Troublesome times in Sanctuary

[+Sorana]

You answer his gaze calmly, admire the way he's playing the game, how he uses his body to challenge to stress his words. "My, my. You are assuming." You reply and give your voice just the right amount of disappointment, draw the words out a little. "I never said, that I treat injured ones, did I?"

Lifting your glass to your lips you take another sip of the wine, let it roll down your throat and smile at him. "But I agree, building a city, it will attrackt all kind of people. It will attract the hopeless. It will attract the strong, those with malicious intent and those looking for a real chance in life."

A small smile touches your lips while you rest your eyes on his again, you enjoy this conversation in a way you hadn't thought possible before. "The only question is who will you meet?"

[I think I am here.]

“I’ll meet whoever asks,”

I reply, watch all of the little expressions, small precise movements Raphael makes. The way he draws out the words slightly, the small smile and the whole demeanour he’s been giving off since I stepped into this pub. He’s got a skill in his movements, I’ll give him that. Almost annoyingly perfect in the little actions. But, he’s a clean freak. I store the fact in my head for later. In a world like this, the line between friend and foe is as thin as a garrotte wire.

I take another sip.

“And whoever has the money. I’m a Private Investigator.”

I nod my head and sit back a little bit, try to judge his reaction. If he already knew now would be the time to hire my services. Of he didn’t — well, no harm in getting the word around. And besides, he told me his job, it’s only curtesy to tell mine. As information. And as warning. Should the right customer pay — I can find information on anyone. For a price. Sometimes it’s money. Sometimes it’s a Breath.

[+Sorana]

A private investigator. You raise an eyebrow at the information, admire the way he dropped it casually into your conversation, taking your sentence, ignoring the hidden meaning and twisting it around. This hidden threat, the offer to work for you. And of course, the way he gently adds you to his web of potential customers. It's beautiful, like a piece of art nobody but you will ever see and you take a moment to appreciate it. Everything else would be neglecting his skill.

You place your glass on the counter and consider his offer. Is there something you might need a private investigator for? Not really, but on the other hand, maybe he could come in handy. If he works for you, he doesn't work for anybody else, at least not all of the time. And it's a garant for more conversations. To ensure yourself some nice company now and then - money certainly isn't the issue. The thought is tempting and you tap a finger against the counter, tilt your head a little his way,. Like all your gestures you practiced this one, studied the way it enhances you neck. Add to that a little profile you jawbone will show nicely as well. That your braid slids over your shoulder, is a nice bonus and you know that your hair has a soft sheen in the candle light. You make sure to keep your strands healthy and strong.

Pensively you look up, take in his posture. If he hides a weapon on his person, you can't see it and you add that to his list of attributes you admire. The only question left , is if he is working at the moment, or if he is free for you to hire him. "I will let you know should I find a better place to spend your free time. If the quality of their whiskey is the same as their wine," you give a deliberate little sigh, carefully stress the word free, "then there is definitely room for something with a little more class." Now it's up to him to pick up the ball, give it a nice spin and hand it back to you. Or he drops it on the ground. In that case this could easily turn into his last conversation. You can't have someone run around, talking about your secrets.

Edited December 5, 2019 by Ookla the Dreamer

[I think I am here.]

Free. Casually I look at Raphael’s posture. Take in his braid and the way he poses, highlighting his features. Even in a pub like this, in the dead of night he’s got poses practised out. He almost seems in his element, with all this subterfuge and intelligent discussion. I just find information, I think to myself as I listen to him speak. Free. I’m hardly the right man for subtlety.

Free time. One thing’s for sure, though, Raphael isn’t an ordinary doctor. No one’s ordinary in this world. And just like everyone else, he’s got his little dark secrets. Just like the politicians, or the bigwigs wanting to build a city, or even me. I have secrets. But you’d have to be a loon to think I’ll just be doling them out.

