Trog's Tavern CCXLIX

[RabbitHoleLost]

http://home.centurytel.net/jeffsjunk/TrogTavernAnimated.gif

*Upon entering the tavern you find it to be rustic, dim, cramped, and smelling of spilled beer. Moving through the crowd, half of which seem to be deadtiming, you spot a fireplace with a banjowood carving on the mantle, you also make out through the haze the curving bar and private booths hidden behind ferns. A side door leading to a patio outside reveals a hungry looking dumpster mimic sneaking towards an unsuspecting customer.

Near the stairs to the second floor rooms is a small white stone platform with a blue tree-like symbol on it. Standing on this platform will teleport someone to the Sanctuary Fortress located Inside where healers are always standing by in case of bar-brawls.

Trog's can be found right around the corner from any place in the Nexus. Somehow. It's best not to question it.

Staff:
Owner and Proprietor: Trog
Manager: El Jaspero
Bartenders: The Watchers (they're nice deranged cultists, really!), Phoebe, Ashna, Ambrosia

Trog's Tavern hires only the finest NPC servers:
((Since all are NPCs they are up for communal control. Feel free to say what they do or say to you or any other patron. To a point.))

Bouncer: Baby (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?p=8627338#post8627338) (NPC, a dwarf who was raised by orcs and has the intellect of Thog.)

Servers:
Nina - A fiesty and vivacious tiefling. Mean, self-centered and completely unavailable. You may have seen her recently on the WotC 4E cartoon.
Paige - A sweet, wholesome, flirty elf working her way through PC school.
Cosmo - A quick-witted and oppressed gnome scoundrel. Truly a monster. RAWR!

DRINK MENU:
Wines:
Catoblepas Sauvingnon
Chimera Cabernet - A hearty red with a hits of oak and black cherry.
Chuul Lounge - Bacardi Limon, Aberration , creme de bananes and juices into a Chuul shaker half-filled with ice cubes. Shake well. Strain into a highball glass half-filled with ice cubes, and serve.
Constitution Crushing Wine - Fort. DC 35 or pass out!
Cormyrian Fireamber - Imported and very good.
Eladrin Carbernet - Official Feywine of the Wild Hunt
Feline's Fancy - A purplish, swirly mixture that any feline will adore.
Funky Llama - A rich fruity wine, available in white or red.
Iames Agonia - This tart, dark red wine will stun you and leave you feeling good for hours.
Kobold Chianti - Tart. Tangy. Shifty.
Merfolk Merlot - Full-bodied with a hint of rose.
Powerlust Pinot - For those corruptable humans
Shadar-Kai Shadowine - Served in a jagged, broken glass
Spoonake Chablis - Straight from the Underdark!
Warlock Wine - Best served cold
Xorn Zinfandel - Sweet and fruity!

Mixed Drinks:
A Drink - Generic booze with ice that can be shaken, stirred, or you know, whatever. Try to be more imaginative next time.
Aboleth Absinthe - Far Realmilicious!
Black Shadow - A strong concoction guaranteed to send a chill down your spine at any temperature.
Coffee Martini - Buzzzzz.
Djinn and Tonic - Whirling ice cubes, fizzy soda, and one drunk genie.
Dragon Liver Buster - Strongest drink in the house
Dwarf Spirits
Fire Archon Asylum Rum - "FAAR!!!"
Haley's Liquer - Named for the redheaded rogue, a sweet creme liquer, excellent over ice.
Hemo Colada - 100% less coconut, 100% more ichor
Ice Liquer - From the Plane of Ice: guaranteed to cool you down.
Ichor Liquor - Made from a fermented mix of various kinds of blood
Jasphattan - El J's Secret Recipie, vermouth & bitters
LEVEL UP LIQUER - Need a few extra XP? We gots XP in a bottle!
Long Island Iced Tea - Tastes better than it will make you feel in the morning
Murderita - Wasted away again...
Piña CoLlama - If you're not into yoga and have half a brain.
Rampaging Rail Mixer - Mad strong!
Rust Monster - Scotch, drambuie shaken in a wooden mixer.
Sneak on the Beach - Peach vodka, cran-pineapple juice, a cat hair
Swampwater - Phosphorescent lemon-lime
White Russian Wukei - for bounty hunters who dig dairy
Wizard Blizzard - Crushed ice and Bourbon. The effect depends on the spell stored in it.

Beers & Such:
Ales: Archon, Guilders, Balthor's Best
Grim Brewery Ginger Beer - Death-o-licious!
Mind Flayer Mead - Mmm... brains.

Other Fine Beverages:
Celestial Soda Pop - Soda specially brewed in Celestia. Tastes divine.
Darknight Coffee - cream has no effect
Dragon's Fire Breath (cherry Kool-Aid) - for the kids!
Fox Cola - the choice of the furry generation
Llamonade - That cool, refreshing drink for quadrupeds
Oni Tea - From the far east.
Red Minotaur Energy Drink - a-MAZE-ing energy!
Root Beer
Save vs. Slow Slurpees™ - C-c-c-cold
Hot Chocolate - Mmmmmmarshmallows

MUNCHIES MENU:
AbyssalNuts - damned and spicy
Baked Goods - Scones and Muffins and Brownies oh my! We have no cake - the cake is a lie!
Bamhacon - where the ham meets the bacon. Served with eggs.
Court of Stars Salad - Fresh fey greens
Hero Sandwiches - what else? Served with Villain vinegrette
Velvet Elfish - Trogtilla chips and hot meat and cheese dip
Yuan-ti Gyros - Lamb. Or halfling. We're not sure.
Trog's Floor Chili - Don't ask Trog where it came from and Trog won't tell you "the floor"
SMOKABLES:
Dwarven Cigars - From our axe-hewn humidor
Coffin Nail™ Cigarettes - Get Nailed!
Halfling Pipeweed - Bogart™ brand

((When this thread reaches page 50, anyone can make the next thread. However, if you want to make changes to the OP, please check in the OOC thread first to make sure everyone agrees.))

[Devixer]

Leaning in nice and close he replies "because something is better than nothing,
Because some times a lie will keep you safer than the truth,
Because the way it feels in your hand gives you an illusion of security?

Or... " he adds calmly sitting back
"maybe it's not even yours and your just carrying it from one place to the next, I don't really know nor care, but I could hardly start a conversation about your clothes "

He flicks his hand through the air as if waving off any seriousness or hostility of his words and studies the woman's face intently.

"You could've not started a conversation and left me alone," the woman says. If he's trying to wave off hostility, it hasn't worked, sincw it's still present in her face.

[RabbitHoleLost]

Hey, I'm just going off of the limited info I have. I meant that you'd want to make your reputation month "mom of Sheperd". And GLoG has changed. Hell, they sheltered Reinholdt until he left.
Caelynn explains.

A sigh signals the mans growing impatients with the service, he rolls a gold piece between his fingers shortly but soon that bores him too, he glances towards the nervous patron who is clinging to her sword and then decides to move.

Arching his back with a small groan he stands tall, swiping up a couple more coins he slides over to the two women. Touching rabbit on the shoulder he drops the coins infront of her and quickly adds with a nod, .

"Be a doll and get us all a round of something fine" there's an air of arrogance in his deep yet soft voice.

And with that he gives her a taunting wink and a small smile forms in the corner of his mouth as he turns and walks away before either can reply.
"Cats and rabbits eh, never can play nicely" he says to himself, loud enough for them to hear, as he pulls out a chair and and takes a seat across from the plain clothed woman sitting against the wall.

She leans in towards Caelynn, her eyes still alight with things not kind in intention nor gentle. In truth, Rabbit realizes that though they share some similarities, they are, perhaps, polar opposites in temperaments.
That cat never could figure out what it was he wanted in life...
Although, for that matter, neither quite could the necromancer and it had put her squarely in the predicament in the first place, had led to her escape from the Nexus years before.

"You have gravely miscalculated the kind of person I am, Caelynn. They wouldn't accept me because I will not repent. There's more than Shepherd coloring my past and-"

Cut off, she's approached by the man.
The place where his hand touched her burns, even with layers between her skin and his, and Rabbit grits her teeth around the cigar that had bounced between her lips as she had conversed with Caelynn.
His last tidbit sets her off guard- he hadn't heard her name, she was sure, and there's nothing about her that would suggest it. No ears, no tail, not a cute little nose with whiskers.
Rabbit was a name and nothing more. Something inherited from a family she no longer held connection to.

"I don't get along with anyone.
Now, if you'll excuse me, otherbabymama-"

And, for just now, Rabbit takes her leave of Caelynn and Alexis, turning on the boots of her heels to approach the man who'd so unacceptably invaded her personal space. Hips sway with each deliberate step she takes - she's not tall and she has no muscle mass, but for what it's worth, the woman is composed of no straight lines. Every inch of her is curved, from her chest to her hips to the cupid's bow of her crimson lips, and despite her cruel demeanor, her clothes are made to fit.
When she stops at the table shared between the third woman and the man, Rabbit ignores the one with the sword, leaning her hip against the table and grinning down at him. One hand reaches up to take the cigar from her lips and she exhales, letting a tower of smoke ascend upwards in a wafting length.

"Hey, darlin' " Now is the first time a hint of a southern accent could be heard. Georgia, perhaps?
The hand not occupied with her tobacco reaches out slowly to show her intent - his jaw. Probably to stroke his stubble? It's obviously not a threatening gesture.
"You forgot something back there." It's a definite drawl on her tongue.

[Arkhosia]

Well then, would you mind illuminating me on what type of a person you truly are?
She inquires, but then man!
She narrows her gaze at the man, suspicious of his intentions.
Caelynn watches Rabbit's actions with interest.

[Raistlin1040]

To say the door swings open would be an extreme overstatement. Rather, it opens gingerly, with an almost dainty-quality, ajar only long enough for a soft-faced elf to step inside. A loose-fitting robe hangs from his light frame, while a strong silver box sits under his arm. He walks gently and his eyes are half-lidded in a display of serenity, even as the general chaos of the Tavern thunders around him. He makes his way to an empty table, sitting down and placing the box on the table before him. He spots Rabbit, and offers her a simple smile and a regal wave. It has been so long since he'd last seen the girl, of course, but he wouldn't dream of intruding on her conversation. Strong-willed to a fault, and if that will directed her towards him, so be it. Morrison was not one to impose.

[Holy-hunter]

Watching Rabbits attitude and blunt honesty was like a breath of fresh air, however in his brashness he had allowed himself to be caught up and overcome by it and quickly realised the damaged he had nearly caused as he sat opposite this angry. lady.

With a deep meditative breath he focuses and quickly slips back into the familiar masquerade, donning the mask that day by day begins to grow a flesh of its own, and day by day it becomes more unbearable to wear.

Shifting his posture, sitting tall he places his right hand over his chest and as sincere as a child's innocence he begins to apologise,

"sorry my lady, please forgive my display and please understand it's out of a greater concern, the folk of the nexus can sometimes be dark and dangerous." He pauses for a moment shuffling in his seat as he stares at the table contemplatively, then begins "a tamed dog wanders upon a rabbit for the first time ever, excitement and curiosity fill it's face for he doesn't know what it is or what he is to do!... Then the rabbit in all it's fear answers for him,"

"It runs, In its fear of being attacked it tells the dog how it is suppose to act."

"You see" he starts to continue on as the the lady from the bar approaches intervening on the conversation.
As he sits silently and watches a puff of smoke slowly float up into the rafters he realises and recalled his mistake...
He had used knowledge he shouldn't yet know. But did she?

He calmly confidently leans back in his chair and raises his eyebrows in a sort of curiosity and greeting, he has to focus as so his eyes don't wonder but he cannot completely hide his predatory grin.

Something bad is coming, and it's too late to avoid it, he mentally tightens the mask. All the thoughts running in his head distract him from her words, "sorry?" he replies politely and questioningly while maintaining, eye to eye, a determined stare. He holds his confident, collective demeanour never breaking his gaze or even his devilish grin, even as her hand reaches towards his face and he unnoticeable tenses in tension and anticipation.

[RabbitHoleLost]

That look on his face stirs something in Rabbit, something she can just barely remember, a taste of another on her lips that lingers from years before. Out of the corner of her vision, she catches sight of a familiar high priest, a face that isn't the one who's memory tightens the muscles in her gut unpleasantly, but which serves as a reminder.
She'll catch Morrison later - he's a fraggin elf, afterall. He had all the time in the world to wait out Rabbit's darker impulses.

"You. Forgot. Something." Rabbit repeats, but her voice is soft, almost teasing. Provided the man doesn't pull away, her hand reaches the strong line of his jaw and....nothing happens. Just the cool silk of her dress gloves against the texture of his stubble, her thumb tracing small circles.

[Arkhosia]

Caelynn is skippable for the majority of the cinversation

[Holy-hunter]

A soft jolt of breath escapes his lips as he feels the soft silk run across his skin, exhaling in defeat he looks away from Rabbit with his eyes alone, unable to take anymore. His eyes happen upon the other girl at the table and he is suddenly reminded of the tavern they are in "alright I'll bight he replies after a deep breath, rolling his eyes back to her.
Rabbit might notice the muscles in his arm relax as his hand unclentches from a fist.
"Sorry miss," he lets the conversation pause for longer than nessecary " what was it I forgot back there?"he asks intently, peering up at her through his eyebrows as he presses his jaw against her hand.

[RabbitHoleLost]

Her grin twitches at the corners, and though her lips have hardly moved, there's something much more maleficent in the way she looks at him now than she had just a moment before.
Rabbit's other hand moves quickly, and he might have time to dodge it. He is, by far, physically much stronger than she is, but Rabbit has always relied on underhanded tricks.
The cigar drops its ash, now just a red-hot end, and unless the so-far nameless stranger moves quickly enough, it's on a path for the apple of his cheek.

[Holy-hunter]

Surprisingly he matches her maleficent gaze, a moniacal glee burns in his eyes, a proud, happy excitement.
He was slow to react but still her hand fell short, the red ash tickles the ends of some stubble as the smell of burt hair whispers into thin faint smoke. Her wrist was caught between his fingers and thumb and whilst his strength was obvious it was above appearance. From the wrist joint alone he manipulated it in a way that would bring her face closer to his or bring her great pain.

He was masterful in his movements and his expression obvious to only her. With him still leaning back in his chair, from a spectators viewpoint it would still look like rabbit was the aggressor and in controll. A position he thought she wouldn't mind.

[Devixer]

The other woman, now named Iamar, has decided that she's had quite enough of getting skipped and ignored these people and the speed with which they resort to violence. Without a word, she stands from her seat and turns to leave the tavern. She doubts either of these two will even notice her going.

[RabbitHoleLost]

Out of nothing but a sheer instinct for self-preservation, Rabbit drops the cigar to the floor, letting it roll and shed its ash across the floor until she can reach it with her foot, extinguishing it's life under the heel of her boot.
But Rabbit yields to him, despite her stubborn nature and her precedence to be quite the sore loser, her bright green gaze full of loathing and spite.

The other woman leaves and Rabbit can't find it in herself to care (but her player does- sorry :() - one less distraction. Thankfully, Caelynn and her daughter are a safe distance away (not that Rabbit cares. She doesn't. Nope. Not one little bit, nopenopenope) and so it leaves just her, inclined towards him.

With her wrist in his hand, he might notice that her pulse is slower than a normal, healthy human - especially for one in which excitement in occurring, and if his hand catches a patch of pale skin between the sleeve of her coat and her silk gloves, it'll feel...luke warm.

"And what'll you do now?"

[Holy-hunter]

He relishes in the spite of her gaze, smiling tauntingly, this however was a facade.

'What will you do now' the words rose a hellfire of fury within him, his fingers twitched wanting to snap her wrist into tiny slithers. The air caught in his lungs yearning to explode in her face with a vicious wave of insults, his blood pumped pure aggression through his veins.

But she was right, what would he do now... It had already gone too far. And he cursed himself... No her, for it.
Then out the corner of his eye he notices as the other woman at the table begins to leave and a new frustration toils inside him. While not terrible he was still not sure if he had amended his previous attitude towards her, which brings him back to rabbit. His eyes finds hers and the mask worn for years slips further than it ever has.

"Dark witch" he almost hisses at her in a low whisper, pulling her in close so only she can hear the disgust rolling off his tongue. With her so close only she could see the dark hatred brewing in his now glowing eyes, his grip grows tight enough to inflict pain giving him good contact with her pulse. "I am no mere mortal and you best remember that "
he spits out demandingly with an unknown authority, a tone of one believing himself superior, expecting lessors to obey.

Just as rabbit stops drawing near suddenly it all disappears, the hatred, the spite, the glow in his eyes and the strength. Their hands were still positioned aside his face out of view of most and with a sudden and sharp bursts he folds her wrist back on its self forcing her elbow to slide forward and her body to follow continuing her motion just as sharp and suddenly! Reacting to her unwilling advance he lets out a sudden loud gasp of false surprise and begins falling backwards, his chair toppled to the ground crashing with a loud thud.

Scratching his head while laying on the floor amongst the rubble, eyes squinting in pain he shouts aloud" you're crazy, I want her banned from this establishment for violence" his voice booms out to the other patrons. While still shaky, between coughs and behind his tending hand he mutters an abyssal chant and diverts the dark spirits that were following rabbit to this other woman leaving instead.

"What was that for" he asks Rabbit as he rubs the dust from his eyes looking for the woman. He had to be cautious not to push his luck, this woman was unpredictable.

[Raistlin1040]

The elf sitting at a table by himself, now holding a small cup of tea in one hand, covers his mouth with the other as an airy laugh passes his lips. "You've not spent a long time in this area, have you? Few are merely mortal here. Besides, fights are so common these days; no one will be thrown out of a tavern for brawling." He sighs as he leans forward onto his hand, lips slightly curved downwards. "No matter how unsavory it is."

[Baeleck]

Well, the antics here certainly have an audience. In addition to the elf, Caelynn, and the recently departed woman, Niara and her drone are also spectators. The former has an expression of amusement mixed with mild concern. What the elf said was true; fights were a frequent fixture of this place. But these two certainly weren't simple drunk thugs, looking to burn off some pent-up anger.

There was something unnerving - something consciously dangerous - about both of them.

For the moment, Niara is quite comfortable saying nothing. She sips her wine and watches.

[RabbitHoleLost]

It happens too quickly for her half-dead senses and her physical strength is no match for his, not by half. Rabbit's bones are fragile, lacking in quantity the amount of nutrients her body requires (or in the particular type), and her wrist snaps with a sound that would be quite sickening to those unfamiliar with the symphony of breaking bodies. For Rabbit, however, she simply curses under her breath, yanking herself away as the man falls to the floor with a great clatter.

Extra eyes fall on her- she can feel the gaze of he other patrons turn on her, and the necromancer swallows the disappointment, it's bitter flavor a knot at the back of her throat.
An easy reintroduction to the Nexus and it's inhabitants?

Never.

Atleast, not for Rabbit. Even without the looming shadow of her past, she finds trouble and attention. No matter how she tries to calm her temper, to remain nondescript and out of the eyes of crowds, she falls back into her old habits like an alcoholic.
She is addicted to rage.

And it's rage that pumps coldly through her veins as she stands over the man who falsely calls out for the aid of the tavern, who seeks, pathetically, to win over the others, to turn the crowd against her.

With Morrison's words, she only grins, calling back over her shoulder to the elf.

"Sorry, Morrison, if we're offending your delicate artistic sensibilities. I forgot how gentle you creative types are."

And then she turns to look back down at the man laying on the floor, playing hurt. There's a look of victory to her grin, even as her wrist hangs limply at her side.

"So now that your dramatic plan to thwart me has failed so spectacularly, where does that leave us, sweetheart?"
It's punctuated with a snort and she looks down on him with arrogance to match his.
"You smell of hell and speak of mortals, and yet... Here you are on the floor.
So... Sad."

It's without warning, like his flip of her wrist, that her booted foot swings out, towards his uncovered head. She's not strong, this is true, but if he doesn't move or stop her, he'll still have a hell of a headache.
Or a smashed temple.
Samey-samey.

((I did this on my mobile, so if there's any strange autocorrected words or broken brackets or anything, my apologies))

[Zefir]

"Dude, someone crashed a satelite into this bar a while back and wasn't banned from here. I don't know Trog's ever banned anyone or anything." A voice comes from the bar, directed at the man on the ground. He migth not see the person who is talking to him, since the person isn't sitting on a barstool. and the person talking is only a few inch in size.
So the others might see a very tiny creature stiiting on the plate the Tacos have been. The creature is green with a yellow collar. it looks like a mix of cameleaon and stuff animal and right now it's having a toothpick in his mouth which is nearly as long as he himself is.

"Anyone who comes to Trogs is either strong enougth to stay alive or fast enougth to avoid." The little creatur called MrC speaks.

[Holy-hunter]

This... This woman,

Showing no signs to be much more then she appears yet still, against a man nearly twice her size, in authoritative military ensemble, bearing his animosity, strength and control, still she still continues to taunt him.

Either she conceals a hidden strength, a death wish or it's simply that her stubbornness truly knows no bounds.

He hadn't meant to snap her wrist, she was frailer then he thought, or he was more consumed by anger than he realised. But as she spat just the precise words in the right tone to dig under his skin, he was so glad that he did. His stomach knotted as he was hit by what she said, her cold voice felt like knives twisting in his gut.
He looks to take some satisfaction in the pain and anguish the broken wrist had caused.

Blank, unaffected.....

A sudden calm overtook the boiling cauldron that was his vile mixed emotions and calculated thoughts. He found a serene emptiness. He gave up conscious thought as he allowed himself to auto pilot to what he does best.
He was going to merciless murder the wench right now regardless of the consequences.... But Then....

'Thwack!' Suddenly her boot collects square with his temple and his head fiercely jerks on his neck from the sudden force. He slumps into the ground with a groan, dazed, a small pool of blood begins to show and slowly roll down from where the impact split the skin.

He is violently snapped back to reality. In his short still moment of silent darkness, dabbling on the brink of unconsciousness, He questions all that has recently occurred. How has this woman stripped him of his will?
He has suffered many a humiliations and wrongs to conceal himself within the Nexus, swallowing his pride further than he thought possible to the brink of physical pain, but he struggled to give her an inch.

Pulling himself to full consciousness he catches his breath with a single calm centring deep breath followed by a string of short coughs. He lay on his back, arms out stretched, defenceless with eyes still closed. A ringing echo's in his ear only accentuating his pounding headache.
Surprisingly he retaliates with a smirk at the ceiling as his coughs turn to a soft chuckle of laughter and a true, hostile free, charming grin catches his face.

"Quite a kick" he groans, from the stillness of the ground not ready to move his head.

"Sad?" He softly snorts "maybe"
He then roughly manages to point in the direction of Caelynn and the coins he left on the bar.
"So, I take it Im not getting that drink?.. asked the wrong girl"

[RabbitHoleLost]

She looks up briefly, giving an appreciative but none-too-happy grin to...whatever that thing is on the former-taco plate. It's brief - she doesn't let her eyes drift from the man below her for too long. In much the same way he seems hesitant to trust silence from her, Rabbit doesn't trust him.

He splutters and bleeds and there's some unsavory satisfaction to be had for Rabbit, who tosses her head back, encouraging her auburn hair away from her line of sight. It takes a few moments, but then he's laughing and she's confused.
What was this man's damage, that he could look ready to rend her limb from partially undead limb one breath and smile at her like she had simply won at arm wrestling the next?
Nothing of him begged her to trust him, should she turn her back to him, and so she leaned back against the table- far enough that he would have to sit up and lean over to reach her, but close enough to keep an eye on him for another handful of seconds.

"Sad as in pathetic, you hopeless oaf." The hand belonging to her non-broken wrist reaches in to her coat and pulls another cigar out and she makes a point of inspecting the pre-cut tip, it's predecessor being a pile of mush on the floor.

An amused snort puffs it's way from her nose.

"You're a fool if you think I'd've let her buy you a drink. You're not worthy to lick that baby's bottom, let alone be served by the mother." Dismissively, she places the cigar between her red lips, crossing her legs at the ankles, all of her weight resting against the table to her back.

[Arkhosia]

Caelynn snorts derisively. She doesn't think much of this man.
Sorry, I have a policy against funding the indulgences of seemingly chauvinistic men
She replies.

[Holy-hunter]

Her words disgust him and it's apparent on his face as he brings himself to stand, but unlike before they just wash off him like the dust and debris he pats off his clothing.

"Not really a cat person" he adds in sharply, briefly glancing back at the mother and child, unimpressed with her comment, while rolling his his neck.
He then groans, "how's the hand?" He asks as he begins to take a long slow step intimidatingly towards Rabbit. He locks onto her eyes and as before that devilish smirk grows from one corner of his mouth to the other.

He stretches a bit and rolls his shoulders back accentuating his lage chest.
Towering over the girl he will attempt to lean on the table and reach out to rabbit much like she did to him before.
Mixing a southern drawl into his tone he adds
"You forgot something back there"

And he tops it off with a sarcastic playful wink.

[Arkhosia]

Meanwhile, a tallish woman enters. Her form is not a curved and hourglass-shaped one like most of the women in the nexus, but it is a lean, muscular, and powerful one. She looks to be 21, due to the effect of age combat in war and taxing work causes (actually nearly 18), and her long hair is a maroon brown French braid, long enough to still have long bangs and cover the area of her forehead and around the ears. Her skin is a tanned, originally pale color, and the woman's eyes shine blue.
Sophia Godlark, her form adorned in her usual hanji linens of a violet, vivid purple sweater, the color one would expect of a Godlark, and the uniform of the Survey Corps. A long gash mars her left cheek, healing as steam seeps from the deep laceration.

[RabbitHoleLost]

"Rabbit person, are you?" One eyebrow arches high on her forehead and she leans in closer, her voice a dramatic stage whisper. "Or maybe you just like your girls half dead, is that it? Less fight in 'em...usually."

There's some feeling of defensiveness over Caelynn, though if asked, Rabbit is certain she'd deny it. All the same, she doesn't like the way he'd so flippantly dismissed her.
She consoles herself by thinking she just dislikes the man altogether and would take the side of anyone against him (but she knows, deep down, that's the least of it).

