Post by Joliette Thorne on Jun 8, 2007 5:50:06 GMT -5
Tenebrae moaned softly, pale fingers pushing strands of ebon back from a paler face than even her vampiric nature warranted. Those famed peridot eyes were cracked with red and glazed, and she had all the appearance of somebody suffering dire pain. She shuddered a bit, sinking to a barstool. Turning toward Mesthak, a mere nod sufficed to send him scurrying for her regular order. "Make it a triple." The dwarf stared. "You heard me." Her voice was low. "A triple. No ice."
Tenebrae yawned softly, her hand moving not quite fast enough to cover her mouth. Bleary, scarlet-rimmed eyes shifted from the stranger new-arrived to Elysium, her eyes narrowing. "Can I help y'there, pet?" Her tone implied she wished to be anything but helpful.
Elysium said to you, "Take your gaze elsewhere."
Tenebrae did not take her gaze elsewhere. The former necromancer gazed on steadily, and Elysium might realise, were he sharp enough to surmise it, that the vampiress wasn't going to be moving her fixated vision anytime soon. "Mesthak, another triple." She spoke it without looking aside. The dwarf grit his teeth, and did as bid.
Tenebrae looked at Elysium.
Tenebrae heard the glass clink against the bar and, using the sound to guide her fingers toward it, grasped the drink and raised it to her lips -- all the while continuing her pointed scrutiny of Elysium.
Tenebrae drew down the shadowy cloth covering the lower portion of her features, and sipped. And-- was still looking. At Elysium.
Elysium’s gaze remained riveted upon the pained Vampiress, his words almost giggling over his ruddied lips. “The last person who refused to do so died not far from where you stand, one Jesserios, though people in this land appear to have an annoying habit of returning from the cold place they are sent.” A single finger is directed toward Tenebrae, “That said. I was never one to stop trying.”
Tenebrae blinked softly, her upper lip drawing back gently from white teeth in a subtle display of mirth. "Uh.. so, you're some kind of god, is it, that a body cannot lay eyes on you without perishing?" She snorted softly, shaking her head. "Some folk've got all kinds of high opinions of themselves.." All the while, her eyes had not averted.
Darian makes a mark upon everything he touches, each padfall imprinting gauche mixtures of mud and shoots of yellowing grass upon the creaking floor. There is nothing about him but filth and magnificence. His hair is closer to grey than black for all the sludge that has been slunk through it from dozing easily among the roots and thickets, puddles and rocks, roadways and ever present rabbles. There is nothing about him that could be anything but magnificent.
Tenebrae is still staring at him, her lips curling at the corners to a sickly little smile.
Elysium said to you, "I am the end. You will see."
Tenebrae blinked softly again. "The end?" She finally turned her head aside, so as to hide the smirk. "Of a horse, perhaps.. " He might not have heard that. Either way, the vampiress couldn't help her shoulders shaking in silent laughter.
Darian was, indeed, magnificent- there was no touch of aristocratic apathy, but all the same a courtly sway to his rhythmic hips, jutting out their tattered confines. It was this sway that carried him to the bar.
Tenebrae regained what composure was left in her after the bout of rum the night before and its nefarious effects on her system - enough imbibed to weaken even a vampire - and straightened slender shoulders to invoke something of dignity. This done, she leant one elbow to the bar, that keen peridot stare now levelled at the ragged newcomer, who even in his decrepitude promised to be more interesting then "the end".
Darian filthied a chair with his meagre weight and cocked his neck and cracked wrist in whip-like imbibment of the one drink he could afford. He busied himself with fixating his gaze upon a single wart upon the dwarf-keep's nose-end. This was all.
Tenebrae winced slightly, the whisky having done a poor job of being cure for what ailed her. Shifting in her seat, she affected what would - to any male - appear a fetching picture and smiled toward the stranger. Yeah, it was suppertime. And the vampire hadn't eaten in days.
Elysium didn't hear, nor care, apparently. His attention had fallen to the vial he had retrieved from somewhere on his person. One moment passed; then two...and smash. The glass container filled with some black powder and an army of tiny, metallic pellets hit the floor. Oxygen gave the inky-substance its first kiss of life and with it all hell broke loose. The explosion, seemingly small at first resounded, charring the floor beneath in a tight circumference alas were it the floorboards your attention was rooted to it would be your end; the pellets ripped through the air now, this way and that searing through wooden surface and patron alike - Gahn himself receiving a minor wound along his midriff. Most importantly though, the majority of the relentless 'balls' did reach their mark, Tenebrae, and should they meet their target her end would come, perhaps a little prematurely.
