Aug 13 22:02:34 107 PA
From Chronicles
Aug 13 22:02:34 107 PA
Kingsdale - West Dregs
In the thin light of the new moon, many things scurry about the Dregs. Predators, prey, and those whose role is yet to be determined. One who believes herself very much in the first category descends to ground level from the upper rubble of what was once a multi-story building. If she is hunter rather than hunted, she carries no proof that the hunt went well.
Her prey walks by below. A well-dressed man carrying ... something or other. An oilskin-wrapped squared bundle, bound with hemp rope. The figure seems in this light to be an empty suit, charcoal pinstripe walking itself down the street, though as he passes the shadow cast by one of the few street lamps one might catch sight of the occlusion of a black head and mane of ebony hair.
Celaeno doesn't seem particularly concerned with coming of the darkness - or with the permeating grime. In a land of predators and prey, she is for all appearances a rock, simply sitting and watching all the unnecessary strife with amusement. Perched on the stoop of a mostly abandoned building, she can be found puffing away at a cigar, merrily enjoying the despondency.
Daeni rises from her landing crouch to survey her surroundings from her newly altered elevation. The darkness hides little from her, which causes the dark figure to stand out nearly as much as the spot of burning tobacco. One face is somewhat familiar, so her attention lingers upon the one that is not. He also happens to be the more visually unusual of the two, and likely of those most often encountered here.
The black being pauses, sniffing at the air. His head turns slightly, like a bird perking an ear, and he takes a step nearer the building into deeper shadow. His footfalls stop and there's a sense of quiet, of something dire. Those nearest the intersection look around and halt their conversations, for a brief moment echoing the terrified mouse shivering silently in hopes the owl won't notice.
With a puff-puff here, and a puff-puff there, Celaeno seems more enamoured with the glowing ember than with her surroundings, and begins a low hum. She shifts slightly, a scabbard dragging mutedly against the crumbling cement as she gets more comfortable, her hum turning into sharp whistle - a lazy 'western' tune.
The sudden switch to sharp whistle draws Daeni's eyes momentarily to Celaeno, followed by a slight nod in acknowledgement, although they hastily return to the dark being. She begins to move towards Ahriman, closing upon him now that he chose to pause. If it is an attempt to stalk, Daeni makes no effort to hide her presence, her curiously wary stare, nor her approach.
The moment passes, and a breath is taken all around. The few individuals still on the street hustle along after that momentary feeling of dread, though Ahriman remains a fixture there on the side of the street. His eyes are on the trail of smoke curling lazily from the top of the building, nose twitching as he stands and waits. Those pupiless eyes don't seem to move, though Daeni might feel something, a slight shiver of something wrong, that would tell that he's found her with his gaze. He doesn't move, however, head simply swaying gently between them, and his voice presently rumbles up, "If your goal is to weaken me by planting a crick in my neck, I assure you, you haven't enough time to wait."
Libre is smiling broadly when he comes strolling out of the hospital. He is wearing his finely buffed leather shoes and sharply creased pants. His shirt is a loosely fitting black button down with the top button undone to show off his large, muscular chest.
Celaeno's whistling continues, slowing briefly before rising into a crescendo and... stopping. A few more puffs on her cigar and she goes back to a soft hum, slightly discordant and lost to the night air.
"No." Daeni does not halt her approach until only pair of armspans seperate them. "What are you?" Deduction did not prove successful, so she attempts another direct route. Her eyes flick briefly to the movement of Libre's exit onto the street, then return once more to Ahriman. Libre may be strange in his sense of fashion, but Ahriman is unusual in a more innate manner.
"The night, given flesh" comes Ahriman's reply from the deep shadows. Come to think of it, the shadow from which his voice emerges is deeper than the others, so much so that those lacking night vision would miss seeing him entirely. "And you're an elf, albeit ... of an improbably arborial variety. I warn you, I carry a plague. If you have any magical aptitude, I recommend a distance."
Libre hears a whistle that gets him to looking around. He does not see the source of the sound immediately but does see a familiar elf. Deani seems to be in her typical intense mode so he just slows his walk and veers in her direction while listening hard, trying to determine where the voice is that is speaking to her.
Celaeno slowly drags herself to her feet, her swords scraping against the concrete in one final clatter before she moves to lean heavily on the doorjamb. She takes a few steps into the street, stopping at the streetlight to recollect herself. One experimental step is taken away from the pole, one step back to it. Two away, one back. And she nods decisively to herself, slumping slowly back to the ground as her chin tucks itself into her chest.
