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Post by Joliette Thorne on Mar 5, 2010 5:14:38 GMT -5
So, then, crawl the dregs of dignity. So walks a harrowed man, wounds drawn across his flesh like streaks upon a canvas--yet they do not bleed, as if already their reservoirs have been tapped. But this creature, vivacious as he is, does not seem privy to the still-forming scars upon him. No, it is as if some greater affliction, some malaise that supersedes the trials of the flesh seizes his being. Without preamble of any sort, he collapses rather soundlessly into a seat at an isolated table, trembling bodily as a babe fresh from the womb.
Spawne burst through the doorway with little regard for the slab of wood which sealed it, the heavy door fracturing at its faults on its collision with the wall behind it. Red was rather well dressed; ragged garb replaced with dark clothes of superior quality fabric and workmanship. Heavy iron boots thudded against the floor with each colossal step, the spiked iron pauldrons giving his already broad stature a more imposing nature. The Catastrophe. Indeed, he looked the part. He adjusted the steel band, smattered crudely with red pigment that encircled his right bicep as he approached Jolie, his stride easing to a halt a foot or two from her position.
Jolie had entered the tavern moments prior to the stranger's collapse, first a wind-mussed tussle of black hair and ice-green eyes peeking around the unjambed timber, then a small and suspicious face, then the whole woman -- five nothing without her heels for stilts, clad in an ensemble not too far removed from the fashion of Rynvale doxies. Metallic spikes lending her an extra few inches' height tic-tack across the boards, always to the chagrin of Mesthak for the divots of wood taken. Her head's covered by a red scarf, her expression cautious, then shocked as the blond man fell into his chair not two feet from where she was passing him by. Once, he'd have been a meal. Now, he is offered a steadying hand. "Here, you alright?" Her accent is pure gutter Vailkrin.
Jolie wheeled about to face her clansmate, his clashing boots overidden by the clatter of the other man's chair. "Red..." She half-smiled. "Nice get-up. Just.. helping this feller, here."
With his upper body spilled upon the tabletop, blanketed in the strangely pale volume of blond, the quivering man rolls his previously prostrated head toward the voice. Somewhat large, strangely clear eyes find the woman from within a face of dominant tenets: gaunt features, with high cheekbones and brow, and not unpleasantly angular throughout. Whether or not he minds the accent is not perceptible; barring looking at the source of the greeting, he does not vocally respond.
Spawne peered over the back of the seat, brow lofted, "What is it?"
Jolie murmured, "Don't know." She peered back into grey eyes, head tilting a little to that effect. "Let me find out. Excuse me?" Crisantis' sleeve was tugged, gently. Jolie wasn't sure he was coherent. "Mister. You alright?" Her tone was less strident now, more gently concerned. It was a practised mask and bait for her curiosity, rather than any true brand of caring. Force of habit. "Red, can you grab us all a drink? Pay you back later."
Spawne frowned at the request, his usual drinking habits funded by the proprietor of his local haunt. How ironic that she should get him to purchase their liquor now. A narrow collection of coins jingled in his pocket before being grasped toghtly and slapped against the counter, the stunted patron of the bar grabbing whatever the colossal Death Knight could afford.
Coherency, indeed, is a luxury afforded by the conscious, a state in which this trembling thing claims only transient stock. The woman can be sure that he is looking at her, above anything else, yet she cannot be sure he is in full control of any of his other facilities. However, should she be able to observe beyond what his flesh describes, she may find the creature seemingly trapped within it.
Jolie frowned, that expression a faint crease on the smooth expanse of her brow. The unspeaking man was cognisant, she was sure of it, but suffering some sort of malaise.. paralysis? Poison? She was stronger than she looked, hard little muscles contracting as she hooked him under one arm and attempted to lift him, its opposite hand ready to support his neck should that not have the means to hold his head up. "Let's get you upright... thanks, Red." She nodded hastily to the Catastrophe, as he placed the drinks down. "Mister? Can you hear me?" Again, she was sure he could. A sip of that dwarven brew would help him to his senses, she guessed, unless his injury or condition required a healer, not a killer's assistance. The mortal half-turned her face to Red, "I just want to know what's wrong with him." She said it flippantly, a tone of mild shame in it, for what she'd once been, and now was. "In case it's .. contagious, like."
Jolie glanced away, when done speaking, her cheeks faintly coloured, lips pressed firmly together.
Spawne said to Jolie, "Safer strategy would be to get y'hands off him, to start."
Jolie said, "Well, it's too late now. Isn't it."
Spawne grunts, stuffing an unlit stogie between his teeth, "Seems to be how most of your problems start... Rubbin' your grubby fingers all over some urchin..."
Jolie sniffed. "Did you no harm." Which wasn't quite true..
Spawne said, "...Wha?"
Jolie arced a brow. "Nothing."
As the woman draws him toward her, erecting his lithe, muscular frame without very much effort, she can almost certainly feel his yet-shifting wounds. Dry as they are, they might feel like the soft, frayed edges of a fine tapestry just beneath the thin, vulgar cloth tossed about his body. It seems, however, that the jostling has some effect, for as his head remains upright, he blinks--and, for the first time, breaks eye contact.
Jolie drew one hand back as though she'd been stung, the give of the man's flesh a repulsive sensation. Like battle wounds. But no blood. "He's hurt." This cleverness spoken, she used the free hand to take the tankard by its handle. "Mister. Mister, have a sip of this. Put hair on your chest." Just the scent of the volatile brew might stir him.
Spawne said to Jolie, "It's just another dying vagrant. What use do you have for it?"
Jolie said to Spawne, "I collect 'em." She might’ve grinned, at that point.
Spawne chuckles, "A girl after my own heart."
Without very much hesitation, he leans into the flagon, sipping as if he were never truly aware of the restrictive connotation of the word. It only takes a moment for his body to pay respect to the potency of the beverage, and he recoils from the mug, coughing and rubbing his eyes like an entire host of amateurs at once. It is at this point, at which the threshold of awareness has unmistakably been crossed, that, barring any opposing or negating force, the entire room warms almost imperceptibly. When the blond lowers his hands, he simply stares at the two of them.
Spawne quirked a brow, somewhat amused at the blond’s sensitivity to the drink which Mesthak was most proud of, "Heh... Lightweight."
Jolie stepped entirely back from the stranger when he spluttered, not in time to escape being spattered in brew, the mug slopping more on the boards below. She'd stand as still as he sat, a like stare in her eyes, a shiver of no discernable cause traversing her spine. "Well." Her voice was tight. "There we have it." He probably wasn't in imminent danger of death, or he'd have done so by now. Probably. "Get the rest into you. A bit more, at any rate." The mug was slid to the table, at arm's length, and Jolie canted a glance to Red. "Reeks of magic." Whether she meant his condition or the man himself, it wasn't certain. "I'll take him to the Corpse, if we can get him moving." If not, she'd the healer nearby bring a pallet. Why, exactly, even she wasn't sure. "Mister. Can you speak? Hello?" A small hand was passed, splay-fingered, before Crisantis' eyes.
Spawne’s attention was caught at the mention of magic. Perhaps the blonde had a use after all. "I ain't feedin' it..."
Jolie visibly relaxed, a smirk on her lips. "Feed yourself, big man." She unhooked a purse. "Li'l extra, I could do with a bite." Which she'd share with the stranger, if he wanted.
Spawne remained where he stood, flashing the satchel of gold to Nancy. She'd spend the next few minutes hurrying about while the pair waited for their meals. He'd take a sip at his own tankard, the following volatile breath causing the embers of his cigar to flare ever-so slightly. A small plume of smog fell upon the vagrant as the catastrophe leaned in for a closer inspection.
And all at once, there is a man among them. Slowly, very slowly, looking between the two of them, making a calculated effort to quiet his tremors and ignore the smoke, he sinks back into his chair, reaching for the mug in the middle of the table. "You won't need to feed it, fortunately," he responds to the male, his long-fingered hand reacquainting itself with the mug. "You'll find it's mastered the art of feeding itself." Each word spoken brings Xalious more and more forcefully to mind, perhaps confirming the suspicions of his hosts apparent.
Jolie narrowed her eyes, almost imperceptibly. He had the cultured tone of the western towers and this, combined with his overall aura of nothing-quite-normal had her made a click with her tongue. "Told you so," she said, to Red, as if there'd been something to prove. To the stranger himself, she said, "Gave me the willies, just now. And if you're going to be alright, I'll be on my way." Another look to her companion. "Red, I have to see to something, back at the pub." Which meant, ‘keep an eye on this one, if you're not joining me’.