At the man's questions, she glances down at her wrist, tries to wriggle her fingers. Her body is already at work, attempting to knit the bone back together, months and months of work done in minutes, but it's not quite perfect yet - and the ache is almost unbearable. Rabbit desperately wants a drag of her cigar and two fingers of whiskey but the man keeps coming and that prospect of peace is looking to be more distant by the moment.

"Ah ah ah." Rabbit pulls a step away from him, the heel of her boot clacking against the floor. "Don't you come at me unless you've got a lighter in your hand, darlin'. That's how this all started, don't you remember, Bad Touch?"
And just like that, he's got a nickname.

[Holy-hunter]

He slightly bows his head and stops his advance,
"I thought you'd never ask." He replies smooth yet slyly.
With a quick wave of his hand and snap of his fingers he makes the motion of holding and starting a lighter and small flame pops to life from where one should had there been a lighter.

He looks back up at her through the flame, arm outstretched, leaning back, allowing her to advance to him. She was being cautious now as she should be, regardless how she tries to hide it, this is a lady who likes to be in control he thinks to himself as the candle light dances to his will, the flame will gently grow if she nears it.

Beneath his voice he mumbles just loud enough only Rabbit could hear. "Don't like em dead, they just end up that way sometimes"

Being sure he caught a glance of concern earlier towards the mother and child he directs his attention to them after his last comment. Hinting ill will towards them, seeing if he could get a rise.

While looking back he notices an unwelcoming face, that damn Sophia girl. Bartenders of Nexus couldn't spike a drink to save their own life. (Wich if the day gets any worse it may come too) He internally hisses at the sight of her, but gives her a polite smile and nod of recognition.

[Arkhosia]

Sophia notices Mr. Bad Touch, and glares.
This should only take a second.
She comments to Rabbit as she stalks over to the man and delivers a swift knee to his stomach... If possible.
It will cause excruciating pain, possibly breaking a lower rib, and Sophia herself grimaces slightly as steam begins to seep from her now broken kneecap.

[Zefir]

Mr.C just looks up. He doesn't curse himself to be slow, because he got fire fir Rabbit as well. he steps on the edge of the bar and suddendly a small basket of popcorn appears and he starts to nom it.

"At least some action is coming up." he says as Sophia joins in.

[Holy-hunter]

Yup the day got worse, with his head still pounding, worse than he would believe it possible, and he wasn't leaning on the table to appear suave. Now On top of things Sophia had blind sighted him with a fierce knee to the ribs, he heard and felt atleast two ribs crack.
His teeth grit feircly and his whole body tensed as he fought with the pain, he held true tho, only breaking out a soft groan in reply to the attack as beads if sweat form on his forehead.

"Rabbit this is Sophia", he just manages to say through short broken breaths still holding out the flame, arm slightly wavering.

"We shared a meal and company when I was new to here"
He calmly continues. The veins on his forehead, the tension in his muscles the slight flair in his nostrils and the animalistic glare in his eyes told that the calmness in his words were a lie.

"Sophia, I was just about to buy these lady's a drink, he nods to the cat lady, pauses, then nods back to rabbit, "join us"

Had he just become a masichist? Now he was questioning his own sanity and it reflected in his smile.

He was so caught up in his own struggle he almost didn't notice Sophia's, almost. At least he had found some slight gratification regardless how small, in her injured knee.
He then takes a quick second to gaze at all the other patrons, especially the one eating popcorn.

Damn Rabbits cigar suddenly became so extremely appealing, if she leans in, as soon as the flame lights the end he will cause a small bright spark to flare and at the same time swipe it with the same fingers that lit it.

[Raistlin1040]

"I know that senseless violence is a tradition in this town, brimming with history, but don't you think you've taken this far enough?" Morrison's words are directed at the rather unpleasant man. In accordance with the reproachful nature of his words, his tone is chastising, as if calling out a child's mistake. "Not to limit your free expression, never that, but what exactly is it you're trying to accomplish, exactly, and could it not be better solved without throwing punches and insults?" It would take more than a brawl (even one as loud and attention-grabbing as this one) to break the elf's serenity, but the corners of his lips do trend downwards in a sort of paternal disapproval.

[RabbitHoleLost]

She had it planned.
A few long, calculated steps to close the gap between them, just enough that she could reach out and touch him, if, for some inexplicable reason, she had the urge. She'd lean over, cigar clamped between two crimson painted lips, and keep her bright green eyes locked with his.
Somewhere, Rabbit had once read about never showing an animal fear or distrust, else it'd know it had found easy pickings - and she intends to give no such thoughts to the man before her.

Instead, the new woman to the crowd had made her way towards them, excused herself to Rabbit, and had laid a well-executed (if, perhaps, stupid) knee to her companion in violence's armored gut. The thawck reverberates throughout the tavern and Rabbit stands back, nodding her head appreciatively, her lips pressed together as she takes in the form of Sophia's attack and the obvious pain it brings to the man (and did Rabbit ever enjoy that).

"We shared a meal and company when I was new to here"

"Oh, I just bet you did, Bad Touch." Amusement seeps through her voice and though the smile on her lips seems genial, it's foolish to believe Rabbit was capable of anything other than vindictive glee at this particular moment in time.
Somewhere off to the side, Morrison calls over again, and Rabbit shrugs. Taking her cigar from her mouth, she simply slides it across the table to the man.

"You look like you need this, darlin'. Now, you kids play nice while mommy and daddy have adult talk, okay?" And with a wink and a wave, Rabbit makes to leave Sophia and the man alone, working her way towards Morrison's table.
The look she gives the large man is one that speaks of talks unfinished - she'll catch back up with him later.

[Arkhosia]

Oh, it's not that I need this, just that he deserves this. And by the way, it wasn't that kind of type. More that he got a bit pissed when I turned him down on a relationship due to learning he was a bit of an *******. He wasn't as bad then actually, but my memory may just be a bit foggy.

Sophia replies as she swiftly deals a flurry of precise and powerful blows if possible, dealing a strong left hook to the face with amazing speed, likely shattering his nose, as she sweeps her right leg into his, likely toppling him to the floor. If that succeeds, she viciously delivers a strong, crushing stomp to his stomach multiple times, before kicking him in the side and walking over to Rabbit and Morisson.
This will happen separately so if she does manage to walk over, when is up to you two.

[Raistlin1040]

By the time Rabbit arrives at his table, Morrison is completely relaxed again, with a light smile on his face. A second glass of tea sits opposite his own. "Please, sit. I admit, I've forgotten how you take your drinks." He closes his eyes and his smile grows, accompanied by the quietest of chuckles. "Other than alcoholic, of course, but that's hardly suitable for the hour, I would imagine."

[Holy-hunter]

Nope, obviously she still wasn't keen on drinking.
Damn Sophia!

As the fist came towards his face his chronomancy automatically kicks in and he loses himself in a lost moment of thought as the world around him grinds to a halt.

What had he done so wrong today? Surely viscous thoughts ran in his head but he restrained himself further than most would be possible. He back tracked his steps and saw no flaw in his noticeable behaviour. This tavern, this violence, was starting to feel like home, only he was on the wrong side of the aggression.

He had been nothing but polite to Sophia, had she learned about the poison, if so she didn't give him 1% of deniability over someone else's word.
The stupid naive girl, thinks it was over her, how vain.
It had nothing to do with their own relationship but hers and Arlen's, he would destroy everything that boy holds dear.
For his own good.

Sophia was an insect to him, but an emotional one at that.
However Titan Sophia, that would be a different story and he had seen that in play at the hunting grounds.
Still even if she grew stronger since he saw her last and Rabbits power was atleast at an average level, in this injured condition he didn't even fathom defeat. The un bridling variable was the other patrons.
If it came to it he was not sure he could kill them all, not without some one escaping anyway.

Still it might be a blessing Sophia arrived, had Rabbit tried to dish out the punishment herself undoubtly he would interject.

His clear path of thought ends there as Sophia's fist plummets into face. His nose practically explodes on impact as bone snaps and blood gushes out. His face takes a bit more of a beating. It's in her eyes, her shoulders and the movement goes to her hips, he sees it coming and allows her to swipe out his leg. He crashes back onto the broken chair catching a large unexpected slither of wood on his upper left arm tearing through his clothing and flesh.

'Damn'

Earlier his will faught against his emotion not to attack Rabbit, now equally as difficult he fights his instinctive urge not to defend against Sophia. As the boots lay in again and again opportunities arise over and over, his arms tense ready to, wanting to, strike and destroy but he restrains them as he takes the beating.
He has taken beatings before, he directs Sophia's attacks by leaving openings that she thinks she is taking advantage of. It doesn't lessen the pain but the beaten bloodied man on the floor is thinking about heal time.

Finally it ends, with a large sigh of relief he slumps onto his back and relaxes into the ground. A small spray of blood floats on every breath, it covers his entire mouth now and runs down his jaw and neck. His entire mid section has gone numb of feeling, he winces in pain at the end of every deep breath and almost passes out when he coughs, choking on his own blood.

Slowly He raises his left hand from his elbow only not to agrovate the piece if chair sticking out further up. He clicks his fingers creating a small but bright flame. A smile forms amongst the bruised blood soaked mess that is his mouth. He pauses for a moment navigating a sudden sharp pain. Finally he brings his right hand over to meet the flame.

"Cheers doll" he coughs through a bubbly short breath as he lights the cigar concealed in his hand. "I needed this" he says clenching his eyes shut tight as he anticipates the pain but draws deeply upon it anyway filling his lungs against his ribs. He holds the smoke in unable to escape his clentched jaw, then savouring the taste he slowly lets it slip from his lips bit by bit as he deflates.

And he just lays there.

[RabbitHoleLost]

She slips into a seat across from Morrison, listening through one ear to the ruckus that continued on with Sophia and the broad-shouldered man.

Rabbit had meant to leave the situation well enough alone after her final kick- had Sophia not interrupted, presuming he wouldn't have retaliated with the offer to light her cigar, Rabbit might have even enjoyed a drink with the big ol' jerk.

His offense of touching her and talking to her in the way that he had had been punished twice over, and though she still wouldn't trust him with her back turned to him, direct violence had never been Rabbit's preferred tactic (she knew her limits, of course- outside of sneakery and treachery, she had no strength for physical combat).

But Sophia seems to have her own punishment to deal out, and while it sounds gruesome, the necromancer has to accept that it's not unlikely the man deserves it.
She let's them be and turns her attention to Morrison.

"Never too early for liquor." And the smile that graces her face is the first genuinely good natured one since Rabbit had walked in the door.
Perhaps even longer before.

She doesn't drink the tea, only holds it in her hands, let's the warmth seep into her hands, ease the ache of the previously broken wrist.

"I'm betting this isn't a social call?" Though Rabbit had always remained on good terms with Morrison (more so than any of Amour's other followers), they were never truly friends, though some could say this was because Rabbit had no friends.

She looks at him and let's her eyes dart away quickly. His face is tied in her mind squarely with another's and it's enough to inspire something like guilt in the strong willed necromancer.

[Raistlin1040]

"Am I not sociable?" Morrison's shoulders rise and fall with laughter. He runs a hand through his long elven locks, brushing them back from his eyes as he finishes his cup. He taps the brim lightly with an extended finger, making it full once more. "If not for sociability, then for what purpose do you think I am here?" It takes him a minute, then he sighs and nods in understanding. "I promise, I'm here on no one's behalf but my own, if that's your concern. It has been such a long time, Rabbit. I find the world a tad less vivid without your unique force. Though, of course, if you'd desire me to leave, I will not force my presence upon you." He lifts the cup back to his face, breathing in the scent of the liquid before carefully sipping.

[Zefir]

The little green creature suddendly got a little flag, a vest and a cape with the words "Trog's Brawl" on it. and continues to nom his popcorn. He waves with hsi flag when Sophia starts to fight but is soon followed by a long "Ooooooooooooooh." After the fight seems to end befor it even began.
It's not like he likes the fights, but from time to time you like to watch other people fight especially if you didn't do anything to start it.

[Holy-hunter]

Laying in his own sphere of silence amongst the chatter of the tavern, he had become an unwholesome sight that the patrons eyes would rather pass over or avoid altogether as somehow this would allow them not to accept the burden of knowledge that choosing to do nothing would place on their conscious.

No matter where he traveled he could not escape the hostilities of his home, for a moment he thought this world as ruthless and dead as from where he came, yet he remembered that is not the world his brother Arlen lives in. He had watched strangers ready to lay down their life to save him. He found companions where ever he traveled without giving it a thought or effort.

No the cold brutal selfishness was not 'this' world but it was the world that followed him and he lived in everyday regardless of location. He snorts as he reminds himself, insects, they all deserve to die.


"Mother cat" he calls to Caelynn, he had done nothing wrong by her, perhaps his greeting lacked full etiquette but he had offered enough coins so they all could purchase something. She witnessed both of his uncalled beatings without so much as a slander or retaliation. Rabbit didn't make a scene of the wrist and he concealed that and all his anger from everyone but Rabbit.

Surely as a mother she had a nurturing compassionate nature, even if she instinctively disliked him.

Putting out the cigar in a small pool of his own blood he reaches his arm out in her direction as he groans with laboured breath.

"Please" he hoarsely begins interrupted by a sudden pain "agh".
"Help remove me from here" he rushes the words together on one breath, agony on his face.
"My room" pauses for a laboured breath, "upstairs"
Coughs and sputters

He opens his eyes and looks towards the cat woman with a plea.
"You can have.....money"

His blood was begging to pool on the floor, his sights and sounds unsavoury. If she had no interest in helping him maybe she would assist for the sake of the tavern and others, lastly maybe for the coins....

[RabbitHoleLost]

His groaning and moaning seem, to Rabbit, a bit over dramatic. He was a big guy and - while he might have taken a heavy beating from Sophia- he seemed to have powers Rabbit couldn't quite see at first glance. Emerald eyes follow the line of his sight to find Caelynn and the necromancer hums her disapproval loudly, but, otherwise, won't interfere if Caelynn decides she'd like to help him.
She'll insist that the baby stays downstairs (not with Rabbit, though. With someone who likes kids) and she'll mark the time - if it takes Caelynn more than a few minutes to return, Rabbit will excuse herself to check on them.
It's a simple plan.

Rabbit still makes a mental note to check in on the man later, regardless.
And then her attention returns to the elf in front of her and she idly turns the cup of tea around between her hands, her wrist still quite painful.

" 'I find the world a tad less vivid without your unique force.'
Why, Morrison, that was nearly sweet." She flushes with something akin to pleasure, but then, as if she suddenly remembers, her eyes drop down to the box he had carried in with him.

"And what's that?

[Arkhosia]

Actually... Caelynn and her child have left already via teleporting!
Meanwhile...
Sophia, her slender left hand healing as she steps upon and then strides across Bad Touch, approaches the two at an opportune time.
Name's Sophia
She greets, offering her steaming, almost entirely healed hand.

[Baeleck]

Bad Touch will find himself being helped to his feet not by Caelynn, but another woman - the one who had been sitting over by the fireplace all this time, watching quietly.

Niara hoists the man up as best she can, though she is not what one would call strong. Athletic, yes, but not strong.

She didn't have any real interest in any of the people involved, but it was common decency to help a clearly injured person out. Especially when they were bleeding all over the floor.

'All right, fella. Let's get you out of here.' Her tone makes it clear she's helping through a sense of obligation, and nothing more. 'You don't want to be splayed out down there when Trog comes by with his floor scrubbing machine.'

Seriously, she'd seen that thing expunge people from existence, as well as stains.

'Which room?' she asks plainly, as they approach the stairs.

[Holy-hunter]

"Bloody core spawned teleporters" he curses to himself having to bite his tongue from yelling his frustrations aloud as his bait and last chance to lure a necromancer vanished in thin air.
Never had a day unraveled as bad as today. The constant anger and frustration was starting to take a toll.
And time was running out to get this job done. Rabbits words still echo in his thumping skull.
'How sad'
It was indeed, and he chuckles to himself, spluttering a bit of blood again. 'Maybe I can kill them all' he thinks to himself inviting that boiling hatred growing in his stomach, nearly ready to throw into a childish fit just because things were not going his way.

Then suddenly this stranger offers assistance, he would show gratitude if he wasn't consumed by shock. He cautiously accepts not really needing a great deal. He points the way then holds his head back to slow the blood, occasionally he will sway a bit but mostly just needed guidance.

He completely forgets of his black visored helm and gold pouch left sitting on the bar.


He nods once they are at the door he was directing them to. Leaning against the wall no longer taking her assistance he tilts his head forward to see her properly causing a tuff of dirty blonde hair to fall over his face, he pushes it aside, "thank you" he then says with sincerity "before you leave please let me know, in this world of darkness, who is this kind hearted stranger that would help me?"

He appears genuinely curious, looking at her with his deep brown eyes as he stands leaning against his door, he makes no attempt to open it while she stands with him.

[Baeleck]

Now that he's able to stand himself, Niara will take a couple of steps back to lean against the opposite wall.

What the man will see is a pale woman, with distinctively oriental features, though one wouldn't necessarily have guessed it from her accent, which is nondescript in origin. A particularly astute observer would notice the faint impression of a rash, or perhaps a burn scar, across the left side of her face and neck. Her hair is dark and sleek, pinned back to one side with a carmine hair pin; the shade matching her black overcoat and smart trousers.

Said coat looks to have a light smattering of his blood, but the woman either hasn't noticed or doesn't care.

'Niara Tarmikos,' she replies, crossing her arms. The corner of her mouth twitches into the slightest of smiles. 'I'm not sure what you did to earn yourself such a beating, but you might want to refrain in future. Because you're quite right - this place really can be a world of darkness.'

[Holy-hunter]

"Niara" he repeats, trying the sound of her name as he smiles and nods at her advice. "Ah that was nothing" he chuffs looking away and pulling some hair down over his split temple. He looks back up, mouth open to speak then notices the faint mark on her pale skin. Engorged in sudden curiosity he stops his motion to speak and stares inquisitively. "Forgive my rudeness" he finally appolagises and looks to the floor in shame of being so bluntly rude.
Looking down he notices the blood on Niara's coat and then his hands, suddenly feeling guilty about the mess he stands upright off the wall releasing a sharp gasp, while the pain settles he holds his hands awkwardly out to the sides of his hips as not to touch or bloody anything else.

[Baeleck]

'No sweat, fella.' It's said in as offhand way as she can muster, but that pale complexion doesn't do much good in hiding the slight, red blush that creeps up into her cheeks.

That was strange. It wasn't like her to be self-conscious about those old wounds. But that sudden change in stance - that avid curiosity that swept politeness aside... it was something she knew she was guilty of too.

'You okay?' She frowns at the sharp intake of breath, but then looks away dismissively. 'Listen, I'll let you get some rest. I might still be kicking around once you've fixed yourself up, I might not. In any case, here's my card.'

A thin slip of plastic is offered to him, despite his bloodied hands. "Niara Tarmikos - Pandimensional Freelance Services", it reads. There's no contact information specified, the empty space instead housing a small, raised button.

[Holy-hunter]

"Services?" He asks looking up from the card,
"I know it's a strange request" he pauses and scratches the back of his head as he stares at the card again contemplating how to continue, "please don't judge me but I'm in need of the aid of a... a necromancer, could you organise that?" he watches on warily waiting to see her response...

[Baeleck]

'It's not within my normal purview,' she admits, 'but I'll see what I can do.'

Her schedule wasn't exactly stacked. How else could she afford to spend so much time just moseying about reading books, drinking wine, and people-watching? It would be something to occupy her time with, even if her search didn't come to fruition.

As for the whole necromancy thing, it was none of her business. While she'd always hope that her client's intentions were good, it wasn't her concern what they busied themselves with after she'd fulfilled her obligations.

She begins to walk off down the corridor, towards the stairs, but then pauses and glances over her shoulder.

'Who should I tell them is asking?'

[Raistlin1040]

Despite Rabbit nursing her injured wrist for a few minutes, it still takes time for Morrison to notice it. "Oh." He says quietly, more to himself than anyone else. "Excuse me Rabbit, I hadn't realized. Would you care for me to fix that?" He gestures towards her wrist.

As he waits for her answer, he turns his attention back to the box. "Oh, this?" His fingers lightly caress the silver sides, tracing over the latches that keep it closed with great care. "You may find it rather sentimental, I'm afraid. Just a few things to remind me of the past, should I ever need reminding."

[Holy-hunter]

He gives a sigh and rests his forehead against the door that he finally started to open, the blood in his matted hair painting strips upon it "just don't" he replies coldly, not being sure how many more grudges are out there. Head still against the door he twists to see her, "time is of the importance and I can pay well tho" he says with a small smile and then he disappears into the doorway quickly shutting it behind him.

'Goodluck'

[5a Violista]

Harley Zorzo demonstrates that she's still in this new thread by finally ordering a drink: that really good limeade that has milk in it.

She slips the letter away into a purse she has.

[Zefir]

"Oh man." The little gren creature says as the hurt man is brought away. "All those new guys don't know the good old ways."
He just speaks things out loud and anyone couldhear it.

[RabbitHoleLost]

"Naaah." Rabbit waves away Morrison's concerns and offer with her good hand, as if it were nothing but smoke.

"It's doing fine on its own. And you know I think using a god's powers is cheating." She hesitates on the word god. Even after all that had happened before, with Amour and Morrison and the assorted number of gods and godlings Rabbit had had close dealings with, old habits of atheism died hard.
But the moment is gone just as quickly as it started, and she leans in to look more closely at the box in his hand.

"Yeah, that." Squint.
"How squishy. Things from Amour's days, or before you were seduced into the starving artist hippie convent?" Words that would be tainted with mocking for anyone else are soft and teasing for Morrison. There is, indeed, a stark contrast between how the necromancer deals with the elf and how she has side-eyed everyone else in the Tavern.
It's certainly not a romantic notion - just that, for some reason, she seems pleasantly tolerant of the figure from her past.

And then there's Sophia.
Rabbit tries not to let her irritation grow. After all, she had left Bad Touch in her more than capable company so that she could sneak off to speak with Morrison in peace, and...there she is.
She tries to ignore Sophia, grinds her teeth and stares straight at Morrison when the other woman approaches.
But then she speaks.
And whatever self control the impulsive necromancer possessed beforehand is gone, now, as she turns her attention to the intruder.

"I don't know if you think we have some Divine Yaya Sisterhood now, or something, but beating up on the same oaf does not make us comrades."
There was dismissal heavy laden in her voice.

((OH MAN I'M SORRY SHE'S SO MEAN))

[Arkhosia]

Run from the White Rabbit?

Sophia raises her eyebrow at such a comment.
Oh please, if that was the case is be an ally of pretty much everyone, and I'm not into dooming bonds over trivial actions. I'm just an opportunistic woman who's looking to see if I can make an ally.
She replies. Sophia has a good sense to adopt her countenance.

[5a Violista]

Harley looks around the room and spies a pitch-black ornate helm, next to a pouch and some gold pieces.

That helm actually looks pretty neat.

She stands up and walks towards the bar, to get a better look at it. She touches it, trying to gauge what material it's made from, and to figure out if it's strong or not.

Armor is pretty cool.

[Holy-hunter]

A sudden shadow falls over the girl, accompanied by a cold unnerving presence that would send a shudder down mosts spine.

"That would be mine" a deep rough voice whispers in her ear.

Behind her stands the tall muscular owner of the objects Harley was investigating. Only now instead of his authoritative fine armour he is clad in loose fitting tan trousers and a fine white long sleeved top that's slightly wet and transparent hugging tightly around his broad shoulders and large arms. He runs his hands through his wet dirty blonde hair and beard trying to remove the last of the water.

While having had quickly washed up, treated wounds, and applied some scented oils, there was no hiding from his recent bout.
His nose is still slightly crooked and swollen, one eye has an obvious deep purpley black ring around it.
As he stares intently if not slightly intimidatingly at the girl in front of him his lips are flat giving no expression. He didn't really want to be back down here and he could recall her face from the crowd before. Not that he was angry at her but the fact that she had seen and could recall the previous commotion that he was trying to burry was not pleasing to him.

[5a Violista]

With the sudden appearance and the whisper, Harley jumps. She was surprised.

If it was just a loud voice - normal talking, or shouting, or anything else, it wouldn't be that bad. But there's just something about someone whispering in your ear that's unnerving.

"Oh," she says, turning around to look at him. "I was just admiring your helmet," she says quickly. "What's it made out of?"

Get the person talking is always a good strategy.

[Holy-hunter]

His lips slip into a sly smile as he replies

"oh, just the compacted despair of a few thousand souls, infused with the vilest blood from the darkest depths of the core, ground bones of the innocent fated for greatness and forged from an almost lost strain of alloyed obsidian in the flames of the eternal death"

Then he quickly snatches it off the table holding it by his side.
The sleek pure black darkness of the perfectly smooth polished helm seems almost delighted.

"Then again it could just be a treated steal" he adds with a friendly shrug and lighter tone "not a blacksmith"
He leans over her for his pouch and coins, trapping her with his reaching arm between the bar and himself, she can't escape as his leans close enough that she feels the dampness in his shirt and can't deny the exotic scent of his sweet oils.

Standing back he looks down as he pockets the pouch and holds out a gold piece,

"Here, for looking after my things"

[RabbitHoleLost]

Run from the White Rabbit?

Sophia raises her eyebrow at such a comment.
Oh please, if that was the case is be an ally of pretty much everyone, and I'm not into dooming bonds over trivial actions. I'm just an opportunistic woman who's looking to see if I can make an ally.
She replies. Sophia has a good sense to adopt her countenance.

"Well," A scowl.
"The last partnership I had ended with me trading my ally to a vengeful lich in exchange for...I don't actually remember what it was for, but I feel like that makes my point more clearly. Go be opportunistic elsewhere.

And that's when she spots Bad Touch, over the shoulder of the other woman, and her countenance darkens further. The guy just could not stay down.

[Raistlin1040]

Morrison waits for a lull in Rabbit's conversation (if it could be called such) with Sophia, eyeing his silver box in the meantime. He unlatches a few of the gold locks that keep the box closed tight. "Both." He says as he pulls apart the final latch, pushing the top of the box back on its hinges. He reaches inside and begins to pluck at objects, drawing them out onto the table.

There's an asymmetrical chunk of white marble, carefully buffed and sanded so as not to be rough to the touch, alongside a solitary black piano key, pierced with a thin needle and hung on an ordinary steel chain. After that comes a few pieces of thick parchment, folded many times over and heavy with dried ink, and a rectangular cut of blue cloth. Morrison sets all these items behind the box, in front of Rabbit to give her a better look. There are still a few curiosities inside the box, but Morrison pauses as his fingers rest on something. "Ah, this one isn't mine. I've been holding onto him for you."