“‘Free time’ is getting less and less these days,” I say casually. Wouldn’t want to give off the impression I have nothing to do. Though currently - that would be the case. I’m new in town, still have to make connections before business starts flowing. And the cases I have got since I came here have been easier than cake.

“But I’m sure something can be negotiated,” I say and down the rest of my whiskey in one go, place it on the wooden bar top and meet his calculating gaze. How will he read that, I wonder? “Where I come from, ‘class’ doesn’t matter until you have the money in your pocket. Of course, I’m sure the rules are... different here.”

[AonEne]

Quote

Finally have the time to post here, yay! And if this is an actual chance to write an Alleyverse character in something other than third person, then heck yeah I’m taking it. Tempted to do present tense too, but it didn’t feel right for this post so we’ll see how it goes. 

Also I haven’t the slightest idea where a character this dark came from. Sorry about that. It’s not standard Ene fare, but I hope it’s still good. Yay for self-loathing! 

I was being mugged. 

It wasn’t unexpected. I was, as always, storing luck - this time in a bracelet - so as soon as I’d stepped into an alleyway, the odds weren’t in my favor that anything other than an attack or the alley simply collapsing on top of me would happen. Though if it had collapsed, I would’ve tapped to get out of there safely - one of the few times I allowed myself to stop storing, because while I would accept the world hurting me, I couldn’t die yet. 

Not when there was so much I had to do. 

The muggers were three men, one ginger-haired and muscular, the other two with brown locks, and all three with the same quirky grin and twinkling violet irises that indicated they were probably related. I could see how some might find them attractive. I didn’t, given that one was stripping my metalminds from me, another standing by holding my bag and my own gun aimed at my head, with the third acting as a lookout at the mouth of the alleyway. The one who was relieving me of my chromium was very free with where he felt for jewelry, but my face was set in a pleasant expression. I deserved the discomfort, of course. 

“Thank you,” I said to him as he stepped back, having taken away all the metalminds he could find. It still wasn’t all of them. “It’s always annoying to empty those.” And the metal wasn’t hard to obtain, so I often simply ditched or sold them somewhere, then bought empty ones. 

He ignored me, naturally, and spoke to his partner. “She’s got a spike. We could take that out first; it might make things uncomfortable, depending on how you want to start.” Strangely articulate for a thief and presumably worse. How had I managed to get someone who spoke a language I knew? I frowned and stored more. 

“She’d scream,” the other chuckled, eyes drifting over to the lookout. “That’s more Brady’s style.” His gaze snapped hungrily back to me, and he shrugged. “But this one hasn’t fussed much so far, so perhaps she wouldn’t.” 

As they continued their conversation, the topic turning to who got to go first, I quietly ignited the copper in my stomach. The familiarity of Smoking was like the face of a friend, known and safe and welcome. Its warmth felt nice, which wasn’t what I would have preferred, but the usual throb of my spike and the looming danger of my situation, plus the unluckily damp cold of the alley I was in, more than balanced it out. And sure enough, some of the complacency I’d been feeling faded away. One of them must have been Soothing me, if not very well. I still felt fairly casual; that emotion was my own. He’d just amplified it. 

One of them had Scadrian Investiture. That clinched it. No more satisfying discomfort for me today; I had to take care of these three fools. Which meant I could tap, just for now, for this occasion. 

I mentally reached into a chromiummind embedded in my leg and let its Fortune soak through me. If copper was a friend, good luck was an enemy. I hated it, because I shouldn’t have it. I wasn’t good enough for it! But I had this power anyway, so I’d make use of it like a good Spinner - to kill. 

With myself now luckier, I observed my surroundings. The two men, who’d before been disagreeing on good terms, got a little more heated in their argument. They seemed to be hitting on hidden stores of jealousy and hatred. How fortunate that this inevitable event should happen while I was here. I waited calmly as they came to blows, one forced to drop my possessions in the process, which I easily swooped in to pick up. Though I was right in the middle of their fight for a moment, neither landed even a glancing hit on me. 