Jolie said to Crisantis, "Name's Jolie." She grabbed a handful of whatever food Spawne had fetched, on her way out. "I own the Corpse. Grub's better, there."
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Mar 5, 2010 5:46:25 GMT -5
Krystann smirks as he looks to Terra, the empath probably picking up hints of something, though lust sure as hell wasn't it. Sins of the flesh didn't interest the man, as connections only brought a way for men to exploit weakness. Krystann couldn't afford to have any such ties that could be used against him. Anyways, so when the woman tries to belittle him, she would be surprised to sense that he wasn't insulted. Take that as she may, Krystann could careless. He addressed the lycan, " The woman who runs this joint, what do you know about her?"
Jolie had been wandering the Necropolis, her mind a tomb of thought, walking the peaceful rows of un-razed graves. Now she wandered, equally thoughtful, into the tavern's door. Literally. Into it.
"Ow..."
Jolie was an exclamation. Then a door opening.
Terra did not want to entertain that image in mind for too long and closed both eyes, downed a shot with a hiss of appreciation between clenched teeth a moment later. And though it may have been rude to interrupt -despite the fact she had already crashed this party- she'd shoot a sharp look towards the male. "Why are you asking about her? Make it a good reason..."
Jolie finally made it inside, rubbing her nose. "Sdeadman." The mortal sniffed. "Ged me a glass ob whisky."
Imogene shrugs "If thats what all da drink were for" she lazily looks over at Krys "Yer wastein yer time. I just arrived here not too long ago" she was beginning to feel the effects of the drinks and so, she stopped.
Imogene said to Jolie, "Ya okay?"
Jolie nodded to the girl. "I thig so." Her eyes were watering, from the blow or the whisky, or both. "Thags for askig."
Imogene chuckles and watches the other closely, just making sure she really was alright.
At once, before Crisantis even sees the well-fashioned interior, the ethereal restrictions--masquerading as proactive measures, no doubt--manifest like shackles upon his psyche. Features befitting a distinguished man promptly curl against their nature, contorting in discomfort for only the briefest of moments before he begins acclimating. The one called Jolie may have done well to mention this aspect of her domain.
Krystann has his view blocked by Terra, so he doesn't notice Jolie enter. " I was hired by the lass, to do a job." Another shot of whisky is taken before he continues. " I'm just wonderin' why there is body parts and all up there." He eyes the empath for a moment, actually appreciating the protective nature this one has for her employer. That meant Jolie treated her people well, and it meant that she also had some measure of power in these lands. How else could a woman run a successful business in such a dark city without winding up dead. " Just wantin' to know who I am workin' for before I end up something's dinner."
Jolie smirked on overhearing Krystann's words, and did not move far from the door-ward corner of the bar, turning slightly away so as not to be noticed a moment longer. That was how she caught sight of Crisantis, who'd be presented with a smile of white below a cherry-red nose. And a small wave, achieved without lifting her arm high.
Terra tucked a strand of hair behind an ear as she watched Krystann. Even after he answered she remained suspicious and it was Jolie's presence that caused her to look away from the assassin and towards the former vampire. "Sometimes it's the questions that cause you to become dinner." Seemed that was a warning from the less-than intimidating girl but another shot was pushed towards the fellow as though all was well. "Anyhow, just do the job you were hired for, collect the gold, and then ask your questions. Everyone gets more satisfaction then."
Krystann eyes the empath as he takes the shot, downs it and nods. A cigarette seemed to appear from out of thin air into the corner of his mouth, a match sparked aflame in between his fingers. Heavy drags are taken, and thick plumes of smoke rise before the assassin like a veil. He leaned back in his chair, smiling to himself. This Jolie seemed like quite the lass, and with company like this barmaid, and those in her employ, Krystann was beginning to like her.
Terra took a few quick glances at the door. Not to study Crisantis or give away Jolie's position, but with the low hopes that it may open soon and reveal a certain person. When this failed to happen three times she'd give in, take another shot and her nose wrinkled. "Who are you?" It's a question posed towards the smoke-concealed Krystann asked rather abruptly.
Imogene gets up and wanders out the door "Thanks fer all that" she says to Krys "Ya ever feel like blowin money on someone again come find me. Names Imogene" and with that she's gone.
Jolie sipped her drink, gratefully, washing away the taste of graveyard dust, and numbing the sting in her nose, just a little.
Again, his eyes fasten to hers, their gray interiors reflecting images clearer than life of what lies before them. And as Crisantis expresses what apparently passes for a wordless, gestureless greeting, those shackles upon him begin loosening ever so slowly. The means by which this event occurs would require direct examination to perceive; unwilling, perhaps, to invite such inspection, he begins advancing toward the hearth, his feet soundless against the masonry beneath them.
Jolie set her glass down, and supposed she ought to see to business before following the stranger to the hearth.. he'd piqued her curiosity, mainly via those eyes of his... anyway, she'd whirl about and speak, stepping toward the assassin and Terra, "Oh, there you are. Ready to get to work, then?"
Krystann eyes Parsithius, and takes it as his time to leave. He downs another shot, puts out his cigarette in the now empty glass, and replies. " The boogyman." With that smart ass comment out the way, the assassin makes his way out the tavern and into the night. His home away from home.
Jolie eyed Krystann. "Or .. not."
Krystann stops abruptly as Jolie speaks to him. " I'll return shortly. Gotta round up the crew." Another glance was taken towards Pars before the rogue would disappear for real now.
Parsithius , unfortunately, blocks the exit with his massive, armored frame and enormous halberd. It is only a few moments that lasts, however, as he eyes the assassin distinctly. Thereafter, swiveling azures to the others, a 'click' of armored greaves signals further entry into the venue, and abandoning the position before the door.
A quirked brow was all she replied to him, and Terra got a smile and a wave. But it was to the goblin-headed fireplace Jolie's attention next turned, and she took a casual pace that way. At the fireside, she let her gaze find Crisantis.
Criss shakes himself back into the now of things in his seat at the bar. He had been spaceing out, thinking about centuries long past, his glass of wine still swirling in one hand, and that strange runed pebble running over the knuckles of his other. He would bring that glass of dark wine to his lips now and takes a pull of it, letting the potent drink slide down his throat as electric blue hues dart about the room to take in the newer occupants.
Parsithius slides his azure gaze sidelong to the other patrons of the tavern, as his distinctive steps carry him closer to the bar. Upon reaching it, the metallic cadence wanes, ebbs, and finally ceases altogether.
Jolie dragged her attention off the man she'd been staring at, flicking her gaze the way of that clanking, louder for being on stone. A smirk perched on her lips, and she turned her back to the glow of the coals. She also took in the other stranger, a casual glance that nevertheless committed his form to memory.
Parsithius pays no heed to the discerning glances of others; his sole purpose here is to collect whiskey and press on. After all, he hates this god-forsaken city.
His fingertips wed one another, thumbs in matrimony beneath his chin, as Crisantis stares resolutely into the flames. By the time the woman has joined his reverie, there is something of a faint metaphysical mist about him, one as difficult to acknowledge as it is to comprehend. Not coincidentally, the restrictions of this establishment would trouble him no longer. "I should properly thank you," he begins, speaking only loudly enough for her to hear.
Criss tilts his glass back once more, letting the remaining wine within slip into his mouth, and subsequently down his throat. Setting the glass down, he would pull a few coins from his pouch and sets them on the bartop with a slight clink. Criss stands and tosses that runed stone into the air, catching it in his palm before nodded to the barkeep and slowly makeing his carefree way out of the tavern, the thoughts of a long night soaring under the star-filled, moonless drifting along his thoughts now.
Jolie almost startled when he spoke. Peridot gaze alighting on Crisantis again, she didn't reply right away but studied him, mused on the way the tiny hairs on her arms prickled. "If you wish. But no need, really." She attempted to make that comment breezy, though a silence followed it. "I.. uh. So. How are you feeling? Better?"
Terra left a mug of whiskey before the Knight because she's well aware of his silent reasoning that brought him here. It's accepted without complaint. Tired of being a sub-barhand she'd leave the counter for Steadmen's control and move towards the stairs. Sitting at the bar would have invited conversation and so the steps seemed the more likely choice. Dropped on the second one up she'd merely watch. A hard clink signified that something had slipped from pocket and landed on the wood next to her, ruined the peaceful and quiet envinorment that had been found despite the crowd. Cool fingers wrap around an even cooler object- a watch that was more keepsake than any real need to keep track of minutes and hours. After it had nearly been lost in a battle with a bug, the thing never left her side. Maybe the empath was getting sentimental as the years progressed.
Jolie kept half an eye on the silent Knight, however. Things being as they had been, lately.