From the box, Morrison pulls a small avian skull and nods downward as he holds it out to Rabbit.

[Baeleck]

Niara has returned to her seat by the fireplace, and is once again reading through that stack of schoolbooks she had bought with her.

A plate of bamhacon has also been ordered, and sits on the table just beside her. She takes occasional bites between pages, delicately cutting slivers off with knife and fork.

[5a Violista]

As the man leaves over her, Harley says something - saying something will make it less awkward. Also, leaning backwards over the bar makes it a little less awkward; but not much as most people would do, simply because Harley has a tight personal space bubble. It has to do with some handwavey-culture reasons. "You know, I'm pretty sure forged steel is stronger than compacted despair."

Harley would know. She used to make her own armor back when she could afford it.

However, in spite of that, she doesn't accept the gold piece. Her hand doesn't reach out for the coin. "I don't need it," she lies. "Also, I haven't done anything to deserve it."

It's not so much that she doesn't want to accept money from him - it's more that she doesn't want to accept charity.

[Ionbound]

Niara has returned to her seat by the fireplace, and is once again reading through that stack of schoolbooks she had bought with her.

A plate of bamhacon has also been ordered, and sits on the table just beside her. She takes occasional bites between pages, delicately cutting slivers off with knife and fork.

Pheobe enters the bar, and walks over to Niara, taking a seat before saying, "Greetings. You were the one that left a message on the wall?"

[Holy-hunter]

As Harley rejects his money his face goes flat and he switches back to that intimidating glare, while still holding his arm out and it doesn't appear he will move untill she accepts the coin.
For reasons she couldn't fathom nor would he explain right now, she was on the verge of insulting him.
While only a small insult his pride and progress had taken a beating today.

Harley may catch a small animalistic growl of anger in his throat as Niara sits at the fireplace, the quick flare in his nostrils and clentch of his jaw indicate he was not pleased she was back so soon, let alone sitting and reading a book at that.

However on the left of his mouth he fought the urge of a little smirk as he overherd Sophia and Rabbits convo. 'Shut her down and destroy her' the vengeful thought runs in his head, his malevolent nature silently savouring anything at that was ill towards or just didn't go Sophia's way.

[5a Violista]

"Okay, um," Harley says, trying to move a little over to the left, out from under him.

Didn't work.

She tries to move over to the right now. Same thing.

"Well..." She turns her head and looks over to one side. Guess there's nothing to do. Well, she could do something, but she doesn't want to cause a scene because, coincidentally, there are people in here she doesn't want to recognize her. Hence, why she's wearing a mask.

"Um." She reaches her hand out to grab the coin. "Thank you," she says, as if nothing had just happened.

[RabbitHoleLost]

Morrison waits for a lull in Rabbit's conversation (if it could be called such) with Sophia, eyeing his silver box in the meantime. He unlatches a few of the gold locks that keep the box closed tight. "Both." He says as he pulls apart the final latch, pushing the top of the box back on its hinges. He reaches inside and begins to pluck at objects, drawing them out onto the table.

There's an asymmetrical chunk of white marble, carefully buffed and sanded so as not to be rough to the touch, alongside a solitary black piano key, pierced with a thin needle and hung on an ordinary steel chain. After that comes a few pieces of thick parchment, folded many times over and heavy with dried ink, and a rectangular cut of blue cloth. Morrison sets all these items behind the box, in front of Rabbit to give her a better look. There are still a few curiosities inside the box, but Morrison pauses as his fingers rest on something. "Ah, this one isn't mine. I've been holding onto him for you."

From the box, Morrison pulls a small avian skull and nods downward as he holds it out to Rabbit.
Fingers glide gently across the items as they were presented to Rabbit, across the table. She keeps an ear open to the conversations going on elsewhere in Trog's, never entirely preoccupied by her curiosity, but she takes her time memorizing angles and textures of the items.
Though unlikely, should anything happen to Morrison, these items could very well be used in one manner or another to obtain his soul, from whence she could connect to another body or, if luck should hold out, his current.

Any other thoughts, any slight curve of her crimson painted lips in self-satisfaction- it all drops away as Morrison holds the skull out for her. Eyebrows fly up on her forehead, disappearing under the line of her bangs, and she gasps softly.

"Birdie..."
It makes sense, she knows. Her sweet undead avian companion was not held together with her own power, but from another God.
Rabbit could not fix him, could not bring him back the same, even if she had enough power to wrestle Birdie from another's grasp.

Gloved hands trace the curve of his beak before cupping it in it's entirety between her hands, as if she were delicately holding an egg shell.
"Did he...?
Choked.

[Holy-hunter]

A small glint of satisfaction briefly shone as Harley took the coin, giving her back some space he slides onto the stool beside her. Placing his prized helm back down, sitting with his back against the bar he stretches his arms out wide along the tabletop as he leans back facing out surveying the room.

He continues to glance at Niara intently watching with that same frustration Harley might of noticed a second ago.
With his ears and peripheral vision alone, as not to draw attention to his interest, he focuses on the other happenings of the tavern.

"Excuse me miss" he says politely to Harley without looking her way. "And what would your name be?" He asks.
Finally turning his head to look her way he continues, mustering up the most charming smile he has "and what brings such a beautiful frail creature to these" His eyes circle the bar "this unpleasant place?"

[Baeleck]

Pheobe enters the bar, and walks over to Niara, taking a seat before saying, "Greetings. You were the one that left a message on the wall?"
'Yes, that's me.' Niara stands and smiles pleasantly, offering a hand. 'Thank you for your prompt response. Niara Tarmikos, at your service.'

In the background, the mechanical drone that so often followed her hovers over to Bad Touch. It's partially there to subtly signal for his attention, but also to keep an eye out for when he had a free moment. Niara didn't want to disturb him with the news that she had, potentially, found the sort of person he was looking for - though he had said time was of the essence.

For the now though, Niara starts to move towards the bar. 'I'll wait for my client to finish his current business, then you can discuss terms with him. In the meantime, can I get you something to eat or drink?' she asks Phoebe.

[Raistlin1040]

"Amour brought him to me. Apparently after you left, the little one... grew quite sad, and by the time I saw him, he barely flew." Morrison nods his head again. "I always thought that perhaps I could bring him back, or borrow the power of one who could, but I feel as though that decision is not mine to make." He lifts his watery blue eyes to look at Rabbit, his head softly tilted to ask permission.

[RabbitHoleLost]

"You've seen..." But of course Amour would have headed back to the Nexus after Rabbit had left; it was just as much his home as it had ever been hers.And of course he would have visited with Morrison, the follower he'd given his godly abilities to.
Idly, Rabbit runs her thumb across the dome of Birdie's skull, taking the information in just as she breathes slowly out, trying to calm the rapid movement of her near dead heart.
She wants to ask how Amour knew she would come back and her lips part...

"You could...do that?" Her voice is soft and her throat feels raw, emotions she hadn't let herself think of flowing too quickly. She should have never left Birdie, her little love, not if she left everything else in all the worlds, above and below, behind.
Rabbit's impulses and her flair for the dramatic always came back to bite her, in the end.
"Do you think he's.." It hard to say but she spits it out all the same. "You don't think he's happier being...really dead, do you?

[Raistlin1040]

Morrison raises the glass of tea to his lips once more, taking in a long, pensive sip. Had the desire struck him, he could easily think for a thousand hours and it would seem to Rabbit that only a moment or two had passed, but using his powers in such a way always felt insincere. He could be in dozens of places at once, but he was more than content to merely be in one. Perhaps that was a difference from even Amour, whose mind always seemed split in two.

Morrison lowers his cup. "It would likely require a conversation with one who I'd rather not converse with, but that seems a small price to pay to restore your little friend." He smiles, trying to set Rabbit's mind at ease. "I can't imagine he would prefer being apart from you."

[RabbitHoleLost]

"Nerull." She looks up through the fringe of her brunette bangs at Morrison, unable to make direct eye contact.
"You'd...you'd have to talk to him, wouldn't you? Because Birdie was his, first. From his realm." There's hesitation in Rabbit's voice, a quiet, hateful irreverence for the name and the God behind it. Even Rabbit, with her inclinations towards the dead, undead, and a blanket hatred for all the living, could not abide by the god of Death.
Not after he'd threatened Amour.

There is, of course, another necromancer in question - but not one Rabbit has personal knowledge of.

[Raistlin1040]

"I think it would require little more than a short visit and conversation, but yes. I do not concern myself with the Death God, but it is my understanding that he has seen better days." A thin smile ghosts across Morrison's face for only a second, a light tease of his feelings towards Nerull's plight. "Something about his throne being contested."

[Rebonack]

The mirror-portal to Inari's ripples for but a moment before a strange creature steps through.

Her body is built rather like a deer's, elegant and leggy with cloven hooves, though her tail is like that of a lion. Her face is equine in about the same way a human's is ape-like and a long, fluted horn extends from her forehead. Her coat and mane are both midnight black with the later having an almost insubstantial look to it. Her eyes appear to be empty sockets filled with deep gloom, a pair of soft amber orbs drifting in the depths of the darkness. The only color on her body is an image of an alabaster jar on her hips where a horse's brand might be. And while one might think her an herbivore, there is a clearly predatory air to the creature. Ephemeral, ghostly mummy wrapping are bound about her legs and woven through her hair, forming and unforming like mist and giving the creature an uncanny, phantasmal quality.

The pink silk ribbon one of the temple kits tied at the end of her tail, however, is very much real and solid.

An aura of wuji extends from her, positive and negative energy in harmony. She's surrounded by an aura of serene stillness. Living creatures may find themselves feeling peaceful and refreshed, both mentally and physically. Undead may feel their nagging hunger for life temporarily quieted.

Myrrh Balm, seneschal of her Mistress, has decided to walk among the living and see how the ways of life have changed after her long entombment. The Mistress had suggested Trog's along with a mysterious warning to 'Beware random encounters'. When Myrrh asked what those were, Sunder had simply laughed and informed her that she would likely find out.

Though upon stepping into the tavern the feel of necromancy prickles at her skin. It is, after, a magic she's intimately familiar with. The source is obvious enough, really. The roughly five foot tall unicorn watches Rabbit curiously for a few moments turning her attention to Pheobe. "I see the art of thaumaturgy hasn't lost any of its prevalence in my absence..." she mutters to herself as she begins weaving between tables and inspecting the tavern's diverse patrons.

[Ionbound]

'Yes, that's me.' Niara stands and smiles pleasantly, offering a hand. 'Thank you for your prompt response. Niara Tarmikos, at your service.'

In the background, the mechanical drone that so often followed her hovers over to Bad Touch. It's partially there to subtly signal for his attention, but also to keep an eye out for when he had a free moment. Niara didn't want to disturb him with the news that she had, potentially, found the sort of person he was looking for - though he had said time was of the essence.

For the now though, Niara starts to move towards the bar. 'I'll wait for my client to finish his current business, then you can discuss terms with him. In the meantime, can I get you something to eat or drink?' she asks Phoebe.

Pheobe nods, sits, and says, "Eh, not really. Not hungry. What do you require my services for?"

[Baeleck]

'I know about as much as you do. I'm just an intermediary,' Niara explains, her expression nonplussed. 'I don't want to waste your time sitting around here, so I'll try and get my client over here sooner rather than later.'

It was urgent business, so hopefully Bad Touch wouldn't take much persuading to come over, Niara figures. Though if she'd seen those angry stares, maybe she'd be rethinking that assumption.

With that, she takes her now empty plate and deposits it at the bar, before ordering herself another drink. A pot of tea, this time - alcohol wasn't on the cards during her business affairs. Makes sure there's two cups, too, just in case Phoebe changed her mind about having a drink.

((I'll wait on Violist before considering another post - give some chance for that interaction to develop.))

[Morty]

Wenomir strolls into Trog's again, fully armoured and with a greatsword almost as tall as he is strapped to his back. He looks less grim than he was a while ago - the adventure in the mine went quite well, as did the dungeon-crawl in that pyramid. Adventuring does seem to suit him. And with DC quitting the group, earning money through adventuring might become more important than ever. He wanders over to the counter.

[Earl of Purple]

A scroll is lying on one of the tables, poking out of the shadows. It's not clear how long the scroll has been there. There's no supernatural aura encouraging others to read it; any desire to do so is completely down to whomever that finds it and their personality and native curiosity.

[Deathkeeper]

Spako Highclaws is here again. Last time he was here very good things happened, so he sees no reason to stop coming here.
And lo, someone seems to have left something behind! Wonder what that could be? Spako goes over to the paper. Hope no one dropped something important...

[RabbitHoleLost]

"I think it would require little more than a short visit and conversation, but yes. I do not concern myself with the Death God, but it is my understanding that he has seen better days." A thin smile ghosts across Morrison's face for only a second, a light tease of his feelings towards Nerull's plight. "Something about his throne being contested."

Not a single thing Morrison could have said would have made her more tinkled pink to hear than that and though Rabbit tries to hide her perverse pleasure at the news her least favorite divine figure might soon not be holding his title, she radiates something akin to happiness.

"And what sick fool wants to repla-"
Its a chill that comes over her- but not a sickly, unnerving one that creeps under the skin.
More akin to a cold wash cloth laid soothingly against a fevered head, calming the latent hunger that beckons from time to time under her other thoughts.
Halting mid-sentence, Rabbit peers up from the avian skull in her hand, let's her eyes drift until they fall on the unicorn.

A mental note is made and, without explanation, she turns back to Morrison, hunching her shoulders down.

"Will he be insufferable, do you think?"

[Raistlin1040]

"Almost certainly, but it worries me not. Nerull may talk as much he likes, but with his kingdom under siege and a target on his back, he's in no position to be pushing disdainfully neutral parties to become his enemies." His eyes flash impishly. He's a kind person, Morrison, but certainly capable of being a stern one, as well. As he sees it, there's really no reason for squabbling between deities, especially when it could affect the mortal realm. Still, Nerull was by far the least pleasant of his... peers? and deserved whatever he got. If Morrison could tip the scales against him, or at least, make the Reaper think he could, then why not?

Morrison sits up straight and rests his hands in his lap. "Besides, Amour left me a few notes on how to deal with the Dead one should it become necessary. In fact, I could go right now. It would only take seconds, I imagine, in this plane's time. I'd be back before you noticed I was gone."

[Zefir]

The little green creature yawns loudly.

"Damn. I think I should talk to someone. Walking up and down the bar is rather exhausting."

taking out a spyglas of proper size, the little adventurer Mr.C looks around for people. Maybe he can catch something intressting? Arrrrh

[Ionbound]

'I know about as much as you do. I'm just an intermediary,' Niara explains, her expression nonplussed. 'I don't want to waste your time sitting around here, so I'll try and get my client over here sooner rather than later.'

It was urgent business, so hopefully Bad Touch wouldn't take much persuading to come over, Niara figures. Though if she'd seen those angry stares, maybe she'd be rethinking that assumption.

With that, she takes her now empty plate and deposits it at the bar, before ordering herself another drink. A pot of tea, this time - alcohol wasn't on the cards during her business affairs. Makes sure there's two cups, too, just in case Phoebe changed her mind about having a drink.

((I'll wait on Violist before considering another post - give some chance for that interaction to develop.))

Pheobe sighs and says, "I see. I suppose I have to wait and see, then." She makes a rather annoyed face as she leans back in the chair and waits for her employer to show up.

[5a Violista]

Harley keeps the coin in her hand, and holds it tightly.

The unicorn's harmony and balance of energy makes her feel a little uncomfortable. Balance and harmony has always made her feel uncomfortable; especially more so recently, since so much has been thrown out of balance in her. A line of sweat trickles down the side of her face.

"Martinez," she responds when asked her name. Martinez is her maiden name, in case you were wondering. "And it's Mrs, not miss," she corrects. There's nothing wrong with widows still using Mrs, right?

If it weren't for the rapid mood swings, this guy could be pretty charming. "I just came here to read a private letter from a friend." Harley glances down at the letter she stuffed in her purse, to make sure it's still there. It would be rather awful if it somehow got into VIGIL's hands.

[Holy-hunter]

Harley
"My apologies Mrs Martinez" he says with a bow, still holding his charming grin. "Hold that title for as long as he holds a place in your heart" he adds, placing his open hand on his chest above where his own heart would beat.

His sincerity and warmness was overwhelming but truly to him mrs or miss, it was all pointless, meaningless sentimental titles and technicalities, for it reflected no true ownership or power.

"Please I have some quick business to attend but then I would like to offer you some quarters to read your letter in private"

(If she accepts he will lead her by the hand to his room, if declined say his farewells and hope to see her again)


(Niara and Pheobe)
It appears he clearly was not versed in the ways of the nexus, he had been scorning Niara with his eyes thinking her to be slacking off yet here is another, albeit, willing necromancer.
His frustration slips to surprise and he gives Niara a small warm smile and congratulating nod, then motions to his room with a tilt of his head. He quickly casts a calculating gaze over Niara's new companion seeming almost dissatisfied.

The timing was perfect as the tavern was becoming too crowded for his liking, too many greater powers. He stared at the unicorns horn for a moment, a glint of greed in his eyes as he battled the magic that suppressed his emotions. He didn't want to be calm and could feel his frustrations and angers slowly soothing, drifting away, and this set off alarm bells of manipulation. He hated being manipulated used or controlled.

Nonetheless he would test this calming ability on another.

(Rabbit)
Be it coincidence of perfect timing but as he stood and began to stride to his room, between the layout and the occupant's, now was the first and only time he would have to pass Rabbits seat to reach his room.
Would she be so self absorbed to think it deliberate?

As he passes with the smallest twist of his head, from the corner of his eyes, he glares at the small elf sitting across from her. His cold expression shouting 'stay out of it'.
With that being said he cannot fight the smirk that crawls across his lips. "Bad touch eh" he softly whispers towards Rabbit as he drops a large hand towards her shoulder.


The contact would be over in a second, but not to these two. He imposes his combat ability upon her, and as his touch connects and firms, the motions, movements and sounds of the tavern slow to a drumming crawl. They both cannot move any faster then the surroundings but a split moment just turned into minutes. Rabbit would be able to feel his active presence just as awake and trapped as she was as his hand ever so slowly slid across her back. While she couldn't move, it would have her senses heightened. She would be able to see details she hadn't noticed within her vision. Differentiate the different hums and origins of the frozen sounds. If capable of smell the sense now doubled, leaving her able to taste the scented oils from his skin aloft in the air. And touch... The magic would awaken a full awareness of his contact, of how much pressure, the exact depth of the touch, the ripple effect of the energy, the skins elasticity.
Then suddenly and finally.
When his hand reaches the other shoulder she would snap back to reality as his hand slides free and everything continues on.

(Time was not actually slowed they were just mentally sped up)
((Happy to edit or delete upon Rabbits request))

Just a stranger brushing by...

(At room 5)
When he reaches the room he will wait for the others in silence outside his closed door, allowing Niara to do the introductions. Pheobe can not mistake this for anything but business, he stands tall using his size intimidatingly, a deathly serious expression on his face.

[Baeleck]

Pheobe sighs and says, "I see. I suppose I have to wait and see, then." She makes a rather annoyed face as she leans back in the chair and waits for her employer to show up.


(Niara and Pheobe)
It appears he clearly was not versed in the ways of the nexus, he had been scorning Niara with his eyes thinking her to be slacking off yet here is another, albeit, willing necromancer.
His frustration slips to surprise and he gives Niara a small warm smile and congratulating nod, then motions to his room with a tilt of his head. He quickly casts a calculating gaze over Niara's new companion seeming almost dissatisfied.

The timing was perfect as the tavern was becoming too crowded for his liking, too many greater powers. He stared at the unicorns horn for a moment, a glint of greed in his eyes as he battled the magic that suppressed his emotions. He didn't want to be calm and could feel his frustrations and angers slowly soothing, drifting away, and this set off alarm bells of manipulation. He hated being manipulated used or controlled.

Nonetheless he would test this calming ability on another.

(At room 5)
When he reaches the room he will wait for the others in silence outside his closed door, allowing Niara to do the introductions. Pheobe can not mistake this for anything but business, he stands tall using his size intimidatingly, a deathly serious expression on his face.
Niara is very grateful for the swift understanding on Bad Touch's part, especially given how irate Phoebe seemed. The nod is returned in kind, and the signalling to his room understood. Abandoning the tea she had just ordered, the woman hurries back over to Phoebe to inform her of the good news.

Well, hurries isn't the word for it. Niara meanders across to the fireplace from the bar, Myrrh's calming influence all but negating any sense of urgency she had.

'Looks like a wait won't be necessary. He's ready to see you,' she informs. 'Follow me now, please.'

And so, Niara will lead Phoebe up to Room 5 (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?374470-Trog-s-Second-Floor-XII&p=18251530#post18251530)!

((Given there's going to be a lengthy (I imagine) interaction, we should move this up to the second floor thread.))

[Rebonack]

((Friendly reminder! All actions taken at or against other people's PCs should be attempted, not done, unless a previous OOC agreement has been made. Not godmodding! It's super-simple stuff.))

It's worth noting that Myrrh's aura does not in fact do anything to a person's emotions. It can potentially ease mental stress and physical fatigue, but nothing more. It would feel refreshing, not manipulative. On the undead, their nagging hunger may simply stop so long as they're within the effect. Some may feel calmed by this, others might just feel... nothing. The undead aren't exactly known for feeling much.

And Myrrh totally has a unicorn horn, being a unicorn and all. Those things are well known for being powerful magical reagents, though getting them can be somewhat difficult since you have to kill a unicorn and stuff. Separating Myrrh from her horn probably wouldn't be a very fun activity.

So we have Myrrh making rounds about the tavern, watching the patrons and generally being curious about how much things have changed. The little glowing magical tablets that so many people are using rather fascinate her! A random person with a smart phone suddenly has an unliving unicorn looming over their shoulders. "Excuse me, but what sort of artifice is that? I've been holed up in a tomb for the past few millennia and I'm a bit behind on the times."

Well.

For an ancient undead she certainly seems personable.

[RabbitHoleLost]

(( since there was a previous agreement from last week regarding the two PC's and their abilities, any such editing of "attempts" was not necessary, as such previous ooc agreement clause was met
in simpler terms, it's alright
but, thanks Rebo. It's good to know you're still looking out after everyone- makes me feel all warm and fuzzy :smallsmile:))

Wrapped up in the emotion inherent in the conversation with Morrison, Rabbit is unaware afterwards of the unicorn, of Bad Touch, of the rest of the universe.
Her consciousness extended no further than the table and a god's domain far, far away.
And that was her mistake, her failing.

"That seems an awful lot to ask you, tho-"

The oils hit her nose first, before he speaks, before he touches her. They invade her nostrils, tickle at her senses, awaken a hunger that was only recently known to her. Tendrils of gluttony weave themselves through her brain, despite that lovely respite the unicorn offered and Rabbit begins to turn her head, fully intent on leaning in and meeting him halfway, teaching him the meaning of his name as her teeth-
But his hand touches her and time passes sludgingly slow and the oils, if they had been unbearable before, are all she knows.

(under it, still, no matter how hard he tries to hide it, tries to disguise it- that taste of brimstone)

Rabbit hungers.
And still his hand crosses against her back, like the cold feel of death all over again. Everyone around her has stopped moving, their voices clear against eachother like colors of a rainbow- all together but distinct.

Am I dying again?

Later, she might look back on that one lone thought and berate herself for foolishness, but the only anchor to reality is the man and his hand, his touch, and she tries to turn to look at him but it's all just slow.

Like a dream.
Matter moves.

And time restores itself as his hand ends it's path across her shoulders, leaving Rabbit staring after Bad Touch's retreating figure, watches his broad shoulders work their way through the crowd and towards the stairs and when there's nothing left to see of him, she simply turns her head back to Morrison.

It's not the end, Bad Touch.

But it's the end for now.

"Too much to ask you." But Morrison will do it, she knows without a doubt. It was within his nature to please, as innate as breathing, to be kind.
Leaning across the table, she lets her scooped hands deposit their treasure onto his lap, her lips pressed together in a thin frown.

"Please."
Pleading.

[Raistlin1040]

Out of the corner of one eye, Morrison watches "Bad Touch" leave. He turns his attention back to Rabbit and smiles, drawing a white flower from his robe and affixing it to his collar. "It's not too much to ask at all. I'd be very glad to help." He closes his eyes, focusing as he splits his consciousness into two. It could perhaps attract unwanted attention for him to teleport out and reappear seconds later. As he finishes the process, he pauses for a moment, then elects to split again, fracturing his attention into thirds.

It's no real hindrance, of course. A third of his attention (or a fourth, or a tenth, or even a hundredth) was still fully attentive by mortal standards. It was by far the greatest show of power he could make, forcing the world to accommodate his desire for more time despite his near-immortality. Yet it made him just a slight bit uncomfortable. He was an artist at his core, and viewing the world through multiple lenses was like staring at a painting, with music playing, and carrying on a conversation. Possible, certainly, but not pleasurable.

Morrison decides not to split his physical form, and his body sits across from Rabbit. He slowly opens his eyes and smiles. No need to say anything, since it would only take a few seconds. Time passes slower outside the material plane. A fragment of his spirit aways to Nerull's domain, to parlay with the shivering cold mass of warped flesh and bone that commands the realm of the dead. The remaining spirit attaches itself to the mind of Mr. Bad Touch.

Morrison is not imposing. He stands at only just about five feet tall, with lithe, tender limbs, and his face (alternatingly boyish and girlish, but always youthful) is serene and unmarked by lines of age or worries. He is not threatening, and the desire to threaten seemingly does not exist within him. In hundreds of years, he had never taken a life, nor had he strove to cause harm. He acts with care and kindness, and does not poke around in the mind of Bad Touch, merely speaking with him. When his voice appears in the man's head, it is not threatening, but honest, even earnest. "I suppose you're trying to provoke Rabbit into another conflict. She could probably cause you great pain, as you too could cause her. Perhaps this is what you desire. I have no doubt that any rage she could release would be much stronger than anything I could do to you, and would perhaps satiate whatever dark desire you have. I will not stop your conflict, so long as it remains mutual. If you should cross a line, though, I will reach inside you and find the thread that keeps you together and tug on it, until the yarn of your existence unravels at my loom. I will unmake you in an intensely unsatisfying way, and that will be that. It is simple."