Swinging wildly, the muscular one caught his brother in the neck, sending him reeling down. I stepped in calmly to swipe a blade across the fallen man’s throat. Shocked by the suddenness, the man with ginger hair who had patted me down minutes before stepped backward, and tripped over a perfectly placed pebble that rolled under his boot. I threw the knife without aiming and it of course found its way right to his heart. 

I walked out the alley unimpeded and took Brady from behind by surprise. After he’d slumped to the ground, bleeding out, I stopped tapping and walked away. I needed someplace to clean myself off. 

Edited December 9, 2019 by Ookla the Roleplayer

[+Sorana]

You laugh softly at his words, the way he asks if you have the money to pay for him, compared to the casual way he indicates that he has many customers already. He has to be good if he has a schedule after only a couple of days in town. "Where I come from, class and money are mostly the same." Your voice is slightly amused, when you hand his mistrust back to him, without batting an eye. You don't doubt that you can pay him, and should he be really expensive - you can always draw on other ressources as well.

"The only question is, which class do you belong to?" You ask and continue to smile at him and rise an eyebrow when he downs his whiskey in one go without showing any sign of the alcohol at all. He has to be drinking a lot to be able to drink this stuff without the slightest grimace on his face. In a perfectly calculated gesture you order another whiskey for him and take another sip of your wine. It's your second glass and you know, that you have to be careful. Already you can feel the slight tingling of your legs and fingers, the way your head feels a little lighter. You're far from drunk, but you aren't sober as well. Still you realize, that the alcohol is making you a little careless - to even consider to hire a random guy you meet in a bar, and yet - something about him fascinates you and so you don't mind this little carelessness at all.

Leaning against the bar you take up the other half of his sentence. "I doubt that rules like that change. In the end it always comes down to the same possibilities to motivate other to work together." And it was rare that money wasn't the number one on that list.

Edited December 9, 2019 by Ookla the Dreamer

[Rushu42]

Rathar Alderbon strode through the darkened streets of the Sanctuary, his newly acquired package heavy in his pocket. I must remember to commend Panteros. This is truly a remarkable device. Peasants ducked out of his way as he approached, although they likely didn't recognize him. That will soon change.

Ahead, the soft light of a tavern caught his eye. It wouldn't hurt to make my presence known to the commoners, he decided, and a Push on the metal latch slammed open the door. He stepped inside, haughty eyes taking in the room. It wasn't crowded, but he could feel his subjects staring at him.* 

"Greetings. I am High King Alderbon. You are granted the privilege of serving me."

His voice boomed intentionally, echoing in the quiet room. 

Quote

*If this is not the case, I apologise for godmodding- it does seem like a reasonable assumption, though.

@Ookla the Dreamer @Ookla the Maybe-ExistentMaybeMaybMaybe-Existent

@Anyone else in the tavern

Edited December 10, 2019 by Rushu42

[I think I am here.]

“Very true. People are predictable,” I say, adjusting my hat to unveil my eyes a little more, try to get a better view of Raphael. Burning tin only makes me notice the little perfections in his movements more, the precision in the way he orders more whiskey for me, the soft laugh and almost perfect pitch of his words. A man slams the bar door open, introduces himself to he room as king and I look to the side, stare at him for a moment.

“For the most part.”

My whiskey arrives and I nod to the bartender, swirl it around for the time being.

“It would depend,” I answer to his question of class.

“I’m whatever my customer needs. I don’t exclude anyone from my clientele. Not beggars, not politicians.”

Straightening my coat I look at Raphael again. “Where you come from seems like a fun place, if money equals class. No rich criminals in your streets? Or do you still have criminals, they just live in high-rise apartments instead?” I already know the answer but the question is more than the sum of its words.

