Trog's Tavern CLV

[Recaiden]

"I'm Honeysuckle."

She considers that name for a moment.
"Don't think 'v heard of you."

Oh, Honeysuckle would also envy that. "Yeah, ah know. Time is trouble."
"But you say it's no curse, so next step - see a diviner. Less you have another idea?"

[Fenric]

Fenric nods

Diviner is probably your best bet at this point: it doesn't look like it's any of the simpler causes of such misfortune.

[Recaiden]

Honeysuckle nods more than she probably needs to.
"You said something about a broad tainted curse?"

[Fenric]

Fenric's ears fold a bit and he nods

Yes, very strange that. It felt like a curse that would affect everything in an entire world just a little bit. And I mean ... it felt like everything. Minor bad luck and depression sort of thing, only very weak. Never seen anything quite like it, to be honest.

[Recaiden]

"Anything I can do 'bout that?"
Honeysuckle asks. It doesn't sound good, but then, none of this sounded good.

[Vahnavoi]

Miranda mulls that over for just a second before handing Star of Hope a little silver ball, about the size of an apple. "Get after him, take this beacon with you. Sandels and I will catch up after we're done here." Of the people in the room, the purple-robed man with whom Prime had an apparent grudge would appear to be the best source of intel. Too much so to pass up as a matter of expediency.

Miranda approaches Magtok, pulling up a trio of chairs from a nearby table. "And as for you..." She begins, setting her Hotbox down nearby. "If you know anything about Prime, I suggest you share. Forewarned is forearmed, as they say." She reaches into her Hotbox and pulls out a tin of white ointment, which has the rough consistency of yogurt and smells subtly of vanilla. She dabs a little on her finger and starts gently applying it to Magtok's burns, which should dramatically reduce the time it will take for them to heal if his physiology is at all similar to that of a human. If nothing else, the soothing salve should feel so much better than the tavern air on Magtok's burned skin.

These fools and their assumptions were grating on his nerves. He doesn't want to bothered with all the tedium and troubles that go with helping them, but he really, really doesn't want them to look down on him. Prime ripped his arm off before he even entered the tavern; do they think he couldn't do the same to them if he were so inclined?

"Put the sunscreen away and get me my arm and the biggest intact chunk of leg off the floor," he glowers, waving a dismissive hand at the lady trying to treat his burns, before taking hold of that salvaged leg he pulled off of Prime, holding it up to his scarlet prosthetic eye, and running a scan of the thing to glean as much intel as he can.

"I'm Magtok. Owner of MagCorp, one of the original founders of AMEN, a retired ex-supervillain, and savior of the entire universe once or twice. You may have heard of me," he remarks with a weary sigh, knowing full well that they haven't. Kids these days don't know a damn thing about this world's history, about the wars and apocalypses and gods that have risen and fallen before they were ever born. The public education system in Inside is an absolute joke. He's so glad he's never paid any taxes to the inept baboons in charge of the city. They'd probably spend the money hiring Reinholdt to protect them, those fools.

"Fourteen years ago, or thereabouts, Prime, the original Magtok, Magtok Classic, the bastard ghost who came in here with a giant millipede robot body, died. His hidden laboratory decanted a fresh batch of clones, which I think were supposed to be possessed by the ghost, the same way that millipede was. He never bothered to show up, though. In fact, this is our first time ever seeing him since fourteen years ago, so New Magtok, the Nexus's Magtok, The Magtok Who Would Become The Magtok Talking To You Now, The Magtok Who Had None of Prime's Memories or Personality or Anything, was free to just take over that secret lab and figure out how to succeed in life all on his own. That Magtok wasn't keen on repeating Prime's mistakes, so he set up a memory transfer system, a database where every clone's memories would be regularly uploaded to the cloud, so every Magtok would be the same Magtok, essentially. A hive mind of Magtoks, each as expendable as the last, so long as we kept the cloning vats and memory banks operational. The world was a lot more dangerous back then, so this was absolutely necessary to survive if you were just a mere human, like I am. Do you follow so far?" Magtok asks, hoping against hope he's dumbed this down enough for the primitives to comprehend. If someone's nice enough to hand him his arm, he quickly sets about re-installing it, making use of some exotic tools and gadgets hidden away in his robe to reconnect torn wires and meld the metal exterior back together again. He's actually remarkably talented when it comes to self-repair with only one arm, almost as if he built his own body from scratch, and has had lost arms like this countless times before in evil underground laboratory mishaps.