Darian brought the staunch keep from wiping mugs and picking his behind with his sordid, easeful, taut gaze. Having drunk his drink, his posture was still stiff, like he was a pair of gabardine breeches left to dry in the searing summer winds. His face conveyed no inward revelations, his gaze did not move. His legs were loosely crossed, his spine in a loose lean. The keep grunted and turned to pick and wipe without his warty face to the lancing green of Darian's rigid pupils. He looked, in fact, rather convinced to have another drink from this keep, yet to what end it could not be said.
Tenebrae would, had she time to think, that it was just as well that she had -- at that very, precise moment -- chosen to slip from her seat and approach the ashen-haired stranger, a certain serpentine sway to her walk, metallic heels ticking little divots of timber from the splintery boards below. So it was that while Elysium's missiles were flung her way, the majority did in fact miss her, save for a small handful that lodged like buckshot might (were it invented) in that famous derriere and she shouted, "Ouch!"
Darentel again finds himself in the alehouse, perhaps this was the beginning of a rather detrimental habit? Anyhow, his still lethargic demeanour was somewhat more lacklustre than usual, the efforts of the last evening’s drinking bout could possibly be the cause, though the drow obviously wasn’t too deterred , there was more drink to be had, and there was nothing quite like getting drunk whilst nursing a hangover. And thus, he makes his way slowly towards the bar, a rather unusual smile crossing ebon features as he notes the few occupants with an insignificant nod.
Tenebrae whirled about, and glared at Elysium, her palm brought to rub against tight-stretched black leather. "That had better not have been you, shorty." She was one to talk, being all of five-feet-nothing without the benefit of those deadly heels. Still, she liked to find the chink in a man's armour before a verbal - and possibly physical - emasculation would ensue. Her hand drew away from the wounded area, splayed fingers stained sanguine. Tenebrae muttered and grit her teeth at the stinging sensation on her left buttock. "Whisky, Mesthak." The drink, delivered was soon proven medicinal, tipped back and drunk in one. "Just great. An arse full of gravel, and I'm still not at my supper." She was doing a lot of muttering this day.
Sparrow couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow in the direction of the muttering one, followed by a brief shudder as her aquatic eyes now closed, with Sparrow slouching down the chair so only her bruised face was barely above view.
Darian alights in a jostle of various dull colors that has been centered by the penetrating green orbs remaining fixed upon the bloody fingers
Darentel’s seemingly glazed, almost expressionless gaze falls ‘pon the bar, keep and maid, each in turn entertained with the same -of no consequence- nod that had accommodated the few patrons upon his somewhat boring entrance. And thus a tankard is set, rather disdainfully, on the wooden surface of the bar top, the amber fluid contained within headed with bubbled froth. The drow then transacts the appropriate coinage, turns, and surveys the emptied room, in search of an agreeable place of respite.
Blackabyss walks towards the back corner and finds a nice poorly lit table to sit at.
Darian pulls the slack wrist of the femme in toward his lips, all motion concerted upon the rosy dew.
Blackabyss removes his black-horned-full helmet and sets it on the table in front of his as he waits for the barmaid to reach his table.
Tenebrae said to Darian, "Oi - leave off that!" She snatched her hand down, away from lips clearly questing a kiss -- or the taste of her in the scarlet fluid running down those pale digits. "Hardly the manners to have around a lady." Whether amused by his sheer cheek, or her self-appellation, she was grinning.
Leoxander extended an inked arm to push open the tavern door, and from behind a mess of unkempt hair, one blue eye would sweep across what he could see of the room. He was alone, and looking moody, a glare set to focus on the Necromancer, the moment he spotted her. Boots made very little sound upon the floorboards as he stalked inside. Because his identity wasn't concealed behind the usual mask and hood, the familiar bar maid of Kelay would gasp ever so softly from her station.
Darian batted half-attentively after the fingers, not fully aware that what he sought was in relation to any other being's desires.
Leoxander paused about four paces in, shoulders squaring off, the one eye not concealed by a leather patch searching. She was there. He could smell her.
Leoxander pocketed coins appropriately, helping a 'passed out' drunkard into a chair like the gentleman he wasn't. Hey, he needed money for a drink...
Blackabyss watched the necromancer enter and smirked slightly. Then returned his gleaming red eyes to his cross bow as he pulled it out from his coat and set it on the table.
