately snapped its enormous jaws at Stygian. The Green herself, as this happened, briefly examined her standing place and smiled. Even if this didn't work, she had a defense in mind...
The man didn't move as the new thicket began growing rapidly, winding up his legs. His singeing gaze remained fixed determinedly on Sylvie as she rose before him, fingers curling and his body tensing. The fire in his eyes was growing, his clothes starting to rustle once more. He bared his teeth, something crackling as a faint glow began to emanate from him. He raised his hand slowly.
'My faith is my shield. My fury is my sword,' he intoned.
A feather, startling white against the backdrop of black smoke and fiery shadows, drifted across Sylvie's field of vision. Its appearance puzzled for just a flicker of a moment. And then there was light.
Fire flared once more, streams of it forming and swirling as golden light streamed forth from the man at its heart, obscuring the elf's sight. A wing, half formed from feathers and half from crackling fire, struck out at the approaching jaws of the monster plant from somewhere in the swelling blaze, semi-formed feathers sharp as knives and hot as molten iron. The snares of tulips were roasted and crumbled to dust around coppery legs, feet stained with tarry black ash rising from the ground. There were cracks and surges of coppery arcs through the air as it ionized, a blinding furnace blasting out against Sylvie. And from it, rising up and flying forward with the graceful sweep of wings, Stygian emerged.
He was the perfect opposite of what she had seen before. Coppery skin that glowed, fire staining it black toward his hands and feet as it bled out of cracks in his very body. Only a few but thick and extensive black lengths of cloth still hung about him, together with a few scorched chains and pendants, fluttering largely unscathed in the breeze even though flames billowed all around. And from his back, a pair of wings sprouted, radiating unearthly heat and partly melding with the flames they shed. Of it all, it was only his face that she recognized, a mask of rage within a burning corona, his eyes blazing points of light above a contemptuous, skull-like snarl, his golden hair burning at the ends.
'Unto the lowest Hell!' he fumed, stretching a clawing hand for her. His voice was the modulated roar of a furnace. 'Cease, or I will burn you until there is naught but dust!'
Sylvie returned Stygian's glare at almost the same intensity for a long moment, but then she noticed the glow around him and the glare faded. It wasn't replaced with fear yet, she was simply refocusing her efforts from menacing him to figuring out what the hell he was doing.
Then the feather floated across the scene, and for a moment, she forgot what was going on and simply wondered what the hell that was doing here. It didn't take long for the answer to make itself clear – in the form of a blast of light that blinded her, a wave of heat like someone had opened the door to a volcano's lip, and finally, once she could open her eyes, Stygian. He was winged now, dressed in black cloth and metal links, and looking absolutely enraged.
Her eyes narrowed again, the elf screamed – but it wasn't a terrified wail like it had been before. No, this was desperate, animalistic and irate, like a coyote who has been cornered and is about to lunge for the throat of its nearest attacker. Her whole body began to glow, and the bark on her skin flaked off to reveal a different kind beneath – grayer and less split. But the greater change happened beneath the bark. Her insides hardened, her largely vestigial organs not compromised in the least. Only her hair retained its color – green and vibrant for the rest of her body, as it had to be now more than ever.
As he stretched his hand towards her, she whipped hers to the ground and shouted a spell. Spiked, barbed branches shot out of the ground, the foremost one aiming for his palm, and the Green's staff grew pointed and thorned near the end as well. She flipped it over, readying another strike to his copper-skinned midsection...
Wood and boiling flesh both shredded and splintered. Jagged shards of wood flew through the air and blood spattered, and there was the flutter and rush of wind and the sandy crackle of ash catching up with that which had rushed by and dragged it along. Feathers fell and turned into dancing flames, and hardened cellulose creaked.
A hand with much of its lower half missing and fastened on a forearm which had been cleared of flesh down to the bone for a good length of it, smoking wood jutting through it, clawed for Sylvie's face. Sizzling and snarling, venting heat like a forge, Stygian pushed forward, swinging around his right armed as it was speared in place even though that tore more bits out of it. One of his wings sweeping around to try and block off any attempts from Sylvie at escaping backward, he bloodily disentangled his other arm from the barbs of the elf's staff, having barely bothered to deflect it, pressing forth even though it was stabbing into his side, and lunged further forward. Claw-tipped fingers just barely managed to reach her chest, wisps of smoke rising up the moment he touched her now hardened epidermis, as though he were pressing heated soldering irons to her skin.
'No! You will give up!' he bellowed, before being forced back by the twisting and twining branches. He uttered another inhuman roar, the pain of the sound seeming to reach further than merely the eardrums, and then lunged again. His feet were way off the ground, yet in some senseless manner he managed to rip and tear his way forward again, wood splintering and bone snapping. There was a pain in addition to the heat that radiated from him. Not too strong a pain, but a headache-like continuation of the earlier sound that seemed to ring off the inside of the spine, and which worsened as he got closer. It wasn't really palpable to Sylvie over the heat, before a sizzle ended in another snap and then a crash as the man's face pressed in just a few inches from her own, stopping with a jerk as he snagged once more.
'You have nothing to prove,' he sizzled. 'You have nothing to fear in surrender.' His expression had died down from a twisted snarl to an inexplicably even more frightening composed glare, the burning points of rage at the centre of his eyes of empty black staring into Sylvie's soul. Perhaps it was just the heat haze, but the blurred and burning world around her seemed even more hellish, pulsating along with the rising thumping in her head. She thought she could see a glowing ring behind the man, expanding and contracting like an irregularly beating heart.
'Give in!' he growled, the low reverberation in tune with the shuddering vibrations that seemed to make the world itself quaver. 'Your broken corpse will serve more a purpose than your hale self. If you submit, you shall have mercy...!'
The panther said nothing in response. His eyes were closed, and at some point his hair had come loose from behind his ears, hanging in front of his face as he picked the strings frantically, although the song he played was anything but frantic.
It was fast, sure. It was getting faster. Ethereal and hot-blooded at the same time, like the ghost of every strand of music that has ever been played. Or perhaps not. Like every strand, every whisper of music every played was simply the ghost of this, this primal song seemingly more suited to drums than warbling strings, the first music that every other imitated.
It whispered. The stones themselves vibrated with it.
The man had advanced, but a few steps away from the panther, but seemingly at his own peril. The music swelled, the strings crooning, and the air around the guitarist curdled, encircling him and cradling him like a cocoon. And exploded outwards.
The stones near him shifted in the dirt, small stones and pebbles flying through the air like shot from a cannon, and the lake itself rippling backwards with the force of the gale, an explosion of wind that could send boulders flying.
Although she had no intention of surrendering, Sylvie was nonetheless impressed at how desperate Stygian was for her to give up. But as he writhed in the vines and tore his way towards her, slashing at her face and seemingly unconcerned with the staff jabbing into his side and the flesh missing from his arms and hand, she realized that he wasn't desperate at all. He was holding back. She felt heat behind her accompanying the oven-like intensity in front of her – one of his huge, flaming wings was blocking off any escape. He roared, and she swore she could feel her bones ringing from the pain. When he touched her bark-skin, the Green winced and clasped her hand to her chest. Some of those might just remain, even after she returned to normal. It felt like she had been branded, a thought which she pushed forcibly out of her mind.
He pressed his face closer to hers, the pain from before increasing as he neared her, but now becoming more of a dull, aching throb. The aura around him, amplified by the hell-scape surrounding them, pulsed like the world itself was a heartbeat. What he said horrified her, but held truth. She wasn't quite sure what that truth was, having not been told certain things about the world Stygian came from. But the rage in his eyes wasn't simple bloodlust anymore. It was a kind of honest fury, with more rational thought behind it than malice. It almost made her change her mind. Almost.
But she'd come too far to give up now. She'd surrendered to him once already, and all he'd done then to get her to do it was pin her down. The fact that she'd even inflicted a wound on him of this magnitude meant something to her. She wasn't convinced just yet. There had to be a way she could win this fight...
As these thoughts ran through her head, her body paused. Then she refocused, glared at Stygian, and stabbed him in the right side of the chest with her sharp, thorny staff. The barbs dug in to his insides, making any movement away from her impossible without a great deal of pain and loss of more flesh.
"What makes you so sure I can't win?" she said in a low voice, intense in spite of the roar of flames around them and the thumping pain in her body. "Surrender, or this will grow into a tree and break every bone in your body."
There were a series distinct pinging noises, and a drawn-out hiss, as pebbles bounced off the gleaming metal of the robed man's garments and his sword, and sand rushed, pressed forward by the massive gale that drew up and scouring much of the ground between the both combatants clean of grass as it went. The man blinked, drew his sword up very firmly into his both hands in a broad grip, and braced.
It was not a thing that one could easily appreciate without seeing eyes, but perhaps it was even more interesting a 'sight' to Linos' perception. An instant before the blast of air hit the man, the air curved. It was as if something had rushed out and formed an invisible man shape, just a couple of inches in front of him. For a fraction of a second he stood unaffected against the force of the wind. Then, he shuddered, and was struck off his feet, rolling over backward and tumbling violently before he stuck a foot against a fallen piece of column and grabbed at the ground, stopping hard. Slowly, he seemed to regain his balance, and to push back. As if he'd managed to measure up the force he was moving against, and had now found some appropriate technique to counteract it when just sheer effort wouldn't have been able to. His left hand's pressure on the ground shifted, and suddenly the grass and dirt around it frosted over. As the man stood up and pressed forward, his figure seemed to take on an eerie sharpness or a glow. It was hard to see in the light of the surroundings, but it was as though the sun were shining more intensely on him in particular. His whole appearance seemed to radiate a very dim glow of its own, and his movements became more determined and forceful. Pale wisps of steam were whisked away from him in the slowly settling air, and the rush of oxygen made the sword in his hand sizzle and surge even more.
'Right then,' he grunted, forcing the words out between his teeth, lowering his sword. 'Got to dance to the music...!'
Starting to accelerate, the man gripped the hilt of the powered blade in both hands again, and readied for a hard upwards sweep.
- -
For the second that went by in relative silence, Stygian's stare seemed to hurt as much as the heat that slowly roasted the elf's face. He leaned forward, even nearer, his breath hitting her with a smell of burning alcohol as he spoke.
'We said "until either of us drops",' he hissed, a sizzling hot edge to his words, though they had become far more silent. He seemed out of breath, but composed. 'And you've let me close in.' Slowly, his wings folded inward on the both of them with deceptive gentleness. And then, he smiled. It was not a pleasant smile, but even in its spine-chilling evil there was a tone of heartfelt sincerity to it. Which only served to make it more unpleasant.
The elf felt a couple of sharp points right above where her shoulder blades met. They quivered very slightly, as Stygian winced for a moment, but then quite gently increased their pressure against her backbone, their heat slowly starting to climb toward the pain threshold. He had managed to rip his arm loose during his charge, and was holding it around her.
'You think you can make it grow fast enough that I won't have time to burn my way through your spine?' he asked, chuckling, then inhaling wheezily, hindered slightly by the point of her staff. There was a gleam of triumph in his burning irises as they sizzled in the oily pits of his eyes. 'You can't get away. So now, I just need to knock you out...' he sighed. He was slowly becoming aware of a dull ache in his side; she must have punctured his lung. He breathed as deeply as he could manage, steadying his grip.
Sylvie shivered in Stygian's grip, still determined and glaring but unable to stop that from happening, even with (or in fact because of) the scalding heat of the inferno and the proximity to its cause. The latter was smiling wickedly but honestly at her, folding his wings around them and giving them privacy she didn't want right now.
Any curiosity she had about why he'd asked her to surrender when he'd just revealed she couldn't anyway melted from her mind when she felt the two sharp things in her back. Heating up. And pressing just a little more every second. She listened to what Stygian said, not letting fear take over her mind as it had in their first fight, even though the threat was loud and clear. His laugh and the look in his eyes gave her chills, but it was the weakness of his voice and breathing she noticed more. Her stab had been much more effective than she thought... and that could work to her advantage. The poison she'd used before hadn't been strong enough to take him down, but now that his lungs were already weak...
She narrowed her eyes at him as he leaned in close, allowing the threads of the plant to grow like a web over the back of her throat. She gave no hint that she was going to react to him at all. Then, as he took a deep breath in and tightened his hold on her, she moved swiftly forward and planted her mouth on his, her curare-laced breath invading his airways and her skin still slightly cool in spite of the flames.
He had expected her to surrender or try and go downward. The surprise that flashed over Stygian's face was absolute, his fiery irises flaring and narrowing at the same time. A shudder ran through his body for a moment, his wings splaying out, as his breath caught and he felt as though he were about to choke. As he watched the elf, a glimmer of some sort of comprehension simmered out through his expression, right before his eyes began to dim. His fingers clenched, muscles tensing throughout his body in a last bid for some sort of action, and she felt him hold her tighter for just a moment. Then, quite rapidly, his grip slackened, his arms starting to quiver as though he were fighting just to keep them up. They slid down her back and fell to his sides. A groggy smile didn't so much steal over his face as acquire it by underhandedness and insinuating itself in via the fine print, while the flames wreathed around him died down and the cracks in his skin more or less seemed to seal up. For just an instant he had the presence to chuckle coarsely, and press his lips a little tighter to hers. Then, he slumped completely, falling to the ground in a messy pile.
There was a blur. The flames and smoke that still licked the sky in the background blurred into a Van Gogh smudge, the ground starting to harden and glisten. For a few moments the reflection of burning trees was still present on the slick cobbles that spilled up from the earth and grass. And then there was just the street outside the bar, albeit with a few flakes of ash falling down on the elf's grassy hair and some blackish soil smudged here and there, and a few white feathers strewn about the pavement. In the centre of it all, Stygian lay crumpled, slowly getting soaked once more by the slight drizzle, covered in nothing but the dirty, torn black rags that the lengths of fluttering cloth had turned back into. There was not so much as a twitch from him.
Sylvie didn't stop to think about anything at all, nor did she open her eyes. She just felt, and waited. As he shuddered, then paused before clenching at her desperately, she only pressed her mouth tighter to insure that the poison made it in. She didn't dare stop to take a breath; even with an immune system strong against almost all poisons, breathing was simply too big a risk with a web of paralysis-inducing plants in her throat.
When she at last felt his muscles relax and felt him quite suddenly start to collapse, she stopped breathing into him and quickly began to reverse her spell. The threads of curare, and the bark armor, retracted slowly into her and became ordinary muscles and tissues again. Her quickness was fortunate - when Stygian laughed weakly and "kissed" her back, she took a sudden and needed breath in through her nose and let go of his face. Then he slumped, and she watched as the world around them slowly became the street outside instead of her ruined forest.
The exhausted, slightly battered Green stared down at her fallen opponent in disbelief, satisfaction...and triumph. She'd won. She'd actually won. Against fire, her own conflicted feelings, and the constant fear of suddenly being killed. The mist that drizzled over her felt like a cool blanket of reassurance. She was going to get what she wanted, and she'd proven herself at last.
"Raindrops keep falling on my head..." she sang, almost unconsciously letting the tune through her lips. "But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turnin' red...cryin's not for me..." She smiled as she picked up her staff from the ground and began to move back towards the bar, casting a brief, meaningful look at Stygian before walking away - quickly, but to a jaunty rhythm.
"'Cause, I'm never gonna stop the rain, by complainin'...be-cause I'm free-eee... nothin's worryin' meee..."
She finished singing before she re-entered the bar. She still looked tiredly happy, but her words were serious. Stygian needed medical care, quickly.
"I can't carry him in by myself - and he's been paralyzed. Do you by any chance have antidotes to blowdart poison?"
The initial look that Sahlena gave the door was just a lazy glance. When she noticed that Sylvie was not just first in but alone though, her attention snapped to with far more alertness, or possibly alarm. She set down her recently acquired drink, and her posture became only more rigid when she heard Sylvie speak up. At least, for the first sentence.
':wait, you've h-' she began lamely, hesitation shining through. Then, as Sylvie stepped closer, the machine backed her head up a bit on her neck and tilted it just the slightest bit to the side. ':blowdart poison?' she asked. Her processors ticked away for what was to a computer an agonizingly long time, and a rather significant wait even to a compound AI system. In 'real time', she blinked her seven cameras in sequence for a moment, and then got off her seat.
':i'll help along then... he's here with me after all...' the machine muttered. Had it not been for her lack of a sufficiently expressionate face, one might have suspected something. And though a little bit of evil amusement tingled somewhere deep in her self-routing logic circuits, the cynical expectancy and dislike she simultaneously experienced were enough to take any indications out of her voice as well. Well, that and the fact that as a machine she didn't actually display her emotions inadvertently in her expressions and mannerisms.
The street was slick, and quite cold. Slowly soaking through, Stygian lay very, very still. He'd had the wind knocked out of him when he fell, and the elf was taking her sweet time, basking in her victory. He would have chuckled at her choice of tune, if he could. And if the wounds that he couldn't heal yet hadn't hurt so much. But he bore it, until at last the door clacked shut behind the elf, and he was left alone in the gently increasing downpour.
Well, he'd gone and done it. He should have been harsh, and he hadn't been. He wondered if he was getting soppy. Usually, he was quite firm when it came to what little principles he had, but the spring in the girl's step as she walked off had been worth it. He knew he was going to have to pay for it, but somehow that whole part of the deal just seemed exciting to him at the moment. And his last gamble had worked, astonishingly. Somehow, he thought that the Circle would have been able to tell, but likely it had that idiot characteristic of letting people get away with being literal, just like instruction manuals or legal systems. He'd said what he'd said, and there it was. Now, all he had to mind was restraining his nagging urge to leave some indication, at least for a while.
Stygian breathed a sigh of relief, and from between his lips emerged a plume of dirty smoke and a few tiny wet flames laced with greenish yellow. He didn't move a hair, didn't open his eyes which were still held in that drowsy half-shut position, like those of the recently concussed. But for a moment, he smirked.
A boot stomped down beside his head, splashing up dirty water in his face. Stygian didn't flinch, but his expression went back to slack dullness instantly.
':you bastard,' Sahlena mused as she bent down to scoop him up, her voice almost failing to whisper as it reverberated metallically in his ear. ':you're going to have to pay for this, you know?' She punched him in the side as she slung him up over her shoulder, turning toward the door, and trotting back inside.
':maybe you'd like to come as well?' the machine said, strangely and in a somewhat suggestive manner as she passed the bar once more on the way to the infirmary. She didn't quite phrase the sentence as a question. And the way she cast her inexpressive gaze she might as well have been staring at Sylvie as the Boogeyman.
Sylvie was still rather high on victory for a few moments, so she didn't immediately register what Sahlena's pause could have meant. And of course, she had no clue what she could have been feeling or thinking, The machine offered to carry him in, in such a way that Sylvie knew she didn't expect or really need the elf's help. So she watched through the windows as Sal roughly scooped up Stygian outside and brought him in. This was the only clue she noticed that something else was going on, but she brushed it off. She had more pressing matters to deal with, now that she thought of it. Right. I won. Yay. Now, for the prize. The thought carried no insidious intent, or anger, or sadness. It rang soundly of determination.
She felt the question-command Sal directed at her more than she heard or saw it, and almost suspected the machine of knowing what she was thinking. But no, the three people who could were either busy or unconscious right now. She nodded and followed them in, pulling up a chair once Sal had laid Stygian on a bed and facing him.
"I poisoned him with something else earlier, but it didn't seem to affect him. So I don't know if you should treat for that as well or not," she mentioned passingly. She highly doubted any treatment would be needed for that at all. He seemed to have a physiology that would put a Reekem worshipper to shame.
The panther's expression grew curious, unsure of exactly what the swordsman was trying - however, he was standing tall against a gale that should very probably have knocked him across the island.
He grinned, toothily.
"Can you dance, mi amigo? My fingers will bleed before I stop playing, but how long will can you keep your feet moving?" the music trilled, spitting out almost a flamenco chord as the music swelled, the guitarist doing everything in his power to make the instrument sing.
Winds crossed over the lake, picking up water as they went. It sparkled in the sunlight, a sudden rainbow in the air here, and there, and brushing across a pillar. It scored the writing from the wall, and it picked up the dust from that too. The panther was grinning long, white fangs now.
"I'm hiding in shades where peace is to be found, the faceless just waiting for you to succumb..."
...Keaton:Aside from a dull, palpitating throb growling in the back of her head, Keaton believed she had almost completely recuperated from the drinking contest. The sensation was vaguely torturous in its monotony, but compared to the myriad of other unpleasant sensations she had experienced on this day, there was no contest deciding which was preferable. However, even as her senses gradually retreated into their respective places, revitalizing her alertness, her red eyes preserved a certain sense of disorientation. The blood-colored irises were glassy and unfocused, trained only microscopically on the faraway, blurred shape of a bottle perched on one of the many shelves lining the walls. For some reason, even allowing her thoughts to return to the subject of alcoholic beverages made Keaton feel vaguely ill; her stomach lurched and churned threateningly. After this little episode, she was abstaining from anything remotely alcoholic for at least a month. Keaton's hedonistic addictions were still anchored firmly in her psyche, but they were not uncontrollable - at least, not when the thought of guzzling beer sounded utterly repulsive.
Poor, devoted little Xianxi was diligently hovering behind Keaton's head, providing comfort in the form of his claws on her shoulders. His thin, clever fingers, adorned with barbed claws, massaged reassuringly, stroking at muscles he knew were particularly comfortable. A guttural growl of pleasure rolled in the back of Keaton's throat, vaguely rewarding his efforts without directly acknowledging them. Of course she appreciated his companionship, but given the fact she still felt somewhat intoxicated, restless, and nauseous, she felt like being difficult. Once again, Xianxi became the one to shoulder the burden of Keaton's mercurial moods without any reasonable complaints.
Just as Keaton was drifting into a sense of delighted, brainless bliss, Xianxi suddenly ceased his massaging. Her brow twisted in a vague frown; she reeled from the immediate deprivation of comfort, becoming hyperaware of the intruder's comments even in her inebriation. Xianxi redirected himself in mid-air so he was apprehensively surveying Basilisk, obviously distrustful of his smooth mannerisms and coy smirk. White light rippled dangerously off of his tail, producing a tiny warning spark. Still slightly disgruntled, Keaton glared at Xianxi, secretly thankful for his protectiveness, but not expressing any gratitude.
"No, Xianxi. Down, boy," she said in a manner that was deliberately condescending. A grin played on the edge of Keaton's lips as her gaze glided over to Basilisk, combing up and down his face. It was strange that she would be so welcoming of a newcomer in the midst of a somewhat tempestuous mood, but despite the slightly lecherous nature of Basilisk's compliments, she was still interested. "I wanna see what this is all about."
Xianxi floated away, predictably not objecting to his mistress's decisions. With Xianxi's perpetual vigilance expertly dismissed, Keaton proffered the seat to Basilisk. "Well, what're you waiting for? Sit down."
---
...Dekuyaketh:Maybe this isn't such a good idea, Dekuyaketh decided grimly. He was already feeling uncomfortable – what if Andrea was just playing with him? He didn't trust people like her, but he had already agreed to meet her in the circle so he had no intention of changing his mind. As she pushed open the door, he begrudgingly followed her, trying to keep his apprehension isolated to the knotting in his stomach and not letting it spread to his facial features. Andrea was suspiciously still, directing a challenging, belligerent look at their "charming" bartender. Nothing passed between them, so Dekuyaketh busied himself with picking some detritus out from beneath his fingernail.
The demon lowered himself to the empty seat in an almost dainty fashion. The act was graceful and fluid, if one was not paying attention, it would seem Bas more flowed into the seat, rather than sat down. He was quite surprised by the general pleasantness that he was greeted with from the girl, even if her pet seemed protective. Thinking on it, Bas came to the conclusion that, perhaps this Xianxi was correct to be worried, but. Then, with a mental shrug, that little bit of information was suddenly washed away as he began noticing the grin creeping onto the lips of the jackal girl before him.
Placing a hand out in front of him, palm up and fingers slightly splayed, Bas said, "I am Baseel Wolkshammar, Bas for short, or Basilisk if you prefer..."
The predatory edge faded from his grin, as it became more friendly, "I couldn't help but notice you sitting alone, can i get you anything... miss...?" Carrying the last word out a little longer, and changing tone slightly.(As to imply asking for a name)
His wings hung idly to either side, and his body had been slowly shifting into a lean towards the girl. Very subtle, yet noticeable.
Big Bad was momentarily distracted by the question, and was still thoughtfully clicking the chambers closed when Dani's blade sheered through some of the house supports. The front of the suburban three bedroom home began to slowly shift forward and down to the left, toward Dani, with a slow creak and splintering out of the nightmares of every architect or character portrayed by Buster Keaton. The nightmare lunged forward a second too late, the house came down...
Meanwhile, an old woman stepped around the back of the home, stopping in shock as she saw the house begin to fall. She'd been gardening, with her hearing aid hanging out of her pocket and a spade in her left hand. Right before the crash she ran back in a panic, obscured from vision again by the still-standing back wall.
A few seconds later, there was a click behind the remaining wall, the cold and unfeeling noise of a revolver being cocked. Dani had a sneaking suspicion that if she checked under the smashed walls, shingles, ruined timbers and the remains of someone's guest room at the front of the house she wouldn't find what she expected...
"Funny story, little Red..." Big Bad stepped forward again, dropping a spade from his left hand while the gun hung from his right, "Kinda hard to explain, I'm not sure I understand it myself. It's, ahh... You know how sometimes, there's things that a bunch of things people all think about? Certain things they love or want or hate that are universal, or widespread through a community?" There was a total disconnect between his face and the weapon. He was awkward, earnestly searching for words as the gun began to rise in Dani's direction, moving like it was sniffing the air...
--
Boog raised an eyebrow as Sahlena carried Stygian in, looking more drunk than properly damaged. Oh yes, he was injured and his clothes were messed up, but Boog had seen plenty of people for whom those fit with drunkenness perfectly. It fit him, certainly. He didn't particularly want to get up. The girl with the oddly-shaped thoughts was about to fight, and he wanted to see this. And things were just getting interesting with the book. Besides, the robot seemed to have things well in hand...
Briefly, he considered the man's likely behavior when he woke up in the infirmary, then sighed and checked his pocket for the Key.
"Always." He said, sliding out from behind the bar and falling in step behind the machine.
"So then, I was watching one of the other fights. Why'd he lose to the little slip of a thing?"
--
Richard, meanwhile, simply sipped his beer and watched the match between the musicians outside. Marya glared down at her most recent drink. She was bored, and not drunk. This was far from ideal.
There was no reply. And in obedience to her nature, and general human self-convenience, Andrea took this for the lack of a need to say anything, and thus all the permission she needed. She sniffed, and then proceeded out the front door with an easy swagger. Rolling her fingers slightly and shaking down her slightly stiff back, she looked back at the clearly somewhat uneasy Dekuyaketh.
'Right... About the conditions...' she said, a bit distractedly. 'Fight until either of us gives up or can't fight anymore?'
- -
The man planted a foot down with a heavy stomp, and grunted as another gust of wind hit him, slowing him down again until he was almost still once more. A few slashes crisscrossed his clothes and one appeared at the corner of his eye, a scraping noise coming from his sword as he brought it up just a half second or so before to deflect the blow. Pressing forward, he began to weave and dodge, sweeping and swinging his blade in what would to any unobservant bystander have seemed an erratic fashion, hard pangs of metal being struck coming from him in tight intervals. That hard, eerie light was growing, a blur in the curve behind his every movement, and a vein stood out in his forehead.
'Oh, I can dance...!' the man barked, tight muscular movements cutting his speech. 'Now let's see you take your turn!'
There was a blur, and then the man's sword seemed to take on a life of its own. Coming around in a complex set of curves, driven a lot faster than he should have been able to swing it, it tore through the air, three whip-like snaps coming from its tip. The air tore up, turning into a hurricane, three blurry lines of invisible force writhing forward through the air like metal cables snapping under stress. One earthed itself in the ground in front of Linos, and a cascade of dirt and stone sprayed up toward him, while the other two sizzled almost straight toward the panther.
- -
The machine gave Boog one look which said it all. Other creatures didn't have the same aptitude for reading unnatural things like her, but the Boogeyman, being a rather unnatural occurrence himself and unburdened by things like instinctual responses and trained emotional reactions could see it rather clearly. The boorish hopelessness came across perfectly.
'
:she poisoned him,' the machine droned, twisting through the door and not quite accidentally bumping Stygian's head against the doorframe. '
:and he went down , and so she won,' she continued, after what could have been a sigh, laying the man down on an unoccupied bed and starting to survey his wounds. '
:and now no doubt she's going to be real joyous and keen and hang around him filled with smug superiority, thinking that she's getting to him as...'
The machine stopped. For a moment, it seemed she was staring at the torn and bloody arm directly in front of her, but when the lens inside her main oculus shifted it was clear that she was looking higher up. From under torn and dirty bangs of hair, Stygian was glaring at her. A bit drowsily still, but the typical fiery gleam was there. And had Boog or Sylvie stood on the other side of the bed, they might have seen his thumb pressing against the machine's hand.
Had Sahlena had a traditional mouth, she would have grimaced slightly. Instead, she made a metallic clack from somewhere within her neck, and then took her hand away, raising it to make a noncommittal little wave.
'
:fine. he'll be fine,' she said. '
:he always is. just give him a shot of some picker-upper and some dextrose, and then bring him something to burn.' She leaned down over the man, and poked him in the chest. '
:and then, when he's up on his feet again, he can start working on my damn upgrades.'
Machine and man stared at one another for a bit, and then Sahlena turned and walked smartly off.
Outside the inn, a small clear space a short distance from the door suddenly realised it shouldn't be where it was, it ought to be somewhere else. Anyone looking in that direction would have seen a brief moment of distortion as the small chunk of space
here shuffled aside apologetically to swap places with another chunk of space
not-here. When the distortion cleared, it revealed a tall, slender figure wrapped in an ornately embroidered long cloak, with a deep hood covering the head. The newcomer looked around for a few seconds, then headed for the door.
Inside, the newest arrival shrugged her cloak back over her shoulders and pulled her hood down, revealing her face. She was a lioness, a bit over six feet tall, with dark tan fur and curly black hair. Quite a lot of fur was visible, in fact: under the cloak she wore sleeves and a brief top — not connected to each other — and a knee-length tabard style sideless skirt, all in tones of sparkly crimson and charcoal. She had a sheathed dagger strapped to her right thigh, and in her left hand she held an intricately engraved metal staff, a little longer than her arm.
The lioness stepped away from the door, her bare paws padding quietly on the floor, and looked around, her tail swishing in slow S-curves at her hocks. Her ears perked up and she smiled when she spotted another lioness perched on a stool at the bar. She stalked forward, her pawsteps now almost silent, until she was close enough... then she pounced.
- - - o O o - - -
Andrace was just finishing her second beer and wondering what she could do next, when her whiskers twitched and a familiar scent came to her nose. Without moving anything but her eyes, she glanced for a moment into the big mirror behind the bar. She waited until the darker lioness had committed herself to lunging forward, then she twirled round on the barstool and caught her in a rib-straining hug. "Hey, Despina, how are y' — an' how's th' others?" she roared happily. "Everythin' OK back at Crundale? Did y' get th' mess cleared up? Sorry I dumped all that on y', sis, but I
had t' get out o' there!"
Despina Kithara coughed and took a deep breath to let her ribcage go back to its proper shape after her sister's hug. "Ah, don't worry 'bout it, Andrace," she said with a dismissive wave of her tail, "that'd upset anyone. Th' job's all sorted out, Irene an' Zach got th' bodies cleared away an' saw t' th' bounty, some o' th' survivin' guards kicked up a fuss so we set Zoe on 'em, an' Eugenia finally stopped laughin'. So, where are we, an' what's goin' on? Th' trackin' spell had t' go a long way t' get a lock on y'." She glanced around the room curiously, her gaze lingering on the viewing spell showing the ongoing fights.
Witt watched the tall, dark lioness slip inside the door, and sneak up behind Andrace, smirking into his drink at the way she turned the pounce around. They seemed to be friends, from the conversation afterwards.
After a moment's thought, he flipped out a coin, and tapped it on the bar. After all the drinking, and watching the fight with Big Bad, he figured he needed something to eat. "Yo, 'Thing. I could do with a bite. Reckon someone back there could make up... hmm, blueberries, banana, bacon, maple syrup... a short stack of pancakes?"
He set the coin spinning, one-handed, with a snap of his fingers, and added "Failing that, another 307 ale would do."
...Keaton:Keaton's new acquaintance flamboyantly introduced himself, presenting a name that she was probably going to forget in the next minute or so. She was rather grateful that he also offered a more simplified nickname, so she decided to refer to him as such. Grinning coyly, she echoed the word "Bas" under her breath, testing the weight of the word, before she nodded her approval. "Alright. I can remember that," she said. However, at the mention of alcohol, she had to resist the urge to retch instinctively. Fighting off the nausea, Keaton forced a slightly weaker grin. "Uh, no thanks. Already had something."
That was the understatement of the century. She probably now had more alcohol than blood swimming in her body. The effects of inebriation were still profound, lingering in the aftermath of her tremendous hangover – she was undeniably more malleable than usual, but the compliments given by Basilisk were equally soothing. He had already glided into her good graces, much to Xianxi's quiet mortification. The Demi smoldered with palpable animosity, channeling all of his aggression through the stoic glare he shamelessly directed at the back of Bas's head. Keaton cheerfully ignored her pet's (he was once more demoted to a more condescending position as her consternation with him grew) agitation and restored her flimsy composure.
"Name's Keaton," she said.
---
...Dekuyaketh:Finally, something was happening! Dekuyaketh looked up from the task of cleaning his fingernails, having produced a nail filer for more efficient grooming. He stopped midway through drawing his claws along its length and quickly pocketed it, fixing Andrea with a cockeyed stare of skepticism. At least she was giving him a few alternatives other than simply ordering him to enter a ring and beginning the ritual of beating each other senseless – for that, he was grateful. Dekuyaketh was having difficulty deciding which option would be the wisest.
"Gives up," Dekuyaketh conceded. He had a feeling he was going to regret this
somehow but it seemed to be the less adventurous of the choices he was generously offered. He wondered if this woman would be as compromising in the battlefield. Given his luck, he doubted this was likely.
Dani's first statement was remarkably calm, considering that she'd just destroyed some grandma's house. "Huh. Didn't think that would actually work." She backed away from the house as it fell, leaning dangerously towards her, then simply crashing into itself. She was relieved at first to see that no-one besides her target had been injured. But then, she was proven quite wrong, and tightened her grip on the glaive yet again. Her knuckles weren't white yet, but they were getting there.
She listened to the thought, as his gun hunted her out. "Well, yes. But I don't know quite what concept you're supposed to represent, if that's the word you were looking for. I wouldn't guess a fear right off the bat, but it would sure as hell explain a lot." As she spoke, she focused on a place to attack. His face looked distracted, but he'd looked like a skinny banker and turned out to be anything but, so the best thing to do was surprise and attack where it was unexpected. So Dani moved her hand discreetly along her weapon's handle, and snapped the knuckle of one thumb.
Firecrackers promptly exploded up and out of every house's chimney, to the delight of any children still outside and to the shock of anyone else. As the loud noises and sparks were going on, Dani moved in and swiped her blade at Big Bad's legs.
----
"The little slip of a thing is right here," Sylvie said as the Boogeyman made his query. She was only a little indignant; she knew nothing much was meant by it, but one point of her winning that fight had been that now Stygian and she were square. Sure, the nickname was probably well earned, given that she had used more magic than physical strength in the fight, but she didn't want to still look weak when she'd just knocked someone out by breathing.
Then Sahlena spoke up. She, too, seemed oblivious to the Green's presence in the room, but it was an intentional sort of obliviousness. She was completely shocked by what the machine said, and might have actually protested had Stygian not moved then. It was just enough to keep her at bay, and enough to keep Sahlena from saying any more. She let them have their mild confrontation and watched Sal leave before she moved her chair to his side instead.
"I don't suppose you can move your mouth yet?" she asked. "Of course, you don't need to until later. But once you do, I wouldn't plan on doing anything till I get my victory spoils." There was mischief in the oh-so-brief smirk she flashed, but it wasn't directed at him. Though it had faded a good bit now, she was still relishing her victory a bit. But just as soon as it had appeared, the smirk faded as she recalled something else and snapped her fingers in a non-verbal 'darn it!'.
"I almost forgot to mention; I think I stabbed his lung," she told the Boogeyman. Upon saying this, another realization came to her. She blinked, and then looked at her staff. It was still in one piece, but Stygian's blood seemed to have burned pieces off of it. She silently cursed, then cast a quick spell that encompassed her staff and began slowly repairing it. Then she redirected her attention to Boog, though her eyes were still glowing. "I don't know if he can heal that himself or not. I'm just mentioning it in case."
Bas began to ease his hand back to prop up his chin, he was looking with an almost lazy gaze at the girl across from him, keeping his eyes level with her's. He bit the front of his lip slightly, giving an almost timid look momentarily before a lazy grin matched the rest of his face, he then said, "Keaton?, Quite the beautiful name, slightly exotic edge to it, and, seemingly quite fitting."
He left a pause for a moment, hoping she caught the nuance of the compliment and began rubbing his chin in quite contemplation, "Such a delightful young woman you seem to be, and yet, you choose to hide in quite corner. I'm intrigued by you madame... But, before i start seeming too forward. Is there anything you would like to know about me?" He let his lazy grin turn coy again, and his calming tone began adding playful notes as the demon spoke.
Despina's ears twitched, then laid flat back on her head. Had she just heard someone say that hated nickname...? Her tail lashed once from root to tuft, and a low rumbling came from deep in her chest that didn't sound friendly enough to be a purr. She turned to glare at the hedgehog, then stalked towards him, unclipping her cloak and tossing it over her shoulder as she went. Andrace sighed in bemusement as the cloak draped over her head. "An' here we thought it was Zoe had th' shortest temper o' th' lot o' us," she said from under the folds of green and gold cloth.
Despina stopped right beside the hedgehog's barstool, close enough to loom over him. She tapped her metal staff meaningfully on her shoulder. "Y' want t' say that again... half-pint? I didn't hear y' right th' first time," the lioness said with a constant snarling undertone in her voice. It was probably just a trick of the light that made her eyes appear to have a slight fiery red glow to them. Probably. It certainly would have been tricky to spot the quick gesture the lioness had made with her right hand just a few moments before.
Behind her, Andrace raised a corner of her sister's cloak, peeked out, then let it flop back over her snout. "No, officer, I've never seen th' woman b'fore in m' life," she muttered quietly. She said it several more times, apparently trying to practice an innocent tone of voice, but never quite succeeding. It didn't help that she was also trying, maybe not all that hard, not to laugh.
Andrea gave the eerie sphinx-like creature a nod of confirmation, mastering her expression and straightening her jacket needlessly. She certainly had no intention of beating the Maine Coon-demon senseless either, mainly because she probably didn't even need to do in order to win. There would be no use to victory if she couldn't come out on top like that. If she couldn't...
'Right then. My victory terms... Hm,' she chuckled, then smacked her lips once. 'If I win, you have to obey one order from me. Now, whenever you're ready.' She turned swiftly on the spot, and then stepped into a ring. Now, all there was to decide on was a battlefield. Or, rather, in her case, to wait for Dekuyaketh to decide one, and hope that he picked something at least approaching manageable. Hopefully, the fight wouldn't be played out on a too physical level, she thought, so anything but the insane would be alright.
She flinched. For a moment Andrea replayed that last thought in her head. And then, she smirked. It would be appropriate, after all. And she was familiar with the environment, which in this case was an unfortunate fact. If only she could somehow suggest to him...
For a very brief moment, Dekuyaketh felt a strange sense of nostalgia. Something came over him and was gone in a flash, unable to maintain any influence over him, but for a second he had a sort of
tight feeling around his wrists and ankles, and could almost feel a dry and cushioning feeling that made him think of... padded walls?
- -
Calmly yet intensely, gleaming with analytical apprehension, Stygian's eyes followed Sylvie closely from their fixed position in his apparently immobile head. They seemed to narrow tiredly just a hair when he saw her slight swagger, but his face didn't give away whether if he were making an expression of appreciation or disdain. As she pulled up a chair, he felt like sighing, or possibly moving his ragged limbs a bit to catch attention. He experienced a moment's feeling of hopelessness for the people around that failed to notice how he was bleeding.
Then, Sylvie spoke up. Her smirk gave an edge to her words, and a brief kaleidoscopic pattern of ideas and images flashed through Stygian's mind. His
mouth? In particular? He could imagine all sorts of implications to that comment, most of them pleasant, but knowing Sylvie and taking into account how she had acted before, his mind, so very machine-like and logical, led the idea like a current through a circuit board, taking the simplest and most probable path without fail. She was going to have him
talk about something? Divulge
secrets?!
Imperceptibly, Stygian's back muscles tensed. As the elf turned her attention elsewhere, his eyes, now quite more open and attentive, flicked their gaze over the room as he began searching for bottles and syringes, looking for sedatives or pain relievers. A couple of fingers on his damaged hand twitched, and his wounds gently began to sizzle.
The most unpleasant mistakes were always those that one couldn't get a hunch that one was making.
Witt glanced over his shoulder, then turned. He noted the big lioness he'd drunk under the table - not that that narrowed it down, but she'd introduced herself as Andrace - appeared to be with this new lioness. That meant he probably shouldn't kick her tail immediately. Or maybe not - it appeared Andrace was giggling to herself at the reaction. Hmm.
He paused, looking her up and down. Or, at least, up and further up. Fortunately, the bar stool was raising his head a little from it's usual height. That meant he wasn't face-to-navel. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite face-to-face, either. More sort of... face-to-chest, which indicated, to those who might be inclined to think about it, what she might be annoyed about. Witt, sadly, was not such a person. He tilted his head to one side, and gazed briefly up at her, then responded.
"You're a long one, ain't you." He turned he had back over the bar. "Yo, keep. I think the lady is hungry. Make that two stacks." He fished out another coin, and set it spinning by the one already there, then turned back to Despina, raising one eyebrow. "Unless you're wanting something else. You prefer crepes, or waffles? Or should we stick with the pancakes? Any objections to bacon, maple syrup, and bananas?"
Kaela had been enjoying the rich and frothy taste of her next beer, one hand propping up her head as she watched the ongoing fights with a mute lack of interest. Her bald companion seemed to have dissapeared without further fanfare, and her sudden companion she had found in the Kithara hadn't lived up to her promise of swapping interesting war and adventure stories quite yet. Bloody hell, but I'm bored out of my wits. The thought passed by quietly as her claws clacked against the bar's surface, and she gave a slight glance towards the dark lioness entering the bar before returning to her brooding. Somehow, her brain didn't quite make the connection.
Had she been paying attention, she might have seen the incident coming. As it was, with her senses completely oblivious to the world, it could not have fared much worse for her. As the two sisters embraced one another happily, spinning in their mutual bar stool, something clipped Kaela's leg and sent her wildly off balance. As with most frequent patrons of various bars, the older wolf had the sense of mind to keep her alcohol from spilling all over herself despite her own lack of control. A loud thud bounced off of the walls of the establishment. Kaela opened her eyes to the sight of a particularly irritated lioness striding by to threaten the short hedgehog nearby and quietly clambered back up onto her stool. "What's gotten up her dress?" One hand rubbed the back of her skull as she took a drink of her miraculously unspilled beverage.
Practically walking into the door of the infirmary, as though expecting it to get out of her way out of deference to her irritation, Sahlena emerged back into the bar with a most un-machine-like desire to drink, be rude and meddle with things. She stopped by the table on which still lay the scattered components of the upgrade kit from before and took a scathing look at them. She picked up a little gleaming composite plate, studded on the backside with a carpet of carefully soldered little fibrous rods, and turned it over in her fingers, then tossed it back into the pile carelessly.
