Post by Joliette Thorne on Oct 17, 2008 6:56:15 GMT -5
Tenebrae had, once Nemisis was done bathing, also taken the opportunity to clean herself of ash and grue, and had her wounds seen to by the dour but efficient Nurse Carmine. Though her limbs were swathed in bandaging hardly needed now, aside from one or two deeper gouges, she'd seem much like herself. The tavern, however, was still a horrible mess of dust, twisted and dismembered demon-parts, bit of Hobgoblin, and.. well, she though she had glimpsed a human hand among the debris, but wasn't quite up to affirming that fact. Not yet. She sat at the piano, one of the few exempt from the caveat on that positon, her fingers trailing the keys softly, silently, and her gaze upon some distant point not present in the room. The inevitable bottle of whisky, empty now, had joined its countless predecessors in leaving a pale ring on the grand's polished surface.
Portea slowly makes his way into the Tavern, not even bothering to glance around before finding himself an empty seat by the fire to slump into. Another night, another disappointment, such has become the psion's routine.
Tenebrae glanced up, the focus of her gaze slowly narrowing into the present, and raised her and in greeting at Portea. "Ello, pet." Her voice was soft. "Mnementh was alright, then? Not too frantic?"
Garron hesitated in the door, and who wouldn't? The pass of his pale eyes along the shattered interior was pointed, and the moor seemed in no hurry to step within. When he finally began forward, as if compelled, it was to Tenebrae that he moved. From Steadman he collected a bottle, the gin misty colored and murky as he moved to claim a seat beside the Vampriss. "I've a feeling that I shouldn't ask."
Portea chuckles softly, trying to hide the slight wince occured because of it. ~He's alright, though I can't say the same for a certain patch of trees he got ahold of.~ He replies, a bit of humor added to his thought projected tone.
Tenebrae shifted aside, her hesitancy to allow proximity to the instrument only momentary. She gave Garron a wry look. "Yes, perhaps that would be best. I have some business to discuss with you, though..." Her gaze shifted to the thick bandage on her forearm. "That might wait, for a more.. opportune moment." The Moor might catch a sudden glint of humour in her eyes, swiftly turned on the psion. "Good. Portea, I..." The bandage once more claimed her attention. "Mr. Good Day, if you'll pardon me, a moment? Portea, I have some news. About Sidonia."
Garron answered with a gracious dip of his chin, momentarily turning the ice-gray of his eyes onto the bottle before him. He poured a tumbler with a quiet and familiar ease. The conversation happened over him and he was content with that, listening quietly as he drank.
Portea perks up quite noticeably at the mention of his love. ~Oh, what is it?~ He inquires, his tone a hopeful one, though he knows his hope will likely only lead to his downfall. He straightens out in the chair, his vaporous gaze locked upon the vampiress as he gives her his full attention.
Ahnaya suddenly appeared at the tavern door and slowly made her way toward the tavern boards, at the same moment she was being followed by a similar shadow.
Tenebrae swallowed softly, and lifted the paino's lid an inch, sliding her hand inside -- quickly, as even she was loathe to imagine what sort of mementos the King of Roads might have left in there-- to retrieve a slip of paper. "She left a note..." And her voice rose, not too steady, as she read it aloud: "Dear Tenebrae, This letter is... difficult for me to write, to say the least. You were the first, and perhaps the only, person to ever give me an opportunity in this world, and I will never forget it. You provided me with music, and then with a family, and it's a debt I could never repay. But despite this, and how much I've come to love the Cabal and the Corpse, I've come to think that perhaps it is time for me to leave. So much has happened here... in so little time... and I'm afraid I wasn't built for such things. They broke me, and I still find myself missing pieces. Should I ever find them again, I will come back! And I will miss you all so much-- too much for words. Please inform Terra, Kasyr, and-- especially-- the psion Portea of my intention. They were the three I loved best, and will never be forgotten. Yours, Sidonia. Postscript: Also give my fondest regards to Steadmen, and tell him not to let fools run rampant over the..." The last word woudn't be spoken, and the man she knew only as "Good Day" would feel the slight pressure of her shoulder as she leant upon him, as though some marginal request for support that she truly did not expect to recieve, her eyes kept steadily trained upon the paper.
Ahnaya realizes that there was nothing new written at the tavern board. she sighs, she suddenly took her longbow and continually fire at the tavern board., glancing at the people around her if no one saw it.
Portea closes his eyes as the tone of the letter is quickly set, confirming his suspicions. The psion's form slumps back down into the chair as his hand comes up to his forehead. ~...Thank you for telling me, Tenebrae..~ He projects back what would sound to hear like a whisper. Even despite what the letter mainly confirmed, it also confirmed that she cares about him more than she's usually willing to admit, which helps bolster his heart a bit.