[kenod]

Aylitha looked up from the cup of lemonade the barkeep had gotten her to look at the new arrival. "You are granted the privilege of serving me," she echoed in her mind. Well, someone sure has a god-complex, she joked.
It doesn't really matter if he can back it up now, does it? Karin answered grumpely.
Well, someone's grumpy, Aylitha jokingly thought. He kind of reminds me of Mithlosch, she thoughtfully added.
And that's a positive? Karin asked in a surprised tone.
Not really, Aylitha admitted. Still, he's kind of funny.
Karin sighed at Aylitha's tone. Sure, she said, go have some fun. I'm going back to sleep. I'm not interested in having to deal with another Mithlosch.

Aylitha sighed and started walking over to the Aldebron, lemonade still in her hand. "And you are?" She asked in a curious tone, looking up at him.

@Rushu42

[Rushu42]

The room largely seemed to ignore him. Rathar stiffened in indignation. A woman sauntered over to him, still holding a drink. He clasped his fingers together to keep himself from summoning his Shardblade and teaching them all respect. They'll learn soon enough, he reminded himself. Patience. 

He felt his spren stir in his mind at the insolent question. "Are we to tolerate this?" He gave a slight, dismissive flick of his chin. A king must have self control. Instead, he merely stared haughtily down at the woman, who stood nearly a head shorter than he.

"I am the High King Alderbon, and you will address me as such," he repeated, the edges of his tone sharpening. "As you have approached, I shall allow you the honor of informing me. This building. What is it called?"

@Ookla the Foxed

[kenod]

23 hours ago, Rushu42 said:

The room largely seemed to ignore him. Rathar stiffened in indignation. A woman sauntered over to him, still holding a drink. He clasped his fingers together to keep himself from summoning his Shardblade and teaching them all respect. They'll learn soon enough, he reminded himself. Patience. 

He felt his spren stir in his mind at the insolent question. "Are we to tolerate this?" He gave a slight, dismissive flick of his chin. A king must have self control. Instead, he merely stared haughtily down at the woman, who stood nearly a head shorter than he.

"I am the High King Alderbon, and you will address me as such," he repeated, the edges of his tone sharpening. "As you have approached, I shall allow you the honor of informing me. This building. What is it called?"

@Ookla the Foxed

Aylitha simply looked at him, trying to decide if this was the point to slowly back away or to just play along. Eventually she shrugged though. "I don't know," she said. "It's a tavern, no clue if it even has a name. If it has one it's probably on some sign on the front door." She walked around him, studying him. She knew it probably wasn't a smart idea to try to antagonize him further, but he did remind her of Mithlosch, and she was pretty sure she could deal with whatever he tried.

Quote

Aylitha kind of looks like a kid (14, Alice-in-wonderland-style dress), so that might annoy him even more.

 

[+Sorana]

On 10.12.2019 at 2:46 PM, Ookla the Maybe-Existent said:

“Very true. People are predictable,” I say, adjusting my hat to unveil my eyes a little more, try to get a better view of Raphael. Burning tin only makes me notice the little perfections in his movements more, the precision in the way he orders more whiskey for me, the soft laugh and almost perfect pitch of his words. A man slams the bar door open, introduces himself to he room as king and I look to the side, stare at him for a moment.

“For the most part.”

My whiskey arrives and I nod to the bartender, swirl it around for the time being.

“It would depend,” I answer to his question of class.

“I’m whatever my customer needs. I don’t exclude anyone from my clientele. Not beggars, not politicians.”

Straightening my coat I look at Raphael again. “Where you come from seems like a fun place, if money equals class. No rich criminals in your streets? Or do you still have criminals, they just live in high-rise apartments instead?” I already know the answer but the question is more than the sum of its words.

A grin touches your face, when Sloane relativises his sentence shortly after the crazy one steps into the tavern. Your eyes follow his over and you rise an eyebrow at his behaviour. This one obviously needs to learn their place. And if he wants to survive, soon. Deliberatetly you look at his face for a moment, and then turn away, back to Sloane. The girl should be enough to keep him occupied. Her behaviour stresses the fact, that she is a lot more dangerous than her outer appearance lets you think, and it's none of your business.