Daeni takes a half-step away from the proclaimed plague carrier and confirms his observation. "Am elf, not magic." She negates much of the step by leaning forward to peer over Ahriman. "If flesh, not night. Dark not solid, not alive." Celaeno and Libre, unsteady and listening, respectively, are both tracked in her peripheral vision and the occassional darting glance.
"Speak in your own tongue," the creature bids. "Your trade four is terrible." He steps forward, a street light catching his suit jacket briefly as he comes into the light, his black head a mere silhouette save for two silvered eyes that peer ahead at Daeni. And with a glance at the lamp above, the shadows sweep out about them to drown their part of the block in darkness. Above the moon is the only light left in the heavens, a bare crescent, and the streetlamp as a dim distant star. "No magic?" he wonders curiously. "How peculiar." That last word is tinged with a smile, the words rumbling free of black upswept lips. "Is this common amongst your tribe?"
Libre starts to look a bit unsettled as he looks harder into the shadows talking to Daeni. Seeing Celaeno enter the light of the street lamp and do her tiny dance distracts him for only a second before hearing something about a plague. He pauses in place and, after a half beat, takes one step back. "Is everyone ok over there, Daeni?" He ventures with a voice of concern and curiosity. When the dark figure comes into the light and takes away the light, Libre takes a few more steps back to where he had came from.
Celaeno doesn't move. Apparently dead to the world, she sits, unceremoniously hunched over as the moments drag on. An entire minute passes without anything more than a mumbled half-swear as she sits.
"Am well, she not." Daeni answers Libre in her stilted American and indicates the slumped Celaeno with an absent gesture. If alcohol is the culprit, the smell alone is likely enough to inform the elf, even within the plethora of wonderful aromas that must permeate the Dregs. Her words subsequently alter to her native elven, vastly improving her portion of the conversation, although an accent remains to mark them as foreign. "Not all elves learn magic, even if it is much stronger here."
The dark creature's elven is positively old. It sounds stilted and quiant, compared to a more modern variety, but a linguist would catch him saying the root words of the more modern Earthly Elven dialect. "It's the reason your kind come here," he replies. "When the ley lines run deep the world is plagued by your kind. And when they run slack you vanish sure as fish from a drought-muddied stream. Why are you here, magicless elf?"
With the switch to Elven Libre is even more in the dark than before. "Ok, well, I'm just gonna wait for a bit more light or something." Then a bit louder "Hey Bill, You good out there?"
Slowly the slightest scent of vinegar starts edging its way into the reek of booze on Celaeno. She doesn't so much as stir when Libre calls out to her, the only motion being a further slouching as gravity manages to overcome friction for a moment to pull her slightly more prone.
Daeni' gaze upon Ahriman hardens, as she is uncertain whether to take his words as intended insults. "I am here in the city to hunt and train. It may be magic that brought me here, but I do not use it or need it. The more you need to survive, the weaker you must be."
"To hunt?" Ahriman repeats, his language slipping back into American. Or as close to it as his deep rumble gets. "Whom? Men? Dwarves? Assorted other assorted creatures?" That last bit sounds amused, and the darkness surrounding them evaporates as readily as it came, with the black being turning a left to take several steps away, stepping beneath the street light. "Would you hunt this ... drunken person?" he wonders, eyes still that solid silver as his head drops to eye the smoking form of Celaeno.
Libre begins to ease toward Calaeno but eyes the blackness as he moves. The tense movements reveal his discomfort with the strange situation. Once he closes the distance be bends down near Celaeno to whisper insistently, "Bill, I think something weirder than normal is going on." He looks up toward the black figure when the light returns.
"Goddamnit, you're all noisy," Celaeno mutters, dragging herself to her feet, one hand on her head. "How's a girl to concentrate when you're screaming?" The smell of vinegar has increased noticeably, but the alcohol still remains the predominant scent. She takes in the scene slowly, her eyes sliding left and right until they settle indirectly on the big dark patch, "That you, Big Dark? You manage to dodge the angry mobs?"