The tavern was filling even as the interior was rotting. A haunting and strangely-perfect crowd beginning to grow and swell between the maze of tables and barstools. This was the secret of the Corpse, right infront of Good Day. And, despite it, he still couldn’t truly see it. The only thing that he could allow himself to believe was that it was Tenebrae herself that kept these people patronizing this place. The horrors it endured and visited should have chased any customers far and wide. Tenebrae’s silent request was answered simply, he allowed her to lean upon him. The lissome sliver of her frame scarcely troubled him, a mountain of a man. And yet she’d feel some warmth from him, and his smile spoke to her a subtle encouragement.
Tenebrae seemed bolstered by the big man's reassurance, and her gaze lifted to Portea. "She is Cabal. She will return, if she can." The words were simple, but rang with the solidity and conviction of one speaking a truth. The thud-thud of a hail of arrows captured her attention, next, Ahnaya's attack on her board given an oddly blank look. Tene had bigger concerns than somebody taking thier agst out on her furnishings. First, if not primarily, the shifting of all those demon-parts to the cellar. She'd rise to stand, her fingers brushing a quiet 'thankyou' across Garron's shoulder. "I need to clean up..." But as she rose, turned to glimpse the Moor, her eyes settled on a long, black strand lain across the piano's keys, visible only upon the ivory. Her fingers plucked it up, her features suddenly chill and sere as she studied it. "Somebody..." But she knew who. And the knowledge both alarmed and thrilled her.
Portea merely nods, giving one last whisper. ~I know...~ Before turning back to the fire, the flicker of flames reflecting within his somber gaze.
Ahnaya yawns as she try to sit on one of the tavern's chair. she placed her long bow on the top of the table and started taking a piece of blank paper from her pack and started sketching on it.
Tenebrae set the hair down again, leaving it exactly as she had found it on the keys, and slight frown on her brow was forced smooth as she spoke. "Don't get too comfortable there, psion. I need some help here." There'd be a hint of fang resting on her lower lip, her smile an attempt at breaking the sombre mood of sad news and the stench of demon-flesh. She stooped to pick up an arm from among the litter of carcasses, greenish in hue, and missing its appendages. "Give me hand?"
Tenebrae's gaze, ever wandering, met with Ahnaya and she gave the woman a slight and curious look.
Portea is roused from his thoughts by Tenebrae's attempt at humor, which, as luck may have it, actually works. ~Ow...don't make me laugh.~ He projects, having winced once more trying to restrain the laugh. The psion rises up out of the chair to walk over to her side. ~Where do you want it?~ He inquires, seeming to have a plan for getting it there in a hurry.
Ahnaya glances at the Tenebrae. she smiles as she continue drawing at her paper. she started glancing time by time at the woman as she continue what she was sketching.
Tenebrae grinned, then. "In the cellar will do for now." She crossed the room, to the bar, where she retrieved several clothen sacks. "I am not looking forward to this..."
Portea can't help but smirk a little as he uses his psionic prowess to lift a portion of the severed body parts. ~Hold the bag open and I'll get 'em in there for you.~ He replies quietly, trying to keep his mind off of the newly recieved news.
Ahnaya frowns as she throw the unfinished drawing at the table cursing the woman for moving.
Tenebrae would have, had she known she was the model for Ahnaya's sketch, shot the woman an apology for disrupting the creative process. However, she was grimacing at the mess of sundry limbs and torsos, just then. "Be careful. Some may not be quite dead." She tossed the bit she bit she was holding into the bag and used both hands to hold it open, ready to be filled. "Though I'm pretty sure that one'll be 'armless."
Portea gives an amused smile before willing the body parts to fill the bag bit by bit, pausing just long enough for her to open up another bag, etc, etc. ~No need to even touch them, this way.~ He replies with a smile.
Soon there was a stack of lumpish bags stacked by the piano, the clean-up interrupted now and then while Tenebrae made very sure that this snapping, needle-toothed head was rendered inert, or that grasping claw was stilled before being dropped into a bag. At the end of it, she huffed a short sigh, and dropped back onto the piano stool. "Ugh." The vampiress used the back of her hand to wipe a spot of acidic ichor from her cheek. "This better have been worth it."
Ahnaya started yawning badly as she look at the woman and the other man talk. even thou the man seems not the speak. she stare at the mess the two people are cleaning. she sighs and said, "Hobs."
Tenebrae needed distracting, about now. She'd speak quietly to Garron a moment, and then lift her gaze toward the paper thrown down, and the artist who'd thrown it there. "Excuse me, miss?" This, to Ahanya. "May I...?" Though she didn't look like she would be rising from her seat, any time soon. She stared at Ahnaya, "Yes, some of it. There were other... things... in there too."