His spirits retreat back to his body, melding with it. The flower at his neck wilts quickly, the petals shriveling up and falling to the table top, while an ugly red line draws itself from Morrison's lower lip to the bottom of his chin. He takes a napkin from the table and dabs at the blood, wiping it away before it can stain his white robes, and then extends a hand to Rabbit. A small white orb sits atop his fingers, almost immaterial, a kind of liquidity that looks as if one could dip a curious finger straight inside. "As I said, glad to help."

[Earl of Purple]

The scroll, being a scroll, doesn't resist being picked up or moved. There's no indication of ownership nor importance upon its exterior, however. It's also not bound, so opening it is simply a matter of unfurling the paper... though it feels more like silk.

[Deathkeeper]

Well, of course he opens it. No point in looking at a fancy piece of paper without actually looking at what's on the fancy piece of paper!

[Morty]

Wenomir gets away from the counter and approaches Spako, amidst all the other goings-on in the tavern.

"I know you," he says. "You're a new VIGIL member, aren't you?"

[Earl of Purple]

The scroll is covered in writing! The writing is strange, mysterious and incomprehensible, unless Spako tries to read it.

[Deathkeeper]

Spako squints at the weird writing, but after a moment of that turns to the man.
"Yes I am, sir. I think you're one of my superiors? You'll have to forgive me, I'm not very good at remembering faces, and it'll take me a while to remember everyone." says the kobold apologetically, his ears folded.

[Septimus Faber]

Any tavern-goers observing the far corner of the room might notice a man in a rather eccentric bowler hat and pinstripe suit sitting at a table on his own, sipping a glass of mineral water. He looks up briefly, and sees Myrrh doing the rounds of the tavern, commenting on magic and technology and technomagic and so on. Those patrons with supernatural-grade eyesight might notice a small grin, tempered by a very slight nervousness. The oddly dressed man pushes back his chair, gets up, and crosses the room towards Myrrh with a swaggering gait, stumbling several times on the way.

Ah, you look like a being of exquisite taste! I bet you haven't seen this before. He extracts a rather gaudy handkerchief and a coin of indeterminate origin from his breast pocket. He proceeds to deposit the coin in the handkerchief, wink knowingly at Myrrh, and fling the handkerchief up into the air - with the coin nowhere to be seen. He grins again, makes a gesture that looks like it was the start of pulling something out from behind Myrrh's horn before he thought better of it, and puts his hand to his mouth. Coughing, he removes it - with the coin. Oh, what a trickster.
Not bad, huh? I spent years perfecting that. I'm a connoiseur, I am. And not just of magic, no! I know about all sorts of things. Take this, for instance.

He pulls out a bizarre piece of technology that looks like a cross between a pocket watch and a miniature desk lamp, if you can imagine such a thing.
Now this, this is special. This is a rare piece indeed! I know you have impeccable taste in fine technological antiques. What do you say? Very reasonable price, only 200 gleamers.

A "gleamer" is apparently an idiosyncratic unit of currency equivalent to about half a pound, or $0.80, so the whole thing is £100 or $160.

Hey, if it's genuinely an antique, and a functional one at that... But all the same, it does look rather like a mutated shrunken clock.

[Morty]

"I'm Wenomir, one of the staff officers. Formerly in charge of Watchtower before the merge," the swordmaster says. "And I see it's another of those scrolls that randomly appear around the place."

[Rebonack]

Myrrh had just badgered some poor person into letting her fiddle with their 3DS when a new opportunity for slacking her thirst for knowledge arises! She politely hands the device back to the owner and raises at the display of slight of hand. A slightly amused smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, exposing her predatory teeth ever so slightly, whilst leaning back to sit on her haunches rather like a huge cat. She had seen tricks like these often performed for the sultan, much to his delight. But she's knowledgeable enough to understand that there's no true magic involved.

Skill?

Certainly.

But not magic.

"An impressive display of legerdemainship," she laughs in her bright, exotic voice. "But please, don't expect me to be impressed by every pretty bauble that you- ooooh, what's that?"

Now he has a thing!

A fancy thing!

"What manner of artifice is this? What purpose does it serve?"

[Septimus Faber]

Oh, this? says the man in the pinstripe suit, caught slightly off-guard. This is an ancient device, a family heirloom. It messes with time and space and the fundamental elements of reality, as I understand it. It also - damn!
It slips out of his hand somehow and tumbles to the floor. Nothing seems broken, but the man picks it up and quickly dusts it off.
Oh, dear. Butterfingers, I am. Anyway - I don't pretend to know exactly how it works or, specifically, what it does... But I'm given to understand it harbours unfathomable magics, and is sold very cheaply by yours truly.

If Myrrh is paying attention and sensitive to such things, she may notice that the mechanism is emitting a strong magical aura - not necessarily benevolent or malicious, or even identifiable in any other way, but somehow... Unnerving might be the word for it.

[Rebonack]

The higher echelons of nightshade minions can detect magic, at it happens. It's a really super-useful ability. Myrrh is focusing on the mechanism, trying (like fruitlessly) to divine its purpose. Though if it is giving off powerful and mysterious magic, that's certainly a powerfully mysterious observation. However... something about this pitch is making Myrrh suspicious.

"If it's such a rare and powerful heirloom of your family, then why are you trying to sell it to me?" Myrrh asks.

This is...

A very good question!

If this thing is so amazing, why IS he trying to sell it for so cheap? And to a random person at Trog's no less?

Unless he's trying to get rid of a cursed item that can't simply be thrown away.

A cursed item that must be sold to properly dispose of it.

Myrrh knows a thing or two about curses.

Since, y'know, mummy.

[Septimus Faber]

Ah, well. You see... says the man in the pinstripe suit, I'm down on my luck, in all sorts of ways. I'm unemployable, running out of money, and if I happen to be carrying a magical heirloom and spy someone who is evidently tasteful and eager about such things, what am I to do? I mean, really, what would you do? I need someone to buy it and in my current situation I can hardly afford to be choosy about price. A strange mixture of expressions and emotions is visible on his face as he says this - relief, fear, frustration, despair, joy, apprehensiveness...

[Holy-hunter]

A snarl forms on the mans lips as Morrison unobtrusively enters his mind. (Before he had made it upstairs (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?374470-Trog-s-Second-Floor-XII/page2)) He doesn't skip a beat and continues walking.

He believes he understands his message it for what it was, not a malicious threat but a statement of fact. Worse than the threat of extinction was the condescension of the call, even if it was not in the words.

To think he would so easily be undone. And that, that, is what toiled and prodded at his deep vile spiteful pride, his anger swelled silently within him, his mind raced with the urge to turn back and crack this guy in the face and pierce a thumb through an eye!

But he didn't, and his outer demeanour remained calm.
He didn't lack action due to the possible consequence rather the impedance it would pose on his current task.

Instead he let his mind fill with darker viler thoughts as now a desire grew to snap around and decapitate the Rabbit, sitting oblivious and unaware of Morrison's engagement.
He hadn't the implement to do such a task but he let the thought linger in his head, in all its bloody glory and gory detail, he hoped Morrison was still floating around in there somewhere to see it.

He didn't know much about this creature but he believed he had found a weakness,
And his snarling lips briefly grew to a malevolent grin as he disappeared up to the second floor. (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?374470-Trog-s-Second-Floor-XII/page2)

[RabbitHoleLost]

It would be unnerving to Rabbit to know entire worlds live on without her knowledge, that exchanges pass and events occur around her and she has no ability to witness such castlings.
Truly, ignorance is bliss.

Instead of the disapproving look Morrison would have received had Rabbit been aware of his contact with Bad Touch, Rabbit simply appears guilty, her eyes dropping to her lap as he daubs at the wound most assuredly issued to him by the death god.
An injury received at her behest.
The necromancer owes him now, though Morrison would never say such a thing outloud, nor, perhaps, even think it. The conventional rules of such, however, demanded that a debt be paid, even by a shifty thing like Rabbit, and whether or not he thinks of it in such a manner, he owns a small part of her.
It's a thought that has no comfort to be found even in the knowledge that Morrison would never abuse the debt.

"Do you think it's unusual, how things have worked out?" Still, her green eyes will not meet his blue, but her gloved hand reaches out towards the orb Morrison offers.

[Rebonack]

Myrrh hmms.

If this were simply a machine of some kind, a device like the ones she had been fawning over a few minutes before, she might take the offer. But the mere fact that she can sense a powerful magical aura about it makes her hesitant.

Buying potent arcane contraptions of unknown purpose from unknown people is hardly a wise investment.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I must decline your gracious offer," Myrrh says at last. "I have many magical baubles in my collection already and I don't have the time to unravel a mystery so deep and primordial as this one. My duties to my Mistress are innumerable and I would do her a disservice to begin slacking."

No one likes a slacker!

"However, I wish you well none the less. Perhaps you will find someone else who knows what your artifact is and how they might make use of it?"

Probably not, though.

This is smelling more and more like a con to Myrrh.

[Raistlin1040]

The glowing white is warm to the touch and seems to tug gently in the direction of Birdie's skull, a soul yearning to be reunited with its body. Once Rabbit has taken it from him, Morrison returns to checking his face. He is unconcerned with the ideas of debts, and truth be told, the idea barely registers with him. Certainly, a kindness paid is appreciated when returned, but a tit-for-tat drawing up of debts, terms, and conditions is not how he conducts business. Morrison brings a finger to his lips, wetting it and running it across the cut to see if still it bleeds.

It does.

It appears to be closing, but much more slowly than a normal wound would be expected to for a being such as Morrison, and he has little doubt that it will leave a faint white scar upon his face for decades, if not centuries, to come. A small price to pay.

"How do you mean?"

[5a Violista]

(If she accepts he will lead her by the hand to his room, if declined say his farewells and hope to see her again)

"Actually," Harley replies, "I had just finished reading it." That is entirely true.

So she also gives a farewell, and then proceeds to pay for the drink she had had earlier.

She doesn't stick around though: it isn't so much that the balance of positive and negative energy by itself is disturbing. Rather, it's that it simultaneously calms the majority of her and removes the only weakness to the small part of her body that is strengthened by negative energy, which she has been trying to fight out of her body. I guess it can be best described as accidentally healing a dying parasite by removing the parasite's taste for its host - including the poisoned flesh of it.

Inadequate similes aside, Harley promptly leaves Trog's Tavern.

[WarKitty]

Outside Trog's

A small black cat wanders by, seeing if there's a taco stand. It's taco tuesdays, after all. She orders a seafood taco and sits outside eating it.

[Earl of Purple]

If Spako looks again, he'll see the symbols are morphing into an alphabet he is familiar with. Wenomir will also note this happening.

In either case, they'll see it seems to be about a subject that would naturally encourage them to read further; there's no supernatural element at work, however.

[Deathkeeper]

Spako nods.
"I guess it is, sir. Does that happen often? I haven't too much experience with such things. I mostly run into people popping up here." says the kobold, turning back to the scroll and looking intently at it, wondering why a spelljammer manual appeared in Trog's.

[Zefir]

Outside Trog's

A small black cat wanders by, seeing if there's a taco stand. It's taco tuesdays, after all. She orders a seafood taco and sits outside eating it.

Outside Trog's

A window opens very slowly as a little green creature only a few inch in size comes out and takes a deep breath of the 'fresh air'.

"Hey you." Mr.C starts in felin the common language of cats. "Why do you stay here?"

[Septimus Faber]

Myrrh hmms.

If this were simply a machine of some kind, a device like the ones she had been fawning over a few minutes before, she might take the offer. But the mere fact that she can sense a powerful magical aura about it makes her hesitant.

Buying potent arcane contraptions of unknown purpose from unknown people is hardly a wise investment.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I must decline your gracious offer," Myrrh says at last. "I have many magical baubles in my collection already and I don't have the time to unravel a mystery so deep and primordial as this one. My duties to my Mistress are innumerable and I would do her a disservice to begin slacking."

No one likes a slacker!

"However, I wish you well none the less. Perhaps you will find someone else who knows what your artifact is and how they might make use of it?"

Probably not, though.

This is smelling more and more like a con to Myrrh.

Aw, c'mon. Hell, look, I'll give it to you free. There's no big mystery to unravel. It does what it does. Just... Take it...
The man in the pinstripe suit drops the device at Myrrh's feet (well, on his feet first, causing him to yelp in pain and hop around a bit) and hurries upstairs to be anywhere other than here.

[Rebonack]

Well.

That pretty much synches it.

That fellow obviously wanted to be rid of the device and so Myrrh really has no desire what so ever to be associated with it. She lights up her horn, pulls out a small tab of sticky notes she had purchased (an amazing invention!) and writes out a little message on one before peeling it off the stack and sticking it to the mystery artifact.

What does the note say, you ask?


Cursed Artifact: Do not touch

She then puts her supplies away, gives a curt little nod, and then begins wandering around the tavern again in search of someone to pester about interesting devices that aren't potentially dangerous magical items.

...hopefully the clockwork thing doesn't explode.

[Morty]

"Fairly often," Wenomir says. "This scroll... it's something about a dual-wielding technique using scimitars. That's a new one, at least. Appreciation for the martial arts is so rare around here."

[Earl of Purple]

The scroll remains where it is, easily readable. Though reading is not a very social activity, apparently.

[Septimus Faber]

The man in the pinstripe suit descends from the upper floor, a little put out. He retrieves the pocket-watch-desklamp device, puts it in his pocket, and shyly heads over to Myrrh.

Look, I'm sorry. It's just, this damn thing. I've got to be rid of it somehow. But, my forcing it upon you was in rather poor taste. Shall we say no more about it?
He is more than a little embarrassed by this point. He's made a complete fool of himself, after all.

[WarKitty]

Outside Trog's

A window opens very slowly as a little green creature only a few inch in size comes out and takes a deep breath of the 'fresh air'.

"Hey you." Mr.C starts in felin the common language of cats. "Why do you stay here?"

The cat blinks slowly. It's comfortable. Nice day out.

[Deathkeeper]

Spako looks up at the tall human.
"Hrm? That's not what it says for me. Maybe it's enchanted to contain what someone wants to know about. Here, let me check."
Spako turns back to the scroll, casting a spell to detect the presence of enchantments as he reads.

[RabbitHoleLost]

The glowing white is warm to the touch and seems to tug gently in the direction of Birdie's skull, a soul yearning to be reunited with its body. Once Rabbit has taken it from him, Morrison returns to checking his face. He is unconcerned with the ideas of debts, and truth be told, the idea barely registers with him. Certainly, a kindness paid is appreciated when returned, but a tit-for-tat drawing up of debts, terms, and conditions is not how he conducts business. Morrison brings a finger to his lips, wetting it and running it across the cut to see if still it bleeds.

It does.

It appears to be closing, but much more slowly than a normal wound would be expected to for a being such as Morrison, and he has little doubt that it will leave a faint white scar upon his face for decades, if not centuries, to come. A small price to pay.

"How do you mean?"
She lets the orb sit in the cup of her palm, scrutinizes it. For all the talk of the value of souls, to know that they simply were...simple was rather a letdown. Would hers look much the same as Birdie's, if taken from her physical form?
All the same, she cradles it gently and keeps it from taking to the skull right away - wouldn't do, without the rest of his form.

"I mean..." What did she mean? Rabbit spent so much time obscuring the truth of her thoughts that to be completely honest with anyone, even Morrison, as freeminded as he had a tendency to be, was a chore.

"By all rights, I should have been one of Nerull's, shouldn't I? Instead of the Gallery of Lights and you or.." An uncomplicated shrug - she was rolling into territory that would likely make her uncomfortable.
Or, more so than the simple act of sharing left her in the first place.

"By all rights, if I fell into anyone's arms, it should have been someone like that-" She gestures over her shoulder, implying Bad Touch, though her nose crinkles in obvious distaste, coupled with her pink tongue peeking out of crimson lips with a "pbbbfftt" sound.
"Instead of a former god of arts, shouldn't I've?"

Rabbit brings Birdie's soul up to eye level, making it seem as if she'd been putting more attention into it than the words she's been speaking all along, as if it were all just casual, disconnected remarks.

"In the end, I'm never really punished for anything I do."

[Morty]

"Oh, one of those," Wenomir says. He's rather blasé about the random encounters of all sorts that happen in Trog's, and everywhere else.

[Rebonack]

Ah good.

At least the shyster has the common courtesy to apologize for that debacle. "Apology excepted," Myrrh replies sufficiently. "And we should say more about it, I think! Why must you be rid of it? Am I right? Is it cursed in some fashion?" the unicorn asks. If it's just a matter of disposing of some malignant artifact, she would be happy to help. Helping people is a very friendly thing to do, after all. But she wasn't too keen on the problem being thrust into her hooves so rudely.

Meanwhile!

Hey look!

It's Rebonack! Not the player, no. The fellow in that neat suit of cobalt blue armor whose fluttering white cape only seems to ever appear when he's striking a dashing, heroic pose.

That's a safety feature, actually.

Capes getting caught in things can be lethal!

Rebonack had convinced Spako to join VIGIL in the first place for the purpose of HEROICS so it should come as little surprise that he would be showing up for this... orientation? too. And he's even got an excuse! "Friends! My most sincere apologies for being late. On my way here I encountered a fair damsel locked away at the top of a tower by a foul witch! I sought to rescue her, but discovered much to my dismay that the tower was in fact nothing more than a mimic of colossal size seeking to ensnare heroes with its vile ruse. But fear not! The beast is most thoroughly vanquished now."

[Septimus Faber]

My name's Varrel, by the way. Yours is... Myrrh, I think? Anyway. This artifact. The pinstripe-suited man takes a deep breath.

Well, it wasn't quite a family heirloom, apart from in the sense that a member of my family gave it to me. We've been con artists for generations, and mostly very good at it. Then, my father died, and my uncle took over the familial business. Things took a turn for the worse almost as soon as he assumed the role. Clients would walk out on us, banks we were holding our profits in would be robbed, we'd fumble coins and reveal shells, and we would drop things on our feet all the [redacted] time. It killed my uncle, I'd swear to it. Certainly he took ill and died not a year after he came to power, and as I was the closest thing to a son he'd ever had, he left what remained of his fortune to me. Including this.

I've always been an independent soul, so small as this windfall was, I used it to strike out on my own. My family practically excommunicated me for it. And of course I did terribly, but what could I do? I couldn't very well go back to my relatives, so I had no choice but to plow on. Pathetically, I might add. By now this was pretty much the only thing I had left apart from the clothes on my back, so I'd more or less pinpointed this as the source of all the trouble. I called in a favour from an old diviner friend of mine, who told me it was a very sophisticated bad luck charm. Yep. That was all there was to it. You could become attuned to it over time and lessen its effects, but when you'd just got it? It was basically a steampunk incarnation of Murphy's Law.

And to top it all off the only way you could get rid of it was to have it willingly taken off you. But with the thing dropping whitewash on your head at every possible opportunity, how were you supposed to do that? Didn't stop me from trying, though.

So, here I am. Story of my life, in a nutshell.

[Earl of Purple]

The scroll is, indeed, magical. Its aura fluctuates randomly through colours and strengths, changing the type of magic used and various other things with no apparent pattern.

[Deathkeeper]

Spako looks up for a moment. "Hello Sir Rebo. I'm trying to figure out this scroll that I found."
Says the kobold, before going back to the scroll, trying to figure out what its purpose and function actually are.

[Raistlin1040]

She lets the orb sit in the cup of her palm, scrutinizes it. For all the talk of the value of souls, to know that they simply were...simple was rather a letdown. Would hers look much the same as Birdie's, if taken from her physical form?
All the same, she cradles it gently and keeps it from taking to the skull right away - wouldn't do, without the rest of his form.

"I mean..." What did she mean? Rabbit spent so much time obscuring the truth of her thoughts that to be completely honest with anyone, even Morrison, as freeminded as he had a tendency to be, was a chore.

"By all rights, I should have been one of Nerull's, shouldn't I? Instead of the Gallery of Lights and you or.." An uncomplicated shrug - she was rolling into territory that would likely make her uncomfortable.
Or, more so than the simple act of sharing left her in the first place.

"By all rights, if I fell into anyone's arms, it should have been someone like that-" She gestures over her shoulder, implying Bad Touch, though her nose crinkles in obvious distaste, coupled with her pink tongue peeking out of crimson lips with a "pbbbfftt" sound.
"Instead of a former god of arts, shouldn't I've?"

Rabbit brings Birdie's soul up to eye level, making it seem as if she'd been putting more attention into it than the words she's been speaking all along, as if it were all just casual, disconnected remarks.

"In the end, I'm never really punished for anything I do."Morrison furrows his brow as he refills his tea again. He considers her words as he takes a delicate sip. He is quiet for a while, even after he's finished, thinking hard about how to respond to her.

"I think," he begins, "concerning yourself with what you think others would expect of you, what the universe might think you should have done... it seems unsatisfying, doesn't it?" At this moment, he checks his chin again. The blood has gone, leaving only the scar, as he expected. "As you say, there is no shortage of those who speak with the dead in Nerull's service, but I feel as though that affects you little, if at all. As I said, you are a unique force, so why should you not be unique among your profession?" He is no stranger to the burden of expectations. It's not everyday that a god gives up his portfolio.

"I've found that punishment is an internal experience. We punish ourselves for transgressions both real and imagined. Perhaps you have erred, but I imagine that no punishment dreamed of by men could match however you've punished yourself, through shame, guilt, and the like. Adding anything to that seems like it would be cruel, wouldn't you agree?

[Morty]

Wenomir looks at the plate-clad knight for a moment, his expression difficult to read. But there's a certain weariness shining through.

"A colossal mimic, you say."

[Rebonack]

At the mention of her name Myrrh simply nods.

"A bad lucky charm?" Myrrh Balm echoes. "Well, if need only to be rid of the device and care little for the condition it's in afterwards I believe my Mistress may be able to help you. She's uniquely talented in the art of break things. Including things that can't be broken. Especially things that can't be broken."

Well.

That's certainly an interesting talent to have.

Wonder if she can break eye-contact...

"But before we resort to pestering her, would you mind telling me of how your family came into possession of this object? Assuming, of course, that you know where it came from to begin with."

He might not!

Never know until you ask.

Meanwhile!

"Indeed. It was a wily and worthy foe! But the end it could not stand before the RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION of a TRUE HERO," Rebonack replies, striking a heroic pose with one boot atop a stool while his white cape waves behind him in a nonexistent breeze. As soon as he sits down again the cape is gone.

See?

Totally a safety feature.

And then he turns his attention to the kobold. "Friend, I must warn you against reading magical scrolls that you just find laying around. I once had a friend who's mind was tainted with a curse from reading such a thing, causing his eyes to gush forth torrents of snakes."

Well.

That sounds super-awful.

[gooddragon1]

*Initiating character #I'velosttrack*

Nothing walks into the bar but is unaffected :D. Nothing orders a cup of hot chocolate, pays for it upfront, then goes to a corner booth to drink it quietly.

[Zefir]

The cat blinks slowly. It's comfortable. Nice day out.

"Well, for someone with fur." the littel creature replies. "It's getting colder, even thought the sun comes out more often then expected for this time of the year."
The littel creature still speaks felin an obviously notice the ordered Taco. He doesn't need much to get the cat is at least able to make himself be understood by others. It's just a question how.
"I'm curiouse. How did you get the Taco."

[RabbitHoleLost]

"Hmmm..." Rabbit hums, still inspecting the warmth of the soul sitting squarely in her palm. She doesn't argue with Morrison on whether or not she's capable of guilt or shame - he's always seen straight through her, even before he obtained godhood, when he was just an elf in a temple, scribbling away rock operas in the middle of the night.
When she cannot understand herself, her feelings and their meanings (so often terrible and cruel, but, sometimes, rarely, soft and delicate and breaking), Morrison has in ways not even Amour could fathom.

"Being a god suits you far more than your former position, you know."

[Raistlin1040]

"I suppose. I do miss the closeness to others of my old position, but this line of work isn't bad either." Morrison offers a smile and turns his attention back to his box, pulling out small bones and laying them on the table. He sets them in a rough approximation of a small bird skeleton. "I think you'd probably be better at reviving your friend than I would be."

[Earl of Purple]

The scroll's magic suggests it has many possible uses, each randomly determined when it is used. It has the potential to be beneficial; but it's also possible to be malign, or even have a result with both beneficent and malign effects.

[Deathkeeper]

Aha! It does do something! Spako (and his player) had been under the impression that its magic was passive or activated by itself.
"Here we go. It needs to be activated." he says. He's unfortunately assuming some of that chaos is interference from the Deck. He fiddles with it for a moment, seeing if he can't activate it.

[Morty]

"I actually have to agree with our other junior member," Wenomir observes. "It needs to be activated, but should it be?"

[Earl of Purple]

Apologies, LDK; I did not explain it very well. The magic is easily activated, simply by reading it. Which is really the first thing one should think of when looking at enchanted scrolls; though like Rebo says, can be a dangerous activity.

Whilst the Deck's magic is probably more chaotic, the scroll has twenty randomly chosen effects determined by the roll of an online dice roller at my end- except when I can reach my D20.

If (or when) Spako reads the scroll- aloud or in his head- he will find (Result: 1) that a wind has blown up from nowhere, bringing with it sand particles. The wind quickly strengthens into a fully-fledged sandstorm. The scroll crumbles to dust after it has been used.

[Septimus Faber]

Varrel nods. The device belonged to my uncle, as I said. He was never terribly specific about how he came by it... Although I remember he used to live in the Wastelands, right by the Ancient Ruins. That doesn't bode well.

Eh, I'm not sure. I think he told me once that it was a gift of some sort, that he kept it concealed as long as he could so he could become head of the family without actually being murdered. Apparently, if memory serves, he got it from a crewmate on board the Enw, the dimension-ship he used to serve on before he took to slightly less moral pursuits. Goodness knows where his benefactor got it from. They sailed all across the planes, it could have been anywhere...

[Rebonack]

A sand storm in the tavern?

Well.

That's going to really mess up some people's beverages, isn't it?

The winds pick up as blinding sand swirls about the tavern, generally making a nuisance of itself! Rebonack raises one of his arms to block his visor which... well... he probably doesn't need to do that. But it's a pretty natural reaction to a sudden indoor sandstorm.