"Anyway, Prime dropped by the MagCave and said it was time for me to stop existing and using the name 'Magtok' without his permission, so I telewarped outside Trog's to try to-" He pauses, trying to figure out how to phrase 'use you dopes as a distraction while I run away and escape the ensuing bloodbath' in a manner that won't offend anyone or make it look like he was exploiting them for his own personal security. "...to try to not die. Before I could open the tavern door, though, he tracked my telewarp signal and appeared right next to me, telekinetically lobbing me right through the window. And that's where you lot came in."

Meanwhile, the swordsman will have no trouble at all following the psychic signature. It clings to the air like a thick fog, tainting the atmosphere wherever it goes with a heady aroma of blood and smoke. Nightmares of genocide, fragmented thoughts of inhumane experiments on political dissidents leave a trail to Magtok Prime's location. Star of Hope probably won't know it until he leaves the tavern and starts following that trail, but it leads straight to a run-down factory on the edge of Skyside's Thunderhead district. A seemingly abandoned factory of no real significance that should've been bought out or seized by force months ago, given the cutthroat nature of the city. Reall, that kind of prime real estate, left alone in a city full of tycoons warring over every acre? Absurd.

The swordsman takes the silver ball in his hand and... just holds it in his hand, because his shirt is gone and so he can't do what he usually does and stuff the ball in its folds. "Understood", he says and hurries out of the door.

Sandels looks after him, then at Miranda. "Yeah, I think I better run after him right now. I have a hunch we'll next find him at the bottom of the ocean if doesn't have someone watching his step. Excuse me." He turns on his heels and runs after the swordsman part way through Magtok's backstory.

Outside, the swordsman takes a moment to observe the streets, then takes a running start and jumps on the roof of the opposing building. From there, he spots the next tallest building and gets on its roof in few mighty leaps. His footsteps are lighter than they ought to be for someone his size, but undoubtedly he'll still startle a few residents of the buildings below. Onward he goes, racing across rooftops of Inside, following the psychic trail of his target. Air resistance tears off what remains of his cloak and goes fluttering away in the wind.

After a while, though, it becomes clear that his target is ascending beyond what lay of the land is allowing him to reach. So, he drops back on the streets, to possible surprise of any passers-by, and stops. He looks up to the clouded skies, scratching his head. Where is his target going? And how is he supposed to get there?

As he wonders this, a roaring sounds echoes from the distance, growing in intensity as the source comes closer. Soon, a black Harley Davidson motorbike with a fancy chrome skull ornament at the front appears from behind a corner and races right next to the swords before coming to halt. The swordsman steps aside to give way but then notices the rider has familiar clothes.

"What's the matter?", Sandels asks, flipping up the visor of his all-black biker helmet. "Got lost?"

"No, I... just don't know how I'm supposed to get up there", the swordsman admits, pointing up at the sky.

"What, you don't remember how?", Sandels snickers and asks.

The swordsman gives him a blank stare. "What do you mean, remember?"

Sandels shrugs. "Eh. Doesn't matter. Hop on!" He taps the back of his bike's saddle. "We'll take the long way around!"

The swordsman looks skeptical. "Do you know where we are going?"

"Hell no!", the biker replies enthusiastically, "But where ever it is, I bet I can get you there better than you can! Just keep shouting directions in my ear!"

The swordsman thinks it over for a second, then sighs and does as suggested, not having a better plan. It takes him some effort to fit himself behind the smaller man on the bike. "Am I supposed to hold on to something?", he asks awkwardly, having last ridden a motorbike in tandem... never.

"Eh. You'll figure it out. Just keep your feet off the ground", Sandels advices (poorly), flips down his visor, kicks his bike into motion... and then it suddenly accelerates to completely ludicrous speeds. In a split-second, the swordsman is clinging to Sandels for dear life as they weave past people, buildings and other traffic, everything not immediately ahead becoming just a messy blur in his eyes.

"Left! Go left!", the swordsman screams in the mad biker's ear, but can barely hear his own voice over the howling wind and the roaring engine. At least he can still feel Magtok Prime's trail - where ever it might be leading them...

[Fenric]

"Anything I can do 'bout that?"
Honeysuckle asks. It doesn't sound good, but then, none of this sounded good.

Fenric shrugs uncertainly

Given the level of it's effect, I would normally think it a trivial thing to dismiss. But given the scope of it, I'm shocked the power of it doesn't burn you instantly to ashes. I can try the usual curse-dispelling magic if you like...

[Recaiden]

Honeysuckle tilts her head uncertainly. So someone placed a really super-powerful curse, but then spread it out a whole lot? Why would she be included in something like that?

"There any chance that like, dispelling rebounds the whole thing and then I burn to ashes?"
Because if it's so minor, it's probably not worth taking much risk to fix, right?