Ahnaya glances at the woman and said, "Yes? Anything I can do?"
Portea lofts a brow, backing up to lean against the wall nearest her. ~What do you need all of these for, anyway?~ He inquires softly, silently wishing he could be vocal without a literal pain in his neck.
Tenebrae said to Ahnaya, "I wanted to see what it was you were drawing. If you wouldn't mind?" " She turned aside to Portea, and her expression might tell him that his question broached a subject she was none too willing to address in public. "I'm... experimenting."
Ahnaya listen as the woman speak at her. she smiled and slowly pcked up the unfinished art and try to somehow finish it and make it better. she looked again at the woman as she pass the paper and said, "Its you... by the piano... no colors yet thou."
Worhalg appears from the north.
Portea gives a slight nod. ~Fair enough.~ He replies, understanding her expression perfectly, though he idly wonders if any of the other occupants find their one sided conversation strange, considering only Tene can hear what Portea is saying.
Worhalg stomps heavily into the tavern, walking past Urghdak, giving the bouncer a nasty look and then finds himself somewhere to sit.
Tenebrae took the paper in her fingers, falling silent for a long moment as she studied the sketch. Finally, she said, "This is really very good." And it was-- even in monochromatic tones, the likeness was unmistakable, and utterly vivid. "Might you consider.. if it's alright, that is... letting me buy this from you?"
Ahnaya stared at the woman somehow trying to digest what she had said... "Buy it... from me?" she seemed distracted. yet she try not to show it to the woman. "Well I dont usually sell my art.. because no one buys them... usually they ask me if they can have it and I give it for free but not buy them."
Tenebrae looked to Portea, then. "Pet, might I impose on you for some more help, getting these sacks down to the cellar? My wounds..." She'd split Nurse Carmine's neat stitches in two places already, the evidence of her over-activity plain in crimson stains that spoiled the pristine white of her bandages. Worhalg was given a long look, and she'd offer him a smile. "Can one of my girls fetch you something, sir?" Orc or not, he deserved the bar-owner's manners. In fact, as fond of orcs as she was, his race might be the main factor in ensuring them. The half-bred security chief grumbled something under his breathm, though, and reinforced the grip held on his mace with a flex of thick fingers.
Tenebrae said to Ahnaya, "But it's marvellous. Is one hundred gold sufficient?" She lofted a brow. "In fact, I would like a portrait of this room.. are you open for commissions?""
Ahnaya said, "I may give it to you though." somehow looking outside the window watching the sky, then suddenly she said somthing out of her own control "I think it would rain"
Worhalg offers Tenebrae a nod. "Any fresh kill that you have I would love to devour."
Portea nods a little before psionically lifting the bags up into the air. ~Not a problem, though is there a specific place you'd like them?~ He replies, already walking towards the cellar, bags in tow.
Ahnaya said, "Miss... *as she started thinking about the information she gathered from the woman* Tene... Tenabrae. Am I correct? Well Miss Tenebrae I am sure that my work are simply art. even that one was not yet colored and it wouldnt worth a hundred pieces of gold. I may give it to you for free.. well" started thinking about commissions "Well yeah... I guess.""
Tenebrae raised her palm by way of asking Ahnaya to hold a moment, while she opened up a sack, retrieving a Hobgoblin's thigh, its flesh split in several places by what had clearly been the strike of an axe. This was tossed the orc's way. "You can have as many of these as you can eat, before they go off. I have no need of them; the source was merely in the way." Then she turned back to the artist, frowning. "Very generous of you. And.. rain? How'd you know?'
Worhalg looks at the raw thigh given to him and shrugs before sloppily ripping pieces of flesh from the bone with his teeth.
Tenebrae glanced up at Portea. "Um. Away from the cages, if possible..." There were one .. or two.. occupants down there she didn't want too near the demon-bits.
Ahnaya smiles at the woman as she watch her smile, "Cute." she suddenly take another piece of paper and started drawing at it while glancing at the woman frowning. she started answering at the woman while trying to take such marvelous opportunity drawing the woman frowning ,"I guess it would rain. Its been sunny all week. I think it would rain soon."
"Uh..huh. Makes sense, I guess." Tene made sure to sit quite still, for this drawing. "What do you do, besides your art, I mean?'
Portea heads down into the cellar without another word, piling the bags up as far from the cages as possible, and trying to keep their contents from spilling out onto the floor.
Ahnaya started laughing as the woman try to stay at her position. she finished her uncolored drawing and signed at the bottom with "Ahn" she glanced at the woman still smiling and replies, "The usuals. I hunt, Predict weather, Gather Informations, Do First Aid, Scout..." then she stopped trying to think what else she was capable of.