What fascinates you more is, that for the first time, Sloane didn't reply to one of your statements in the way you hoped. You had aimed to ask how much it would cost you to hire him, but the information that he works for anybody is worth even more. It means he is lax when it comes to his fee. Or maybe has a soft streak in his heart and soul.

You look at him for a moment, realize that he had adjusted his head, while you had been focused on the wanna-be-king and now you are able to get a better glimpse at his eyes. They still appear to be dark, their color hard to judge with the hat casting its shadow above them and the dim light in the tavern, and you look straight into them when you consider your next reply.

"From my experience the rich ones always have a high-rise-apartment somewhere. If it's a tavern with a changed interior, or a cellar full of fabrials to make it comfortable."  Your words are nice, but at the same time empty. It's not what he wanted to know, and you know that. "Does it really matter, where I live?" You ask him instead of replying to his question, a carefull playfullness entering your tone. "But I can promise you - you wouldn't be disappointed when you saw it."

[I think I am here.]

That’s it, then. The implication hasn’t been set since the beginning of the conversation. Raphael is no ordinary doctor. But what he likes to do outside of his professional work shouldn’t concern me. And yet, it does. He captures my attention when he looks into my eyes.

His answer implies criminality, but I can’t help but wonder what type of crime would be fitting of a man like him. Obsessed with cleanliness, a doctor, perfect in the way he poses, shows off. I can’t help but think the common forms of crime would be too... banal for him.

“Is that an invitation?” I ask.

Edited December 14, 2019 by Ookla the Maybe-Existent

[+Sorana]

1 hour ago, Ookla the Maybe-Existent said:

“Is that an invitation?” I ask.

Your smile widens a little at his question and you tilt your head towards him in compliment. He is curious and something about him fascinates you enough that you are willing to play along. Show him. The thought runs like a thrill through your body, excitement at the prospect that he might grasp the beauty, understand the possibilities. It would be a glorious moment if he turns around, his face showing nothing but wonder. It's a risk, but you haven't set up a larger labortory, so if he knows, if he decides to destroy it, you will loose some tools and might have to look for a different place. Annoying, but on a whim you decide to take the risk. No risk, no fun. And Sloane has the potential to be a lot of fun.

"It is, whatever you want it to be." You reply and turn slightly towards the door in a silent invitation to leave. A slight challenge enters your eyes when you dare him to get up and to follow you outside.

[I think I am here.]

On 14/12/2019 at 5:20 PM, Ookla the Dreamer said:

“It is, whatever you want it to be." You reply and turn slightly towards the door in a silent invitation to leave. A slight challenge enters your eyes when you dare him to get up and to follow you outside.

I follow his turn to the door, try to gauge the emotion in his eyes. A calculated move? A challenge? I’m so used to scouring criminal eyes for dilated pupils, sketchy movements, anything that gives them away when I’m interrogating them. Anything that points to them lying or telling the truth. They say eyes are the window to the soul.

Raphael’s eyes are perfectly still, like an ocean. 

Still water runs deep. A saying from back when I was new to the detective game. The quiet are the most dangerous.

“Not going to finish your drink before we set off?” I ask, make the agreement final in words and tilt back my head, pour the rest of the whiskey down my throat. Hopefully by now he realises the alcohol is having no effect on me. Maybe that’ll make him reconsider if he wants to try anything shady on me. But no, he seems too sophisticated or anything too boring.

[+Sorana]

49 minutes ago, Ookla the Maybe-Existent said:

“Not going to finish your drink before we set off?” I ask, make the agreement final in words and tilt back my head, pour the rest of the whiskey down my throat. Hopefully by now he realises the alcohol is having no effect on me. Maybe that’ll make him reconsider if he wants to try anything shady on me. But no, he seems too sophisticated or anything too boring.