Parsithius takes hold of the mug silently, aside from that evident 'click' of armored gauntlets, bringing the rim to his lips and taking from it a long pull of the amber liquid. The burn felt refreshing, despite the harsh nature of it, smacking his lips together in a quiet reverence of the alcohol.
Traye didn't show-boat anymore. He entered that establishment quietly to take as little attention from the patrons within as possible. The old assassin stood against a wall for a moment, surveying the small crowd. Steadman nodded in his direction, to which a slight raise of Jaidin's head was given-- the silent offer of whiskey accepted. The woman on the staircase remained obscured from vision, those pesky spools of the railing getting in the way of his waning sight. It might not have been her presence that led him in that direction; perhaps it was the trinket accompanying her, but the undead certainly wafted forward as a bloodhound sniffing the trail.
Feeling. His eyes close as Crisantis contemplates the word, tapping his joined index fingertips to his forehead. At once, there is a chill. "In the strictest sense of the word, I suppose I am." Distant to the senses, as a villain stymied beyond the gates of a manor; the shift in temperature would only be felt by those looking to feel it. As it stands, the event is brief; as his eyes open again, warmth resurfaces. "I am in your debt for the kindness you showed me," he breathes, still staring into the flame, "among other things."
Terra stretched legs out before her while they remained crossed at the ankle. It seemed that the day had been too long. Both eyes remained shut for a long moment because there's no safer place than a tavern called Hanging Corpse. Every step that Traye made on the floor was felt and counted until he came close and caused her to draw up another step as though it would deter him from the current path. Now she would watch with head tilted to the side and bright eyes only growing lighter upon his arrival. How long had it been now? "Hello..."
Jolie's lips numbed, the tail-end of Crisantis' words causing her to show a little more white in her eyes. She only just stopped herself from fidgeting, though she would rock back and forth on her heels, a little, whilst pondering what words to pull from her empty head next. "Oh.. well. If you insist." Her smile was wide, but wan. "Fancy a drink?" It was maddening. What, she didn't know. Why, ditto. But it was.
Parsithius remains silent, even still, his features set in stone like some chiseled statue, or rather, construct of steel and mithril platemail than actual humanity. This, however, does not deter the thought process of the outcast knight, which delves into the brain's storage in distinct scrutiny for peculiar memories; undisclosing any of it, he takes another pull of his mug and the whiskey within.
Traye stopped for the briefest of moments to snag that tall, wonderful glass of whisky from that sticky countertop. The slightest of appreciative nods was given to the similarly one-eyed bartender before that strange, pulling force brought Traye even closer to the stairs. He never fully understood that draw... but perhaps he would have just stood there wondering had it not been for the vampriss' movement and chilling greeting; chilling as it reached deep down into his body and pulled at his spine. It straightened his back and the celiac hairs alone that spine rose-- not in terror, but an eerie recognition, a sense of self-dread at the, dare it be said, horror of running into this Ice Queen. His reply was kept cool and light, though the undertones seethed with a wariness and distrust only recently garnered. "Good evening. And how might you be, miss?"
Lucia slipped through those familiar doors once more, this night... although her appearance was far more disheveled than last. A slightly trembling hand rifled through her hair, attempting to tame what seemed to be some sort of wild, self-aware beast. The knight no longer felt outside her element when within the heavy stone walls, either. The place bestowed upon her a kind of confidence that could only be had from a hard day's work. She settled in at the bar, tossed her two bits onto the counter, and thumped it twice. "The usual. A little lighter on the vodka this time... I don't need my senses completely obliterated."
Crisantis’ face slides toward Jolie, eyes immediately seizing hers once again. "Your offers haven't done me any harm thus far."
The goblin-mawed hearth could almost be said to have chuckled, its stone ediface groaning into a tremble of stony motion, carven eyes rolling in its hollow head.
Parsithius slides his azure gaze to his right, thereof fixating upon Lucia for a moment. It only takes a moment of scrutiny to once again file away her discerned nature, style, words and poise, and by this, assessing the other, more royal knight. Parsithius doesn't care. Another swig is taken, grown exponentially with passing moments, until the entire mug is drained.
Jolie blinked, attempting to lessen the grip his attention had taken on hers. Failing, she breathed, "I'll.. just. Go and get a drink for you.. then." Her movements were quick, heels ticking on the blackstone below sharply as she trod to the bar, rounded the counter and snaffled up two bottles. One planted under her arm, she grabbed two glasses, and returned to the fireside. Finally sinking into a mammoth and overstuffed chair that dwarfed her small frame, she put the glasses on a table that sat somewhere between she and Crisantis, tugged the armpitted bottle loose, and offered the other to him. "Hope you like rum," she said, more for something to break a quiet which oddly unnerved her, when it hung about the mage. He had to be a mage. Felt like one. Looked like one. She blurted, after: "How'd you get hurt?"
Terra reached for the soft leather of her boot and tugged that foot closer to her, leaned down on the ankle and bone. A temporary restraint as the sudden nearness has her climbing backwards up another step so now she's on the fourth, no longer able to reach the floor even if she resumed that stretched position. There had been reunions since the news reached the assasin, she knew, but this seemed different. Why? Try as she might to have formed that single word, to voice it aloud, it never happened. Cotton-mouth, parched throat, and several mindless blinks and fidgets seemed the only thing that the empath was capable of performing. It does not help that she is as she was - able to read him, to see what had not been so plainly stated. "You know.." her voice is rougher than expected, lower, "in all this time that I've known you, you've never once called me miss. Why now?"
To announce Sade's entrance to the Corpse, there was no booted foot connecting with the door. Nor was there the sound of the girl stumbling into the pub. In fact, this was perhaps the first time that the girl was actually preceded only by the creak of a rusty hinge before she stepped-- not clumsily, but instead primly-- over the threshold. She gave the room at large a general smile, making her way to the bar and taking her place it swiftly with unhurried poise. "Evenin', everyone," she said, beginning to set out glasses.
Lucia shot Parsithius a glance, caught him again looking her direction, and shrugged. It didn't take a particularly intelligent woman a great deal to know when she was being observed. After all... he looked her way every time she'd seen him. Always with that same dull, appraising glare. Some people just didn't know the meaning of subtlety. Her frame eased back onto a stool, giving her a moment to arch her back and stretch luxuriously before settling in. From there, all she could do was wait. While Steadman prepared her drink, Lucia shot a second glance towards the outcast knight beside her. Something about him rubbed her the wrong way... something she couldn't quite put a finger on. Still, since he seemed content to ignore her... Lucia was all too happy to return the favor.
Jolie was glad of Sade's arrival, moreso than she might've been had not she felt so much like a fly in a parlour, albeit her own. "Evenin' lass," she called, and offered a nod too, to Lucia, if the knight happened to look her way. But there was something jarring about this interruption, though she'd made it, and so turned her face back toward the blond-haired stranger, who was both more and less strange to her with every passing moment.
Parsithius never truly required subtlety, as might has always since been his strongest point, and coupled with his calculating, cold, and ruthless cunning, victory has always been him. Well, almost always; Jacklin is thought of in single backward train, but thereafter dismissed in the killing off of that sorrowful thinking. His features twitch slightly, made evident only by that distinct 'click' of moving platemail. But, aside from a nonverbal cue for another whiskey in the form of rapping gauntleted fingers against the bar, the cold, outcast knight did nothing, said nothing, and implied nothing. Well, perhaps the latter is more facetious than true; another glance is sent Lucia's way, to silently discern the crest on her own armor. That is, if she's wearing any -if not, he'd not be looking.
Traye watched the woman squirm under his unwavering gaze. Yeah, he stared at her-- but she was speechless, that proverbial cat had her tongue. It felt good. He was above her, if not in height, with her wriggling up the steps as far away from him as the vampire could get. But the once-human remained on the floor and just stared. Took in that beauty that he would never again admit. But her words had him ashamed. And perhaps, a slight flush was brought to those ever-pale cheeks. Being haughty and happy at others' uncomfortableness was rude and something only those rich-folk should do. Slightly ashamed, that single green eye averted, and stared at the floor for a minute before he explained. "I don't know you anymore."
When she trots away, Crisantis affixes his gaze upon the hearth, examining it as if seeing it for the first time, as if not expecting a tavern with inscription in the very walls to bear an animated hearthpiece. Jolie returns, and he leans forward to partake of her bounty. "I should find it refreshing after the fare of yesternight," he muses, decanting a sipping measure into his glass. At her question, he looks into the liquid; the story is a long one, with a beginning that effectively presages the rest. "My name is Crisantis Agincourt," he begins, his voice lower now that she is next to him. "I am a planeswalker."