"My friend, I believe now would be the time to say 'I told you so,'" the knight says with no small degree of sardonic humor in his tone.

He warned you, Spako!

He totally did!

Meanwhile!

Myrrh frowns, opens her mouth to reply, and then gets a mouthful of sand.

This results in a great deal of sputtering.

"Really? What kind of ingrate summons a sandstorm indoors?"

[Haruki-kun]

The tavern doors swing open. Psi enters and looks around. "Loading meteorological analysis. Complete. Current meteorological models do not include data on natural disasters occurring within confined spaces such as building. Observational data concludes this kind of phenomenon is a possibility within the laws of physics in the realm known as 'Nexus'. This further proves current meteorological model to be outdated and obsolete. Now deleting data.

Data deleted. New entry for phenomenon known as 'Sandstorm' created. Most commonly observed within establishments where alcoholic beverages are served. All data successfully logged.

Now removing excess particles from outer surface." She starts brushing the sand off her skin, helmet, and clothes. "Removal complete."

Psi approaches the bar and sits. "Loading interaction mode. Loading. Complete.

One alcoholic beverage, please."

[Rebonack]

Divaonar quickly slides a drink over to Psi before ducking behind the counter again.

Sandstorms are unpleasant!

Doesn't mean he can't try to be pleasant, though. "Crazy weather, right?" he yells over the roar of the wind.

[Haruki-kun]

Psi tilts her head. "Incorrect. Weather phenomenons are not sentient and therefore incapable of being deficient in sanity." She takes a sip of the drink. "Unit would propose, however, that the current meteorological state of this establishment is rather unpleasant."

[Rebonack]

Div laughs from his hideaway behind the counter. "Okay, that's true. It isn't very pleasant. Aren't you getting sand in your drink?"

Seems like getting sand in one's drink would make the whole experience far more trouble than it's worth.

[Deathkeeper]

(A bit confused at how the last four rounds of reading didn't set it off, then, but whatever)

Spako rolls his eyes.
"Oh, hush, Sir Rebo. You're talking to me here. I know when random effect objects are something to worry about."
And with that, the kobold pulls out his spellbook and flips through it, after a moment speaking a trio or arcane words with a waggle of wings and fingers, and summons up a strong wind of his own, in the opposite direction of the storm, which should hopefully counteract it entirely.

Why does Spako have that spell prepared? Swarms. That is why.

[Haruki-kun]

"A certain amount of it is currently within the container that also holds my beverage," says Psi with a nod. "The quantity is not possible to fully disregard. However, the container currently holds a higher amount of liquid than undesirable miniature stones."

Psi looks around, then back at Div. "Loading Inquiry. Complete. Does Subject have any data regarding the duration of meteorological phenomena known as 'Sand Storms'?"

[Rebonack]

"I think this one was conjured up by magic, so there's really no telling," Divaonar admits. "Really sorry about this. It looks like it's bothering a lot of people, but there isn't much I can do about it."

Stupid magical sand storms.

[Haruki-kun]

Psi closes her eyes. "Protection Field."

An energy field surrounds the two of them, keeping the sand particles at bay. "Unit is not equipped to deal with magic, and indeed does not come from a realm where magic exists. Such concepts are exponentially more difficult to research than conventional physics, sociology, mathematics, geography, history, biology, or anthropology."

[Arkhosia]

A woman enters, her form curvy and slender. Her skin is pale, somewhat red, and her eyes are a bright blue. The woman's hair is a dirty blonde, contrasting with the black oat she wears. Her full lips are bright red, and a scarf wraps around her neck. A snakelike tail trails from under her dark purple skirt. She enters, a diabolic aura well hidden by charms, and sits at the bar.
(closed plot)

[gooddragon1]

The sandstorm particles hit nothing. Nothing had finished his drink so he's not concerned about it.

[RabbitHoleLost]

She answers him with a snort, reaching out one gloved hand to turn a bone he had misplaced around.
"I suppose you can't be good at everything. It would hardly be fair." And though Rabbit speaks with her colder tone of voice usually reserved for...just about everyone else, there's a brightness to her eyes, a twist to her lips.
The only indication that she's teasing Morrison.

And that's about when the sandstorm starts, grains pelting at her cheeks, and her mood begins to grow foul. With her arm not occupied holding Birdie's soul, she creates an insufficient physical barrier against the unlikely weather event which had begun to unfold inside the Tavern, casting a less than pleasant (some might say downright nasty look) at the other patrons.
Of course, nobody could just let the general atmosphere of the Tavern be

Rabbit had intended to make the re-reanimation of Birdie's bones something more than plain for Morrison - she doesn't expect him to be impressed, especially after receiving that nasty mark on his indisputably aesthetically pleasing face (though not to her particular tastes, Rabbit acknowledges almost immediately after, as if her own thoughts need to be explained to) from Nerull's realm. All the same, he had gone through the trouble and had expected nothing in return, so Rabbit had thought to make it pretty to watch in the least.

But with the sandstorm building, there's no time and the effort would have been unnerving. Instead, Rabbit quickly raises the hand sheltering the bones to her mouth, teeth taking holding of the silk glove encasing her index finger and pulling until alabaster skin is revealed, nails painted a painstakingly perfect black-indigo.
Into her pocket and out again with a rough hewn chunk of onyx, placed carefully against the beak (no matter the refinement of her techniques, she cannot seem to overcome this payment - Death is a greedy fool). One furtive glance towards the unicorn is cautiously spent (what indeed was that creature?) before she drops her hand over the collection of bones again, tracing the tip of her now bare finger along it's form, starting from the beak and cascading down the dome of it's skull, across the span of each wing, leaving a black-purple outline, as if Rabbit had simply drawn around Birdie's remains with a glow-in-the-dark marker.

If glow-in-the-dark markers were filled with negative energy.

A simple process, animating a pile of bones, giving it shape, and provided there are no interruptions or complications, Birdie's form should pull itself up to that squatting position.

"Here you go, precious." The hand holding the soul, still gloved, lifts to her lips and holds itself straight out, and if it weren't for the white blob of a soul there in her palm, it would look to an outside like Rabbit were about to blow Morrison a kiss.
Indeed, the necromancer does gently blow, giving the soul a tender breeze to carry it to it's home.

[Morty]

Dealing with sandstorms really isn't Wenomir's expertise. He has no magic, and he's never so much as been to a beach, much less a desert. His homeland is a grassy place where hills make way into a dry steppe. So the best he can do is pull his mail's coif over his head and turn his back to the wind.

"Someone would have read it sooner or later," he points out.

[Rebonack]

Barriers sure do help, especially when sandstorms are being troublesome. Because otherwise everything gets all gritty. Clothing, hair, food, drinks, shoes, pretty much all the places you wouldn't want sand, the sand will find its way in. Divaonar brushes his hands through his pale hair in a rather irritated fashion. "I'm going to need to take a shower after this," he grumbles.

Of course, if a shower is all you need after a day working at Trog's, then you're doing pretty well.

"I can understand the magic thing. Magic is all over the place in the Nexus. My brother thinks it's all the same thing if you dig down deep enough, but he's kind of weird."

Meanwhile!

"Friend, I can assure you that few would have read the scroll had it been cast into the fire where unpleasant cursed items belong," Rebonack retorts. "But what's done is done. Quelling the wind may help indeed, but the tavern is still full of sand."

The cobalt knight doesn't mention that his armor is filling with the stuff.

Sand rubbing up against you in a suit of full plate is just awful.

"Nuisances aside, we still have much to discuss, yes? Of the aims of VIGIL, of our missions and purpose, of the RIGHTEOUS pursuits of HEROISM and JUSTICE!"

Also Meanwhile!

"Enough of this foalishnes." Myrrh Balm is fed up by now with the sand storm and decides to do something about it. The unicorn nightmære spawn lights her horn with a warm, sandy glow and reaches out with her magic and taps into the essence of the desert. The desert destroys. The desert consumes. But with proper oversight, planning, motivation, and the blood of ten thousand slaves, it's easy enough to make wonders rise from the sand. Myrrh is a bit lacking in the slaves department, but her potent arcane power makes up for it. She focuses, causing a second nimbus of light to ignite around her horn as the inner glow blazes all the brighter. With a pulse of rippling power she releases her magic and the two-fold crown vanishes, the spell cast.

Should all go as planned?

An unseen force will draw the sand filling the tavern together, fusing grain to grain with fervent heat and pressure, until at last a quartzite obelisk will assemble itself near the counter, its surface engraved with strange and mysterious hieroglyphics. An incantation, perhaps? Maybe a curse? A warning? Some long forgotten ballade of an empire consumed by the unrelenting march of time and desert sands?

In reality, Myrrh just translated the tavern's menu. But everyone else who can read the language of her homeland died aeons ago, so no one needs to know.

Regardless of how the monument building spell goes, the reanimation of a little bird catches Myrrh's attention without fail. The feel of that magic is unmistakable, after all. Rabbit may feel the unliving unicorn's cavernous gaze falling on her again.

[Holy-hunter]

From a distance away he could smell it, it flared in his nostrils, a familiarity bringing a nostalgia and awakening an animalistic excitement.

They tried to cover it up, that aura, but no trinkets could hide what he knew of so well. For no one seeks the demon lord of lust without encountering a few succubi along the way. For obvious reasons they were amongst his favourite of demons but never had he encountered one walking free in this realm and that caught his attention...

Re entering the lower bar he doesn't even need to look to locate his prey.

As he steps close to the desirable blonde at the bar he allows himself the weakness of succumbing to the intention of her form. Feeling her aura around him now he tugs on it as he draws on the demonic energy of her presence as he releases a short sharp wave of fiery abyssal binding magic, Intent only to captivate and intrigue her by tantalising her senses, it's a hint of his study and what he might be capable of.

He stands a few feet away, his strong arms across his wide chest, a devilish grin upon his smug face, piercing eyes feast upon the woman while he cautiously awaits her reaction.

[Earl of Purple]

I didn't realise it was being read- I thought all Spako & Wenomir were doing was glancing at it enough to read the title, which isn't enough. The whole scroll needs to be read.

The wind blast causes the sandstorm's swirl to change direction, blowing with the gust of wind, whilst the Nightmaere's efforts cause a quartz pillar to form in the centre of Trog's. The sand is still being magically created, however, so it's merely lessened the effects rather than stopped it.

[Raistlin1040]

The little white soul floats towards Birdie's waiting bones, slow and gelatinous until it finally envelopes his skull. Upon all-encompassing contact, it sucks inside, filling him with a bright white light, before dimming. The little bird skeleton tilts his head to one side and then the other groggily, as if shaking off a long night of sleep. As soon as his empty eye sockets rest upon Rabbit fully though, he springs up, flying around in small excited circles, before resting on her shoulder and lightly squeezing her lower lip between his beak.

Morrison smiles, just as a small warp appears next to him. If an object can appear and fall with personality, then the shiny black onyx stone drops to the table contemptuously. One side of Morrison's mouth trends lightly upward, about as mischievous as the elf can look. "Part of the deal."

[Septimus Faber]

Varrel turns to Myrrh, spitting considerable quantities of sand out of his mouth and looking rather irritated.

Is... Is that the sort of thing people generally do around here? Or is this Meteorological Sadism Hour in Trog's?

[Rebonack]

"I haven't the faintest idea," Myrrh huffs. "Unless this is one of the 'random encounters' my Mistress spoke of."

She lights her horn again, with a little more effort than last time, and begins reaching out with her magic to find the source of the sand storm and quiet it. Considering that her Talent involves mummy and desert related stuff, this should potentially be within her range of abilities. Though, frankly, the obelisk spell has left her a little weary. She's still getting the hang of this new form of magic, after all. If it had been her old wizardry then this task would be trivial.

[Haruki-kun]

"Hello, every-AGH!" Anyu walks into the tavern and is immediately hit by the sandstorm. It gets in her eyes, and her clothes, and her hat, and if she had a purse it would probably get in there, too.

"What is the matter with you guys? Who throws a sandstorm? Honestly?" She looks around. Then the sands start to pile up in that monument Myrrh put together.

"Oh, good. Problem solved. I was afraid I wouldn't get a drink at the rate this was going." Anyu heads to the bar and sits a couple seats away from Psi.

Neither of them acknowledges the other. It's almost like they're played by a single player who doesn't want to have his characters chatting with each other.

[Arkhosia]

From a distance away he could smell it, it flared in his nostrils, a familiarity bringing a nostalgia and awakening an animalistic excitement.

They tried to cover it up, that aura, but no trinkets could hide what he knew of so well. For no one seeks the demon lord of lust without encountering a few succubi along the way. For obvious reasons they were amongst his favourite of demons but never had he encountered one walking free in this realm and that caught his attention...

Re entering the lower bar he doesn't even need to look to locate his prey.

As he steps close to the desirable blonde at the bar he allows himself the weakness of succumbing to the intention of her form. Feeling her aura around him now he tugs on it as he draws on the demonic energy of her presence as he releases a fshort sharp wave of fiery abyssal binding magic, Intent only to captivate and intrigue her by tantalising her senses, it's a hint of his study and what he might be capable of.

He stands a few feet away, his strong arms across his wide chest, a devilish grin upon his smug face, piercing eyes feast upon the woman while he cautiously awaits her reaction.

The woman, surprised at the act and only letting it show in a flicker, raises an eyebrow at this, glancing covertly for the one who did it.
They want attention, after all. What could be so bad about that?
She thinks to herself.

[Holy-hunter]

The woman, surprised at the act and only letting it show in a flicker, raises an eyebrow at this, glancing covertly for the one who did it.
They want attention, after all. What could be so bad about that?
She thinks to herself.

A mere flicker, a glance... This toiled with his subdued rage, 'a mere glance!' The lessor demons that he let know of him learnt respect though fear and resentment.
Had he wished it he could send her back to her own infernal realm in moments, he could weave magic in between the essence of her demonic energy and seize it, denying her movement or leaching her power.

If she was a lessor demon...

So the deadly tango had begun, it was a scary game, one in which he relished the thrill of. Both parties had to be wary of the others potential power. If either were to underestimate the other or show the limit of their ability or signs of weakness it could and most likely would lead to disastrous consequences.

He had expected a reply of disdain or even fawning. But she was not like the others and something drew him to that.

With little else to do, in his own confident and slightly arrogant way of motion, he walks over and pulls up a seat beside her giving her a friendly smile. "May I ask you, pray tell, what nature of events would bestow and bring you upon a place like this?" The words slip out charming yet daring in his powerful voice as his fingers brush aside some stray locks of hair from his face.

[WarKitty]

"Well, for someone with fur." the littel creature replies. "It's getting colder, even thought the sun comes out more often then expected for this time of the year."
The littel creature still speaks felin an obviously notice the ordered Taco. He doesn't need much to get the cat is at least able to make himself be understood by others. It's just a question how.
"I'm curiouse. How did you get the Taco."

Taco Tuesdays. The bots are pretty good, even if their original method of setting up was a tad violent. The cat smiles somewhat contentedly.

[RabbitHoleLost]

The little white soul floats towards Birdie's waiting bones, slow and gelatinous until it finally envelopes his skull. Upon all-encompassing contact, it sucks inside, filling him with a bright white light, before dimming. The little bird skeleton tilts his head to one side and then the other groggily, as if shaking off a long night of sleep. As soon as his empty eye sockets rest upon Rabbit fully though, he springs up, flying around in small excited circles, before resting on her shoulder and lightly squeezing her lower lip between his beak.

Morrison smiles, just as a small warp appears next to him. If an object can appear and fall with personality, then the shiny black onyx stone drops to the table contemptuously. One side of Morrison's mouth trends lightly upward, about as mischievous as the elf can look. "Part of the deal."

Like a child reunited with her puppy, Rabbit is exuberant, watching Birdie flap around with a small laugh on her lips before the skeletal form rests itself on her shoulder. Right where he belongs, right where he should always be.
It is undoubtedly her undead companion and none other when he takes her lower lip in his beak, their imitation of a "kiss", like a sloppy dog tongue against a baby's nose...except much less gross.

It's a small balm for when the unicorn's attention turns to her, and though Rabbit has said she's felt the gaze of another before, its nothing like this feeling. Nothing magical about it- just an intuition, but one the necromancer knows is undoubtedly and completely correct. Never has she been unnerved by a creature in the manner of which Myrrh instills in her - and the peaceful undertone, the lack of hunger, these things do not ease her discomfort.
But the unicorn hasn't said anything to her yet, just looked at her and there's no harm in simply looking.
Right?
Right.

Ignore it.

Instead, Rabbit focuses on the elf infront of her, lifting a hand to stroke along the ivory curve of Birdie's back.
"And what exactly did this deal entail? I'm intrigued to know, Morrison, how a god of arts could wheedle such standards from Nerull." She's still teasing, her voice lilting and almost cracking with glee.

[Raistlin1040]

Morrison loops a strand of hair around his finger as he tilts his head to one side and begins studying the other patrons of the tavern. "I wouldn't wish to bore you with the political, Rabbit. It's enough to say that Amour's suggestions worked like a charm." He picks up the onyx stone and places it in front of Rabbit. "Besides, the Dead One, for all his longevity, acts quite the petulant child when he doesn't get his way. Negotiations are such drawn-out, boring affairs, and I find most divine beings impatient and unaccustomed to not receiving all that they want in an instant. It really is no great difficulty if one stands one's ground and shows confidence."

Birdie, for his part, continues nuzzling against Rabbit, flapping his wings in excitement.

[RabbitHoleLost]

Leisurely, Rabbit picks the semi-precious stone up and lets it rest in the palm of the hand not occupied with dealing out affection to Birdie, whom Rabbit snuggles her cheek against while murmuring soft words not meant for anyone else.
Sorry is the most common one, but if anyone were to listen closely, they might possibly maybe hear something similar to love in there, a most frank confession even if only shared between a necromancer and her undead companion creature.

"So your past...mortality works in your favor, you would say?"
Her own eyes follow his, focusing on the others in the tavern for a moment, but never letting her gaze stay on any particular one for too long.
Not the almost phantasmic unicorn, not Bad Touch, not the two reading the scroll who're to blame for the sandstorm whipping inside the tavern.

[Zefir]

Taco Tuesdays. The bots are pretty good, even if their original method of setting up was a tad violent. The cat smiles somewhat contentedly.

" Well I know about Taaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa......." Mr C starts. Then the Sandstorm caught him. The little green creature flies around without any controll. The wind to counter the storm just throws him around. Hopefully it will end soon. Those who take note of the little creature see that his eyes are swirles.

[Raistlin1040]

"Perhaps." Morrison agrees, nodding as he speaks. He packs the remaining objects on the table back into his silver box and latches it shut. He'd done what he came to do, to speak with Rabbit and return her little friend to her care. Yet, the unspoken questions hung over him like an ominous specter.

"What are your plans now?" He asks, careful not to breach the likely-sensitive subject. "Are you staying here long?"

[Septimus Faber]

Oh, now, this is getting ridiculous. Varrel removes his bowler hat and extends the arm holding it in the direction of the sandstorm. An audible rush of wind is present as the innate magic of his hat attempts to siphon the sandstorm into, well, the hat. Should it succeed he'll have a hat full of sandstorm. Should it not, he'll presumably be left looking really, really silly.

He turns to Myrrh, and grins in a pointed sort of way. No true magic, eh?

[Arkhosia]

A mere flicker, a glance... This toiled with his subdued rage, 'a mere glance!' The lessor demons that he let know of him learnt respect though fear and resentment.
Had he wished it he could send her back to her own infernal realm in moments, he could weave magic in between the essence of her demonic energy and seize it, denying her movement or leaching her power.

If she was a lessor demon...

So the deadly tango had begun, it was a scary game, one in which he relished the thrill of. Both parties had to be wary of the others potential power. If either were to underestimate the other or show the limit of their ability or signs of weakness it could and most likely would lead to disastrous consequences.

He had expected a reply of disdain or even fawning. But she was not like the others and something drew him to that.

With little else to do, in his own confident and slightly arrogant way of motion, he walks over and pulls up a seat beside her giving her a friendly smile. "May I ask you, pray tell, what nature of events would bestow and bring you upon a place like this?" The words slip out charming yet daring in his powerful voice as his fingers brush aside some stray locks of hair from his face.
The women did a covert look, basically. Didn't want someone to notice if it was an issue, right?
The woman looks towards the man, raising an eyebrow at him.

"issues back home. What exactly causes you to want to talk with me? What's your motive?
She inquires skeptically

[Holy-hunter]

The women did a covert look, basically. Didn't want someone to notice if it was an issue, right?
The woman looks towards the man, raising an eyebrow at him.

"issues back home. What exactly causes you to want to talk with me? What's your motive?
She inquires skeptically


Her first reply brings a small smile and laugh to his face. He looks down to hide his amusement.
Then a new idea dawns on the man.
"Girl, how long have you been the way you are now?"
He asks, tapping on the table, a slight level of concern reverberates in his tone.
A small part if him hopes he has stumbled upon a lost naive newly formed demon.

"I won't lie tho, my intentions are purely selfish" he adds looking back up, his grin growing.

[Earl of Purple]

Myrrh will find that the origin of the sandstorm was a magical artefact-level scroll of random effects. Quashing its effects will be difficult and unusual, especially as the physical origin of the sandstorm is Trog's; there's no portal through which the sand is flowing and nothing to act against the storm's continuing existence.

However, somebody else is putting the sandstorm in their hat. I find this amusing, and therefore into the hat it goes. He'd best be careful putting the hat on, though; he may get sand in his hair.

[Deathkeeper]

Spako sighs. "Well, anyway, what were we discussing?"

[Rebonack]

Myrrh just kind of... blinks... when the sand storm is stowed away. "Well... alright then..."

She really has no idea what to say here.

Meanwhile!

With the sandstorm thus thwarted, on to the actual topic!

"Yes indeed, friends! What is the purpose of this meeting?"

Rebonack is hoping the purpose will involve HEROISM and JUSTICE!

[RabbitHoleLost]

"I don't know. I haven't an idea how long I'll stay." Rabbit answers frostily, her shoulders rising and falling in a shrug, despite holding the weight of Birdie. Morrison might have avoided more dangerous topics, but they still remain unsaid, and his questions bring those thoughts to the forefront of her mind.
Bright green eyes attach their gaze to his blue, unwavering.

"The Citadel needs to be rebuilt. It's crumbling in some parts -Solmuel let it go, no doubt." And there are punishments in mind for the house-keeping lich, that is a certainty.

"I think I'll stick around, work on it, cause some trouble." Avoid Amour and other troublesome thoughts from the past...

[Raistlin1040]

"Of course." He nods. It only made sense that she'd want to have a place of her own. The tavern was pleasant, sure, but it was not so pleasant as to be reasonable full-time accommodations. "The Gallery is long-gone, you know. It disappeared not long after you left, completely vanished into the air. There's nothing left but the odd indentation in the dirt, or the occasional slice of finished marble." The smile that finds its way to Morrison's face is fragile, if beautiful. "You're rather good at causing trouble, if I recall. I suppose I might not see you around much." He looks downward for a moment, before standing and gathering his things.

"If you ever require my assistance, all you need to do is ask. And..." He hesitates as he deposits the silver box into his robe and gives Birdie a light rub on the beak. "I wouldn't offer you unsolicited advice, nor do I know the entire story, but if you're worried about Amour returning here... you must know that isn't his style. If you're... planning on not seeing him, you've nothing to worry about."

[RabbitHoleLost]

Rabbit lets a sigh escape slowly from her lips, her shoulders deflating from some tension she hadn't known she'd been carrying.
"Yes, of course. You're absolutely right." And the truth he speaks is just as guilt-wracking in her mind. Of course, Amour would give her the distance she needed, the time. He'd wait gloomily- he was the most beautiful when gloomy- for her, perfectly patient.
Rabbit knew she should go back to him. It was only fair.

But she never did play fair.

Instead, she offers Morrison a soft smile, acknowledging to herself that it was impossible to harbor anger towards him. Rabbit could hold a grudge against anyone, for the slightest offenses.
But not Morrison.

"You know you're welcome at the Citadel."

They both know he'd never go.

[Raistlin1040]

It would be easy for Morrison to say something else, to ask of her a favor for a friend, to at least speak with Amour again. He had seemed so tragic the last time Morrison had seen him, so sensitive and disturbed. There was much new in the old god's life, and to experience it alone seemed painful, to say the least.

Yet, he knows he cannot ask of her anything. Whatever quarrel, whatever shattering of the peace that had driven Rabbit back to the Nexus, back to a booth at Trog's Tavern, would need to be settled independent of Morrison, or anyone apart from the two. In some ways, it made Morrison grateful that he did not feel things in the same way as Amour, not as strongly or with as much passion. Morrison's friend was a roman candle, everburning upwards, destructive and wild and beautiful, while Morrison himself was the sleepy after-embers of a campfire, warm and secure.

He steps forward and places a hand on Rabbit's cheek. Were it another man, it might seem as an advance, but with Morrison, it is all chaste and platonic. Her skin is cold to his touch, but if it bothers him, he doesn't show it. "Be kind to yourself, Rabbit." His hand falls down her jaw and back to his side. "You are capable of so much more than you know."

With that, he turns and disappears out the tavern door.

[RabbitHoleLost]

She expects to cringe away from his touch, imagines with vivid thought that she'll shudder under his hand, can feel the bile growing up the column of her throat. Rabbit does not take well to physical affection, has only barely learned to embrace Amour when she had panicked and run- but Morrison is different. As in all ways with Morrison, his love is platonic but strong and reassuring and Rabbit sighs again, this time full of a sad comfort, leaning in to the warmth of his hand.

And then the god is gone, and the necromancer slumps into her booth, alone expect for the companionship of the skeletal raven on her shoulder.

A click of a silver lighter and she's smoking her cigar again, letting pale blue smoke rise into the rafters of Trog's.

[Hattish Thing]

A figure not seen since long ago in this place can be noticed stepping out of a particularly expensive looking orange sports car nearby. The man appears to be dressed in an extravagant suit of orange and white, as is customary for the man the suit belonged to. He adjusts the large white wide-brimmed hamburg hat upon his head, bringing it down to cover his eyes from the sun as he does so. With one hand in his pocket, a cane in the other, he makes his way inside Trog's after looking both ways to ensure no one was watching him from afar. Marciano's grown rather paranoid of late, and he kinda needs to be with how many enemies he makes.