The machine was stewing with frustration. She knew Stygian. It was the same thing as always. He got nowhere, dug himself down in things, and expected her to put up with him as he did. And when this was all over, when this clumsy attempt to hook up with the elf he'd made had failed and next the inevitable unsuccessful distractions were over, he was going to take it out on whatever he could, quite probably her to some part. And she wouldn't even get an upgrade, or any of that time to enjoy herself that she'd hoped for. What joy.
The machine's multi-attentive mind picked up on something. She cast one look at the door down into the cellar, where that great dark storeroom still lay, and a few calculations flashed through her processors and settled into her RAM as she picked up on the way some of the light and heat 'curved' around the door downstairs. Then she turned her sensors toward the bar, where the most recent conflict was developing, and in her irritation she just didn't care to stay out of things. She strode over to the bar, suggesting her way in next to Witt and smacking down a note on the counter.
':i'll just help myself here...' she said, as she quite literally extended one arm and rummaged around among the bottles behind the counter. She then looked over Witt's spiky head, placing all the gazes of her seven eyes on the newly arrived lioness.
':don't reward him. his type likes the attention,' she said, pouring herself a generous shot of vodka and reaching for the tomato juice next. ':my advice, if you're not hungry, is to keep him hanging.' Next came the sauces, and then, with record speed, the machine was sipping on a rather dirty Mary. ':eventually, he'll just have blueberries...' she said.
Something in the right place for an ear twitched under the draped cloak. Andrace pulled the cloth off her head and ran her fingers through her hair to tidy it up... as much as it ever was, anyway. Keeping one eye and ear on her sister, she leaned towards Kaela with a wry smile. "Ah, that's m' little sister Despina," she said, "I left th' rest o' th' Pride in a bit o' a mood th' other day, an' she usually follows on a bit later t' see if I need cheerin' up — she's a good kid. Well, I say little, she's near my height, but she ain't got it... not like me an' th' girls have, knowhatimean?" The lioness winked, and let a sensuous wriggle run down her spine, from the base of her skull to the tip of her tail, undulating all points in between and leaving little doubt as to the identity of "the girls".
"Anyway," Andrace continued, "that's th' problem, she's just a leetle bit sensitive 'bout it, even m' baby sister Eugenia's got more o' a figure. An' then Zoe... o' course, it had t' be her... came up wi' that silly nickname. Y'know, pancake, as in "flat as a" — an' now she kinda blows her stack every time she hears it. We're not sure how serious she is 'bout it, though. I mean, she gets kinda loud, but she never hurts anyone that don't d'serve it... too bad, an' she hasn't even blasted any holes in th' walls or ceilin'... yet."
Boog watched Sahlena engage in the most sedate "storming off" he'd ever seen, but a storming off he was pretty sure it was. Girl was pissed. He looked down at Stygian in the bed.
"Wonder what you're after this time...?" He mused, turning away as Dr. Holic entered the room. "Wouldn't worry about the punctured lung, kiddo. I'm pretty sure I've seen him grow the whole thing back before anyway. Then a spare, for laughs."
Holic nodded though, listening carefully to Sylvie's testimony of the man's damages. "We'll do everything we can for-" When Stygian's wounds started sizzling, though, he took a step back and set his sutures aside. "... As I was saying, everything we can for him after that stops happening. Or after I finish getting my heavy duty gloves, one moment please."
--
Boog was back in time to receive Witt's order. Or had he left that room at all? Regardless, picking up on the man's thoughts on the newcomer (another lion chick), he grinned and starting making his way toward the small "kitchen" behind the bar. "Want 'em with blueberries on 'em?" The newcomer looked annoyed, but hell, she'd keep for a minute.
--
"Nah, not a concept, I think it's like I ate a- whoops!" Big Bad jumped out of the way of the blade, stepping up into the rubble of the suburban two bedroom home, next to a fireplace that still had pictures of grandchildren on it. "I think I ate a concept. Or it ate me. And now I'm this." He laughed, humorlessly, "An office dork, always was. Don't think I don't know, saw it in your eyes when you first met me. You think so too. But I didn't feel so weak because if I ever really got mad, ever really got sick of how they treated me, well, at home I've got a gun..." He laughed once. Or did he bark? "God made men." The gun snapped up, barrel zeroing in on Dani. "Sam Colt made them equal."
Despina's immediate response to the hedgehog — perhaps "helped" by the robot's snide comment — was a deepening of her rumbling growl. She didn't seem to be really listening to anyone, though: with her ears flat back and her tailtip making abrupt twitches from side to side, the girl appeared lost in a wash of fury. Her right hand dipped behind her back for a moment, then came back up in a quick movement. She grabbed the front of the hedgehog's jacket and lifted him with little apparent effort until his face was level with hers. This also gave him a closer view of her muzzleful of long, sharp pointy fangs — all of which were revealed by her expression — and the heavy metal staff still propped against her shoulder, held in her other hand. "Think y're talkin' tough, do y', shorty?" she snarled, quietly but in a convincing display of near-berserk wrath. "Think y' c'n just shoot y' big mouth off at any delicate little girl that happens along, do y'?"
Andrace had tensed for a moment as she watched her sister, but now she grinned and leaned back against the bar in a much more relaxed posture. "Now I know she's just been playin' it up all along," she muttered in an aside to Kaela. "She might be fumin' a bit, but if she really felt as spittin' mad as she's actin', she'd have grabbed 'is throat, not 'is jacket — an' got a nice firm grip wi' 'er claws." The lioness had also noticed that quick gesture Despina had made behind her back. She wasn't sure of Witt's exact weight, but she knew to within ten pounds what her next-younger sister could lift one-handed. That grab shouldn't have looked so easy... unless there was a thumb on the scales somewhere.
"So, wanna make a bet, Kaela?" she said to the old wolf, just loud enough to be heard the full length of the bar. "Th' next round o' drinks on whether m' little sister c'n beat Spike there."
Witt raised one eyebrow as he was lifted off the floor, apparently without effort, but his expression didn't change, even as his feet dangled above the floor. Neither did he flinch from the growl, nor the claws in his jacket, nor yet even the teeth. He turned his head to the side, keeping one eye locked on Despina's gaze, and raised the bottle in his other paw to his lips, draining it with aplomb.
He lowered it from his lips, and spoke to the thing behind the bar, making a vague circling motion with his other paw. "Hey, is this enough of a damned circle for you?"
With that, he flipped the bottle, caught it by the neck, and paused for a moment. He glanced at the bottle, looked over at the lioness, then the other way at the barthing. He muttered something unprintable, spun the bottle in his paw and placed it neatly down on the bar. He then turned his attention back to Despina, raised his spines, and went on. "Fuck, yes."
With that, he gripped her wrist in one paw, and slammed both steel-toed boots into her solar plexus, twisting in her grip to stand one foot on her chest, and kick her in the chin with his other, riding the collapsing body like a surfboard. As he did so, his hand twisted her wrist, using the leverage of her paw to pop it free from his jacket. As the two of them landed on the bar floor with a thump, his foot kicked back off her chest and he rolled backwards, spines out over her legs, and back up to his feet. Resting one elbow on a barstool, the other on his hip, he enquired "Shall we take this bloody party outside?"
Sylvie nodded, almost glancing at Stygian as Boog referenced him but not long enough to notice where his eyes were. She wasn't sure if he was still capable of healing himself, though. If so, why hadn't he upon completion of the fight? Of course, it was probably a much more difficult task to purge one's body of a poison than it was to heal physical injuries, depending on who and what you were.
That thought drew her mind back out of itself, and she finally looked at Stygian again. But this time, she noticed where his eyes were looking.
"Oh, will you calm down?! You act like I just asked you to summon a Fiend via sacrifice!" Summoning a Fiend was a pain in the ass unless you were used to killing. But of course, there was the problem of having no-one available to sacrifice. The captain had lost a leg, and arm, and an eye that way during battles where they'd needed more help.
"I'm not going to ask you where any bodies are hidden, or whether you've killed any political rulers, or any of that. Why would I want to know any of that anyway? I'm not interested in things like that." She sat back in her chair. She wasn't going to say exactly what she wanted of him, but he at least deserved to know what she didn't want to hear.
----
Dani's confusion steadily turned into a glare as she missed, and then listened to what Big Bad had to say. She knew his type, and she'd never, ever liked them. Cowards were the ones who resorted to guns to solve problems instead of just slugging it out or better yet, just talking, but of course it was useless telling that to this one. Her teeth gritted in frustration. She knew he'd come from some sort of story beyond her world, she recognized it deep at the back of her mind, but she just couldn't externalize the thought...
Then, it occurred to her. She didn't need to know the story he'd come from to know how to deal with this type. She'd had to, all too often, in the workplace. As long as she could keeep in mind that this one seemed a wordier, more cunning sort than them, she could pull something off...
"My, what a misguided theory you have," she said softly, with a weird smile on her face. "I've only met a few people like you. Most office dorks regret their actions the moment they see the inside of a prison. Whatever concept you bonded with must have been a hell of a bad guy." As she spoke, she slowly drew her blade up to guard her chest and vital organs, every muscle tense and her eyes on the gun in his hands.
Sylvie's words didn't seem to calm the man though. His eyes were practically sizzling, and his formerly placid expression seemed to be slowly coming alive once more. He wasn't quite glaring, but he was giving the elf a solid stare so filled with unuttered dislike that it would have been hard for anyone to sit still. The room seemed to be getting hotter, and it wasn't all because of how the man's flesh seemed to be starting to char slowly.
'Hmnld,' Stygian suggested, head wobbling just a hair, giving the impression he was struggling to lift it off the cardboard-like slab that passed for a cushion which was standard to beds in anything that wasn't strictly a hospital. Slowly, and with a few false starts, his face screwed up and hardened. 'Nghu...' he groaned, as he had another go at it, which only seemed to make him more frustrated. He made an exasperated face and let his head slump back down.
Truthfully, considering that he had some difficulty reading the elf due to her lack of a heartbeat and her almost eukalyptus-like scent, Stygian had far less to affirm his feeling that he was going to seriously dislike what was to come. But it was still there. And there was the fact that in addition, he could sense the elf's thoughts. Not strongly, nor clearly - he was still puzzling out the relevance of the movements and expressions of her alien mind, and there also seemed to be something obscuring his perception of it; a haze that might have been his own momentary fatigue and pain - but still with a careful closeness, like the shifting heat and texture of the swirling surface of a steaming cup of tea, which gave him at least some clue of the deeper movements. And what he felt, of frustration and reluctance and what might have been attempts at planning or dissembling, suggested that she would be inquiring into something emotional. Again, not quite visibly, he tensed a bit. Then, he reached out.
Fine. Shoot then. The voice that arrived in Sylvie's head, somewhere behind her and still not quite, was at the same time a whisper and a harsh, clear call from far off. It growled and crackled somehow as it hit her neurons without going through her ears, calling up a sensation that she could only call 'heat', though that wasn't the half of it. It was as though one had taken away the actual searing of the sun or the burning of fire and merely placed the feeling of it in her head. Part of it was as smooth as the movement of air, and its warmth was like the sun on one's skin. But behind it, radiating that warmth, was something as hard as iron, and burning with... what? Something that, whatever it was, made Sylvie's wounds and exhaustion seem to want to insist on their presence all that more, and made a pit in her stomach.
What reason is there to hesitate? You have me, Stygian spoke up again, somewhere in between the elf's ears and her brain. I'm not the sort that likes laying around without anything to do, so getting this over with right now would be a courtesy.
Despina might have been on the verge — apparently — of berserk fury, but her training still made her divert part of her attention on the hedgehog's bottle-wielding hand, just in case he tried to stab her with the bottle, after smashing it across her muzzle to get some nice sharp points. It was her sister Zoe's favourite bar-fighting technique, after all. The double kick in the gut therefore took her completely by surprise: her eyes bulging, she croaked breathlessly and started to lean forward, her grip on the hedgehog's jacket loosening, just in time to catch the toe of his boot on the underside of her muzzle. She flopped backwards, half dazed, and crashed to the floor, spitting blood from a bitten lip. Adding injury to insult, the hedgehog's heavy boots thumped into a not so well padded part of her chest as he came down on top of her. Andrace covered her eyes with one hand, leaned over to lay her muzzle on Kaela's shoulder, and whimpered quietly. Although it did sound suspiciously like she was trying not to laugh out loud...
Unlike her sister's more rugged adventuring outfits, Despina's favourite type of clothes were lightweight, not to mention scanty, so when the hedgehog rolled back off of her, his spines went right through her skirt. Thick fur gave the lioness some protection, but she still hissed from the pain when he rolled away leaving a dozen or so small bloodstains tracking down her thighs. Gathering her wits, her breath, and her dropped staff, she rose to a crouch and glared at her opponent, almost visibly radiating anger from bristling whiskers to lashing tail. "Outside, yeah, that suits me fine," she snarled, blood dripping from her muzzle and running along her whiskers. "Y' got th' first cheap shot in, now it's my turn." As she stalked towards the door, Despina noticed the pinprick puncture wounds hurt a lot more. By the time she was outside, her thighs were a solid red-hot bar of agony and itching from hips to knees, although the only outward sign she let show at first was a slight limp and an irregular twitch in her ears and whiskers.
Inside, Andrace peeked through her fingers. "Deary, deary me," she sighed with a wry grin. "Despina, m' darlin' sister, when we get home I'm gonna chase y' round th' trainin' arena a few times, an' give y' a good thumpin' if y' deserve it."
Witt smirked at Despina's comment. "Yeah, yeah."
As she left, he turned back to the barthing, flipping out another coin and placing it on the bar. "Hold the fucking pancakes, I'll be back soon. And another damned 307 ale, to go."
H grabbed the bottle, and swaggered towards the door, muttering something about it being entirely too damn early for explanations, and him entirely too fucking sober for this...
Once he reached the door, he sauntered straight past Despina, and over to a spare circle, taking a drink as he did so. As he reached the edge of the circle, he paused, and turned back to her. "No killing." With that, he took another drink, and stepped into the circle. As he did so, the light flickered for a moment; when it returned, he was stepping through the door back into the bar. And yet, not the bar...
The voice in her head wasn't like Andrea's speech, or like the spell of another mage infecting her with words. It was ... hot. It was like the feeling of the forest around her, inside her head. But it was hardened by something. Something cold, and exhausting, that made her feel as though her injuries were far from healing and someone had dropped ice into her stomach. She hadn't expected it to be this unpleasant, but all she wanted to know was this. As long as she could know one thing, it would make the end decision easier.
"Okay, then," she said, shifting a bit so she wasn't looking down her nose at him. "I like you. You're smart, cool, powerful, and the closest I've ever come to falling in love. But you're right about what you said earlier. I need to know about you before I really know what my interest is. So I'll be frank. What are you, exactly? Please tell me."
Despina snorted disdainfully as she concentrated on not showing how much her legs were hurting. "Who said anythin' 'bout killin' y'?" she said. "Y'd make a lousy rug f'r curlin' up on in front o' th' fire. B'sides, if I did, Irene an' Andrace'd nail my pelt t' the wall." She followed the hedgehog into one of the circles she'd noticed earlier, and paused when a convincing lookalike of the bar's interior appeared around them. The lioness had to admit grudgingly that it was an impressive performance, she hadn't noticed him casting any sort of illusion spell, and here they were in one of the best all-senses illusions she'd ever seen, complete with sounds, smells, and people.
Despina smiled toothily, and her ears and whiskers perked forwards. "Hey, we've not been intr'duced yet," she said cheerfully. "I'm Despina Kithara — if y' talked t' m' sister Andrace back in th' bar, she prob'ly mentioned me. Th' big lump can't keep 'er muzzle shut sometimes. An' who've I got th' pleasure o' poundin' int' a tent peg...?" Her posture, her smile, and the lazy side-to-side swishing of her tail all said that it would indeed be a pleasure. She twirled her staff flamboyantly, almost like a drum-majorette, and flexed the claws on her free hand, looking ready to leap into a fight at a moment's notice. Her legs were moving a little stiffly, though, and her smile was becoming strained: the wounds in her thighs weren't bleeding much, but the pain and itching was getting steadily worse.
Inside the real bar, Andrace sat up straight, her ears semaphoring back and forth. "Ah... did anyone tell m' sister th' rules o' th' Circles?" she said, "or that there are rules? Don't want her t' hurt Witt too bad..."
Witt raised one eyebrow, briefly, at the description of Andrace. "Sister? Oh, the big softy couldn't even handle her fucking drink." He lowered the eyebrow, and raised the bottle in his hand, taking a hefty gulp; nearly half the contents of the curiously shaped bottle vanished before he lowered it, and placed it, the remaining contents vaporising steadily, neatly on the bar she'd followed him to.
He then smiled sweetly, and took her paw in his own, in a firm, solid, and, unfortunately for her, nearly unbreakable grip. "You can call me Witt, if you like."
With that, he yanked her towards himself, off balance, and spun on one foot, aiming to bounce her off his back, and send her flying across the bar. With any luck, thoroughly pincushioning her on his spines.
If that landed, he could go get his damned drink again.
One would have thought that Stygian couldn't have gone more still, but as Sylvie's hasty explanation ended, a whole new level of chilly calm emanated out into the room from the man. His eyes fixed at some point far, far in the distance. Thoughts passed, and there was a feeling of... tension. A feeling of stress. The pressing silence of someone listening, but reaching into one's very mind. Like an echo of that voice, but directed the other way. She could feel that gut-clenching presence, hard and hollow, absorbing the sound of her words and thoughts.
Something seemed to shudder, as if something had struck it. And like a piece of hot metal under a hammer, that hollow feeling went a little bit harder.
I am a man, the voice rang out, cold and callous even in spite of its other qualities. I am what you get when you take a man, and you wound and harden his soul so long that it turns into diamond. His stare remained fixed somewhere beyond the ceiling. It stayed there in a silence that went on for too long.
They call people like me "Furies" back home. It's to do with an old myth, about these vengeful female spirits, who would possess or haunt people who had committed terrible sins, driving them insane by... exaggerating them. Turning them into more of themselves than they could cope with. And much like those people, we who have been influenced become more than we are. More powerful. More outstanding. Larger than life, if you will. More human than human. He paused, drawing breath and then letting out a long sigh, muscles in his jaw clenching for a moment. Of course, some have taken up other nicknames - Saints, Daemons, Djinn... - but that's the research term, and those are just names. We are... people. Just people, driven to an edge, and then given power. Touched by the Aether. The potential was always there, it seems. We simply needed to understand it, needed the technology to bring it around. And now, we are.
There was another pause, solid as stone. The sounds of voices and scuffling from the bar seemed miles away.
It's something with the mind, you see, the man's voice sizzled on, cooling even further as it took on a note of thoughtfulness. To even attain the power, it seems that one needs a very special mindset. Hence the name "Furies". Because we're all, quite frankly, driven past what normal people should be. The man's eyes narrowed and the edges of his mouth quirked into a wry smirk. We... break, somewhere on the inside. And I guess that's what opens up the crack necessary to let the influence in. And then, slowly, one turns. Each in their own way. They let it flow out and take hold, express their pain. They give themselves up, and become something that surpasses the merely human. Once you feel it, you can't stop. You can't stop yourself from feeling or doing something that defines you, after all. Slowly, he turned his head on the square pillow.
'I used to be an electrical engineer,' he said, in a tone so emotionless it stung. 'I used to be a simple person. I had dreams and a sense of duty. I worked harder than I ought to have, I demanded much less than I deserved, and got far, far worse from life than any of it warranted. And through it all I held out, hoping for just one thing, to break through. I am just a man,' he said. His eyes settled slowly on her. 'And I am the death of a man.'
It was the most empty expression the elf had ever seen. It was nothing so simple as disconcern or dejection or disdain that filled the man's gaze as it bored through her. No word came readily to mind. He had spoken, with his own voice, and not in her head.
'Now you have your answer. You have all that I'm good for. You've beaten me, laid me bare. You have your satisfaction,' he said, his voice once more clean of any strange modulation. The next words he uttered were like acid nevertheless.
'That seems to be your interest. Why would you take any other words into your mouth?'
Despina flicked her ears back suspiciously when Witt reached out to shake her hand, but she was still taken by surprise when he pulled her off-balance and turned to give her a far from soft landing pad on his back. She yowled in outrage and cast a quick spell, the only thing she could think of that might keep her unperforated. Her tail slapped the floor, then she slammed her paws down and bounced into the air. Witt still held her hand, so she didn't go as high as she might have done. Just to make sure, she grabbed his hand just as hard so he couldn't just let go.
The lioness was still moving forward, though, so she didn't escape completely: her right arm brushed against his spines, leaving a row of cuts along her sleeve and a few scratches on her upper arm. As she sailed over the hedgehog, she swung her staff as hard as she could and brought it down towards his head. The rounded, flattened end was nice and heavy, just right to make a good impression on his thick skull, she thought.
As Despina left the ground, Witt realised he wasn't going to get to cuddle up to the lioness; if she was jumping over him, the only thing he could do was make sure she didn't land neatly. So he pulled down on the arms they had latched together, his and hers, aiming to slam her down into the ground. If possible, head-first.
The result was to bring her staff slamming down on the back of his picklehaube with a clang that resonated through the walls, clearly audible back in the (real) bar. Witt dropped to the floor as if he'd been poleaxed. Despina spun like a top from the resultant forces, pivoting around their clasped paws, and landed neatly on the floor on the other side of him. Unfortunately, neatly did not include actually on her feet - she landed flat on her back, with a hefty thwack.
At which point, Witt let her paw go. With a groan, he pushed himself back to his feet, eyes slightly crossed, and reached up, and back, to the back of his head. He hooked his fingers in under the edge of the spiked helmet, set his teeth, and pulled, hard. With an ugly sucking sound, followed by a loud pop, like the cork being pulled from a bottle, the heavily dented head covering came free. He moved it in front of his head, then back and forth, in and out, trying to get it to focus. Finally, he covered one of his eyes with his other paw, and stared at the hat. His eye narrowed, his spines stood out, and he took a deep breath, and let it out.
Slowly.
And then, he looked at Despina, who had just regained her breath, and her feet, and spoke, in a gentle, unhurried tone.
"You bitch." He placed the sadly uneven helmet on a table, where it rocked gently before falling over. "You gods-forsaken candy-arsed dog-chasing slit-eyed bitch. Do you damned well know how fucking long I've gods-damned had that bloody hat? It's on, now, bitch. You're fucking dead."
And with that, he grabbed the table next to him, one-handed, and swept it across where she was standing. Missing completely due to his still-blurry vision, but the thought was there.
Despina grunted in satisfaction as she heard and felt her swing connect with Witt's head. Not hard enough to kill him... probably. She'd promised, after all. Besides, the helmet ought to protect him enough. Probably. Still, the recoil of the impact swung her round, and she didn't have time to shift her posture before she slammed into the floor on her back, knocking the wind out of her.
Even half-stunned, though, she followed her training. Roll over. Crouch on all fours if that's all you can do. Find your weapon if you let go of it. Get your breathing under control and get back to your feet. The lioness had just managed the last of that when Witt spoke. He sounded upset. The table he tossed almost in her direction was no danger to her, but it was too good an opportunity to pass up to get this little fight past the warm-up stage. She raised a shield with a quick gesture and rammed it outwards as the table skittered past, the impact shattering it into kindling that flew in all directions. That should do nicely for a dramatic gesture.
As the debris clattered to the floor, Despina took a stance slightly turned to one side, striking a pose with her left leg forward, looking down at Witt with her eyes narrowed. She raised her right arm high behind her head and snapped her fingers. A bolt of lightning cast inky shadows as it ripped through the space between ceiling and floor right behind the lioness, outlining her body in dazzling light for a brief moment. Her skirt billowed and her hair and fur ruffled in the sudden blast of wind, and for several seconds electric sparks crackled among her hair, whiskers and tail-tuft. Less blinding, fat blue sparks crawled over her exposed pelt, and her eyes seemed to be made of white fire. "Silly me," she said with a husky purr and a wide, toothy grin, "I forgot t' intr'duce m'self properly. I'm Despina Kithara. Mage o' th' Kithara Pride. I've seen y' c'n do pretty good illusions, like this place here, let's see what else y' got..."
Witt paused, and shook his head to clear it, wincing. Nope, she definitely had sparks running all over her. Not caterpillars. He closed his eyes, shook his head again, muttering to himself "Oh, no, not again." Then he looked up at her, and sauntered closer. "Cute. You want to see what I fucking got? Right."
He shook his shoulders, settling his sleeveless jacket, and flexed his fingers out, then back into fists. Then he walked right up to her, an evil smile settling on his face. "See the hands? Nothing in my fucking hands, right?" He did the stereotypical magician's display, showing her both sides of his paws, the three tattooed letters across each set of knuckles standing out. "Nothing up my bloody sleeves." He pushed the sleeves he didn't have up, to demonstrate the lack of hidden tools or tricks. "Watch damned closely."
By this time, he was close enough to reach out and touch her. Still smiling, he laid his paws out, palms upwards, gently closed them into fists, then drove them forward like a steam hammer, both together, directly into her solar plexus. As the strike landed, the fat blue sparks congregated rapidly, sank their teeth into his paws, and roared up his arms before dissipating as she flew away from him; hardly suppressing a curse at all, he snagged a bar stool and leapt after her, intent on continuing the hammering.
What he hadn't counted on, of course, was the drinkers at the table she landed on leaping up, grabbing their chairs, tables, companions, or whatever came to hand, and laying about themselves with abandon, amid calls of "Hey, Mimo, watch zis!", "Dimo! Duck!", "That wasn't a weapon, that was a chair!" and the sound of shattering furniture, the chaos and confusion spreading wildly across the bar in all directions. A handful of mimmoths skittered under a table, causing Keaton and Basilisk to jump backwards, sending their chairs over and knocking drinks to the floor at the next table, the customers of which promptly roared to their feet in fury. On the other side, a thrown chair missed it's target, a large coat-wearing cat, and flew over to the bar, shattering on Kaela's backplate and sending Andrace ducking, the remaining splinters splashing into drinks at three different tables; the patrons at those tables promptly engaged Andrace in a heated discussion.
And heading directly towards the centre of the melee, barstool swinging, ran Witt, various denizens flying away from his advance.
Despina knew it was probably a mistake, but her feline curiosity got the better of her: she just stood there watching, the scratches on her arm beginning to sting more than a little, as Witt approached. Not for long, though, as the sucker punch folded her up like wet cardboard and sent her sailing backwards across the bar. A table broke her fall, and very nearly her tail. She sprawled in the middle of the wreckage for a moment, with all her wind knocked out of her. Again. She came back to her senses just in time to see and hear the chaos breaking out all around the room.
The lioness snarled and scrambled back to her feet. At least this time she'd kept a firm grip on her staff. Enough was enough: her stomach felt badly bruised, her muzzle still hurt where Witt had kicked her, and the increasing burning itch in her thighs would soon become a dangerous distraction. Almost as much of a distraction was the sight of her sister Andrace leaping from the top of the bar with a cheerfully bloodthirsty scream, right into the middle of a seething crowd of fighters.
Wait, wasn't she back in the real bar? Or was she an illusion, like all the other people in here? If it really was her sister, she could look after herself. Despina caught sight of Witt running towards her through the crowd — sometimes literally — waving a barstool. She bared her fangs in a vicious snarl and charged to meet him. She didn't completely forget her training, though, this time she had a shield spell active, one-way so she could still strike out through it.
Just as she raised her staff to aim a swipe at the hedgehog's makeshift weapon, and she took a deep breath to roar in his face, her stomach rumbled loudly.
Sylvie blinked, jarred by the void she saw in Stygian's eyes and the pain spitting in his voice. Those eyes were empty, not hurt, not disappointed, but...blank. Blank in such a way that it pained her to look at them. They were the eyes of a man who could never believe that something or someone good could come easily into his life – especially, she realized with a mental wince, after that one had been too hesitant to start anything earlier and had been acting rather on-and-off toward him ever since. But how could she make him see that all that hadn't been for some cruel, twisted reason? It was hard enough expressing even simple fear in words for her, but affection? After she left the forest and saw what her world was like, she thought she'd never have to speak about affection, especially not to a human. But if he was this untrusting of her, and she'd misled him so much already with her confusion, her only hope was to be honest, and nothing more. So, with a small breath and a steady face, she spoke.
"I wanted to know for exactly the reason I told you. I care about you, even though you confuse the hell out of me," she said simply, not mincing words or covering anything. "I'm sorry that such awful things happened to you, and I understand if all I've done convinces you not to believe me now. But it's true. You fascinate me, and while I may not be able to say for sure that I love you, I feel like you're the first person outside of my species and the gods who understands me. And even if I'm hesitant about some things, that's something I don't want to lose. I want to understand you better as well, not for some sort of closure or satisfaction, but because I want to know more about you. That's my interest."
With that, she looked over and directed a few words at Dr. Holic. "Haven't you found those gloves yet? Just because he can burn your equipment doesn't mean you can ignore him and hope he goes away."
Stygian's gaze lingered once more, not altering the slightest for a couple of moments. And then, silently, he turned his head back and laid it down against the cushion once more. One hand's fingers moved and drummed against the side of the bed slowly, and he closed his eyes for a while. The elf had enough time to get uncomfortable once more and note the sounds from the bar, before, first only at the edge of her hearing but getting clearer, she heard him hum.
'I want you... I need you... But there ain't no way I'm ever gonna love you~...' he sang, after a few pace-setting notes, his voice hoarse and faint. The tune was slow and mournfully ironic in its very melody, even without the lyrics. The reappearance of the bitter smile on the man's face wound up the tension once more, so that the elf barely needed to hear the words to know what was coming. It was like staring into rapidly approaching headlights with one's feet chained down in the road.
'And that's exactly the same thing,' Stygian said. His tone could have made mist form. He opened his eyes and stared out into nothing. Then, slowly and with a momentary start of pain, he pushed himself up to a seated position. He felt with a hand at the wound in his side, but merely absentmindedly. Then he swung his legs over the side of the gurney-like bed.
'Your care is noted, but it simply does not matter to me,' he went on. 'It does me about as much good as does pity. Or hatred. Or the momentary feeling of togetherness or pain.' He looked up into her eyes. 'Because of what I do... No, because of the way I am - the way I've been forced to become - I do not have the privilege of friends or close ones. I do not have the will for any. And absolutely no use for them. "Friends" can't help me. They couldn't give me anything that wouldn't fall apart in no time. And you...'
In a rather unnerving gesture, Stygian held up his damaged hand in front of him, visibly comparing it to the elf's own. It sizzled and charred at the edges, and his bony fingers flexed in ghastly, awkward motion.
'We are worlds apart. There is... a tremendous distance. But that is nothing I'd hesitate to cross for a cause. For an end. Even only the hope of one. It's been long since I felt hope. But you say you care?' His eyes hardened once again, and that emptiness stared through once more. 'I could care less for "caring". But not much.'
For a few moments, Stygian averted his eyes, his gaze traveling over the tray table next to the bed, then the cabinet beside it, searching for... something. His glare returned to the elf reluctantly.
'And then you say that you care because you've not met anyone who understands you before? That you're merely holding on to something for fear of losing that?' He shook his head. 'That's just the fear of losing something. It's not compassion, and it certainly isn't love. Which is why I advise you to stop caring, and walk away.' He stared at her blankly. 'And consider yourself fortunate that you don't have to feel for me.'
Real Bas's gaze slowly moved down keaton's shoulder, to the view of the rest of the bar. Patrons of all sizes were gathered around and seeming to be having a good time. Something, a orb-like spell suddenly caught his attention. Inside, appeared to be a perfect recreation of the bar they were standing in, with everyone who was in here, as well as several additions.
Inside the "fake" bar, "fake" Bas watched as the brawl broke out, starting with a lioness, similar to one of the girls at the bar, and some rather stout and spiky fellow. Suddenly his eyes caught something fly under the table, small, fuzzy and strange, it caused him to jump back, flailing his wings in an attempt to catch his balance. Once under control, the demon regained his focus. He brought a large and hardened fist into the face of the rather enraged customer who's drink his flailing wing had tipped. Looking around for any type of threat to him or keaton, something caught his eye at the very edge of his peripheral vision. One of the brown fuzzies that caused his momentary panic tried to skitter by. Bas promptly delivered a powerful punt, sending the little creature in a lower, flat, arc. straight towards the bar... and towards the face of a rather large lioness.
"I never planned to USE it! Not at first, until she showed up." Big Bad replied indignantly, for all the world sounding like a man wronged, "And she wasn't. She had her faults, yeah, but she FREED me!" He was getting more worked up, but there was still this disconnect between him and the weapon. If he just tucked it behind his back he's look like he was just having a tiff. The gun snapped back and forth to the machette a few times, as if he was trying to make up his mind...
"I'm just a sign of the times."
And then there was a woman in his place.
It was just like the change between the gun and the knife. First he was there, then there was someone else looking for all the world like a soccer mom, sweatpants and all. She blinked, once.
"What on-?"
Across the street a window slammed open. Big Bad leaned out and opened fire.
--
Boog blinked once at Andrace's concern about her sister knowing the rules.
"Oh..." He blinked again and grinned sheepishly, "Oops? I'm sure things will be fine..." He finished setting out Witt's pancakes on a tray behind the counter, for when he got back. "Seems like a capable girl."
"Wish I was in there, myself." Marya sighed from a nearby table. "I've only gotten to hit one person since I got here, I'm feelin' gypped. I mean yeah, I got shot, but that's hardly a damn substitute..."
Back in the real bar, Andrace peeked out from between her fingers at the viewer again, just in time to see her sister get punched in the gut and go flying through a table. She winced and looked away. Further along the bar, a canine Demon of some sort was sitting at Keaton's table, watching the viewer in fascination. She glanced back into the viewer, and saw in the background... another Keaton, and another canine Demon, beginning to get involved in the growing bar brawl. The lioness looked more closely, and spotted a few other familiar muzzles. Suddenly she snorted a laugh: was that herself in there?
In the Circle-created fake bar, the copy of her sister that Despina had spotted shook her hand and winced: those green-skinned guys with the funny hats were good brawlers, but hit them often enough, and hard enough, and they'd go down just like anyone else. It was fun, but hard on the knuckles. Just as she turned and opened her mouth to shout, a small brown hairy critter of some sort flew through the air towards her and bounced off her snout. It made an odd squeaking noise that sounded a bit like a tiny soprano elephant trumpet. The not-Andrace roared in outrage and looked back along the path the hairy ping-pong ball had taken. A couple of inches lower and that thing would have gone right down her gullet! She snarled as she spotted a guilty-looking canine Demon, then she bared her fangs and charged straight at him, running right over a couple of the smaller fighters who failed to get out of the way in time.
Inside the "fake" bar Basilisk watch in amusement as the little brown fuzz ball smacked into the face of Andrace, a big smirk appeared across the demon's face as the fuzzball bounced away like a fluffy brown dodge ball. However, one thing he hadn't planned on was the reaction of the recipient of his little punt. She looked rather pissed, claws exposed, teeth bared, and heading straight for him.
Bas flared his wings while hardening his skin, he, however didn't grow his claws. He circled away from Keaton, lowering himself slightly, and proceeding forward in a slow stalk. He continued to circle and let Andrace close the distance while bringing his wings back in. His hands formed loose fists and he began planning his moves. Waiting for her to come into range, Bas took a full body spin while flaring his wings, aiming the hardened, bony edge for her shin, and the hardened tip second wing for about her belly. A grin of delight parted his lips, and the demon said in a sing-song voice, "Here kitty kitty kitty, it's play time."
The door to the fight club quickly opened and closed as a femimine-looking figured made her way to the bar, where the barkeep dwelled. The girl had odd looking ears, a small triangluar piece of skin drooped over the tip of the ears. Her eyes had a warm brown look to them as she stared at the barkeep. "Sign me up for the next fight and quickly give me a brief description of the rules." a small smirk ran across her mouth as she stars back at the ring.
She quickly started to wrap her hands in bandages firmly then her feet. It was a custom for her to wear them in the ring, but she tends to wear them no matter what. "You got some creepy looking people around here, at least I'm sure I'm in the right place. I just hope your customers don't let me down." She sat back on a stool, her eyes attracted to the fight in the circle.
Andrace (the real one) was fascinated at the antics of her "double" in the Circle-created bar. She had all the right moves, she could fight as well as anyone Kithara-trained, but some things just seemed a little bit off.
In the fake bar, "Andrace" spotted the beginning of the canine Demon's counterattack. A mischievous gleam came into her eyes, and as the Demon's wings swept out to chop at her legs and body, her charging pace seemed to change almost to a skip, then she jumped straight up. She drew her knees up to her chest, and as the higher wing passed below her, she thust both legs out, her heavy paws (and all of her considerable weight) stamping on the wing's wrist joint. Bouncing up from that, she leaped forward with a deafening roar — slightly to one side of the Demon's head. As her pounce took her past him in what seemed to be a clumsy miss, her right arm shot out, at just the right height to catch his throat in the angle of her bent elbow.
Witt ploughed through the crowd, sweeping the stool down and flinging one of the green skinned visitors off to the side, over three rows of drinkers and starting a new furpile at a table over near the wall, or at least at what used to be a table before he arrived. The back-swing sent another one flying over to collide with the big demon fellow who was facing the other way, looking at the incoming lioness. At about that point, Despina arrived.
Her first strike collided with the barstool with a clang that shook her arm to the shoulder. The backstroke knocked it completely from her hand, and sent it flying across the room to embed itself in the wall next to the barthing's head, and vibrated there with a thrum. As the next forehand and backhand landed shattering blows on her shield, Witt's unladen hand flipped up a table, spun it, and brought the flat side down on her head, or at least as far up towards that as he could reach, with just about as much force as the barstool was bringing to her knees. And, provided the table stood up to the abuse, he looked like he could continue whaling on her all day...
The doppelganger Bas felt his wing get stomped, and yelped slightly in surprise. He watched as Andrace tried to perform a mid-air grab. The Demon started reaching towards her arm when he felt something slam into his back causing him to stagger. As the large lioness flew by, his head ducked instinctively, bringing the long and vicious horns straight towards the passing lioness, and, as her arm found a grip around Bas's neck, he felt his horns lightly graze through something soft and fleshy.
Andrace would find solid purchase on Basilisk's throat, however, upon landing, would also find a slightly wounded behind. Bas started bringing in his wings. He brought one arm towards the hand gripping his throat, and the other was sent with a flat palm-heel, straight towards Andrace's elbow.
Despina thought she was prepared when Witt came close enough again to attack her directly. She'd just heard a familiar roar of fury from across the room when the hedgehog's first strike broke her concentration, and almost her wrist. Dammit, he's strong, she thought as she took a two-handed grip on her staff, he can't be a Being, got t' be a disguised Creature o' some sort — ow! Witt's second wrist-straining smash with the badly dented barstool ripped the staff right out of her hands: it flew off over her shoulder, and she didn't dare take the time to see where it went.
The lioness shifted mental gears at once, although it was becoming harder to concentrate through the pain in her legs, and now she was beginning to notice the broken-plumbing noises coming from her stomach. Witt didn't make it any easier when he grabbed a table and began to smash at her shield with both blunt objects at once. It was holding for the moment, but every crashing blow knocked the shield — and Despina herself — a little bit further back. Only her claws' grip on the floorboards were stopping her from tumbling backwards and bouncing off the furniture, and the other fighters.
"That's enough!" Despina roared at last after one particularly hard crack over the head with the table left her ears ringing just from the noise that came unhindered through the shield. As her stomach rumbled and gurgled loudly, the lioness sheathed her fists in miniature cyclones and waited a moment until just after Witt's next strike. In quick succession, she dropped her shield, sent a small lightning bolt through the barstool, punched the table with a compact tornado-strength wind, and followed through with a similarly boosted haymaker punch aimed right at Witt's jaw.
At the other end of the bar, the fake Andrace's roar became a yowl of surprise as she slammed the canine Demon's back against the floor, and she felt something sharp rake down her back and cut into her rump. Blood trickled down her leg, but not too quickly, so it probably wasn't a serious wound. It would weaken her leg, though, she'd have to work around any problems that gave her. She saw the Demon's hand reaching for her own, and started to dodge, but she didn't see the other hand until it smacked into her elbow. The lioness yelped as her arm went numb. A discarded bottle rattled along the floor nearby; she reached with her working arm, grabbed it, and smashed it between the Demon's horns with her full strength.
Back in the real bar, the real Andrace winced, then grinned toothily. She grabbed a pretzel from a bowl on the countertop and tossed it at the canine Demon's snout. "Oi, horny!" she yelled cheerfully, "Be careful what "you" do wi' "my" butt!"
Bas had been watching fight rather intently, while a few thoughts came to mind, the first was why a supposed replica of himself would be fighting with such a pre... and then his train of thought derailed as a pretzel slapped off his snout, somersaulted into the air, and landed on the table, next the hand that wasn't propping up his chin. His head tracked the original location to the large lioness, who's doppelganger his own doppelganger was in the middle of a bar brawl with.
A smirk crossed his face at her comment, though rather than replying verbally, the demon grinned wickedly and gave a shrug. He turned his attention back to Keaton and the display of the battle.
"fake" Bas felt his arm get a solid blow, probably just a sprain because she managed to remove her arm from his throat in time, but a powerful blow none the less. Suddenly a bottle came pummeling down between his horns, and he was powerless to do anything close his eyes and rear into the blow, trying to slam her fist against his skull. He turned his ears way from the bottle and winced as shards of glass sprayed everywhere as he felt the shards stop pattering against his snout. Bas was slightly stunned while opening his eyes. Stars danced across his vision, and despite his state, he tried a rather sloppily executed move anyways. Swinging his legs out wide, while rolling onto his side, Bas tried to sweep kick Andrace while rolling towards where he expected her to fall... he hoped, oh so desperately to wind up on top of her.
The door of the bar burst open as a white wolf type Being dressed in all black combat gear, reminiscent of 21st century Earth Black Ops gear, came flying though head first, perhaps thrown in by an unknown advisory. Boots, pants, shirt, combat vest, gloves, all were smoking lightly as though he had just managed to escape the outer wall of fire of a large explosion. His hands came in contact with the floor of the bar first and quickly directed him into a frontward tumble finishing upright on his feet. He then spun around to face his right profile towards the door while drawing his gun from his right thigh holster and unsheathing one of the two Kodachis that were strapped to his back in an X pattern. Aiming his gun at the door, he looked down his arm through the gun sight with a look that hinted that only death awaited who or whatever was supposed to follow him in to the bar. As the seconds passed the Being remained motionless, the tension in his muscles could be seen thought his skin tight shirt, he was ready to strike at a moments notice.
After a minute passed, the Beings muscles relaxed as he lowered his gun. The look in his eyes changed to one of disappointment, then faded to confusion. "Funny, something almost always follows me through. This time it's like the rift never even opened on this side." The Being said to himself as he holstered his gun and sheathed the Kodachi. He began to look around his unfamiliar surroundings until, of course, his eyes focused on the bar. "Ooo, they got a bar," he said aloud, eyes wide with excitement. "I could use some organics. Yo, barkeep, four shots of the strongest stuff you got." He finished as the walked with haste to the nearest seat at the bar
Citrine's ears soon picked up a loud bang near the entrance, but she did not turn her head. She sat on the stool motionless as the white wolf sat near her. "A little over dramatic with the entrance much?" She smirked a bit, as the tension between her and the white wolf thickened from her words.