"I didn't plan to." You reply and leave your glass behind. There isn't much wine in there anyway and it wasn't good enough to empty completely. A part of the reason, the other part is the alcohol. You need your head to be as clear as possible. Being a little tipsy is one thing, but you know that you need all of your wits in one place when you show him the place. The chance that he will understand immediatly is small, most likely you will have to explain what you are doing. Still the excitement thrums through your body when you watch him tilt back his head to drown the rest of the whiskey. His movements are focused, his voice clear, despite of the amount you watched him drink and it only adds to your fascination. Resistant to alcohol, or maybe advanced healing capacities. Fascinating. And dangerous.

Standing up you take your bag and sling it over your shoulder, slowly walk through the mass of people towards the door. You can see them part for you just a little bit, as if they can feel your approach and want to get out of your way. Good. You aren't willing to loose time with a dense, drunk beggar, farmer, worker or whatevery they are. They are nothing but a walking store of material and you make sure you remember two faces for future use. One has a great back, and one's arms are shaped in a wonderful way. Later.

You open the door with an extravagant gesture and invite Sloane to step outside, holding the door open for him. Cool air strems into the tavern, smelling moist from the falling rain. Lights reflect on the cobblestones and you feel a smile tug on your lips. The last time you invited someone - it ended badly. For both of you, if you are honest. Maybe today will be different.

[Rushu42]

On 12/11/2019 at 5:35 PM, Ookla the Foxed said:

Aylitha simply looked at him, trying to decide if this was the point to slowly back away or to just play along. Eventually she shrugged though. "I don't know," she said. "It's a tavern, no clue if it even has a name. If it has one it's probably on some sign on the front door." She walked around him, studying him. She knew it probably wasn't a smart idea to try to antagonize him further, but he did remind her of Mithlosch, and she was pretty sure she could deal with whatever he tried.

 

The girl's reply was very unhelpful, and she began to circle him. Truly, these people knew not how to treat a king. The door opened, and several people slipped out without even asking his leave. Perhaps it was time for a demonstration. 

He summoned his Shardblade, a huge, angular tool, and Lashed himself upward so that he hovered between the wooden beams of the roof and the shabby carpet on the floor. 

"I am your King," he repeated icily, "and you will address me as such."

[I think I am here.]

“Ah, a proper gentleman,”

I say sarcastically as he opened the door for me, quickly stepping outside. The cold air is like a dame’s slap to the face, but a welcome one. It enshrouds me, captures me in a cloud of its environment, the light rain pattering on my hat and the dreary atmosphere of this town at night welcoming to my presence.

I turn, face Raphael. I recall the people moving briefly out of his way as he walked. Maybe they can sense the authority. Maybe they know who he is and don’t want to speak up. Either way, he has an effect on people, with his demeanour, and I try my best to refrain from getting influenced by it.

Smelling the air, damp from the rain and fresh with the banal smells of urban life I allow myself a brief close of my eyes, flare tin and become one with the setting, the surroundings. The chatter of random people and criminals become my chatter. The gentle breeze becomes my breeze. The uneven footing of the cobble is mine. Opening my eyes I sigh, look to Raphael again.

“No matter where you live,” I say. “I’m surprised you can find a good place to live in a town like this. I half-expect I’ll be spending most of my nights in a shady motel.”

[+Sorana]

1 hour ago, Ookla the Maybe-Existent said:

“No matter where you live,” I say. “I’m surprised you can find a good place to live in a town like this. I half-expect I’ll be spending most of my nights in a shady motel.”

Sloane seems to belong here, in this dreary environment, with the rain and the deep shadows and you watch him close his eyes, only to open them again shortly afterwards with a small sigh. It's as if he is a part of this, tied to it in a way you will never really understand. Maybe he is. In the end you know close to nothing about him. "There is room for improvement." You state, indirectly correct him and sling your coat around your shoulders, carefully stowing your braid inside. You place your hat on your head before you step outside, a small frown on your face at the rain.  "But it serves its purpose and I suppose that is everything I can ask for in a place like this."