Lucia had turned about upon her seat, easing her spine against the counter of the bar, just in time to catch the nod from Miss Joliette. A like nod was returned, though whether it was received before the other woman's attentions were drawn towards a man whom Lucia had never seen before went unknown. It was then, as she moved to adjust her eye guard and check on the status of her drink, that she caught Parsithius mid-gaze. She glanced down and over her person... to that rose emblazened upon her breast... then back towards the male with a smirk. It didn't matter if he saw it. The Violet Rose meant little if anything to anyone whom had not heard her story. Nor would it, likely, mean anything to the man once her chapter house for the Order had been established here in these lands too. That distant look about him told her all she really needed to know. She gave the man a brief re-assessment of her own, decided that she still didn't like the look of him, and turned her attention instead upon the arrival of Sade.
Jolie experienced a wash of relief that he'd offered her the information rather than her having to babble its question. Though it offered no answer to the other. "Joliette," she said, uncorking her bottle. "Frances Xaviere Thorne." The mortal had not spoken the entirety of her name aloud since a dim-remembered first-grade spelling bee, some three centuries prior. ".... but call me Jolie. If you want." She smiled, less wanly now there was booze at hand, which she promptly imbibed. Licking its remnant off her lip, she added, "What's a planeswalker?"
To call the female uncomfortable would be putting it lightly. He stared at her, Terra looked away. He looked away, she stared at him. The start of all vicious, unhealthy cycles began this way and she seemed somewhat helpless to prevent it despite prior knowledge to how quickly situations like these escalated. Though the only thing that seemed to be escalating was her climb up those stairs. Attempts were stalled - who knew that five little words was all it took to shatter a person? This Traye fellow did, as he stated them with little remorse and forced her to go still, silent and somewhat scared. "That isn't my fault. I haven't gone anywhere or changed..." In the air the silent implication hung; he was the one that left, that changed.
Sade met Jolie's eyes with a friendly smile. Not her usual grin, but an actual smile, as if she didn't have any schemes-- or didn't even want schemes. Then Lucia caught her eye. The half-elf's expression warmed slightly, and she started searching for a bottle on the shelf, needing to stand on her toes to reach it. "Lucia! How are ya? Ale, right?" At last, the small hand grasped the bottle so that the drink could be poured. "Anyone else need anything?"
Parsithius , however, does not notice the smirk; or, more appropriately, has taken notice of the gesture and simply doesn't care. Outcasted from royal employment or anything of that sort, the man has taken hold of his own makeshift order, and one with ruthless, mighty efficiency. Mercenaries, is his crew, and nothing further -a knight in exile? Self-imposed. Another pull enacts from his whiskey, his sights leaving the woman to fixate on something else, suddenly desiring to be rid of this hellhole of a city.
Lucia flashed Sade a quick grin and bowed her head. "Still alive... and finally dried off. Where in the Nine Hells did we end up last eve?" The Lymerrian woman's features contorted into a pained expression as the memory of toppling bookshelves came to mind. "Oh gods... they are never going to let me back into that library again, are they?"
Still looking into his glass, holding it out of range of his hair, Crisantis continues as if Jolie had not said anything. "In Xalious, the necessity for a guild of planeswalkers arose, and dragon and human alike abandoned their societal conventions to form it. I," he grimaces, eyes returning to the flame, "was one of those seminal few. And for a time, the guild did as was intended." Crisantis pauses here, wetting his palate with drink.
Traye took a long, heavy sigh that raised his chest up and down-- he wasn't sure, anymore, whether or not he truly breathed like he once did, or if that action was merely an old habit of his that he hadn't kicked. Regardless, his body moved like anyone else's, and now it was moving toward those stairs. Damn her personal space and that buffer she needed between them. This old man wanted to sit down, and not have to yell over the general hubbub of the tavern so familiar to him. Balancing that drink of whisky, Jaidin sat down on the second step with his back to the wall; his eyes scanned the tavern calmly, as if bored, and his legs lounged over the first step and sticking out on the floor-- a hazard for any bartenders walking by. "No, maybe you didn't. But you did, to me at least. You aren't my--" he stopped from saying that familiar old title given only to this vampriss. "You're a wife. A substitute mother. You're not who I met at all."
Sade frowned, her brows furrowing. "Dried off? Library? Dunno what you're talking about, sorry." Her head tilted at the female knight before she shrugged. Then that smile-- devoid of any devilishness whatsoever-- crossed her face once more. "Ale?" she asked again before Parsithius caught her gaze. "And whisky for you, sir?" The girl turned again, eyes scanning the shelves. Steadman seemed rather confused as he watched the girl. She seemed a bit... off. The lack of mischief in her smile was completely disarming, though the cyclops didn't really mind that the girl wasn't up to her usual tricks.
Parsithius flits his gaze toward Sade. "Yes."
Parsithius 's word is cold and stony.
Sade 's smile didn't falter, even in the face of the coldhearted knight. "Are you gonna return it this time, or since I work here, is it considered safe to drink?" she asked teasingly, seemingly oblivious to the absence of the knight's sense of humor.
Jolie was fortunately not party to the painful conversation on the stairs, at least half of which pain she was responsible for. Thus blessedly free of that particular guilt, she kept her lips closed unless sipping on her drink, ceasing her nerve-edged chatter and settling into her oversized chair like a child pre-empting a chastening that didn't need to be spoken. Her gaze was set on the planeswalker, since she'd all but given up on resisting the urge to stare at him. Silence hung like a pendulous anvil between them, while he drank.
Parsithius narrows his eyes briefly, but only to more keenly pierce the haze of the establishment. "I just want the whiskey."
Sade nodded, filling a glass with the requested drink. "Here ya go," she said, placing it in front of him.
Lucia blinked. She... hadn't... made that up, had she? Shaking her head, a nod was given towards Sade... and her empty glass extended. "Fill'er up." But what did she mean, Library? The... the whole damn library had nearly come down on them. Shelves were scattered about like so many trees felled in the woods. More books than the whole of Cenril could have ever hoped to read... were scattered about the floor and left there, under fear of death. Weren't they? Shaking her head, the knight eased a hand up against the back of her neck and tried to think back through the fog of liquor. Sadly, it got no clearer. "Miss Sade... where did you wake up this morning?"
Roelstra opens her eyes, raising her head up from her crossed arms and yawns widely.
Parsithius takes hold of that whiskey, signalled with the audible 'click' of gauntlets, to take another swig thereof.
Terra had thought of those stairs as a shield. No, they would not protect her from any physical or verbal attacks (because the pair were far more fond of the latter) but they did provide a distance and a false sense of safety. That was ruined as he took up residence there, settled in like he had been invited. His proximity is almost enough reason to climb up another step but she'd resist, determined to stand what little ground she had. "Neither are you..." it's a soft reminder of his own changes, a death that had driven them both to the brink of insanity courtesy of a pool and a plot larger than the both of them. What once stood between them - his mortality, her lack of - was the deciding factor in why this conversation happened now as opposed to lighter, happier ones. Did that make her a hypocrite? A riddle that, one that wouldn't be deciphered no matter how many times she looked to the back of an engraved pocket-watch that was far more valuable than the gold carried. "Even without the changes and the ... " she had been on the verge of saying deaths, but thought better of it, "Without those past events we would probably still end up here. If Fate had wanted it to happen, to remain, it would have. But it didn't. So we should stop blaming each other."
Roelstra straightens herself in her seat, rubbing bleary eyes before she takes stock of the patrons present. She recognizes Jolie with a wave and a gentle smile. She spots Parsithius, sending a nod his way, " Long time, no see."
Parsithius slides his gaze toward Roelstra calmly, falling upon her in some sort of vindictive assessment. "I know," he says, remaining cold. Aloof, perhaps, but definitely steely. Another pull of the whiskey.
Roelstra quirks a brow before she rises from her seat and makes her way near him. Taking a seat adjacent to his, she speaks to him in low tones.
Sade chuckled as Steadman filled the ale for her, the bartender still watching the maid closely. "'Miss Sade?' Since when've I been 'Miss Sade'? And as for where I woke up this morning..." The girl thought for a moment, nibbling on her bottom lip as she tucked a piece of hair away from her face. "Woke up in the Corpse, actually. The room upstairs." She shrugged. "I usually find somewhere else to sleep, but I was just so tired last night that Steady let me leave early and upstairs was the nearest bed." Even as she laughed lightly, Steadmen frowned. Moreso, that is.
Parsithius said to Roelstra, "I killed the other two. They're dead, all three of them."
Sade said to Roelstra, "Anything I can get for ya?"
Roelstra said to Sade, "Black-fire wine, please."