Fenric wouldn't have detected any such anti-tampering features in the curse, though.
"If not, uh, try away."

[Fenric]

Fenric shakes his head

It doesn't look like there's any sort of feedback or other trap attached... so...

Remove Curse is not a particularly involved casting, it just doesn't often work in the Nexus for some reason (rather like Hold Person). But Fenric tries, just to be sure...

[Recaiden]

Honeysuckle tries to hold very still for the casting of the spell. Just in case that matters.

The curse is smoothly broken, the trace of dark energy crumbling to nothing.
Of course, it won't be long before spending so much time in cursed surroundings-
What? Honeysuckle isn't in that cursed world, and just in the Nexus?
You don't say.

"Oh, huh." It's like, well, like something hard to explain, she never noticed that the curse was there, but now that it's gone, everything seems...lighter.
"Anyth'ng I can do t' thank you?

[Fenric]

Fenric blinks in astonishment and his ears stand straight up

Hold on... wait... what... IT WORKED?!?!

He takes a drink of his cola. It really doesn't have the same effect as the martinis he used to drink, but it's better for the health.

Ok, ok... don't jinx it.

He collects himself and his ears relax back to their normal position

I am very glad to have been of service in that small way, Miss. If you wish to repay me, please make a small donation to your favorite charity here in Inside: many are in dire need.

[Recaiden]

Honeysuckle's ears point up a bit. Should she be worried?
"It that rare of an occasion when your spells work?" she inquires, not knowing the details of curse-breaking around here.

"Of course that's what cleric of Inari would say. Fine, charity it is." She shakes her backpack slightly to make a note of it.
Such a formal, impersonal, reasonable thing to do.

[Ironsmith]

Spoiler

Show

Magtok narrows his eyes, as he begrudgingly pockets his own money. He's not comfortable with owing debts to anyone, so if June thinks they're even after she held onto however much she deemed appropriate, fine. These nincompoops trying to shake him down for information, however, these clueless fools who think their triumph over Prime was anything but luck...


These fools and their assumptions were grating on his nerves. He doesn't want to bothered with all the tedium and troubles that go with helping them, but he really, really doesn't want them to look down on him. Prime ripped his arm off before he even entered the tavern; do they think he couldn't do the same to them if he were so inclined?

"Put the sunscreen away and get me my arm and the biggest intact chunk of leg off the floor," he glowers, waving a dismissive hand at the lady trying to treat his burns, before taking hold of that salvaged leg he pulled off of Prime, holding it up to his scarlet prosthetic eye, and running a scan of the thing to glean as much intel as he can.

"I'm Magtok. Owner of MagCorp, one of the original founders of AMEN, a retired ex-supervillain, and savior of the entire universe once or twice. You may have heard of me," he remarks with a weary sigh, knowing full well that they haven't. Kids these days don't know a damn thing about this world's history, about the wars and apocalypses and gods that have risen and fallen before they were ever born. The public education system in Inside is an absolute joke. He's so glad he's never paid any taxes to the inept baboons in charge of the city. They'd probably spend the money hiring Reinholdt to protect them, those fools.

"Fourteen years ago, or thereabouts, Prime, the original Magtok, Magtok Classic, the bastard ghost who came in here with a giant millipede robot body, died. His hidden laboratory decanted a fresh batch of clones, which I think were supposed to be possessed by the ghost, the same way that millipede was. He never bothered to show up, though. In fact, this is our first time ever seeing him since fourteen years ago, so New Magtok, the Nexus's Magtok, The Magtok Who Would Become The Magtok Talking To You Now, The Magtok Who Had None of Prime's Memories or Personality or Anything, was free to just take over that secret lab and figure out how to succeed in life all on his own. That Magtok wasn't keen on repeating Prime's mistakes, so he set up a memory transfer system, a database where every clone's memories would be regularly uploaded to the cloud, so every Magtok would be the same Magtok, essentially. A hive mind of Magtoks, each as expendable as the last, so long as we kept the cloning vats and memory banks operational. The world was a lot more dangerous back then, so this was absolutely necessary to survive if you were just a mere human, like I am. Do you follow so far?" Magtok asks, hoping against hope he's dumbed this down enough for the primitives to comprehend. If someone's nice enough to hand him his arm, he quickly sets about re-installing it, making use of some exotic tools and gadgets hidden away in his robe to reconnect torn wires and meld the metal exterior back together again. He's actually remarkably talented when it comes to self-repair with only one arm, almost as if he built his own body from scratch, and has had lost arms like this countless times before in evil underground laboratory mishaps.