Tenebrae woud probably annoy Ahnaya again, as her expression lit up with an idea, the frown melting away. "Say... " Her eyes went to the orc. "You, orc. Fancy earning yourself a feast fit for..." She blinked. "An orc?"
Ahnaya clears her throat and then place the finished drawing at the table.
Worhalg keeps munching on the raw flesh, looking in Tenbrae's direction. "How?" He says, still chewing.
Tenebrae looked back to the woman, trying to re-establish her pose. "Busy girl. I'd like a quote on that commission. And scout, you say..?" Her eyes were suddenly sharp. "Who do you work for?"
Peregrine bursts through the tavern doors with the LouGarou slinking beside him. The air about them appears to cleave like slate to the hammer of their stride and to the chisel of their inevitable, and unstoppable, forward motion. They are covered in a fecund slime, fuliginous and lugubrious in turn, that reflects their weary mien. Tendrils of brain specked with quivering vitae and bone cling to Pere’s armor. A vicious gash in his thigh, torn through the drow chain mail, is caked with dried blood and dirt. A smile that opens to ivory teeth is the only detail that can be made of his face; that, and an unlit cigar, half-chewed, is the only thing that appears to be intact and unsullied. LouGarou swings his head back and forth with pride, brandishing a huge arm that appears to have been torn off at the shoulder. On Peregrine’s back, he carries a huge sack. He drops it to the floor, then reaches beneath one of the dragon’s scales on his cloak, brandishes a match, and lights the cigar. Blue smoke curls around his head like a halo, like a griseous and limpid pool, a nimbus of glory and death. He surveys the Tavern and notes the utter mess with a keen eye. “Gone one day, and the fekking place falls to ruin. Bloody entropy,” he mutters between vicious puffs on the cheroot. He looks to Tenebrae, and then glances meaningfully toward the bag. “For you, Ma’am.” I’m going to get a shower, then tear my liver up with Steadmen’s best sear-gut alcohol,” he says with a wink. He leaves for his room, trailing fingers, lips, pieces of liver, and a long esophagus hanging from his left elbow, torn, apparently, from some strange creature. It drops with a “ploop” to the floor.
Tenebrae said to Worhalg, "Go to the cellar, and rummage thorugh those sacks. Anything green in tone is yours. All the blue-black or pale bits, leave those. They'll make you horribly sick.""
Ahnaya glanced at the woman that suddenly seemed serious. Ahnaya looked at her as she try to be calm and more specific on any answer she should say at the woman, finally she said" I work for no one... well maybe myself. I only scout if needed."
Tenebrae blinked vapidly at Peregrine, his entrance having left her quite speechless for that moment. recovering herself, she nodded slowly. "Uh. Very good." His 'trophies' were eyed with a wince. "More parts. Fabulous. I'll have your pay ready, when you're cleaned up."
Worhalg said to Tenebrae, "Can I finish first?"
Tenebrae said to Worhalg, "As you please, orc. Take your time. My work down there cannot begin until the parts are sorted, and ... other factors are in place." She looked to Ahnaya. "I may have need of a scout as well. But this is not the time or place to discuss it. Seeme tomorrow, if you are after work."
Worhalg keeps munching happily until there is only the bone to gnaw on. He then stands up and looks at Tenebare. "Where can I find a bag then?"
Ahnaya sighs somehow weary on what she should answer to the woman. "Tomorrow? Okey I'll try."
Tenebrae grinned at the orc, and pointed to the one Pere had just dropped. "Start with that. Take it to the cellar, the rest are there, somewhere."
Worhalg nods and walks over to the bag, picks the the bag up and heaves it over his shoulder with one arm before descending the stairs.
Garron affords the most subtle lift and fall of his chin in reply, his movements deceptively fluid as he rises and crosses to the stairs.
Tenebrae gave the Moor an unreadable look, and then muttered her excuses, following him up the stairs. She'd turn to the room, speaking quickly. "Pay for the hunt will be bagged and distributed soon..." And then she was a shadow, rising in the stairwell.
Garron looms in the hall, a great and hulking figure of ebon clothed in a dockworker's simplest attire. His practical attire is insulted only by the garrishly large and floppy-brimmed hat that crests his bald head. Large fingers show an easy dexterity as they roll a cigarette in off-white paper, the tobacco soft and feathery within. He smells of it, not unpleasantly so, and certainly when the alternative could be the murky gin that rests in a bottle by his foot.
Tenebrae's chin canted upward, to catch sight of ice-hued eyes below the brim of Garron's hat. She'd swoop down to grasp the neck of his bottle, this employed to point the way to Diamanda's lair. "Let's get comfortable. This might take a while." Then her gaze held a hint of humor, and she risked stealing a sip of liquor.
