The Honor Circle Returns! (IC)

[Cogidubnus]

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]

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?"

[Cogidubnus]

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.

[Sunblink]

...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

[TheGreyRonin]

 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."

[Cogidubnus]

 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.

[Angel]

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.

[Sunblink]

...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

[Stygian]

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.'

[Angel]

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]

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]

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.

[Boog]

"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...

[TheGreyRonin]

 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."

[Angel]

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.

[Stygian]

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.

[Angel]

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?"

[Stygian]

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.

[Angel]

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]

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."

[Angel]

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."

[Stygian]

'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.

[Sunblink]

...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

[Boog]

"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."

[Angel]

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?"

[Stygian]

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]

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."

[Angel]

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]

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...

[Cogidubnus]

"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.