"It's not wise to consume alcohol before or during a fight." Of course, she forgotten the fact that some people were better fighters drunk, like her father for example. She was curious if she inherited that fighting style from her father and not just his temper but she rather not try now.
The bolt of lightning shot through the stool, blowing a hole clear through it, and sending trailing fingers out in all directions like a giant plasma ball. With much the same effect; as soon as one finger reached Witt's hand, they all congregated there and raced up his arm like a centipede on coke. The sparks through his nerves made his hand spasm open, dropping the burnt, melted remains of the stool to the floor. While this was happening, the second strike blew the table to splinters, nearly taking his fingers with it. And, as a final straw, still off-balance from the sparks that were crawling down his body to the floor, the haymaker caught him cleanly under the jaw, boosted him into the air, and back over three tables, narrowly missing a suave, imperturbable gentleman holding a large hat. He spun end for end in the air, and landed squarely on another table, shattering it almost as well as Despina's punch.
He pulled himself out of the wreckage, shook himself like a dog, spraying splinters in all directions, and was about to throw himself back into the fray when a thought struck him. "What day is it today?" he grunted to the man with the hat.
"I do believe it's Thursday, today, sir."
"Ah, shit. I bloody knew it." With that, he reached over and grabbed one of the incensed patrons of the table he was standing in the remains of, and flung him, one-handed, back across the bar with unerring aim at Despina. As he did so, he started screaming. "There was a young maid from Aberystwyth," Grabbing another patron, and sending that flying ahead of him, he began to accelerate in her direction, punctuating his approach with flying patrons. "Who took grain..." This time, a table. "...to the mill to get grist with." Latching onto another bar stool as he passed, he flung a table at her, like a discus, still continuing his peroration, at the top of his lungs. "The miller's son, Jack," At this point, he flung another unlucky patron who happened to be too close. "Laid her flat on her back, and united" Another table, followed by a large seat, nails still hanging out from where it had been ripped from the floor. "...the organs they pissed with!"
And with that, he arrived, fresh table in his left hand, and fresh bar stool in his right, ready to continue the pummelling.
Dekari tilted his head slightly to look at Citrine. A small grin streaked across his face as he shook his head. "What I drink and when I drink it is no concern of yours. That, and four shots of anything this guy could possibly stock wouldn't even get me slightly buzzed. Besides, I only intend on drinking two of the shots."
Citrine just stuck her tongue out a bit. "Whatever..." She tapped her foot impatiently, usually places like this tend to have a way to welcome newcomers that involved a brutal fight with one of the strongest members. Her eyes wandered around in the ring with fascination. "Magic users huh... kind of hazardous to the crowd isn't it? No matter, it's there fault for sitting too close."
She chuckled, although she unfamiliar of what kind of creatures lurk around in this part of the world, she knows she also have that upper hand, no one knows who she is or what kind of fighter she is as well.
Dekari was now staring at Citrine out of the corner of his eye. His irises quickly shifted from blue to red then back to blue. The grin on his face grew slightly as he began to talk. "Overconfidence has been the down fall of many great warriors. It tends to be nothing more than a means of masking ones fear. When you're afraid, your mind is unfocused. When your mind is unfocused, you cannot be at your full potential. When you're not at your full potential, even the most unlikely of opponents could be your downfall." Dekari paused for a moment and looked up and down the bar. "What is this place, self serve?"
Citrine leaned back against the bar's tabletop and sighs. "It's a fight club. It wouldn't be that hard to figure out after taking a second looking around." She let out a sigh, being bored of watching the fighters in the ring. 'I want some action in the ring now, it would be good for me to vent on the poor bastard who is up against me to relieve this boredom...'
Dekari let out a short laugh and shook his head. "Fight club eh? I guess the drinks and their uses will have to wait a little while longer." He said as he stood up from his seat and started walking towards the door. "Guss I'm going to have to do my part to uphold rule number eight." Dekari paused as he reached the door and looked back at Citrine. "You just going to sit there or what?"
Citrine chuckled a bit and stands up, staring at him with her brown eyes. "Is that a challenge? Well then...I accept on one condition...true fighters don't use weapons." She eyed his gun and then back up at him. "Or are you pretty worthless without your little toys?"Her smile grew into a large grin, she knew that she got a decent challenger, nether parties know what each other are capable of.
Despina gasped and sagged back against the bar for a moment after her last attack had sent Witt flying across the room. "Dammit, this hurts," she growled, "what th' hell did th' little SOB do t' me?" She pushed the front flap of her skirt between her legs and studied the pincushion wounds on her thighs. They'd stopped bleeding by now, leaving only patches of blood soaked into her fur. The pain and burning itching was still getting worse. Time to do something about it, now that she had a moment to think. Probably not much more than a moment, though, as she noticed Witt starting to move again in the pile of wreckage that used to be a table.
A few quick gestures and her hands glowed with soft green light. She held them against her thighs and sighed in relief as the pain faded under the influence of the healing spell. A glance over her shoulder found her staff sticking in the wall nearby. She jumped onto the bar, wrenched it out and scrambled back down. Her stomach rumbled again, making her wonder if there was some connection: this was an odd time for her to come down with food poisoning so abruptly, but it had only started after Witt had stuck her with his spines. Hopefully nothing drastic would happen until after she'd finished pounding on him...
No such luck. Despina saw the incoming figure with barely enough time to throw herself to the floor. The spikes on his absurdly huge shoulderpads ruffled her fur, then he bounced off the bar and crashed into the shelving behind it. Her ears perked up as she spotted Witt running towards her. She jumped to her feet and tossed out a series of shield spells to deflect the missiles he threw at her. Tables, chairs, the people who'd been sitting on them, all came flying towards the lioness as Witt charged closer.
Her ears perked. Was the idiot reciting a limerick? No more time to worry about that: she set her pawpads firmly on the floor, dug her claws in, and took a two-handed grip on her staff. She wasn't going to lose it again. As Witt came closer, she raised her shield and took a swing with her staff, trying to at least loosen the hedgehog's grip on his makeshift weapons.
At the other end of the bar, fake-Andrace snarled as she was forced to let go of the Demon's throat. She shook her numbed arm: it didn't seem to be badly hurt, but it wouldn't be much use until the tingling paralysis faded. She tossed away the remains of the bottle, it had disintegrated in her hand, not leaving enough to stab the Demon with.
The lioness was almost caught out when he tried to kick her legs away. She let her knees collapse and fell forward as he rolled to the side, holding her injured leg clear and letting all her weight hammer into the Demon's gut — or possibly his kidneys, he was moving fast — with a single-knee piledriver. She threw herself clear of the reach of his wings and rose into a crouch, ready for his next move, although her stance was a little lopsided. Blood dripped on the floor from her injured backside, and splinters from the smashed bottle had been stuck painfully into various parts of her anatomy when she tumbled. None of the cuts were serious, so she ignored them for the moment.
She did feel a sudden draught, though, and she didn't need to look down to realise the Demon's horn must have snipped neatly through the draw-string around her waist: the shock of the piledriver had sent her trousers drooping to half-mast, and they were now held up only by the tail-fly at the back.
Back in the real bar, Andrace stared in disbelief at her double in the viewer, then she glanced over at the canine Demon and snickered evilly.
In the real bar, Bas's attention was split between Keaton and the fight. He watched the sloppy attempt at a sweep kick and winced at the result.
Fake-Bas felt contact, and had a triumphant smirk, he rolled, and as he approached where Andrace ought to be, he thought he'd just pinned the lioness down. Instead, he found a knee, slamming him in the gut. He suddenly started coughing for air for a few seconds. Crouched on his hands and knees, with mild aches all though his abdomen. As soon as he recovered, he flared his wings, as his eyes locked onto his target. However, his right wing snapped against the shin of something, right about at his wrist joint. Looking over, Bas saw the jeager. It reeled slightly from shock and pain from the unexpected blow. Then, his lips curled back as the beast-man started for the demon. Both of Baseel's wings shot in, and the demon exploded outwards, tackling the toothily grinning green-skin. Bas became entangled in a flurry of blows and rolls. A slight pause in the fluid-like commotion ended up with the shepherd demon on the ground, The jaeger poised over Bas, arm starting back as he prepared to deliver a devastating blow.
A flash of green, and Basilisk's knee was under the Jager's chest. Just as suddenly, both feet were sitting in the air, fully extended. The Jager was flying, doubled over and heading straight towards Andrace's last known position. A smirk crossed the demon's face as his wings flew straight into the ground, flipping him onto his feet in a wavy and and elegant motion. On his feet, Basilisk rolled his neck around, flexed his shoulders back, then took a rather relaxed, shoulder-width pose. He had his right foot forward, left foot off at 90 degrees, the death's head-like grin Bas was giving Andrace made his malicious intent obvious.
The panther's eyes widened - the man was charging through hurricane-force winds, with nothing more than a sword and the clothes on his back. He should be struggling to stand, let alone leap forward as he was.
He strummed the strings, the changeling song again shifting melodies.
He pushed with a foot, the big cat jumping into the air even while sitting, and the winds shifted, buoying him up and pushing him backwards, over the debris and on top of the green-hued moat. It let him down gently, a single footpaw touching the water. The winds whirled about his feet, translucent with their fury, and just barely kept him from falling into the water. His balance must have been impeccable.
Gently, the other foot lowered. He stood gingerly, not-quite touching the water, but only just.
There was no way he could be heard over the din of the wind, so he played instead. Somehow, it carried across the water. The wind brushed like velvet over the top of the algae-soaked pond, and as it rose it sparkled in the daylight. It mixed with the other winds, sparkling in the sun, until it sparkled in a clear, unbroken line.
It shattered into a million pieces. And then like a million knives it descended, slicing through ruins and trees alike, carrying the debris along with it, now like a knife made of sandpaper, and in a circle surrounded the swordsman and rushed him at once.
* * *
Cog was very, very drunk.
He wasn't sure exactly what was going on in the bar anymore, but several new people had walked in, he'd thought he'd seen two Andrace's at some point, and that made him worried, and he was pretty sure that wasn't supposed to happen.
He hiccuped.
"I think...I think I've had too much." he burped, and promptly fell off his barstool.
Somewhere in his shadowed corner, Laertes sighed. "I'm not about to get up and move him around. And furthermore..."
At that moment, the door to the infirmary opened. Eyes bloodshot with rage, a black-armored man with a bandage around his head was looking around the room wildly. There was a hint of froth around his teeth.
"BY GOD, WHEN I FIND THAT SONOFABITCH..."
He looked around the bar room. He didn't see the guy. His eyes narrowed. He took a deep breath. "Well. I guess he left. Good." he practically hissed, and shortly thereafter noticed Cog on the ground. Cog giggled something unintelligible and asked loudly if someone had done something to the bar, he didn't recognize the light fixture on the wall.
"I leave for..." he looked at a wall clock, and frowned. He'd been out some time. "I leave for awhile and you drink yourself into a stupor. I ought to let you lay there."
Cog murmured something. Giles muttered in distaste. "That's hardly the point," he said. "You're not wearing a two hundred pounds of...er. Well."
He looked around the room lamely, and then grabbed the were by his shoulders, and then began to drag him across the room and up the stairs. "Fine, I'll take you to your room. You owe me for this."
Cog's boots thumped lamely on the stairs, like a strange punctuation to this occurrence.
As Dekari walked over to one of the rings he removed his gloves, unfastened the gun from his thigh, and unzipped and removed his combat vest and Kodachi scabbards. When he reached the ring he placed them on the ground outside of the ring and sat down and started to untie his boots. "So, am I to assume that we will be attempting to refrain from killing each other? I only ask this because I'm sure that we both have still have a greater purpose left for us in life." He said as he stepped into the ring barefoot and began to remove his shirt. Aside from the tone and definition of all the muscles of his upper body being visible even underneath his short fur, there was something else that would catch the eye on any onlooker. Over the length of his inner forearms and neck were several long and deep scars that had been well hidden by his shirt, some intersecting and overlapping each other. "There's also the fact that I don't die very easily." He said as the threw his shirt on the pile of this other belongings.
Citrine walked into the ring as well, adjusting her belt that's around her waist that held her dress-like shirt down and slightly pulls up her tight-looking black shorts underneath her shirt. "I concur." She responded then sets her position into her regular idled fighting position. "But don't get cocky, just because your a soldier doesn't mean you can best me." She clenched her fists tightly, Her right foot rubbing against the floor roughly, watching Dekari with a keen eye as she waits for his first move.
"I hope you will forgive me if I'm a little rusty." Dekari said as he ran towards Citrine at a full sprint. With clenched fist he drew his right arm back with intent to strike. However noticing the Citrine raised her guard slightly, Dekari saw what looked to be an opening. He then spun to his left to gather momentum for a kick. After coming around full 360 leading with his hip, knee bent, the top of his right foot was on direct aim for the soft spot between Citrine's bottom rib and hip.
When Stygian's gaze remained the same harsh, pessimistic glare, Sylvie's previous calmness began to fade. As a matter of fact, it was changing into anxiety. The noises outside in the bar only added to this sense of wrongness. Even before Stygian made his skepticism and disapproval clear, she knew what was coming was bad. But what she heard was worse than him simply telling her he hated her, or even than being laughed at for her feelings. It was, quite frankly, an emotion she hadn't known could hurt her: despair. It hurt her so badly, in fact, that she felt herself blink back tears at least twice.
As she listened to what he said, her heart sank into a cocktail of sadness, heartbreak, pain and shock. Some of what he was saying was true, but most of it had a much-too-heavy negative twist to it. When he looked down at her hand and compared it to his own, she almost covered it, which would have been pointless. But even though she couldn't deny that not just distance but species and time periods and societies kept them apart, couldn't he see that she'd known about that? Why did he need to point it out?
When he finished, she couldn't think clearly for a bit. So for a while, she just sat there, unable to look at Stygian for more than three seconds at a time without looking back down at some point to the left and behind him. Then, once she was sure she could speak without yelling at him, she answered him, now looking not just sad but a little angry and hurt as well.
"How can you assume that just because all I can say I feel right now is care, means I don't love you and never will? I've never even fell in love with another Green and you expect me to know how to explain what I feel for you? We've only known each other a few hours. I know that helps your case as well, but that's no reason to accuse me of being incapable of ever loving you." She was doing her best to keep her voice quiet, or at least level, but given the commotion in the bar, she knew she didn't have to worry much. "What I feel for you is as close to love as I've ever felt in my life. I may not be able to express it very well, and I may not want to rush into anything, but don't you dare say I don't have to feel anything for you, because I already do and there's no changing that."
After that small outburst, her anger faded somewhat, and she realized she'd actually stood up. Her eyes remained just a bit narrowed as she sat back down, though now that the anger was lessened, hurt shone through more easily. "I won't force you to feel anything for me, if you really think that I don't love you. But just understand that my feelings for you are nowhere near as shallow as you think."
Citrine's eyes focused harshly on Dakari and motions herself into a forward lunge right when he got close enough for her to counter. "Rule 1 of the ring: Never forgive." She muttered under her breath as she backs her fist up a bit and delivers a swift, head-on punch to his chest. Of course she didn't have time to dodge his leg which caused her to get knocked down to the side, but she quickly tumbles her way up on her feet.
"Rule 2 of the ring: don't take too long to ready an attack" She stared harshly at Dakari, beckoning him with her hand. "You best not be holding back because of my status, otherwise I will make you deeply regret it."
"Well then." Dekari coughed, head hung low, eyes closed. "I recommend you take your own advice about holding back. Someone with your skill and technique should have at least been able to brake a rib or two." A large grin streaked across Dekari's face as he raised his head. "Warm ups are done. Adrenalin is flowing." He opened his eyes to reveal his irises were now blood red and his sclera were as black as a starless night. "Shits about to get serious now."
Dekari once again took off towards Citrine as a full sprint, however now seeming to move twice as fast. When he got within striking distance of her, he vanished in a blurred image. Just then Citrine heard a voice from behind her. "Also, you think too loudly." The voice was that of Dekari.
Dancing between the raging winds, his clothes billowing around him, the swordsman gritted his teeth with effort and disdain at how easily Linos appeared to avoid his strikes. For a moment, his concentration seemed to slip, and he lost his footing as a gust pushed him to the side. Then, he seemed to stiffen, hardening his grip on the hilt of the sizzling sword. In an instant, it was as if the tossing air barely even touched him again. He spun to face Linos, as the panther touched down lightly on the surface of the pond. He began moving, resisting the gales.
The air cracked and burst into innumerable razor edges. There was barely any time to react. The man stopped, spun his sword, turning the blade tip down, and then slammed it into the ground. A wave pulsed through the air, throbbing with a sound like a heartbeat. And then, like an expanding soap bubble, a semitranslucent wave of distortion blasted out through the shuddering air. It smashed the approaching shards into fragments, then into particles, and then into nothingness. A sympathetic ripple ran over the pond.
The man did not pause. Theatrical though the counterattack might have been, the opening it left was too small. He pushed himself forward, while the air was still clear, making for the edge of the pond, moving like a sprinter.
- -
Stygian's stare simply continued, unflinching unlike the elf's. There was no shame or compassion there. Just a bitter sort of comprehension. He let her exhaust her words, and then her nerve, her eyes searching for somewhere, anywhere but his face, to settle.
She hadn't understood. Not all of it, at least. She hadn't backed off though he had attempted, in his way, to warn her, and now she was accusing him. He could see the events of before repeating themselves, different paths branching out and only unraveling into failure and depression. Worse, he felt her insistence, and the shameful little thoughts that wedged themselves in while she spoke. And, with an unnameable feeling, he realized that there was no honest way he could do anything but do precisely what he had anticipated. Slowly, he set his feet on the floor, and stood up.
'So you want to understand me?' he asked, not waiting for an answer. 'Very well then.'
He was not a telepath of the same sort as Andrea; he'd thought about that before, of how the strengths that stemmed from the same source of development and power could vary so much between individual Furies, and why. He didn't know what it was that made her able to force her control on someone else so effectively, while he could not, when plainly his sheer strength in other fields spoke lengths of who was the greater in terms of pure strength. Perhaps the talent was just individual, perhaps a critical skill was a sort of readiness to bend and break the will and self-concern of others. But either way he had found ways to work around that. What she did with forceful strokes and sheer power, or more often made sure she didn't have to do, he did with subtlety and technique. She might have had to resort to forcing something up in the elf's mind. But what he did was far more intricate than that, and yet simpler. Before the elf could react, he reached out, placing a pair of fingers from his intact hand on her forehead. And then, he
shared with her.
It was like a rush through her body, starting somewhere in her chest, and then Sylvie felt as though her stomach had been pulled out. A shudder made her muscles feel like jelly and her already watery eyes and sore throat ache. Had she still stood up, her legs would probably have folded up under her. The feeling cascaded forth through her body and soul; a horrible, dark loneliness that seemed to fill her heart with liquid nitrogen and empty her innards; a sorrow so deep it not only made her want to curl up around her aching self and wither away, but made even that feel so pointless that she could barely move. She was unwanted. She was a pitiful, lonely creature in a meaningless world. There was not a soul out there willing or capable of sympathizing with her or helping, and no one had ever cared for her but to gain something for themselves. No one had ever loved her or would ever bother to. She and everything she did was utterly hopeless and without meaning, and all there was and ever had been was despair.
Stygian removed his fingers, and as though some circuit had been broken, the feeling disappeared instantly, leaving a shocking emptiness behind it. Only a physical pain remained, somewhere in the elf's abdomen. The sort of pain that felt as though it would only be relieved with heaving sobs.
'Is that enough understanding to satisfy your curiosity?' he asked. He waited just long enough that he saw her figure out what he had just done, before he spoke again. 'Time is not the issue here, we both know that. That is not how we know each other.' Calmly, he bent down, and stared her in the eyes. His gaze accused her of murder.
'You dangle those promises in front of me - the promise of something I haven't even dared hope for - but you are holding yourself back. There is something in the way, something you're hesitant about or which you are too anxious or unwanting to deal with. And still you don't settle for simply showing interest. You tempt me with the idea of hope,' he said, his voice scathing, 'but you are ready to take it away at a moment's notice, for reasons that are entirely your own. And you expect me to understand that? To not hate you when you inevitably steal it away from before my eyes, or lie, or leave me for someone else who appears more convenient to care about at the moment? Because
that is all that caring amounts to.'
He stood straight, and sighed. Then, he looked down at his ragged self. Snorting, he felt a pocket, and encountered, underneath the half-damp and ragged cloth, a crumpled up and soaked package. His fingers worked around numbly, and then came out holding a cigarette, which he promptly stuck in the corner of his mouth. He didn't bother with a lighter, but merely snapped his fingers under the end, causing a brief flame to ignite it.
'It's called "infatuation",' he said, turning and walking off, heading down between the rows of beds toward the door. 'Get it right next time. Now, I'm going to find some clothes...'
The door shut with a clack behind him.
- -
In the illusory bar, the replica of Sahlena had barely moved. The machine seemed to merely study the fight, drink in hand, ruefully taking a step here or there or leaning to a side to avoid a brawling shape or flying splinters or shards of glass, and the occasional screaming patron. A piece of splintered table came flying. The machine flinched, bent, ducked, and only barely managed to avoid a leg. She took a big step away from Despina, toward the counter. A man howled as he was flung through the air, and she caught a shoe in her hand, leaning back and setting down her drink. Starting to seem flustered, she appeared to wonder whether if she should enter the fray, but to decide against it. Then, just as she picked up her glass once more, the hedgehog rushed past her, bumping her with a ripped up bar stool, causing vodka to splash down her shirt.
'
:hey!' the annoyed machine barked at the hedgehog's back.
In both bars, real and fake, a pair of irate figures in torn black rags emerged simultaneously. Tramping steps perfectly synchronized, both men crossed the bars, one heedless of a fight, the other of a calm, and then opened the doors to each bar's respective back rooms, vanishing behind them.
Her eyes widen from what he said and quickly leaps forward before he was able to strike from behind, doing a 180 degree turn in mid air. 'Thoughts? Is he probing my mind...no keep calm, this guy is just some nut job who gets sick thrills out of freaking people out...'
She resumed her fighting stance, ready to strike whenever he was able to. Rule three of the ring: never underestimate anyone, doing so is a sign of mercy and thus contradicts the fourth rule of the ring: No holding back.' She let out a small chuckle and listens closely to her surroundings, very carefully. The crowded bar room around her started to sound distorted as she was in the midst of a trance-like focus. Her eyes closed as her short haired fur started to pick up the wind following Dakari whom was in midst of moving around her, to psyche her out.
Dekari stopped behind Citrine and backed off a few feet. "Come on! Make a damn move already! Or is that all your capable of doing, citing rules? If you aren't going to fight, then why the hell did you come out here? Fighting a punching bag isn't my idea of fun." He yelled sounding obviously irritated by Citrine's lack of offense. "Perhaps I should just end this now and go find someone else to have fun with."
The air in the ring began to feel heavy as all sources of light around the two combatants seemed to dim. Dekari looked down at his right hand as small sparks of black colored bolts jumped between the tips of his fingers. He winced slightly in pain as the bolts grew larger engulfing his hand and moving up his forearm. "We are both going to regret this one, though I think I may more than you. But as you said, no holding back." Dekari said as he walked towards Citrine, reaching up for the back of her neck.
Citrine's eyes opened as she heard his attack sneaking up behind her."So you are lurking in my mind..." She nimbly ducks before his hand got her neck and elbows him below the belt. "How perverted, but then again maybe you should have listened to my rules, at least then it will spare you..." She quickly does a 180 as soon as she nailed him with her elbow and grabs a hold of his head, bringing it down and knees him in the face. "From humiliation."
She soon yanked his hair, causing him to fall down onto the ground and she quickly jumps back away from him for a second. "A disciplined fighter can endure many rounds, one after another. That's what separates me from people like you."
"'People like me' huh. Nah, that's not the only thing that separates someone like you from something like me." Dekari said with a sigh as he lay on his back. "It's a good thing you don't know how to use shadow magic, otherwise I'd be boned. Hell, you can't even use any kind of magic, except for that little technique that your still hiding. God, open fricken book."
Dekari sat up looking surprisingly unfazed by the short onslaught he just received aside from a bit of blood dripping from his nose and mouth. However there were now black streaks that branched out like vines from the sides of his eyes. The ones on his left eye were particularly interesting as they partly revealed his white clan marking. He wiped the blood from his nose and mouth with his right hand that was nothing more than charred flesh and blackened bone and yet was still fully functional. "Yeah, I'm just full of surprises aren't I?" He said as he placed his hand back on the ground slightly out of sight of Citrine. The blood he had wiped off started seeping into the ground and formed a circle of runes before fading.
"So, are we done spouting off rules, or are we in this for real now?" Dekari asked. As he finished his last words the ground behind Citrine suddenly shook and a metal spike came shooting out aimed at Citrine's back.
Citrine cringed a bit from the spikes stabbing the back of her leg and quickly jumps away before the spikes did more damage. 'Close call...'She starts to wonder how she would be able to avoid his passive skill to read minds, but her focus turned back to the fight as she readies her stance.
"Fancy sorcery isn't going to scare me. I fought too many people who knew the same. exact. spells. Maybe even stronger, don't believe me? Why don't you tap into my memory seeign your already reading my mind."
Boog noticed the newcomers too late, seeing them already getting set up in a free circle. He winced; he'd been so caught up in the barfight he hadn't told them the rules. He shrugged, figuring it would work itself out. Besides, there hadn't been a fatality yet. If there wasn't before the owner got back he'd think something was wrong.
He lazily turned toward the other commotions in the room, Stygian and Giles' respective reappearances. The first got a look of mild curiosity, like a cat glancing at a running engine, while the other received a grin disproportionate to events.
Marya sighed, keeping her eyes on the barfight. It really was a crying sha- Wait, was that her?
--
As the barthing duplicate ducked with a yelp, a mongoose scrambled over the counter in faux-barfight, laughing. She'd broken three noses! Three! In a row! She licked a bloodstain off her knuckles as she rummaged through the bottles stacked on the shelves behind the bar, took a swig from one and tossed it, half full, back into the crowd in the hopes of hitting someone before diving back in onto some hapless horned individual (reasoning that he probably had it coming on the basis that he had a funny accent, and was there at the time), pummeling him as she landed on his shoulders.
--
Back in the bar, Marya grinned. Today was awesome.
Witt blocked the swing with the table, shattering parts of the tabletop in all directions, but leaving his grip still fairly firm. He followed that up with a return strike to the knees from the barstool in his other hand, then dropped the table, flipped the stool into a reverse grip, and hammered it into her belly area.
At the same moment, his other hand reached up and snapped a flying bottle from the air, moments before it hit the back of his head. He tilted his head to the side, jammed the bottle between his teeth, and started drinking, then put both hands to the stool, and shoved it upwards, hoping to catch at least one arm trying to hold it down, and took a couple of quick steps forward into the freed space - the first just a step, the second aiming to stamp one boot into a shin and scrape down onto a foot, while the stool kept them out of view...
Edit:
Shin, not calf. d'oh. Sorry, my bad...
-- llearch
"Oh really." Dekari said getting into a slightly more comfortable sitting position on the ground with his hands behind his back. Blood slowly dripping from his right wrist and seeping into the ground as another circle of runes formed conveniently out of sight of Citrine. "Same exact spells you say. On all accounts that actually disturbs me more than anything, well, for one of them more than the other. Now, for my transmute ability that doesn't disturbed me very much, however I would like to know what these people are using as a catalyst to start the sub-molecular transformation process seeing as magic alone doesn't work when you get into the more complex transmutations such as dirt to steel." He paused motioning towards the metal spike jutting out of the ground. "That and a magic induced transformation isn't permanent. Getting back to the subject of the catalyst, I can tell you now that they are not using Twilight Dragon blood, which for all purposes is the best catalyst your going to find due to it being heavily saturated with ethereal energies. And as far as I know, the Twilight race doesn't exist outside of my home universe."
The look on Dekari's face slowly changed from calm to aggravated. "Now, if you are to have me believe that you have actually seen, and lived to talk about, a possibly stronger version of what I'll refer to as Void Lightning, then I demand you tell me the names of the people using it so that I can have a 'chat' with them. No race, mortal or immortal, should EVER mess with void energies...they don't understand the risks involved. There is a race of creatures that live in the void and wait for someone foolish enough to break the seal between their universe and the void so that they can pour through wreaking death and destruction across that entire universe until the is nothing left but more void."
"Anyway. Enough of the conveniently lengthy and distracting lectures. Lets get back to what's at hand." Dekari said as the stood up and brushed off his pants. "It wasn't my intent to scare you with my 'fancy sorcery'. Nah, far from it. I was going for more of a distraction." He finished as he pointed to what looked like a silhouette of himself standing several feet behind Citrine readying an attack.
"Well, here's an interesting situation. Is this another distraction, or..." Dekaris voice trailed off as another voice identical to his picked up from the silhouette.
"Or am I actually back here." The silhouette said.
"Decisions, decisions. So, what will it be? Am I real and that over there fake?" Dekari asked with a grin.
"Or am I real and that guy over there fake?" The silhouette questioned.
"Maybe we are both real." Both Dekari and the silhouette said in unison.
"Hey what about this one, what if neither of us is real? What if none of this is real and it's just all in your head?" Dekari said with an excited look on his face.
"Yeah, I didn't think of that one. Maybe you are just wondering around the ring like a mindless fool attacking something that isn't there while I'm just laughing my ass of having a good ol' time." The silhouette finished.
Both Dekari and the silhouette laughed for a moment. "So, balls in your court. Will you come after and risk getting attacked from behind?" Dekari asked.
"Or will you come after me and again, risk getting attacked from behind?" The silhouette asked.
"Or are you just going to stand there and risk getting attacked from both sides?" Both asked in unison.
Citrine shrugged at Dakari's response. "No matter what kind of magic your able to use, your still unskilled. It shows in your lack of a decent defense." Citrine's ear soon twitched slightly at the clone's voice from behind and stands sideways, one on each side of her.
"Doppelgangers huh...what kind of trickery are you using in this? Perhaps portals to make it appear that there are more than one? No...I can't see the wormholes so that rules it out. Perhaps your just running around fast or maybe your manipulating the Brocken spectre. No matter, two against one is fair enough for me."
She soon went low and swirled around in a 360, her foot dragging around in the circle many time. The dirt from the ground soon creating a dust cloud that made it impossible for ether Dakari to see each other through. Her eyes were shut closed and her senses heightened. "Well lets see which of the theories are correct. Though Science is not a friend of mine but it does become a decent ally in a fight."
"Man, you're no fun. But if you must know I don't normally find a need for defense. I actually more like to be offensive." Dekari said with a smirk.
"Ha. I get it." The silhouette laughed.
"Oh, and I if you don't move from where you are then I think science is going to become much less of a friend to you. Ever wondered what 80 pounds of Cyclotrimethylene trinitramine would do if detonated while encased in solid rock?" Asked with an almost psychotic grin on his face as the silhouette exploded in a thunderous concussion sending shards of rock everywhere.
Citrine soon dashed out to the side of smoke and goes head on to the silhouette. "Got ya!" She smiled as she figured out who was the real Dakari out of the two, dodging the larger rocks but letting the small rocks graze her fur. She dashed towards Dakari after the rocks landed and exploded. She soon started to throw punches left and right, throwing a surprise kick in the barrage. "Very. Reckless, to leave yourself exposed."
Despina thrust her arms forward and grunted with the effort of blocking Witt's attack. Splinters flew in all directions, some bouncing off her shield, as her staff knocked more chunks out of the table. This was getting ridiculous, she thought, she wasn't tiring yet, but the hedgehog still looked fresh as a daisy, as if he could carry on like this all day. A simple bludgeoning wouldn't knock her shield down, but a neverending attack would eventually leave her worn out and defenceless. The stool came thrusting towards her stomach again: she'd almost decided to take the impact on the shield this time when she noticed Witt shifting his balance, as if the foot she couldn't see was...
Almost in time, she skipped sideways half a pace, so the kick and stamp that might have come in under the edge of her shield and broken her shin or crushed the delicate bones in her paw only left a bloody scrape down the side of her hock. It hurt, though, and she snarled as she threw herself into a sideways roll. Despina wasn't the strongest of her siblings; that honour went to either Andrace or Mitri, whichever of them had last beaten the other at arm-wrestling. But even Irene had to agree she was more than just as stubborn as a mule, she could kick like one. In the middle of the roll, her uninjured leg shot out, aiming to hammer her paw, toes spread and claws extended, several inches south of Witt's belt buckle.
Just as she finished her tumble and rolled back to her feet, her guts gave advance warning of something hideous that was about to happen.
Thrrrrrrrrrrrrppp-p-p-p.
Across the room, the fake Andrace winced and pulled a sliver of the broken bottle out of one of her favourite parts of her anatomy. She looked up at the sound of a loud thump, just in time to see a huge green-skinned critter come flying straight at her. She dodged as best she could, escaping with only a thump across the shoulder from a flailing leg. She growled, grabbed hold of the green critter's foot, and swung him round, sending him tumbling (if not actually flying through the air) more-or-less back towards the Demon. The lioness grabbed an unclaimed chair and charged after her loudly protesting missile, fangs bared, claws ready, and taking a deep breath for another bloodthirsty roar.
Back in the real bar, the real Andrace put one hand over her eyes and quietly muttered "oh no, not again..."
Bas's eye's widened for a second in sheer surprise. He was fairly big, but she was bigger... however a being did NOT just go charging straight for a demon, even if it was a harmless bar brawl. The shock waved off as the man slid across the bar floor and almost tripped the demon. His hand found purchase on a table, which he then spun on it's side, then shoved it a few feet forward. This was all much to the dismay of the attendant of the table, until a steel-hard wing belted him like a baseball bat, clean across the face. Knocking him to the ground in a dazed state Bas followed in up with a heel swipe to the Jaeger's ribs for extra assurance that he'd stay down.
Bas planted a foot on the table as the green skin slammed face first into the heavy wooden surface. Suddenly Bas felt the wood start to creek under the pressure of his foot. By the time he was bracing himself too hard, the base shattered, and the demon stared at Andrace's charging form with a dumbstruck look on his face as the tabletop rolled out of the way. With that, he hardened his skin to maximum and came back at Andrace with a full on shoulder charge, trying to deliver a brutally powerful elbow to her gut.
Outside the door downstairs, things were piling up. Crates and boxes filled with items stood stacked outside the heavy slab that passed for a door as it hung on its hinges wide open. There hadn't been much time, but Stygian had been able to find a few things he thought he could make something of even while searching for something new to wear. The tattered rags he'd worn had been emptied of particular objects and then reduced to a neat pile of ash in a corner.
Pitiful creature. They're all the same. A box was relieved of the weight of some sort of cinema equipment and what looked like an alien ming vase, and pried open with an careless, ungentle grip. It was full of exotic-looking mechanics, carefully packaged in bubble wrapping and sawdust.
All the same. Either they don't know remotely how to value things or they don't even understand enough to care about anything but toys and appearances. He spotted something that looked familiar, and rounded a couple of coat racks and a Roman frieze stood on end against a jet engine. Moving the dim circlet of flame that hovered above him closer, he smirked unfeelingly as he examined the steel briefcase, and then snapped its locks open.
Despicable selfishness, without concern or control. Would have expected more from someone non-human... Black satin, synthetic cloth and fiber-weave shimmered in his vision. Convenient. The whole bar was convenient, both in matters of time and occurrence. So it would probably fit first try, or be close enough that he could adjust it himself. Now he just had to find the gear and details to go with it. Was it a sign of some cosmic humor that it had been
robes he had found on the first attempt?
She'd probably try and snare me in if there were any sort of pressure, but I guess that for someone possibly ageless who can live on sunlight that's nothing that can force realization or responsibility on her either. Bloody piece of overintelligent broccoli... Things clanged and rasped on, and more assorted boxes and items were stacked outside. Already, someone would be able to set up a combined machine shop and antiquary with the things piled up. Perhaps someone was even intending to.
- -
The door to the infirmary did not creak, but managed a pretty good raspy hiss that passed for something similar, and gave the clear indication that someone was entering the room, trying to be silent while not actually being so inaudible as to possibly cause surprise or awkwardness. Sahlena's metal fingers gently clicked and slid on the doorhandle as she cautiously entered, and then pushed the door closed behind her with a little whiffing sound of air from the tight seal. She watched the elf sitting slumped on the bed for a couple of seconds, and then cautiously approached. It was all too clear what had happened.
'
:/listen...' she began, in as much of a
sotto voce as she could manage, '
:whatever he said or did, I don't think he meant it.' She placed a hand on the end of the gurney, leaning on her arm. '
:he... doesn't work like that. he doesn't say or do things for himself. he doesn't do things because he wants to. he just can't see anything else to do. you have to understand; he's in a lot of pain, so he lashes out at people...' Very cautiously, she tried to raise the tone of her voice, attempting to convey the meaning that some things were just stupid and that one couldn't do much but ignore them, and that maybe it wasn't so bad after all.
The fake Andrace's toothy grin widened as she saw the canine Demon charging to meet her. Unfortunately, she noticed a moment too late what else he was doing, and ran full-tilt into his elbow. She coughed and folded up, her eyes bugged out and all the wind knocked out of her. Something went ping. The lioness tumbled over the Demon's shoulder and crashed face-down onto a table, demolishing it completely. She began to stagger unsteadily to her feet, before the biggest chunk of wreckage tumbled back down and smacked her in the back of the head.
"Ooh, birdies..." she mumbled, her eyes crossing and her tail-tuft fluffed out. Then she toppled forward and sprawled in the middle of the shattered table, out cold, with her rump sticking up in the air. Behind the lioness, a pair of torn and slightly bloodstained trousers draped elegantly over the Demon's outstretched arm. A small button, of a type commonly used by tailors to make a tail-fly on Being-sized trousers, bounced on the floor near his feet.
Back in the real bar, Andrace had apparently perfected the art of curling up in embarrassment while sitting on a barstool.
In the real bar, Bas snickered as it seemed his doppelganger had taken the prize. The curled ball of embarrassment, perched on the bar stool only furthered the satisfaction Bas felt. With the fight seemingly over, Bas turned his attention 100% back to Keaton.
In the fake bar, 'Bas' slammed into Andrace, flipped her over, and grinned triumphantly at the lucky blow. He watched her, clearly not wanting to end the brawl just yet. However, she seemed down for the count as she lay sprawled, and pants-less on the floor.
He found the ripped and bloodied pants draped over his shoulder, and a button at his toe. Keeping watch for others around him, his hand shimmered, and was suddenly enshrouded with a black, glossy mist, he ran the hand along the fabric, reattaching broken strands, and replacing the broken button. Covering up Andrace with the now mended pants, he placed his hand, still shimmering, across her forehead, applying some healing magic to fix the various blood vessels and relieve the excess pressure from the bump on her head.
He smirked as he said, "wakey wakey..."
The kick caught Dekari off guard after a successful right hook to his once again bloodied face, one of a hand full of hits that made it through his dodges and parries. He shut his eyes hard in pain, lowered his head, and bit his lower lip. Staggering a few steps back from Citrine, Dekari leaned forward and put his hands on his knees, legs pushed tightly together. "Mother fffff.........god, and here I pegged you as being above cheap shots." Dekari paused for a moment. "Man, guess I should be glade that I was created sterile, other wise I might have more issues with you than just causing me pain." He finished as he righted himself with a grunt of pain and placed his hands on his hips.
Dekari took a few steps to one side then turned around and took a few more while looking at the sky. "There we go, there's the endorphins kicking in." He said with a bit of a sigh before turning his gaze back to Citrine. "I guess I should almost thank you. I haven't had this kind of a high in a long time." When Dekari finished he took a running leap at Citrine, knocking her to the ground. Dekaris right knee was on her chest, his hands on her shoulders, and blood slowly dripped from his face to hers. "Now then, allow me to let you in on a bit of a secret." He paused as he leaned down, putting his muzzle near her ear. "If I had actually been reading your mind this whole time, do you truly believe you would have survived this long, or even landed that kick? True I can hear your thoughts and sift through some of your short term memory with little to no effort. I just decide to not pay attention most of the time." He backed off as he finished to observe her reaction. "Figured we would keep this fair."
"In Muay Thai, there is no belt you can't hit under. So it's fair. " She chuckled, then suddenly got caught off guard from the pounce. 'Sh-shit.' She had no other choice but to listen to him, even though she was uninterested in what he said. But as soon as he lets her go, she spun around on the floor, delivering a swift sweep kick, followed by a quick recovery to stand up.
"Like I care if you read my mind or not. There are many ways to keep perverts like you away from my mind. Besides..." Citrine wiped the blood off of her face with her fist. "What kind of bad guy plays fair?"
"Gee, with the amount of times you have put me on my back, you do it any more and I'm going to start getting some ideas and think you are doing it on purpose." Dekari said looking up at Citrine from the ground with a sly and insinuating look on his face before all her words registered in his mind. A moment passed as he propped himself up off the ground with an elbow, the look on his face changed to one of confusion as looked at Citrine with his head slightly to one side. "Bad guy? Wait, what do you mean bad guy? True I may not be a 'nice' guy, but I'm sure as hell not some bad guy. I like to think of myself more as a middle guy. When the opportunities present themselves, I do what needs to be done when everyone else is too scared to do it themselves. Although, some of those opportunities involve me getting paid large sums of money....but that's besides the point."
As soon as Dani heard Big Bad getting more and more upset, she knew she'd hit home with something she'd said to him. She didn't know precisely what, but having been trained to read emotions and know what they indicated, it was all too obvious that something had touched a nerve. The weapon changing back and forth made it even clearer, but now all she had to do was make sure he wasn't the type to get dangerous when he got ma-
And then the soccer mom was in his place. Just like the old man. Only now, the concept didn't waste time.
"GET DOWN!" Dani shouted to the woman, pulling her down instinctively. She didn't care if the woman was just a hologram, no one innocent was going to die as long as she was around. The shots fired, and clipped Dani's shoulder as she fell. She hissed, and stood back up, stooped enough to avoid another shot and her legs tense and ready to take her sprinting for cover herself at a moment's notice.
"My, what a sneaky attack strategy you have," she echoed, a pained smirk still there. "So, it was a she, hm? How'd she end up freeing you, then?" As she spoke, she edged steadily closer to the house, hopefully just enough to be imperceptible.
---
Back in the infirmary, Sylvie hadn't stopped sobbing since Stygian had left. She'd kept herself almost composed while he had spoken to her, though she had broken down for a bit while he caused that awful feeling in her. To know that that was what he was feeling... to know she was the cause of it... to know that by confessing that she liked him, all she had done was hurt him more... that paralyzing, stomach-turning misery was too much for her to handle. She was amazed she had kept herself quiet enough to hear what he'd said to her, and that had only emphasized the feeling. Even now, her sobs of pain, regret, and pity were hushed. She didn't want anyone to come in and see her like this.
Apparently, though, her efforts had been in vain, or perhaps Stygian leaving the room had made it all too obvious. She heard the door open, and knew from the footsteps that it wasn't Stygian again. She quickly wiped her eyes and took a deep breath, only a little surprised to see who it was.
"There's n-no way he didn't mean that feeling..." she said, still trying her hardest to keep calm. "I just don't understand...I told him the reasons why I'm not sure. Can't he see that?" The elf wasn't just rambling at this point, she genuinely couldn't see why he didn't see how much she cared. Sure, she was confused and unsure, but she'd just explained that to him. Why did he expect so much of her? On one hand, it was flattering, but on the other, it was stressful. He himself had approached more than one girl in the bar; why was she labeled the one who couldn't dedicate herself?
She sighed and looked up at Sal. "I don't know what I want to do anymore. He's confusing me more than ever."