Sade said to Roelstra, "Comin' right up."
Roelstra simply nods, sighs, embarassment coloring her cheeks a faint pink. She watches the young lady who would seem to be a bar maid here as she gets her a flute of the requested vintage.
Roelstra said to Sade, "Thank you, miss."
"To exist as a planeswalker," Crisantis resumes, looking for all the world to have forgotten anything else in the room is happening, "is to exist without limits of any sort. Even our trainees with the least potential were capable of incomprehensible feats, wielding the primordial powers of being as men wield blades or fists." Both hands encircle the glass as his eyes return to it, gripping it as one might a goblet. "This, perhaps, was the source of our folly. Empowering mortal creatures as gods and expecting them to understand the consequence of their actions...we were all fools." Crisantis closes his eyes and leans into the chair; but this time, the chill pervading the tavern is strong enough to frost glasses, and is not so easily dismissed. "And I was the greatest fool."
Lucia said to Sade, "... that sounds good actually." She paused, took a glance around, and shook her head again. "I have called you Miss Sade since the first night you introduced yourself to me. What else would I call you, hmm? Are you certain that you feel alright? I lost track of you after we went out last evening... you didnt go bash your head open or anything, did you?"
Parsithius said to Roelstra, "Well, while you were off romping with that Vladimire, I had work to do."
Parsithius , with that, nearly slams his mug down and turns away from the vampiress, the distinct 'click' of armored greaves and 'tap' of mighty halberd cadence to his walk.
Roelstra stiffens slightly, " I could not find anyone who was capable or willing that would help me do the task. You wouldn't let me go it alone. I would have asked you..but you were already injured badly from the previous ones."
Sade said to Lucia, "I must've forgotten, sorry." The girl shook her head, but then lofted a brow. "Went out last night? To the library?" She chuckled. "It must've been someone else. I went to bed last night." The perfect smile crossed her face again. "Promise."
Parsithius does not wane in his cadenced steps, "It matters not any longer."
Jolie was very, very still after she wrapped her arms about her torso against the burgeoning chill. The hearth stopped its flinty grinding. Even the coals seemed to pause in their glowering, for a long moment, while the woman stared at Crisantis. His story was ringing alarums, familiar enough to raise gooseflesh in broad patches over her body. Suspicion was the predominant light in her eyes, its cold glow set on the man. "Why so?" The words were soft, curt. A great deal depended on what he would reply.
Roelstra does not watch the knight as he walks away from her. Instead, she simply downs her flute in a few swallows before she rises from her seat and walks towards the door without another word or sound.
Lucia raised her brow and shook her head. "You went to bed... but you don't remember when? And you woke up here in the tavern? That... does not strike you as... being a bit off?" Rubbing the side of her own head, the knight stood up and considered departing for the library... if only to determine whether or not the events of the night prior were alcohol induced.
Parsithius ' steps halt, if only to turn and watch the woman leave.
Parsithius watches Roelstra leave, that is. Lucia, he couldn't give a damn about.
Roelstra pulls her cloak off the peg near the door. She halts only long enough to speak two quiet words meant to portray greater volumes, the flush in her cheeks deepens, " I'm sorry." Her delicate hand quietly opens the door, stepping out into the night
Parsithius tilts his head ever so slightly, but refrains from speaking; his face impassive with the stoicism and stalwart stoniness of unaltered motif. Another 'click' signals a step backward, followed by three more in succession, and thusly sliding into a seat at an empty table.
Parsithius thereafter leans his halberd against the furniture.
Terra pulled both legs near and wrapped herself into a smaller target. There was a chill this evening that had nothing to do with the departure or arrival patrons.
Sade tilted her head, elbows going to the bar and chin resting on her palms. "Guess that's a bit weird, yeah..." She trailed off, brows furrowing as she descended into thought. "Where are you going?" she asked suddenly, straightening up. The girl might have lost the impish grin, for the moment, but her curiosity was going strong. Parsithius also felt very cold, perhaps better off not wearing this armor. The edges of the platemail seem to frost over, as lips turn blue.
Sade shivered, her vest and skirt not exactly winter-wear. Her arms crossed, hands rubbing at her upper arms. "Strange," she muttered, wiping down the bar. "Steady, be a dear and light a fire, would ya?" she asked the bartender sweetly.
Lucia shuddered from the sudden chill which filled the room, only more eager to depart. "Miss Sade... I am certain that you and I departed from this tavern last evening. We had both had quite a fair bit to drink... and we intended to head for the beach. Something... about ash piles... I don't quite remember. The last thing I clearly recall... was bookshelves falling. Then I woke up in a fountain... wearing someone else's clothes..." the woman frowned a bit at this, flushing. "... and had to retrieve my dress from the very confused-looking man who was wearing it." There was a long pause after that. How much, exactly, had she had to drink last night? That sounded almost as implausable as Sade's claim that they hadn't gone anywhere at all. Unsure, she paused beside the door and stared at the ground. The chill only seemed to bite deeper into her skin, the longer she remained stationary.
Parsithius said to Lucia, "Maybe you were drugged." Parsithius casts an eye to Jolie after these words.
Steadman shot Sade a one-eyed glare. Clearly, he already had lit the damned hearth, as he had to every day, no matter that the goblin-head gnashed and grinned, and bloody near took his right hand off, once. "Hrgh," was all he said.
Jolie herself sat, shivered and stared, blissfully unaware of knightly barbs.
Sade said to Lucia, "Hm... Maybe I should come with... find out what happened. I mean, I feel fine." She smiled sweetly. "But just t'be sure, y'know."
Again, Crisantis’ eyes open and the chill vanishes; rekindling flames in the hearth reflect in those gray eyes, lent a color deeper and more vibrant than they could ever possess on their own. "Our ranks grew and, with time, so did our divergent ways of thinking until, inevitably, an impasse grew among us. I slept with threats of power, dreamed nightly of insurgency, but would never act against my peers. When the schism became irreversible, the only one standing between the factions, blocking the path to a civil war, was me." As his stare intensifies, the flames in the hearth swell like a flowering woman, girl no longer. "I, alone, against creatures I had given means to unravel the world." It blossoms, the flame, a roiling discontent with remaining in the hearth becoming ever more prevalent. "I can imagine no greater fool."
Lucia said to Parsithius, "I would never suggest that it was impossible. I would like to think it highly improbable, however."
Lucia turned and settled her gaze upon Sade. "If you wish to come along, then do so. These strange climate changes in this place are beginning to get to me."
Jolie's heart nearly stopped. Then and there. There was nowhere to back away to, and her limbs were holding a motionless revolution all on their own. Though the cold departed, still she shivered, eyes shuttered wide open. There was nothing to say. Nothing she could say, or do, but radiate terror like a rabbit, trapped in a flare of light. Only one sound occurred, in those eternal seconds after he spoke: the glass in her hand cracked, splintered, spilled liquid, red and gold, and shards to the floor.
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Mar 5, 2010 5:49:24 GMT -5
Sade said to Lucia, "Yeah, s'bit chilly in here." The girl stepped out from behind the bar, offering a wave to Steadmen and Jolie. "Be back in a bit."
Traye finally took that long-awaited first sip of his drink. The amber liquid poured down his gullet smoothly, despite the harsh bite-- oh, he'd become desensitized long ago. It warmed his stomach and, daren't he say it, gave him that little spark of life-- of courage, that perchance he would otherwise be lacking at this moment. It was hard to talk to her. And he avoided her gaze as much as possible, lest he fall prey to those mossy pools and be sucked in whole, too stupid and naïve to find his way out again. A minute or two passed by while he people-watched and stewed over the pretty woman's words. It was a deep conversation; one that, perhaps, would best do later on. "Have -I- really changed? Beyond my condition… Terra, I would never lo-… want you any less if you were human or dragon or tiger." He meant to put a lighter tone to the seriousness of the words, but he did keep his voice low, so that prying ears might not hear all of them. One or two wasn't so bad. "I don't believe you, not for one second. We choose where we want to be, and nothing in this world will put you somewhere you don't want to be. There's always a way out. And I'm not blaming you… I blame myself." That, possibly, was one thing no one ever thought Jaidin would do: admit when it was his fault. And whether or not he was drunk and chatty, or sober and sane, tonight he was treating this conversation seriously and trying to be logical. "I don't think I tried hard enough."