As he enters, he takes a small lighter out of his pocket along with a rather long cigar. Incidentally, this was the same brand of cigar a younger Magtok used to burn Marciano Louv're alive so long ago. Coffin something or other, commonly bought here. The man lights up the cigar and sticks it in his mouth, taking a long puff before placing the lighter away once more. He'll find himself sitting on a stool, his arms on the table, dressed in his usual. Marciano will catch the attention of the bartender with a gloved hand, rat-a-tapping a little tune against the door.

A long and expensive looking drink is soon mixed for the short man. For those who don't know him well, he looks to be a man in his forties, with a long and thin pencil mustache, waxed to perfection. A bit of a goatee can be seen, and orange-tinted shades cover up eyes of dark blue. A hat tops his head, and his long brown hair reaches down to his neck. He'll puff his cigar before blowing the smoke in the bartender's face before, speaking to Rabbit, staring towards her skeltal raven with a raised eyebrow. "Well, huh, if I didn't know better, you just endured a rather uncomfortable conversation, didncha there, Missy?" He'll chuckle. "Somefin 'bout him bother ya there?"

[RabbitHoleLost]

It doesn't seem like Rabbit can get a break today.
She doesn't turn her head to acknowledge the man speaking to her, doesn't even directly look at him. One green iris turns to the corner of the eye, takes in a side-glance of the man who, in all honesty, reminds Rabbit of a fun-house mirror reflection of herself.

If fun-house mirrors could change age and presentation of physical sex.

It's a long moment where she sucks in the woodsy inhalation of her cigar, lets the smoke escape her nostrils in twin columns and turns her attention away from the man in orange, tapping the table before her with her own gloved hands, as if contemplating whether to respond to him or not.
The difference in aura, in the space around him, is in complete contrast to the soft god of art who'd left moments before, and Rabbit feels as if she's been suddenly dunked in cold water, a wake-up call to the world around her and it's reality.

"You gonna do something about it if there was?" Still, Rabbit's green gaze was directed away from him, her voice laced with subtle challenge.

[Zefir]

And while the sandstorm is siphon off into the hat, Mr.C is siphon off there as well. That's the bad side of beeing just a few inch in size and weight like a stuff animal. A long
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhh...." follows as he got closer to the hat. If none grabs him he will ger siphon into the hat, but when inside a hissing noise can be heared and a little robe with a little hook comes out,graping the edge of the hat. On the othher end of the robe will be Mr.C still not in the position to drag himself out.

[Morty]

Wenomir shrugs. Easy come, easy go. This sort of occurrence happens in Trog's commonly and is just as commonly dismissed.

"Ah, yes. VIGIL will do what Watchtower and HALO always has, namely put the boot in the rears of those who need it, to make the Nexus a little less dangerous to live in. Heroism and chivalry are optional, really. I think the leaders have been having some other ideas, though. I believe Cessie had the notion to explore occult places for traces of dead gods, apocalyptic cults, things outside reality and suchlike. That could work."

[Arkhosia]

Her first reply brings a small smile and laugh to his face. He looks down to hide his amusement.
Then a new idea dawns on the man.
"Girl, how long have you been the way you are now?"
He asks, tapping on the table, a slight level of concern reverberates in his tone.
A small part if him hopes he has stumbled upon a lost naive newly formed demon.

"I won't lie tho, my intentions are purely selfish" he adds looking back up, his grin growing.

I see no reason to divulge such information with that knowledge. Selfish intentions don't really turn out well for me. We have a storied, sordid history.
The succubus replies cooly, not averting her gaze to the man.

[Hattish Thing]

It doesn't seem like Rabbit can get a break today.
She doesn't turn her head to acknowledge the man speaking to her, doesn't even directly look at him. One green iris turns to the corner of the eye, takes in a side-glance of the man who, in all honesty, reminds Rabbit of a fun-house mirror reflection of herself.

If fun-house mirrors could change age and presentation of physical sex.

It's a long moment where she sucks in the woodsy inhalation of her cigar, lets the smoke escape her nostrils in twin columns and turns her attention away from the man in orange, tapping the table before her with her own gloved hands, as if contemplating whether to respond to him or not.
The difference in aura, in the space around him, is in complete contrast to the soft god of art who'd left moments before, and Rabbit feels as if she's been suddenly dunked in cold water, a wake-up call to the world around her and it's reality.

"You gonna do something about it if there was?" Still, Rabbit's green gaze was directed away from him, her voice laced with subtle challenge.

Ah, but Marciano was far more than a man in a silly costume. The mafia boss occasionally comes around to the tavern's to look around for those who'd be willing to join and do some often less-than-legal work for the man. It was rare, however, that he'd find someone as interesting as Rabbit was that didn't want to kill him. Finding people that didn't want to kill him was a beautiful thing. He takes a sip out of his drink, blinking a tad and sighing, pondering what to say before it finally comes to him. "Aheh. Possibly. Really, he seemed to know ya, and you 'im. There was a certain... connection there." He'll chuckle darkly, thinking over the last pair of individuals he'd toyed with that possessed such a connection.

Marciano was not a good person, but Rabbit may not know who he is. This offered so many fun opportunities to Marcy. "Almost like ya once knew eachother fairly well. Yes, I know what that looks like. It's amazing what pressure can do to people like that. Ah, but I'm sure there's a spark in you, Missy." He picks his cigar and puts it in his mouth again. He seemed quite fond of alcohol and tobacco. "So, who was he? Jealous ex-lover? Or did you leave him? Or maybe I'm just off completely, and ya got some kinda sibling thing there? No... That touch was far too soft for that. Or maybe, that was but a show of feelings unreciprocated?" The man laughs once more.

"Ah, but we shouldn't linger on the unpleasant past. A drink, darlin'?"

[Holy-hunter]

Without realising it, for reasons unknown, he had decided he would accept nothing less than this demons complete and utter unyielding servitude.

His eyes begin to burn bright like hot charcoals, pupils disappearing behind a fierce bright glow. Going all in, his hands raised at his sides, palms up, fingers contorted like claws, as a thick vile black mist seeps up through the floor heading his call. The darkness slowly rises, growing, swirling all around him, dancing hypnotically to an unheard rhythm as it passes over his clothing and flesh infusing itself with him and leaving the metallic sheen of his steely black armour in its wake.

His helm that was left on the bar melts away into a thin dark fog, dispersing in the breeze only to reform, more fierce in appearance with gigantic curled horns atop his head.

Once completely armoured the thick black fog explodes outwards littering the tavern in a fine dull mist, choking the light and eating at the oxygen.

Slowly he walks, step by step towards the demonic girl. A small concentration of the smokey mist still swirling around him. A stoney blank gaze on his fierce face.

With her every slight breath that she takes the unnatural mist will seek to force its way down her throat. Filling in her lungs the particles will attempt to seep further throughout her body giving the demonologist the ability to paralyse her should he need it.

When he thinks she is at her limits or he nears arms length from her he spells a single word and all the mist hastily retracts from the reaches of the room back towards him, it rolls out of the girls throat like a large rope being pulled and finally as the last of it slithers out finally allowing space for fresh oxygen, the mist darkens further as it compresses and snakes darting around behind him compacting upon itself forming and slowly solidifying into a black sinister slime on his back.

From beneath what was a vile ooze, with a sharp snap in a sudden burst he erects two large and majestic wings. Outstretched wide either side from beyond his shoulders, covered by a serene blackness of dark feathers. Evidence of the mist still shows in faint wisps of smoke trailing from them.

After briefly stretching the dark angelic wings wide, he gives them a small testing flap before another sharp snap sends them folding around the demon girl still firmly in his gaze. His solid wings now encasing them in a sphere of feathers secluding them from the rest of taverns commotion. Hidden in their own little bubble of darkness he was free to continue their matters in private.

His eyes illuminate their hidden alcove, but the light dose not rebound of the feathers, instead disappears into the seemingly endless dark abyss which they now reside.

Free from the prying eyes and scrutiny of others he suddenly lashes out a muscular arm snatching her jaw tight in one hand, squeezing to the point of pain. He holds her face still forcing her to look nowhere else but into the burning brimstone that is now his eyes.

Then leaning forward he closes his eyes locking them both in total darkness, he is so close she can feel his breath against her as he whispers.

"For the simple minded, short sighted men of this realm you will be forever hunted down, to be nothing more than a mere means of short term pleasure.
For the slightly smarter, you will be a discardable source of and way to attaining power. A reusable object, lacking any will. But!
With me, with the power I can impose upon you, those of somewhat intelligence will learn to stay clear, and those too simple minded to understand will fall at your feet by the numbers.

Only with me can you ever taste true freedom. Submit servitude to me forevermore, come whenever called, follow my commands and sever a bounty of souls in my name."

He pauses for a moment then ever so slowly presses his lips to hers and kisses her deeply.

He kisses with such ferocity and passion like a man returning from too long at sea.
Like lost lovers reuniting a lost forbidden love. Like a young man enthralled, lost in first desire and an old man sharing his last and final breath.

Bringing forth to the surface thoughts of lust, desire, power, suffering and pain. He creates a torment of emotions, an open meal for any creature that would feast upon such.

He continues feeding the demon, harnessing his thoughts, kissing with the excitement of something new, the rage of emotions wild, the hate of someone betrayed and the pain of someone lost. As he deeply embraces her he creates a portal, an opening to his very soul and dangles the sweet life essence just out of her reach and truly safeguarded.

There is a sensuality in his kiss no normal man could match, years of life and death hanging on his exact reverberation of every vowel have given him an uncanny control and awareness over his lips and tongue.

If his physical skill was not enough alone he tampers with the weaves of time exploiting it to his advantage.

"I will turn you into a power the likes the Nexus will never forget."

He promises as he draws back leaning his forehead against hers and opening his eyes lighting up the darkness again in a soft glow.

"Just tell me dear wandering child of the abyss, what is your true name?"

While he held no physical contract in his hand, it had been laid out and was there, if inclined to abide by his terms she only need to speak her own true name and the deal would be done.

[Arkhosia]

The utterly unexpecting succubus is swiftly pulled into the embrace and kissed (which she returns in similar fashion out of pure instinct). Recovering swiftly enough to understand the demonologist's offer, she nods in agreement
Liriel.

[Holy-hunter]

The utterly unexpecting succubus is swiftly pulled into the embrace and kissed (which she returns in similar fashion out of pure instinct). Recovering swiftly enough to understand the demonologist's offer, she nods in agreement
Liriel.

"Liriel" he repeats softly, tasting the word on his own tongue. Pausing in the still silence, harbouring the moment.
"A name ever so beautiful and even more so deadly" he whispers as the glow in his eyes subsides.
His large wings (that completely encased them, keeping their matters private from the rest of the tavern) and his armour burst into a fine spray of dust that sparks and fizzles in the air, burning out as the light and the almost forgotten surrounds of the tavern return and rush to great them.

He sighs at the sudden reminder of where he is.

"Liriel, child of the abyss, one day you will have to tell me what events brought you to this place on this day" he warns firmly, before cracking a crooked smile and almost cheerfully adding "but, tonight we celebrate!" and with that he turns to the bar ordering a continual flow of the finest booze they have.

[RabbitHoleLost]

Ah, but Marciano was far more than a man in a silly costume. The mafia boss occasionally comes around to the tavern's to look around for those who'd be willing to join and do some often less-than-legal work for the man. It was rare, however, that he'd find someone as interesting as Rabbit was that didn't want to kill him. Finding people that didn't want to kill him was a beautiful thing. He takes a sip out of his drink, blinking a tad and sighing, pondering what to say before it finally comes to him. "Aheh. Possibly. Really, he seemed to know ya, and you 'im. There was a certain... connection there." He'll chuckle darkly, thinking over the last pair of individuals he'd toyed with that possessed such a connection.

Marciano was not a good person, but Rabbit may not know who he is. This offered so many fun opportunities to Marcy. "Almost like ya once knew eachother fairly well. Yes, I know what that looks like. It's amazing what pressure can do to people like that. Ah, but I'm sure there's a spark in you, Missy." He picks his cigar and puts it in his mouth again. He seemed quite fond of alcohol and tobacco. "So, who was he? Jealous ex-lover? Or did you leave him? Or maybe I'm just off completely, and ya got some kinda sibling thing there? No... That touch was far too soft for that. Or maybe, that was but a show of feelings unreciprocated?" The man laughs once more.

"Ah, but we shouldn't linger on the unpleasant past. A drink, darlin'?"
It's easy to understand, Rabbit realizes - to anyone looking in on her behavior with Morrison, her uncharacteristic softness, she might have looked vulnerable. Delicate, moldable, compassionate, even.
Overlooking her previous interaction with the man now sticking his tongue down the back of the throat of the succubus, how Rabbit had unrelentingly welcomed his misery as she had landed the tip of her boot against his temple while he laid himself helplessly on the wooden floor of the Tavern, it would be a simple thing to assume that the necromancer was easily moved towards tenderness.

To assume such, however, would be embracing a possibly fatal flaw towards simplicity.

Each guess the man shoots to Rabbit about her possible relationship towards Morrison is further away from the mark (not that Rabbit could much blame Marciano - it's impossible to explain the unrelenting platonic love Morrison had towards near everything, and for someone like the woman who sits puffing away on a cigar in Trog's, it's equally impossible to understand a love that does not benefit it's originator in the slightest manner), and with each word that slid from Marciano's mouth, a self-satisfactory smirk grows wider and wider on the crimson-painted lips around the cigar.

Rabbit doesn't know Marciano.
But Marciano doesn't know Rabbit, either.

And she was not, by any means, a good person.

Having had her fill of watching Bad Touch (now, more than even before, the name she's bestowed on him is endlessly fitting) and the now-named Liriel (now both encased in, surprise!, wings), Rabbit's nose scrunches in distaste and she lets a small shudder wrack her shoulders.

"Ugh, pathetic."

A slow turn of her head and she's staring at Marciano with big emerald eyes, taking him in for the first time since he'd sat near her and started his unsolicited questioning. One gloved hand reaches up, pulls the cigar from where it rested between full lips, and give it a gentle flick, letting the ashed that had built up disengage from the live cigar and fall to the floor beneath them.

For a man like him, a drink is never just a drink.

"Whatever you're having."

[Hattish Thing]

It's easy to understand, Rabbit realizes - to anyone looking in on her behavior with Morrison, her uncharacteristic softness, she might have looked vulnerable. Delicate, moldable, compassionate, even.
Overlooking her previous interaction with the man now sticking his tongue down the back of the throat of the succubus, how Rabbit had unrelentingly welcomed his misery as she had landed the tip of her boot against his temple while he laid himself helplessly on the wooden floor of the Tavern, it would be a simple thing to assume that the necromancer was easily moved towards tenderness.

To assume such, however, would be embracing a possibly fatal flaw towards simplicity.

Each guess the man shoots to Rabbit about her possible relationship towards Morrison is further away from the mark (not that Rabbit could much blame Marciano - it's impossible to explain the unrelenting platonic love Morrison had towards near everything, and for someone like the woman who sits puffing away on a cigar in Trog's, it's equally impossible to understand a love that does not benefit it's originator in the slightest manner), and with each word that slid from Marciano's mouth, a self-satisfactory smirk grows wider and wider on the crimson-painted lips around the cigar.

Rabbit doesn't know Marciano.
But Marciano doesn't know Rabbit, either.

And she was not, by any means, a good person.

Having had her fill of watching Bad Touch (now, more than even before, the name she's bestowed on him is endlessly fitting) and the now-named Liriel (now both encased in, surprise!, wings), Rabbit's nose scrunches in distaste and she lets a small shudder wrack her shoulders.

"Ugh, pathetic."

A slow turn of her head and she's staring at Marciano with big emerald eyes, taking him in for the first time since he'd sat near her and started his unsolicited questioning. One gloved hand reaches up, pulls the cigar from where it rested between full lips, and give it a gentle flick, letting the ashed that had built up disengage from the live cigar and fall to the floor beneath them.

For a man like him, a drink is never just a drink.

"Whatever you're having."

With a small smile, Marciano continues to look over the individual seated before him. From what he saw, she seemed to be absolutely chock full of a myriad of traits that'd make her ideal for recruitment. There was a dash of low self-esteem read in the way she seemed to look down and away from Morrison at times, a smidgen of childhood trauma seen in the way her brow creases, complete with a spot of desperation there, in the way she gazes into his eyes. She seemed to be vying for the love of this individual in a traditionally romantic fashion. Ah, young love. Unrequited love. See, that was one of the more interesting ingredients that Marciano toyed with when seeking people to work for him. Simply promise the naive lover-to-be money and power, and tell the poor sod how the object of his affection would certainly take to his amorous advances now that he possessed things that'd make her happy.

The best part was looking into the face of the man he promised so much to the day after he finds out she cheated, or left, or ran. Marciano was an amoral slime, devoid of sympathy, but even he knew that things can't buy love. He simply never understood why love was something so sought after. Love, bah, who needed it when you've got drinks, and tobacco, and whores. The terrible thing was, Marcy was genuinely happy with his life. The man was completely content to be the horrid person he was. He'll shrug as she keeps smiling, an obvious signal that his guesses were wrong. He'll look her up and down again, his shark-like eyes assessing her every wrinkle, curve, and imperfection. He doesn't appear to be judging though, and unlike most who gaze upon her in such a way, she won't find lust in his eyes at all. Simply a coldness hidden by layers and layers of comical dressings and costume.

His voice is nasal, his 1930's New York accent loud. "Wrong then was I? Eh, no matter. Ya know, you're the first gal I 'aven't gotten my guesses right on. Oh, there's an occasional slight difference here and there, but I've never been far off. With you, I can't be sure. Now dats interesting, ain't it. Hmm..." He'll look at her lips as she blows her cigar out, noticing the brand of cigar and making a mental note to look it up when he got back to The Ritz Casino & Club. "Colored smoke, now that's something." He'll bark an order to the bartender to refill his drink and fetch a second for the woman beside him. "Dunno what m'ordering ya, by the way. As far as I can tell this thing's composed of dishwasher soap and pineapple. I think that's an olive down there." He'll mix the drink with a spoon lazily.

He looks to her again, and back to his drink before continuing. "Certainly expensive though, which means it must be good. Ah, the mindset of the rich modern consumer, innit wondrous. You can sell trash at exorbitant prices, and as long as you make it look nice, they'll but it."

"So. What's your power? Ya got ice? Or fire? Or mind control? Seems like everyone's got one around here, darling. Surely someone as pretty as you got something up your sleeve, sweetheart. "

An odd question.

[RabbitHoleLost]

An odd question indeed, though following his previous inquiries, Rabbit can't exactly say she's taken aback by it.
He's curious and calculating. She can feel the weight of his eyes as he inspects her, catalogues her features the way a salesman would inspect goods he might or might not purchase, and she has no doubt the intentions he harbors are not carnal.
But then what?

He wants something, the way he talks her up, the way he lays thickly on how unique she is, that he can't figure her out just by looking at her, as if every other woman he comes into contact with is laid out like a picture book.
In truth, Rabbit was irked by her inability to see completely through him, to not know what he wanted. He was just opaque, and the more she tried to pin him down, the more he seemed unreadable.
Like an oil slick, Rabbot couldn't get her hands around the essence of Marciano.

But she could keep him from getting his hands around her.

With her drink handed to her, a perfect replica of the blurb of colors in his glass, she stares down at it's murky depths (and, woah, that definitely was not an olive, though Rabbit knew better than to ask further) before glancing through her bangs up at Marciano, trapping her lower lip between the rows of her teeth.

Let him think her something she's not- she can play the part all too well.

"Me?" Her own accent drips from her voice, coy in it's southern drawl- all the sound of a Georgian southern belle.

"I assure you, there's nothing special about me in the slightest."

The undead familiar on her shoulder implies differently, but she'll let him think that it was bestowed on her by another.
A gift of protection, or some other gibberish of the sort.

"You can't expect a lady to dispel her mystery without something in exchange, can you?"
If Rabbit were capable of cuteness, the smile she gives might have been described that way, though the gesture doesn't reach her eyes.

[Hattish Thing]

Marciano will attempt to run that accent through his mind. See, long ago, Marciano Louv're was the C.E.O of an infamous weapons manufacturing company known as Louv're Corp. The Corporation produced all sorts of unpleasant ways to kill things, and soon it's factories were harvesting the life off of many places in the Nexus. The problem was, Marcy was a much less skilled man at the time, and used the powers at his disposal to create a massive machine called The Spirit Engine capable of ripping holes into the very fabric of reality. Using this, he held the entire Nexus hostage. Of course, his plot failed, as the strongest of the Nexus banded together to bring down Louv're Corp. In the destruction that followed, the living version of Marciano was trapped in another dimension, doomed to die. However, he had the wisdom to create a body before his death. His personality was recorded and built into the chassis, and a great deal of the money he amassed was put away.

The figure before Rabbit is that Marciano, much smarter and for more devious than the original had been. With a covering of artificial skin and flesh covering his metal interior, he looks every bit the regular human being. His robotic nature allowed him to access a sort of main computer line he kept back at his current lair. He'll run Rabbit's voice, accent, and picture all over the internet, attempting to find and access any information known about her at all. So, next turn, should she have ever recorded anything about her online, he'll know about it. All this takes no more than a few seconds, so he continues speaking to her. "Nothin'? Aww, hun. You can't play me like that." He looks up towards the bird on her shoulder, his eyes sort of squinting and glaring as he does so.

Marciano had never liked birds. There were dirty, unattractive, and oh so annoying. Not the kind of things he enjoyed in life. Plus, it was an undead... thing, which made it all even worse. He hadn't been able to tolerate undead since the death of Rot, a vampire he once worked with. He'll tap his gloved fingers on the wooden counter for a second, blowing air out of his nostrils in annoyance. "Oh, I don't know. I've always found mystery bothersome, sweetheart. I like a girl I know will, well, be useful to me. See... In my profession, it's better to know one's self than go around trying to pretend you're someone you're not. I know exactly who I am, Missy. In fact, I pride myself on it." He'll look at her again.

"But do you know yourself?"

[RabbitHoleLost]

There won't be much to find via the internet - Rabbit was solely a character of fantasy, and as such had never had much access to such a thing. However, it didn't prevent others from uploading their information.
Mostly, just a file from the long-defunct Town Police Department with basics.
Name - interestingly enough (though not to Marciano, who still knows nothing of Rabbit other than what he filters in from the internet now and what he sees before him), lists Marishka Vasque, with Rabbit as a preferred alias. It states her basics; age (placing her now in her late twenties), height (5'0"), weight (slightly above average), hair color (auburn), eye color (green), all things Marciano can see with his own optics.
Since it is, however, a police file, there's a record attached, with a handful of kidnapping cases and charges of grave robbery confirmed, but dozens of counts of arson and public property damage (committed by hordes of undead) are suspected under her.
It's last update was about a year prior to the conception of the Nexus, however, and most of it's information is long outdated.

There's also an old Livejournal, but there's nothing of interest there except vague angsting from a much younger Rabbit and Marciano's better to leave that where it is.
Nothing useful ever comes from teenage angst.

A few silly prophecies about yet another apocalypse, also long outdated.

And that's it. That's all there is to find on Rabbit.

"But do you know yourself?"
It's clear to Rabbit, now, that play acting the sweet nothing would lend her no help, and she visibly deflates, the smile dropping from her face in an instant, her shoulders tensing up.
Did she know herself?

Only too well.
When her lips part to speak, it's nearly a growl. Rabbit has lost her patience for the day.

"What is it you're looking for, man?"

[Hattish Thing]

There won't be much to find via the internet - Rabbit was solely a character of fantasy, and as such had never had much access to such a thing. However, it didn't prevent others from uploading their information.
Mostly, just a file from the long-defunct Town Police Department with basics.
Name - interestingly enough (though not to Marciano, who still knows nothing of Rabbit other than what he filters in from the internet now and what he sees before him), lists Marishka Vasque, with Rabbit as a preferred alias. It states her basics; age (placing her now in her late twenties), height (5'0"), weight (slightly above average), hair color (auburn), eye color (green), all things Marciano can see with his own optics.
Since it is, however, a police file, there's a record attached, with a handful of kidnapping cases and charges of grave robbery confirmed, but dozens of counts of arson and public property damage (committed by hordes of undead) are suspected under her.
It's last update was about a year prior to the conception of the Nexus, however, and most of it's information is long outdated.

There's also an old Livejournal, but there's nothing of interest there except vague angsting from a much younger Rabbit and Marciano's better to leave that where it is.
Nothing useful ever comes from teenage angst.

A few silly prophecies about yet another apocalypse, also long outdated.

And that's it. That's all there is to find on Rabbit.

"But do you know yourself?"
It's clear to Rabbit, now, that play acting the sweet nothing would lend her no help, and she visibly deflates, the smile dropping from her face in an instant, her shoulders tensing up.
Did she know herself?

Only too well.
When her lips part to speak, it's nearly a growl. Rabbit has lost her patience for the day.

"What is it you're looking for, man?"

The man before her will gaze down at the floor for a few seconds, looking from that creepy looking bird to the depths of his fancy drink for a few seconds as he ponders what he just learned. Hmm, Marishka Vasque. Vasque, Vasque, Vasquez? He knew of a Vasquez, that ex-Remnant official! But, she quit the force, or stepped down a while ago. Marciano never really got the information on what exactly happened. The man will adjusts his orange feather in that rather large fedora before deciding it best to just leave the livejournal where it was. No point there, nothing to learn. Well, actually. He keeps the journal link for perusal later on. Angst was sometimes useful, and all sorts of phobias, hatreds, and traumas could be discovered just by listening to the teenager for a little while. Ah, the wonders of having your brain literally hooked up to the largest source of information ever created.

His eyebrows rise for a few seconds as she speaks up again, not quite expecting the growl. It seems she's beginning to suspect Marciano of ulterior motives, how unpleasant. Usually it took new recruits a little while longer before realizing that Marcy expected something of them. He thinks upon the kidnapping and undead raising cases for a half second, formulating a quick reply. "Heh. Does it really matter what I'm looking for, missy? Not really. But, yeah, everybody's looking for somethin' around here. Lucky for you, I'm simply looking for a few interestin' individuals to get some stuff done for me. It's funny, normally I deal with mutations. Those are always lotsa fun to play around with. People sometimes react unexpectedly when juiced up with whatever toxin I got on hand. Sometimes, something beautiful is reborn."