"Not dwarf," Daeni follows the linguistic alteration once again, turning her head to follow Ahriman's relocation, "not her. Human no challenge, even not drink. Hunt others." Now that all three are in her more direct field of vision, she acknowledges Libre with a more focused glance. Any comment to him is delayed to answer Celaeno's complaint, however. "Not loud. You drink, stink, are..." She pauses to pluck something from her limited vocubulary, "slop. Get clean."
"Bill!" Ahriman greets. "It's been too long. I present to you a huntress on the prowl. Are you wounded prey?" The dark creature minds a distance of five or seven meters from Celaeno, skirting back out of the light as his head rises again to look at Daeni. "Lamed, perhaps, ready to be culled from the flock?"
Libre returns to a standing position and steps back a step farther away from the blackness personified. "Daeni, is this a mage or a Diablo?" He keeps his hand away from his gun, knowing it wouldn't do any good. He takes several small steps but keeps himself from running to avoid making himself too much a potential target.
Celaeno straightens against the post, one eyebrow lifting as she looks over Libre, "He's just a toothless bastard," she says obviously amused. "Not a bad guy, just arrogant as shit." Her thumb hooks pointedly around the sword at her right hip, "Though I should probably say, telling me I'm not worth your time, and nothing but filth's not exactly the best way to make friends, hey?" Her grin has a slight edge to it.
Daeni exhales a snort, to both attempt to clear her nostrils of the reek and in contempt. Her eyes are upon Celaeno, although they snap sharply to the movement of thumbs to weapons and her posture tenses. "Strong fight on ...op, now make self slow, weak. Is waste." Daeni lifts her gaze to the edged grin as her focus narrows to include Celaeno and little else. "Waste when die before blade draw."
Ahriman's lips curl into a smile that doesn't quite touch his eyes, a great bearing of white teeth that seem to split his black head in two. His head sways from the drunk's direction to the Elf, one finger idly playing with the hemp wrapping of his bundle. A whisper slips from his lips, something spoken without that rumble that normally touches his voice. Four tongues overlapping, combining to make words that sound eerily familiar, yet somehow ... not. Another foreign language, for Bill's ears perhaps? And a soap bubble forms around Libre. Pale blue, thin as gossamer, yet stronger than steel. The air about him tastes idle, devoid of wind, yet remarkably fresh. Better than his surroundings, at least. "Apologize to Bill, Elf, and thank her for the use of this world. It's hers, not yours."
Libre looks to each of those present in turn with eyes wide. "Excuse me por favor, I just wanted to say hi and head home, really. I have an iron deficiency and eat way too many onions."
Celaeno shudders in a rather unpleasant moment, her eyes blinking as all mirth is lost in the blink of an eye. Her katana begins to flick out of its sheathe a fraction of a second later. "Tccchhh," she shivers.
The reaction from Daeni at the draw is reflexive, and not unexpected. One of her own blades is unsheathed fully, whether Celaeno means her own display as a true or implied threat. "Many human stupid. You want prove are one?" She does not advance on the woman, but she is obviously not about to leave herself vulnerable. Ahriman may as well be trapped in a bubble, himself, as his demand is ignored. This is not the moment for Daeni to be distracted.
"Pity," Ahriman replies softly, and he steps back once, to run his fingertips over the bubble as he walks about it. They trail streamers of blue sparks, little ripples of light flowing along the surface as he asks Libre casually, "So, how did you come to meet dear Bill? At a bar, or flying that infernal machine?" His conversation is light, natural, in that rumbling tone of his. All he lacks is popcorn.
Apparently unhappy with being cast in the role of "bubble boy", Libre is throwing himself against the bubble in an attempt to roll away. "She was just *thump* hanging out in the Dregs *thump* throwing rocks at people."
Celaeno gives another shiver, eyes pulling into slits as Ahriman begins his motion. Her head cocks slightly to the side, as she sees the bubble for the first time, giving it a slight nudge with her foot before commenting, "Tch." She places the cigar back in her mouth with her free hand, "You know," she says, moving into a more relaxed stance, though the katana remains extended in front of her, humming ever so slightly, "I really am surprised you managed to avoid those pitchforks," she mutters. "And I don't really take kindly to being called stupid." She clicks again.
Daeni remains taught and wary, weapon held ready. She does, however, allow a flick of her eyes towards Ahriman, Libre, and the bubble between them. "Not act stupid," she explains to Celaeno, "not be called. Is simple." Other than darker veining along the metallic blade, her weapon bears no oddities. There are no sparks, sizzles, or noises.