Lucia paused, turned her attentions fully upon Jolie, and raised her brow. The conversation had seemed a bit... off to her... even from the distance she had tried to keep. Mind, the knight had only originally been interested because there was the small matter of a promised bonus for any information she could have offered up regarding Cabals from back in her homeland. Despite the rather revealing conversation that the knight had had with her employer... nowhere therein had she ever actually asked just how much of a bonus had been implied. Now, though, the matter seemed a bit more serious than before. When glasses shattered in a woman's hand... it was a sign she'd had a bit too much to drink. Or was furious. Or had just learned the secrets of the universe, gone completely mad, and begun the first of three steps towards a psychopathic, murderous rampage. This... this was not one of those. The knight knew enough about body language to detect fear... even when that fear was radiating from someone facing the completely opposite direction. Like a good little soldier, the knight was at Joliette's side, a show of force. "Ma'am... is everything alright? What seems to be the..." gods it was hot over there by the fire. The hearth was roaring like the Nine Hells! "... Miss Joliette... is everything under control?"
"I was overpowered," Crisantis says, oblivious to or ignorant of the apparent plight of his host, "and soul-gouged." At that precise moment, and to any who, despite his hushed voice, hear the phrase and attempt to imagine it, an image of his body is projected before them. As clearly as the candelabrum above, Crisantis lies motionless and bare, with a dozen or more deep, violent gashes drawn in jagged, uninterrupted streaks from his thighs to his collarbones, all completely bloodless. The image fades as quickly as it appeared, yet the residual effect of having seen it remains. "The planeswalkers had their war, and I was its first casualty." He then falls silent.
Terra retreated. Not in any real physical sense given that she had already curled into herself, probably not comfortable given that the steps only provided so much to make due with. This was what she did best when it came down to it. In the fight or flight mechanism she chose the later - every time. However he had situated himself on those bottoms steps, stretched just enough to become a barrier to the door. Though it was tempting to simply leap off the stairs that seemed a little dramatic and she was just not capable of sticking a proper landing from here. Even if she did succeed where would she hide that would prevent this from haunting her? Nothing he said didn't ring with some askewed version of the truth and for once she compromised, moved down a step to be closer to him if only to keep the conversation at its current level. Maybe there might have been some level of comfort being sought in that nearness, but it seemed hard to find when the temperature had suddeny adjusted. Was it hotter? Tiny peals of sweat started to mar the line of forehead, beneath bangs. "No... don't..." A cough broke the thought had yet to follow those two soft-spoken words. "Blame yourself, I mean. None of this was planned or thought of. Even if I -- I mean that, if I somehow knew how this would all end I would have still gone through with it. Every moment." A cold hand brushed through her hair and eventually tied it backwards, determined to find a glimpse of that cold air that had been a plague a few moments ago. Becoming comfortable seemed impossible and she'd fidget on those stairs, unsure of what should be said or what lines had been crossed with the confessions. This was not how her evening was supposed to go or any evening for that matter. One hand was eventually extended towards him, clearly a gesture for him to take it. "Can we still be friends?"
Jolie's lips moved. Sound came out. Her gaze had shifted like the blind sockets of an automaton toward Lucia, the mortal's mind reeling. Was she safe, or no? Was he.. wasn't he...? She felt distinctly ill. The worst case was that all her fears were manifest, in which case there would be blood shed, lives torn, souls ripped... As if to illustrate her terror, there appeared the phantasmal vision of Crisantis' body, adding to her general and abject confusion. Best, she reasoned, with what reason lay with her still, to lie. "All is well, Lucia." Though her cupped palm dripped blood, a jag of glass imbedded there. "All is..."
Sade stared at Crisantis's illusion, even though it flickered away in seconds. Still, a hand flew to her mouth as she took in the sight of the slashed body-- or at least, where the image of one used to be. Her eyes were wide, and despite the roaring fire she felt a clammy coldness lift the hair on the back of her neck.
Jolie found herself staring at the wound, unwilling to be locked to that grey gaze again, though it was a battle she'd likely lose any moment.
Riss wandered in, cigarette plucked from his mouth soon afterward, and with a long exhale, billows of smoke were sent to assault the lungs of fellow patrons. Something wasn't right here-- no, the room felt askew, heavy with tension amongst other, far more dangerous things. "The hell is going on here?" he asked, tone light, almost a joke to ease his own concern, but the lift of those constant shields of orange that shrouded his eyes contradicted his act of false emotion; knowledge to what he was really feeling laid beneath inquisitive, nearly trembling eyes. Regardless, he went on as normal and found way to the nearest seat, having decided it was for the best to not bother Sade at work.
Lucia didn't believe the hollow lie for a moment... and might have said something until her mind was forever scarred with that image of a man rent horrifically and bloodlessly before them all. It stayed burned into her mind even after it had gone... and the knight staggered backwards in a blind sort of terror. Everything about that man was... wrong. He... he couldn't be. It just... wasn't even possible. Her backward steps were not watched, and so when she reached a chair, it and herself went over backwards. The harsh crack of the knight's skull against wooden floorboards was the last sound that came from the woman for some time.
Parsithius 's azure eyes narrow in the distinct contemplation of the scenes before him, before softly closing them and allowing those long tresses of golden to fall about his figure in some veiling fashion. It lasts briefly, perhaps too briefly, amidst a sudden, fluid rise to a stand accompanied by opening eyes and a gauntlet brushing locks out of his face. 'Click' are the evident steps, made apparent by armored greaves touching one another in disciplined stride with a clear destination in mind; Lucia. The woman is scooped up, cradled, and turning upon heel to begin bringing her back to the table. "Wake up, wake up, wake up," he begins repeating softly the entire way.
Sade 's blank expression flitted from the scene near the hearth to Riss. Her hand dropped from her mouth, the girl about to speak-- and then Lucia fell. The barmaid hurried from her post, the girl tilting her head at the bouncer. "You have one too many, tonight?" she asked with a worried crease in her brow, a hand reaching to help her up. Jolie was also cast a worried glance before her gaze slid to the cause of the tension: Crisantis. At first it seemed like the half-elf was going to speak out in her usual blunt way, but then her mouth closed. Once Lucia was up, she turned on her heel, away from the trio. She stopped by Riss on her way back to the bar, pausing for a moment. And then she simply... continued on her way, lips pursed. Back to the bar she went, lingering there, though she couldn't escape the awkward feeling that pervaded the pub.
The entrance was one of solitude, self preservation, may a place of solace where Helich could observe the many odd people he found in the land. Though what he saw when he entered - a passing glance - was one of abnormality. On the few occasions he'd wondered into this city it had been out of curiousity - now - it was in search of a Mayor. The saurian guised himself this eve a human - a teen - with a rather innocent face. Big round eyes, a pointed nose and naturally upturned lips suggested he was a good humored lad out for some adventure yet --- yet - the scent the male gave off said something far different. Dragon. The guise even had scaled flesh where skin should be, a lazy morphing. Quiet foot falls brought him here, and even quieter foot falls brought him to a table. A worn seat groaned under the weight, his gaze soon began to shift about the tavern. Something was occuring - it was hard to phase this creature - so he watched Parsithius carry an unconcious woman, sensed the fear in another by the fire. Those naturally curved lips only further grew into a malicious smile.
As surely as the dragon enters the establishment, Crisantis is aware of him.
Jolie spoke again, more quietly, her voice a grating in her throat. Lucia's fall and rescue from that tacky, unwashed surfaced was noted as if it, too, were a phantasmal vision. Once more, green locked to grey, and her eyes half-begged, half-demanded an answer: "What do you want of me?"
Traye hated the heat, lately. Something inside of him baulked at the idea of fire, and he avoided it like the plague. It was some sort of survival mechanism deep inside, belonging to cells not originally his. He would fidget slightly, back wormed up against the cooler wall behind him, trying to melt into it, of a sorts, and disappear from the fire entirely. Or was it the hearth? A strange sight was seen between the slats of the staircase, one he wasn't entirely sure he had seen. Jaidin was used to seeing his own death, but this apparition was something new. Just as soon as it had appeared, it slipped from vision, causing the assassin to do a double-take and blink hard (despite the other eye hidden, for once in a long time, by that old, trusty crimson bandana). She spoke those words that didn't bring an ounce of hope; he had not been looking for one, but almost expected those tiny breaths of promise that usually accompanied their talks. The assassin did, however, take that offered hand. It wasn't a normal handshake; no, he reveled in that touch and let his thumb gently stroke the delicate skin on the back of her hand. He held on, as if it would be the last time he would ever touch her and needed to imprint the feeling of it into his mind. Eventually he would grip harder and give it a firm pump up once, and then down again. He did his best not to let his fingertips linger as he pulled slowly from that embrace. No matter the amount it may have unsettled her, the man nodded almost imperceptibly. "Yes… I think I can do that." Whether or not he would ever admit it, even to himself, it was far easier to not have all of Terra, than to not have even one iota. He took one deep gulp of the rye and then ran a bony hand through chaotic hair coloured black with blue overtones. Chapped lips pursed and moved side to side for a moment as he thought. It really was hot in here. "I wouldn't do any of it, again. The beginning, I would relive a thousand times over." The man coughed, sort of-- more of a gutteral throat-clearing than anything else. Perhaps the statement was too forward for the undeadesque man. "Do you wanna… get out of here? Go do something, or just walk?" He meant, get some colder air; he was almost ready to peel his shirt off.