"Anyway, Prime dropped by the MagCave and said it was time for me to stop existing and using the name 'Magtok' without his permission, so I telewarped outside Trog's to try to-" He pauses, trying to figure out how to phrase 'use you dopes as a distraction while I run away and escape the ensuing bloodbath' in a manner that won't offend anyone or make it look like he was exploiting them for his own personal security. "...to try to not die. Before I could open the tavern door, though, he tracked my telewarp signal and appeared right next to me, telekinetically lobbing me right through the window. And that's where you lot came in."



Meanwhile, the swordsman will have no trouble at all following the psychic signature. It clings to the air like a thick fog, tainting the atmosphere wherever it goes with a heady aroma of blood and smoke. Nightmares of genocide, fragmented thoughts of inhumane experiments on political dissidents leave a trail to Magtok Prime's location. Star of Hope probably won't know it until he leaves the tavern and starts following that trail, but it leads straight to a run-down factory on the edge of Skyside's Thunderhead district. A seemingly abandoned factory of no real significance that should've been bought out or seized by force months ago, given the cutthroat nature of the city. Reall, that kind of prime real estate, left alone in a city full of tycoons warring over every acre? Absurd.

The swordsman takes the silver ball in his hand and... just holds it in his hand, because his shirt is gone and so he can't do what he usually does and stuff the ball in its folds. "Understood", he says and hurries out of the door.

Sandels looks after him, then at Miranda. "Yeah, I think I better run after him right now. I have a hunch we'll next find him at the bottom of the ocean if doesn't have someone watching his step. Excuse me." He turns on his heels and runs after the swordsman part way through Magtok's backstory.

Outside, the swordsman takes a moment to observe the streets, then takes a running start and jumps on the roof of the opposing building. From there, he spots the next tallest building and gets on its roof in few mighty leaps. His footsteps are lighter than they ought to be for someone his size, but undoubtedly he'll still startle a few residents of the buildings below. Onward he goes, racing across rooftops of Inside, following the psychic trail of his target. Air resistance tears off what remains of his cloak and goes fluttering away in the wind.

After a while, though, it becomes clear that his target is ascending beyond what lay of the land is allowing him to reach. So, he drops back on the streets, to possible surprise of any passers-by, and stops. He looks up to the clouded skies, scratching his head. Where is his target going? And how is he supposed to get there?

As he wonders this, a roaring sounds echoes from the distance, growing in intensity as the source comes closer. Soon, a black Harley Davidson motorbike with a fancy chrome skull ornament at the front appears from behind a corner and races right next to the swords before coming to halt. The swordsman steps aside to give way but then notices the rider has familiar clothes.

"What's the matter?", Sandels asks, flipping up the visor of his all-black biker helmet. "Got lost?"

"No, I... just don't know how I'm supposed to get up there", the swordsman admits, pointing up at the sky.

"What, you don't remember how?", Sandels snickers and asks.

The swordsman gives him a blank stare. "What do you mean, remember?"

Sandels shrugs. "Eh. Doesn't matter. Hop on!" He taps the back of his bike's saddle. "We'll take the long way around!"

The swordsman looks skeptical. "Do you know where we are going?"

"Hell no!", the biker replies enthusiastically, "But where ever it is, I bet I can get you there better than you can! Just keep shouting directions in my ear!"

The swordsman thinks it over for a second, then sighs and does as suggested, not having a better plan. It takes him some effort to fit himself behind the smaller man on the bike. "Am I supposed to hold on to something?", he asks awkwardly, having last ridden a motorbike in tandem... never.

"Eh. You'll figure it out. Just keep your feet off the ground", Sandels advices (poorly), flips down his visor, kicks his bike into motion... and then it suddenly accelerates to completely ludicrous speeds. In a split-second, the swordsman is clinging to Sandels for dear life as they weave past people, buildings and other traffic, everything not immediately ahead becoming just a messy blur in his eyes.

"Left! Go left!", the swordsman screams in the mad biker's ear, but can barely hear his own voice over the howling wind and the roaring engine. At least he can still feel Magtok Prime's trail - where ever it might be leading them...

That left Miranda alone (relatively speaking) with Magtok. When he demands that she stop treating him and retrieve his arm and leg, she rather insistently continues to apply the cream. It worked best when the wounds were fresh and hadn't had time to scar; some degree of urgency was implied here, and she wasn't going to let this man's arrogance stand between him and a speedy recovery. Only when she's finished applying the medi-gel to his burns does she do as he asks and retrieve his broken cybernextic parts.