Garron bends his head in a compliant nod, and seems to smile despite himself. "Should I save this for later?" The query pointed as he waggles the cigarette before her, humor glinting sharply in his eyes.
Tenebrae only lifted one brow archly, and took the lead into the Den.
Garron smothers his smile as best as he can manage before moving in her wake.
(the rest of this rp was of a political nature I dun want everyone's nose in yet)
Portea slowly makes his way into the Tavern, not even bothering to glance around before finding himself an empty seat by the fire to slump into. Another night, another disappointment, such has become the psion's routine.
Tenebrae glanced up, the focus of her gaze slowly narrowing into the present, and raised her and in greeting at Portea. "Ello, pet." Her voice was soft. "Mnementh was alright, then? Not too frantic?"
Garron hesitated in the door, and who wouldn't? The pass of his pale eyes along the shattered interior was pointed, and the moor seemed in no hurry to step within. When he finally began forward, as if compelled, it was to Tenebrae that he moved. From Steadman he collected a bottle, the gin misty colored and murky as he moved to claim a seat beside the Vampriss. "I've a feeling that I shouldn't ask."
Portea chuckles softly, trying to hide the slight wince occured because of it. ~He's alright, though I can't say the same for a certain patch of trees he got ahold of.~ He replies, a bit of humor added to his thought projected tone.
Tenebrae shifted aside, her hesitancy to allow proximity to the instrument only momentary. She gave Garron a wry look. "Yes, perhaps that would be best. I have some business to discuss with you, though..." Her gaze shifted to the thick bandage on her forearm. "That might wait, for a more.. opportune moment." The Moor might catch a sudden glint of humour in her eyes, swiftly turned on the psion. "Good. Portea, I..." The bandage once more claimed her attention. "Mr. Good Day, if you'll pardon me, a moment? Portea, I have some news. About Sidonia."
Garron answered with a gracious dip of his chin, momentarily turning the ice-gray of his eyes onto the bottle before him. He poured a tumbler with a quiet and familiar ease. The conversation happened over him and he was content with that, listening quietly as he drank.
Portea perks up quite noticeably at the mention of his love. ~Oh, what is it?~ He inquires, his tone a hopeful one, though he knows his hope will likely only lead to his downfall. He straightens out in the chair, his vaporous gaze locked upon the vampiress as he gives her his full attention.
Ahnaya suddenly appeared at the tavern door and slowly made her way toward the tavern boards, at the same moment she was being followed by a similar shadow.
Tenebrae swallowed softly, and lifted the paino's lid an inch, sliding her hand inside -- quickly, as even she was loathe to imagine what sort of mementos the King of Roads might have left in there-- to retrieve a slip of paper. "She left a note..." And her voice rose, not too steady, as she read it aloud: "Dear Tenebrae, This letter is... difficult for me to write, to say the least. You were the first, and perhaps the only, person to ever give me an opportunity in this world, and I will never forget it. You provided me with music, and then with a family, and it's a debt I could never repay. But despite this, and how much I've come to love the Cabal and the Corpse, I've come to think that perhaps it is time for me to leave. So much has happened here... in so little time... and I'm afraid I wasn't built for such things. They broke me, and I still find myself missing pieces. Should I ever find them again, I will come back! And I will miss you all so much-- too much for words. Please inform Terra, Kasyr, and-- especially-- the psion Portea of my intention. They were the three I loved best, and will never be forgotten. Yours, Sidonia. Postscript: Also give my fondest regards to Steadmen, and tell him not to let fools run rampant over the..." The last word woudn't be spoken, and the man she knew only as "Good Day" would feel the slight pressure of her shoulder as she leant upon him, as though some marginal request for support that she truly did not expect to recieve, her eyes kept steadily trained upon the paper.
Ahnaya realizes that there was nothing new written at the tavern board. she sighs, she suddenly took her longbow and continually fire at the tavern board., glancing at the people around her if no one saw it.
Portea closes his eyes as the tone of the letter is quickly set, confirming his suspicions. The psion's form slumps back down into the chair as his hand comes up to his forehead. ~...Thank you for telling me, Tenebrae..~ He projects back what would sound to hear like a whisper. Even despite what the letter mainly confirmed, it also confirmed that she cares about him more than she's usually willing to admit, which helps bolster his heart a bit.
The tavern was filling even as the interior was rotting. A haunting and strangely-perfect crowd beginning to grow and swell between the maze of tables and barstools. This was the secret of the Corpse, right infront of Good Day. And, despite it, he still couldn’t truly see it. The only thing that he could allow himself to believe was that it was Tenebrae herself that kept these people patronizing this place. The horrors it endured and visited should have chased any customers far and wide. Tenebrae’s silent request was answered simply, he allowed her to lean upon him. The lissome sliver of her frame scarcely troubled him, a mountain of a man. And yet she’d feel some warmth from him, and his smile spoke to her a subtle encouragement.