Darian intermittently began to scan the length of the blood's keeper, even-paced and desultory he conveyed her image through his eyes, while still slightly poised for the attainment of sustenance.
Leoxander isn't a necromancer. He was hunting one.
Tenebrae shook her head, grasping at her half-open pack for a stray cloth on which to wipe the seepage, and act as gauze-pad to press upon the shrapnel-shot wound. This she did, wincing as pressure was brought to bear on the tender area. One brow tilted up -- and not yet aware of the rogue's presence in the tavern - she spoke archly to the stranger. "Habit of yours, takin' up the hand of unacquainted women, is it?" His unabashed perusal was not escaping her either. The sound of a struggle on the other side of the room had her turn away...
Leoxander met her eyes from across the room for a silent, and brief moment. They'd gleam like an animal's in candelabra light.
Darentel’s lacklustre gaze consequently discovers the object of his desire. And though the chair and table ensemble resembled every other cheaply made resting implement in the alehouse, it’s positioning was good, and not to the ideals of those content with watching their backs, or perving on Nancy, no, this desire displayed by the apparently youthful drow towards the pose of his respite was one that he himself wasn’t conscious of, one of those little eccentric habits.
Leoxander didn't look pleased at all. Whether his anger was for her, or for the general public, she was the one his mismatched eyes narrowed upon when they faded back to the normal red and blue. And then, he'd look to her companion for the evening, with a few vague lines etching into the center of his brow. Was Leo one to jump to conclusions? Nah, but he was a roguish and short-tempered bastard always ready for a good fight. One hand eased away from his waist, where one of two blades was sheathed, and he'd scratch roughly at the side of his neck under the collar of a torn, sleeveless black shirt.
Darian turned from her with a shrug rest his shoulders on the oakum sheen of the countertop. After but a moment, he uncorked a bottle and executed the tottering sway of his walk to hold a farless perturbable solitude within the pall of a corner.
Tenebrae met his, with equal gleam - the metal slivers in her shapely rear embedded deep and starting to throb as flesh swelled around tender wounds, the smell of a hunt thick in the air, the stranger - and erstwhile prey to the recently self-discovered vampiress - so close and .. then there was her Cap'n. Her voice was sharp across the confines of the inn. "Leo." If there was an edge to it, the reason'd be in whatever transpired on the ship the night before, but she wasn't sure she recalled it herself, rum being what it is.
Leoxander would turn his eyes from Tenebrae to Darian, watching the unsteady retreat of the unfamiliar man with that same eerie silent treatment. Finally he stepped forward toward the table or.. area they'd recently occupied as a pair, but it was a moment longer before he'd return his off colored gaze to the vampire to notice she was injured. He wanted to yell at her for leaving the ship.. but fortunately, she hadn't gone too far. "What the hell are you doing here..?" It wasn't her he was resentful toward. Clearly, with a cruel glance over his shoulder toward the bouncer, he had personal reasons for hating that place. Mesthak always made sure to keep his poster fresh, didn't he?
Leoxander looked at a bouncer.
Darian lazily hefts his eyebrows with a great bother to gesticulate his reply, before returning to his drink and arching his aquiline spinal column and acknowledging no further.
Larissa walks into the tavern as tears run down her cheeks. She sits at the nearest table and focuses on the floor.
Tenebrae would lick her lower lip, tilt her head down in an attitude of mock-supplication, wicked gleam glinting green and amber from eyes filtered by thick lashes. "Hair'o'the dog, Cap'n." She could not help her gaze shifting quick-like toward the ragged stranger. "And I was hungry. Is that alright?" The last, spoken with a defiant lilt.
Leoxander didn't so much reply vocally as he did with his return of attitude. An almost challenging look would catch arctic eyes before he turned away and walked toward the bar, catching sight of the lone male at his table, privy to witness the whole scene. Fixing Nancy with that same predatory stare, she knew the routine too well to hesitate, and as eager as she was for the thief to leave her bar, the pair of whisky shots would be fixed up quick. She wouldn't even complain at his lack of tip. A deep breath lifted his shoulders, then lowered them in a sigh that made it clear he was trying to relax. But that would never happen for him, there. Especially with the tension in the air as thick as fog.
Leoxander tossed one shot back, proceeding to turn the small glass upside-down when it was replaced back on the counter. To leave the usual ring of left over liquor, much to the bar maid's dismay.
Leoxander had the distinct impression he was being watched...
Darian drains his bottle in a smooth swill, and grunts his disconcertion at the impudence of the vessel with as soft and distinct a sound as the implosion of rabbit holes in a yard.