You extend your hand, indicate the houses and alleys around you. Back home you had a good place, with large halls and hallways, with laboratory that was just outright perfect. Here, you had to lower your expectations, and while you still ended up with something some might consider huge or fortunate, it's below what you are used to. Your feet make dark, wet sounds on the cobblestones when you start to walk along the street. It's not far, and you hope that Sloane doesn't mind a brisk pace. The sooner you arrive, the sooner you can get out of the rain again.

[kenod]

12 hours ago, Rushu42 said:

The girl's reply was very unhelpful, and she began to circle him. Truly, these people knew not how to treat a king. The door opened, and several people slipped out without even asking his leave. Perhaps it was time for a demonstration. 

He summoned his Shardblade, a huge, angular tool, and Lashed himself upward so that he hovered between the wooden beams of the roof and the shabby carpet on the floor. 

"I am your King," he repeated icily, "and you will address me as such."

"My apologies, my king," Aylitha said in a joking tone as she dropped into a rather horrible curtsy, "but I happened to be from a constitutional monarchy."
No you're not, Karin sleepily murmured in her mind. I am. I'm not sure if your birthplace even has a type of government humans can understand. I still remember how much difficulty you had trying to understand our government systems back in the beginning.
Back awake huh? Aylitha sent back, deciding not to argue that particular point. I don't suppose you can give me some advice on dealing with this idiot?
You shouldn't call someone an idiot, came the reply back. She paused for a short bit, thinking. Even if it's true. Growing more active she took a closer look at the delusional royalty in front of them.
Hmm, she said, Surgebinder, Skybreaker or Windrunner, based on the flying. Don't let the blade cut your main body, ...Or maybe do, I'm curious as to what exactly will happen. Other areas should be fine, but you'll probably need to drop the part that was cut afterwards, it won't fall off on its own. He'll be a high-speed flyer, and he won't have slow down when hitting you, so speedster tactics are out. Go with flying brick tactics instead. Also, don't let him touch you for any significant amount of time. As soon as he can focus enough he can use magic on you in that case.
Huh, Aylitha replied. Wanna switch? She asked in a half-joking tone.
Not interested, came the reply. If he attacks, leave the room. There are too many people here that would get killed just because you picked a fight with a narcissist. Also, she continued when she sensed Aylitha's hesitation, that blade makes close-quarters fights too dangerous, and based on what we've heard and how he's holding it the thing should be a lot lighter than it looks. You won't have enough space or speed to dodge around properly.

Aylitha nodded, seemingly listening to some inaudible voice. "Alright, So don't get close, keep dodging, and stay away from the blade, got it." she murmured to herself, intentionally leaving out the part about actually leaving the tavern. She looked around at the room. "Huh," she noted, "I wonder if bar fights destroy a lot of places around here, what with all the magic and stuff?"

Edited December 17, 2019 by Ookla the Foxed

[I think I am here.]

On 17/12/2019 at 11:41 PM, Ookla the Dreamer said:

The sooner you arrive, the sooner you can get out of the rain again.

It’s takes a moment to get used to his pace, but soon I’ve got the hang of it and following Raphael down the narrow street, to where he stays. Usually, I take my time when I walk, make sure I have adequate time to ponder, look at the dreary sights and think about my plans. But now, it seems all business. And yet, with someone with me, it seems more enticing.

And to think they’re making a city here. In this town. I don’t bring it up again, though.

“Don’t like the rain?” I note at his quick pace. I can keep up with him, and in this moment I just want to get to where he stays, but still, it’s closest I’ve got to the amused or teasing tone I sometimes see from Raphael. Usually it’s accompanied by a little grin, but not when I’m saying it. Where I come from, smiles are reserved for the rich, the dames and the crazy. And while I may be a little loopy at times, I’m far from either of the three.

“Or, perhaps afraid of bad company on a night like this?” It’s a valid point. This time of night, the lowlife is paramount.

Edited December 24, 2019 by Ookla the Maybe-Existent

[+Sorana]

5 hours ago, Ookla the Maybe-Existent said:

“Or, perhaps afraid of bad company on a night like this?” It’s a valid point. This time of night, the lowlife is paramount.