Ahriman laughs, softly, and chides, "Young fellow, relax. You'll only hurt yourself. Sit back and enjoy." He pats the bubble affectionately, little ripples flaring brightly and spreading as Ahriman's gaze lifts to the pair of sword-wielding mortals putting on their spectacle. He leans then, relaxing as might a cat, against the far end of the bubble to watch. "I credit my charming personality, dear Bill! But perhaps you ought be minding that blade our Elf friend carries? I dare say it looks dreadfully sharp."
"Anyone wanna *thump* pop this thing?" Libre calls out to the tense women nearby. He stops hitting the side for a moment but looks ready to bolt if it were to suddenly disappear.
"It is what it is," Celaeno says with a shrug, blowing a lopsided smoke-ring. "And I think Dark's trying to keep you out of harms way," she spits out the rest of the cigar. "In case our friend here decides to keep on being a bitch." Her smirk fixes itself in place. "You know how it is."
"Not pull blade first." Daeni reminds Celaeno of this fact. A request is then made of Ahriman without her focus drifting far from the pulled blade or its bearer. "Be silent, dark one, or put middle of blades." She may not hold the greatest comprehension of American, but she receives the impression that Celaeno might not object to that placement.
Ahriman gazes lazily into the blue globe, a white point of pressure against the bubble at his hip. Something hard, there. His focus is solely on the muscular man inside, Daeni's words no more touching him than rain does the dark of night. "Human, do you trully want your freedom? You've weighed your options, made your choice, and are willing to live with the consequences?" A white-capped grin colors those last four words, and the next four as he adds, "Or die with them?" He trails a black hand along the soap bubble, a white point of contact sending ripples and shockwaves along the bubble, calming then as he draws back that pointed finger. Waggling it slowly, hanging like a headsman's axe to fall at Libre's whim. "Tell me your name, human, before you decide your fate."
Libre takes a slower breath and starts to collect himself. "Libre Geurrero from El Paso. And I guess Bill's right, it they start going all Kurisowa I'm probably better off in here." He smooths his hair down with his right hand and rubs the back of his neck while taking in the tense situation waiting outside. "What should I call you, Senior?"
"The sword," Celaeno grins, "Has very little to do with anything at all." The conversation between the bubble-boy and the invisible man goes on mostly outside of her realm of understanding, though she moves to lean a little more heavily against the bubble. "The issue is your bullshit. Among other things, of course" she glances half toward Ahriman.
Daeni snorts, apparently understanding enough of that to take offense. "Am not one who stink." Celaeno cannot be blamed for all of the atrocious smells, including bull shit, but the alcohol and vinegar is bad enough. Whether the conversation between Ahriman and Libre is not understood or simply ignored, Daeni does not contribute to it. "If sword not part, put away. Maybe live to drink more."
"Call me Ahriman," the black creature greets. "Everyone else does." He relaxes then, trailing a finger idly along the soap bubble as he watches the events before him. After a moment, he whispers a few more words, to seemingly no effect, and he rests his head on his hand. "Are we taking bets, Libre Geurrero from El Paso?" he wonders with that grin on his voice.
"Um, I try to only bet on competitions when I know how it's fixed and never on anything legit," Libre says with less than complete comfort. Looking around at all the players present he moves his hand from his neck and begins popping his fingers to dissipate his nervous energy.
Celaeno frowns at nothing, giving a shrug as she leans fully against the bubble. "Ah, you're not worth it. After all, where's the money?" she asks, "If you want to take off, I'm not stopping you." She grins before calling over her shoulder, "And I've twenty on a lot of blustering and no actual payoff."
"Maybe smart human." Daeni concedes this with Celaeno's apparent reconsideration. Her blade lowers and more of her attention is spared Ahriman and the bubble boy. "What do with him?" The curiosity in her tone is mild, yet likely extends beyond Libre's entrapment.
The black being muses, "I'd fix it for you, but then how could we bet?" He looks so very comfortable there, splayed against the bubble. He frowns, as if in deep thought, and calls back, "I'll take that! Twenty says someone throws a blow." He pokes at the bubble, laughing like a poorly-regulated Harley. "See? Bill knows how to have a good time." He tilts his head to the left, pondering the pair, and speaks more quietly at Libre, "Granted, they may not be throwing them at one another."