"Well, that fascinating story answers 'who' and 'what' we're dealing with, but it doesn't tell me much about his capabilities." Miranda replies, watching Magtok repair himself. "While this encounter might give me a rough idea of what he can do, I was hoping you could tell me more about his limits. He showed telekinetic and telepathic capabilities; how well can he maneuver the things he grabs, and how heavy can they be? Do his telepathic abilities extend so far as to be able to read minds? Does he require a body to make use of them? How connected is he to his body is he when he's in one? Can he sever the connection voluntarily?" She gives him a patient smile. "I need the practical details, Mister Magtok. Not that what you've told me isn't helpful... that memory database sounds like something he'll be interested in, and therefore to watch. But for the moment, my concern is our next encounter, moreso than his long-term plans."

Notably absent is any commentary on Magtok's self-admitted checkered past. She'd dealt with that kind of person before and found such details, at present, irrelevant. Magtok was a source of information right now, not someone to judge or persecute.

[Zefir]

Kyrie scowls. He wouldn't have patience for this kind of thing at the best of times, but his proverbial fuse had already been burnt to a nub and he wasn't exactly in the mood to put up with any obfuscation.

Without any further warning, he'll attempt to grab ahold of Arkant and turn him to face his nephew.

If he's successful, he'll launch into a brief monologue. "You see this kid here? That's my boy. You let yourself into my boy's head. If you ever do anything like that to my boy again, I'll tear you into fish food. Have I made myself clear?" He will then promptly release the man.

Assuming he manages to grab him, of course. If Arkant sees it coming, this is likely to play out very differently.

Arkant doesn#t see that one coming, but i should note that his arms are covered in sharp scales where people mostly cut themself when touching them and especially grabing them forcefully.

As he is released he wipes over the places he was grabed like there is dust he wants to remove.

"No." he replies with a slight bit of anger. "I didn't 'let myself in his head'. I never entered it, I just talked telepathically with him." Assuming the man did cut himself by the grab, even a little bit he adds. "As you see yourself my body isn't child proof So I avoided direct contact, sadly some events broke out which wouldn#t allow just talking from a distance."
He makes a pause befor glancing at the man.
"If he is your boy, then why is he here all alone? Even without these guys Trogs has many random encounters. It is no place to leave kids unattended"

[5a Violista]

Looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, June sighs.

She's regretting her impulse decision to not take all the offered money. These burns and the lip injury are going to significantly affect the amount of tips she's going to get. But it'd be too awkward to go back and ask for it again. What'll she say? 'Oh sorry jk i'm poor and earn most my money off flirting with drunk people so i changed my mind and want the money again'?
No, obviously she can't go do that.

June groans, and moves over to the wall, and sits, and presses the shirt against her lip harder.

Well...first thing to take care of is to stop the bleeding.

She sighs again and leans her head against the tile wall.

[Fenric]

Honeysuckle's ears point up a bit. Should she be worried?
"It that rare of an occasion when your spells work?" she inquires, not knowing the details of curse-breaking around here.

"Of course that's what cleric of Inari would say. Fine, charity it is." She shakes her backpack slightly to make a note of it.
Such a formal, impersonal, reasonable thing to do.

Fenric chuckles

I haven't fizzled a spell in a couple of centuries. It's just that curses around here tend to be a lot more resistant than one would like.

then a little more seriously

Good luck with that other thing.

[Ironsmith]

Arkant doesn#t see that one coming, but i should note that his arms are covered in sharp scales where people mostly cut themself when touching them and especially grabing them forcefully.

As he is released he wipes over the places he was grabed like there is dust he wants to remove.

"No." he replies with a slight bit of anger. "I didn't 'let myself in his head'. I never entered it, I just talked telepathically with him." Assuming the man did cut himself by the grab, even a little bit he adds. "As you see yourself my body isn't child proof So I avoided direct contact, sadly some events broke out which wouldn#t allow just talking from a distance."
He makes a pause befor glancing at the man.
"If he is your boy, then why is he here all alone? Even without these guys Trogs has many random encounters. It is no place to leave kids unattended"

Kyrie's calloused, fur-covered hands care nothing for your barbs!

...His lupine, overprotective and overstressed brain cares a lot more about what Arkant actually said to him, though. The implication that Arthfael being in harm's way was somehow his fault did not sit well with him; especially since it was partially true, in a way.

Kyrie's upper lip curls into a snarl, exposing his sharp, canine fangs. "Do not test me, scum." The wolf-man growls, dangerously close to losing his temper entirely.

Looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, June sighs.

She's regretting her impulse decision to not take all the offered money. These burns and the lip injury are going to significantly affect the amount of tips she's going to get. But it'd be too awkward to go back and ask for it again. What'll she say? 'Oh sorry jk i'm poor and earn most my money off flirting with drunk people so i changed my mind and want the money again'?
No, obviously she can't go do that.