The cloth flowed smoothly as it slid neatly onto Stygian's shoulder over the straps and locks and the tight synthetic undermesh. He snapped a last clasp into place, and then straightened up, feeling the robe's familiar weight and form settle. It seemed much too heavy for just cloth, even accounting for the extra reinforcement for protection woven into it. His hands fumbled around in a pocket, and stopped as they encountered something slim and smooth. He took out the metal case, and opened it carefully, watching the contents gleam. The monocle-watch dropped into an inner pocket. The pen likewise. The cuff links slipped easily into place. The polished cigarette case...
Too damn convenient. But at least some things I will have to work for, he thought, as he felt the other objects of metal in his pocket when he stuffed the case back down.
And other things I have to work around. A drop of something hit his shoe. Stygian looked down. On the golden symbol to the side of his chest, woven into the overcloth of the robe attire's jacket piece, there were a couple of spots of red. He raised his freshly healed hand, feeling the minute coolness of the liquid on his hand, and rubbed his fingers together. To his keen senses, a pronounced coppery scent rose up clearly in the air. But his skin, though rough, was perfectly untouched.
There's no such thing as a wound that doesn't heal! he snarled in his thoughts, a pang of anger striking him. Then, confusion as to who he was angry with. It lasted all of a millisecond.
I deserve it, he thought bitterly, wedging a slim roll into the corner of his mouth. It lit all on its own.
And it deserves me. Trailing fumes, eyes sizzling, he ascended back up to the bar.
- -
The machine seemed genuinely stumped for a moment. She'd expected some sort of anger or reluctance, but not for the elf to actually confide in her. Chalk it up to desperation, she supposed. She hadn't thought something so elegant and inhuman as the elf could look haggard, but both the feature recognition firmware attached to her optical analyzer and what she hadn't been able to tag with any other definition than 'gut feeling' told her that the elf was looking positively harassed.
'
:i wouldn't know. i can mostly only suspect things when it comes to him,' the machine said. '
:and definitely not the best of things. but if it's not...'
The machine stopped, looked at the elf as questioningly as she could with her stiff mechanical features for a moment, and then eased herself around and took a seat up on the other bed, looking at her squarely. She was fantastically good at the body language and little sounds to make up her lack of facial expressiveness; Sylvie surmised that she was about to say something a bit uncomfortable and shameful several seconds before she did.
'
:i overheard, alright?' she said, guilty admission in her voice. '
:it's hard not to when you've got my sort of hearing and you know it's better for you if you listen in. and what you said was... well, wrong.' She made a gesture with a hand. '
:i know that it sounds awful that this whole thing might just have been about words, but... i've heard him talk about love and things before, and, well... he thinks that since people's reality is based on their perception you have to figure out their principles...'
The machine stopped. Then, again, she managed to hint at something very effectively even before it came out. Her shoulders began to shake a bit, her odd voice ringing in an uncertain way, before it broke out into a short burst of laughter.
'
:you know, if you're going to take advice about matters of the heart,' the machine said, still with a snerk in her scratchy voice, '
you should endeavor to find someone who actually has one next time.' She sighed, then put a chromatic chin in a solid hand, leaning forward on a knee.
'
:i can't say more than i have, really,' she continued in a matter-of-factly voice. '
:he thinks in principles and definitions. he calculates. he's clumsy like that. that's why he doesn't stop hurting others,' she explained, turning her head to look somewhere far off. '
:and why he won't stop hurting you. i don't think he gives a damn what you actually do, if he imagines he's got you figured out. if he thinks you're the type to harm him, then he'll break your arms if you so much as try and give him a hug. and if he doesn't trust you, you're not going to change that.' The machine shook her head slightly. '
:which is why you should seriously leave it be and find someone else. assuming of course that you don't already have someone. can't see that much reason why you should feel so guilty otherwise.'
There was just a hint of a question in Sahlena's last statement. It was something that made the conversation start to sound a bit uneasy.
- -
There was not a sound from Stygian's shoes as he re-entered the bar, just the slight squeak of the door as it closed behind him. And if it weren't for the cigarette and the evil in his stare, one might have taken him for a clergyman. Either that or some kind of military officer; the smooth black robe he wore suggested both rolled into one. It was, in fact, quite similar to the deep red one worn by the man who had gone off to fight the guitarist panther, decorated with the same circle cross on the wide left side of the thick stole-like hanging that lay over his shoulders, topped off with some sort of golden lines on the shoulder and a couple of gold-embroidered markings. Brassy gold details hinted subtly under the sateen fabric, particularly a golden chain hanging over his chest where the dress was open to reveal some sort of skin-tight glistening and synthetic cloth parted into sections. Not saying a word, the man sat down on a stool, cast a glance at the fight in the illusory bar, and then tapped the counter twice.
Citrine scoffed in response. "Maybe you should appear as a bad guy then, maybe then people won't get the wrong idea." Her brain was thinking carefully about his first remark before ranting on how misunderstood he was. Then something clicked, she figured out what he meant from his remark.
She walks over to him casually and looks down at him. She then slaps his face, though it felt more like a punch but with a bit more of a sting to it, and then kicks him hard in the jaw. "You sick man!" Citrine hated a lot of things, but what she hated the most were perverts.
Boog set out Stygian's drink, not looking away from the barfight. He was squinting. The particularly observant would notice his eyes tracing the arc through the air of a particular splinter of chair. Something had him enraptured.
"So... The banging noises in the basement. Nothing gonna blow up?" The question was distracted, something he wasn't devoting his full attention to...
--
"You know something funny about cops? You look like you're made of steel until someone shoots you. Until someone shoots BACK. Then you just sort of fold up, sad little crumpled things like anyone else's body." He'd moved again, now he was firing from a DIFFERENT house, trying to pin Dani down. Get a good angle on her... "In many ways you've got it worse. We're all in the deep dark woods, it could always come from anywhere, from anyONE, but you're the only ones stupid enough to go looking for it!"
--
Richard flinched at Citrine and Dekari's fight. "Girl's got issues." He swigged another beer and looked over at Marya, who was mock-punching along with her double in the illusionary barfight...
The dead man gave a rattling sigh and looked over at Andrace. "If it make you feel any better, your sister isn't doing half bad."
Dekari pushed himself up to a sitting position. He grabbed his lower jaw with his hand and moved it to one side then quickly snapped it to the other side with a muffled pop. "Ow" He quietly grunted rubbing the side of his face where Citrines kick hit. "Man, can't take a joke for nothing. You really need to learn to lighten up some."
A moment later he stood up and let out a sigh as his thoughts began to drift. "Heh, funny what kind of memories can be brought back during a fight." He said as he turned his gaze towards Citrine however his gaze seemed distant and almost sad. "Can I ask you a question or two? Have you ever killed anyone out of rage? If you have, how did it feel?"
Citrine stared him down scornfully with his question. "No I haven't nor will you get sympathy from me." His remark on taking it easy just made her cringe with anger. "Why should I "lighten up" when the world refuses to do the same for you." She grabs him by the hair on his head and pulls him up to her eye-level. "I won't go easy on anyone that includes myself AND you." She curled her fist full of hair, starting to rise tension between the two.
Slightly off-balance from the stamp, Witt wasn't able to dodge the kick that came flying back towards him, encumbered as he was with the slightly bent bar stool and the bottle between his teeth. Fortunately for any future ladies who might catch his eye, his build was low enough to the ground to put off Despina's aim, if only by a few inches.
On the other hand, a solid kick below the belt takes the wind out of anyone's sails, even if it misses the "sweet spot". With a whoomp of expressed air, he sat down sharply, the bottle flying away from his jaw, the bar stool from his hand. Then, without changing expression, he gently, slowly, and yet inexorably - like a gigantic iceberg calving from the front of a glacier, kilometres of frozen snow gradually changing over several unstoppable minutes from geography into mobile shipping hazard - he folded up, into his own little universe of pain. As he did so, his spines curled over, spreading out, ensuring that whatever else went on, his little universe would remain, above all, private.
From the impenetrable, slightly glistening ball of prickles came a deep, heartfelt groan of pain, with a sharp edge of retribution, followed by two or three deep breaths, and then a number of sulphurous oaths, and, finally, a huge sigh, which shook the ball of spines.
After all that, maybe a minute or two after it had closed, Witt unfolded, with a nasty, pointed glare in Despina's direction. He stabbed a finger in her direction. "You, missy, are making yourself out to be an awful fucking lot of damn trouble."
With that, he stamped a step or two to the side, snatched up the bent stool, and with a huff of expressed air, stomped firmly in her direction.
Retribution was a-coming.
If nothing else, she'd finally got him to be serious about the fight.
The speckled feline approached the bar after passing a few stone circles outside. He was exactly where he'd hoped to be. Sauntering inside, he looked rather shady in his black garb, however, his mind was well shielded from outside intrusion, and both sets of wings were hidden. He confidently walked up between the rather tall and imposing female's, one, a wolf, who seemed to be slightly on the older side for an adventurer... however, still exceptionally capable, the other, an exceptionally tall lioness, who appeared being, and, at the moment, curled into a ball. Her embarrassment provided little in the way of energy, but, it helped explain the strange posture. He took up a seat next to her and shouted at the bar keep, "Yo, barkeep, one bourbon, one scotch, and one beer..."
The feline reached under the black cloth to produce a smallish silver coin which he spun on the bar-top. In a little show he picked up the still spinning coin on a finger, and, with a little magical nudge, kept it spinning, first on a finger tip, then in his palm. He tossed it back in the air, and let it clatter to a halt on the counter. A grin on his face as he added, "And a rundown of how these circles work, if you'd be so kind."
Arroyo walked into the bar a minute later than the leopard did. He dusted off his Dark brown coat with one hand, drinking a bottle of water in another then disposing the bottle. He patted both his large canteens on his left side to see if they were there and full. He checked his right side for his sword, where was there, laying in the sheath. He rubbed his bare feet on the mat before stepping in the bar, sitting down at a stool. "What is this place."
He blinked, his jade eyes then looked at the fights. "A fight club..." He mumbled then looked at a peculiar fight going on. "...Citrine?" He quickly got up and waved his arms frantically at them. "Citrine! Citrine! It's me!" He then realized that she probably can't see him. "...Why isn't she noticing me?" He frowned, sitting back down on the stool.
Dekaris ears picked up on the voice calling out his opponents' name. "I wouldn't except your sympathy even if you had any to give. They are my sins to atone for. Every last soul that I had a hand in murdering when I doomed my entire universe to destruction out of anger, rage...revenge. To this day a sea of ghostly faces hunts me, always asking one question, 'why?'" Dekari paused for a moment as his left hand became sheathed in a brilliant light. "That was and still is the price I paid for my anger." He finished as the slid his left hand between his head and Citrines hand, cutting his hair to release himself from her grip before garbing her by the neck and throwing her face first to the ground with a loud thud. "I only tell you this to protect you, as it is the code that all of my clan must follow, 'to protect all who walk in the light'. You say you haven't killed out of rage, but one day you will, and the one you kill may be someone you care for."
Dekari turned away from Citrine and started to walk to the edge of the ring. "I think we should start thinking about calling the match. You seem to have a 'fan' waiting and I could use a drink. But if you want to continue, it's your move."
"It's not up to me ya know. Your the one giving up on the match. I still win ether way." She stands up, wiping the blood coming out her nose and smiles at the bruised body of Dakari. "It's so sad really, you only grazed me but I did a large number of hits on you. I'm surprise your still standing." The ring's backgrounds started to melt back into the image of the bar. She heard a faint call of her name. 'No...it can't be...that Milori Runt?!' She shook her head, stepping out of the Arena, finding a seat in the thick crowd.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Arroyo wasn't really paying attention to Citrine's fights, he was more intrigue by the other fights. "I don't get it...whats there to gain by fighting each other? Money? or is it just respect?" He tapped his finger against his cheek, thinking about entering but somewhat hesitating on picking an opponent.
The fake Andrace blinked and looked up. Her butt didn't hurt any more. Neither did her head, or her stomach. And the canine Demon was looming over her, one clawed hand reaching down, and a toothy grin on his muzzle. She didn't panic (much), but she did start moving very quickly. Right arm thrust up, heel of the hand ramming under his chin; jerk knee up then kick out at the pit of his stomach; and roll off to the side, lashing out in mid-roll with a stiff-handed chop to his throat. By the time she finished reacting automatically, she was bouncing on her paw-pads, just beyond arm's reach from the Demon, and spinning to face him.
Across the room, Despina would have been in a perfect position to follow through on her kick and finish off Witt while he was curled up around his own preoccupation. Except that when the hedgehog spat out the bottle in his mouth, it smacked her right between the eyes just as she was recovering from the titanic blast her guts had produced. She staggered back against the bar, flashing lights and little twittering winged pygmy shrews fluttering round her head for a few seconds. By the time she could see straight again, she'd noticed Witt was still out of it, so she decided to take a moment to rest.
That lasted a grand total of three seconds. The lioness looked down in disbelief as her stomach made growling noises as fierce as any that had come from her throat. She cast another healing spell, and laid her green-glowing hand flat against her bare stomach fur. It made no difference; if anything, the next rumble was almost volcanic in scale. Witt was beginning to come back to his senses now, and she couldn't hide her worry. "What th' hell'd y' do t' me, y' little pincushion?" she snarled desperately. "This ain't healin', nothin' I c'n do stops it — argh!" The lioness broke off with a squeal and crossed her legs. This time the noise sounded like a gastric ten-second countdown. Her eyes wild, Despina looked around the room, past the crowds of brawlers, until she spotted the one thing she desperately needed.
Somehow keeeping her legs crossed, she staggered across the room, pausing only when she realised Witt stood in the way. The lioness made a complicated gesture, pointed her staff towards the floor and yowled a single word. Under the hedgehog's feet a glowing circle appeared, then in about a quarter second the circle solidified and shot up to within a yard of the ceiling before vanishing. Despina hobbled on, her eyes near panicked as she came closer to her goal. She only had time for one despairing wail of "Aaaah craaa-a-a-a —" before her final word was cut short by the slamming door of the ladies' room. A second later the door shook with a muffled noise very much like a depth charge detonating.
Back in the real bar, Andrace perked one ear up towards the rough-sounding voice. An eye peeked out between her fingers at the Undead, then her other eye opened and she looked back towards the viewer. Just in time to see her sister's abrupt exit. Her whiskers twitched. Her tail wrapped tightly around a leg of her barstool. She snorted and started laughing, with an evil just-wait-till-I-tell-the-others look on her face.
Still lingering in the ring, Dekari stared off into the distance. "Victory by any means...no one truly wins with that lifestyle." He said aloud to no one in particular as he shook his head. He walked to the edge of the ring and put his shirt and boots back on and slung the rest of his gear over a shoulder before going back into the bar.
Dekari walked up to the counter and called out to the barkeeper. "Hey, barkeep, same order as when I first walked in. Four shots of your strongest stuff. I'll be waiting over there if you don't mind." He said pointing at a table in a relatively quiet part of the bar. "Also, could you tack a rib eye on there, rare and bloody if you can." He added as he walked over the empty table he just pointed at. After hanging his gear on the back of a chair, Dekari sat down, crossed his arms on the table, rested his head on his arms, and closed his eyes. He usually found it better to concentrate when there is only sound to deal with.
In the fake bar, Baseel took the blow to the chin at full force without any skin hardening to deaden the blow. His teeth clattered, yet somehow none cracked, chipped or broke. The blow to the gut caused the demon to roll, hardening his skin while coughing for air. A wing edge swung up and managed to block the chop, but the demon was rolling on the ground, the faint taste of blood in his mouth let him know she'd gotten a very solid hit indeed.
Wheezing slowly, and inching to his feet, the large shepherd started looking rather angry. His fist gave off a blackish mist, when it caught the light, the edges seemed to glow, but the body of the gaseous effect was as dark as the blackest of shadow. He slammed his fist to the ground as the entire bar was suddenly filled with a blinding, pitch-black fog. Andrace could hear the demon cackling quietly. "I try and play nice, heal your wounds, wake you up, and in return, you fought dirty. Now, i'm returning the favor...*snicker* You might be a skilled fighter, but what happens when the playing field gets tipped."
To the demon, the fog was nothing more that a slight irritation, as if, someone had slid sunglasses on. He grinned devilishly as he he kicked in the back of a chair, slamming it's occupant's gut into a table, and then to the floor, gasping for breath. Basilisk then picked up the chair, and skip-stepped his way around the taller feline. The *click clack* his toe-claws made was the only clue he gave to his position... after a few more seconds of toying, he came in straight for her, swinging the chair at Andrace's belly.
Witt had barely started towards Despina when the lioness snarled at him. He blinked, heard the rumble, paused, and grinned, evilly. He started to snicker. By the time he'd descended into full on laughter, she was pounding towards him with a familiar, desperate look plastered all over her muzzle.
Fortunately, this meant he was half-crouched over when her spell threw him upwards, and merely dropped to all fours when leaving the floor. However, since there were no seatbelts attached to the upper side of the glowing circle, when it stopped, he didn't. With a solid wham, and a gasp of sharply exhaled air, he hammered upwards into the ceiling, spines first.
As the circle dissipated, he didn't come down again, either. Stuck firmly to the roof, he roared helplessly with laughter, watching Despina head for the kitty litter. If anything, the laughter got more raucous at the sound of her despairing wail... and then the detonation... and then, apparently as a result, the entire room went dark.
To those watching from the real bar, the blackness was misty and translucent. To those in the fake bar, all they could see was the stygian blackness. And over it all, from his place attached to the roof, the loud, harsh, schadenfraudian tones of Witt's unceasing laughter, covered all incidental sounds.
Edit: Fake bar, the second one. Dammit. >.<
The last words that Dakari said to her just made her smile a bit. 'Don't pout because you lost to a well trained fighter...' She slumped down to the back of her chair, relaxing a for a bit. 'Though the crowd won't buy it...I need someone stronger to fight.'
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Arroyo just spun around in his seat, making himself a bit dizzy. "Sooo boring. What compelled me to come to this place is a mystery to me...but maybe a fight or two might break my boredom to pieces. " He continued to spin in the seat, wondering what his first opponent might be...
Boog nodded as Dekari came back in and set out the latest round of drink orders, grinning at Ed's question, "Sensible fellow, this one. You three may want to hear this too." He gestured Dekari, Citrene and Arryo over. "The rules are simple. This is the Honor Circle, otherdimensional fight club and overall bad part of town. You see those circles?" He pointed outside. "All the fighting happens in them. You have the fighting happen anywhere else and there will be troubles. You wait until someone ACCEPTS your challenge before you throw a punch. The challenger picks the who and when, challenged picks the where and how. Drinks cost what you think they're worth, and if you need medical assistance the doctor will just lift the fees out of your pocket while he works. Any questions, kids?"
The barkeep's grin was large and unnatural, spreading too far across his face. He seemed disproportionately pleased with things.
--
"Ah," Richard winced at the fight as it ended, "Well, she WAS doing alright..."
Fake-Andrace finished her turn and grinned viciously as she saw the effect of her attack on the canine Demon. Her grin became even more feral when the lights went out, accompanied by what sounded like a muffled explosion nearby. She half-closed her eyes and flicked her ears quickly from side to side. Complete darkness was inconvenient, but it didn't leave her helpless. There was still a lot of noise from the other fights, but nearby she could hear breathing, claws on the floor, a thump of someone being knocked down, steps approaching...
The quiet swish of something being swung towards her was her cue to act. She crouched suddenly: not quite low enough, the chair bounced off the top of her thick skull instead of hammering into her stomach, but the brief flash of pain and sparkling lights behind her eyes didn't distract her. As the chair swung past, she reached up and grabbed for the canine Demon's arms. If she could get a good grip, swing round, and surge to her feet, and time it all right, she'd have a good chance of slamming into him and tossing him over her shoulder. If not... well, he did have very sharp horns. Better get it right.
At the other end of the bar, all was quiet... well, quieter, outside the ladies' room. Then the noise of a titanic splash came from inside, and water spurted all round the edge of the door. Despina kicked the door open and squelched out, dripping with water from drooping ears to soggy tail-tuft. And she stopped, blinking in the total darkness. Her nose told her there were still plenty of scents in the room, and she could still hear fighting going on, although it was even more chaotic with the lights out. And she could also hear, high up, probably near the ceiling... evil, cackling laughter. Witt.
This final insult was too much for the lioness. She was in a literal incandescent fury: once again, her eyes were twin pits of flame, and every strand of fur and hair on her body glowed softly. Her head turned from side to side, her ears perked forward and twitching as she tried to zero in on the source of that despicable laughter. There. She snarled a few quick words, raised her free arm and a crackling ball of energy formed around her clenched fist. She glared up at where she was fairly sure Witt ought to be. Her tail lashed from side to side, spraying water in an arc behind her.
"YOU!" she screamed, "GET! DOWN! HERE!" Her fist opened, and a bar of lightning as thick as her forearm sprang from her extended clawtips. The bolt roared up, clearly visible through the inky darkness... and a yard away from the ceiling it split into a dozen smaller ones, arcing out and ripping into the ceiling in a neat circle all around where the hedgehog was. Probably.
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.
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.'
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.
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."
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?"
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.
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 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 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 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 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."
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.
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.
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.
...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.
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?"
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.
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."
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?'
"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!"
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 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.
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!"
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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...
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.
Lying in a crumpled heap in a corner of the fake bar, fake-Andrace would have definitely seen better days if she'd been in existence longer than half an hour. Every part of her body, from ears to paws and tail-tip, hurt. She wasn't out of the fight yet, though: she just needed a little more time to catch her breath after that sucker-punch...
The tremendous blast of wind nearby distracted her for a moment, then she saw a familiar figure tumble across the room and go splat on the floor not far away. The canine Demon, and he definitely looked the worse for wear. This was a great chance to take down a particularly obstinate and annoying opponent. Ignoring her aches and pains as much as she could, the lioness rolled suddenly to a crouch. She took as deep a breath as her straining lungs and battered stomach could manage, and lunged forward to the attack with a deafening, bloodthirsty roar, claws out and fangs bared in a vicious snarl. As she screamed and leaped, she thought she could hear an echo of her roar, off to one side...
Ed watched the bolts turn on him as he was yanked forward. He was unsure if it was a reflect spell or, if the angel had merely copied his spell and reciprocated in kind. Either way, Ed had no time to decipher the Angel's movements as he was yanked forward. It was a blessing in disguise, for, although the Cubi did start to loose his balance, he managed to recover, the move also sent him well clear of where the thin shafts of shadow impacted, sending geysers of snowy powder high in the Air.
Ed moved closer, he felt his tentacles being knocked out of the way, and figured he'd try something new. The tentacle Laertes held started to shudder, it pulsed, writhed, then, seemingly split in half, in fact, every tentacle that was around the angel had split, where once was 4, now were 8, The one in Laerte's hand tried wrapping itself around the angel's arm, while the new one right next to it made a move for the angel's abdomen. Three of the remaining tentacles attempted to wrap themselves around the angel. The other three made an attempt to grab the shaft of the great Scythe... If he couldn't pierce the shield on his own accord, perhaps using the Angel's own weapon against him could prove useful.
Ed also seemed to dance his way closer to the area the angel was... the closer he got, the more tentacles he'd have available.
**********
In the fake bar, Bas continued his rather jerky swagger as the dull aches and pains continued to protest his movements. He watched with a sense of morbid fascination as the lioness came in at a full sprint and pounced at him. Pain or not, the fresh surge of adrenaline in the demon's system was enough to get him moving at full speed in a way that showed none of his injuries. He roared back at the lioness as she pounced.
He started to move his left wing into her path, however, just before it came into her reach it bolted back, in it's place, a fully hardened fist, coming in an uppercut, aimed at about where the end of her rib cage should be when the 2 would impact.
Bas shrugged off the fact that his body was going to be coming into contact with those rather sharp and vicious looking teeth and claws in favor of, what, in his mind, should be a quick end to hostilities.
Witt raised his head as the cry of "Oi! Heads up!" echoed ahead of an incoming body. Taking a half step to his left, he grinned evilly, dropped the shattered remains of the chair, half turned, and raised his right paw up and out, bracing himself.
As Marya arrived, her paw slammed into his, and, gripping firmly around her arm, he whipped around in a tight circle, spinning the mongoose around his mass and sending her flying back in the direction she came from.
As she slipped from his grasp, he continued the spin, converting it into a sideways roll behind a table, snatching up another bent barstool on his way; the previous ones had been so useful. As a side effect, it dodged the incoming lioness neatly. He flicked the table with his shoulder, providing himself with cover, and grabbed it, providing himself with yet another makeshift shield.
And with that in hand, he waded into the fray.
The Marya in the bar took a few seconds to get what was going on, but the real one could tell from a distance and was already laughing as her duplicate was flung back towards her assailant. The fake barked out a hasty "thanks!" and grinned as she was sent right back at the demonic-lookin' bugger, already taking a swing at some lioness.
"Rktktktktktktktktkt!"
The trajectory of the throw took her a little past the demon, which was quite fine by her. The mongoose let the momentum of the throw carry her into a slide across the remains of someone's beer, sending her under a nearby table, which she flipped in front of her and lifted as she stood up.
Conventional minds see one use for one object. Creative minds see multiple uses for one object. Marya was often mistaken for a conventional mind but, really, to her there was only ONE real use for anything you pick up in a barfight.
With another chittering battlecry, table held ahead of her to provide mass and deflect oncoming projectiles, the fake Marya charged at the fake Bas.
In the real bar, Marya was still laughing. "Remind me to buy that man a drink when he gets out, Rich'. That was fuckin' BEAUTIFUL."
"Sure..." Richard replied absentmindedly, taking another sip of what he was drinking.
--
Big Bad shrieked once, in what sounded like fear with a mortified edge. Like the most extreme reaction to being goosed short of actual violence. Houses shook and tumbled, sending people fleeing. Most were getting away okay, staggering their way into cars and speeding off as the buildings came down...
The man leaped through the window of the house he'd been hiding in as it began to tilt and crumble, snarl onwavering as he tried to advance on her over the rolling terrain.
"What have you DONE!?" The gun wasn't there, just the machete, but he didn't seem to be thinking clearly. "My people! My HOME! What have you DONE!?"
--
Boog stepped into the circle with Arryo, worrisome smile still firmly in place.
"So, weather effects. Where do I know that has extremes of weather... Ah" The Boogeyman grinned and gestured to the circle, smoke already rising from the edges of it.
"Got it."
The smoke grew thicker, forming a roiling mass of fog. Pretty soon it was impossible to see in or out of the circle...
When it cleared Arryo was standing on the deck of an aircraft carrier. It was night, the air was still, and past the planes and the edge of the boat there was just blue-black water as far as the eye could see.
The Boogeyman was nowhere to be seen.
A thought dropped into Arryo's head, with all the clarity of the sound of a penny dropped into a pond. Just a simple, expectant "Well?"
Arroyo shrugged a bit, he wasn't all impressed. "It will do." He said in such a calm tone. Of course, he knew he was at an advantage. Fogs are usually made of water which ment he could use it in the fight, hopefully.
"Shall we get down to business? Or should we just stand here and lock each other into a monologue and tempt to one shot the whole match while one of us is still in a monologue?" He smiled, readying his sword.
Andrace — the real one — looked as if she didn't know whether to bite her tail in embarrassment or laugh herself sick as she glanced between the fights involving her sister and her duplicate. She'd suspected for some time that Despina might be holding back: she could have finished Witt off half a dozen times already. All her possible attacks had been quite dangerous spells, though: even considering how tough the hedgehog seemed to be, the chance of killing him outright would have been regrettably greater than zero. The younger lioness had gone through the same basic training in non-magical combat as her other sisters and brothers, so she was doing about as well as Andrace expected. As for her duplicate... it was as if she were fourteen years old again, full of teen angst, hormones and at least one bottle of something with a good strong kick. Come to think of it, she'd seen Eugenia (who'd still be fourteen herself for a few more months) fight better than this in the same state...
Andrace — the fake one — saw the canine Demon's fist coming out from behind his wing a fraction of a second before it smashed into her ribs. Her throat clamped shut on an agonised yowl. Her hands and paws swung wildly about, with all her claws extended. The battered lioness slumped to the floor and lay in a heap at the Demon's feet, snorting blood from her nose as she twitched and moaned. She was out cold.
Despina wasn't blindly charging in a berserk rage (that was her sister Zoe's party trick), but she did suddenly realise she was moving too fast to turn abruptly. When Witt ducked to the side, she almost threw herself off balance trying to smack him across the back of the head with her staff. The wild swing missed by a mile. Wood shavings curled up from the floor as she dug her claws in and her paw-pads skidded on the floorboards. The lioness turned and lunged one more time. She really wanted to score just one good solid hit on the prickly little SOB. She muttered a few quiet words, and a red glow flared up around the end of her staff. Witt seemed to like using the furniture as shields and weapons. The small, powerful concussion spell glowed brighter, trailing sparks, as she swung her staff up, over her head, and hurtling down towards her target.
In the fake bar, Fake Bas was feeling rather sore, not so much tired, but in pain, and not wanting to do much else. The lioness had managed to run smack into that fist, and the pair collapsed in a heap of limbs, which was fine by Bas. Leaning against a couple overturned tables, the demon once again began tending to his injuries. Finishing with his own healing, he noted the blood coming from the lioness. Not wanting to take the chance of internal damage, he again applied a healing spell, only rather than outright healing, he began the process slowly, enough that she should wake up and realize that he wasn't trying to hurt her any more.
As if to add to the gesture, a nearly full, and completely undamaged bottle of whiskey was laying just outside his finger-tips... the fake Bas had to ask, while sweeping the bottle under a wing, was the lioness as strong of a drinker as she was a fighter?
Fake-Andrace barely twitched a whisker. Her slow, steady breathing didn't hesitate, and she still lay in a limp heap on the floor. A thin sliver of her eyes showed for a brief moment, though, from behind her eyelids. The lioness was, if not alert, at least more-or-less conscious again. And she could feel the pain of the splintered ribs puncturing her lung, that had finally knocked her out after that last punch, rapidly fading. She knew the canine Demon was hovering over her. He was healing her? Why? What was he up to? She decided to wait a moment or two more before seeming to wake up. Maybe the Demon would say something to reveal his intentions. If he was about to carry on fighting, well, she still had a few surprises hidden up her sleeve... and inside her belt buckle... and in her underwear...
In the recreation of the bar, the 'fake' demon felt breaks heal and noted the bruises going down. He collected a pair of shot glasses off the floor, both still usable, and used a quick cleaning spell to remove the dirt, grime and previous contents. He carefully set them between fingers on his left hand while pouring the amber liquid from the whiskey bottle, filling each glass. He capped the bottle, and set it between him and Andrace. He then whispered in her ear, "I think it's time we made up. Care for a drink, adventurer?"
Fake-Andrace's ear twitched, almost brushing the canine Demon's whiskers, at his whisper. She opened her eyes and looked up at him with a sly little grin. So, that was his game? Seduce her with a friendly smile and a drink or four? Not this little kitty, she knew how to deal with any optimist who tried that stunt. She sniffed: the stuff in the glasses he'd set out wasn't top quality, but it was far from rotgut. She sat up with a wince and a quiet grunt. That wasn't all for show, several parts of her body she was very fond of still hurt a lot. The lioness hitched up her belt, apparently taking particular care to straighten the buckle, and looked back at the Demon with a confident, almost swaggering air. "Surely y've not had enough o' fightin' already?" she said with a skeptical flirt of her tail. "Heh, I'll not pass up an offer o' a drink, though." Keeping her eyes on the Demon for any sudden moves, she reached and picked up the glass. She didn't drink any, though... yet.
The real Andrace's ears flattened for a moment, and her tail flicked round and whapped lightly against a leg of her stool. "Ah, frig!" she muttered under her breath, glancing from side to side at the other fight-watchers. Her sister's fight was forgotten for a moment. Had any of them noticed, and realised what they'd seen? "Me, y're a silly bint! I know better 'n t' use that stuff when there's folk'll see!" Not for the first time, the lioness wondered just how accurately the Circle made its duplicates of actual people. She knew what was in the hidden compartment behind her belt buckle. Her copy "knew" that as well: the image in the viewing spell had been just big enough for Andrace to notice her duplicate's casual move, slipping her fingertips behind the buckle for a moment. But were her claws now genuinely coated with enough poison to knock out a rampaging Mythos — most kinds, anyway — and keep him out cold for several hours?
Witt saw the incoming blow - albeit not very much in advance of it arriving - and moved the table up to block it, while swinging the stool across at knee height. The blow, heavy though it was, would be easily blocked by the weight of the table, leaving the stool to flatten the lioness.
Or so he thought.
The staff hammered downwards, slamming into the tabletop with a heavy, unheard thud. Unheard, because as it landed, the concussion spell went off with an almighty bang, shattering the table and blowing shards into Witt's face and upper body. With his body only partially shielded by his jacket, his muzzle and paws speckled with droplets of blood and embedded splinters, and half-deafened by the retort, he dropped the shattered stump of the table leg and the bent stool, grabbed the staff with one hand, yanking Despina towards himself. His other hand shot out and grabbed her by the throat, lifted her from the ground (albeit not very far due to the difference in their height), and attempted to body-slam her into the ground. As hard as he could, four or five times.
By this point, he was utterly fed up with the fight. Damned sneaky magic users...
The fake Bas grinned back, "Done fighting? Me?! absolutely not... however, at the rate I'm expending energy to keep you alive, and awake, well... i figured a friendly drink and a few moments of a breather would be in order... besides, a challenge like yourself, well... i don't even know your name, being... and the fact that you're holding your own so well against me in unarmed combat is truly commendable."
The demon shrugged as downed the contents of his own shot-glass with a grin. "And who knows, maybe after killing the rest of this bottle, we'll be on a bit more even footing... i haven't been drunk in ages, or so it feels like."
Flashing a toothy smile he refilled his own glass.
In the real bar, Bas watched as his doppelganger continued flirting with the lioness adventurer, and he did his best to avoid showing signs of his displeasure... for the real Bas found himself concerned with what happened to the duplicate of his black clad, brightly colored friend he was currently sharing a table with... this 'Keaton'.
Despina's eyes had a gleam of satisfaction as she saw how well her concussion spell worked. She ignored the few splinters that had come her way from the wrecked table and peppered her stomach and thighs. Her triumphal snarl, though, was cut short when Witt grabbed her staff and pulled. She let go and started to lunge backwards, but not before she'd come just a little too close to the hedgehog's other hand. A strangulated cough was the only sound she could make as his clamping grasp immediately shut her windpipe. Her ears lay back, and she brought her hands up to claw at his arm, but
WHAM
All of a sudden the room did a hop, skip and jump and the floor hit her hard between the shoulderblades. Fireworks went off in her vision, and not the pleasant sort.
WHAM
It happened again. A look of sheer fury, tinged with quite a lot of pain, came over the lioness' face. She drew her legs back, claws extended for a gutting kick
WHAM WHAM WHAM
The fourth time the back of her head slammed into the floorboards was quite enough. By the time Witt had finished, Despina flopped loosely in his grasp. Her eyes were wandering in different directions, and a few drops of blood trickled down the side of her muzzle where a fang had nicked her lip. The lioness was out cold.
Witt was raising the slightly floppy body for another slam at the floor - after all, no point stopping just because they were playing possum, now - when the bar around him faded into a flat, slightly sandy circle, bereft of any of the other combatants.
He paused, lowered the body gently to the ground, and checked that she was still breathing, and, apart from the bruising and concussion, wasn't in any immediate medical risk. Then he sat back, and sighed heavily, breathing hard. He glanced around, then gazed at the apparently peaceful body in front of him. "Shame, really. Some of those others looked like they might be fun to play with. But, a deal is a deal." He blinked, and rubbed his eyes clear, then looked over to his left.
About twenty feet away, neatly stacked, and unbroken, unbent, and apparently unharmed, was his half of a 307 ale, in it's twisty, eye-wateringly bent bottle, and his helmet. Sans dent.
He bent forward, pushed himself off the ground with a grunt, and stumped heavily across to it, one hand caressing the dent still in the back of his head. Bending, he snagged the helmet, and the ale, and turned back to his erstwhile opponent. "Hrm. Well..." he muttered, whilst putting the helmet back on his head, wincing a little as it pressed against swollen area around the aforementioned dent, "I can't take you back inside. If you woke up in there, you'd think we were still on. So..."
He looked at her. He looked at the ale. An evil, evil smirk snuck up onto his face, and he looked back at Despina's resting form.
"No. I couldn't do that. It'd be a waste of a good drink..." So saying, he took a drink, and sauntered towards the bar. "Be good, I'll be right back."
A minute or two later, he sauntered back out, carrying another ale in one hand, and a half-full bucket of water in the other. As an added bonus, he'd managed to snag a few handfuls of ice cubes, which were now merrily bobbing about in there. He sauntered over, saluted her with the bottle, emptied it (into him), then put the bucket down. He carefully adjusted the way she was lying down, turning her on her side so that she wouldn't end up breathing too much of the water. Then he stood up.
He picked up the bucket.
Andrace shifted her attention from one part of the viewer's image to another when she heard a familiar yowl, tinged with a large dose of "whoops". She looked back at the actual fight going on in the Circle just as Witt slammed Despina down for the second time. She winced and shook her head, but there was still a little bit of a sharp-fanged smile on her muzzle as her sister flopped back and sprawled unconscious on the floor. As the scene faded from the viewer, proving that the fight was over, she just had time to notice her duplicate pounce on the canine Demon's double... although not, she thought, in a particularly hostile way.
The lioness had a pretty good idea what Witt had in mind when he came back into the bar. When the hedgehog walked past her with the bucket, she grinned and winked at him, and helpfully poured an extra tub of ice cubes into his load. "Duck t' th' left," she murmured, "D'spina usually lashes out t' th' right when y' douse 'er, if she can't see where y' are."
Of course, Andrace didn't mention what else her younger sister usually did. After all, Witt had just smacked down a Kithara girl; even in a mostly recreational brawl like this, there were repercussions to that sort of thing...
"Aaaiiieeehohahohfrigits COLD!!!" Despina shrieked as Witt dumped the bucket over her. She almost levitated into a half-crouch, icy cold water and several ice cubes sluicing off her wet fur. She stared back at the hedgehog, her eyes bulging and still a little glassy, then she took a deep breath, picked up her staff and scrambled to her feet. "Awright," she said with a wry smile, "Y' beat me fair 'n' square. That was a pretty good punch-up!"
The young lioness grinned impishly, raised a hand and snapped her fingers. Flames leaped from her staff, ran along her arm, and engulfed her body. Her hair was a tangled mass of curling fire; her eyes glowed like coals; inside her open mouth, her fangs looked like white-hot knives. Hot air blew around the Circle, with a scent of drying fur. Despina reached towards Witt with a passable imitation of an innocent look on her face. "Wanna shake on it?" she said.
Bas was watching his double for a little while, the lioness's doppelganger seemed to jump at his own double in a way that was all too friendly for someone who'd just been punched into unconsciousness by the very same person... Perhaps she was a carefree adventurer, or perhaps she had a thing for large and powerful creatures... whatever the case, he was about to make a snarky comment, hopefully to fend off any ideas she might have, when the scene ended. The spiky fellow slammed the other lioness into the floorboards of the fake bar a few times and it was all over.
With his table-mate seemingly lost in thought, the demon said playfully, "i'll be right back... even though i know you don't want one, i could use a good drink right about now."
Without another word, the canine headed off, making a b-line for an open bar stool. Looking for someone, or thing that could be identified as a barman. With the floating smile seemingly gone... probably off to wreck someone else's day... The demon peeked behind the bar, hoping to find someone or thing to get him a large mug of mead.
Andrace sat where she was on the barstool until she was reasonably sure she wouldn't break out in a fit of giggles. Sure enough, her little sister had done the flaming-handshake trick to add a little zip to a simple hot air fur-drying spell. It had all been a carefully-rehearsed illusion. A pity Witt had been facing the wrong way so she couldn't see his face in the viewer.
She noticed the canine Demon — the real one — walk up to the bar to order a drink. She smirked, sauntered up behind him and stared at the back of his head with her arms folded across her chest. "Hey, hunky-an'-horny," she growled cheerfully after a moment, "I noticed y' watchin' that pitiful show "we" put on in there. Dunno 'bout you, but I've not fought that badly since I was a little kid. How's 'bout we show these folks how much better th' real thing is?"
Craning his neck around slowly, a toothy, devilish grin across his muzzle, the demon eyed the lioness up and down. She was a bit bigger than he'd guessed, very tall, and from what he could tell, very well armed... and probably better armed than he could see. With a very evil smile, a subtle twitch of a wing and a small nod of the head, he replied, "I didn't think i was capable of failing quite that much... especially in a bar brawl where -I- should have had the upper hand... Now... is that a challenge... Miss..." Pausing as if to consider something.
Extending his hand gently, and grinning, he added, "...Baseel Wolkshammar... The Basilisk... or Bas if you prefer. Can't have a friendly spar without the formalities, now can we, miss?"
Drawing out the last 'S' to highlight the question.
Andrace's ears and whiskers twitched in amusement, and she made a quiet but distinct skeptical noise in her throat at the Demon's mention of his duplicate inevitably having the upper hand over her duplicate. "Yeah, it's a challenge, all right," she said. "I c'n fight a hell o' a lot better 'n my cheap knockoff copy — an' she was kickin' your cheap knockoff copy's tail a couple times there!"
When Bas introduced himself, the lioness smiled just as toothily as he'd done, reached out and took his hand, and shook it firmly. "It's a pleasure t' beat y' Bas, I'm Andrace Kithara. Did th' bar-critter tell y' th' rules o' th' place?"
Despite her carefree appearance, Andrace was privately more realistic about her chances. She recognised the name "Wolkshammar" from some old records she'd studied back home, listing powerful Demon families. If she wasn't very careful, she'd end up in the same battered condition as her duplicate.
Bas's toothy grin grew much, much more friendly when an equally evil grin was returned... Now he could see why his duplicate had like the girl. He replied, "Yes, actually he did explain the rules... and, since you're issuing the challenge... i believe i choose location... If you're ready now, I think i know just the place."
In his mind, Bas was running through several different locations, each offered there own advantages and challenges... The name Kithara seemed somewhat vaguely familiar... as if he'd heard it mentioned once in passing... or at least something very like it. As the more exotic locations cycled through his mind, one in particular stood out... A very devious snicker escaped the demon's lips as he asked, "Have you ever been, or at least heard of the Giant Liandria Forest?"
The question was said in an innocent enough tone... and, if she'd never been there... the place is ruggedly beautiful to the extreme, especially at night.
Witt grinned at the reaction to the water he'd provided; even better than he'd hoped. He then raised one eyebrow at the flames, and the outstretched hand. Mentally, he flipped a coin. Either the flames were real, and he'd get burnt, which would stink - he hated getting the smell of singed fur off - or they weren't. If they were, chances were the heat would cause his tendons to contract, and that would crush the hand anyway, so it wouldn't be a complete loss. And the damage would heal in a couple of hours or so, anyway.
All this passed through his mind in a split second. From outside, he reached out, and grabbed the hand that was being offered. Firmly.
"Sure. You fought well, too." The grin on his face belied the heat in the words. "Damned mages."
Sylvia Dahl...Why have you retreated?
...Mother Albell...?
You do not need to sleep here. The sun always shines. Yet you drew the curtains closed and fell out of the waking world. Why must you hide?
...I was hurt...
In battle? You can heal easily-
No, my lady...I...I hurt someone, and got hurt in return...
Did you intend to hurt the person?
...No...
Did you care about this person?
...Yes...but not enough, apparently...