Tenebrae seemed bolstered by the big man's reassurance, and her gaze lifted to Portea. "She is Cabal. She will return, if she can." The words were simple, but rang with the solidity and conviction of one speaking a truth. The thud-thud of a hail of arrows captured her attention, next, Ahnaya's attack on her board given an oddly blank look. Tene had bigger concerns than somebody taking thier agst out on her furnishings. First, if not primarily, the shifting of all those demon-parts to the cellar. She'd rise to stand, her fingers brushing a quiet 'thankyou' across Garron's shoulder. "I need to clean up..." But as she rose, turned to glimpse the Moor, her eyes settled on a long, black strand lain across the piano's keys, visible only upon the ivory. Her fingers plucked it up, her features suddenly chill and sere as she studied it. "Somebody..." But she knew who. And the knowledge both alarmed and thrilled her.
Portea merely nods, giving one last whisper. ~I know...~ Before turning back to the fire, the flicker of flames reflecting within his somber gaze.
Ahnaya yawns as she try to sit on one of the tavern's chair. she placed her long bow on the top of the table and started taking a piece of blank paper from her pack and started sketching on it.
Tenebrae set the hair down again, leaving it exactly as she had found it on the keys, and slight frown on her brow was forced smooth as she spoke. "Don't get too comfortable there, psion. I need some help here." There'd be a hint of fang resting on her lower lip, her smile an attempt at breaking the sombre mood of sad news and the stench of demon-flesh. She stooped to pick up an arm from among the litter of carcasses, greenish in hue, and missing its appendages. "Give me hand?"
Tenebrae's gaze, ever wandering, met with Ahnaya and she gave the woman a slight and curious look.
Portea is roused from his thoughts by Tenebrae's attempt at humor, which, as luck may have it, actually works. ~Ow...don't make me laugh.~ He projects, having winced once more trying to restrain the laugh. The psion rises up out of the chair to walk over to her side. ~Where do you want it?~ He inquires, seeming to have a plan for getting it there in a hurry.
Ahnaya glances at the Tenebrae. she smiles as she continue drawing at her paper. she started glancing time by time at the woman as she continue what she was sketching.
Tenebrae grinned, then. "In the cellar will do for now." She crossed the room, to the bar, where she retrieved several clothen sacks. "I am not looking forward to this..."
Portea can't help but smirk a little as he uses his psionic prowess to lift a portion of the severed body parts. ~Hold the bag open and I'll get 'em in there for you.~ He replies quietly, trying to keep his mind off of the newly recieved news.
Ahnaya frowns as she throw the unfinished drawing at the table cursing the woman for moving.
Tenebrae would have, had she known she was the model for Ahnaya's sketch, shot the woman an apology for disrupting the creative process. However, she was grimacing at the mess of sundry limbs and torsos, just then. "Be careful. Some may not be quite dead." She tossed the bit she bit she was holding into the bag and used both hands to hold it open, ready to be filled. "Though I'm pretty sure that one'll be 'armless."
Portea gives an amused smile before willing the body parts to fill the bag bit by bit, pausing just long enough for her to open up another bag, etc, etc. ~No need to even touch them, this way.~ He replies with a smile.
Soon there was a stack of lumpish bags stacked by the piano, the clean-up interrupted now and then while Tenebrae made very sure that this snapping, needle-toothed head was rendered inert, or that grasping claw was stilled before being dropped into a bag. At the end of it, she huffed a short sigh, and dropped back onto the piano stool. "Ugh." The vampiress used the back of her hand to wipe a spot of acidic ichor from her cheek. "This better have been worth it."
Ahnaya started yawning badly as she look at the woman and the other man talk. even thou the man seems not the speak. she stare at the mess the two people are cleaning. she sighs and said, "Hobs."
Tenebrae needed distracting, about now. She'd speak quietly to Garron a moment, and then lift her gaze toward the paper thrown down, and the artist who'd thrown it there. "Excuse me, miss?" This, to Ahanya. "May I...?" Though she didn't look like she would be rising from her seat, any time soon. She stared at Ahnaya, "Yes, some of it. There were other... things... in there too."
Ahnaya glances at the woman and said, "Yes? Anything I can do?"
Portea lofts a brow, backing up to lean against the wall nearest her. ~What do you need all of these for, anyway?~ He inquires softly, silently wishing he could be vocal without a literal pain in his neck.