He neglects to mention what happens when his experiments fail, no need to frighten her just yet. Fear wasn't the way to get to this one, it seemed. "I generally shy away from magic, darlin'. Especially necromancy, which you seem to be rather fond of. You can drop the accent, sweetheart, and the mask. Heh, you're almost as fake as I am. Now... when was the first time you brought someone back from the dead, missy?"

"No point lying to me now."

[Deathkeeper]

Spako flicks an ear-fin.
"Oh, so you're recruiting for some such uh, expeditions?" asks Spako a bit nervously. Not in the sense that he's afraid of fighting the unknown, but in the sense that he's sure he'll probably screw something up in front of someone important. Spako has awful luck.

[Septimus Faber]

And while the sandstorm is siphon off into the hat, Mr.C is siphon off there as well. That's the bad side of beeing just a few inch in size and weight like a stuff animal. A long
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhh...." follows as he got closer to the hat. If none grabs him he will ger siphon into the hat, but when inside a hissing noise can be heared and a little robe with a little hook comes out,graping the edge of the hat. On the othher end of the robe will be Mr.C still not in the position to drag himself out.

Varrel performs some feat of dexterity and (probably) manages to grab Mr. C out of the air before he is deposited in his bowler hat. Ah! Couldn't have you doing that. I don't imagine you'd like to be any smaller than you already are. To be honest, I've no idea where it all goes... He sets
Mr. C down upon the bar, assuming he doesn't try to do anything else.

He then turns to Myrrh. I suppose you won't be interested in what else I have to sell you now... Never mind. But, your mistress - Sunder, her name? - Are you sure she will be able to help me? I know a bit about magic, what you need to get ahead in a business like mine... But this is ancient stuff.

[Rebonack]

"To brave the depths of tractless dungeons and seal away evils not meant for the light of day is one of MANY pure and righteous paths a true HERO might take!" Rebonack replies with just as much enthusiasm as usual. "I have stood defiant in the face of many a tomb-horror and lived to fight on in the cause of JUSTICE! With Tarastia as my strength the vile and evil will fall before us!"

He sure is gung ho about everything, isn't he?

Probably better than moping around all the time, considering how awful his skin condition is.

Meanwhile!

"Quite certain," Myrrh replies with a nod. "My Mistress' talent, the point at which her magic is most fully manifest, is breaking that which can't be broken."

That's a pretty neat trick, right?

Wonder if she can break a sweat...

"To my knowledge, that doesn't include abstract concepts. But the source of your ill fortune appears to be quite corporeal."

[Morty]

"Last time I went dungeon-crawling, I met a friendly lich who is now helping Kr with some projects... Kr being the lady of my heart and the custodian of the mountain base," Wenomir explains. "I wouldn't say I'm recruiting, but it won't hurt to know if you'd be willing to help if such a trip was planned."

[Deathkeeper]

Spako nods.
"I couldn't rightly take a bed and turn down such a request to do what the organization is meant for. If you have such a task, of course you can count on me sir." says the kobold resolutely.

[Rebonack]

"And I as well, my friend," Rebonack agrees. "Simply point us toward the crypt that needs to be delved in the name of JUSTICE! and I shall see it done!"

Yep.

Still super enthusiastic about everything.

[RabbitHoleLost]

The man before her will gaze down at the floor for a few seconds, looking from that creepy looking bird to the depths of his fancy drink for a few seconds as he ponders what he just learned. Hmm, Marishka Vasque. Vasque, Vasque, Vasquez? He knew of a Vasquez, that ex-Remnant official! But, she quit the force, or stepped down a while ago. Marciano never really got the information on what exactly happened. The man will adjusts his orange feather in that rather large fedora before deciding it best to just leave the livejournal where it was. No point there, nothing to learn. Well, actually. He keeps the journal link for perusal later on. Angst was sometimes useful, and all sorts of phobias, hatreds, and traumas could be discovered just by listening to the teenager for a little while. Ah, the wonders of having your brain literally hooked up to the largest source of information ever created.

His eyebrows rise for a few seconds as she speaks up again, not quite expecting the growl. It seems she's beginning to suspect Marciano of ulterior motives, how unpleasant. Usually it took new recruits a little while longer before realizing that Marcy expected something of them. He thinks upon the kidnapping and undead raising cases for a half second, formulating a quick reply. "Heh. Does it really matter what I'm looking for, missy? Not really. But, yeah, everybody's looking for somethin' around here. Lucky for you, I'm simply looking for a few interestin' individuals to get some stuff done for me. It's funny, normally I deal with mutations. Those are always lotsa fun to play around with. People sometimes react unexpectedly when juiced up with whatever toxin I got on hand. Sometimes, something beautiful is reborn."

He neglects to mention what happens when his experiments fail, no need to frighten her just yet. Fear wasn't the way to get to this one, it seemed. "I generally shy away from magic, darlin'. Especially necromancy, which you seem to be rather fond of. You can drop the accent, sweetheart, and the mask. Heh, you're almost as fake as I am. Now... when was the first time you brought someone back from the dead, missy?"

"No point lying to me now."

He'd pinpointed the necromancy- ah, well, it's been a dead giveaway with the familiar she carries with her, and Rabbit lifts her hand to idly pet along the bird's skull, turning her gaze away from Marciano for the time being. Atleast, now, he was addressing her seriously, without the silly prattle of beating around the bush.

The way Rabbit preferred it- straight for the jugular. And he's frank, something the younger woman could appreciate, though his particular curiosities left her uncomfortable.
Everything about him set Rabbit on edge, like she was teetering on the edge of a cliffside that she couldn't quite see the end of. Thoughts of a dark night in a child's bedroom, and cold hands reaching out, fresh dirt still under the nails, the smell of earth and early decay filling her nose-

"Heh."
And finally she breaks through her own thoughts, looking to him with the first genuine grin she's had the entire exchange.
It is not pleasant nor sweet, not kind nor humorous. It is simply dark and unpleasant.

"You're good. I'm envious." And though the accent is diluted, it still remains. Not something she'd had when she left the Nexus, it's easy to assume it was an affection she'd picked up along the way.
The cigar returns to her lips and she languidly pulls a breath inwards, keeping the woodsy taste of her flavored tobacco in her mouth and in her barely functioning lungs before dispelling it all out towards Marciano in an amused puff of gray-blue.

"I nearly forgot that I'm not obligated to tell you a single thing, not truth nor lie."

A flick of her wrist and more ash drops to collect on the floor of Trog's.

"I don't take well to the living, especially not slippery things like you."
Somehow, 'slippery' seemed almost a compliment on her tongue.

"If you've no use for the dead, you've no use for me."

[Hattish Thing]

He'd pinpointed the necromancy- ah, well, it's been a dead giveaway with the familiar she carries with her, and Rabbit lifts her hand to idly pet along the bird's skull, turning her gaze away from Marciano for the time being. Atleast, now, he was addressing her seriously, without the silly prattle of beating around the bush.

The way Rabbit preferred it- straight for the jugular. And he's frank, something the younger woman could appreciate, though his particular curiosities left her uncomfortable.
Everything about him set Rabbit on edge, like she was teetering on the edge of a cliffside that she couldn't quite see the end of. Thoughts of a dark night in a child's bedroom, and cold hands reaching out, fresh dirt still under the nails, the smell of earth and early decay filling her nose-

"Heh."
And finally she breaks through her own thoughts, looking to him with the first genuine grin she's had the entire exchange.
It is not pleasant nor sweet, not kind nor humorous. It is simply dark and unpleasant.

"You're good. I'm envious." And though the accent is diluted, it still remains. Not something she'd had when she left the Nexus, it's easy to assume it was an affection she'd picked up along the way.
The cigar returns to her lips and she languidly pulls a breath inwards, keeping the woodsy taste of her flavored tobacco in her mouth and in her barely functioning lungs before dispelling it all out towards Marciano in an amused puff of gray-blue.

"I nearly forgot that I'm not obligated to tell you a single thing, not truth nor lie."

A flick of her wrist and more ash drops to collect on the floor of Trog's.

"I don't take well to the living, especially not slippery things like you."
Somehow, 'slippery' seemed almost a compliment on her tongue.

"If you've no use for the dead, you've no use for me."

Marciano spent a great deal of his time writing down silly prattle for the sole purpose of prattling in a silly way. It kept the mind of whoever he was talking to away from the negative and somewhat unsettling qualities of Marciano, and instead on whatever the sleazy little man was suggesting. He certainly had a way with words, if only his personality was half as pleasant as the honeyed words that came from his mouth, he'd have quite a bit more people on his side. Oh well, he makes up for his lack of charisma with sheer scariness. Might as well have 'em fear you, if they won't love you. The mastermind, murderer, and occasional terrorist glares at the bird once more, making a funny face at the annoying little thing as soon as Rabbit's head is turned away. What's worse than birds? Nasty undead birds that smell of blood and rotten flesh. He never could quite get over that nasty, pungent odor so commonly found beside death.

But death certainly followed him around. He'll recognize her grin as the same sort of nasty smile he's seen oh so many times on those he promised power to. The robotic killer certainly found playing with the desperate people of the world enjoyable. His accent is quite real, his mannerisms seemingly his own. That is, of course, unless everything about this person was a lie. Marciano himself didn't know when the real him started and the fake him began! Maybe there was never a real personality to begin with. He speaks to her as he breathes in the smoke. "Oh, I know. I'm quite good at what I do, sugar. It's one of my few real skills there, aftah all. I've always had a certain way with people. They seem to like telling me things, heh. People from all over, in the lowest of places, come to me for everything from advise, to work. You can see ol' Magtok with all 'is friends in high palces, sittin' in their shiny towers."

"Well, let's just say I'm quite comfortable with the friend's I got." He'll laugh to himself before uttering a subtle threat. "Like I said, people tell me things, sweetheart. Willingly or not, it don't really matter in the end to me." The man will not press forward any further but react to her final few statements. "See, I've been dead probably longer than you've been alive, hun." The man will gaze at her before speaking once more, but in her voice. It's rather comical, if a tad disturbing. "One might say I'm a man of many skins, many colors, many faces." And then, as if nothing happened, he speaks in his regular voice once more.

"I simply find mucking about with the dead a bit... distasteful. It's no fun when they're dead, after all, I prefer 'em live."

"They wriggle more that way."

[RabbitHoleLost]

He's twisted.

Rabbit was dark, her soul painted in shades of red and violent violet but Marciano sets her off in a way that tingles dangerously against her senses. Though she rarely paid full attention to another living person, every inch of her body is alert, a remnant of some prehistoric defense against predators.

And he may paint himself to be a jester, but he hints at edges with every word, trussing threats up underneath an amiable front.
Danger, her instincts whisper. Predators can be prey, too...

Rabbit rather admires it.

"Modest, too. Aren't you just the full package."
His threat blows past her- Rabbit knows, without a doubt, he's capable of living up to whatever he claims, but to worry about information that'll profit him little (if at all)was a waste of her own time. Instead, her eyes widen at the mimicry for just a split moment, a breath, before she relaxes back into her seat, the hand affectionately stroking Birdie dropping to her lap, hovering close to her thigh.

Admiration of his skills did not imply a complicit agreement to stand idly by as he manipulated her.

Death. Death suited the man, certainly, but he was not undead, she knew.
A list of things he wasn't, and still no closer to knowing what he was.

"The wriggling scream and cry and I'm not much fond of the whining." Tobacco buzzes at the back of her mind and Rabbit stubs her cigar out, casting one eye out for where she had left her hat.
It was about time to collect and go.

[Hattish Thing]

He's twisted.

Rabbit was dark, her soul painted in shades of red and violent violet but Marciano sets her off in a way that tingles dangerously against her senses. Though she rarely paid full attention to another living person, every inch of her body is alert, a remnant of some prehistoric defense against predators.

And he may paint himself to be a jester, but he hints at edges with every word, trussing threats up underneath an amiable front.
Danger, her instincts whisper. Predators can be prey, too...

Rabbit rather admires it.

"Modest, too. Aren't you just the full package."
His threat blows past her- Rabbit knows, without a doubt, he's capable of living up to whatever he claims, but to worry about information that'll profit him little (if at all)was a waste of her own time. Instead, her eyes widen at the mimicry for just a split moment, a breath, before she relaxes back into her seat, the hand affectionately stroking Birdie dropping to her lap, hovering close to her thigh.

Admiration of his skills did not imply a complicit agreement to stand idly by as he manipulated her.

Death. Death suited the man, certainly, but he was not undead, she knew.
A list of things he wasn't, and still no closer to knowing what he was.

"The wriggling scream and cry and I'm not much fond of the whining." Tobacco buzzes at the back of her mind and Rabbit stubs her cigar out, casting one eye out for where she had left her hat.
It was about time to collect and go.

No, no, no! But this was more fun than he'd had in a while now. He couldn't simply let this one slip away through his grip like this. She interested him so, her bizarre way of evading his guesses. There was clearly something about this woman that would prove valuable. He knew of a few people he'd like back in this world, after all. And it's obvious by her skillset that she knew much regarding anatomy, or biology. After all, necromancer's do spend most of their time with the dead. It wasn't difficult to find a place for her in his organization. There were shootouts, sometimes, and he'd occasionally lose a man or two. Imagine if he had a necromancer there to pick up the pieces! Why, recruiting would be simple! With every bullet that found it's mark, another of his goons could take it's place. Best of all, these wouldn't even need to be paid! What a delightful though. He'll bite the inside of his lip for a second, staring at her before speaking.

He's a bit less comical than he was previously, speaking almost like a regular person, though the accent is still there. "Ya know, there's a place for you, darlin', with me. With my people. I know you gots a certain allure aboutcha ya intend to keep up, but the mystery bull**** is wasted on me. You're more than that, you gotta be. You're no shambling mouse, walking around aimlessly through the streets. Nah, there's a purpose about you. And I won't lie and say I don't want ya around, cause I do." Marcy will grab her hat, and offer it to her. However, should she grab the end, he won't let go of the hat just yet. "I pay well, ya know. A place to live. Nice, even. Drinks and smokes aplenty. It's more than enough for the average Joe. But, for someone as... unique as you, I'd be willin' to getcha some more... interesting things."

He makes a friendly face. "Again, M'names Marciano Louv're. Should you be down an' out, low on cash or drink, or simply a bit lonely, I'd suggest comin' to me. Ya can find me at the Ritz Casino & Club. Nice joint, an' I own it. We could do oh so much with you, sweetheart. So." He'll hand the hat to her now. "You can meet me there tonight, at seven." Marciano stands up and will offer a hand there for her to shake, completely and utterly confident in himself.

"Or you can meet me there tonight, in a sack."

"It's all your choice, hun."

[Zefir]

Varrel performs some feat of dexterity and (probably) manages to grab Mr. C out of the air before he is deposited in his bowler hat. Ah! Couldn't have you doing that. I don't imagine you'd like to be any smaller than you already are. To be honest, I've no idea where it all goes... He sets
Mr. C down upon the bar, assuming he doesn't try to do anything else.

He then turns to Myrrh. I suppose you won't be interested in what else I have to sell you now... Never mind. But, your mistress - Sunder, her name? - Are you sure she will be able to help me? I know a bit about magic, what you need to get ahead in a business like mine... But this is ancient stuff.

The little green creature breaths hard as he is caught befor dragged into the hat.
Mr.C Isn't really in the mental state to do anything befor he is set down. He just got thrown arund by a sandstorm and neary disappeared in a black hole hat.
"Don't worry about that." he replies. "I have been ant size for a while. funny folks those ants. You won't belive how much they notice of their surrounding."

[RabbitHoleLost]

No, no, no! But this was more fun than he'd had in a while now. He couldn't simply let this one slip away through his grip like this. She interested him so, her bizarre way of evading his guesses. There was clearly something about this woman that would prove valuable. He knew of a few people he'd like back in this world, after all. And it's obvious by her skillset that she knew much regarding anatomy, or biology. After all, necromancer's do spend most of their time with the dead. It wasn't difficult to find a place for her in his organization. There were shootouts, sometimes, and he'd occasionally lose a man or two. Imagine if he had a necromancer there to pick up the pieces! Why, recruiting would be simple! With every bullet that found it's mark, another of his goons could take it's place. Best of all, these wouldn't even need to be paid! What a delightful though. He'll bite the inside of his lip for a second, staring at her before speaking.

He's a bit less comical than he was previously, speaking almost like a regular person, though the accent is still there. "Ya know, there's a place for you, darlin', with me. With my people. I know you gots a certain allure aboutcha ya intend to keep up, but the mystery bull**** is wasted on me. You're more than that, you gotta be. You're no shambling mouse, walking around aimlessly through the streets. Nah, there's a purpose about you. And I won't lie and say I don't want ya around, cause I do." Marcy will grab her hat, and offer it to her. However, should she grab the end, he won't let go of the hat just yet. "I pay well, ya know. A place to live. Nice, even. Drinks and smokes aplenty. It's more than enough for the average Joe. But, for someone as... unique as you, I'd be willin' to getcha some more... interesting things."

He makes a friendly face. "Again, M'names Marciano Louv're. Should you be down an' out, low on cash or drink, or simply a bit lonely, I'd suggest comin' to me. Ya can find me at the Ritz Casino & Club. Nice joint, an' I own it. We could do oh so much with you, sweetheart. So." He'll hand the hat to her now. "You can meet me there tonight, at seven." Marciano stands up and will offer a hand there for her to shake, completely and utterly confident in himself.

"Or you can meet me there tonight, in a sack."

"It's all your choice, hun."

It's less obvious what he's thinking, compared to others. So many people were easy to read, even for someone who didn't understand the motivations of normal people, much like Rabbit - but he was like trying to view threw black obsidian glass. She might catch small movements, general implications of images, but nothing vivid, nothing giving.
But he can read straight through her, it seems - even if she's written in a different language and he doesn't understand.

"I'm not mysterious. I just don't trust you."
Rabbit gives him a thin smile before reaching the last few inches for her hat, only to have it taken into his possession before she can fully manage. Hesitantly, she makes for the brim of her hat, but is frustratingly with held from her precious top hat as Marciano holds on insistently. Without a choice, she's made to listen to his 'offer'. A dozen rejections come to mind, easily as any lie she's told today (and there were quite a few, between Marciano and Morrison and Bad Touch), but crimson painted lips can't seem to form the words to I have a place to live, I've got plenty of booze and cigars, and There's nothing you could give me that I want, and instead she simply stands there, her lips pressed together in a stern line. When finally he relents control of her hat, she settles it atop her head at an angle, green eyes falling on the hand extended to her.

Could she trust him in this moment, or was there some hidden motive behind this simple gesture?

Her hand lifts, fingers rigid under the white silk of her gloves, and it seems that, for a moment, she might shake hands with him. Suddenly, her hand drops and she shakes her head slowly, auburn hair tossing over the purple fabric of her overcoat.

"You don't give much of a choice, Marciano Louv're." And his name sounds strange on Rabbit's tongue, unnatural in the way it tasted at the back of her throat.

"But we'll see."

[Morty]

Spako nods.
"I couldn't rightly take a bed and turn down such a request to do what the organization is meant for. If you have such a task, of course you can count on me sir." says the kobold resolutely.


"And I as well, my friend," Rebonack agrees. "Simply point us toward the crypt that needs to be delved in the name of JUSTICE! and I shall see it done!"

Yep.

Still super enthusiastic about everything.

"Good to know I can count on you," Wenomir says. "Although right now I am here looking for adventure for far more prosaic reasons. One of our leaders quit recently, which put us in a somewhat spotty financial situation. Adventuring is as good a way as any to earn something while staying within our goals."

[Deathkeeper]

Spako nods.
"That sounds reasonable. Got any leads so far?" he asks.

[WarKitty]

A large inky black man with two long horns, wrapped in what appear to be swirling opaque shadows instead of clothes, descends from the second floor. He's carrying a rather large bundle wrapped in a sheet that seems to be vaguely humanoid shaped, and is flanked by a pair of large hounds made from swirling smoke.

[Holy-hunter]

He showed no further signs of such intimacy towards Liriel since expelling the privacy of his summoned wings. As always he keeps his affairs between himself and the intended, leaving no one else the wiser.

As he sat with the demon woman he was not afraid to be seen as flirty tho, teasing and toying, flashing charming grin after charming grin. Whispering secrets and charms in to her ear.

As the drinks arrived the demonologist temporarily excuses himself from Liriel, leaving her with a fair few drinks. So much was going on in the tavern he thinks to himself as he rubs a thumb across the lingering taste of demon still fresh on his lips.

First thing first he swiftly weaves his way to catch Rabbit before she leaves, he lashes out in an attempt to snatch her by the wrist he earlier broke. If successful he will squeeze on the once broken joint tightly, his motives could be seen as malicious cruelty, and partly may be, but as his fingers digs around the joint he holds firmly he studies the state of repair.

He speaks to her quickly and quietly in his deep husky voice.
"You might be strong, but don't let that" he pauses for the slightest moment as a look of disdain takes over his face as he decides on the appropriate title "that man" he spits the sour words out then continues, "know that you are, control yourself.
I don't want you to end up any more dead then you already are," he gives her an evil toying smirk as that malevolent rage burns in his eyes and he leans in close and adds in a corse whisper "I still have a score to settle with you!"

If he had her wrist he throws a sudden jolt of energy down his arm fuelling a sudden burst of heat from his hand, just as quickly he forcible whips her arm across her body, attempting to pivot her back to the way she was going before he caught her.

Wasting no time, having said what needed to be said he moves on, he eyes Liriel for a moment giving her a reassuring nod. Later tonight he would have her collect souls he thought to himself. But first there was one more person he had to meet. His hand still burning hot clenches into a fiery fist as he fills with excitement.

He knew it was there before he laid eyes on it, it was in the way the shadows moved, in the feeling in the air. Although he strained to understand why he hadn't sensed it earlier.
It was the large dark shadowy demonic creature, standing at the stairway with a harvested soul of its own resting over its shoulder and guard like beasts at the demons side.

The dogs brought little concern or interest as he smoothly makes his way to stand infront of the demon, blocking its path.

The black demon will find a large muscular man standing face to face with him gazing at him intently, a steely glare in his determined eyes and an aggressive seriousness in his clenched jaw and tight pressed lips.
"I don't care what your deal or business is, but I'm taking that!" he says flatly out right demandingly.
He pauses standing steadily in arrogant silence, slowly he lets a small mocking grin creep across his lips as he confidently awaits a response.

[Septimus Faber]

Varrel makes a dismissive gesture in Mr C's general direction. Oh, it's no problem. It's just that people have been sucked into my hat before, and by all accounts it isn't pleasant...

He turns to Myrrh.

Hmm. That, then, naturally leads us onto the question: Where do we find her? I imagine you know, since you work for her. Oh, and also, she's not the type of being likely to incinerate anyone who interacts with her if she got out of Tir na n'Og the wrong side that morning, is she? Because I've dealt with those sorts of people before and it is not an experience I am eager to repeat.

[WarKitty]

Wasting no time, having said what needed to be said he moves on, he eyes Liriel for a moment giving her a reassuring nod. Later tonight he would have her collect souls he thought to himself. But first there was one more person he had to meet. His hand still burning hot clenches into a fiery fist as he fills with excitement.

He knew it was there before he laid eyes on it, it was in the way the shadows moved, in the feeling in the air. Although he strained to understand why he hadn't sensed it earlier.
It was the large dark shadowy demonic creature, standing at the stairway with a harvested soul of its own resting over its shoulder and guard like beasts at the demons side.

The dogs brought little concern or interest as he smoothly makes his way to stand infront of the demon, blocking its path.

The black demon will find a large muscular man standing face to face with him gazing at him intently, a steely glare in his determined eyes and an aggressive seriousness in his clenched jaw and tight pressed lips.
"I don't care what your deal or business is, but I'm taking that!" he says flatly out right demandingly.
He pauses standing steadily in arrogant silence, slowly he lets a small mocking grin creep across his lips as he confidently awaits a response.

He probably should have paid more attention to the dogs - both immediately lunge at him, trying to bite. They are extremely fast, and any bite will inject a paralytic, magic-dampening poison.

[Holy-hunter]

He probably should have paid more attention to the dogs - both immediately lunge at him, trying to bite. They are extremely fast, and any bite will inject a paralytic, magic-dampening poison.

Despite their speed the animals oncoming movements were obvious and expected, with a swift casualness he flicks his arms up from the elbow, and as if parting the oncoming attack, throws a single unison backhand at each dog to the inside of their face, the impact should divert their attack and momentum, pushing them past him.

Continuing to ignore the dogs he stares at the demon and waits.

[WarKitty]

Despite their speed the animals oncoming movements were obvious and expected, with a swift casualness he flicks his arms up from the elbow, and as if parting the oncoming attack, throws a single unison backhand at each dog to the inside of their face, the impact should divert their attack and momentum, pushing them past him.

Continuing to ignore the dogs he stares at the demon and waits.

The dogs are hit but simply try to curve their heads around to bite at the hands, seemingly unaffected by the force. If he has any sort of senses for such things he'll note that despite their smoke-like appearance, they are made of almost pure magical energy. Physical laws don't particularly apply to them, as they mostly don't exist on the physical plane. Ignoring them would be a very bad idea.

In the meantime the demon simply tries to walk past while he's busy with the dogs.

[Holy-hunter]

The demonologist never approaches a demon unprepared.
He would not have survived to age he is, walking the depths of the path he does, without heavily erring on the side of caution.

He contemplates as to who is underestimating who.

Well versed in the magic energies of demon kind, having almost a life time of tuition and study on their strengths and weaknesses, methods and strategies, minds and magic.
This demonologist is buffered by a powerful and sturdy aura that sits just above his skin.

Treating his foremost concern it keeps others out of his head, keeping his mind purely his. Secondly it hedges out physical and magical attacks. The second purpose of this effect allows him to interact with the slipperiest of incorporeal or shade like creatures who's presence may not be entirely on this realm.
Lastly it boosts his binding ability, it manipulates the very essence of their kind.
The lowest of demons could not even attack him, at a force to his will he could hold or manipulate those ranked as lessor and while the powerful would act freely, he was sure they could feel the tug of the infernal realms drawing the demons poweres back to from where they came.