All living creatures must go through pain in their lives, Ella-Illa, even those who can heal. If too much damage exists, you may not be able to repair it. But do not believe this is a failure. Even the gods cannot know everything about how love will end up. I myself learned this from the trickster god, as you may well recall. Do you understand?
...I believe so...but the pain is still there...
It will remain for quite some time. But you can only choose one path to end it. Now, do you wish to mend things with this person?
...I don't think I can...
Are you afraid you will hurt each other again?
...Yes.
What is it you want?
I want...the pain to end. I want freedom. From this fear, this regret, this...guilt...
Then you know what must be done. But first, you must face the world.
Mother Albell......thank you...
You've been sleeping long enough, my child...allow the sun to bring you home once again.
Upon waking, Sylvie didn't consciously remember hearing these words, but heard the calm rustling of leaves outside. She blearily opened her eyes, traces of dried tears making it just the slightest bit more difficult. She licked her lips once, and swallowed. When she opened the curtains, she felt life, energy, and power coursing through her- slowly, but with a renewing, rebirthing feeling. She filled her lungs with clean, cold air and turned back to face the room. Her eyes fell on her pack - and the fresh clothes inside. She didn't quite recall packing those, but she must have...
After changing into a fresh outfit (that looked remarkably similar to the one she'd been wearing, but with no sleeves and a slightly lower neckline), she picked up her staff and, with a sigh, walked downstairs.
When she entered, she noticed that many people were still outside...and that Stygian, Andrea, and Sahlena were gone. A wave of surprising relief washed over her, and she headed back to the bar.
"Apple juice, please," she said, then looked outside. And did a double take. "Oh! Sweet Gods, I'd forgotten Dani was fighting! She hasn't fallen asleep yet?!" Her bright green eyes looked, for the first time since her last fight, lively.
---
Dani moved quickly away from the house she was holding onto once it was clear that it was very likely to fall on her. She got low to the shaking ground and covered her head with her free arm (such things as earthquakes weren't uncommon in Rustburg). Then she looked up to watch the advancing, scared, furious Big Bad. Whether he was upset because of what she'd said, or because of his home falling to pieces around him, she didn't know, but what mattered was that apparently he was shaken enough (pun only half-intended) to be faltering. He had switched weaponry. If she got in close, just once, she could do this...
"Well, hell if I intended for this to happen!" she shouted, still staying low, but tightening her grip on her glaive, waiting for Big Bad to get close enough. "But hey, as long as it's happening, this isn't real, is it? So why not huff and puff and blow the neighborhood down?!" The last part of that sentence simply sprang to her lips; apparently, a few stories HAD made it into the world she came from. But before any differences between the two stories could be wondered about, Dani got up herself and began to run towards Big Bad, her teeth gritted and her face somewhat distorted in exertion as she deigned to close the rumbling distance between them and swing at his neck.
To be honest I'd be happy to keep talking. I LOVE to talk. For instance, lets talk about you. Who are you? The voice had an amused edge as it floated around the edge of Arryo's mind, We're about to beat each other until candy comes out and I'm pretty sure the most we have on each other is names and appearances. Where are you from, boy?
The fog roiled and moved. Was that him, standing there in the shadow of the wing of one of the jets? It was too dark...
--
Richard raised an eyebrow when Sylvia came back downstairs. "Was wondering when you'd be back down." He gestured to the ring with his drink. "Your friend looks kinda like she's in over her head, but she's keeping it together well enough. She's probably gotta reign in those spells of hers though, or she's gonna-"
--
It was one of those moments that needs to be kept forever. The suburbs crumbled around the both of them, Big Bad and Dani, as they moved toward each other for the kill. The polearm scythed for him at neck height, his machete came up too slow. The nightmare sneered, blinked out of existance... And reappeared right where he was a second ago, looking alarmed. His eyes widened. The machete fell from one hand, soon followed by the gun. Whatever horribleness that made him other than a man abated, if only momentarily. The blade connected with his neck...
Briefly, Dani was in a forest with trees that dwarfed mountains. Before her was something that Was Not A Wolf. Wolves were smaller, and had no arms, and less mouths, and more eyes. Her polearm was cleaving through its neck...
"I'll sh-sh-sh-show y-you!" Gunshots, screaming....
High above, the foliage formed a woman's face. She opened her mouth and said-
Dani was standing in an empty circle. In front of her was The Book, which promptly snapped closed. Next to it was a torn up page, and Big Bad's revolver...
--
"-Oh." Richard blinked. "Well nevermind then."
Marya snickered, keeping an eye on the hedgehog who'd just walked out of the barfight. After that show, she figured she owed him a drink.
(Heh I think its about time i rejoined so here I go :P)
A bight crackling rift opened just in front of the bar, and hurtling out of it came a certain Armored Wolf Cubi. With a decent amount of speed he slammed into the bar, the angle the portal spitting him out causing Paladin to come to rest upside down.
"Owww."
The flames running along Despina's bare shoulder and down her arm didn't pull back when she grasped Witt's hand and tried for a knuckle-straining grip to match his. The hedgehog didn't feel much heat as a brisk conflagration appeared to engulf his arm up to the elbow, only a gentle warmth and a whirling wind confined to within a few inches of the lioness' body. One final gust of hot air swirled her skirt-flaps around her legs and ruffled her hair and tail-tuft, then it all stopped, leaving Despina with perfectly blow-dried fur.
She held on to Witt's hand through half a dozen vise-like shakes, and only several years' experience of arm-wrestling her older (and much stronger) sister Irene helped her avoid visibly massaging the life back into her hand when she let go. Then her ears flicked inquisitively as she realised part of what Witt had said. "So yer not a mage yerself?" she asked. "I thought all those illusions were your doin'. What was it, then, someone's set-spell? Ah, never mind, let's get back inside so's I c'n buy ye a drink. A fight like that deserves some celebratin'."
Inside the bar, Andrace looked thoughtful for a moment at Bas' suggestion. "Nope, can't say I know anythin' 'bout th' place," she said, "seen th' name on maps, I think, but that's 'bout it. Hold on a sec, be right back." The lioness trotted over to her backpack where it leaned against the bar, picked up her gunbelt and sword, and quickly buckled them on. The heavy baldric was really more suited to go over her thick leather jerkin rather than the decorative silk shirt she currently wore, but the shirt had been carefully made for this situation: it could stand up well under the stress and still look as if the only thing inside it was a lioness. No unexpected bumps or bulges revealed the hiding places of several sharp and pointy little surprises.
Finally she reached into a side pocket inside the backpack and pulled out a long thin club made of a dense reddish wood, reinforced by metal banding that was tastefully decorated with rows of spikes. It was also at least twice the length of the backpack, never mind the small pocket it had come out of. Andrace sauntered back towards the Demon, whistling cheerfully, with the club propped casually over her shoulder. "Haven't used m' lucky club f'r a while," she said, "so it's 'bout time I gave it an airin'. Brawlin' f'r fun, it don't matter if y' ain't usin' y' weapons, but in this business — a girl can't be too careful."
"oh, but it wouldn't be a fair fight if you didn't have something to protect yourself with, m'dear. However, i'm going to make things clear that there will be no killing. For one, an honest spar might be a matter of honor. Besides, if your boasts are half of what you claim, i would no sooner burn a painting in castle Wolkshammar than kill a masterful fighter such as yourself... Besides that, anything is fair game... the spar ends when one is either incapacitated, was unable to dodge a would-be lethal strike, or gives up."
Standing up to his full height, his eye-line a few inches shorter than the lioness, yet horns going well above, the demon gave a bit of a snicker as he headed out the door. "I figure the looser buys the winner a drink, unless you have something better in mind for a prize... In which case,- I'll- still take a drink for my victory prize."
Giving a noncommittal shrug as he headed out the door. The demon walked to the circle and focused on a particular island he'd become quite fond of. The waves gently lapped in the tropical air, the outer edge covered in soft, white sand. The sand extended about 50 feet inland where it stopped. The rest of the island was made up of a strange volcanic formation. Near perfectly octagonal flutes of rock, all near uniform in face, but extending to different heights. The dream-scape like land was covered with the little pad-like octagons throughout most of the largish island, some formations standing 30 feet above the ground, others fell below sea level, leaving little salt-water ponds where the ocean leaked through. In the center of the island was an imposing 'battle-terrace' as Bas had dubbed it. The sheer vertical cliff standing some 500+ feet in the air, casting an odd and ominous shadow.
The beaches themselves had brush and a handful of trees, but most of the island was rock, with protruding grasses of all kinds. Most of the grass was a little over knee height, and in patches no bigger than a few feet around.
Bas stood atop one of the smaller formation, 10 or so feet above the average plane where the majority of the pads sat.
The island, if one were to observe it from above, would be a near perfect oval, about a mile at it widest, and about 500 feet at the midsection the other way. The battle-terrace was a massive structure, with roots vines, and stones hanging off it, the plateau at the top was a perfect circle, 60 feet across.
Andrace nodded curtly as the canine Demon laid out his conditions, then she grinned sardonically. "Now how w'ld I get a drink out o' y' when I beat y', if I've gone an' done a clumsy thing like kill y'? Apart from th' messy way, o' course," she finished with a brief mischievous (and toothy) smirk. The lioness followed him outside, still whistling cheerfully, and waved towards Despina and Witt as she entered the Circle Bas had selected.
Her ears, whiskers and tail twitched intently as the empty Circle faded and shifted into a strange rocky island. She wasn't far from Bas, and at about the same height, but there were several of those stone columns between them, some higher, some lower. The lioness glanced around briefly, taking in the details of their arena. Not enough brush or undergrowth to use as cover, except on the beach, so forget about hiding and ambushing. A few very low columns, now turned into water-filled pits; better watch out for them. And the massive column in the middle of the island; could she climb it somehow, if she needed to?
Andrace returned her attention to the Demon and shifted her stance into a ready crouch, bouncing slowly up and down on her pawpads. Her claws scraped the rock, testing it to see if it was unusually hard, soft, or crumbly. She changed her grip on the leather-bound club handle, holding it ready to swing, or to parry an attack. The lioness narrowed her eyes and studied the columns in front of her. If she ran there, then jumped up there, that would give her a good height advantage to launch an attack on the Demon. Of course, the same stepping-stone sequence of columns would also give Bas the same high-ground advantage to attack her.
She watched him with a hunter's intense concentration, alert for any movement in feet, hands, eyes, tail or wings that might give her an instant's warning. Her tail lashed once from side to side, then Andrace took a deep breath, filling her lungs, and let it trickle out between her fangs. Her opponent was in front of her. She was ready.
The shepherd demon stood his place, breathing the sweet ocean air, enjoying the gentle breeze as caused his clothing to flutter slightly. He stood his ground, holding his arms a little ways from his body as he appeared to lazily flex his wings to their full length.
Bending his knees into a slightly lowered crouch, the demon took a quarter-turn, seeming to expose his left shoulder to the lioness. Very slowly, his hands began forming into fists. A blackish mist trickling from the edges of his fingertips. In the blink of an eye, the demon stood behind a very large shield. The 4' metal rimmed, and bossed wooden circle interposing itself between Baseel and Andrace.
The demon's lips curling back into a bit of a sneer, exposing his long, sharp and vicious teeth. In his other hand, a large and stylized battle-axe. The axe-head in the shape of a large bird of prey, almost as if it were a hawk, or an eagle perched on a post. The edges of the wings sharpened to a razor's edge.
"Here kitty kitty kitty." The demon said in a chiding tone, "I've got a nice ball of yarn and some catnip for you to play with."
So saying, Bas ducked down slightly, hopping forward from stone to stone, careful to keep the shield between himself and the club. His wings seemed to flare and twitch at each little hop, adjusting his movements so as to allow each footfall to land on the center of each flute. His movements seemed almost a dance as he began closing the distance, it was clear his footing was sure as he continued hopping. When he got close enough, Baseel unleashed a feint-strike with the axe, pulling it down, and using the momentum to swing the shield 270 degrees in a flash. The brutal blow aimed for Andrace's midsection.
Andrace's eyes narrowed when she noticed the black haze around Bas' hands. As the shield and axe appeared, she grinned fiercely. "Aww, whassamatter, puppy," she purred mockingly in reply to his taunt, "Big hunky Demon's so scared o' one little Bein' y' gotta hide b'hind a great big shield?" The lioness began to sway gently from side to side, little more than shifting her weight on her paws, her tail curling back and forth in slow, lazy S-curves.
Here he comes, she thought as Bas started his almost dance-like charge. Now, don't make a move too early, he'll see an' shift his attack. Wait. Wait. Ah frig, I bet th' axe's a feint, lots o' edge dents in that shield, he attacks wi' it! Wait... wait... wait, wait, waitwaitwaitNOW!!! In a sudden burst of motion as the Demon's feet landed on her level of the rock platform, Andrace ducked and threw herself forward in a low dive, easily avoiding the axe and just barely low enough to miss the abrupt swing of the shield. The heavy metal rim just scraped the fur on the top few inches of her tail: any lower, and it might have broken her tail, or even crushed her hip.
The lioness landed on one shoulder, rolled, and her other arm swung out, launching her spiked club like a whiplash aimed right at the Demon's knees. At the last moment she twisted her wrist, making the club spin so that the spikes would — if she were unreasonably lucky enough to score a good, solid hit so early in the fight — tear as well as batter and stab.
As the lioness ducked, a faint chuckle escaped the demon's lips, "Clever girl, i'll give you that."
Bringing his wings in close, using the momentum of the large shield to carry his body through, his eyes never left the lioness. Her own swing coming too fast for him to move his shield, Bas swung the axe in a slightly awkward and shallow arc, posing the axehead between his exposed leg and the spiked club. The titanic crash between the two instruments combine with the awkward angle of his own hand sent the axe spinning out of Bas's grip, while driving Andrace's club down.
Taking a back-hop, the demon flicked his wrist out beyond the protective shield, long, vicious claws extended, as the black mist appeared again. Then stopped, "Perhaps we should make this more interesting..."
The tone was intentionally off, a clue as to his next move as Bas started sliding the shield off his arm, careful to watch Andrace's moves. Taking a large, wing-flap assisted jump backwards, Bas opened the distance between the two as the shield slid off his left arm. Again, without warning, he flung the 20 pound hunk of wood and steel in Andrace's direction as if it were a Frisbee disk. The demon's hands were giving off the blackish mist again, his body appeared tense, wings spread, and his entire muscles seemed tightened, like a coiled snake, ready to strike.
Sitting at the table Dekari seemed almost lost in thought, his eyes scanning over the bar area. When his eyes fell on the door that led outside, they stopped. He sat there for a moment watching the door as though waiting for something to happen. Closing his eyes with a sigh Dekari looked away from the door. "I still do not have the courage to forgive you for what you did, I'm sorry." He said to him self as he stood up and collected his things before walking off towards a darker part of the bar and vanishing from sight.
-----
The main door to the bar as what appeared to be a she-wolf Being walked in with white lower back length hair and wearing black lace corset street pants, an unbuttoned black steampunk military jacket with a red and black stripe halter corset underneath, and black leather short pirate boot. She looked around the bar with a look almost resembling concern. Her eyes slowly made their way to the table that Dekari had just been moments before as the look on her face changed to sadness. "How can I begin to be forgiven for what I have done when the one I whish forgiveness from doesn't want to face me?" She said to herself.
Azshanas looked back towards the bar and started to walk towards it when the sight of the wolf cubi resting upside-down against the bar caught her attention. Not being the type that can resist a bit of humor, a small smile broke the sadness on her face as she playfully walked over. "You know, I may not know how thing work around here here, but um..." She paused as she bent over the wolf cubi. "Where I'm from, that's not exactly how you sit at a bar. Need a hand?"
Laertes sang.
The celestial music lingered in the winter air, haunting, a spiritual chill that complemented the more physical cold. The incubus's tentacles wrapped around the angel, ensnaring him and attempting to drag him closer to the ground. He adjusted his grip, and wrapped his arms tightly around the offending appendages, even turning once to entangle himself in them more thoroughly.
The scythe did not seem to resist the tentacles, but neither did it move. It had been anchored, as though chained in place, or the curved blade buried in stone.
The angel closed his eyes, the golden radiance about him shimmering and flickering out. A soft, blue glow emanated through the closed lids, and two things happened.
His hands and forearms sheathed themselves in the same soft, blue glow. They sizzled where they touched Ed's tentacles, an acrid smell like burning flesh drifting up from them. He tightened his grip, his hands sinking into the tentacles before the glow dimmed, the Angel having formed his own handholds into the Incubus's appendages.
The golden radiance flickered, and then turned translucent and pale, forming a film on the Angel's bound wings, and then expanded outwards, until they were ten times that size. The ephemeral aura solidified, forming feathers and curves until a gigantic, translucent pair of angelic wings hovered behind him. They snapped outwards, audibly, and after ponderously rising, gave a titanic beat.
Wind knocked snow loose and flattened the area directly beneath the angel as the gigantic wings sought to lift him and his entangled prey into the air, removing it from it's hiding place in the snow.
Arroyo puts his hand to his forehead, covering one eye in the process as a headwind starts to blow by. "Not around here, obviously. I'm a foreigner around these parts." He smiled casually, trying to retain a strong standing position on the platform he was on. 'Just where the hell are we?' He tried to look around at his surroundings but it was too dark to see. He can only assume he's on an aircraft or boat of some sort.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Citrine watches Arroyo's match, she sighed in an annoyed way by the match so far. "What good is talking in a fight? It wouldn't be a real fight...more of a debate really..." She rubs the sweat off her face that was spawned by her previous fight.
I'd assumed. Nobody's FROM here, boy. But talk. We're the only company we both have until the fight's over and I'm a people person. Boog went on. The figure under the plane began approaching, feet audibly tapping across the metal surface of the carrier. Something slipped out of its sleeve, knocking against the ground with a 'Bang!' that echoed in the quiet.
And then vanished.
The Boogeyman stepped back into reality behind Arryo, grinning and already swinging the Slugger. Had he been there the whole time?
Andrace continued to roll a couple more times, to get well clear of Bas. She'd felt the shock of his parry slamming her club into the solid rock; her wrist would probably tingle for a little while from the force of the collision, but there was no serious damage. Sending the Demon's weapon flying was an unexpected bonus, but she wasn't going to rely on that giving her any great advantage. She was used to fighting Demons and other Creatures who only used their own natural weapons, where "disarming" wasn't so easy, but it was a little more... permanent.
The lioness rolled to her feet a bit closer than she liked to one corner of the platform. There was a drop of a couple of feet on one side, and a much deeper drop on the other into one of the water-filled pits. She looked back at her opponent just in time to see him launch his shield right at her. She realised immediately that parrying with her club could easily lead to at least one broken wrist; scratch that idea. She could have simply dodged again, but... no, it was time to let this shaggy-tailed mutt see a bit more of what he was up against in a Kithara adventurer.
Andrace waited a fraction of a second longer, a vicious grin spreading over her muzzle, and at the last moment she lunged sideways, reached up with her left hand and grabbed the edge of the shield as it sailed past her head. The recoil from the impact started her spinning, which she'd expected. But the shield was a good bit heavier and spinning a lot faster than she'd thought.
"Haaaiiieeaargh! Catch, puppy!" she yelled as she whirled completely around and tossed the shield right back where it had come from, putting all her strength into giving it as close as she could get to its original speed and spin. As she watched the return flight, the lioness punched her thigh with her tightly clenched fist, and muttered sulphurous oaths under her breath without repeating herself once. Better not try that again. Her shoulder, elbow and wrist all felt strained, she thought she might have wrenched a claw muscle, and there were a few smears of blood on the wide scrape across her palm-pad. Time to use her head — and not just to smash doors open, as her sister Irene was fond of saying. What was Bas likely to try next, perhaps a flying attack? And how could she best counter it and take the initiative? She had to start anticipating if she was going to have any chance of winning this fight.
Bas was content with walking. He could take to the skies, but no, that wouldn't be honorable unless the lioness made a move for her gun. The firearm was something Bas rather despised, it's very creation was a blight, granting snipers the ability to kill from long distances with little warning. It allowed the most depraved of beings to feel as if they had the skill to take down a creature, and the boost in confidence those with firearms tended to have often led to misunderstandings that resulted in the death of the wielder.
Suddenly, Bas's train of thought was derailed in the most abrupt and violent manner as he watched his shield suddenly alter course and begin to sail back towards him. Thinking quickly, the demon lunged to the side, then rolled to his feet as the enormous disk continued to fly towards where he'd been standing. While the shield was sailing away, Bas noted the dirt and grime collecting on his favorite tunic. Brushing off a sleeve, he created a quick dispel spell, blinking away the shirt to a pocket dimension. Flexing his lean body in the sun, the demon cringed a bit at the loudly audible *THWACK!* the shield made as it slammed into another nearby platform.
Holding his arms wide again, the axe he'd lost appeared back in his right, and the shield seemed to blink from existence, disappearing from it's resting place on the nearby platform, only to reappear on the demon's left arm, in a combat ready stance. From behind the edge of the shield, that same dark, shimmering mist appeared. With the spell prepared, the now shirtless demon began his agile, almost dance-like stalk towards Andrace. His teeth shown in a very toothy grin. "Are we done with the foreplay, kitty? I think i'm ready to take this up a notch or two."
So saying, the demons pace seemed to increase, the demons wings still moved, but the flaps of flesh that covered them weren't moving as they had before... Bas was hardening his skin for this pass, and if one were watching, his claws, both hand and foot, seemed to be longer, and sharper as well.
*************
Ed hadn't expected to be lifted from the ground, his camouflage instantly removed as the snow-white feline was hoisted into the air with Laertes. The cold and biting wind were quickly sapping his strength, even with the magic protection from the chill, he felt himself expelling far more energy than he could afford to if this fight continued to drag on.
The feline had already decided he had to fight quick and vicious, he was now about to add 'dirty' to that list as well. several of the bladed tentacles suddenly grew tighter, sprouting long, vicious clawed fingers, looking more like narrow daggers than fingers. One in particular kept Ed's focus, bringing it's tip up from between the angel's wings, around, over the top of the jackal's head, another came from under his chin. The two tentacle hands attempting to grip the Jackal's muzzle in the razor sharp grasp, hopefully cutting off his song, and bringing the weather to a more preferable temperature
Quote from: Dekari on January 30, 2010, 06:42:33 PM
The main door to the bar as what appeared to be a she-wolf Being walked in with white lower back length hair and wearing black lace corset street pants, an unbuttoned black steampunk military jacket with a red and black stripe halter corset underneath, and black leather short pirate boot. She looked around the bar with a look almost resembling concern. Her eyes slowly made their way to the table that Dekari had just been moments before as the look on her face changed to sadness. "How can I begin to be forgiven for what I have done when the one I whish forgiveness from doesn't want to face me?" She said to herself.
Azshanas looked back towards the bar and started to walk towards it when the sight of the wolf cubi resting upside-down against the bar caught her attention. Not being the type that can resist a bit of humor, a small smile broke the sadness on her face as she playfully walked over. "You know, I may not know how thing work around here here, but um..." She paused as she bent over the wolf cubi. "Where I'm from, that's not exactly how you sit at a bar. Need a hand?"
Paladin watched the being walk over to his current sprawled in location. "Nay Lass, I just seem to be having a small problem with the rings here, the last one didn't like me or my opponent much." He said through his helmet speakers. "And I doubt ye're able to lift half a ton either."
Using his wings the armored incubus maneuvered himself back onto his feet, then stuck out a gauntlet-ed hand as the other detached the Helmet, and placed it back on his belt. "Thanks for ye offer, I'm Paladin."
"No matter where you go, you always seem to enjoy your self more when you meet the polite ones first, right?" Azshanas said as she shook Paladins hand. "I'm Azshanas. Nice suit, I would almost say it seems a little out of place here but," she paused as she looked around the bar once more, "it would seem just about everything and everyone is a little out of place here." She finished as she walked over to a nearby empty stool and sat down with her back leaning against the bar. "You seem to have some experience with this place, what is it?"
Andrace couldn't suppress laying her ears back and lashing her tail in annoyance at the way Bas so easily retrieved his axe and shield. She'd been watching him closely, though, and he did seem to have been a little bit rattled by the way she'd tossed his shield back. Maybe there was something there she could work with...
The Demon's snide comment as he began to advance again drew a grin and a snicker from her, neither of them containing an iota of innocence. "Hey, puppy," she called back, "y' got any other big impressive weapons? Th' one y' wavin' around there totally ain't hittin' on this little kitten — well, not so's I'd notice..." While she was exchanging pleasantries, the lioness hadn't missed noticing the change that had come over Bas's wings and claws. She knew it meant the canine Demon — who, she had to admit, looked pleasantly decorative under that shirt — had at least partly armoured himself. Definitely time to bring the action up a notch or two.
With one hand, she swung her club down and dropped it, giving it a nudge with a paw to roll it into a corner against a taller section of platform. Her other hand rose over her shoulder and drew her sword. The long, slender blade had no mystic runes engraved on it, or any feeling of magic about it, but it did look superbly made out of top-quality steel, and expertly sharpened. The lioness strode forward to meet Bas, holding the sword one-handed. For a moment she appeared to stumble, her free hand swinging out, then she took a two-handed grip on the hilt. All traces of amusement were gone from her expression now; she looked straight at the Demon with a flat, calm stare that seemed to be fixed on the blood vessels inside his throat.
The "stumble" was no such thing. Andrace's magical talent might not amount to much compared to many of her family, and it was tiny compared to her sister Despina's, but she'd been thoroughly trained in ways to get surprising things out of what little she could do. The insignificant little spell she'd cast and tossed in a high arc when her arm swung about was so underpowered it could barely be detected at arm's length — she'd tested this with Despina's help, her sister wearing a pair of welders' goggles as a precaution. If her aim was good, and she'd accurately predicted Bas's line of advance, the spell should hurtle down, split into two and detonate in a heatless pulse like a pair of flashbulbs, each just one inch in front of the Demon's eyeballs.
Now. The lioness abruptly lunged forward to meet Bas, her paws skipping from level to level of the platforms, a low growl rumbling from deep in her chest. With most of her attention fixed on the Demon in case he made an unexpected move, her sword began to rise in a diagonal stroke aimed at his axe-hand. With those claws, a manicure was difinitely in order. She blinked quickly at the precise moment the flash spell should go off.
plink
Bas continued his leaps, hops and bounds as the distance closed. He watched as she replaced her large beating stick with something a bit more dangerous. The large blade in the lioness's hands was far more threatening than the club had been, and as such, when they were getting closer, the demon intentionally interposed the shield about a half-second before the two would be in striking range. The reaction most likely saved the pain of reattaching several fingers with a powerful healing spell.
The blinding like worked as it should have, catching the demon completely off balance as he dropped the axe to raise his hand in an attempt to shield his eyes, while the shield carrying hand continued to cover the majority of his body from attack. He felt himself thrown heavily off-balance as a massive impact slammed the shield, and he released the concussion spell he'd readied earlier, hoping the blast and shockwave would buy him enough time for his eyes to recover.
In hindsight, Andrace realised she needed to work on her timing a bit more for the next time she tried the flashbulb trick. She opened her eyes after the flash just in time to watch her sword skitter loudly and harmlessly over Bas's shield. The lioness was still running forward, so she was the next thing to bounce off the shield, except this collision was much softer. Still she'd hit hard enough to have the wind knocked out of her by the shield's metal centre boss poking her in the stomach. She snarled and raised her sword-arm to take another whack at the Demon, who looked properly dazzled —
WHAM
There was no spectacular flash, and not much of a bang, but something hit Andrace harder than anyone had managed for some time. She wasn't — quite — knocked out, so she had the dubious pleasure of feeling a hammering impact on her chest and stomach, then she tumbled backwards, somehow keeping a firm grip on her sword. She remembered afterwards seeing the sky whirl past under her paws at least once, then she landed with a terrific belly-flop into a pool of chilly water.
Make that chilly water full of seaweed and a few over-curious critters, she corrected herself, as she concentrated on keeping her snout above the surface and restarting her breathing. Something with too many legs had just crawled along her tail, and something else with none at all slithered down the back of her neck. The water wasn't deep, she could feel her toes brushing the weed-encrusted bottom now and then. Andrace pushed thoughts of little wrigglers to the back of her mind and hoped nothing in this pool was poisonous.
Making as little noise as possible, the dazed lioness got her paws under her at last and stood up, in water that was little more than waist deep. Nothing felt broken, and a glance down revealed she might have lost a little fur, but she wasn't bleeding anywhere. It also revealed half of her shirt had been ripped off, fortunately the bottom half rather than the front half: some of her concealed weapons that she'd hoped would be effective against a Demon were inside and behind her collar. She could safely ignore the loss, then, she had spares in her backpack for the tools that had been hidden in the missing chunk of fabric. She wasn't worried about her gun, it could still fire if it was wet, but she'd need to dry and clean it thoroughly after this fight.
Now, where was Bas? Andrace looked up: the edge of the platform she'd fallen off was maybe five or six feet over her head. She could jump high enough to grab the edge, even standing in water this deep, but that would leave her exposed while the Demon could attack at his leisure. Stay down here a moment longer, then. The lioness grinned fiercely. Could she hear footsteps up above? If Bas was stupid enough to poke his snout over the edge looking for her, well, her sword blade could add a good bit to her reach if she jumped straight up.
She sloshed quietly through the water until she was under the point where she'd fallen in, and flattened herself against the wall. The moment anything showed over the edge, she'd leap and thrust her sword up over her head. Just in case Bas had the sense to stay standing when he looked into the watery pit, she fished inside one of her sleeve pockets and pulled out a small throwing dagger. Idly she wondered what a Demon's tonsils looked like...
Quote from: Dekari on February 02, 2010, 10:42:40 AM
"No matter where you go, you always seem to enjoy your self more when you meet the polite ones first, right?" Azshanas said as she shook Paladins hand. "I'm Azshanas. Nice suit, I would almost say it seems a little out of place here but," she paused as she looked around the bar once more, "it would seem just about everything and everyone is a little out of place here." She finished as she walked over to a nearby empty stool and sat down with her back leaning against the bar. "You seem to have some experience with this place, what is it?"
Sitting down on a stool next to Azshanas, Pal looked around for The Boogyman, but not seeing him assumed he was not around must be off somewhere.
"A Bar that seems to be stuck in some sort of dimensional bubble it seems, with an interesting take on Bar Fights." The wolf grabbed a few peanuts from a bowl while a tentacle reached over the bar, opened the beer fridge and extracted a couple of bottles, while another left a pair of coins in payment. After opening the bottles he handed one to Azshanas.
She watched as he blinked out, and reappeared where he was. She didn't know how, and she didn't care. All she knew was that his getaway strategy wasn't there to help him anymore, and that her blade was cutting deeper and deeper into his neck. She didn't stop, not when they were suddenly in the woods, not when he became a creature more horrific than death, taxes, and boredom combined, not when the woman's face appeared...
And then, silence. Dani Sanders was alone in the circle, with the book, which shut itself, a torn-out page, and Big Bad's gun. Spoils of battle. She'd won.
".........YES!" she cheered, jumping up once and grinning madly again. She was back to her old self as well, it seemed. "I fucking DID IT! I beat the first nightmare! IN! YOUR! FACE!" she yelled at the page, and laughed wildly, doing a small victory dance on the spot. She finally calmed down when she remembered that people could see her, and leaned down to pick up revolver, page, and book.
-----
Sylvie felt her friend's excitement as well as saw it. She had fought for her life and made it, with very few injuries and no sleep spells. Both of them had reason to celebrate. She ran up, and neither of them felt any embarrassment as they hugged and squealed in excitement ("That was so cool!" "I know! I thought I was gonna die!" "I know!"). But after maybe a minute, Dani pushed Sylvie away and took a look at her.
"Why did you change your outfit?" she asked. "And where's Tall, Dark, and Scary?" Then she noticed the dried tears on her friend's face, and her own marked visage grew stony. "Where is that bastard? Did he hurt you?"
"Yes, but I hurt him too, and now he's gone," Sylvie said quickly. "So leave it be."
Dani sighed. "I hate to say I sensed it coming, but...I did. What did he do to you?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Yes it does."
"You're not going to find his world and kill him."
"Yes I am."
"I said no! It's done! We're moving on! Now leave it be!"
"...Coward."
"Reactionary."
"Palm tree."
"Candy cane."
There was silence for a moment.
"...I'm sorry, Syl."
"...Me too."
"...Ice cream?"
"You're buying."
The rest of the bar would never know how much of the conversation was a joke and how much wasn't, but it ended with both girls walking up to the bar and ordering ice cream with smiles on their faces.
Bas blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted from the blinding light. It was a good thing it hadn't been in a dark room, or he'd have been effectively blind for much longer. The being had performed a dirty trick, and by all accounts he should respond in kind. Her trick had meant to bring her a momentary advantage, and hand only failed due to the large shield still mounted on the demon's arm. The fresh nick on the rim of the large buckler was all the more testament to just how much damage he'd been saved from.
Bas tapped the edge of the shield, then looked at his hand. Sloshing from the pool below was all the more incentive the demon needed to get moving. He lifted a smoking, misting fist in the air, then opened his hand, as if to imitate an explosion. The thick black, and light-devouring mist as he'd done in the bar, encompassed the area. Bas clicked a toe claw on one of the pads, then started heading for the edge of his pillar. He very silently leaned over the edge, careful to hold his breath, making no discernible noise to his ears. Seeing the lioness waiting for him, he could have tried to make lunge, he could have tried to cause some damage... but that would neither be fun, nor honorable.
Crouching low, Bas lauched himself high and far, thanks to a single massive wing-beat added to his already powerful jump, A deep whoomp, and a long screeching as the toe-claws peeled back from the rock, as if someone had drawn sharp steel across a slate board. The black fog seemed to lift lightly, spread out from the force of the wing-beat, and should Andrace be looking in line with the sun, she could clearly see a demon silhouette as he crossed the path, then disappearing back into the mist. He landed some 15 feet away at the far side of the pool with a loud splash and some sloshing. Digging his toe-claws into the water-softened rock to gain better footing. Bas blinked his shield and axe away, favoring claws for this type of fight. Ripples of water, and more sloshing were sent Andrace's way, as Bas began closing the distance in the thigh deep pool at more of a stalk then his previous running dance.
Andrace's ears turned in small, twitching movements. Had she really heard footsteps up there? Bas wouldn't be dazzled for long, that flash spell was only supposed to give a few seconds advantage, and she'd already lost that. Under the water, she could feel something that might possibly have teeth begin to nibble gently on her tail —
Quietly, without any fuss, the light went out. The lioness froze for a moment. Could this be the darkness spell the Circle-created fake Demon had used during Despina's fight with Witt? If so, she couldn't do anything about it except wait it out. The sound of wings, footsteps, and claws on rock instantly caught her attention. The darkness swirled like thick treacle, and she saw for a moment a Bas-sized winged shape soaring overhead. Just before it vanished from sight she tossed the knife in her left hand, and immediately pulled another from her sleeve. Had she hit anything? No sound of a scream, or the thud (or splash) of a suddenly uncontrolled body plummeting from the air, not even a quiet splatter of falling blood drops. Probably not, then, or maybe she'd hit his shield.
The loud splash a few seconds later at the other end of the pool was encouraging, but... no, that sounded like a controlled landing. Andrace threw her second knife as accurately as she could towards the splash, then she reached down to the hidden sheath on her left thigh and drew one of the longer knives she'd used in the fight with Kaela. It might not be much against that axe, nearly as big as the monster her baby sister Eugenia wielded, but she'd need something to parry with if this fight was going to close quarters. Her tail lifted out of the water and brushed against the wall behind her, to keep her aware of which way round she was standing: she had to keep that wall at her back.
Andrace forced herself to calm down and slow her breathing. This was just like the blindfold-fighting exercises Aunt Berenike had put her through. Don't try to see — hear, and scent, and touch. As the lioness listened to Bas splashing through the water towards her, she crouched slightly and held her sword and knife in a ready position. From his duplicate's behaviour earlier, she knew he had to be able to see through this mess. Charging blindly — literally — would be dangerous, maybe suicidal. Despite what the bar-thing had said, she hadn't seen anyone killed in a Circle bout yet, and she had no ambition to be the first. Her ears and whiskers perking alertly forwards, she closed her eyes and waited for her quarry to come to her.
As Bas closed the distance he started to raise his left arm when he noticed a sharp, pinching, pain. His left hand balled into a fist as he very slowly removed a small knife sticking out, almost perfectly perpendicular to his arm, buried a good 2 inches into his flesh.
As Andrace moved to flick the second knife, Bas hardened his skin to it's maximum protection and moved his right claws into it's path, the steel on steel *ping* echoed for a few moments, followed by the *plink* of the knife bouncing harmlessly into the water.
His injured arm felt weaker than usual, however, the demon felt he needed to press his advantage now. A series of wincing snorts would help Andrace predict Bas's distance, which, while disadvantageous to a stealth approach. The snorts, which came every time he moved his injured arm, were completely negated as he moved in closer still. At about 10 feet out, his right flung out, firing a warning spell to Andrace's left, a very loud, howling push spell screamed by, aimed a few feet to the lioness's left, followed by a move similar to what he'd used in the bar brawl. His right wing moved with his body, in a spin, it's hardened tip aimed for the lioness's head. Continuing the spin, his left wing was tucked in tight as he took a step inwards, while back-swiping with his left towards where he last saw the lioness's midsection, hoping to deliver grazing wounds, as she'd seemed to be at the very maximum of his reach.
His right hand moved around to his left should, fingers splayed to cover his head and neck. He was prepared to perry any blow the lioness should deliver with those long, brutal looking knives, or so he thought.
Azshanas looked at Pal as she accepted the bottle from him. "Oh, thank you." She took a drawn out sip from the bottle as she thought about what Pal had said. "So, basically this is just some random place that, changing your words a bit, exists outside of normal reality?" She asked as she spun around on the stool to face the bar. She placed the bottle on the bar as she dropped her with a sigh and covered her eyes with her hand. "Oh god, it's Far Reach all over again. Paging Dr. McSplain!" She exclaimed as she righted herself with a kind of laugh that should be heard from someone who is either in a straight jacket or severally drunk. "Oh man, you want to talk about someone crazy, that guy takes the cake....hell, he made the damn cake." Azshanas continued to snicker to herself.
After a few moments, Azshanas was able to calm down. "Now what's this about bar fights? I hope we are not all expected to fight, I've never been a very good fighter..." She seemed to stop mid sentence as she glanced at Pal out of the corner of her eye and continued in thought to herself, at least that's what she expected....or did she as a sadistic grin quickly streaked unseen across her face. 'And from the looks of everyone here I'd be at a severe disadvantage. Hell, I bet even against this guy without his suit it would only barely start to resemble a fair fight.'
Andrace smiled grimly as her sensitive ears picked up grunting or snorting noises over the sound of Bas coming towards her through the water. "I can heeeaaar youuuu," she said in a cheerful singsong voice. "Aww, did th' poor puppy get a bit o' choppity-chop?" She couldn't smell blood yet, so one or the other of her throwing knives couldn't have given him a serious injury, but if it hurt the Demon enough to make a noise like that, it was good enough.
The rock walls caused a lot of sharp echoes down here, but it sounded like Bas wasn't very far away now, maybe almost close enough to... Aw crud, his wings! the lioness thought suddenly, a moment before the Demon's spell screamed past, making her flatten her ears, and slammed into the wall behind her. Endlessly drilled training took over her movements. When you're given an obvious warning shot, don't flinch away. Go where you're not expected. Strike back. The lioness lunged sideways, towards where the spell had hit.
She heard a change in the sloshing noises Bas made. Now, what did that sound like...? A whisper of disturbed air was the only warning she got, and she twitched her head back almost far enough. The scything wingtip just nicked the edge of her right ear, and it felt like a few of her whiskers were now slightly shorter than they'd been a moment ago. She bared her fangs in a silent snarl, then she heard the second wingtip whisper towards her. She twisted her body quickly out of the way, but still felt a sharp sting run diagonally across the right side of her bare stomach. She snarled audibly this time, and pressed the back of one hand to the wound. Some blood, she could feel, but not a lot.
Now, while he's recoverin' from twirlin' round like that, strike! She intended just the one quick jab, then pull back and listen for the Demon's next attack. Her nicked ear stung, dripping blood into her hair, but that wasn't serious. The stomach wound might be something to worry about if it was deep, but as long as her guts weren't falling out, she could deal with it. Andrace dug her claws into the thick matting of weed covering the pool bottom, held her knife in a guarding posture, leaned forward and performed a quick jabbing lunge with her sword, aiming at just above waist height. A vicious snarl like ripping cloth came from her throat. The extra reach of the lunge, plus the length of her arm, gave her a range of maybe seven or eight feet from her back paw to the tip of her blade, as several surprised opponents had discovered. Briefly.
Bas felt contact, his right wing brushing against something soft, his left wing missing completely, and his middle claw on his left hand grazing across the lionesses belly, drawing the bittersweet smell of blood. He'd done exactly as he'd planned, left enough of a mark that she'd watch her back next time, while making sure to keep things friendly enough to draw out the fight.
The swinging-spin had moved Bas in and out of the lioness's own reach, and to the left of his previous position. The lionesses lunge came just as the demon was squaring his stance with hers. He hadn't caught the flicker of movement, and the lunge caught him completely off-balance. Bas may have been a skilled fighter, but not even he could out-race the pace of the blade, He back-stepped, while bringing his left claws down to try and deflect the blade, and started to harden his skin. All were too little too late as the point of the blade sunk a few inches into the demon's lower-right belly. He'd screwed up and he felt ashamed of it.
He felt the blade stop, then retract, a hot sticky feeling running down his side. A look and feeling of surprise overcame the demon for a brief moment. That was quickly snapped away by a rush of pain. A roar, and very real anger that bordered on rage replaced the previous surprise and disbelief. While the wound brought pain with every move, he couldn't heal here. Not this close. It would take several minutes of undivided attention to close the wound he had, heal, seal and remove signs of scarred tissue. The latter being quite important to him, as he enjoyed keeping his appearance immaculate.
All the thoughts were pushed aside as he cast a very powerful, wide area push spell, meant to slam the lioness against the rocks. He followed the swath carved in the water by re-summoning his shield and axe, and charging straight towards the lioness, shield first in an attempt at either bulling her over, or slamming her against the rocks (possibly again). His movements were a bit more sluggish than usual, and the grunts he'd managed to suppress from his arm were back again, as he felt then wincing pain force air from his lungs with every impeded step.
Paladin grinned in a predatory manner before his grin be came more of a friendly smile as he laughed. "Nay Lass, any fighting is strictly voluntary I assure ye." Pal pointed to a few of the monitors and the windows leading outside.
"There are several 'Rings' which can be set to recreate almost any situation ye can think of. It levels the battlefield if used properly." He said before taking a swig on his beer. "So what brings ye here?"
Andrace gave a satisfied grunt as she felt the slight hesitation in her thrust that she knew meant her sword had hit flesh. She was a bit surprised not to hit Bas's shield instead, though: if the Demon had been trying some fancy ploy, it had backfired on him badly, and painfully, judging from his scream. She pulled her sword-arm straight back as she recovered from her lunge, instead of her usual twist-and-wrench disengagement. A stab in the belly was all very well, but she felt it impolite and spoiled the mood of a friendly bout when someone had to pause to pick their guts up off the ground.