Tenebrae said to Ahnaya, "I wanted to see what it was you were drawing. If you wouldn't mind?" " She turned aside to Portea, and her expression might tell him that his question broached a subject she was none too willing to address in public. "I'm... experimenting."
Ahnaya listen as the woman speak at her. she smiled and slowly pcked up the unfinished art and try to somehow finish it and make it better. she looked again at the woman as she pass the paper and said, "Its you... by the piano... no colors yet thou."
Worhalg appears from the north.
Portea gives a slight nod. ~Fair enough.~ He replies, understanding her expression perfectly, though he idly wonders if any of the other occupants find their one sided conversation strange, considering only Tene can hear what Portea is saying.
Worhalg stomps heavily into the tavern, walking past Urghdak, giving the bouncer a nasty look and then finds himself somewhere to sit.
Tenebrae took the paper in her fingers, falling silent for a long moment as she studied the sketch. Finally, she said, "This is really very good." And it was-- even in monochromatic tones, the likeness was unmistakable, and utterly vivid. "Might you consider.. if it's alright, that is... letting me buy this from you?"
Ahnaya stared at the woman somehow trying to digest what she had said... "Buy it... from me?" she seemed distracted. yet she try not to show it to the woman. "Well I dont usually sell my art.. because no one buys them... usually they ask me if they can have it and I give it for free but not buy them."
Tenebrae looked to Portea, then. "Pet, might I impose on you for some more help, getting these sacks down to the cellar? My wounds..." She'd split Nurse Carmine's neat stitches in two places already, the evidence of her over-activity plain in crimson stains that spoiled the pristine white of her bandages. Worhalg was given a long look, and she'd offer him a smile. "Can one of my girls fetch you something, sir?" Orc or not, he deserved the bar-owner's manners. In fact, as fond of orcs as she was, his race might be the main factor in ensuring them. The half-bred security chief grumbled something under his breathm, though, and reinforced the grip held on his mace with a flex of thick fingers.
Tenebrae said to Ahnaya, "But it's marvellous. Is one hundred gold sufficient?" She lofted a brow. "In fact, I would like a portrait of this room.. are you open for commissions?""
Ahnaya said, "I may give it to you though." somehow looking outside the window watching the sky, then suddenly she said somthing out of her own control "I think it would rain"
Worhalg offers Tenebrae a nod. "Any fresh kill that you have I would love to devour."
Portea nods a little before psionically lifting the bags up into the air. ~Not a problem, though is there a specific place you'd like them?~ He replies, already walking towards the cellar, bags in tow.
Ahnaya said, "Miss... *as she started thinking about the information she gathered from the woman* Tene... Tenabrae. Am I correct? Well Miss Tenebrae I am sure that my work are simply art. even that one was not yet colored and it wouldnt worth a hundred pieces of gold. I may give it to you for free.. well" started thinking about commissions "Well yeah... I guess.""
Tenebrae raised her palm by way of asking Ahnaya to hold a moment, while she opened up a sack, retrieving a Hobgoblin's thigh, its flesh split in several places by what had clearly been the strike of an axe. This was tossed the orc's way. "You can have as many of these as you can eat, before they go off. I have no need of them; the source was merely in the way." Then she turned back to the artist, frowning. "Very generous of you. And.. rain? How'd you know?'
Worhalg looks at the raw thigh given to him and shrugs before sloppily ripping pieces of flesh from the bone with his teeth.
Tenebrae glanced up at Portea. "Um. Away from the cages, if possible..." There were one .. or two.. occupants down there she didn't want too near the demon-bits.
Ahnaya smiles at the woman as she watch her smile, "Cute." she suddenly take another piece of paper and started drawing at it while glancing at the woman frowning. she started answering at the woman while trying to take such marvelous opportunity drawing the woman frowning ,"I guess it would rain. Its been sunny all week. I think it would rain soon."
"Uh..huh. Makes sense, I guess." Tene made sure to sit quite still, for this drawing. "What do you do, besides your art, I mean?'
Portea heads down into the cellar without another word, piling the bags up as far from the cages as possible, and trying to keep their contents from spilling out onto the floor.
Ahnaya started laughing as the woman try to stay at her position. she finished her uncolored drawing and signed at the bottom with "Ahn" she glanced at the woman still smiling and replies, "The usuals. I hunt, Predict weather, Gather Informations, Do First Aid, Scout..." then she stopped trying to think what else she was capable of.
Tenebrae woud probably annoy Ahnaya again, as her expression lit up with an idea, the frown melting away. "Say... " Her eyes went to the orc. "You, orc. Fancy earning yourself a feast fit for..." She blinked. "An orc?"
Ahnaya clears her throat and then place the finished drawing at the table.
Worhalg keeps munching on the raw flesh, looking in Tenbrae's direction. "How?" He says, still chewing.