Libre hears Celaeno's taunt and drops his eyes for a moment before calling out. "Come on guys. If a magic shadow wants you to fight, does it really sound like something you want to do?" Libre turns to look squarely at Ahriman. "No offense, just comes off as a suspect thing to do is all".
The back of Celaeno's sword traces its way along her thumb before sliding home to its sheathe - the imperceptible humming having come to an end moments prior. "You'll do what you do," she says to Daeni, "But if I hear you talking shit saying that we're not worthwhile again, I'll lay you flat, hey? He gets a pass because he's an idiot," she jerks a thumb over to the far side of the bubble, "Plus, when he gets his, it's going to be a lot more than a smack upside the head." She pushes off the big blue thing, swiveling, "He's just looking for something to pass the aeons," she calls through the bubble to Libre, "Afterall, this place gets boring as hell. And somebody here owes me a drink, or a smoke, or something."
"Say many human stupid, lazy, worthless, not all." Daeni is the second to sheathe her blade. "If find one not, you bring so can see." As her eyes shift to Ahriman, she adds, "Not only human can be stupid. If want fight, easy find, not like find." Libre's counsel, coming as it does from his current prison, requires no further comment from Daeni on the topic of non-elven talent.
Ahriman looses a little sigh, pulling a card from his suit pocket and carefully regulating the amount. He presses it against another, apparently spare, and tucks the original back into his suit pocket. Holding the freshly-loaded card up and back, in mid-air, he peers at Daeni expectantly and twitches it back away from Celaeno, waiting. "What will it be? Throwing a blow?" He sounds a little hopeful, there, eyeing the Elf. He's about to lose twenty credits!
Some of Libre's tension disappears with the sword but definitely not all of it. "I think Bill has a good idea. We can all go for drinks or a nice walk along the river. It's a lovely night for all that non-lethal, friendly kind of stuff." He takes the opportunity to make sure his shirt is tucked in properly.
Celaeno makes her way to face Ahriman, considering him briefly before shifting her wait into a sudden roundhouse kick aimed towards his jaw. Her recovery takes a moment for her to draw back up, "Damn, guess I'll have to owe you," she grins broadly, "Now really, drop the bubble, unless you plan on pressganging him into service, like that one lady, hmm?"
Daeni initial reaction to the sudden kick is to regain her prior tensed posture before she even processes the intended target. Her secondary response, after witnessing the combination of Ahriman's role as receiver and Celaeno's delivery, is to release a brief, yet surprising hearty laugh.
Ahriman slides down the side of the bubble, flowing like water in an unconventional sort of dodge that looks quick rather than skilled. The motion traces a great blue-white swath of light that flares in the dark alley, casting a pale glow that flares along the nearby wall and catches Libre in a momentary halo of light. Tucking the card back into his coat jacket, the black being takes a step back and snaps his fingers. Striding back down the nearest alley, he calls, "I'm adding that to Sinclair's bill!" Quiet laughter follows the black being as shadows chase themselves up the alley walls, bathing Ahriman in blessed darkness and then fading back to light leaving him simply disappeared.
Libre jerks slightly when Celaeno's foot starts whipping about the place. "I Dios mia, you guys have some muy loco compadres." Libre steps out from where the bubble had been as if testing to be sure it was really gone. He looks to Celaeno, "That is not a nice way to spend an evening, Bill."
Celaeno smirks to herself, muttering in a tone that only supernatural hearing might be able to pick up, "Like that bastard's ever getting paid." She gives a protracted stretch, loosening up her shoulders. Eyebrows lift at Libre, "I can think of a lot worse," she grins. "And only a few better. But I think I need to go try and sleep off this headache. Don't get eaten by squid," she says, turning to make her own much less flashy exit.
Following the brief outburst of amusement, Daeni returns to somber sobriety. Save for Libre, it seems the others are returning to whatever business they had before. A portion of each departure is observed, in turn, before Daeni looks to Libre with mild curiosity. "Feel safe now ...bubble gone?" Not all of her bemusement departed, perhaps.
Libre shakes his head . "Ya know I don't mind bubbles when they are made of gum and I'm blowing them." Libre rubs his eyes in a clear sign of his being suddenly very tired. "I'm going home so I can have some nice relaxing nightmares now." He walks backward a few steps so he can see the area he's leaving. "Nothing personal it's just been a long day and about 20 hours of it happened in the last 10 minutes," he says before turning his back on the gathering for what he hopes is the last time, at least tonight.