Leoxander couldn't ignore even the slightest of sounds, thus he wouldn't ignore that one. A dirty look over his shoulder was thrown, but he was just generally angry around that time of night, especially hiding a swollen, blackened eye under that leathern patch.
Tenebrae yawned softly, her hand moving not quite fast enough to cover her mouth. Bleary, scarlet-rimmed eyes shifted from the stranger new-arrived to Elysium, her eyes narrowing. "Can I help y'there, pet?" Her tone implied she wished to be anything but helpful.
Elysium said to you, "Take your gaze elsewhere."
Tenebrae did not take her gaze elsewhere. The former necromancer gazed on steadily, and Elysium might realise, were he sharp enough to surmise it, that the vampiress wasn't going to be moving her fixated vision anytime soon. "Mesthak, another triple." She spoke it without looking aside. The dwarf grit his teeth, and did as bid.
Tenebrae looked at Elysium.
Tenebrae heard the glass clink against the bar and, using the sound to guide her fingers toward it, grasped the drink and raised it to her lips -- all the while continuing her pointed scrutiny of Elysium.
Tenebrae drew down the shadowy cloth covering the lower portion of her features, and sipped. And-- was still looking. At Elysium.
Elysium’s gaze remained riveted upon the pained Vampiress, his words almost giggling over his ruddied lips. “The last person who refused to do so died not far from where you stand, one Jesserios, though people in this land appear to have an annoying habit of returning from the cold place they are sent.” A single finger is directed toward Tenebrae, “That said. I was never one to stop trying.”
Tenebrae blinked softly, her upper lip drawing back gently from white teeth in a subtle display of mirth. "Uh.. so, you're some kind of god, is it, that a body cannot lay eyes on you without perishing?" She snorted softly, shaking her head. "Some folk've got all kinds of high opinions of themselves.." All the while, her eyes had not averted.
Darian makes a mark upon everything he touches, each padfall imprinting gauche mixtures of mud and shoots of yellowing grass upon the creaking floor. There is nothing about him but filth and magnificence. His hair is closer to grey than black for all the sludge that has been slunk through it from dozing easily among the roots and thickets, puddles and rocks, roadways and ever present rabbles. There is nothing about him that could be anything but magnificent.
Tenebrae is still staring at him, her lips curling at the corners to a sickly little smile.
Elysium said to you, "I am the end. You will see."
Tenebrae blinked softly again. "The end?" She finally turned her head aside, so as to hide the smirk. "Of a horse, perhaps.. " He might not have heard that. Either way, the vampiress couldn't help her shoulders shaking in silent laughter.
Darian was, indeed, magnificent- there was no touch of aristocratic apathy, but all the same a courtly sway to his rhythmic hips, jutting out their tattered confines. It was this sway that carried him to the bar.
Tenebrae regained what composure was left in her after the bout of rum the night before and its nefarious effects on her system - enough imbibed to weaken even a vampire - and straightened slender shoulders to invoke something of dignity. This done, she leant one elbow to the bar, that keen peridot stare now levelled at the ragged newcomer, who even in his decrepitude promised to be more interesting then "the end".
Darian filthied a chair with his meagre weight and cocked his neck and cracked wrist in whip-like imbibment of the one drink he could afford. He busied himself with fixating his gaze upon a single wart upon the dwarf-keep's nose-end. This was all.
Tenebrae winced slightly, the whisky having done a poor job of being cure for what ailed her. Shifting in her seat, she affected what would - to any male - appear a fetching picture and smiled toward the stranger. Yeah, it was suppertime. And the vampire hadn't eaten in days.
Elysium didn't hear, nor care, apparently. His attention had fallen to the vial he had retrieved from somewhere on his person. One moment passed; then two...and smash. The glass container filled with some black powder and an army of tiny, metallic pellets hit the floor. Oxygen gave the inky-substance its first kiss of life and with it all hell broke loose. The explosion, seemingly small at first resounded, charring the floor beneath in a tight circumference alas were it the floorboards your attention was rooted to it would be your end; the pellets ripped through the air now, this way and that searing through wooden surface and patron alike - Gahn himself receiving a minor wound along his midriff. Most importantly though, the majority of the relentless 'balls' did reach their mark, Tenebrae, and should they meet their target her end would come, perhaps a little prematurely.