Tenebrae looked back to the woman, trying to re-establish her pose. "Busy girl. I'd like a quote on that commission. And scout, you say..?" Her eyes were suddenly sharp. "Who do you work for?"
Peregrine bursts through the tavern doors with the LouGarou slinking beside him. The air about them appears to cleave like slate to the hammer of their stride and to the chisel of their inevitable, and unstoppable, forward motion. They are covered in a fecund slime, fuliginous and lugubrious in turn, that reflects their weary mien. Tendrils of brain specked with quivering vitae and bone cling to Pere’s armor. A vicious gash in his thigh, torn through the drow chain mail, is caked with dried blood and dirt. A smile that opens to ivory teeth is the only detail that can be made of his face; that, and an unlit cigar, half-chewed, is the only thing that appears to be intact and unsullied. LouGarou swings his head back and forth with pride, brandishing a huge arm that appears to have been torn off at the shoulder. On Peregrine’s back, he carries a huge sack. He drops it to the floor, then reaches beneath one of the dragon’s scales on his cloak, brandishes a match, and lights the cigar. Blue smoke curls around his head like a halo, like a griseous and limpid pool, a nimbus of glory and death. He surveys the Tavern and notes the utter mess with a keen eye. “Gone one day, and the fekking place falls to ruin. Bloody entropy,” he mutters between vicious puffs on the cheroot. He looks to Tenebrae, and then glances meaningfully toward the bag. “For you, Ma’am.” I’m going to get a shower, then tear my liver up with Steadmen’s best sear-gut alcohol,” he says with a wink. He leaves for his room, trailing fingers, lips, pieces of liver, and a long esophagus hanging from his left elbow, torn, apparently, from some strange creature. It drops with a “ploop” to the floor.
Tenebrae said to Worhalg, "Go to the cellar, and rummage thorugh those sacks. Anything green in tone is yours. All the blue-black or pale bits, leave those. They'll make you horribly sick.""
Ahnaya glanced at the woman that suddenly seemed serious. Ahnaya looked at her as she try to be calm and more specific on any answer she should say at the woman, finally she said" I work for no one... well maybe myself. I only scout if needed."
Tenebrae blinked vapidly at Peregrine, his entrance having left her quite speechless for that moment. recovering herself, she nodded slowly. "Uh. Very good." His 'trophies' were eyed with a wince. "More parts. Fabulous. I'll have your pay ready, when you're cleaned up."
Worhalg said to Tenebrae, "Can I finish first?"
Tenebrae said to Worhalg, "As you please, orc. Take your time. My work down there cannot begin until the parts are sorted, and ... other factors are in place." She looked to Ahnaya. "I may have need of a scout as well. But this is not the time or place to discuss it. Seeme tomorrow, if you are after work."
Worhalg keeps munching happily until there is only the bone to gnaw on. He then stands up and looks at Tenebare. "Where can I find a bag then?"
Ahnaya sighs somehow weary on what she should answer to the woman. "Tomorrow? Okey I'll try."
Tenebrae grinned at the orc, and pointed to the one Pere had just dropped. "Start with that. Take it to the cellar, the rest are there, somewhere."
Worhalg nods and walks over to the bag, picks the the bag up and heaves it over his shoulder with one arm before descending the stairs.
Garron affords the most subtle lift and fall of his chin in reply, his movements deceptively fluid as he rises and crosses to the stairs.
Tenebrae gave the Moor an unreadable look, and then muttered her excuses, following him up the stairs. She'd turn to the room, speaking quickly. "Pay for the hunt will be bagged and distributed soon..." And then she was a shadow, rising in the stairwell.
Garron looms in the hall, a great and hulking figure of ebon clothed in a dockworker's simplest attire. His practical attire is insulted only by the garrishly large and floppy-brimmed hat that crests his bald head. Large fingers show an easy dexterity as they roll a cigarette in off-white paper, the tobacco soft and feathery within. He smells of it, not unpleasantly so, and certainly when the alternative could be the murky gin that rests in a bottle by his foot.
Tenebrae's chin canted upward, to catch sight of ice-hued eyes below the brim of Garron's hat. She'd swoop down to grasp the neck of his bottle, this employed to point the way to Diamanda's lair. "Let's get comfortable. This might take a while." Then her gaze held a hint of humor, and she risked stealing a sip of liquor.
Garron bends his head in a compliant nod, and seems to smile despite himself. "Should I save this for later?" The query pointed as he waggles the cigarette before her, humor glinting sharply in his eyes.
Tenebrae only lifted one brow archly, and took the lead into the Den.
Garron smothers his smile as best as he can manage before moving in her wake.
(the rest of this rp was of a political nature I dun want everyone's nose in yet)