June groans, and moves over to the wall, and sits, and presses the shirt against her lip harder.

Well...first thing to take care of is to stop the bleeding.

She sighs again and leans her head against the tile wall.

Arthfael slowly works himself free of Zee's grip and mumbles something about having to use the bathroom. He didn't, really; his particular dietary needs and the systems that processed them left nothing to excrete. He just needed to be isolated for a while.

With that, he makes his way to the bathroom, not noticing until he was inside that it was already occupied. He gets all the way over to the mirror before he spots June. Crap. There was another dude in here. Wait, no... she was shirtless, and wearing a sports bra.

...Oooh crap, he was in the wrong restroom. Right? He could have sworn this was the men's room.

[Recaiden]

Fenric chuckles

I haven't fizzled a spell in a couple of centuries. It's just that curses around here tend to be a lot more resistant than one would like.

then a little more seriously

Good luck with that other thing.

"Centuries? Woah."
This is a higher caliber of wizard than she imagined. Sure, he mentioned being contemporary of Magtok, who's like a zillion years old, but...it hadn't sunk in.

Honeyusckle finishes off her drink all at once.

"Thanks. Got a good feeling 'bout it, for once."

[5a Violista]

in a restroom

When June notices that someone else came in here, she has a single thought:
Shoot. Did I go into the wrong one again?

She blinks.
Um.
Um.
How can she make this not awkward?

She waves with her 1st-degree-burned arm.

And, partially muffled through her balled-up top, June says, "Um. Hi."
She glances over at the mirror, and then around the room, trying to see if she can spot urinals or not. "Did...did you also need to clean up after that mess out there?"
There! (Probably) smooth and not at all awkward.

[Zefir]

Kyrie's calloused, fur-covered hands care nothing for your barbs!

...His lupine, overprotective and overstressed brain cares a lot more about what Arkant actually said to him, though. The implication that Arthfael being in harm's way was somehow his fault did not sit well with him; especially since it was partially true, in a way.

Kyrie's upper lip curls into a snarl, exposing his sharp, canine fangs. "Do not test me, scum." The wolf-man growls, dangerously close to losing his temper entirely.

Well his fur got a little cut then, but either way. No Barbs, more like blades. Arkant then steps away after he has a few steps he shrugs.

"Growl at me all you like, it won't change the facts." he is aware this guy might loose his temper now, but Arkant is not afraid of him and the wolfman might notice it. Arkant will head for the interrogation, trying to get as much information as possible.

[Ironsmith]

in a restroom

When June notices that someone else came in here, she has a single thought:
Shoot. Did I go into the wrong one again?

She blinks.
Um.
Um.
How can she make this not awkward?

She waves with her 1st-degree-burned arm.

And, partially muffled through her balled-up top, June says, "Um. Hi."
She glances over at the mirror, and then around the room, trying to see if she can spot urinals or not. "Did...did you also need to clean up after that mess out there?"
There! (Probably) smooth and not at all awkward.

Arthfael blinks at her, not entirely sure what to make of her. "Um... yeah. Yeah, I guess." He says finally. "Just... needed some cold water, you know?"

It's around this point that he'll notice the extent of her injuries. Burned arm. Singed hairs.

Bleeding lip.

Arthfael's stomach growls as he notices this. While he wasn't about to go wild on her, this was the loose equivalent of walking in on someone munching on a turkey after having spent the whole day not eating. It was an annoying reminder of how hungry he was.

June will probably see it in his face as he subconsciously licks the tip of his fangs.

Well his fur got a little cut then, but either way. No Barbs, more like blades. Arkant then steps away after he has a few steps he shrugs.

"Growl at me all you like, it won't change the facts." he is aware this guy might loose his temper now, but Arkant is not afraid of him and the wolfman might notice it. Arkant will head for the interrogation, trying to get as much information as possible.

In a remarkable display of self-control, Kyrie steps back from Arkant, his snarl gradually subsiding. This man got the message, at least. Save the savagery for their inevitable next confrontation.

Kyrie sighs and takes a seat near the bar, taking a moment to just breathe and calm down. There was a lot of adrenaline (among other things) pumping through him right now, and if he didn't stop to collect himself, he was going to do something embarrassing.

[5a Violista]

June does notice his hunger and his fangs.
Oh. Another vampire.
...
And it simultaneously reminds her of how frequently she drinks vampire blood. Like, once a month. He would probably think that's weird if he found out.

June averts her eyes and pretends to not have noticed.