The lioness had just got back to a ready stance when the second hammer spell came out of nowhere and slammed her clean off her paws. Her angry yowl was chopped short into a breathless uff! as she crashed into the wall with a huge splash. Her dense fur protected her back from any worse than severe bruising and a few cuts, but the rough surface of the rock was a bit too much for her shirt: seams parted in a couple of places, and several jagged rips opened up across her shoulderblades. Before she could collect her scattered wits, she heard more splashing — Bas charging towards her once more. The pattern of his pace, as near as she could tell through her dizziness, didn't sound right for winding up to swing his axe, it was more likely the Demon planned to crush her back against the wall again with his shield. He seemed to like using it more than his axe: something to remember.
A determined, if slightly cross-eyed, scowl came across Andrace's face. She realised she'd dropped her sword at the same moment she felt its hilt under her right paw-pad. One knife, or two if she had the time to draw the one in her other thigh sheath, wouldn't be enough against a tough opponent like this. She just needed to keep Bas away for a few moments while she fished the sword out. She decided instantly. If she was wrong about him using his shield, this would likely be horribly painful and Despina would laugh her silly head off. She leaned back, laying her arms flat against the wall, drew her knees quickly up to her chest, and before she could fall on her tail, the lioness grunted with the effort of kicking out with both paws, using every bit of strength she could scrape together in her powerful legs and back. If he was planning another shield slam, she was determined to ram it back down the canine Demon's gullet. If not... well, she'd aimed her kick high, and her claws were sharp.
Peering over the edge of his shield, Bas felt the satisfaction as his spell hit home, knocking the lioness off balance, and, more importantly, the long blade from her hand. His charge should have been unimpeded, or so he'd thought. Adrenaline flooded his system, and things seemed to slow down. He was still a few steps off, seeming to still be recovering from the spell, when Andrace seemed to explode into the air, catching herself on the wall, then launching off, using her own body as some type of massive blunt instrument.
Acting more on instinct than thought, his mind told him to duck in the few milliseconds before impact. Hoping avoid another blow that would drain his already dwindling reserves, thanks to the energy sapping effects of blood loss. He ducked his head, reinforced the shield with his knee and other arm, and hoped he'd positioned the shield high enough... otherwise, he might find himself with an angry, clawed lioness attached to his head... and the means of connection would probably leave her even angrier.
"Well," Azshanas started as she took another drink. "I'll give you the short version. I had been living at Far Reach for the past year or two under the watch of Dr. Dresden McSplain. Had a bit of an issue I needed to work through, and no, it's not something I really care to go into with someone I just barely met...even though that someone just bought me a drink. Anyway, about a month ago I get word from home that a bit of trouble is brewing and that Dekari just suddenly up and left with out a word. So, I left Far Reach against Dresdens warnings and have been searching for him untill I somehow ended up here." Azshanas paused in her story and looked over at the empty table that Dekari had been sitting at moments before she entered. "However it apperently seems that he doesn't want to be found just yet, or at least not by me."
Azshanas sighed as she looked back at Paladin. "With all that said, I guess you could say my schedule is open. Got any suggestions?" She asked with an inquisitive look in her odd colored eyes.
Witt shrugged, expressively. "Don't know who's spell, nor how, but it's part of how here works. If you want details, ask the oddball behind the bar; he seems to come with the place."
At the mention of celebrating, he perked up. "Right you are - can't get in the way of a decent drink." He spun on one heel, back towards the bar, settled the picklehaube, and proffered his elbow to her politely, if a little on the low side for someone of her height. He waved his other hand at the door, a little extravagantly. "Shall we?"
Despina gave Witt an intensely interested look, with her ears perked forward and the end of her tail curled around her left hock. "Th' guy's a perm'nent fixture in th' place? Yeah, now I really want t' ask 'im a few questions. Might learn a few new tricks while I'm here." She waved back to Andrace as her sister walked into another of the rune-marked circles, along with some sort of Demon-looking canine. She grinned at Witt, looped her arm — cautiously — in his, and headed back inside. There was a drink with her name on it waiting in a bottle somewhere, and her big sister could look after herself.
Andrace just had time to think a particularly blasphemous, immoral and physiologically unlikely oath to herself as her paws slammed hard into Bas's shield. She'd aimed maybe a bit high, so as the top half of the shield flipped back, her legs bounced up. A line of white-hot agony ran across her left paw-pad as she kicked the sharp tip of one of the Demon's horns, which she'd completely forgotten about. Had the idiot ducked, or something? Fortunately she was already beginning to fall back into the water after her kick, otherwise Bas could have been left with a very unusual (and very PO'd) dangling horn ornament. The hiss of pain she let out between tightly clenched fangs turned to a gurgle when her head went under the water. Ah, crud, she thought as she realised she hadn't taken a deep breath, that was a friggin' stupid thing t' do.
She'd have to be even more careful now. Until her sister could heal what felt like a deep gash across her paw-pad, much more than her own meagre healing ability could deal with, her options for action would be limited. No need to let Bas know that, though. After a nerve-wracking few moments fumbling about on the weedy bottom of the pool, her hand finally closed on her dropped sword. By the ricasso, fortunately, rather than the razor sharp cutting edge. The lioness took a proper grip on the hilt, got her good paw under her, and abruptly surged back up, water (plus a couple of fetching strands of seaweed) streaming out of her fur and hair, to an only slightly lopsided standing position.
"Well, puppy, that was a fun warm-up," she lied with a toothy grin as she turned her head to face the sound of Bas moving around. "Are y' ready t' start this fight properly, then?" Andrace held her sword and knife at the ready and hoped desperately the Demon wouldn't notice how much of that was bluff and bluster. She still had a lot of fight left in her, but even Kithara training and attitudes had limits. Her left paw was in agony, she couldn't put much weight on it. She must have strained her stomach wound with that kick, she could feel blood trickling down inside her trousers. Her body ached with bruises from ears to paws. And she still couldn't see a thing through the darkness spell: how much longer would the damn' thing last?
Baseel felt the heavy impact, barely keeping his own balance as the lioness's foot came into the edge the slid up and over his horn. He hoped she wasn't too badly hurt, after all, this was a friendly spar and if injuries carried over once they left this circle, well, the only gentlemanly thing to do would be to heal both her and himself up. These were the thoughts going through his head as the lioness seemed to fall in slow motion into the water.
Bas took a few steps back as the lioness sloshed into the water, he took the time to scale the near by rock formation, getting out of the salt-water. Although it was a dull pain, the more literal than he'd like, rubbing salt in an open wound, was wearing on the large demon. He stood above and to the side of the lioness as she emerged from the water. He couldn't tell from his current vantage point weather she was showing bravado or bluff as she made her comment. 'not bad at all... strong enough to tangle with a demon, by herself no less... quite impressive Ms. Andrace, quite impressive indeed... Especially for a being.'
Bas chuckled in response, a throaty, somewhat sinister laugh, "A good warm-up and wake up indeed. Though if you're ready to take this up a notch, i do hope you brought some better magic protection than that shirt on your back..."
Raising his right hand to shoulder height, he placed his middle-finger and thumb together, and then applied a bit more pressure. His fingers created an echoing snap in the little stone-enclosed pond Andrace was standing in. In the blink of an eye, the blinding cloud vanished.
"I do hope you're ready m'dear, because i'm not going to be holding back much anymore."
His voice icy-calm and level. His poise was only slightly relaxed as he held the shield between himself and the lioness. His empty right hand shimmered for a moment, then exploded forward with fingers outstretched. A smallish ball of darkness cast forth. The jet black ball trailing a dark, glistening, inky cloud. The ball came like a raging beast, the inky cloud obscuring Bas's view as it ravaged forth towards the Lioness.
Most of the spell was illusion, it was a push-concussion spell, designed specifically to clear the water out of the hole they'd been fighting in... but, he figured he'd use it as a test before hopping back down to her level.
Andrace's ears swivelled quickly, and she splashed around and looked — well, faced — up towards the edge of the pool. A sneaky move, she hadn't heard Bas get out of the water, but she'd been submerged herself and a bit distracted at the time. She heard something like fingers snapping, and the lioness blinked, slightly dazzled, when the darkness abruptly lifted. After a moment she realised the spell hadn't gradually faded like last time, it had been deliberately dispelled. What was the Demon up to? His comment about not holding back, though, really had to be answered. "You, holdin' back?" she said with a smirk and a healthy dollop of scorn in her voice. "Looked t' me like y' were strainin' like y' guts was corked up. If y' want me t' stop goin' easy on y', though, just say th' word..."
When Bas raised his free hand, a shimmering distortion surrounding his fist, she knew exactly what to do: get out of this hole. Ignoring her injuries as much as she could, Andrace launched herself across the pool to a point she'd noticed earlier before the darkness came down, where the adjoining rock platform was a bit lower than the one she'd fallen from. Her weapons clattered on the rock as she tossed them up, then she gave herself a one-legged boost out of the water, grabbed the edge and scrambled up onto dry — well, dry-ish — land. She grabbed her sword and knife, and was just about to roll quickly away from the edge when the spell Bas had launched slammed into the water right behind her.
Bas hadn't stayed at the rim, as soon as he cast the spell, the demon quick-stepped away from the rim, then inched further back on his own platform. His back steps were a bit uneasy, and, as he watched the lioness start to scramble he crouched low, behind the shield. He removed the shield, sliding his left hand over the wound. He first charged his right hand over his head, creating a thin magic shell over his head, the slightly fogged, inky, yet translucent dome covered the demon completely.
He then rested the wooden and metal shield against his body, as he unhooked the loop from his arm, and pressed his left hand over the stab-wound on his belly. Bas felt the itchy tingle of his tissue, particularly blood-vessel walls, begin to regrow. From his point of a view, a sudden geyser of water, coincided with a titanic boom as a plume of water jetted close to 50 feet in the air. The pond, below, was completely drained.
He didn't have time to fully heal the wound, each subtle move still sent ripples of agony through Baseel's entire body, but, at least the warm trickle of blood had stopped. He quickly added a cleaning spell, causing the blood on his body and pants to seemingly evaporate in a fine, red mist. Leaving his body and floating into the wind. With the bleeding stopped for now, he redonned the shield and began hunting for the lioness, the downfall of water had been blocked by the dome, but the surrounding rocks were soaked, and slippery...
"Lass I'm fairly new to the place myself, not sure I've seen or met everyone here yet. So sadly I can't advise ye, but I plan on finishing this bottle and maybe a few more." The armored wolf said as he took another slug of the beer.
Azshanas's eyes narrowed as a look of frustration settled on her face. She then looked back at her own drink, grabbed it, and quickly downed it. "Fine then. I will leave you alone to your drinking." Azshanas said slamming her bottle back down on the counter as she got up from her stool and started walking away. However she turned back towards Paladin not five paces away and looked at him with a slight grin and a bit of a sway in her stance. "You know, I have slowly become interested in how these rings work. If your not too busy drinking, perhaps you could show me what the deal is?" She said in an almost taunting fashion. "I'll even give you something to shoot for, loser buys next round?"
In hindsight, Andrace supposed she was lucky that she was facing away from the pool when Bas's spell detonated. There was a deep, resonating thud, and a titanic splash, and the lioness yowled as the backwash from the towering column of spray flipped her over and sent her tumbling for several yards until she smacked into the side wall of another taller platform. She coughed up some water, shook her head, decided that was a bad idea, and pulled herself to her hands and knees. Somehow she'd held on to her weapons, and managed not to chop her own head off or stab herself where the sun didn't shine in that wild tumble. She had so many aches and pains she didn't immediately realise she now had matching slashes in both ears.
Andrace rose to her paws, staggering a little from dizziness and her injured paw-pad. The pool was empty, all the water was now splashed over the surrounding platforms. On the other side of the ex-pool, she spotted Bas huddling behind a magical shield as well as his physical one. He seemed to be healing the stab to the gut she'd given him. She'd need to change her tactics again — just attack. Attack, and attack, and attack, and don't give him time to relax or he'd start healing himself all over again.
She took a deep breath and began to stalk around the edge of the pit. The soaking she'd just got had washed away some of the stains, but she knew she must still look a mess: blood in her hair from her slashed ears, more blood soaking into her fur and trickling down her leg from the stomach wound, and a trail of left paw-prints marked in red behind her. She kept her pace slow, both to help her footing on the slippery rock, and to help disguise the limping caused by her paw injury. She didn't stop or slow down, though, and her eyes remained fixed on the Demon's face with a cold, implacable expression. This was still only a friendly match, but she had no intention of losing just because she wasn't intending to kill Bas.
Time for some... less conventional tactics. Part of Andrace's training had included certain skills not usually mentioned in glossy brochures or newspaper adverts. Great-Aunt Enyo had taught her and her sisters and brothers well, even if the dreadful old tigress had terrified all of them, even Zoe, more than once to the point of needing a change of underwear after her lessons and practical exercises in "Studied Frightfulness". This was easier to pull off if there was a surplus minion handy to make a brutally sudden and gory example out of, but she was adaptable. There was more than one way to skin a Mythos, as her mother sometimes said.
As she paced steadily closer, the lioness smiled. Then she laughed, a low, throaty sound that was as humourless as her expression. Her ragged ears and trimmed whiskers twitched alertly, and her tail-tuft flicked at the backs of her hocks as she walked. "Silly puppy," she said with a malevolent tone in her voice, "d' y' think y're up against just any ol' Bein' girl wi' a bucket o' weapons? We're Kithara. We've been dealin' wi' nuisancy Creatures f'r a while — even you might call it a long time. Plain bandits? We eat 'em f'r breakfast. 'Cubi? Mythos? Any of 'em misb'have, we get hired t' take 'em in... or take 'em down. Rogue Angels, mebbe th' odd Demon...?" Andrace's grin widened, and she licked her whiskers suggestively.
"B'sides, I promised I'd not kill y' — but I didn't say what else I'd not do." Her grin wasn't just humourless now, it seemed positively diabolic, and her voice became almost playful. "I c'ld stab y' a few more times, that won't kill y'... right away. Mebbe chop a couple bits off — an ear, say, or y' muzzle, or one o' those pesky horns. None o' that'd kill y'. Mebbe even snip off somethin' we'd both regret..." At that last statement, her gaze dropped briefly from the Demon's face, to a somewhat lower level, and she snickered. "Th' clinic round back o' th' inn got a real good doctor, I'm sure he'd patch y' back t'gether again, no matter what I do t' y'. 'Cause, after all, I ain't gonna kill y'... prob'ly..."
Andrace had barely hesitated as she stalked around the pit towards Bas, hopping down and scrambling up over different heights of platforms. It had been tricky, though, hiding just how much her injuries bothered her. Now she was only one short drop of a few feet away from joining him on the same platform.
As soon as the lioness had crawled to the top of the adjacent platform Bas moved his left hand from casting, back into the shield's arm-strap, gripping the handle while preparing for another round. The lionesses toothless smile was a growing concern for the large demon while hopping up and showing very little sign of the injury to his belly. A slight stutter step, as he moved to be out of easy pounce range when she reached the edge of the raised platform. Eye's transfixed on the lioness, his eyes narrowed at first, and a look of concern grew across the demon's lips.
It was rare for a being to be either arrogant enough to challenge a demon, even rarer for them to have the ability to back it up. Bas had fared well against many such youth. However, his concern was gone as a vicious snarl and deep cackling laugh replaced his previous look, "Foolish little girl, you assume you're fighting some young and restless demon, one who arbitrarily slaughters for the sake of proving themself worthy of their race. Have you heard of the Slaughter at Elenoan's Field? It happend not too long ago... 19 trained adventurers set an ambush, wrangle a winged indiviual into their trap... they squared off against a lone individual. There are 19 being bodies that have been buried at that site, 7 of them were petrified alive... I know... i was the one put them down."
A very toothy, predatory grin parted the demon's lips as his right hand gave off the oily shimmering mist. "You might enjoy cutting, and slashing your targets to death... Works well enough, and makes resurrections a bitch... Personally, I prefer dealing death in a more spectacular fashion, Ms. Kithara."
The predatory grin grew into a snarl as the demon had his spell prepared... "Removing of my anatomy is fanciful thinking, especially when it is your own that you should be watching!"
He moved his right hand as if he were throwing a small knife. A massive blade, at it's largest, it would appear to be as large as the lioness was tall, and appearing to be something akin to an over-sized blender blade, flipped vertically. It tumbled end over end as it flew strait towards the lioness. The blade trailed an oily cloud behind it as it bled off energy. Although it's line of movement was perfectly straight, the end-over-end tumble seeming to slow a bit as it grew closer, as well as the speed the blade was traveling.
Bas had prepared 2 spells while the lioness had been making her way around the now empty pool, the first was heading straight for her face. The second appeared in Bas's hand. A sword, shorter than Andrace's own, yet still dangerously long (about 4') appeared in the demon's right-hand. The jet black weapon was very similar to a western style saber, slightly curved, and clearly double-edged. Bas was following the blade in, his hop-jog movement from the beginning of the fight having returned. His shield was loosely guarding his body... Bas was moving in for the finally of this fight. His eyes were locked onto the lioness's, and his entire body seemed to move with casual confidence.
"Y'r gunn' hab s'm - *gulp* - have some trouble finding a fight, I think," Dani interjected at the winged wolf, swallowing a mouthful of mint-chocolate-chip ice cream. "Though it's incredibly amusing and challenging to fight someone after a few beers, or so my experience at a correctional facility tells me." Sylvie, who had a small dish of untouched ice cream in front of her as well, glanced over at this.
"Wait, was THAT why Johansen bothered me on my first day? He smelled bad enough to be drunk."
"No, Syl, that would be because he was a jerk and you're exotic-looking," the Red answered without hesitation. "Speaking of things exotic..." she added, turning back to the wolf, "what exactly are you, sir? No offense, but nothing like you exists where I come from."
Arroyo stumbled a bit as he was struck. He held his head a bit, looking down. "Of course. Anyone who plays with the mind would rather talk than fight..." He remained poised, keep a firm stance with his sword. " but tell me, are you thirsty?" He plucked a canteen off his sash and smiled a bit. "Scenery like this tend to make me a bit thirsty, probably because of the atmosphere."
Quote from: Dekari on February 14, 2010, 05:11:23 PM
Azshanas's eyes narrowed as a look of frustration settled on her face. She then looked back at her own drink, grabbed it, and quickly downed it. "Fine then. I will leave you alone to your drinking." Azshanas said slamming her bottle back down on the counter as she got up from her stool and started walking away. However she turned back towards Paladin not five paces away and looked at him with a slight grin and a bit of a sway in her stance. "You know, I have slowly become interested in how these rings work. If your not too busy drinking, perhaps you could show me what the deal is?" She said in an almost taunting fashion. "I'll even give you something to shoot for, loser buys next round?"
Paladin tipped back his head and laughed at Azshanas. "Lass, ye're barely a tenth of my age. I'm surprised SAIA even let ye out, and aye I know what ye are, ye Mindshield needs work. Go along and play with someone more likely to give ye a decent battle."
With that he laughed again and took another swig of his beer.
Azshanas stood there for a moment, no longer a sway in her stance, her act had been called. Normally anyone else would be upset by this, but Azshanas seemed more happy than anything else. She cupped her hands in front of her mouth as though in prayer and took a deep breath. "Thank you." She said to Paladin with a sigh of relief and looking as though she might start to cry. She wiped her eyes and sighed again as she sat back down next to Paladin with a smile on her face.
"I'm actually relieved you saw through that act. It means that the past two years I've spend in isolation at Far Reach fighting the dark entity that has been fused to my soul have not been in vain and I may actually be on the path to being able to seal it away forever." She said while reaching into her jacket and pulling out a hand full of bright red gems of different sizes. "Would you mind grabbing me that bottle over there?" Azshanas said pointing at a one pint bottle of a semi transparent green liquid on a shelf behind the bar after putting 3 of the larger gems on the bar top. "Now that the test of myself is done and over with, how about we start over? Also, what's this SAIA place? I'm guessing it's something from your world, because there is no such place by that name on the world I'm from."
Andrace's expression became grim when the canine Demon made his boast. She'd heard of that incident, it had been featured in an old copy of "Adventurer's Gazette" she'd read a year or so ago. If Bas wasn't just trying to break her nerve, if he hadn't just read the same magazine, if it really had been him... Later. For now, she still wasn't going to kill him.
She jumped down the last little bit onto the same level as Bas, shuddering for a moment as the move sent pure agony through her left leg from claw-sheaths to groin. It took a fraction of a second to realise what she was seeing when his summoned blade came tumbling towards her, then there was only time to throw herself to the ground and think flat thoughts. Not quite enough: the lioness felt a tug at the back of her shirt, and a shallow but messy slice opened up running down her left shoulderblade and back ribs.
Ow. Damn. Hurts, Andrace thought as she rolled awkwardly to a kneeling position, then stood up. She was painfully familar with the feel of blood running down her spine. The torn and slashed remnants of her shirt, slit open at the back, hung loosely from her shoulders, showing things underneath it. Not just blood-smeared fur, a number of small metallic things, many with sharp pointy edges, attached to straps and fittings the lioness wore under her clothes.
Andrace realised she'd dropped her knife, and there was something not quite right with her left arm, she couldn't grab the knife again. She ignored that, pushed the pain of her injuries to the back of her mind, and began to lumber forward. This had to be the final effort, despite her bravado she knew she had practically nothing left in reserve. A low growl, full of the promise of brutally sudden mayhem, rumbled deep in her chest.
As she came up to a limping run, she scraped together the dregs of her meagre magical talent and tossed a cluster of tiny spells right at her opponent's face. Almost all of them were flash spells, like the last time. One, trailing behind the others and the only carefully aimed projectile, was a fire spell. Pitifully weak, barely as hot as a struck match. But unless Bas changed his attack pattern, it would skim over the rim of his shield and go off either inside his open mouth or right beside his muzzle. It wouldn't really cause any damage, or even hurt all that much, but it should do an excellent job of distracting Bas from what she was about to try...
There was nothing wrong with her right arm: as her growl rose in volume to a defiant roar, she brought her sword up for a full strength overhead strike, aiming to parry or simply batter the Demon's own weapon out of line. If she could get a chance to kick — with her right paw, please — at Bas's shield or line up her sword for a counter-thrust, all the better.
As the blade came closer and nicked Andrace across the back, Bas barely managed to hold back an apologetic look and chocked down the urge to shout 'Sorry'. While he did feel bad, amends could be made after the fight. For now, his goal was simple, get her to surrender, or deliver a stunning blow. Either would work, but the wake-up from a stunning blow might lead to unnecessary bloodshed.
Andrace's litany of spells were cast in haste, and most were poorly aimed, Bas either sidestepped, blocked, or flat-out ran into the hail of minor annoyances. The one he hadn't been watching for was the one that could have been fatal. A small bulb of fire, horrendously weak, and hardly worth acting on, caught him on the very end of the nose, the small puff of smoke, however, caused a very real, and uncontrollable tickle to his nose, followed by a powerful sneeze with the lioness nearly on top of him. Reacting with all the energy he could muster in those brief moments, the demon tried to bring his own blade to perry, while trying to get the shield in a proper position to block. Had he reacted perhaps a 10th of a second either way, the results would have been far different.
Bas found his right wrist crushed into a horribly painful contortion, while his left arm gave him dull notice that something very sharp had touched his armored flesh, and still drawn blood. The lioness's very long, and vicious blade was sandwiched between the inside of his shield, and edge of his own sword.
With a flash of bared teeth, the demon growled at Andrace, "A lucky shot, but it seems that's run out too."
In a motion designed to torque Andrace's wrist to alleviate his own's pain, Bas Pushed with his right hand, pulled with his left, then leaned his torso away from the lioness, in the same motion, a very large, a very sharply clawed foot lashed out in a sweep kick, aimed for the lioness's midsection. Bas was trying to hook her across the waist, and perhaps drag her to the ground with his claws.
Andrace would have laughed with delight if she hadn't been so busy trying not to get hurt too much more. She'd plinked a few noses — whatever she'd actually been aiming at — with her mini fire spell, but she'd never made anyone sneeze before. Her wrist twinged from the recoil when Bas did his counter-parry, then her sword stuck fast somewhere down the back of his shield. She winced when the Demon tried to twist it, that put even more strain on her wrist. She saw an opportunity, though, and grabbed for it.
The lioness shifted her grip on her sword hilt, pulled herself up with another boost from a one-legged jump, and planted her good paw on the big round metal boss in the middle of Bas's shield, hooking her claws on the rivets for a more secure grip. She yelped and almost let go and fell flat on her back when something — possibly a kick from the Demon's claws — cut into her dangling left leg. The sudden extra pain made her dizzy for a moment, and now she could feel even more blood running down her leg. But she wasn't going to give in now: the thought that she might have been gutted if she'd still been standing on the ground only added to her determination.
Andrace knew she only had moments left to act before the Demon tried something else. She hooked her nearly useless left arm over the rim of the shield, let go of her sword hilt, which was still firmly jammed, reached down and drew her other long knife from its hidden sheath on her right thigh. She bared her fangs in a hissing snarl, lunged up and over the rim of the shield, thrust the knife forward —
And stopped. She was dizzy from blood loss, and beginning to tremble with shock, but her right arm was solid as a rock. The point of her knife was barely a claw's length from Bas's left eye. "Y' know," she said in an almost pleasant tone, "some folks say a Demon c'n armour an' harden any part o' his body, even th' squishy bits on th' inside. Some folks say it's just his skin. Me, I dunno. How 'bout we find out? Surrender." The last word came out as a flat, expressionless statement of the futility of resistance rather than a request, and it had an unspoken "or else" tagged on after it. Her arm wasn't fully extended: unless she fell off, she had easily enough reach to probe with her knife at the back of Bas's skull... on the inside.
The sudden weight on his shield was the first clue of trouble. Bas had held back a bit on the kick, he'd made sure he hadn't disemboweled the lioness, and that holding back had cost him, dearly. His toe claws raked along her leg as she clambered along his shield surface. The sudden release of force from the lioness's blade had thrown him off balance, even more so than the weight added on his left shoulder and arm.
His thoughts barely recognized what he was seeing with the knife-point was a hair's breadth from his eye's outer surface. Before Bas could do anything, the island faded from existence. The tone the lioness had used, combine with her position had clearly signaled that, whatever else happened, death would have been imminent.
He let out a soft chuckle as he started leaning back from the pressure on him. "It seems you've won mi'lady, and i think we're both a little worse for wear to get here...Why don't you put down the pointies now?"
The sword he'd held dissipated, and she shield in which Andrace had been positioned atop of also disappeared. "looks like we can both use a little healing... and after that, i believe I owe you a drink, Andrace." Bas added with a smirk.
Andrace just managed to get her good leg under her when Bas's shield vanished and dumped her to the ground. Her landing was a little unsteady, arms and tail waving about wildly, but she didn't quite fall over. The island of rock columns had vanished. "I won?" she said. "So, I don't get t' find out which bits o' y' body y' c'n harden? Awww..." Her plaintive question might have sounded innocent enough (to a carefully chosen audience), but her wicked smile and throaty chuckle had been banned in three countries and declared anathema in at least one religion for "sounding like way too much fun".
The lioness slipped her knife — carefully, she didn't want to add to her injuries now the fight was over — back into its concealed sheath, limped forward and draped her good arm over the Demon's shoulder. "Yeah, a drink sounds good. What th' hell, y' did pretty good y'self, Wolkshammer. In a real fight, not a fair 'un, y' might've been a good challenge f'r m' baby sister. Now, let's gather up all m' weapons I dropped, get back inside an' get ourselves patched up b'fore I fall down on m' snout. All right f'r folks wi' magic t' burn on healin' spells, that last stunt cleaned me out, an' I'm startin' t' really hurt here."
As proof of that last, Andrace's voice was more strained as the adrenalin rush of combat faded. Her grip on Bas's shoulder tightened, with her claws twitching in and out as increasing waves of pain ran up and down her body, and she was putting more of her weight into leaning against him. She was cut, bleeding, bruised, possibly a little concussed, soaking wet, with wrenched muscles in places she'd not thought about since she'd studied feline anatomy. But she'd won.
Bas felt the lioness plant an arm on his shoulder, applying a little weight and starting to feel very unstable to the demon. He was watching the wounds carefully as she continued to apply a bit more weight and started to feel a bit of bite from her claws. "Yeah, you're not looking so good Ms. Kithara... Hold still a moment, please and then we'll get you inside."
Gently moving his right hand down to gashed across her belly, Bas applied some light pressure and focused his magic into healing. Closing split blood-vessels, sealing muscle tears, and closing up the claw marks across her belly's flesh. His attention was focused on his work, as Bas slid his hand down to the nasty cuts along the lioness's leg. Again, applying light pressure for a few moments while focusing on his task as his hand gave off a very very low heat.
While healing with his right hand, his left hand had summoned a small dark cloud, which swept over the circle, collecting the various bladed implements that had been used and left to stand durning the fight. As the little cloud returned with all the gear littered about the area, the demon gave the adventure a smug smile, and added with a bit of a playful chortle, "Hopefully that's a little better. If your still in pain... "
As he started to move into position under her arm, he noted the much deeper looking slice, made from the shadowy pinwheel-blade. Healing that as well, he added a quick cleaning and drying spell, then moved back under Andrace's arm as he pulled her towards the bar. "First rounds are on me, mi'lady... but after that, i hope you're ready to pay your fair share..."
Hiding his own pain in his walk, Bas rather stealthily began healing his own wounds as he lead the way to the bar. When he reached the front, he'd felt the last of the itching and tingling stop. He opened the door with a bow, looking for keaton as he waited for Andrace to enter. "Ladies first, Ms. Kithara" He added with a sardonic smile.
"Ahh ye aren't a Furrae 'cubi then...Or maybe you are and ye ancestors settled there at some point, by accident or design." Pal said as a tentacle reached over and acquired the indicated bottle.
He also managed to snag a glass, and after setting it down in front of Anshanas poured some of the bottle's contents into it without needing to look.
"SAIA, or The Succubus and Incubus Academy, is a place of learning for 'cubi. Most students don't leave until they are around their 400th year or so although this is not a requirement or mandatory."
"Hmmm..." Azshanas looked at the liquid in her glass with a hesitant look as she swirled it around in the glass. The liquid was slightly thicker than she had expected. After a moment she closed her eyes and downed the green liquid. She then opened her eyes in surprise after swallowing, "Mmm, fruity." She commented to herself while pouring another glass full.
"So, it appears that you only think you know what I am based on what you know of your own kind." Azshanas paused to take a sip of her drink. "Actually, at this time I would expect you to speak of yourself some seeing as the balance of knowledge is still tipped in your favor with knowing more about me than I you, all be it that most of the information I think you may know about me is now proven to be false. But seeing as you haven't run me off after what I attempted to pull, I guess I'm obligated to tell you the truth." Azshanas idly played with the glass that held her drink while contemplating where to begin in her explanation.
"I'm actually from a planet by the name Danu and what you refer to be the 'cubi race was the archetype for the creation of my race. Other than having some similar racial abilities, I have no real connections to your race or your planet. My kind is referred to as the Faolchú Dorcha. That is both our racial designation and our adopted clan name." She paused in her explanation and looked at Paladin. "Now, should I just keep going and detail the entire 700 years of my races existence or are their any specifics you would like to know? And better yet, perhaps you could enlighten me with some info about yourself."
He had been briefed about the Fraying, as his commanders had called it. His prison was formed out of nothing less than the fabric of the Pattern, and as he started to touch the world, it was almost inevitable that reality , especially reality around the Pit of Doom, would start to founder and crack. They had talked about men vomiting beetles, of the ground turning to nothingness before you, of meat going rotten an hour after the cow was slaughtered.
Somewhere, they had forgotten to mention the headache.
He could tell he was sitting, a rough wall of some sort against his back, eyes squeezed shut against the sensation of his forehead trying to part like reeds being shoved by a duck's passage. It wasn't corresponding to any real injury, a head wound like what his skin was reporting would have killed him instantly, but that knowledge was a cold comfort against the blind, dumb insistence of his screaming flesh.
Off to his left, he could smell alcohol, and the touch of familiarity gave him enough strength to crack his eyes open into slits. The place was not hugely well lit, but it was more than enough illumined to reveal upright animals, talking and drinking like men, in what seemed to be a bar of some sort.
Still trying to get his bearings, Corgatha leaned back against the wall he found himself adjacent to, and tried to get his bearings.
Despina had just come back in with Witt when she noticed something she really ought to have spotted earlier: the old wolf who looked as tough as Aunt Jocasta was wearing one of Andrace's shirts. The ones their mother had given to all the girls just last year, when her youngest sister Eugenia had passed the last of her tests and was finally allowed to take contracts as one of the Pride, with no restrictions. The lioness grinned mischievously, fished a few coins out of somewhere down the front of her top and tossed them to Witt. "I'll be right back, buy me somethin' wi' a good kick t' it," she muttered to the hedgehog, and then stalked up behind the wolf, her paw-pads making no noise on the floor.
She made no effort to hide her scent, or her reflection in the big mirror behind the bar, though, as she stopped and leaned forward. "Hhiii there," she breathed into the wolf's ear with a deep, husky purr. "That's one o' m' sister's shirts y're wearin' there, is Andrace losin' bets again?"
Outside, Andrace breathed a sigh of relief as the healing spells did their work on her cut and battered body. "Oh, that feels better!" she growled. "Thanks, Bas, an' thanks f'r th' pickup." She stretched her arms and rolled her shoulders, carefully — considering the state of her shirt, one wrong move could leave it lying on the ground in a little heap of silk. And she wasn't ready yet to let anyone watching see what of Kithara's secrets she kept tucked away underneath. Maybe someone she'd want to fight later. A girl had to keep some surprises, after all.
She slipped her retrieved weapons back into their various sheaths and hiding places as she followed Bas across the Circle and back towards the bar entrance. With her spiked club parked jauntily over her shoulder, she grinned at the Demon. "Worried 'bout bein' left wi' th' bar tab? Nah, I wouldn't do that t' a nice guy like you, Bas," she said, almost entirely honestly. "Now c'mon, let's see if Witt's got m' sister drunk under th' table yet."
Witt raised an eyebrow after Despina, then sauntered up to the bar, and looked for the thing behind it. No sign thereof, but he'd said something about "whatever drink you want would be there", so...
Witt turned the coins over in his paw, an evil, evil grin sneaking across his features. He glanced over to where Despina was purring into Kaela's ear; Kaela seemed well able to take care of herself, so all he had to do was come up with a decent drink. Something with a kick to it, she'd said. He muttered to himself as he considered. "Not a 307 Ale, I think. Maybe later. We could do an Irish Depth Charge with that, though. Might have a Dead Bastard later, too. Not a Fuck Me Over Again, either. No kick in that. Swift Kick In The Ass? Kung Fu Kicker? Kick In The Peaches? Nah. Let's go for a pint of Mule Kick." He looked up, to see that the bar had provided, helpfully, two drinks of each of the listed, the last two just fading into view at the end of the line. He blinked, then grinned, fishing out enough coins to pay for the largesse.
"Shit. This'll be fun."
Kaela had been relaxing at the bar for some time, or at least doing her absolute best to. There was a dull ache in her muscles that she had not felt for some time. Despite the admirable healing skills provided by the establishment, Kaela still felt a blanket of stiffness beneath her skin and fur that permeated her body. She wondered if it was really the wounds themselves, or if it was simply her age and lifestyle finally catching up to her. The wolf had spent twenty five of her forty years living hard and fast, hopping from theater to warfront. Her body had undergone countless adminstrations of first aid, field surgery, and magical healing. It was a wonderment to her that she wasn't made entirely of robotic parts by now. Kaela Silverstone was becoming an old and tired woman, and the fact bothered her. She was a warrior bred and born, however, and the very thought of retirement seemed like an anathema.
A familiar scent suddenly grew strong, approaching methodically and slowly from behind. It smelled different, however, with varying undercurrents and tones that Kaela didn't recognize. The origin smelled the same however: Andrace's homeland had a series of olfactory scents all its own. Expecting the folksy and boisterous tones of Andrace, the wolf was caught completely off guard by the almost sultry tone of voice Despina that she breathed into her ear, mostly because she had been staring into her drink rather than at the mirror right in front of her. Her heart fluttered a little with a combination of surprise and embarassment.
Kaela turned and smiled, and despite the fact that the right side of her face refused to move, locked eternally by scar tissue in an expression of impassion, it was quite an attractive smile. "You could say that, but I was the one who lost the bet and my shirt. Care to sit with me?" The older wolf patted the stool next to her with one hand. "I didn't catch your name by the way. Just your nickname, which from what I've seen using will get me punched in the face." A devious smirk crossed Kaela's face.
Quote from: Dekari on February 19, 2010, 02:45:57 PM
"Hmmm..." Azshanas looked at the liquid in her glass with a hesitant look as she swirled it around in the glass. The liquid was slightly thicker than she had expected. After a moment she closed her eyes and downed the green liquid. She then opened her eyes in surprise after swallowing, "Mmm, fruity." She commented to herself while pouring another glass full.
"So, it appears that you only think you know what I am based on what you know of your own kind." Azshanas paused to take a sip of her drink. "Actually, at this time I would expect you to speak of yourself some seeing as the balance of knowledge is still tipped in your favor with knowing more about me than I you, all be it that most of the information I think you may know about me is now proven to be false. But seeing as you haven't run me off after what I attempted to pull, I guess I'm obligated to tell you the truth." Azshanas idly played with the glass that held her drink while contemplating where to begin in her explanation.
"I'm actually from a planet by the name Danu and what you refer to be the 'cubi race was the archetype for the creation of my race. Other than having some similar racial abilities, I have no real connections to your race or your planet. My kind is referred to as the Faolchú Dorcha. That is both our racial designation and our adopted clan name." She paused in her explanation and looked at Paladin. "Now, should I just keep going and detail the entire 700 years of my races existence or are their any specifics you would like to know? And better yet, perhaps you could enlighten me with some info about yourself."
Paladin put his now empty bottle on the bar top and proceeded to acquire another, pop the cap off and take a mouthful before answering "Lass I'm sorry to say but I'm not one for giving out personal history, in my line of work it can be a hazard."
"And to be perfectly honest I feel like getting a wee bit drunk after my last fight, so if you'll excuse me I have a few of these to go through."
"Very well." Azshanas said with a sigh of disappointment. "Then I will leave you to it if that is what you want." She took her drink and the pint bottle in hand as she stood up. "I kind of wish my first social encounter in two years could have gone better than this despite that bit of deceit at the beginning, but I guess it's just another bump in the road to redemption I will have to deal with. Thank you again for the drink, perhaps later if we are both still here I could repay the favor." She said with a slight bow before turning away to wander the bar.
Nodding in agreement as he first held the door for Andrace, then, followed shoulder to shoulder with the lioness once she was inside. Bas had a very large and devious grin on his face as he said, "The bar tab isn't the worry, money i have... I'm a bit more worried about the possible responsibility of a drunken lass larger than i am..."
Placing arm around her back in a friendly manner, Bas gently guided Andrace towards the Bar. "any preference on drink type, milady? and, given that we're talking on friendly terms... you won... so i shall give you the choice of conversation, as well as inebriate!"
Despina smiled back at the old wolf and hopped on to the indicated barstool, propping her staff against the front of the bar. At the mention of her nickname, an almost completely unconvincing piously innocent look passed over her face for a few seconds. "Heh — busted good an' proper there, I think," she said with an impish grin. "I'm Despina Kithara, an' yeah, that lumberin' hulk outside moppin' th' floor wi' th' doggy is, f'r m' many an' various sins, m' big sister Andrace."
Or... maybe not as old as all that. Now she was closer, Despina thought the wolf couldn't be more than a few years either side of her mother's age. With less scars, although admittedly Clarice Kithara had retired from the Pride with crippling injuries before Despina's eldest sister Irene had been born. Like most of her family, the lioness wasn't put off by scars like the ones she saw crisscrossing the wolf's muzzle and arms, she thought they added character and distinction. She really ought t' do somethin' wi' her fur, though, Despina thought, looks like she washes it by waitin' t' get rained on.
"So y' had a bout wi' Andrace already? Hope she didn't pound y' too hard, she gets a bit carried away sometimes, an' then her sparrin' partner needs t' be carried away. An' I dunno if y' were watchin', but I just got m' tail handed t' me. That little spiny guy along the bar there, Witt's his name, he's a sneaky little bugger, an' tougher 'n he looks. I was just 'bout t' have a drink wi' him, want t' come along so's us harmless little girls c'n outnumber him?" She hitched her thumb over her shoulder towards Witt, but didn't look, so she didn't notice the long line of drinks the hedgehog had just (perhaps) accidentally conjured up.
Sylvie was staring into her ice cream, thinking thoughts that were surprisingly less sad than she expected. There was normal conversation all around her, Dani was trying and failing to get anyone to talk to her besides the green-skinned girl, and she didn't feel threatened in the least. Many people were coming back in from their finished battles, looking for drink and talk, and for a moment, Sylvie could almost pretend she was in a bar in her own world - not that of the greens, but those of the cities, where species and faith took a side-seat to alcohol for at least a short while.
But as she turned away from her untouched ice cream and looked around, she noticed the confused-looking man sitting against the wall. He certainly didn't look as though he'd entered via the door, otherwise he'd be sitting in a chair. It was the first time she'd ever seen someone materialize IN the bar instead of outside of it, and she couldn't help wanting to help the man in the Boogeyman's absence. So she left her seat and walked slowly over to the man, stopping within about five feet of him in case he got scared when he saw her.
"Hello. You look lost. Do you know where you are and how you got here?" she asked softly, her voice kind and helpful.
---
Dani didn't like being ignored, even when she had just interrupted a conversation that had nothing to do with her. She would have looked away with an indignant sniff at the winged wolf's (possibly) unintentional snub, but then she heard the word "incubus." Now THERE was a word seldom spoken in the world where the new winds blew. There were certainly demons, goblins, and more fearsome creatures like fiends where she came from, but the soul-stealing, sex-crazed demons of legend barely appeared in their mythology. Still, this wolf didn't look like any incubus she'd seen in her History classes. And the teacher hadn't been a Red or a mouph worshipper, so he wouldn't have lied about what historians had written.
She was about to lean towards Syl and ask if she'd ever heard of incubi really existing, but the elf had already left her seat (and her ice-cream) to help some guy who was sitting on the floor. Dani bit her lip in anticipation. Let's see how he reacts to her skin. If it's good, go back to ice cream and talk to wolf guy. If not, just calmly talk him down.
The worst of the disorientation seemed to be passing. In a minute, a bare minute, he'd haul himself to his feet, stretch, and try to see if his silver was any good in this bar. The air was thick, as if the fumes of the alcohol had permeated the main room. The wall wasn't so bad to lean against, as he felt the strength returning, pooling into his legs and biceps, renewing bone.
Almost, he gripped the Power, but he didn't think he was quite up to the task as of yet. A whiff of some fragrance that he couldn't quite identify, something a bit like crushed grass, but with a nutty flavor, seemed to waft in from his right, and he snapped his head around quickly. A woman, at least he thought she was. Green was not a color he usually attributed to women, but she had regular, almost sculpted features, framed by hair that seemed like a vine of some sort, or perhaps thick grass.
She said something, but Corgatha's mind was far away at the moment, preoccupied with several tasks, and he filed the words away to really fully hear later. With a grunt, he hauled himself to his feet, and saw that he was only slightly taller than the woman, although he must have been close to twice her weight, if not more.
He then seized the Power, swallowing his earlier apprehension, although he resisted the ever-present urge to draw as much as he could in, quickly and deeply. Instead, he kept the flow to a trickle, enough to throw a rock, hard and fast, and not much more. Oceans of ice threatened to crush him, mountains of flame immolated his bones, but the struggle to master Saidin was almost perfunctory, and he held the raging torrent with effort that hardly hampered concentration at this point.