Darian brought the staunch keep from wiping mugs and picking his behind with his sordid, easeful, taut gaze. Having drunk his drink, his posture was still stiff, like he was a pair of gabardine breeches left to dry in the searing summer winds. His face conveyed no inward revelations, his gaze did not move. His legs were loosely crossed, his spine in a loose lean. The keep grunted and turned to pick and wipe without his warty face to the lancing green of Darian's rigid pupils. He looked, in fact, rather convinced to have another drink from this keep, yet to what end it could not be said.
Tenebrae would, had she time to think, that it was just as well that she had -- at that very, precise moment -- chosen to slip from her seat and approach the ashen-haired stranger, a certain serpentine sway to her walk, metallic heels ticking little divots of timber from the splintery boards below. So it was that while Elysium's missiles were flung her way, the majority did in fact miss her, save for a small handful that lodged like buckshot might (were it invented) in that famous derriere and she shouted, "Ouch!"
Darentel again finds himself in the alehouse, perhaps this was the beginning of a rather detrimental habit? Anyhow, his still lethargic demeanour was somewhat more lacklustre than usual, the efforts of the last evening’s drinking bout could possibly be the cause, though the drow obviously wasn’t too deterred , there was more drink to be had, and there was nothing quite like getting drunk whilst nursing a hangover. And thus, he makes his way slowly towards the bar, a rather unusual smile crossing ebon features as he notes the few occupants with an insignificant nod.
Tenebrae whirled about, and glared at Elysium, her palm brought to rub against tight-stretched black leather. "That had better not have been you, shorty." She was one to talk, being all of five-feet-nothing without the benefit of those deadly heels. Still, she liked to find the chink in a man's armour before a verbal - and possibly physical - emasculation would ensue. Her hand drew away from the wounded area, splayed fingers stained sanguine. Tenebrae muttered and grit her teeth at the stinging sensation on her left buttock. "Whisky, Mesthak." The drink, delivered was soon proven medicinal, tipped back and drunk in one. "Just great. An arse full of gravel, and I'm still not at my supper." She was doing a lot of muttering this day.
Sparrow couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow in the direction of the muttering one, followed by a brief shudder as her aquatic eyes now closed, with Sparrow slouching down the chair so only her bruised face was barely above view.
Darian alights in a jostle of various dull colors that has been centered by the penetrating green orbs remaining fixed upon the bloody fingers
Darentel’s seemingly glazed, almost expressionless gaze falls ‘pon the bar, keep and maid, each in turn entertained with the same -of no consequence- nod that had accommodated the few patrons upon his somewhat boring entrance. And thus a tankard is set, rather disdainfully, on the wooden surface of the bar top, the amber fluid contained within headed with bubbled froth. The drow then transacts the appropriate coinage, turns, and surveys the emptied room, in search of an agreeable place of respite.
Blackabyss walks towards the back corner and finds a nice poorly lit table to sit at.
Darian pulls the slack wrist of the femme in toward his lips, all motion concerted upon the rosy dew.
Blackabyss removes his black-horned-full helmet and sets it on the table in front of his as he waits for the barmaid to reach his table.
Tenebrae said to Darian, "Oi - leave off that!" She snatched her hand down, away from lips clearly questing a kiss -- or the taste of her in the scarlet fluid running down those pale digits. "Hardly the manners to have around a lady." Whether amused by his sheer cheek, or her self-appellation, she was grinning.
Leoxander extended an inked arm to push open the tavern door, and from behind a mess of unkempt hair, one blue eye would sweep across what he could see of the room. He was alone, and looking moody, a glare set to focus on the Necromancer, the moment he spotted her. Boots made very little sound upon the floorboards as he stalked inside. Because his identity wasn't concealed behind the usual mask and hood, the familiar bar maid of Kelay would gasp ever so softly from her station.
Darian batted half-attentively after the fingers, not fully aware that what he sought was in relation to any other being's desires.
Leoxander paused about four paces in, shoulders squaring off, the one eye not concealed by a leather patch searching. She was there. He could smell her.
Leoxander pocketed coins appropriately, helping a 'passed out' drunkard into a chair like the gentleman he wasn't. Hey, he needed money for a drink...
Blackabyss watched the necromancer enter and smirked slightly. Then returned his gleaming red eyes to his cross bow as he pulled it out from his coat and set it on the table.
Darian intermittently began to scan the length of the blood's keeper, even-paced and desultory he conveyed her image through his eyes, while still slightly poised for the attainment of sustenance.
Leoxander isn't a necromancer. He was hunting one.