...
Oh. Right. She was trying to figure out if there were urinals in here. Instead of just looking away, she goes back to looking for them. "Yeah, makes sense," she says, doing her best to talk without moving her jaw too much. "I get that. I actually need to do the same, to get..."
June gestures at the blood that's run down her neck and chest, which she has partially wiped away with the top.

"Gotta wash this up before it dries or stains."

[Ironsmith]

Arthfael backs away. "Right. Okay, sorry." I'm pretty sure I'm in the wrong bathroom anyway. He turns and walks out the door- or at least, he starts to. He stops in the doorway, just standing there, stunned.

"Um..." He looks back around the bathroom, trying to see if he had somehow gotten turned around, if there was more than one entrance into the bathroom.

Because the door he was standing at did not lead back into Trog's.

[5a Violista]

???

"Alright," June says, giving a small wave when he turns to leave.

She readjusts the way she's holding the pressure against her lip: how long is she supposed to hold it there, anyway? Ten minutes? Oh, but faces bleed a lot so maybe twenty or thirty minutes.

Seeing him confused or unable to leave the room, June uses the wall to stand.
"What? Something still going on out there?" she asks.

[Ironsmith]

"I... don't... know?" Arthfael steps to the side, letting June see past him and out into the corridor the door opened out into. The walls were lined with ceramic tiles, and the corridor is dimly illuminated with a series of fluorescent lights. The corridor extends off quite a distance; it's difficult to tell how far exactly, with the back wall being something they'd have to squint to see.

[Lord Magtok]

That left Miranda alone (relatively speaking) with Magtok. When he demands that she stop treating him and retrieve his arm and leg, she rather insistently continues to apply the cream. It worked best when the wounds were fresh and hadn't had time to scar; some degree of urgency was implied here, and she wasn't going to let this man's arrogance stand between him and a speedy recovery. Only when she's finished applying the medi-gel to his burns does she do as he asks and retrieve his broken cybernextic parts.

"Well, that fascinating story answers 'who' and 'what' we're dealing with, but it doesn't tell me much about his capabilities." Miranda replies, watching Magtok repair himself. "While this encounter might give me a rough idea of what he can do, I was hoping you could tell me more about his limits. He showed telekinetic and telepathic capabilities; how well can he maneuver the things he grabs, and how heavy can they be? Do his telepathic abilities extend so far as to be able to read minds? Does he require a body to make use of them? How connected is he to his body is he when he's in one? Can he sever the connection voluntarily?" She gives him a patient smile. "I need the practical details, Mister Magtok. Not that what you've told me isn't helpful... that memory database sounds like something he'll be interested in, and therefore to watch. But for the moment, my concern is our next encounter, moreso than his long-term plans."

Notably absent is any commentary on Magtok's self-admitted checkered past. She'd dealt with that kind of person before and found such details, at present, irrelevant. Magtok was a source of information right now, not someone to judge or persecute.

"I just told you, my entire history with him consists of waking up immediately after his death, fourteen years of peace and ignorance, and then him breaking into my home today, attacking me, and then following me here after I tried telewarping away. So from that, we know he can track me, we know he knows everything I know since he was talking about Zee's husband which suggests he's been through my files, and-" Magtok sighs in exasperation, taking a wobbly step on a leg that hasn't finished repairs yet. At this point in time, the limb is little better than a peg leg, but at least he's not entirely crippled, right? With great care and a thick lead apron to absorb the gross acid blood splashes, he crouches beside Prime's body, and carefully cuts into the head with a glowing red scalpel. There's only about a tenth of a human brain in there, the rest of it replaced with advanced neuro-circuitry. That bodes poorly...I think.

"Let me be blunt. Those two nitwits who ran off to hunt him down? They're dead. If he can make an entire room of people kneel with just a word, if he can possess a cyborg body running on only this much human tissue, they don't have a snowball's chance in hell of getting out alive if he doesn't want them to. If I could take those two goons, and believe me, I definitely could, then there's no way older, nastier, uglier and full of psychic power me can't. You'll want an exorcist, psychic shielding, the biggest guns you have access to, and at least three electromagnetic pulse weapons. That's the bare minimum, that's what it'd take assuming he has no other tricks up his sleeve, that he doesn't have access to anything better than what he's already shown today," Magtok insists, reaching a hand in to yank out the cyberbrain and have a better look at it.