The stink of alcohol became sharper, clearer, and Corgatha wondered if he might stagger from it. He could hear the rustle of the green girl's emerald dress, fibrous threads of some plant that he did not recognize. Eyes unnaturally yellow, almost like what they said The Lord Dragon's friend was like, although hers were tinged with a verdant hue rather than the "Goldeneyes" of the battle cry. The ears would have given him a start, tapered like that, had the rest of the girl's appearance not been so strange. Almost, he was tempted to strike. But for all of her oddness, she didn't have that same reek as shadowspawn, and her features were too regular, natural. The Shadow could spin beauty, but it tended towards hard, unnatural forms, when it did so. He then called forth his memory, heard her words anew.
No name given, that would be an insult back home, but Light knew where he was, and what passed for polite here. Still, she was a lady, even as odd as that. He saluted, right fist to heart, and announced "Asha'Man Corgatha Taldorthar, Baijan'M'Hael of the Third fist of the Dragon, may his name be illumined in Light. I am aware how I got here, but I have no clear idea of where here is, or how I can get back home. But you have me at a disadvantage milady. Might I have the grace of your name?"
Azshanas wandered aimlessly around the bar area taking a moment every so often to stop, close her eyes, and listen. She listened to the sounds of the bar; the conversations, the sounds of drinks being poured, glass clinking against glass, the shuffling of bodies, chairs, tables, and most of all the sound of laughter. Each time she stopped, after a few moments she would lower her head, smile to herself, then open her eyes and begin walking again while sipping her drink until the next momentary pause. She continued this for a while until she reached one of the walls of the bar to which she turned and leaned against.
"The sounds of happiness, the sounds of life. It's a shame they almost seem foreign to me." She sighed. "God how I've missed them." She finished, speaking to no one in particular other than herself while refilling her glass from the pint bottle she had been carrying since she left her seat at the bar.
Intrigued by the formal introduction, and relieved that he wasn't going to attack her on sight, Sylvie did a mild curtsy and introduced herself formally as well. "Of course, how rude of me. I'm Sylvia Hyacinth Dahl, of the elven forests near the Imperial City of Diekan-Duria. But please call me Sylvie. You're at the Honor Circle, which is a fighting ring and bar between dimensions. I'm afraid that's the most knowledge I can offer as to your location. The owner of the establishment is outside fighting."
---
Back at the bar, Dani was watching Sylvie, and amazingly enough, not sniggering at her mannerisms. Syl had always had the habit of adapting the speaking pattern of whoever she was talking to, and the elves in general seemed to have a built-in royalty gene when confronted with someone who spoke politely. When she was sure the newcomer wasn't going to kill her friend, she began looking around the bar, swiveling in her seat and unconsciously twirling the revolver in her hands. True, she had just gotten out of a fight, and celebrated with a friend via sugar, but she was still kinda bored now. She was almost afraid she'd fall asleep with her eyes open, which was sort of why she was twirling the gun.
Then she overheard the she-wolf talking to herself. "Happiness is uncommon where you come from, you say?" she asked. "Heh. At least you can predict your home's overall emotions."
Corgatha listened to the strange woman's name and title, and forced a "Peace favor your sword" away from his lips. Hyacinth? Isn't that a flower of some sort? Forcing himself into focus, he continued his inquiry line. "You said fighting ring and bar. Who fights whom? And over what? And who maintains this..." He gestured over to the where the liquor smell was wafting from "establishment? Is my coin any good here? And how do the fighters here maintain themselves financially?"
A trickle of etiquette reached his brain, made a dull shouting that finally overcame his curiosity. "Let me get you something, for your time and trouble. The Seanchan have this drink, dark, bitter, call it Kaf. I find it quite invigorating. Could I interest you in a cup?"
He ambled over to the bar, but made sure to maintain general eye contact with this Sylvia, his closer hand in a semi-beckoning gesture.
Andrace grinned at Bas with an only slightly demented expression on her face, just a ghost of the merciless, implacable hunter she'd shown to the Demon right at the end of their fight. "Hah — y' tryin' t' get me too drunk, then?" she said, "Only if y're better at drinkin' than y' are at fightin'! Speakin' o' which, I'll have a brandy t' celebrate — th' good stuff, mind, not th' paint stripper. An' while y're doin' that, I'll change int' a shirt that'll not part company wi' th' girls if I hiccup." She also didn't want Bas — or anyone else — to think about the no-longer-hidden weapons under the torn shirt and trousers. Especially the contents of the little silk bag dangling from the back of her collar. If she ever needed that, she wanted it to be a complete surprise for her opponent. The lioness walked over to her backpack, rummaged for a moment, took out a small package and headed for the ladies' room. On the way she tossed a cheerful wave to her sister and a wink and a leer at Kaela.
When Andrace came back out again a couple of minutes later, she wore intact trousers and a scoopback top in a soft brown suede material replacing her tattered shirt. It might be sleeveless, and mostly backless (showing a couple more old scars here and there), but it would have taken a brave man to bet against her being just as well armed as she'd been before.
Before the comment of "the girls", the demon had avoided focusing on the lioness's figure, or really any of her features below her shoulder-line. He did admit to himself that, especially for a being, he was impressed with her skill and power. However, his main focus of attention in -that- particular regard up until that moment, had centered around the strange, brightly colored lass he'd met before the challenge, and his first attempt in the circles.
He gave a polite bow of the head as he watched her saunter off into ladies room, giving a little chuckle at her choice of drink. "Classy taste for an adventurer..." Bas said to himself, digging around behind the bar for a set of appropriate glasses, and a bottle of the dark amber to caramel colored liquor.
Paws settling around a bottle of Cognac, Bas poured a little and settled into a bar stool, wings folded behind him, and gently leaning on the bar itself as he awaited his sparring partners return.
As the lioness came back and headed towards him, it took the demon a small yet noticeable amount of self control to not stare at the total change in appearance Andrace had made. He gave a friendly smile and eased into a slightly more comfortable position as he made a sweeping gesture as an invite to have a seat, and a drink... he himself still oblivious to the fact that he'd never retrieved his shirt from the pocket dimension.
Andrace appeared to barely pay attention to her sister as she sauntered back towards Bas. As she passed close to the younger lioness, though, she hissed quietly between her fangs and, without looking at her, made a series of brief, subtle gestures with one hand, extending her claws for just a moment. She was all smiles as she sat beside the Demon and picked up her drink. "Ah, that was a nice little scrap," she said, "just 'nough t' warm up an' work th' kinks out. An' y' did pretty good y'self, Bas, made me sweat a bit a couple o' times." She raised her glass as if for a toast and winked mischievously. "Here's t' success!" She didn't say whose.
A short distance along the bar, Despina surreptitiously split her attention between Kaela and the canine Demon Andrace was talking to. She hadn't missed her sister's "attention" signal, or the other one in the form of their family's private hand-signal code. Possible hostile. Watch where I go. Danger high. If trouble starts, attack. No warning. Subdue alive, intact if possible. He's cute, I saw him first.
"Hmmm..." Azshanas looked over at Dani with an almost trance like look on her face. The silver of her right iris seemed to almost glow against the darkness of the eyes jet-black sclera while her the red of her left iris appeared rather dim against it's white background. Azshanas tilted her head slightly to one side as she continued to stair at Dani, however now she seemed to be looking through her, the people behind her, and perhaps the entire bar itself as though none of it was even there to begin with.
With a sudden shudder, Azshanas was pulled back into reality. She blinked several times as the brightness of her eyes balanced out to normal and leaned forward resting her hands on her knees while still holding her glass and bottle. "Oh...sorry about that." Azshanas seemed rather disoriented as she shook her head. "I guess I zoned out there for a bit. You said something about happiness being uncommon where I'm from, right?" She continued as she righted her self only to immediately fall back to leaning against the wall and then slowly sliding down to sitting on the floor, which was all she could do to keep herself from falling over. "Nah, happiness isn't uncommon where I'm from. Well, physically at least. However, where my mind and soul have been, that's a different story." She finished with a sigh.
with a mock indignant look Bas raised his own glass, "To the winner..."
He let his voice carry a bit, then added with a bit of a wicked grin, "...of this round."
Tilting his head back subtly, Bas took a sip and swallowed. The taste was rather surprising, yet not unpleasant. Having grown used to ales and mead, the stronger liquor was a bit of a treat. Not so much to effect the demon's judgment, it would probably take half the bottle to reach that stage. But, it did help him feel relaxed, and more at ease.
His calm voice carried an edge of bemusement as he added, "And if you call carrying you and stopping you from passing out by sealing up the wounds 'a little sweaty'... i'd hate to find out what 'just a little scratch is... I do have to say, however, and with absolute honesty, that you impress me, Ms. Kithara. You have my earned my respect, and that is not something i say lightly. If you ever wish for another bout, just give me a time and place."
A hint of a toothy smile, as he took another sip.
Andrace sipped at her drink, looking over the rim of the glass at Bas with a deceptively innocent look. "Well," she said, "there was th' time Great-Aunt Veryan got 'er head lopped off. Didn't bother 'er much, she just rolled it out o' th' way an' carried on fightin'. Can't think why that bandit got so upset she wet 'em —y'd think she'd never seen an Undead b'fore."
The lioness cocked one ear and spread her whiskers as her nose and tongue told her the brandy really was very good quality. Maybe it would help soften up Bas before she put a few pointed questions to him about that massacre. With the help of a few pointed persuaders.
The Circle
"Thirst isn't really something I do," Boog stepped in and took another swing, aiming the tip of the bat at the canteen itself. Something gurgled at the back of the man (like creature's) throat, and a thin trickle of smoke wafted up from the corner of his lips...
The Bar
"Where's that?" Richard rasped.
He was at the other end of the bar from Dani and Azshanas, so it may have taken a second to tell he was talking to them. He coughed awkwardly, "Couldn't help overhearing, it just got me thinking. I've seen places with lots of unhappy people. Hospitals, all that. And I've seen plenty of DEPRESSING places, too. Churches, family restaurants... Never heard of a place that's unhappy though. Just ones with unhappy people in it." He shrugged. "So, where?"
Bas gave an amused snort, a chuckle escaped his lips as well. "Sounds like you have a rather interesting family. My family is a bit more... traditional... at least, by demon standards. we've got our fair share of amusing tails... but they often depend your point of view."
The demon's pose was extremely relaxed as he daintily and rather gingerly spun the glass around in his fingertips. He took a big sip, emptying the glass of it's contents. "Care for a refill?" Bas asked in a polite tone as he started filling his own Glass.
Arroyo tosses the canteen to his other hand and takes a short hop back to dodge Boog's swing. He aimed the canteen's top towards boog quickly and fires a sphere of water at him, the cap first popping him in the forehead, which probably felt like nothing but still causes the curious question of "What the hell is that?"
"Another reality hacker. Like I haven't fought one before." He acted all uninterested in what his opponent can do, but he still held his guard up. After all, no two people with the same ability have the same tactics.
Sylvie thought about each of the man's questions, but didn't have time to answer them before he offered her a drink for her concern. She smiled politely. So his courtesy wasn't a front, but ingrained into him. That was a nice change from the norm. He'd be easy to get along with if he had that much of an elven personality (hopefully with none of the half-unintentional arrogance).
"That would be nice, but I'd prefer something cold, if it's not impolite to say so," she said, walking to the bar as well. "My people aren't so good with hot food, you see. That beverage - which is called 'coffee' here, if it's the way you described it - is ethically safe for me to drink, but possibly not biologically so. I wouldn't object to apple cider, though."
---
Whoa. You don't see that every day. The she-wolf's eyes had really caught Dani's attention. The color change was gone as quickly as it had appeared, but the Red knew she hadn't hallucinated that. She was about to ask the wolf about it when the zombie who had caught her attention earlier spoke up. She looked over, then, quickly glancing back between herself and the wolf before answering. "Are you asking me or her? Because happiness isn't uncommon where I'm from. Well, kinda hard to say, really, since nothing can be CALLED common in Rustburg except hair and eye color, skin tone, magic, and lifespan. Other than that, nothing really stays the same. It's a hell of a place to live, but I loved every minute of it growing up." She smirked lopsidedly and glanced at the other woman. "What about you?"
A slight look of confusion mixed with exhaustion washed over Azshanas as she set aside the pint bottle and drinking glass reached into her jacket and pulled out a small glass vial of glowing blue liquid. "'A hard life for every silver spoon and a touch of gray for every shade of blue.' How ironic that it turns out that we are living proof of this saying." She said as she removed the cap from the vial and drank the liquid. As she swallowed the last of the vials contents, she closed her eyes tight and grit her teeth in a look of pain as her hand involuntarily closed, crushing the glass vial.
With the confusion and exhaustion gone, Azshanas attempted to stand and quickly made her way to a seat near Dani before she had a chance to fall over again as the elixir hadn't taken full affect yet. Resting her arms on the bar she replied to the earlier questions. "If you were to go the places, they wouldn't seem to be unhappy places to you. But every place from my past is a unhappy place to me....and because of me." Azshanas kept her gaze down at the bar and away from Dani and Richard in a fashion that resembled shame.
Corgatha held the green girl's eyes a moment, and then stumped over to the bar, awkward strides making the trip longer than his height suggested. Something about her face made him uneasy, but he couldn't quite place it, and suppressing a snarl, he pushed that distrust into the deep recesses of his being. Time to find out the answer to the first of my questions. He waved over the barkeeper, and added in a half smile along the right side of his face. Past experience had taught him that most people found the dance of scar and mottle over his jawbones and cheeks disturbing, but it did tend to attract attention.
Once he was sure of the barkeep's attention, the barkeep being some sort of strange, upright furred animal that he didn't recognize, he called out, raising his voice slightly against the din of the establishment. "I'd like a mug of Kaf-" remembering the girl's rejoinder he finished "fee. And the lady would like an apple cider." Turning to the girl, he asked "Do you want brandy in that?" As he turned back to echo her response, it hit him. Doubtless it was due to the odd features, and the green hue, but he couldn't place an age to that face, and that brought unpleasant instincts. He held his gaze on the bartender, not allowing a dismissal until the girl had answered, and waited for further development.
Andrace was careful not to let her face show her emotions, but she thought she could guess the sort of thing Bas's family thought of as "amusing". Her family had earned a reputation and a not so small fortune — and occasionally lost a few members — dealing with Creatures who thought that way.
The lioness finished her own drink in one swallow, put the glass down on the bartop and pushed it towards the Demon. "I would indeed care f'r a refill," she said, "qual'ty brandy like this d'serves a lot o' testin', t' make sure it stays top qual'ty. Fill 'er up."
Topping off the Andraces glass, while still leaving enough room for the alcohol to breath, Bas leaned back sipping his own glass. "ya know... when they get to drinking, most adventurers simply see the horns, the wings and claws and scream 'slay the monster' No chance to reply, no moment to calm them down. They see what i am, grab a sword and start swinging. I greatly appreciate the gesture, Andrace, it's not every day that a supposed enemy to my kind sits down for a drink."
Scratching his chin, Bas took another drink, while he thought of an amusing story of his own. He actually started feeling the effects of the alcohol, and while his pose still spoke of near perfect sobriety, he'd subconsciously started slurring and shortening words "'ind you, it's usually when i but heads with my own kind where things get interesting. Why, i 'member the 'ook 'o 'orror on m' ol'er bother's 'ace 'en 'e when i first tried that shiel' throwin' stunt, 'ou saw earl'er. 'E 'ad no i'ea what was comin' unti' BAM, right in the nose. Frozen in 'orror for a goo' week while 'is jaw was 'ealin'"
The large demon let out a chuckle of amusement as he fondly remembered the moment. Taking another sip as he leaned lightly on the bar.
Andrace snorted and wrinkled her muzzle disdainfully as she picked up her refilled glass and promptly started to empty it again. "Am'teurs," she muttered, "am'teurs an' showoffs. They give us pr'fessn'l advent'r's a bad name — think all they need t' do is strap on a sword, find some critter, an' go get one or th' other o' them killed. Or both." It was sometimes not easy to tell from Andrace's voice alone whether she'd downed enough alcohol to seriously affect her. Her habit of chopping and slurring words, whether stone cold sober or half a dirty glass of rotgut away from passing out, could be deceptive. Perhaps this was not accidental.
"I won't deny, we get hired now an' then t' take out rogue Creatures, but we do it legal. I don't do any smackin' down wi'out a 'fishul contract or a warrant," she lied glibly. "An' as f'r all that posin' an' proclaimin' an' wavin' y' weapon around, that's f'r suckers... an' st'tist'cs." The lioness wriggled her rump on the barstool, just enough to make the enormous pistol holstered at her side — which she hadn't touched during the fight — bounce softly against her thigh. Her meaning was clear: she didn't consider herself a sucker, and had no intention of becoming a statistic.
Andrace just happened to be taking a sip of her drink when Bas finished his story. The snort of laughter she didn't quite manage to suppress almost sprayed some of the brandy up around her muzzle. "Heh, brothers," she said with a grin after she'd licked a few stray drops from her whiskers. "I got three m'self, an' I c'n just see that sort o' thing happenin' t' Arcas. Great fighter, good skills, lucky, but if 'e's sparrin' wi' m' sister Zoe all bets 're off. One time a while back 'e was tryin' out a new spear, did a swingin' slash, an' Zoe got 'er swords up an' crossed in th' neatest block y' ever saw... except..." The lioness made a "ker-boing" noise and with her free hand mimiced a long thin object bouncing and tumbling up in a brief arc before coming down again. "Woulda been okay if 'e'd ducked in time, but 'e didn't, so 'e ended up wi' a strip snipped out o' his hair from 'tween 'is ears on back. Didn't 'alf look silly 'til it grew out. My shout, want 'nother one?" Andrace finished off her drink and held the glass up towards Bas, one ear and eyebrow cocked questioningly.
Is she finished, Bas gave a deep, rumbling laugh. His tail swished back and forth as he downed the rest of his own drink in a single gulp. He set his glass on the bar, "Sure, 'nother round wit' good comp'ny s'always 'preciated!"
He chuckled again, scratching his neck lightly, then went back to leaning on the bar. He kept his eyes focused on the lioness's face as he lazily leaned his head against a hand. Long medusa like locks swaying lightly as a silver ring bumped the edge of the bar. "You startin' 'e nex' roun'?" The demon said as a warm fuzziness started to envelope his thoughts, feelings and mood.
Andrace winked at Bas, slipped her free hand inside her top and fished about at just above belt level for a few seconds until she came up with some money from a concealed purse. She slid the coins across the bartop to join what Bas had already paid, reached for the bottle — which wouldn't last much longer — and refilled their glasses.
"Here's t' y' health, Bas," she said as she raised her own glass, "howev'r long y' keep it. Now I know how tough y' are, I'll not go easy on y' if we have 'noth'r fun little scrap." Behind her confident smirk, the lioness was tense and hoping she could pull this off without incident. She'd successfully palmed the little pellet of truth drug from its hidden pocket: it only needed to be warmed for a short time against her palm-pad to activate the chemical mixture, then she'd have to slip it into the Demon's next drink. A few minutes after that, and he should be extremely suggestible and unable to even think anything but the truth.
If she did this right, she could find out exactly what Bas knew about that massacre he'd mentioned. No-one else would notice anything except two people enjoying a friendly post-beating-the-stuffing-out-of-each-other drink and conversation. And Bas wouldn't remember anything afterwards, except perhaps drinking a bit too much. She'd done it before, in similarly tricky circumstances; with luck, she could do it again.
Clinking his own glass against hers, Bas flashed another devilish smile, "And to your continued health as well. If we spar again in the future, i assure you, i'll give you everything as well, no holding back."
He'd spotted the hand movement, oh so subtle, yet there. Interesting... Seems she's trying to drug me... not that i have any complaints... might as well play along.
His minds-voice added in a vary sarcastic tone, Oh no, how powerless I am. Being used by such a beautiful and powerful adventurer. Oh woe is I. The thought brought a very real chuckle out of the demon, one he attempted to hide behind a sip of brandy. Between the clothing switch, the drinking contest and now the drugs, Bas drew the only conclusion he could think of for such pleasantries. Clearly she was trying to seduce him.
She shook her head and smiled pleasantly. "No, just plain cider. I'm not much for alcohol either; I don't really like the taste." She looked at him more evenly now; it only seemed right to thank him for more than one small favor. "By the way, thanks; not just for the drink, but also for not rushing to judge me. Conscious people have trouble not staring at me and treating me strangely where I come from; I can only imagine what it's like to regain consciousness in a strange place with someone like me standing over you."
---
For the first time since seeing the she-wolf, Dani noticed her physical state. She was exhausted, it seemed, to the point of actual weakness. "I'm sorry I didn't notice before, but are you all right? I mean, I collapse in public places all the time, but it's rare for me to see someone else about to do it." The last part of that had been intended as a joke, but she really was concerned, and it showed.
Her responses were pleasant, disconcerting. The conversation was drifting further and further away from subjects he was qualified to talk about, no tactics, no channeling, no stonework. And the comment about judging struck too close to home. Maybe the Aes Sedai couldn't see thoughts, but what was to say the people of this strange place were capable of?
Fortunately, the bartender heard her order, and the cider and Kaf arrived shortly enough to forestall the necessity to respond for a moment. The silver he slapped on the table did seem to meet the odd thing's approval, although a secondary worry that it wouldn't last him very long. He had very little use to carry around money on his own, and only really carried enough for tips. Still, no use worrying about what couldn't be mended. The Kaf was pungent, and he inhaled the fumes a moment, before quaffing some of the liquid. Bitter, powerful, scalded his tongue. A hawkish grin emerged, and he knew how to respond, bringing words of an old litany to bear.
He turned towards the girl, forced himself to look at her eyes. "What is to judge? You're green. Lots of odd things live in the north, near the Blight. There was a man in Fal Dara who could smell the act of violence, the White Tower is sundered, and the Lord Dragon cleansed the Source. What's another strange thing among many? It is neither here nor there, and it is all a long way from anything I am familiar with. You mentioned that this is a fighting place and a bar. We are patronizing the bar, tell me of the fighting ring. Who fights whom, and why?"
The Kaf here definitely was good, and Corgatha took another slip, slower this time. Salt and soda would probably produced blood when he cleaned his mouth this night, if he managed to find facilities. He waiting, rather calmly, for a response. He could already feel a bit of energy coming to him, although that was probably more excitement than any effect of the beverage.
"Although your concern is appreciated, it's not necessary." Azshanas said hiding behind a half faked smile, relieved that the topic had been changed. Her strength had now visibly returned to her as the elixir had taken full effect. "I'm just not used to being around this many people. The energy of this place just got a little...overwhelming."
She spun around on her stool, put her back against the bar, and lead forward with her arms stretched out far in front of her before sitting back upright with her arms stretched high above her head. "I think a bit of fresh air might do me good about now." Azshanas said hinting towards the door leading to the rings outside as she hopped off her barstool. "Would one of you two care to join me?" She asked referring to both Dani and Richard.
Andrace snickered into her glass for a moment in between sips, then she smiled wryly. "Yeah, I c'n see how that'd mebbe feel a bit weird, Bas," she said with a slightly rougher slur than usual in her voice. "S'pose I c'd say th' same, I've no plob... prob... lem sittin' down f'r a drink wi' folks who ain't Bein's, but some critter who's... a bus'ness int'rest, y' c'd call 'em, not so often." Unless I'm tryin' t' trick 'em, she thought sardonically.
The lioness wrapped her tail around one leg of her barstool and kept her ears, whiskers and face carefully unexpressive. She'd noticed the Demon's eyes flick towards her hand for a brief instant. Had he somehow seen her palm the drug pellet? So why wasn't he doing something typically drastic about it? For all he knew, she was about to make him swallow a magic-suppression charm that would take away all his Demonic advantages, or a virulent poison that would drop him dead on the floor before he had time to cough. No, she'd been very careful which hidden pocket she'd slipped her finger into.
Andrace held her nearly empty glass up to her eye, slightly unsteadily, then looked at the bottle, also not far from empty. "We gonn' need 'noth'r bottle soon," she said solemnly, then she raised her glass to her muzzle and downed the last mouthful. She tossed a few more coins onto the small pile on the bar, picked up the bottle (succeeding after only two attempts), and refilled her glass. "Give's y' glass 'ere, Bas, I'll top that up f'r y'," she said, waving her hand in a beckoning gesture to the Demon. It happened to be the hand she was holding the bottle in, but somehow she never spilled a drop as the almost empty bottle sloshed and gurgled. Gatering all her concentration, the lioness poured the last of the brandy into Bas's glass.
She swung her arm in a grand, sweeping loose-jointed gesture that could only be convincingly performed by the truly sloshed, and put the now empty bottle down with a firm clunk. The brandy really was beginning to affect her, but she was nowhere near as drunk — yet — as she was acting. She still held her hand in the slightly awkward pose she'd used to hold the pellet firmly against her palm-pad, just to keep Bas guessing. She'd defy anyone to have seen her put the drug into the Demon's glass, though... because she hadn't touched it. No, she'd slipped the pellet into the bottle, right after she'd filled her own glass. Her apparently drunkenly waving her arm around had been to give the stuff time to dissolve, until only a careful chemical or magical analysis could detect the addition.
All she had to do now was wait, until she could start asking questions. And try to stay sober enough to remember to share the answers with her sister.
Bas hadn't seen the gesture, perhaps she'd added the drug to her own drink... she didn't slip the stuff it into my own glass, was too careful to watch for that, and not enough time. Means she either dropped it into the bottle, which would mean we're both drugged... Or she's used whatever she'd held just barely visible for those fleeting moments, on herself. Either actions seems to support my initial conclusion. Interesting, and here i thought a rough bout was only seen as foreplay by demons.
With a wicked, salacious smirk, Bas raised his class, parted his lips and drank. Almost immediately he felt his head swim. He felt like he'd gone from 2 drinks to 10 in the blink of an eye, it was a strange sensation as the dull haze came over his view... everything seemed there... but blocked, like being in a light fog. Details bled together... His smirk turned a bit quizzical, then relaxed. Blinking a few times, Bas tried to focus. He wrinkled his nose a minute, as his lazy gaze focused on the feline in front of him. "Whoa... seem i've 'it me limi' fer the drinkin' tonigh'"
His thoughts were loose, and he was having a harder than usual time from keeping for blurting out the thoughts that were rolling through his head... His mind was lucid, though words slightly slurred from the inebriation. He leaned in a bit more than he had before, his tail swishing lazily as the salacious grin returned. "les' preten' tha' las' though' 'n't happ'n... Anot'er drink 'ould be lovely. I'da as'ed fer pleasur'ble com'ney s'well... bu' 'eems 'at's alrea'y 'ere..."
Andrace couldn't completely hide a small grimly satisfied smile when she noticed how quickly the truth drug was affecting Bas. Good, that meant the Demon would be less able to concentrate on fighting off its effects: at best, he wouldn't even be able to lie to himself, never mind her questions. The downside, though, would be only a brief time before the drug burned through his system and he collapsed into either a fit of giggles or an insensible heap on the floor, with no conscious memory of anything that happened in the last ten minutes.
He seemed to be well under, but the lioness — no believer (when sober) in skipping precautions — did eveything exactly as she'd been trained. "Aw, it's sweet o' y' t' say so, Bas," she murmured softly as she raised a hand and stroked the side of the Demon's muzzle. Her mother had taught her that little tip, which saved valuable fractions of a second if she needed to clamp someone's muzzle shut one-handed, or rip her claws through their jugular vein, as encouragement to sit down and shut up.
"If we go down that way, though... I don't get that friendly wi' folks I don't know too well. So tell me. Who are y'? What d' y' want? Where are y' goin'? Who d' y' serve? An' who d' y' trust?" Andrace's voice was still quiet enough not to travel far, but it became sharper as she quickly fired off her test questions, and now she sounded much less drunk. As she finished, she curled her thumb and plinked the Demon's nosepad with her claw, not even hard enough to break the skin. The sudden tiny pinprick was carefully gauged to disrupt any coherent thought that might be starting, leaving only a suddenly loosened tongue to start babbling. If all went well, next she'd ask the important questions.
A short distance along the bar, Despina did her best not to look as if she was watching her sister. The younger lioness didn't mind admitting Andrace was better at getting information out of people like this. She wondered what had caused her older sister to take action. A clinking noise suddenly caught her attention. She glanced towards Witt, then stared, ears and whiskers drooping and her tail-tuft fluffed out, at the long line of drinks on the bar at his side. Aw hell, m' stomach, she thought sourly. Th' little bugger must have th' const'tution o' a Dragon!
Bas was a bit surprised at the sudden caress shortly followed by a pinch of the nose. His thoughts remained clear despite the relative violence. The claws, everything. Andrace's attempts to disrupt the canine demon's thoughts were treated as more a minor inconvenience. He replied in an eerily sober, and even upbeat tone, "I am Baseel Wolkshammar, son of Leofric Wolkshammar and Samara Frostwyrm... What I want, m' dear, should be fairly obvious, at least, in the short term, my long term goals are rather... non-existent... Where i'm going, where the wind and my wings take me... I'm living my life and enjoying it... I serve myself, and those who need me when they ask... I'm not part of an army... nor have i been called on to serve my family, if that's what you're thinking. I'm something of an adventurer, really."
His jovial expression made it clear he was enjoying himself, despite the threat to his face and life, He made a sweeping gesture towards the sky, then planted a hand on his chest. "Now, trust, there are but me and the gods who i truly trust unconditionally... as for everyone else... somewhere between not at all, and with my life. You for instance, i trust you to some degree... but really, the word trust has far too broad a meaning to ask someone 'who do you trust?'"
He was thinking out loud by this point, and his brain felt as if it was rather everywhere at once... He felt hazy again, like he needed some outside guidance for his own actions and thoughts something to light a path. Otherwise, he was just blindly following where-ever his thoughts decided to wander.
Andrace's ears perked forward attentively, and she kept an open and friendly (but not entirely sober) smile on her face as she dropped her hand from Bas's muzzle and leaned forward towards him just a little bit more. She was barely listening to the Demon's actual words: his tone of voice, the look in his eyes, the set of his ears, whiskers and tail, these were much more important right now. And all the signs pointed towards his brains being just about on the point of dribbling out of his ears. Perfect.
The lioness knew she had to work quickly, now. She might have time to ask Bas only two or three questions before the drug began to wear off. Especially if, as some did, he began to ramble on at some length in his answers. "There, that wasn't so bad, eh? Now we know each other a lot better," she purred enticingly. Her voice was quiet, pitched to carry only as far as the Demon's ears, and now its tone was again sharp and commanding. "So, tell me — did y' meet a party o' advent'rers at Elenoan's Field last autumn? What happened?" For a moment, her eyes narrowed and her expression became completely blank and impassive. Andrace Kithara was hunting.
Giving a bit of a quizzical look, Bas replied with the haze slowly lifting from his mind, "Yes, i was there... about a week. But the incident i believe the you're asking about is a bit more complex than that. It started with a bar-room dispute. Turned into an argument with this drunken, arrogant squirrel-ish adventurer. He challenged me to a duel the next day. When i showed up, expecting him and perhaps a friend or 2, i found myself partially boxed in by perhaps 20 beings. A days worth of cat and mouse slaughter, hit and run tactics, raw brutality, and 7 devoured souls to keep myself sustained through the fight. Several fled when their numbers dwindled..."
Giving a bit of a sigh, Bas continued, " They didn't think to bring much magical muscle, and that was their own undoing. That and their inability to track me once i got into the woods surrounding the field. So... to summarize, it was an ambush gone wrong, a failed attempt at trickery that got that whole clusterfuck of an anti-wing group killed or scattered to the wind."
Brushing one of his long cables of hair back, the demon gave a somewhat somber shrug, "I don't go looking for trouble, Ms. Kithra, it's neither productive, nor beneficial. The fact that it was spun as a brutal attack was simply those few survivors trying to cover their own incompetence... I'm sure you've met a few beings like that if you're half as experienced as you seem to be."
The salacious grin came back, and his tail started twitching in amusement. His eyes seemed focused on the lioness's face, and his left hand was lazily 'drawing' patterns on the bar-top, moving in swirling motion, though leaving no mark.
Sylvie was a little unnerved by Corgatha's response, but found herself unable to reason why. He was certainly nice enough, but a few things seemed a little ... awkward about him. Maybe he WAS more unnerved by her skin than he let on. But if that was the case, it was his place to bring it up, not hers. Don't let it get to you. Everyone asks sooner or later. Even the nice ones.
"Right, of course. Well, the fighting rings outside are for the entertainment of the patrons. If they wish, they can challenge another person to a fight - or several people. The only rule seems to be that no-one dies while in a circle...well, almost no-one," she added, glancing quickly at the book under Dani's elbow. "It's not intended for cruelty, of course. It's just good fun." She didn't add a mostly on to the end of that part, though it did pop into her head. She shook it off. She was trying to forget about that now and enjoy the people here.
---
Dani watched Azshanas nervously for a moment, not really buying the smile too much. She'd been trained to read emotions pretty well at her job, and she was still concerned about the she-wolf's health. "I'll go with you," she said. "I was never much for sitting still anyway, even when drinking." She smiled and stood, waiting for Azshanas to follow.
She was nervous, that was as plain as day. Corgatha wanted to sniff. He had been in the field the past few days, had only an abbreviated washing since daybreak, however long ago that was. He wanted to laugh, like he hadn't done since the Cleansing. He had never gone recruiting himself, but they said that some of the Asha'Man developed a hardness to their eyes, the sort that unnerved men and women even before people learned that they had joined the same ranks as the people who once Broke the world. He wondered if he had those eyes.
"Enough self-pity" He hadn't realized he spoke the words until he heard them rush about his ears. He obviously couldn't continue this conversation, it was too outside his zone of experience, and this Sylvie,So odd to be wished to be called by a diminutive, deserved better than his vocal fumbling. He forced himself to split his face with a grin. "It has both an honor and a pleasure speaking to you, and I hope to do so again shortly. But if this is a fighting arena, than I should be setting myself up for a fight."
He gulped down the last of his Kaf, wincing against the burn of the hot beverage, and siezed the Source. Molten rock liquefied his bones, the heart of glaciers froze his flesh, but it was clean, blessedly clean. If he lived to be a thousand, he'd never get used to the Power being free from the oily sewage that it used to hold.
Air and Fire, just so, wove around his own chest and throat, the trickiness of weaving about his own person eroded away from endless repetition of this particular weave. As an afterthought, he wove a ward against Sound around the green girl. He didn't want to startle her with his magnified voice.
Trying to modulate enough that he could be clearly heard by everyone within the bar, but not deafening to anyone, he bellowed, "I am Corgatha Taldorthar, Baijan'M'Hael of the Third fist of the Dragon, may his name be illumined in Light. I hereby issue an open challenge to any and all, sequentially, who wish to fight. I am a channeler of no mean strength, and I promise to give a hearty bout to any who wish a test of might. Who will face me?"
He let the weaves enhancing his voice and buffering sound around Sylvia fade, but kept his grip on the Power, in case anyone decided to forgo accepting the challenge and simply start things by attacking him.
Boog let the cap bounce off harmlessly, bonelessly dodging the following blast of water. "Allow me to surprise you then," the man(shaped-thing) hissed, snickering. What was that gurgle at the back of his voice?
The next bit would best be described as profoundly unnerving.
As established, the Bogeyman resembled a characature of a human being, all exaggerated facial features and lanky arms and legs. However, his expressions were at least generally ones that humans could replicate. However, no matter how exaggerated, a largely humanoid face unhinging its jaw is a profoundly disturbing sight. Two rows of tombstone-shaped teeth stood at a right angle to each other, and something green and thick welled up at the back of the creature's throat. Accompanied by a smell that burned the nostrils and made the eyes water.
Boog spat a gob of his venom at Arryo with all the velocity and subtlety of a cannonball.
--
Richard shrugged and stood up to follow. The girl made him... Well, curious, at any rate. Oh, he was quite certain he possessed the larger misery-dick of the two of them, absolutely, and he would be the first to admit he didn't like people enough to be THAT concerned, right off the bat. But he still wanted to know what could cause someone to maintain such GUILT.
But he wasn't concerned about her. No. Nah ah. Absolutely not.
--
Meanwhile, in the bar, a gust of wind blew through an open window at Corgatha's words. It rattled silverware, knocked over a glass and did dreadful things to a couple individual's hair.
The breeze subsided, accompanied by the BANG of the Book falling open.
Azshanas walked out of the bar to the area with the rings along with Dani and Richard. "There really is no need for you to be concerned about my health. If there is anyone who knows more about my well being than anyone else, it's me. I was born a healer after all." Azshanas said as she slowly walked ahead of the other two toward one of the rings. She paused as she neared it, crossed her arms across her chest, and shook her head with a sigh. "And what a healer I was. I was said to have the strongest connection to the Astral Plane out of all the healers of my race. Could cure any poison or sickness, heal any wound no matter how grave it seemed." She began to walk around the outside of one of the rings, examining it with curious eyes. "My brother used to joke that if I was any stronger I could have 'cured' death." She stopped and stared off into the distance. "But those days are long gone. The memories don't even seem like they are mine anymore, almost like I'm watching someone else's life."
Pulling a stopwatch from a jacket pocket, Azshanas spoke to herself in a manner that was barely audible to the others. "Funny, I always thought your life flashed before your eyes before you died, not three years after." She keyed in five minutes into the stopwatch and turned her attention back to Richard and Dani. "So how does this thing work anyway? I kind of got a little bit of the idea from some guy in armor, but he wasn't really forthcoming with information." She said hinting at the ring.
The only response his challenge seemed to generate was a few muttered curses down the bar, from people whose ears he had hurt with his bellowing. Somewhat mournfully, he dissolved his weaves and released the source, cursing at the level of detail that seeped out of him, colors becoming duller, sounds with a weaker timbre, scents milder.
Feeling somewhat sheepish, he turned to face Sylvia again, when he felt a breeze coming in from his left. A window, that had been closed, opened a small shaft of illumination, and Corgatha watched bemusedly as a tiny tome hurled itself toward him. It wasn't as large as a volume of the Karaetheon Cycle, but far larger than any of the ledgers he was far more used to reading.
The book slowed down as it got closer, finally coming to a halt around a foot away from him. It opened languidly, and Corgatha suppressed irritation. He wasn't sure what kind of game this was, and although he seemed to speak whatever language was current here, he had never been much of a reader, and did not want to have to communicate with inks and parchment.
Peering at the book, he saw not words, but a picture. A man, or at least the outline of a man, covered in seaweed and wearing a glowing brass helmet of a shape that was totally unfamiliar to him. He seemed to be underwater, and was holding an anchor suspended from a chain in his right hand. A pale, eldritch glow suffused his helmet's faceplate and whatever skin was uncovered by the seaweed.
The image seemed somehow substantial, and Corgatha became uneasy looking at the thing for too long. He turned to ask Sylvia if she knew anything about this odd tome before interacting with it further.
Andrace looked thoughtful for several seconds after Bas finished speaking. Maybe she hadn't known any of the adventurers involved in the Elenoan's Field incident, but her older sister and brother had encountered one of the survivors. They'd written up reports for the family archives: Irene's had been typically succinct, sulphurous and scatological, Mitri's used longer words (many of which Andrace had to look up in a psychology dictionary) and said pretty much the same. It made her uncomfortable to agree with a known adventurer-killing Creature, but Bas was right. That group had been a messy incident waiting to happen. If Irene said they couldn't plan their way out of a wet paper bag, and their tactics boiled down to "if it moves, hit it"...
Thinking about hitting things reminded Andrace of something. The Demon had already talked about it, but she'd like to know for sure if he'd been telling the truth or spinning her a line. "Y' know, Bas," she said nonchalantly "I been thinkin' 'bout that nice little scrap we just had. Y' did good, it wasn't easy beatin' y', but... a few times y' missed good clear chances t' smack me down. Y' could've parted m' hair wi' y'r axe, or shot off that blastin' spell faster t' catch me b'fore I got out o' th' water, or y' could've aimed that last kick better an' got me 'cross th' guts. Did y' go easy on me on purpose?"
The lioness watched Bas closely after she finished her question. The truth drug seemed to be burning through his system awfully quickly: she expected the amnesia to start kicking in any minute now, possibly before he'd finished his answer. After that, it was anyone's guess when he'd pass out. She'd been told the drug's effects were unusually fast on some Creatures, but this was the first time she'd seen it for herself.
"But of course, milady. There is a shortage of pretty women in this world, and ones who're as skilled as yer' self should be treasured... That and i was rather unsure of how closely the circle would follow the rules i set down."
Giving a shrug, the demon's slur had died down a bit, still there, but nearly as bad as before he'd ingested the serum. He continued, "As i'd said in th' ring, I would sooner burn a famous painting than kill you, and as such, restrained myself, lest the circle not follow my directions of ending -before- a kill shot was delivered. It would have been a bit too tragic for my liking. That and i was a bit over-confident in my own ability to soak up your hits... Didn't expect such a -delicate- lady, such as yourself to be able to swing a sword like that."
The demon's eyes grew a bit sleepy as he was talking, his words extended a bit. He yawned as he finished, having to prop his head up with a hand to attempt to stay awake.
Sylvie thought about responding to Corgatha's challenge, if only because it seemed he wasn't fully comfortable with his new location and situation yet. But she had had enough of fighting for now, and simply wanted to watch and wait. When he revoked his challenge, the book responded. Sylvie looked up sharply at that, and watched as Corgatha moved to touch it...
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she said hastily. "We're not supposed to look at that book unless we're in a circle. Barkeep's rules." Her smile was nervous now. "My friend fought one of the creatures in there, and, well, she survived, but not without quite the struggle." She turned to see if Dani was around to confirm this, but the Red was outside with the wolf-woman and zombie.
---
Though she raised one scarlet brow at Azshanas's shift in topics from her past to the circles, she decided not to bring it up just then. The wolf seemed not to want to discuss it further anyway. Then why bring it up? voiced part of the Red's mind. The rest of it answered To explain things, and that was that.
"Near as I can tell, the moment the challenged enters, the scenery changes. The challenged gets to decide where they fight and how. The rules keep people from dying, or allow them to. I don't know how the circle enforces it, but it seems to be that when the terms of the fight have been met, the fight ends." She shrugged. "Can't give a more technical explanation than that. My magic knowledge is limited to that which I can do myself, and even then the only thing I know is that it's there, and powerful." And will kill me in 20 years or so. And caused me and everyone like me to look like this. And was started by a formerly hot guy named Tobias – shut UP, me.
"I don't really think it's magic," Richard rasped, looking over the circles. "I mean, I've only stepped into 'em once, but it seems too... RELIABLE to be magic." He shrugged, "Magic tends to have a nasty sense of humor. I've only seen these fail once, and even then it was pretty easily contained." He figured he wouldn't push the matter about the wolf girl's past. If it was important to her, or she wanted attention, she'd go on about it later. If it wasn't or she didn't, then it probably wasn't that interesting.
Corgatha kept his eyes on Slyvia's face, trying to probe for more information. Something in her words...... Or maybe it was just her odd, ageless look that he could not bring himself to trust. Green, green, everywhere. And yet her skin had too smooth a look to remind one of overlapping leaves, or blades of grass. He felt a hard pulse in his wrists.
"So, we enter these circles to start up our fights. How exactly does this happen? And who sets the terms and conditions for these battles? If I'm going up against a book, how can I negotiate with it?"
This place made him more than uneasy. No purpose, no structure, just fighting for the sake of fighting, as far as he could tell. They all needed a good Blight Border, keep them sharp. Focused. Better. Still, he needed more data.
