The Honor Circle Returns! (IC)

[Lisky]

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.

[Stygian]

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.

[Cogidubnus]

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.

[Angel]

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.

[Stygian]

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.'

[Cogidubnus]

 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.

[Angel]

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.

[Stygian]

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...!'

[Angel]

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...

[Stygian]

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!'

[Angel]

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...

[Stygian]

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...!'

[Cogidubnus]

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.

[Angel]

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."

[Stygian]

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.

[Angel]

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.

[Stygian]

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.

[Angel]

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?"

[Stygian]

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.

[Angel]

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.

[Cogidubnus]

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..."

[Sunblink]

...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.

[Lisky]

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.

[Boog]

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.

[Stygian]

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.

[SpottedKitty]

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.

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

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."

[Sunblink]

...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.

[Angel]

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."

[Lisky]

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.