[Ironsmith]

"I just told you, my entire history with him consists of waking up immediately after his death, fourteen years of peace and ignorance, and then him breaking into my home today, attacking me, and then following me here after I tried telewarping away. So from that, we know he can track me, we know he knows everything I know since he was talking about Zee's husband which suggests he's been through my files, and-" Magtok sighs in exasperation, taking a wobbly step on a leg that hasn't finished repairs yet. At this point in time, the limb is little better than a peg leg, but at least he's not entirely crippled, right? With great care and a thick lead apron to absorb the gross acid blood splashes, he crouches beside Prime's body, and carefully cuts into the head with a glowing red scalpel. There's only about a tenth of a human brain in there, the rest of it replaced with advanced neuro-circuitry. That bodes poorly...I think.

"Let me be blunt. Those two nitwits who ran off to hunt him down? They're dead. If he can make an entire room of people kneel with just a word, if he can possess a cyborg body running on only this much human tissue, they don't have a snowball's chance in hell of getting out alive if he doesn't want them to. If I could take those two goons, and believe me, I definitely could, then there's no way older, nastier, uglier and full of psychic power me can't. You'll want an exorcist, psychic shielding, the biggest guns you have access to, and at least three electromagnetic pulse weapons. That's the bare minimum, that's what it'd take assuming he has no other tricks up his sleeve, that he doesn't have access to anything better than what he's already shown today," Magtok insists, reaching a hand in to yank out the cyberbrain and have a better look at it.

Miranda sighs and produces a pack of cigarettes from her jacket, shaking one loose for herself now. Magtok was likely right; confronting Prime now was hardly ideal, and would probably result in one or more of them dying. At the same time, leaving him unchecked was likely to see him coming back in short order; a week perhaps, maybe two. Bowing out of this impromptu mission was not an option.

"Let me be equally blunt, Mister Magtok." Miranda replies, taking a drag from her cigarette. "I'm completely prepared to not come back from this fight. I've had a copy of my last will and testament in a safety deposit box since I was a teenager. I've been shot, stabbed, burned, strangled, and systematically tortured at least once a month each in my adult life. I've done all of that for millions of people I've never met and who will never even know I existed. And in that time, I've taken down dictators, cultists, mad scientists, and a handful of doomsday devices. I've even convinced a few to change sides. I am not about to be cowed from standing up against yet another megalomaniac because of bad odds."

She lets out a long sigh and an accompanying fragrant cloud of smoke. "...I don't have all of that equipment at my disposal. In the time it'll take to get that all together, Prime might be well past the point where we can stop him. It could be that all we'll manage to do is delay him. But if that saves lives and gives someone more capable time to prepare, it'll be worth the risk." She gives a small, sad-looking smile. "...Thank you for your time, Mister Magtok. Best of luck." She stands up from her chair and gathers up her things, getting ready to track down the guys up in Skyside.

[5a Violista]

"I... don't... know?" Arthfael steps to the side, letting June see past him and out into the corridor the door opened out into. The walls were lined with ceramic tiles, and the corridor is dimly illuminated with a series of fluorescent lights. The corridor extends off quite a distance; it's difficult to tell how far exactly, with the back wall being something they'd have to squint to see.

June looks past Arthfael, and comes closer, too, to get a better look.
"...On the plus side," she says, trying to bring some levity to this weird situation, "my headache's fading."

June can actually see in the dark pretty well. And around corners. And ghosts. And other things, too, so long as they're not too far. It's weird, but...that's pretty far away. "Um."
She swallows, looks at Arthfael, and then back down the hallway. "Well, last time I got in this type of situation, somebody noticed I didn't come back and then came and rescued me," she says.
June tries to see if she can see anything beyond just the tiles, lights, and...just that. "Honestly speaking, I'm not sure whether it'd be best, in this particular case, to stay put or look around to see where we are."

Oh, shoot, she was talking so much that she forgot to apply consistent pressure on her lip.
June immediately shuts up and presses harder.

[Zefir]

Kyrie might think wrong. Arkant would mess more with the wolfman if he hadn't something else to care for. I mean right now he would tell him in his face that he lost his child again, but Arkant is not even looking at him. But anotehr man is looking at him since Arkant has turned away. Not only looking, staring. He barly blinks. The man himself appears like most other visitors NPC's, but he stares at him.


While Miranda leaves the Tavern, Arkant get's closer to Magtok.

"May I ask, do you know how he became this ghost?" Arkant asks. "I mean mostly it involves the death of the body. To make it easy I would like to know what and who has done it last time. The nexus is a wild thing and maybe we can find those people or anything they left in such a case."

[Fenric]

Keiko hops in through the mirror to Inari's Temple. She stops short and looks around

Huh, someone really tore up the place... Doesn't seem to be many casualties, though. I guess that's good. But probably best Khannie stayed home, this would have got us both in trouble for sure.

Sthe trots up to the bar and looks over the menu

Hiya Zee. Hee hee: menu hasn't changed in years but I can somehow never remember it.