Lucia struggled to regain her senses from that dark, deep wasteland of colored shades. When she did, it was blearily... warily... and with a good deal of surprise to find that the one whom offered her aid was the man whom she had discounted as being of no consequence. Offering her savior the softest of pained smiles, her gaze rolled back to where she had left Miss Joliette. Her words came sluggishly after that, everything being just a bit sluggish and discombobulated. "Mm... make... shoore... Miss Joliette... is unharmed." She groaned out, closing her eyes. The pain in the back of her head was a lot worse than she had expected. A lazy hand reached back, and came around once more coated thickly in blood. "Mmngh... g... gods. I can't... I can't get that... image... out of my head. I..." she closed her eyes, threatening to slip back into that darkened place. All that held her back was pain, and the sharp ringing in her ears. "...it... hurts..."
Parsithius places his hand behind Lucia's head, staunching the flow of blood by hindering it between his gauntleted fingers, and she'd easily recognize the feel of steel against her skull -for a knight, that isn't a bad feeling at all. His other arm cradles her body, his own large and masculine enough to easily support this gesture, while an azure gaze is cast over his shoulder at his half-brother's half-brother's (yeah, two) wife. Bringing the gaze about again toward the woman, "She's fine. You'll be fine. Stay awake. Look at me."
Lucia forced her eyes to remain open, despite the strong desire to let that bleak emptyness wash over her. She had had her senses knocked out of her before... but never so swiftly, and certainly not by a piece of bar-room furniture. Her hand instinctively moved to rest upon her eye-guard... sensing something wrong with its position. When all her hand found was flesh, she realized that the leather covering must have gotten pulled off in her backward flail. "M... my... p... p-patch. I... lost it... over..." she gestured towards the overturned chair and frowned, "...Oh... over... over there somewhere."
Sade watched on; the tavern was practically falling apart around her. Lucia was bleeding with the grumpy one was helping her; Miss Jolie was frightened of a stranger she'd never seen before; Steadmen kept giving her the oddest of looks, and Riss said nothing to her upon his entrance. And, perhaps oddest of all, she couldn't bring herself to say a goddamn thing about any of it. So she kept her head down as she wiped the bar in the same circular motion, the action entrancing-- rather calming, actually. It was a strange night. And for the Corpse, that was saying something.
Faye wanders into the familiar air of the Hanging Corpse tavern, her gaze staring blankly forward as she and her bodyguard take their usual positions. Riss had it, plain and simple. Sure, he tried to act normal, brush all of the tension off one shoulder, then the other-- but he couldn't. Christian got up, and hurried over to Sade after she passed him, just passed him. "Busy?" he asked innocently with a quick flash of whites, an attempt at playing off any ill-played note he may have stricken with her. Though she was the primary recipient of his attention, Riss glanced around all the while, an attempt at determining the quickest exit. It wasn't pleasant here, not in the least.
Terra had lost herself in the conversation, in being here, around him. It's not a very good excuse as to why she had yet to notice everything else around her. Lucia's injury, Jolie's discomfort, and Parsithius movements. If any of these folks had wanted her dead she would be so - too far distracted to have been of any use. It was always this way when -he- was involved. Upon the return of her own hand sensation started to be felt once more, and the words muttered had really started to sink in then. There was no fault for him wanting to cherish the good over the bad because that was what she understood, the need to appreciate what had been good... but those moments between them, even the small ones that started in a bar, had been steps towards a grand picture, one that yet to be entirely revealed even to her. His movements were mimicked as she brushed a hand through her own hair, took to watching those gathered. Dare she intrude or would that only prove to be fatal for those involved? It wasn't as though any of this was understood to begin with. The only person that made less sense than anyone else combined was currently on the stairs alongside her, offering an escape. A handshake had cemented their friendship and eventually tugged a slight, one-sided smile. "Sure. That sounds... " Sounded like? A deep breath. This invite, this moment, it had been a picture-page torn from the book of their past. "Sounds great. It's just getting so warm in here..." The elf stood and both arms stretched high above head, worked those muscles that remained inactive during their talk. "If we can make it out of here alive..."
Shishi is gentle with the door as usual as he makes his way in. He holds the entrance open for a few seconds longer than he would have if it were just him entering as a small fox-like thing follows him in, attempting to always be walking in the assassin's shadow. A couple of blinks at Parsithius holding the female Knight puts a blank expression on the vampire's face and he then turns around to pick up the animal that tailed him in, holding the now struggling thing under his arm.
Helich eyes the male knight - Parsithius - with a considerable amount of scrutiny. That was all he did though, watched the chaos. Reveled in it really, basked in the glorious pools that were the emotions of this place.
Awareness returns all at once to the blonde, seizing his sparsely clothed frame like a criminal or child, both requiring apprehension. And as his eyes move their favor from the flame, it subsides; yet those eyes turn to Jolie. The moment of contact is the catalyst; by his lack of restraint, she is shown her own femininity reflecting in his eyes, blossoming as the flame, bursting eternally in its own zeal. If the woman is steeled against such a thing, she might leave this encounter with a flushed face, lips and fingertips aquiver. But if she is not prepared...
Parsithius keeps his gaze on Lucia, unwavering, "Look at me. Stay awake. Your patch is over there, keep looking at me." He glances toward Shishi, "Grab that eyepatch, Lord Shishi." Then, back down at the knight he's cradling, "Stay awake. What color are my eyes?" A simple tactic used to keep her attention upon him. He could not let her fall asleep. She might not wake up.
Lucia couldn't see well enough to determine what color the knight's eyes were... but it didn't stop her from trying. The world was a mess of overly saturated colors swirling about at speeds with which the Lymerrian soldier could never have hoped to cope. "I... I cannot tell. I... everything... just... I cannot see them... too fast... whirling colors." Shaking her head softly, Lucia attempted to sit herself upright. This resulted in a moment during which her left eye, and her face, were both the same brilliant shade of blood-red. Slumping back against Parsithius, the color faded. "Th... thanks..."
Parsithius allows the woman to slump against him, "Just stay awake," he responds, not acknowledging her thanking him.
Faye 's lifeless optics scrutinize the familiar figure of Lucia. She wasn't quite sure what the woman was going through, but from how Lucia acted towards her child, she figured the woman deserved every second of this.
Shishi felt small sharp teeth dig into one of his fingertips while he was blinking at Parsithius and quickly dropped the fox to the ground. "Ah~!" the vampire said as the animal hit the ground running, franticly starting towards the pair of Knights and then quickly changing it's direction towards the stairs, the creature doesn't even make it half way there, however as it passes under a table on it's way and stops abruptly in the shade of the thing. After watching the fox's run Blue just shakes his head and moves to pluck the eyepatch up from wherever it is and bring it to the Knight. The vampire sniffs out the blood when he approaches the pair and wrinkles his nose as he hands the eye-patch over, "She alright, Knight?"
Sade said to Faye, "Um... wine, right?" The girl seemed rather shaken, distracted. "Coming right up."
Faye said to Sade, "Oh, right you are dear. You read me like an open book. *to herself* Such a pleasant, fine young lady..."
Parsithius takes hold of the eyepatch, gently affixing it over the royal knight's bum eye as he speaks toward Shishi, "Yeah, she'll be fine. How're you, Lord Shishi? And your fox just ran over there," he jerks his head in the implied direction.
Jolie's hand dripped steadily, a small puddle of blood gathering darkly on an already dark floor, distinguished by colour and the small pattern of splashes radiating from its center. But this, the shard still stuck in her flesh, the knights, the torn once-couple, the dragon, the barmaid and her paramour, the husband and his critter, all of it was crushed from her awareness by Crisantis' unyeilding gaze. And in that moment, several things became clear to her: firstly, that he was not, as far as she could tell, going to suck them all into a vast and eternal Void of night; secondly, that what he -did- want was, while a great deal less disturbing than the expected alternate, still ... disturbing. Thirdly, that she was bleeding on her floor, and that this in fact hurt quite a lot. These thoughts managed to hold sway in her mind for the briefest of times, before the mortal found herself mired in her own reflection, echoing from his nearly colourless gaze, mingled with the flicker of fire. What he wanted was not at all unusual, to her. In this instance, it was a vast relief. But too, in this instance, she felt that want crawling under her very skin, like the roots of some air-bred orchid fastening to the sappy veins of a tree. Tearing herself out of her seat, red-faced, a gamut of emotion raging in her belly, the woman muttered a pardon, an excuse to leave, and attempted to stand.