This is what let him play on the same level as them, it didn't make him invulnerable, sometimes barely even cushioning a blow but it was a much needed assistance and cause for his arrogance.

The hounds if powerful beyond all expectation and anticipation could have bit into his skin, if so the poison will undoubtably start sinking into his system, if he was bitten he seems unaware. Refusing to move from his stance forcing the black demon to go around.

His hands begin to glow as they are consumed by small flames crawling over his skin that leap up to his forearms, (if the dogs attack again he will infuse the flame with an infernal rage and fiercly lash out at their oncoming snouts.

"What's wrong, don't want to play yourself?" He asks over his shoulder.
"We could always...... 'Negotiate'"

[WarKitty]

The hounds, black-looking though they may be, are in no way demonic. They are closest kin to constructs. The magic running through them is entirely mortal. The shrouded figure is a demon however, an incubus/succubus, a demon of desire. Though again if the attacker can tell, it is wrapped in a number of spells that are decidedly non-demonic on origin. Including, oddly enough, a control spell.

One hound makes it through, just the tiniest scratch. They continue to harry the attacker. The demon simply keeps moving towards the door.

[Holy-hunter]

"Liriel" he shouts across the tavern to the succubus he now considers his, "see if you can't follow your brother there" he commands as the demon walks out the door,
"I have some dogs to train."

With that, as before (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=18286487&postcount=178), while dodging the snapping jaws, his eyes burn bright as he draws a vile darkness from the ground below, that flows around him like a thick smog as it equips him in his armour and grants him unholy wings and strength wich he uses to balance out the increasing effects of the poison.

Something was very amiss here, powers he was envious of, his interested had been peaked beyond the point of being able to let it slide.

He will seek to move to a secluded location or room to deal with these construct like creatures, he acts quick as the poison is taking a toll, and keeping up the facade of normality is slowly draining him.

[Rebonack]

"The wrong side of..." Myrrh echoes before giving her head a shake. "I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with that term. Tir na n'Og?" she continues, testing it on her tongue. "Which is going to bother me now. Some sort of plane of existence?"

She's curious!

Curious enough to ask plenty of questions!

Questions are always fun. They help you learn things! And learning is the best.

"Regardless, I think the answer is no. My Mistress is very much a material being of Midgard. Or... whatever it is people in the Nexus call the plain of existence where mortals dwell," she says with a curt nod. "Our home is within the bounds of Midnight Park, in Shadowood Hold. It's considered a 'Red Zone' in this City, but provided the living remain on the pathways we've cut through the forest it's perfectly safe."

Just don't go wandering off the pathway unless you feel like being eaten by shadows.

Being eaten by shadows is terrible.

And then fighting!

Lots of fighting!

Some kind of... warlock locking proverbial horns with a demon? The unicorn frowns at the sight. Is this her business? Should she step in? But on which side...

[Zefir]

Varrel makes a dismissive gesture in Mr C's general direction. Oh, it's no problem. It's just that people have been sucked into my hat before, and by all accounts it isn't pleasant...

He turns to Myrrh.

Hmm. That, then, naturally leads us onto the question: Where do we find her? I imagine you know, since you work for her. Oh, and also, she's not the type of being likely to incinerate anyone who interacts with her if she got out of Tir na n'Og the wrong side that morning, is she? Because I've dealt with those sorts of people before and it is not an experience I am eager to repeat.

"Well,. Thank you. It's still a matter of size that I got into this trouble. Might as well see how I can solve that." Mr. C replise. He got the little feeling that he disturb something here. So he starts to walk off. Not very fast due to his size, but with a moderate speed.

[Morty]

Spako nods.
"That sounds reasonable. Got any leads so far?" he asks.

"Not so far, no. If we don't run into anything, I can always go ask in MERC. I have a license there for that purpose. I trust them about as far as I can throw them, but it is helpful," Wenomir says with a shrug. Then he looks at the fight. "Do you know what the hell this is about? It looks to be escalating a point where I might be inclined to do something about it."

[Rebonack]

"It would appear the horned fellow has something the magus desires," Rebonack replies, though he sounds somewhat uncertain. "And if I am not mistaken, that shape the horned creature is carrying looks suspiciously like a person wrapped in a bed sheet."

If it IS a person in a bed sheet?

That might be something to do something about. Maybe.

It can be hard to figure out what the proper course of action to take is when things are as convoluted as they are at Trog's Tavern.

And for the record?

Demons aren't strictly a thing in Rebonack's homeworld. The closest would be evil elementals that live in the world's core.

They're notoriously unpleasant.

The Cobalt Knight rises to his feet and begins approaching the horned creature. "Sir? If you might explain who or what you're carrying? I believe there may be some who are worried that you are abducting one of the tavern's patrons."

An understandable thing to be worried about, right?

[WarKitty]

The horned figure shrugs briefly. The figure shimmers before changing form to an extremely well-endowed lady. Olive skin set off by chocolate brown hair and bright green eyes, clad in a short white tunic that somehow still manages to reveal most of her chest. I'm not doing anything that wasn't agreed to. she says, eyes wide.

The dogs, meanwhile, are still harrying the more aggressive figure. They are powerful but direct and predictable, as befits their nature.

[Holy-hunter]

The man tussles with the two large dogs, they are all rolling around, jumping about, fists and fangs lashing out. Not too surprisingly since he seemed built for battle, the man seems to be enjoying himself, even as he stops to watch the demon change and one of the creatures lunges onto his back and bites deep into his neck. As blood runs down his ruined top he reaches into the creature holding of it whatever he can as a torrent of flames burst from his hand and a sharp twist and flick will send it flying into the other empty monster.

He picks up a flaming barstool that he had accidentally set alight, holding it out ready for another bout he slowly circles his aggressors to a point he can watch them and and the Cobalt adressing the demon that shifted into a woman.

[Septimus Faber]

Oh, sorry. I thought it was a common term - Tir na n'Og is the Land of the Forever Young. A sort of otherworld in some cultures. I would say I don't actually believe in it, but living in the Nexus it's a little hard to disbelieve anything. Varrel should probably know by now that his elaborate jokes and fantastic analogies are not palatable to everyone, but he's just that sort of guy.

She sounds quite.. Regal, I think the word is, so is there anything in particular I need to do? Any way to address her? Shadowood Hold... Gosh. I've heard of it, but not often, which I suppose must tell you something about the place. He's also quite inquisitive, and Myrrh is so far removed from any other being he's encountered before that's it's hard to resist asking her about everything he can think of.

[Deathkeeper]

Spako looks about and sighs, having not paid attention to the fight at all, and deciding to simply react to whatever happens at this point.

[Rebonack]

Rebonack coughs slightly when the horned man turns into a non-horned woman.

He's not about to fall for something like that.

He just saw the creature use its glamor after all. "Ahem... Be that as it may... eerr... miss? I still believe some sort of explanation is deserved."

Meanwhile!

"Ah, I see," Myrrh hums. "Based on what I've learned of the 'Nexus' thus far, I wouldn't be terribly surprised if such a place did in fact exist."

Totally does.

Rebo has a version of it and it's terrible. Never visit unless you don't mind getting turned into a faerie or getting dragged off to be enslaved down in the Dreamlands by some insane Shee.

As Varrel's question Myrrh shakes her head. "My Mistress is quite informal. Her present state is quite new for her, a matter of months at most. So long as you treat her respectfully I believe you'll find her rather amiable."

[Morty]

Wenomir rubs his forehead.

"Quite true. This fight seems to have escalated past your average tussle in Trog's."

[Baeleck]

Over by the fireplace, Niara is speaking to a stereotypically-necromancery-type person. You know, dark hood, dark robes, pale skin, hunched back - the works.

'I'm sorry,' she says, 'but it's essential that you are able to provide exactly the service my client needs. You aren't suitable for the job. Thank you for your time.'

Another interview; another disappointment. As the applicant leaves, Niara taps down some notes onto her datapad, then leans back into her chair with a small sigh. She should really get herself an office, or something.

[Holy-hunter]

Over by the fireplace, Niara is speaking to a stereotypically-necromancery-type person. You know, dark hood, dark robes, pale skin, hunched back - the works.

'I'm sorry,' she says, 'but it's essential that you are able to provide exactly the service my client needs. You aren't suitable for the job. Thank you for your time.'

Another interview; another disappointment. As the applicant leaves, Niara taps down some notes onto her datapad, then leans back into her chair with a small sigh. She should really get herself an office, or something.

A large bloody silver pistol falls onto the table near Niara with a crash. The unnamed man who hired her earlier stands with an open hand above the revolver, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

(It has been some time since he went crashing out the window with the hounds he was fighting, he has since returned alive, sporting a tight black blood smeared leather trenchcoat and multiple poorly bandaged wounds.)

"Who makes these?" He asks referring to the gun, "it's destructive power is exhilarating, but it is mundane and poorly suited, can you find me something more powerful and adabted to my Abilities and needs?"

He looks down at the girl and her magic screen with interest in his eye.

[Ashen Lilies]

Drifting into the tavern is a placid looking figure wearing a dark hood. Or maybe 'placid' is just the expression on her mask: a smooth, expressionless face of white ceramic. A wand is tucked into her belt, a leather bandoleer with seven pouches hangs across her chest.

Mandrake cheats towards Niara - the woman at the fireplace mentioned in her message - but hangs back for the moment at the sight of the figure with the revolver.

[Baeleck]

Niara flinches at the crash, spinning around to see what it was that had caused the noise. However, she notices Bad Touch first. She flips the datapad closed with a swift flick of the wrist, then looks up slowly, frowning at her client. But her expression then softens significantly, as she sees the condition he's in.

'You look a little roughed up again, hmm? Nothing you couldn't handle though, I suppose.' She smiles faintly, then clears her throat with a slight hint of nervousness. 'So far I haven't found anybody with the right skillset, but I should have another potential arriving soon.'

Who knows, maybe he could sit in on this interview?

The gun is given a cursory glance. 'Well, this is more my area of expertise,' she says, 'so I should be able to help.'

A pause.

'Just what are your own abilities and needs? Y'know, so I'm clear on what you require.' She doesn't much fancy spending hours searching through her catalogue of weapons, only to supply him with something unsuitable.

Meanwhile, the gun is being looked at by one of Niara's drones. It should be able to discern any unusual properties, mechanical or magical, that the revolver possesses. Though, if it is indeed completely mundane, it's inspection will be concluded in a matter of moments.

Mandrake goes unnoticed, for the moment.

[Holy-hunter]

Niara flinches at the crash, spinning around to see what it was that had caused the noise. However, she notices Bad Touch first. She flips the datapad closed with a swift flick of the wrist, then looks up slowly, frowning at her client. But her expression then softens significantly, as she sees the condition he's in.

'You look a little roughed up again, hmm? Nothing you couldn't handle though, I suppose.' She smiles faintly, then clears her throat with a slight hint of nervousness. 'So far I haven't found anybody with the right skillset, but I should have another potential arriving soon.'

Who knows, maybe he could sit in on this interview?

The gun is given a cursory glance. 'Well, this is more my area of expertise,' she says, 'so I should be able to help.'

A pause.

'Just what are your own abilities and needs? Y'know, so I'm clear on what you require.' She doesn't much fancy spending hours searching through her catalogue of weapons, only to supply him with something unsuitable.

Meanwhile, the gun is being looked at by one of Niara's drones. It should be able to discern any unusual properties, mechanical or magical, that the revolver possesses. Though, if it is indeed completely mundane, it's inspection will be concluded in a matter of moments.

Mandrake goes unnoticed, for the moment.


'Roughed up' that was an understatement, in today's 3 encounters he had received 2 severe head wounds, (by foot and brick) broken and bruised ribs, a dog bite to the neck and scratches, a light bullet wound to the shoulder and a knife to the upper thigh. In fact it was only his pure stubbornness that kept him going. Even when physically exhausted and ready to collapse he continues on refusing to show any sights of weakness.

Pulling a seat up near Niara as the machine finishes it's scan, he doesn't seem phased by her current failings of his mission. But he is clearly not impressed either, he gives her a nod, acknowledging her questions but instead of answering he reaches around and sets up another chair.

Mandrake didn't go completely unnoticed, nor did her directed attention. With another nod and a small gesture of the hand he invites her over to sit with them. The gun could wait, he didn't really know what he wanted yet anyway.

[WarKitty]

The demon looks around. I have a deal to fulfill, and somewhat quickly. If you will excuse me? I have no violent intent towards anyone who does not interfere. She continues to walk towards the door.

[Rebonack]

Rebonack is blocked the door at present, taking full advantage of the fact that he's a pretty big guy.

"Miss... eerr... sir. Whichever you prefer. I should like to see what you have in those sheets so that I might know that nothing untoward is taking place," the knight insists.

You know.

Like kidnapping?

Kidnapping is bad.

[Septimus Faber]

Meanwhile!

"Ah, I see," Myrrh hums. "Based on what I've learned of the 'Nexus' thus far, I wouldn't be terribly surprised if such a place did in fact exist."

Totally does.

Rebo has a version of it and it's terrible. Never visit unless you don't mind getting turned into a faerie or getting dragged off to be enslaved down in the Dreamlands by some insane Shee.

As Varrel's question Myrrh shakes her head. "My Mistress is quite informal. Her present state is quite new for her, a matter of months at most. So long as you treat her respectfully I believe you'll find her rather amiable."

Right, then! says Varrel. I suppose if I'm going to visit your mistress I'd better go and do so. Will you accompany me? Not that I mind if you don't. He genuinely is ambivalent about it. It's his problem, and it seems somewhat unfair to drag Myrrh in... But equally he's quite a sociable sort of person (on his good days) and appreciates the value of a companion on a journey.

[Ashen Lilies]

Mandrake nods, and moves over to join them discreetly, taking her seat without a sound so as not to interrupt the conversation.

[Baeleck]

'Roughed up' that was an understatement, in today's 3 encounters he had received 2 severe head wounds, (by foot and brick) broken and bruised ribs, a dog bite to the neck and scratches, a light bullet wound to the shoulder and a knife to the upper thigh. In fact it was only his pure stubbornness that kept him going. Even when physically exhausted and ready to collapse he continues on refusing to show any sights of weakness.

Pulling a seat up near Niara as the machine finishes it's scan, he doesn't seem phased by her current failings of his mission. But he is clearly not impressed either, he gives her a nod, acknowledging her questions but instead of answering he reaches around and sets up another chair.

Mandrake didn't go completely unnoticed, nor did her directed attention. With another nod and a small gesture of the hand he invites her over to sit with them. The gun could wait, he didn't really know what he wanted yet anyway.


Mandrake nods, and moves over to join them discretely, taking her seat without a sound so as not to interrupt the conversation.
Niara is put somewhat on edge by the man's silence, but as Mandrake approaches, she quickly figures that she should get on with business.

'Ah, hello there. You must be Mandrake,' Niara says, nodding politely. She'd made sure to ask for her applicant's names this time around - it had been a little awkward not knowing with Phoebe. A hand is offered for shaking. 'Niara Tarmikos, at your service; this is my client, who you will be working for, granted you are found to be suitable for the job at hand.'

She pauses here to allow for Bad Touch to make any of his own introductions, but if nothing is said she continues, her face taking a more serious expression now.

'Firstly, I must ask that everything we discuss here is to be kept strictly between the three of us. Is that understood?'

With its scanning complete, the drone retreats to a more innocuous position, hovering between the three of them an the rest of the tavern. It keeps an eye out for any potential eavesdroppers to the conversation going on behind it.

[Rebonack]

Myrrh gives a small nod. "You may be delayed if you simply walk up to Shadowood Hold and request audience with my Mistress. As her seneschal, it will be relatively trivial for me to provide you with the opportunity."

She begins trotting toward the door!

...which is presently being blocked by a demon and a knight.

That's rather inconvenient!

With a frown, Myrrh Balm moves over to one of the windows and shoves it open before making a rather hilarious looking attempt to scramble out through it. "Come along! We can ride the train there. It's such a fascinating machine! Have you ridden on it before?"

It's easy to forget just how out of date the unicorn is. When she was alive a lever with a bucket on the end to help with irrigation was considered state of the art technology.

To the Home thread?

[Holy-hunter]

Niara is put somewhat on edge by the man's silence, but as Mandrake approaches, she quickly figures that she should get on with business.

'Ah, hello there. You must be Mandrake,' Niara says, nodding politely. She'd made sure to ask for her applicant's names this time around - it had been a little awkward not knowing with Phoebe. A hand is offered for shaking. 'Niara Tarmikos, at your service; this is my client, who you will be working for, granted you are found to be suitable for the job at hand.'

She pauses here to allow for Bad Touch to make any of his own introductions, but if nothing is said she continues, her face taking a more serious expression now.

'Firstly, I must ask that everything we discuss here is to be kept strictly between the three of us. Is that understood?'

With its scanning complete, the drone retreats to a more innocuous position, hovering between the three of them an the rest of the tavern. It keeps an eye out for any potential eavesdroppers to the conversation going on behind it.

As might have been expected by Niara, her client remains silent and watches over the following engagement with a stern look on his face and the slightest smirk pressed upon his lips, he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his wide chest and waits.

[Septimus Faber]

Myrrh gives a small nod. "You may be delayed if you simply walk up to Shadowood Hold and request audience with my Mistress. As her seneschal, it will be relatively trivial for me to provide you with the opportunity."

She begins trotting toward the door!

...which is presently being blocked by a demon and a knight.

That's rather inconvenient!

With a frown, Myrrh Balm moves over to one of the windows and shoves it open before making a rather hilarious looking attempt to scramble out through it. "Come along! We can ride the train there. It's such a fascinating machine! Have you ridden on it before?"

It's easy to forget just how out of date the unicorn is. When she was alive a lever with a bucket on the end to help with irrigation was considered state of the art technology.

To the Home thread?

Varrel hoists himself up through the window, doing his best to ignore the demon-knight standoff which is uncomfortably close by. He lands on the other side rather clumsily, but regains his balance and dusts himself off. Yes, a few tiimes. But it never ends terribly well; my home country is not known for its infrastructure.

Home, by all means.

[Ashen Lilies]

"That is understood." Says Mandrake. Her voice is smooth, dark and earthy - a curiously rich and expressive voice to be coming from a figure so plainly and discreetly garbed. It's one of the few traits she's chosen not to obscure, for reasons of practicality.

Given that she's operating under an obviously false name and wearing a disguise so thorough that not even an inch of skin, nor indeed, the specific size and shape of her body, are visible, it's pretty safe to assume she's well acquainted with the practice of not revealing information.

[Baeleck]

The silence was predictable, yes. Any less unsettling, no. Niara feels like she's being judged on every word she says, and as such, she proceeds accordingly: slowly and with extreme caution.

Mandrake's agreement is confirmed with a curt nod. 'Then, to business. Now, there are three things that my client desires. The first is to prevent the onset of death of a living subject.' Living to some extent, at least. 'Some form of preserving or stasis is the sort of effect desired, I believe.'

A pause, again. Ample time for correction or elaboration on Bad Touch's part, but not so long it's obvious.

'The second is to prevent a soul from returning. An exclusion ritual, or warding of the body. And thirdly: prevent detection or summoning from outside sources, again through some variety of warding.'

And then, the inevitable question. 'Do you feel the extent of your abilities covers these tasks?'

[Rebonack]

Wait, what's this?

Some kind of freaky time warp thing?

Totally some kind of a freaky time warp thing, because there's a draconequus behind the counter now!

Fortuna blinks about at all the people who weren't here a moment prior. People moving, people bustling, people doing normal people things. And most important? She can see the City outside the windows of the tavern rather than an endless star-scape.

"Hey! We're back!" she proclaims as she sets down the cocktail mixer she was fiddling with. Then she blinks, glancing around for her friends. "We're back, right? Guys?"

Hopefully they made it back too!

If not to Trog's then at least to somewhere else. Being stuck in a weird deadtime storm for the rest of forever would probably be terrible. Too many people get trapped in the endless moment as it is.

[Lord Magtok]

Magtok blinks, and then nearly trips when the world has been rotated roughly fourteen degrees without anyone telling him. Blugh, he hates these reality maintenance things. The coming home part is always bumpy and confusing like this.

"I'm still here. We didn't lose anyone jumping back out of hyperspace, did we?" he asks, adjusting himself to fit the new and unexpected orientation of the world. This is one of those times he's glad he hovers everywhere; if his foot had clipped into the floor, that would've been an absolute nightmare.

[Fenric]

Frederick shakes his head and looks at his empty cocktail glass

Woah... that was weird. What was in this?

[Deathkeeper]

Zebes sits on the counter next to Fortuna, besides a small pile of empty milk-boxes and crumbs.
"All's well on this end. 'Far as I can tell." he mutters.
Wonder where his DS went?

[Rebonack]

Fortuna frowns over at the somewhat blurry Kellia. "I think that's just normal deadtime, so yeah. We all made it back," she says with a sigh of relief.

And then?

Then she sticks her tongue out at Freddy.

"Gin, vermouth, ice, and lemon juice."

What?

That's what the recipe called for and so that's what she used!

Fortuna is at least competent enough to follow a recipe for something as simple as a mixed drink.

"I was a bit worried there for a while. How often does something like that happen?" she asks. "The big dead time storm, I mean? Every few months? Years? I've been here a little over a year, but I don't think I've bumped into anything quite like that before."

[Fenric]

Frederick chuckles

Yeah, yeah: Fortuna: I was just teasing. I know it wasn't your fault.

then he shrugs

I've heard awful stories from Mom and Grandpa... this is the first one I ever saw, myself.

Then he hears a menacing burbling and looks over, just in time to be engulphed by the ancient dead-time pudding! Oh Noes!

[Deathkeeper]

Zebes shakes his head.
"Actually, there was a big week-long one about four months before you came to the Nexus. I know there's been at least a day-long one since then. You probably didn't notice at the time ."

[Lord Magtok]

Post-Forum Maintenance Confusion

"This is only the second one I experienced it like this, but there was something similar back in Town." Magtok explains, as he heads for the door. Everyone was a bit more substantial back then, though. There was an entire Enupnion Town to explore, as opposed to being locked up in a crude, IRC-forged facsimile of Trog's Tavern.

"I'm going to Inari's for you-know-what. Not getting my hopes up, but fingers crossed anyways." It'd be nice if it were that easy to bring Sophia back from the dead, but Raptor Christ knows nothing in life ever seems to be easy for our second favorite cyborg.

[Holy-hunter]

The silence was predictable, yes. Any less unsettling, no. Niara feels like she's being judged on every word she says, and as such, she proceeds accordingly: slowly and with extreme caution.

Mandrake's agreement is confirmed with a curt nod. 'Then, to business. Now, there are three things that my client desires. The first is to prevent the onset of death of a living subject.' Living to some extent, at least. 'Some form of preserving or stasis is the sort of effect desired, I believe.'

A pause, again. Ample time for correction or elaboration on Bad Touch's part, but not so long it's obvious.

'The second is to prevent a soul from returning. An exclusion ritual, or warding of the body. And thirdly: prevent detection or summoning from outside sources, again through some variety of warding.'

And then, the inevitable question. 'Do you feel the extent of your abilities covers these tasks?'

There is a shift in his position as the client moves forward, leaning on the table, staring intently into the mask with anticipation, eagerly awaiting a final answer.

There was much mystery to this creature before him, and even more so effort to ensure it so.
Already defiance began to bubble within him, there was a clear message of things he would not know, and this only made him want the answers more... Nonetheless his outer appearance remained nonchalant towards her appearance focusing only on her next words.

[Lost_Deep]

Post-Forum Maintenance Confusion

Kellia comes back to her senses, a half-drained chocolate shake in one hand. "I'm still confused, for the record, but it's nice to see things are back to normal?"

Normal is a relative term.

[Rebonack]

"Good luck, Magtok. I hope your daughter turns out okay," Fortuna calls after Maggy. Cosmo begins shooing the draconequus out from behind the bar. Nothing that fuzzy should ever be back there shedding fur in the drinks. It's unsanitary! And so on that note she rejoins her friends! "I'm pretty glad too," she admits to Kellia. "I started to get worried there when the projected time to repair reality kept getting longer and longer. But it looks like everything worked out alright in the end!"

And then, just for good measure, she provides Kellia with a hug.

"I'm pretty sure things don't ever get back to normal when you aren't normal herself," she points out, booping Kellia on the nose with one of her claws.

Well...

Assuming Kellia still has a nose.

Does Kellia still have a nose?

Because if she does it just got booped.

[Deathkeeper]

Zebes snorts a bit.
"I think that statement is sadly correct. But don't worry. Where we're concerned, normal is generally lame. Normal is only not lame in the context of everyone being alive and not cursed or something. Because let's face it, if we enforce normality the only person we know who'd still be around would be your original self."
he pauses.
"Is anyone ever going to tell her about you two?" he asks, suddenly curious.

[Lost_Deep]

Kellia has an itty bitty nose!

"We aren't. And normality is relative. If you go TOO bland, it gets around to weird or creepy. In the Nexus, one in every ten people can be on fire and it's pretty normal."

The next table over, a dorf laughs. His friend, whose beard is smouldering, nods in agreement.

[Rebonack]

Firebeard the Dwarf!

Is he a famous street performer?

A warrior with an intimidating beard?

Half whatever those fire-based dwarf elemental things are called?

None of the above?

Who knows!

"We should plan some kind of fun event together," Fortuna reasons. "Something that would be... fun! Just normal fun. Not immediately imperiling fun. You know, normal people fun?" That manages to get a laugh out of her. "Though I guess normal fun can get pretty exotic around here. There are all sorts of museums and amusement parks around the Nexus. I'm sure we could find something that we would all enjoy pretty easily."

Preferably something that wouldn't result in them all being on fire.

[Deathkeeper]

Zebes grins his toothy dragon grin.
"I'd recommend against anything else pokemon-themed. Everyone would gawk at Kell, and that many pokemon would probably have at least Jace switching to pokespeak the entire time."

Jace's brain switches over automatically when speaking to pokemon. It gets a bit annoying when the 'mon in question speaks Nexus Common anyway. Zebes can always just cheat with telepathy.

[Lost_Deep]

Maybe the dorf just got thirsty before he got around to extinguishing it.

"Honestly, thrill rides have never appealed to me, and you're right, Zebes, about the pokemon stuff. I have had plenty of pokemon for a LONG time. However, I never have had the chance to go to any Nexus museums. It just... never came up."