Tenebrae shook her head, grasping at her half-open pack for a stray cloth on which to wipe the seepage, and act as gauze-pad to press upon the shrapnel-shot wound. This she did, wincing as pressure was brought to bear on the tender area. One brow tilted up -- and not yet aware of the rogue's presence in the tavern - she spoke archly to the stranger. "Habit of yours, takin' up the hand of unacquainted women, is it?" His unabashed perusal was not escaping her either. The sound of a struggle on the other side of the room had her turn away...
Leoxander met her eyes from across the room for a silent, and brief moment. They'd gleam like an animal's in candelabra light.
Darentel’s lacklustre gaze consequently discovers the object of his desire. And though the chair and table ensemble resembled every other cheaply made resting implement in the alehouse, it’s positioning was good, and not to the ideals of those content with watching their backs, or perving on Nancy, no, this desire displayed by the apparently youthful drow towards the pose of his respite was one that he himself wasn’t conscious of, one of those little eccentric habits.
Leoxander didn't look pleased at all. Whether his anger was for her, or for the general public, she was the one his mismatched eyes narrowed upon when they faded back to the normal red and blue. And then, he'd look to her companion for the evening, with a few vague lines etching into the center of his brow. Was Leo one to jump to conclusions? Nah, but he was a roguish and short-tempered bastard always ready for a good fight. One hand eased away from his waist, where one of two blades was sheathed, and he'd scratch roughly at the side of his neck under the collar of a torn, sleeveless black shirt.
Darian turned from her with a shrug rest his shoulders on the oakum sheen of the countertop. After but a moment, he uncorked a bottle and executed the tottering sway of his walk to hold a farless perturbable solitude within the pall of a corner.
Tenebrae met his, with equal gleam - the metal slivers in her shapely rear embedded deep and starting to throb as flesh swelled around tender wounds, the smell of a hunt thick in the air, the stranger - and erstwhile prey to the recently self-discovered vampiress - so close and .. then there was her Cap'n. Her voice was sharp across the confines of the inn. "Leo." If there was an edge to it, the reason'd be in whatever transpired on the ship the night before, but she wasn't sure she recalled it herself, rum being what it is.
Leoxander would turn his eyes from Tenebrae to Darian, watching the unsteady retreat of the unfamiliar man with that same eerie silent treatment. Finally he stepped forward toward the table or.. area they'd recently occupied as a pair, but it was a moment longer before he'd return his off colored gaze to the vampire to notice she was injured. He wanted to yell at her for leaving the ship.. but fortunately, she hadn't gone too far. "What the hell are you doing here..?" It wasn't her he was resentful toward. Clearly, with a cruel glance over his shoulder toward the bouncer, he had personal reasons for hating that place. Mesthak always made sure to keep his poster fresh, didn't he?
Leoxander looked at a bouncer.
Darian lazily hefts his eyebrows with a great bother to gesticulate his reply, before returning to his drink and arching his aquiline spinal column and acknowledging no further.
Larissa walks into the tavern as tears run down her cheeks. She sits at the nearest table and focuses on the floor.
Tenebrae would lick her lower lip, tilt her head down in an attitude of mock-supplication, wicked gleam glinting green and amber from eyes filtered by thick lashes. "Hair'o'the dog, Cap'n." She could not help her gaze shifting quick-like toward the ragged stranger. "And I was hungry. Is that alright?" The last, spoken with a defiant lilt.
Leoxander didn't so much reply vocally as he did with his return of attitude. An almost challenging look would catch arctic eyes before he turned away and walked toward the bar, catching sight of the lone male at his table, privy to witness the whole scene. Fixing Nancy with that same predatory stare, she knew the routine too well to hesitate, and as eager as she was for the thief to leave her bar, the pair of whisky shots would be fixed up quick. She wouldn't even complain at his lack of tip. A deep breath lifted his shoulders, then lowered them in a sigh that made it clear he was trying to relax. But that would never happen for him, there. Especially with the tension in the air as thick as fog.
Leoxander tossed one shot back, proceeding to turn the small glass upside-down when it was replaced back on the counter. To leave the usual ring of left over liquor, much to the bar maid's dismay.
Leoxander had the distinct impression he was being watched...
Darian drains his bottle in a smooth swill, and grunts his disconcertion at the impudence of the vessel with as soft and distinct a sound as the implosion of rabbit holes in a yard.
Leoxander couldn't ignore even the slightest of sounds, thus he wouldn't ignore that one. A dirty look over his shoulder was thrown, but he was just generally angry around that time of night, especially hiding a swollen, blackened eye under that leathern patch.