Andrace's whiskers spread wide as she watched Bas rapidly sinking into the final stage of the truth drug's effects. She wouldn't get anything more out of him, at this rate the Demon would be fast asleep in seconds. She reached for his free hand and gave it a reassuring pat. "It's sweet o' y' t' say so, Bas," she said with a mostly genuine smile. "Time f'r y' t' have a litle nap now, an' when y' wake up, y' won't r'memb'r anythin' o' what we b'n talkin' 'bout."
As she spoke, the lioness glanced towards Despina to make sure her sister was watching. She curled her tail upwards a little, and flipped the tuft idly back and forth, as if she was just exercising her tail muscles. It was another signal in their family sign language, one that only made sense following the instructions she'd given earlier — all clear, immediate danger over, but be careful.
A couple of incomprehensible grunt noises were all that escaped the demon's lips as he slumped over, and to the side, all but flopping on top of the lioness adventurer, as she pulled his hand off the table and began whispering her little bit. His head found a resting place on something warm, soft and squishy. His mind started getting foggy, as he his left ear, or at least... it felt like his left ear, picked up a strange, rhythmic sound. like a deep drum-beat.
Ever so slowly, his eyelids slid shut as the demon passed out. No longer completely on the bar, he was half draped over the counter-top, half draped over Andrace. The drug having worked it's effect as it completely shut down all conscious activity for Bas, his mind went blank, silently erasing all that had happened in the last few minutes.
Andrace loooked down at Bas, one ear cocked and a quirky smile on her muzzle, as the Demon settled into his soft, comfortable resting place. She quietly murmured something that might have included the word "marshmallow", then louder, she laughed and said, "Heh, who'd have thought a big tough Demon 'd be such a cheap date?"
A short distance along the bar, Despina had almost succeeded in almost stifling a thoroughly dirty laugh at her sister's predicament. With a sweeping gesture, the younger lioness conjured a stack of small scoreboards on the bar at her side. Still grinning toothily, she walked along the bar handing one scoreboard to each person. The boards had the numbers one to ten on flip-over cards, then there was one showing "ELEVEN!!1!!!" and several more with a variety of encouraging phrases — some of which were merely suggestive, rather than outright illegal, immoral and fattening. Despina almost skipped cheerfully back to her barstool and sat down, ignoring her older sister making faces and sticking her tongue out at her.
The look was there, curiosity, or at least that was what Azshanas perceived it as. The fact that she could hear their thoughts as clear as spoken words only added to that perception. "I'm not sure how it all works where you two are from, but the way I've seen it always work is that magic is only as reliable as the mind and body of the one who is using it. So, it could actually be magic, though the one who is controlling it or setup it up must be very powerful if it is as reliable as you say it is. Definitely not someone to make an enemy out of." She tried to distract herself from Dani's and Richard's curiosity. No matter how little of it there was, it was still one of the emotions that empowered her before the corruption. And now was not the time to go burning though energy, not yet at least.
Unfortunately, her self-distraction was too late. On top of that, Dani's last thoughts had peaked her own curiosity a bit too much. Azshanas walked into one of the rings. "Nothing explains how something works than to see it first hand. But do to a 'condition' of mine, I'm only good for about five minutes before I need a 'recharge'." She said with her back to them and gesturing quotation marks with her fingers. "So, lets say we make this fun. Outlast me in here and I'll let you in on some mysteries of mine, if you want. If you don't outlast me, then you tell me where you would like to be in..." She paused and turned to Dani with a smirk on her face. "Twenty years or so."
a little while later, difficult to tell just how long, given the big black hole in his memory. Baseel's sense returned. His head was against a soft, yet supportive pillow. It felt as if he were laying on a couch, or perhaps rolled sideways into a chair. He was against something warm, he felt a deep drum-like rhythm in his head. The splitting headache seemed to cause his pulse to pound in his ears.
Slowly focusing his sense, he tentatively opened an eyelid. He saw the fuzzy outline of his own body. He heard noises, conversations. Blinking his eyes a bit wider, he realized he was still in the bar. He felt like he'd just downed several gallons of ale, which, judging by how he felt, very well could have happened. The hole in his memory, still being at the bar. How long had he been out? how much of a fool of himself had he made? These were the major questions that swirled in his head as he slowly lifted himself off the warm, comfy, chair. Only to find his "Chair" was in fact the one person he'd been looking for.
Pulling a hand over his muzzle in the best facsimile of a facepalm that a canine could manage, Bas groaned as he lifted himself into a proper sitting position, and cast the healing spell, lowering the swollen blood-vessels in his head, while cleansing the worst of the remnants of alcohol from his system. He said in a shy voice, almost squeaking with embarrassment, "Ugghhh.... i'm... i'm sorry for that... awkward position, Miss Kithara... I hate to ask, but, is there anything i should know i did while i was out? I think i had just a bit too much to drink, and probably made a fool of myself..."
His sense were still returning, vision still a bit hazy, hearing fuzzy, and feelings dulled... but at least the headache was gone.
Laertes's neck strained to the side to avoid Ed's claws reaching for his muzzle, the Angel trying to buy a few more seconds with which to keep his song going. The giant wings flapped again, pulling them both a little higher into the air.
The Angel smiled.
The ambient temperature rose just slightly, the edge taken off the chill. From where he was, so far below the Angel, Ed probably couldn't see the barest hint of blue fog drift from between his teeth.
With a weary-sounding, breathy sigh, the priest breathed softly on the Cubi's grasping tentacles. Cold like liquid nitrogen enveloped the grasping claws.
Neither did he cease with enveloping himself more and more in the tentacles that the Cubi had provided, rotating and spinning like a fork in spaghetti in an attempt to bring him closer and closer. The blue that covered his formarms sizzled where it touched flesh, leaving cold gashes and wounds. His diamond skin did not sparkle in the gray of the snowstorm, but rather gleamed dully, like ice.
Andrace's whiskers twitched as she raised one eyebrow and pouted back at Bas. "Aww, y' don't r'memb'r? Y' promised y'd tell me how y' did that stunt wi' th' Mow, th' Cubi an' th' two-headed Mythos, wi'out duct tape, an' wi'out gettin' y' fur all sticky." The lioness slowly rolled her shoulders, causing interesting undulations elsewhere on her anatomy and smoothing the rumpled material of her shirt where the Demon's head had been resting.
Judging from her tone of voice Andrace seemed to be completely serious, although a slight gleam in her eyes and a certain curve of her tail hinted otherwise. She also seemed to be nowhere near as drunk as she'd acted, if Bas were in any fit state to remember.
Ed felt the stinging, felt the frost, and shifted the claws away from the angel's mouth. He adjusted the claws slighty, he still had the angel pretty well wrapped up, and therefore, he could exert force... though at a quickly draining pace, he'd have to make his move, or surrender.
Mustering up a force of will, he reformed those clawed hands around Laerte's head, and drove those sharpened points towards his eyes, ears and throat. Fleshy spots, where even the slightest damage would be felt. He -had- to break the Angel's concentration, since it seemed what little shadow magic he knew had turned out to be worthless.
***********
Bas's mouth stood agape in horror. When, how... what?! he couldn't say the words. Just the thoughts flooded his mind. He'd clearly done something foolish, hopefully nothing he'd regret. As if to punctuate the horror, it just then dawned on him that he'd never recovered his tunic from the collapseable dimension he used to store items or objects of value.
His silver fur shown several shades redder across his muzzle, and around the base of his ears. He was glad that he had much more deep black on his body, for the red didn't show through there. Oh god, what did i do... what did i get myself into... please be joking PLEeeeeeaaasssseeee be joking
*ahem* coughing into a hand while trying to avoid eye contact, "i'm normally not that susceptible to getting that drunk... Hopefully things didn't get too... awkward..." Diverting his gaze to the floor, he idly wished he had a glass of water, and just about anything else to take his mind off the race-track his thoughts were running around.
Sylvie looked at the book and shook her head. "I honestly don't know," she replied. "My friend fought the book, not me. And I was talking to someone else when she was learning about it, so I missed parts of it. I think only the bartender knows what's really going on with that book." A flash of unpleasantness crossed her face when she said that, but it just as soon disappeared, and by the time she'd taken a sip of cider, she seemed to have forgotten it completely. "But when and if she gets back in, or if the bartender finishes his fight, you can ask them." She smiled at him briefly, then turned to look outside to see what Dani was doing. The white wolf was gesturing at a circle and eyeing Richard and Dani, so she guessed it was a challenge of some kind. Well, as long as she doesn't doze off during the fight.
----
Dani had had her usual smirk on before, even when she was neutral about what she was saying. Now, it was gone. She didn't look at Azshanas at first, only looked at the ground she'd been spacing out to before and blinked. But she was clearly bothered by what the wolf said. She even used the exact phrase I thought...
She made eye contact with her, and that sideways smirk appeared again – but seemed a little darker. "Heh. So now fights are 'getting-to-know-you' games? Better than a deathmatch, I guess." She glanced at Richard, waiting to see if he would accept before she made her decision. She wasn't about to go up against someone who could potentially read her mind
Corgatha wished he hadn't finished his Caf up, as it would give him more chance to stall. He kept glancing back between Sylvie, and the book, twin lures of interest and duty prying at his attention. No, not duty. He had no obligation to any of these people, was sworn to none. Why fight? There was no Blightborder to hold back here. Why did he feel a need to fight this odd picture book? The present company was far more pleasant.
But he had opened this challenge, and while the mode of speech was definitely odd, this book was definitely an acceptance. He pushed off from his stool, siezed the Power, reveled in the enhanced sense, struggled against the current, as barely noticed sensations of heat and cold coursing through his body. He wanted to have weapons ready, in case this thing attacked suddenly.
Standing over the tattered little book, he gravelled out of his throat "I know you can hear, and understand me. Come on, let's get to a circle. You and I have a fight. I do not know my way around here, as of yet."
Witt looked at the card he'd been handed. It appeared to have an encouraging phrase on it, or at least a phrase that appeared on the surface to be encouraging. Reading a little closer, there were several suggestive subtexts.
He fished in a pocket for a writing implement of some kind, and adjusted the text to be a little more blatant. He then surveyed his work, put the pen away, and held it up for the horned (or possibly horny, depending) demon to see.
The now edited text appeared to be exhorting Basilisk to use carpet. Or possibly to vault something. Either way, it wouldn't be something you'd do in public, since a room seemed to be involved.
... along with possibly several other beings, some rope, and a surprising number of handcuffs. And several actions illegal in many states, particularly sobriety.
Always interesting seeing how much you can fit in a few short sentences, Witt mused to himself.
Laertes snarled, his spellcasting broken for the moment, and continued twisting his head in order to avoid the writhing tentacles from pushing into his eyes and ears. He wasn't sure if his eyes were as solid as the rest of him was, or if his eardrums could be as solid as diamond and still transmit sound, but he wasn't going to take the chance. He eyes gleamed with rage as he looked at the Cubi dangling beneath him.
The spells that he had in place - the giant wings, the ambient cold, and the strange, razor-cold that surrounded his arms were still in place, but the brief pause in his chant would prevent him from spellcasting nearly as easily.
For such things were contingencies made. A hand scythed through a mass of tentacles, and the fingers snapped.
The scythe, suspended in midair, spun, and suddenly spun violently at the suspended Cubi. Laertes continued dragging him closer - not so long now, and he'd be close enough to touch Ed, and not just the myriad tentacles.
Andrace cocked one ear and looked Bas over from toes to horn-tips with a speculative expression on her face. "Awkward?" she said, "Didn't look awkward t' me, are y' double-jointed 'r somethin'? Anyway, I don't think I c'd pull that off m'self, I got too much muscle now t' be that... ah... flexible." The grinning lioness smacked her clenched fist into her stomach as proof, with enough force to knock any smaller Being or Creature clean off their feet. "M' baby sister Eugenia, now, she might like t' give it a try if y' show 'er it'll tickle 'er fancy — or anythin' else."
The lioness kept a close eye on Bas as she spoke, noting his reactions and expressions. The Demon's air of mortified embarrassment seemed just about right. She wasn't usually this cruel... often... but she wanted to make sure he was thoroughly distracted from thinking about what she'd said or done by worrying about what he might have said or done while "drunk".
Attempting to feign a playful smile, Bas failed to look innocent in the slightest. It didn't sound like too much of a stretch of his own imagination of what he'd be capable of while drunk. How long had it been, how long had he been blacked out. His head was still spinning, and pounding... a far worse hangover than last time... but not as bad as that one time...
"I'm going to be blunt, and honest, Ms. Kithra... i have no idea what happened, nor any recollection of those events. If there were promises made, then they must be upheld, though given the circumstances... i think i'll need some help filling in the blanks"
Giving a sheepish grin, Bas reached over the counter, and got himself a glass of water... perhaps that would help end the pounding pain, searing through his demonic skull.
Azshanas's eyes widened slightly in a sort of realization before narrowing into a look of frustration and anger as she gave a sigh and shifted to one side. However the look was not meant for either Dani or Richard, it was meant for herself. She turned away from the two with her arms crossed. "Let me know which one of you two wants to go first, or if either of you are even excepting the challenge." Azshanas said half-heartedly walking to the center of the ring muttering something about 'repeating the same mistakes' and 'falling for the same temptations'.
Andrace appeared to be radiating pure amusement, most likely at the sight of the Demon's obvious embarrassment — a rarity in any circumstances. The smirk on her muzzle held more than a hint of triumph as the lioness realised her distraction ploy seemed to have worked perfectly.
Gotcha! she thought. All right, one more tug o' y' tail, then it's time t' ease up on y'... y' poor schlub. She didn't know if Demons could suffer an aneurism from emotional shock, but (unlike her sister Zoe) she wasn't in the mood to experiment and find out for sure.
"Oh, y' need fillin' in, do y'?" she purred, "Well, here's how it happ'n'd." She leaned closer to Bas and started whispering into his nearside ear. She spoke quietly enough to be inaudible more than a tail's length away, but her gestures and hand-waving were eloquent... and not in the least bit suggestive, their meaning was perfectly clear. The lioness' performance was almost as good as a puppet show, although perhaps not one suitable for a younger audience.
The demon's first thought was not about what'd he'd done with the lioness... his head started to refocus on the other lass he'd been talking with earlier. The yellow and black jackal who'd been sitting in the corner. Was she still around? Did his tomfoolery chase her off? Almost as a gut reaction, his head swung around to look for her, and attempt to offer an apology.
"I'm terribly sorry to just leave you like this... but, i think i need to find my friend again, and try and offer an explanation... assuming she's still around."
Standing up, he started looking for Keaton, starting his search in the back corner where they'd met
*******
Ed started thrashing more desperately now, when he saw the flash of teeth, he drove a small cluster towards his teeth, some to try and pry the jaw open further, the others, trying to shove themselves down his throat, either to suffocate or at least immobilize the angel.
He was drawn closer still, saw what Laertes was doing, yet dismissed the action as he pressed his assault... he only had enough strength for a few more moments of this... after that, it'd be all one sided.
The book's reaction to Corgatha's speech was dramatic, to say the least. Two long, spindly legs sprouted from the seam between two pages, like black chicken's feet, and the book hopped up onto them. Whirling on one talonned toe like MC Escher's private ballerina, it turned and ducked out the door. Following it would find it standing in a circle. Spinning, dancing... Waiting.
--
Richard thought about Azshana's offer carefully, before finally stepping forward.
"Yeah, I'll do it."
He took the fire axe out of his belt loop and weighed it in his hands thoughtfully. He was... Well, curious. If he could learn more about this strange woman fighting her, then he would.
Plus, it would make Marya furious.
Maybe he was just numb, with all the other impossibilities in this bar, the book sprouting legs and walking away just seemed a reasonable continuation of the day's events. He strode after the odd object, drawing an obsidian dagger into his right hand, and seizing the Power, although only holding a trickle, and not channeling it for anything. Combat lessons that he only half paid attention to at the time flitted through his head, as even when he was recruited, he was being groomed for a command of the Legion, not being in a direct human weapon in the mix of things. Still, he was stronger than most, and not wholly distanced from combat.
He arrived at the circle, a moment behind the book. "I am ready whenever you are." he stated, trying to hold on to calm before the brawl.
To Richard his curiosity was probably nothing more than a thought, a feeling, an emotion. But to Azshanas it was more than that, it was an actual tangible object, and a part of her wanted it, needed it, craved it. A shudder ran down Azshana's body. Weather it was of excitement, fear, or something else entirely would be left to the observers. She kept her back to Richard and Dani and made an effort to show no signs of emotion. "Guess it's a little more difficult than I thought it would be. Ok, let's just remember our training, it's just an emotion, you don't need. You can use it as a power boost, but don't rely on it or else it becomes a crutch." She said to herself not thinking about how loud she may have said it.
Azshanas took her right arm out of the sleeve of her jacket and proceeded to attach the stopwatch to her wrist. In the process of doing this, her jacket slipped off her shoulder pulling aside her long white hair and exposing her back. Over the top of the halter corset she was wearing could be seen the top part of her large white 'clan' mark . Based on the visible part it could be assumed the mark covered her entire back. She took her jacket the rest of the way off and tossed it aside and turned to her two onlookers with a slight grin. "Just remember, five minutes. And try to not hold back, I could use a workout." She said holding up her right arm as to show off the stopwatch. However something slightly more curious started to happen. From just behind her ears could be seen a small amount of black mist rising up from under her hair.
The tentacles clawing at his eyes found purchase, and in an instant Laertes found himself blind and bleeding. He felt the tentacle down his throat straining against the inherent armor of his race, and he felt something crack, and a wetness flow down his throat.
Laertes did three things.
The spells on his arms, and the large, ethereal wings behind him faded, and he was again instantly covered in that molten golden light. It hissed where it met the tentacles, and the Angel plummeted to the ground. The surrounding atmosphere grew warmer, and the golden light intensified as the spells he had working converted themselves into pure, holy light.
The scythe, spinning end over end, flew down and up and then into Ed's back, stabbing deep into his lower torso and continuing onwards - the magic animating it not ceasing. It cut itself free, and arced upwards viciously, aiming for the Cubi's face.
He felt purchase, a sense of success flooded his body, just before pain, deep, gut searing pain. Heat spilled down his back, flowing down into his clothing. He released the angel, pulling the tentacles back into his wings, even going so far as to push off. The realization came none-too-late, as the blade arched back, attempting to swing where his face had just been. The moment brought out a momentary lapse in the feline's silence. "FUCK, BLADE!"
The ground rushed up to greet the feline, deep, white snow. He tried to brace himself for the landing, creating many tenatacles in a net like structure. His side flared with pain as he attempted the landing. Half the tentacles started to fail, reforming a partial wing, he half collapsed into the snow, before catching himself on a knee, sinking a little ways into the snow as he started feeling the pain from both himself and the angel feed his own dwindling power... or perhaps that was the adrenaline. Taking a moment to find cover by the statue, Ed took a few moment to try and restructure his body, reforming the parted muscle groups, and making a best effort to use some of his wing to patch the worst of the gash in his side... it didn't work perfectly, blood was still seeping through, and it'd give away his camouflage... but perhaps it'd slow the drain.
Shouting up at Laertes, Ed asked, "Shall we call this a draw before someone gets something a bit more permanent?" He let the words hang in the air, just long enough for the angel to recognize and consider them, before he moved, adjusting his patterns to match the snow again.
Sylvie had been watching Corgatha curiously, but when he directly challenged the Book, the curiosity turned into attention so rapt that she felt her eyes might snap off. Dani had carried the Book out to a circle first; would it accept such a direct challenge?
If the fact that it sprouted legs and walked outside was any indication, that was just fine.
At first, Sylvie could only stare in shock and confusion. Then, without warning, a giggle escaped her throat, and she planted her head in her arms on the table to muffle what soon grew into her first real laugh since waking up.
-----
When Richard accepted, Dani moved out of her relaxed position and propped her blade against her shoulder. She wasn't really sure whether she was looking forward to this or not. She was about to fight a woman who had brought her mortality up to the front of her thoughts, and possibly had much greater power than chaos magic on her side. But if a man who had looked death in the eye could face her without fear, why couldn't she? But it looked as though the fight was about to start. And something was still unanswered for her.
"So, is this a tag team battle, or do we both attack you at once, or what?" she asked the wolf, walking towards the circle without stepping in just yet. "I have only one ground rule for any fight regardless, but I'd like to know all of yours first."
Paladin slowly drained the dregs of the beer bottle in his hand and slowly as not to make a muff of it, gently placed his 20th beer atop the pyramid he'd build out of the other empties.
Sadly far from drunk the Brown/Black wolf cast his gaze around the bar looking for something stronger maybe..."Maybe not my recycling systems can't hold much more o' this..." He muttered as he looked around for the restrooms, rather than using an 'emergency' sub system of his armor.
Pausing at the door he mentally triggered the release systems, opening the back of the armor, and stepped out revealing the black bodysuit he wore under the armor. Pulling his pistol off the armor the Wolf 'cubi slipped it into a holster on his thigh, and headed in to relieve himself.
After a while he reappeared and went through the suiting up possess, and sauntered back to the bar.
There was momentary look of excitement on Azshanas's face upon hearing the words of fighting more than one person. However as she lowered her arm, the stopwatch caught her eyes as it passed and the look changed to one of concern mixed with worry. "I think for the safety of all parties that would be involved we should probably stick to one on one for now." She said, her gaze lowering as her arm came to a rest by her side.
By now the black mist had amassed to a noticeable yet shapeless amount and there was now an black mist creeping up from behind her shoulders increasing in amount rapidly. "As for rules, I hadn't given it much thought. But I have a feeling that the one you have is the same as one I would lay down too." She paused, the black mist atop her head and behind her started to take on a shape as she reached into one of her pants pocket and pulled out a metal guitar pick on a silver chain. "I've just started to enjoy living after all I've been through, so I don't really have much interest in dieing...again. And besides if I were to kill someone in a manner that was clearly something other than self-defense, no matter how much I may have changed, I don't think he would be able to forgive me." She paused again, held the guitar pick tight in her fist, brought her fist up to her chest, and closed her eyes. The mist had taken of the shape of two sets of black feathered wings, a smaller pair atop her head the sprouted up from behind her ears and a larger set on her back that seemed as they would have a span of at least seven feet fully stretched . "Not for killing someone now or anything that I have done in the past. I would have no reason to live if that were to happen." As Azshanas finished she clearly looked upset by her own words.
Keaton was nowhere to be found. There was little evidence of her ever being there other than a chair that had been left vacant and abandoned out in the open, yet another obstacle for a drunken patron to stumble over, and an empty glass sitting, untouched, on the table. Further investigation proved to be even less enlightening. It was as though the mercenary had vanished without a trace.
Of course, the truth was less supernatural than it seemed. An airy, ephemeral voice piped up from behind Bas, murmuring just loudly enough to ensnare his attention. "If you're looking for mistress," Xianxi's voice intoned, "She's in the restroom. She told me to let you know once you returned from..."
The impish creature - having compacted his size into something relatively squirrel-like in proportion - was using a chandelier hanging from the ceiling as his perch, gently curling his tail around one of the elaborate golden ornaments to provide leverage. He huddled amongst the candles like a spooked feline, trying to turn the act of stroking his wounded pride into a dignified motion. Xianxi's muzzle wrinkled in distaste as he struggled to unearth a suitable adjective to describe Bas's drunken misadventures. He gave up in the middle of rummaging through his vocabulary. "Your business."
Satisfied with that euphemism, Xianxi sighed and returned to nursing his crooked tail. Little pinkish-blue bruises bloomed where Stygian's fingers had fastened around the length, garish and ugly against his velveteen, alabaster skin. They would fade soon, but the cramps still bothered him. Xianxi muttered a vengeful curse under his breath as he fanned out his tail, admiring it with an edge of narcissism that seemed completely uncharacteristic for the subservient imp - like a vain peacock mourning the feathers that had been stripped from its extravagant plumage. His earlier encounter with the man had not ended pleasantly. The protocol that protected the Honor Circle from erupting into a constant bonanza of drunken brawls and spontaneous challenges had sucker-punched Xianxi into a stalemate. He would have loved to retaliate against that gross invasion of his personal space with violence, but without permission to do so, he was at a loss. With no other option, he slithered under a table and weathered the chaos. It was around that same time that Bas was distracted from his conversation with Keaton, and she learned from experience that moving around when suffering from the effects of inebriation was a terrible idea.
Xianxi let out a long-suffering sigh. "She should return in a moment, if you feel like waiting. If it makes you feel better, she was too busy vomiting to worry about you." Unfurling his tail from one of the branches that made up the chandelier, he drifted down so he could float in front of Bas's face. Alone and without his mistress to provide some sense of support in an ocean of degenerate strangers, he was in desperate need of conversation. There had be something worthwhile about this man, otherwise Keaton wouldn't have bothered with him, right?
The little long-tailed canid floated down in front of his face. With information in had, Bas could only feel sorry for the poor girl. If he had any idea whether or not she could handle the darker side of magic, he'd have gladly healed her. As is, he could only get a slightly distraught look on his face, and listen to what the little imp had to say.
He gave a nod of understanding, and a bit of a sheepish smirk, then replied, "I understand how she must feel, i felt somewhat similar myself not but a few minutes ago. Perhaps waiting would be best..."
He considered his options, and, perhaps given Keaton's state as well, he wasn't the only one who'd made a total fool of them-self in the preceding hours. "While we're waiting for the same person... perhaps you could tell me a little about your mistress, Xianxi... At least, i believe that is what she'd called you." Saying the name as close an intonation as he'd heard keaton say, while ordering the small creature around.
"Is there anything i should be worried about?... I mean, besides the obvious that you're quite protective of your mistress?"
Xianxi hummed quietly - not a musical sound, but a low thrum meant to convey the bare minimum of acknowledgment. Unfortunately, that was all the concession that he allowed himself to give. Xianxi, like most other living beings on Earth, could not survive an eternity of isolation, but the sentimental nuances of healthy human interaction were lost on him. Humorous jabs splintered like wooden swords against his impenetrable hide, emotional outbursts were observed with a disturbing lack of reception, and the strict monochrome of his world provided little for him to relate to in other individuals.
However, like almost any creature in existence, he could recognize the stinging of an injured pride, and if nothing else, he understood pragmatism. Basilisk was not just a temporary companion to preoccupy him until Keaton returned from vomiting the poisoned contents of her stomach, he was a potential bodyguard to protect him from any other groping fingers that decided to seize his tail. Xianxi's muzzle wrinkled at the thought – if he could express any emotions past a very limited range, he would almost smile in satisfaction at the brilliance of his plan.
Basilisk was still expecting an answer. Ducking past the more emotional tripe flavoring an otherwise point-blank inquiry, Xianxi inclined his head forward, closed his eyes, and let his thoughts dip into a more intent, meditative sense of contemplation. "Hm. Other than the obvious...?"
His ears perked, the exclamation mark at the end of his revelation, and he opened his pearlescent eyes to gaze into Basilisk's, unblinking. "No, I don't think you do, but I have some advice for the future. Don't grab my tail."
Xianxi had no intention of continuing. If Basilisk found their exchange to be engaging, he was more than welcome to decide the next direction of their conversation. An unproductive minute would have passed without the slightest bit of progress if it wasn't for the telltale click of a doorknob – Xianxi's nerves shot into overdrive, his ears swiveled upright, and his posture went completely stiff, bristling with energy. The door to the women's bathroom creaked open and Keaton swaggered out, looking slightly exhausted and bedraggled, but substantially healthier than she was before she ducked out of Xianxi's supervision. She didn't look drunk, anymore, at least, but she was no doubt regretting all the movements she made that sent her barreling through the bathroom doors in the first place.
Basilisk was momentarily forgotten, or at the very least abandoned. Xianxi shot through the air like a little black bullet, darting through Basilisk's horns and weaving over to his beleaguered mistress. Keaton automatically extended an arm, allowing Xianxi to perch on it like an attentive parrot, his tail wrapping around her forearm. "There you are, Xianxi..." she muttered. Her voice sounded like it came from a throat rubbed raw with sandpaper. Xianxi looked at her attentively.
"Are you alright, mistress?" he asked.
Keaton sighed. "I'm not seeing two of everything, so I think that I'm feeling better, at least..." she muttered, shooed Xianxi off her arm with a dismissive wave (he floated behind her head, not looking affronted in the slightest), and glanced around the bar – Basilisk fell within her crosshairs, and she brightened. It was only a languid transformation, though, and when she stumbled over to him she still looked tired.
"Hey..." she said, clapping her hand on Basilisk's shoulder, "Sorry about that."
Baseel's reaction to the appearance of the beleaguered Keaton was to first straighten up, and attempt to put on a confident pose. She approached with a stagger and he almost lunged forward to catch her, barely managing to hold back as she found her balance. Her face seemed to light up subtlely... rather difficult to tell, given her current state. Then, she grabbed him by the shoulder. Her warm grip sending shivers down the demon's spine. Was it lust that guided him, some misguided attempt at a romance... or simply a continued infatuation with a strange woman who managed to pique the demons interest... He concluded it to be the later, as his arm extending, and the hand, seemingly instinctively setting itself lightly on her midsection, just above her hip. "I do believe it is I who is the one owing the apology. Perhaps we should both sit down, before collapsing into a heap in the middle of the floor?"
He slowly let his hand slide across her back, careful to avoid actual bodily contact, merely letting the finger-tips slide over the edge of her jacket. He began moving himself shoulder to shoulder, every so slightly guiding her towards the booths on the wall. He looked at the brightly colored jackal, a somewhat playful look in his eye. He said in his, now usual, bemused tenor, "this might seem like an odd question, but, do you have any adverse reactions to dark-based magic? I ask because i can do healing... however... given it's basis in dark magic... i'd rather not try to heal you, before asking, for i don't know what i'd do with myself if i'd cause you some rather unexpected adverse reaction."
The Circle
The book continued to dance oddly, on its black twiglike legs, twisting and twirling, before finally falling open. The pages ruffled, then began to flip, faster and louder until it sounded like the rush of the ocean. Or did the ocean sound like the pages?
Corgatha hadn't even realized that the scenery had changed. There was no tornado of scenery, no rushing noise, no pyrotechnics to announce the change of setting. The world had simply changed during some unnoticed moment between Then and Now. He was standing on an oil platform, a great edifice of steel and concrete rising from the ocean. The mainland was visible, albeit very, VERY far away. He stood at the edge of a hatchway to the tunnel of the central drill, and he could hear the echo of ruffling pages descending the shaft before him...
And there was this sensation, from below him. Some sort of pressure on his mind. Some immense FORCE, deep beneath the seabed...
It seemed... Expectant.
--
The Aircraft Carrier
Boog grinned, vanishing again. He had this kid right where he wanted him. Just a step forward and-
PRESSURE.
He stopped, leaving himself open, and a blast of water caught him squarely in the jaw with a sound like shattering glass. When he looked up there were cracks along his face, like he was made of some manner of porcelain, and patterns of light leaked from the missing chips in his chin.
More worrisome was his blank expression. Completely emotionless, like he'd dropped his mask.
"I surrender."
He was walking away before the aircraft carrier had even finished melting away, trying to get to the other circle in time.
"No, don't do that, don't fight him, he's not supposed to be OUT yet, DON'T-!"
The Boogeyman reached the other circle in time for the anti-interference shield to finish solidifying.
"... Aw hell."
--
Outside the Bar
Richard cocked his head, listening curiously. He'd seen distress. She'd mentioned dying, but she sure as hell didn't smell undead. Finally he nodded.
"Sounds safe enough if there's two of us." He nodded to Dani dispassionately, "Hell, I'd feel safe. But fine, no killin', fight to the knockout or surrender, one on one. Sounds good." He drew his axe out of his belt loop and gestured to the circles. "Whenever you're ready. Me first or...?" He glanced at Dani, "Sorry, what was your name again?"
There wasn't even the sense of transition, the single step taken when Traveling. Still, the shock was relatively minor, certainly nothing enough to make him lose his grip on the Power. He could smell salt, and a tang of sea air that he associated with the left wing of the Seanchan campaign as he gallivanted around the coast, burning supply dumps. It brought a smile to his face for a brief second, before the tactician part of his brain took over.
He looked around, noticed he was on some sort of odd iron platform, making a whirring and slamming noise that was totally alien to him. He could see the mainland, barely, off to his left. And there was some invisible, but palpable sense of menace, rising up from the depths. He paced the platform, snarling. He could feel an odd kind of rock, but it wasn't something he'd ever seen before, held together on some principle that he was sure he'd be able to understand, but he doubted he'd have time for study. And other than that, the only stone was what he had carried with him, and that seemed rather puny to place against an unknown adversary.
Without enough material to encase himself, and not knowing from whence the assault would come precluded an air shield, or at least rendered it impractical. Going down the hatch into the light knows where also seemed a bad idea, negating his reach. He didn't know the area, and he couldn't make the mainland out well enough to use a shorter Traveling gate to get there.
Corgatha spent a moment thinking, and then retreated to the center of the platform, and increasing his grip on the power from a trickle to a rush, although not quite at his maximum capacity; that was too hard to hold without using. Instead, he just studied the area as well as he could and kept his ears open, hoping to hop over to the mainland if he wasn't interrupted long enough to complete his survey.
Dani listened when Azshanas answered what had been...well, one restriction of hers, anyway, but she'd actually assumed that as a given. The rest of what she'd said, though, didn't make sense. She guessed that it was mostly some of the woman's personal history, but she couldn't figure out what was behind her words. Why would she share such details with two total strangers? Two total strangers who were about to fight her, no less...
When the undead man spoke up, the correctional officer blinked and jerked her head up. She'd been spacing out while she thought things over, and couldn't say for sure whether she had honestly dozed off for a second. "Oh, it's Dani. Well, Danielle Sanders, actually, but most people call me Dani."
-----
Sylvie watched the group outside and Corgatha with interest, but also kept an ear open to the conversations in the bar. If interesting things weren't constantly going on around her, she could almost have said she was bored.
Azshanas put the guitar pick back into the pocket she got it from, wiped her eyes, and gave a quick glance over to the ring that the Boogeyman ran to in a momentary question of 'what was that all about?' before looking back to Richard. "Well, seems you're first. Though I must admit, I'm not really looking forward to this. You remind me too much of them." She said to Richard not realizing that he and Dani didn't know who 'them' referred to.
Turning away from Richard and Dani, Azshanas walked to the far side of the ring, the black mist that made up her wings left behind a trail in the air with each step before quickly fading. "I had actually hoped to never use this weapon again." She said as she walked. She raised her right hand, which has slowly become engulfed in more black mist, to eye level and stared at it. "But you seem eager to use that axe of yours, so I'm left with no choice but to arm myself as well. And I guess it's now just another part of myself I will have to learn to live with." She finished with a sigh as she reached the far side of the ring. Turning again to face the two, Azshanas kneeled down and put her right hand on the ground. The mist quickly spread from her hand and formed a six-foot diameter circle of mist on the ground. As she stood up, what looked to be a pair of small dragon horns slowly came up from the mist followed by a metallic looking dragon skull. The skull was rust colored with splatters of dried blood all over it. Upon seeing this Azshanas closed her eyes and turned her head away with a look of shame, disgust, and fear on her face. The weapon continued to rise up from the mist, the dragon skull was apart of a four and a half foot long curved scythe blade. The blunt part of the blade was dark black steel and the sharpened part was as brilliant as polished silver. There was a flicker of dark blue light from one of the eye sockets of the metal skull and it seemed as though a ghostly eye looked out at Richard and Dani for a moment before vanishing. Azshanas looked back at the weapon just as the second blade, identical to the first, at the bottom of the six foot shaft emerged from the mist. As the mist on the ground dissipated Azshanas reached up to the weapon but hesitated for a moment. She took a deep breath and grabbed the double-ended scythe almost expecting something bad to happen but gave a sigh of relief a moment later when nothing happened.
"Remember, once we start, we got five minutes. Lets see if we can make it entertaining enough to keep Dani here awake." Azshanas said with a playful grin.
The Oil Platform
The sea breeze was actually rather pleasant, even with the processed smell of oil tinging it. Seagulls called in the distance.
Unfortunately, whatever else there was here seemed disinterested in waiting for Corgatha.
A deep "CLONG!" rose from the center drill shaft, and echoed, garbled speech could be heard coming up the shaft. The words "thousand" and "slimey things" could be made out. Another "CLONG" rumbled it's way up the shaft, closer...
--
The Circle
"Pleasure to meet you Dani. I'm assuming one of us will need a drink after this. Whoever does better against her doesn't pay, sound good?" Richard rasped, stepping into the circle without giving her the chance to reply.
He swung the axe in one hand, letting the head of it come to rest near his ankle. Really, in terms of how it was wielded the damn thing was more like a sledgehammer that had been sharpened on one side. Incredibly awkward to use, but he was no adventurer or hero. He wasn't typically someone who sought out armed fights.
But he'd noticed that this woman was sharing a lot of her past for a stranger, too, and he was curious. Was she trying to confess to something, or take credit for it, or what? There was some sort of DAMAGE here, and it intrigued him.
The dead man focused on the ideal battlefield for this, studying her weapon...
The circle conjured and whirled, reality shaping within it. Azshanas and Richard were standing on an immense stage, roughly the size of a football field. Props were scattered haphazardly, the set looked like some sort of medival castle. Before them sat the orchestra, faceless and expectant.
"Never been one to fear the reaper." Richard swing the axe up, got a two handed grip on it and readied himself for her charge. "Come on, then!"
"Oh...oh wow." Azshanas said looking about. She had let go of her scythe and started to walk away as it tilted and fell to the ground, hitting with a loud and heavy clang. "This is incredible." She said with a laugh. It was odd, it seemed as though there was a completely different energy about her...she was to say the least, happy.
Azshanas walked a few feet to one side of her scythe than a few to the other side all while looking around trying to take in all what just happened with a rather large smile on her face and an excited laugh in her voice. "Oh what was that, a teleport? No, couldn't have been a teleport, I can still sense Dani's mind as though it was only twenty feet away." She said aloud having completely forgotten why she was there. "No wait, could it have been....yeah, it was just like...oh my lord..." she paused as she spun to look straight at Richard, "that was just like a full temporal and spatial shift!" She yelled with excitement. "But to do something like that, someone would have to be really powerful. Oh man, I so have to mee..." She stopped herself mid-sentence as she locked eyes with Richard and she remembered what was supposed to be happening.
"Oh yeah. We are supposed to be fighting." Azshanas said with a slight laugh as she stared the timer on the stopwatch while walking over to her scythe. "I'm sorry, I guess I just got caught up in the thing about these rings. It's just..." She said as she kneeled down and reached to grab her scythe but was interrupted when she took hold of it. The eye sockets of the dragon skulls were set ablaze with pale blue flames. Azshanas shut her eyes tight and grit her teeth in pain. Her arm tensed and flexed as though it were trying to wrench back and let go to escape the pain, but it was unable to. After a few moments, her body relaxed as the pain seemed to subside. With her eyes still closed, she let out a sigh; her demeanor seemed to have reverted back to what had been. "Sometimes I wish all of this was nothing more than a bad dream that I could wake up from." When she finished she was off at a full sprint towards Richard. Her were now open and irises glowing. She held herself forward and low as she ran, the top blade scythe she had taken in her right hand dragging behind her carving a splintered scar in the wood floor of the stage. As she approached Richard she took the scythe and used it as a sort of pull-vault to assist with a jump. Scythe still in hand, she raised it high above her head for a downward slash. "I wish I could wake up from this living nightmare and end this suffering!"
The display on the stopwatch showed 4:33.06
Water, water everywhere, and every light blasted drop useless. He could easily hear the clanging coming up from the main shaft, and he turned to face it, backing away until he was a goodly distance from it. The smell of the sea air was pleasant though, even befouled by the rank scent of the oil. Birds flocked overhead, but he tuned out their cries.
After a second's consideration, he reached in and plucked out two of his casting stones, and with a brief burst of the Power, he moved them to the mouth of the shaft, after working them over to detonate with a final push of Saidin. Anything that would come out of there could be safely blown up as it clawed its way to the surface.
Watching the fights from the ouside, Dani decided, was infinitely more interesting when you sat right outside the circle itself. She was able to see everything that went on, and she was learning a lot about how to fight Azshanas. Okay, so far she seems to be a hand-fighter. If he is what I think he is, drinks are on the dead guy tonight...
[[NOTE: CLEAR! *BZZZT*]]
(OOC: I... LIIIIIIIIIIIVE!)
Life's a Stage
Richard sidestepped Azshanas attack neatly, immediately giving ground and making his way back toward a cluster of props. Typical plywood "bushes", the same as the "clouds" hanging above them, painted green rather than white. Something rustled behind the curtains. If this was a stage, was there a stage crew? Already the orchestra launched into some classical, floor-rumbling concierto. The sort of music that needs cannonfire in the background.
Richard raised his axe, ready to block any oncoming attacks. He was a simple man of simple talents, and he was NOT rushing into combat with someone who apparantly was able to keep their scythe in their sleeve. He was no mage. He needed to find his footing.
--
And a thousand thousand slimy things...
It rose from the drilling shaft with an almost casual ominousness. There was no halo of light, no wings, no roar of jets. This THING, made of seaweed and cast iron and rubber tubing and sealskin, wide as a man and tall as an enraged bear, simply had little regard for such simple things as gravity. It rose as if on invisible rails suspended in the air.
The grating on its helmet turned to face Corgatha, behind which light pulsed like an irregular heartbeat. Its left hand, gripping an anchor, raised itself...
--
The Bar
"Damn." The Boogeyman said, turning to go back inside.
"Damn."
"Damn damn damn damn damn damn..." He skulked his way toward the back room, reaching under the counter to grab a bottle with cartoonish green fairies on the label on the way. "Damn damn damn damn DAMN..."
Corgatha took a long hard look at the thing that climbed out of the shaft. Rose, really, he saw no evidence it was hauling itself up. Bigger than a person, roughly Trolloc sized, holding an anchor casually in its left fist.
No indication of supernal powers, although he'd bet old carrots to king's horses that the thing possessed some form of theurgy. Identification became the highest priority. He detonated the two rocks, shielding himself from the shrapnel in a half-reflexive shrug of power that endless usage had banished from the forward consciousness of his brain.
As an afterthought, he started backing away from the foe, and sent a minor Delving weave into the anchor. He wasn't as good with metal as he was with stone, but there was a decent chance if he could identify the composition, he could wrest the thing away from it. Or he could if it didn't have some special means of holding on.
The blade of Azshanas' scythe crashed into the stage where Richard has been standing just a moment before sending splinters of wood flying. She gave a sigh that sounded as though she were relieved that Richard evaded her attack. Closing her eyes, she began to hum to the music that was now playing as she lazily freed the blade of her scythe from the stage. Upon freeing the blade she opened her eyes and began examining it. "You know, I guess I had you figured wrong. I pegged you as the kind of person who would go head long into a fight without hesitation. I mean, you've already apparently faced death once, what's there left to fear?" She said giving Richard a glance out of the corner of her eye.
With a satisfied nod, Azshanas took the scythe and held it with both hands horizontally in front of her and with a quick flick of her wrists and a muffled 'click', she pulled the scythe apart at the middle into two weapons. There was a crackling sound as a string of seething energy spilled from tge shaft end in her left hand onto the ground and then up to the other shaft in her right hand linking the two together. Azshanas let the 'half' scythe slip out of her right hand and as her hand approached the energy 'string' it parted so as to allow her to grasp a string or chain that was not there. Taking up the slack on the floor, she began to spin the half over her head, gradually increasing the circle in size and speed. "Word of advise, standing still is not advisable from this time forward. I've never been good with moving targets." She said to Richard with a grin as she let go the blade at him, the energy 'string' increasing in length indefinitely as the blade seemed to gain speed as it flew.
The display on the stopwatch showed 3:07.24