Faye said to Sade, "Thank you dear, your services are appreciated." Sade said to Faye, "You're welcome, ma'am."
Traye really could care less about anything else going on in the tavern. Sure, some were friends or acquaintances-- but the one person who remained a constant center of attention, to the point where all else was obliterated on his priority list, was sitting a stair or two above him. As the question of escaping the tavern… well, a smirk tilted up one corner of those fairly thin lips in a rather sadistic way. "That won't be a problem." Something about her presence ignited a little of the old Jaidin-- that sadistic murderer and cocky attitude. He stood, slowly. His hand rose to his lips with that glass where the rest of the contents where downed in one quick gulp, an "Ahh" ensuing. He leaned over a little and deposited the empty cup onto a near-enough table for his long, lanky frame to reach. That right hand, now empty, was left to reach about through that cloak-like fabric about his shoulders and procure one of his twin daggers from its sheath attached always to his waist. With it firmly nestled in his palm, his left hand was extended to Terra. His most-visible eyebrow lofted in silent question of the… well; trust in him.
Agoyoanye upon entering the tavern catches sight of Faye's wave. Her own arm and wrist extend to give the woman the same kind wave offered to her.
Lucia slowly uprighted herself again, forcing the pain back into that dark hole where she kept all of the unpleasant memories and assorted miscellanea which she had too much work to deal with. Giving the back of her head a gentle run, followed by a sharp wince, and a deep growl... the Lymerrian woman slunk over to the chair which had nearly brained her, uprighted it, and flopped into it haphazardly.
Parsithius allows with silently, his gaze sliding away from the woman; his demeanor once again returning cold, and stony.
Shishi scratches his head and shrugs, "I'm well... And you? All those arrow holes? Err... Or maybe we should talk another time..." he said, indicating the woman Parsithius was holding. A look in the direction of the stairs that Parsithius indicated only left Blue with a view of Terra and Traye on the steps, the fox well hidden beneath his table. To the Knight Shishi just shrugged at not being able to see the fox, "Ter's over there though... excuse me." With that he headed for the steps, raising a brow just sightly when Traye stood and extended his hand to the elf, "Oi, Ter~!" he called out loudly enough to be audible over the loud crowd of the tavern as he made his way towards the pair, the fox moving back into his shadow without him noticing as Blue passed the table by.
Control. As she stands, her haste to leave punctuating her actions, Crisantis stands with her. By the time he has reached his feet, the intensity of his gaze has evaporated--that particular facet of it, at least. She can still very clearly see herself idealized in his eyes. "Please," he frowns, taking her bleeding hand into both of his. "This is your domain...you should not be the one made to leave it." And in a single action, he strides toward the door, the hands swinging at his sides as suddenly dry as the one they ensconsced. Control is more than an art, more than a cause; it is an absolute necessity. Where lack of control brought him here, it would be control that escorted him out.
Lucia winced one more time before pushing herself up and out of her chair, across the tavern floor, and back to the bar. "I take it back... not the easiest job I've ever had. Still need a drink, though..."
Parsithius let's his gaze fall toward Blue, Terra, and Traye. A 'click' of his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
Jolie plunked herself on the arm of the chair, staring, again, this time at the swinging door. Her cupped palm was inverted, sending a rust-hued pall of what was now dust and ejected glass to the floor. She shook her head as that laughter that comes like the dawn after a monumentally dark night, when one finds oneself slightly hysterical with relief, burbled out of her throat.
Jolie's behind slid over the arm of the chair, and onto its cushion. She had no intention of moving it again, today. In fact, "I need a drink...." That was spoken, to whoever gave a damn.
Shishi barely sends a glance over his shoulder when Pars 'clicks' and noticing now the dagger in Traye's hand the assassin tugs lightly at the scarf around his neck, loosening it significantly.
Lucia glanced over her shoulder toward the woman whom employed her and raised an empty glass. "What're you having, ma'am? Seems like this calls for something with a bit more kick than ale..."
Krystann appears from the dark city streets like a spectre in the night, the assassin's form garbed in the attire of his chosen profession. Speaking of which, the killer for hire's purse was a tad bit heavier now that he completed a job, and after such an ordeal he was looking forward to a fresh bottle of black-fire wine. His hood was pulled low over his brow, and as he entered the tavern he quickly makes haste to try and blend into the rather large crowd in here. Seems the night brings out the usuals, and considering this city, the usuals probably view him as edible. A smirk flashes before vanishing just as quickly. This was a dangerous town for a human, but Krystann would have it no other way.
Terra was pleased to see the turn in personablity, no matter how small the shift. A flashback to an episode in the snow has her nearly in a fit of giggles, a recollection of the evening when she had spent the better part apologizing for throwing a knife at his chest. "This reminds me of..." and just as she had been about to explain why she laughed, why the amusement started so suddenly she stopped, having heard her name. Now she'd look -really look- and find that Shishi had joined the chaos at some point. This encouraged a frown as she looked between the pair and eventually addressed Blue with a quick smile, "Hey, you. Look who I found. And guess what? He's decided that he doesn't hate me... mostly. That we can be friends. Isn't that exciting? I'm pretty happy about that. You know, because we weren't friends and there was this constant animosity because things did not work out between us and ..." she would continue to ramble on for some time until Jolie said something about a drink and her hand was raised high, "Me too. Drink please!"
Jolie voiced back, "Sade. Drinks all round. On the house. Lucia, sit down, woman." The tavern owner peered over her own feet, which rested on a chair-arm, to the knight. "You look a mite peaky." She was just glad to feel marginally back in control of herself, and to a lesser degree her surrounds.
Lucia glanced over her shoulder toward Jolie and flushed, gesturing towards the striking lack of a barmaid. "Ma'am... she... seems to have slipped out during all the chaos..." but, as instructed, she sat down and heaved out a sigh. "I see what they mean... by things always getting exciting at night."
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Mar 5, 2010 6:05:36 GMT -5
Jolie called, "Sade? Sade..." She frowned. "Somebody...?"
Parsithius whistles a tune.
Krystann is upon Jolie before anyone could blink, a bottle of whisky, not a shot, is brought before the woman as the assassin says. " Rather interesting lot you have about you." A cigarette lies in the corner of his mouth, unlit just yet.
Traye quickly dropped his hand at the sight of the woman's husband headed their way-- not that it wasn't innocently offered, but he'd rather not be accused nonetheless. Damn. But the atmosphere in the room had changed considerably. There seemed to be less fear of imminent danger so the dagger followed suit with his left hand, so that the assassin now stood with arms dangling uselessly at his side. The situation looked bad and was strange, but with Terra's rambling, he definitely had to lower his head to the ground to hide that lop-sided grin. Those shaking shoulders gave way his silent chuckling, however. Alcohol? Hell yes. Head rose to nod toward Shishi. "Blue," was all that came out of the undead's mouth.
Shishi took just one step back from the so very talkative Terra, sending Traye what must be an awkward smile and nod when the elf indicated the other assassin. An eyebrow raised as Blue looked towards the dagger in Traye's hand and Shishi repeated, "Can be friends?" in the form of a question directed at the weapon. Perhaps it was sensing something in Terra like anxiousness or something along those lines that made the fox bounce away from Shishi and attempt climbing a few steps with it's best leaps to try and settle itself within the confines of the elf's shadow. Towards Jolie, after Terra shouted her way, Blue asked, "Do we have tequila here?"
Jolie could not suppress a chuckle at the knight's words, as she snatched the bottle from the assassin's hand. "May you live in interesting times, I believe, is an ancient curse." She tried to peer around him, to the bar. "Anyone serving drinks? Don't make me get up..."
Parsithius continues to lightly whistle a tune, seemingly uncaring, or simply too cold, to really notice anything else that is going on. But he's always watching, always meticulously analyzing.
Shishi sets to retightening the scarf around his neck when the dagger is hidden by Traye. The vampire then puts on a slightly more sincere smile for the other assassin, "If I had known you were here I would have kept Orange and Yellow up so they could see you." His tone is back to it's characteristic brightness; talking about that blonde duo will do that to him.
Jolie would, no matter who wound up serving the drinks, drink herself into a comfortable oblivion, during which she’d dream: of oceans and islands, of talking prawns and white towers... and in her deepest sleep, of eyes: some colourless, some of varied hues.
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