"I don't like the rain." You nod, when he falls into step next to you, easily keeping up. "I prefer slightly moist, but dry weather." No too dry, to that the dirt stays where it belongs. And not too moist, or otherwise the streets will end up muddy. His tone and choice of words make you wonder if he is mocking you or not, but you just let it slide for now, not really caring about his opinion on you not liking the weather. The dirty water from the ground leaves little dark drops on your clean pants, and you hope that your hair stays dry. If it is wet it will curl in an awful unfavourable way, and you will need a while to press it again, that it's flat and neat around your face. With every step the urge to change into a dry and more importantly clean set of pants once you're arrived grows and you have to rein your temper in to stop yourself from nearly starting to run. And you're shoes will have to be cleaned completely as well.

Walking around a corner, you continue along the next road and turn your thoughts to his other comment. He is right, the streets are dangerous at night, but so far nobody decided to follow you, and you hope that nobody will. The rain might discourage some to leave their hideouts, only the desperate ones will be outside today. And they are the one most dangerous ones by far. You stay alert, suspect that Sloane keeps his eyes open as well and continue on your way. Standing around will change nothing. "I do hope, that you will prove good company." you reply lightly, a slight smirk touching your lips when you wilfully misinterpret his question.

[I think I am here.]

I let a frown over my features when he answers my question the wrong way, almost definitely deliberately, judging by his smirk. But maybe he ignores it because it doesn’t apply. He’s already told me why he’s walking at his pace. He doesn’t like the rain. Who doesn’t like the rain? It’s the air I breathe, the reminder of nature’s presence even in the thickest of urban jungles. The great purifier, what cause the television to get all muddled and what washes away the blood of the streets into gutters. The rain.

“I’d respond, but ‘good’ is subjective,” I say. At least, it is where I come from. Who knows, maybe here has absolute morals. Judging by Raphael, it doesn’t.

“So is ‘bad’. Just lines drawn in mud, waiting to be washed away by the next rain.”

[+Sorana]

1 hour ago, Ookla the Maybe-Existent said:

“So is ‘bad’. Just lines drawn in mud, waiting to be washed away by the next rain.”

His frown makes his face darker, somehow more dangerous and your smirk diminishes, when you notice that you seem to have offended him. It surprises you, as he had been up to your little game so far. But then you never evaded one of his questions completely as well. His wording had been too tempting, had called for a comment that went in another direction. Obviously your little change in topic hadn't been appreciated at all.

"No, I don't worry about any bad company." You reply, without any flourishes at all and walk around a corner. You will reach your place soon and after a while you stop, turn to him, when you wonder what to make of his reply. Maybe he only tires to hide his affiliation, or his own moral standing. Maybe - you aren't entirely sure. "I doubt that there is a single really decent person anywhere in Sanctuary." Your voice has a hint of seriousness, that it lacked so far. "So for me good company is entertaining and not planning to stab me in my back. And bad company is everybody else."

[Elend Venture]

     He sat at the back of a tavern that he couldn't remember the name of. He hadn't even seen the sign coming in, though it should have been there.

     Unlike most of the previously well dressed men in the bar, Rhode's suit was not rumpled or stained from an evening of drinking his pains to oblivion. He had drank that night, but not excessively, tipping back only a few shots over the last hours. He had to stay sharp if he wanted to goad any tipsy duelists into fighting him the next morning, preferably without getting sucker punched tonight due to too much alcohol and too much pride. That meant staying at least half-way sober. He sat back and observed the tavern's patrons. There was a tall chap in an expensive suit, wearing a full length rapier over on the other end of the room who looked like he had something to prove. That might be his first Target of the night. He sat, considering various strategies to wrangle him into at least a fight to first blood tomorrow.

     When a man burst in, proclaiming himself king, trying to get everyone to kneel at his feet or something Rhode knew this night would be interesting.

Edited December 20, 2019 by Elend Venture