Dec 03 16:31:18 107 PA - A New Face and Strippers, Too
From Chronicles
Dec 03 16:31:18 107 PA.
THE IVORY LADY
It's just as late as tonight at the end of Gabriel's day as it was early this morning at the beginning of his day. Of course, he started out in near silence with only a hot cup of coffee, and he's finishing up his day in an unfortunate cacophony of "music," booze, and scantily-clad women of various species. Lots of intra-species screaming, the occasional drunken-shove. Finally, the ever present flat-out prostitute pushing her wares (usually two of them) against the men (and women) of the Ivory Lady. As for himself, he's parked himself in the dead center of the rowdy establishment and is tilting back a brown-translucent bottle, much like four empty ones that share his table.
Bernard steps into the Ivory Lady, moving past the doormen after paying his cover fee and into the main room of the strip club. His gaze casually takes in the place, noting the variety of dancers. He does spot the somewhat familiar man sitting in the middle of the club and he begins across the room, "Ending the night with a bang, hmn?"
Gabriel's head doesn't move, but his eyes do. His bottle remains up-tipped for a time, then quickly lowered and banged on the table. His free left hand is waved toward the other man in a broad and inviting gesture. "Yes, they say that variety is the spice of life, don't they? Sit your ass down and take in the experience." The Kentuckian lowers his chair down just enough to kick out a chair on the opposite side of the table. Despite the four empty bottles and now fifth, half-empty bottle, he doesn't sound inebriated or even tipsy. Just seems jovial.
Bernard moves towards the kicked out chair, shifts his cape and moves to sit his ass on down, "Indeed." He says as he settles in, "That's why limiting yourself to only one world can be so dreary." He says with a grin.
"As you're new here, I'll buy. What do you take, my bizarre new friend?" Gabriel tips back his bottle again, drinking deeply, then pounds it hard against the table - empty. He's grinning widely, obviously enjoying himself. Something that most people who know him might actually find unnerving.
"Well, I'm not terribly familiar with the drinks here, but I know you've got Vodka here, so something with vodka in it would be fine." Bernard replies with a shrug.
A quick click of fingers brings not one, but two more identical brown-translucent bottles. Gabriel grabs one with his left hand, and pushes the other one hard enough that it glides across the table to the other man. You know, he may actually be ambidextrous. "Brifcor. Well, actually a cheap knock-off." The man rolls it around in his hand, off center, and sticks his tongue out toward the bottle. "It's a Romanian drink, theoretically. When I knew it, it was orange and fizzy. Now?" He shrugs. "You can live on it, and you don't get drunk, so it has its perks. How was your day? Stuck out in the rain?"
"Romania?" Bernard asks, "Not familiar with the place." He says, though he does take the glass, lifting it up to his nose and taking a sniff from it, then takes a swig.
Gabriel nods, set his chair down, and leans across the table. He opens one of the pockets over his heart and withdraws a 3x3 color photograph - obviously taken with an old camera and ancient film emulsion. "My Natashka, she was from Romania. My family, from Poland, though I was born here." The man seems to possibly forget that 'here' really isn't 'here' anymore. "I had a wonderful family and a wonderful life, living in Virginia." He shakes the photograph gently. "Romania." The picture is small, but speaks volumes. The setting is a sunny, forested area before a home that appears to have been carved right out of the natural topography. Gabriel, in a nice suit, is standing next to an exquisite woman. Much like the man, the woman is clearly of direct Slavic descent. She's even shorter than the short man, possibly topping out at only five-foot-tall at best. Despite her height, she could definitely have been a famous pin-up girl from the 1940-50s. Of course, her eyes are much brighter and more intelligent than simply some piece of flesh. Still, her body... she's dressed in a typical hugging skirt, low heels, blouse, bolero-type petticoat, and raked, round-brimmed hat. All of it in a pleasant robin's-egg blue. She's thin, but the early 20th century-type thin, where women actually continued to have flesh on their bones. Nice legs clad in nylons, round hips, and a bosom that you could do Shakespeare from. Yeah. Huge. As in, not really even controlled by the outer coat that she's wearing. It's not a flagrant showing off, though. In fact, she seem to be going to lengths to tone it down. Her face is tanned, with an angelic smile beneath brown eyes. The hair that pours down from her head is almost literal in that sense, extending just past the small of her back, though today it has been woven around her neck so that it actually hangs down the front of her torso. Of course, there are delicate touches of lipstick and other makeup, with jewelry only in presence to punctuate her finer features. Essentially just simple earrings, a small, obviously religious cross necklace, and a plain silver band on the fourth finger of her right hand - the same finger, and an identical ring to what Gabriel is wearing. Her head is leaned against the man's shoulder, and they're both smiling widely, smiles of pure joy. Behind the couple are at least fifteen girls, aged twelve to twenty, of varying ethnic groups of European and west-Asian origin. Everyone looks very happy - even the girls with their own presumed husbands and children of their own. At the bottom of the photograph, someone with very good penmanship has written the words, "Blaze family at Underwood, 1956."
"Huh." Bernard says as he looks over the photograph, "A nice family you have there. Poland still survives, sort of. There is a rather prosperous city, though Brodkil are pounding on it's doors. I never went through that area though." He explains with a shrug. "1956, hmn? That's a long trip forward you took."
The older man smiles and pulls back into his seat, putting the photograph back into his pocket with great reverence. A keen observer might also see a length of pink ribbon in the pocket before it's closed with a rubberized latch-hook. His face remains sad for a while, and he then closes his eyes and touches the crucifix on his neck, lips mouthing what are probably prayers, if you're used to seeing that kind of thing. But after a moment, Gabriel grabs his bottle, leans back, takes a long pull.. then slams it down, a big grin on his face again. "They are a great family. She's a great wife." Present-tense. Oh well. "So, Poland. Which city is it? My mother was from Jastrzebie Zdrój. It's in the south."
"Poznan, I believe it was called." Bernard says with a slight little shrug of his shoulders, he doesn't seem to show any recognition to the prayers, "I hear there are a lot of Juicers and Crazies there. Maybe something of a European Kingsdale?" he says with a shrug, "I don't really know though."
Gabriel grunts. "Well, apparently it's settled. The whole world's gone to shit. Guy the other day told me the same thing about Siberia. Not that I really give a fuck for anything outside of American borders." He tilts the bottle. "Africa's a hole, and it always will be. Same with South America, but worse, because Argentina continued to house fugitive Nazi bastards. Fucking Japs prance around like they have this superhuman sense of honor, then they make sneak attacks at the *same time* they're actively passing along peace documents! FUCK!" He's rather steamed and on a momentary rant. "Russia? The Russian people are actually very nice, good people. But their leaders are nutjobs. In their case, it's the country you can't trust. The Aussies were good folk. Normal enough. But I'm sorry, I have nothing good to say about what Western Europe became." If the older man began with a point, it's probably missing by now.
"It doesn't seem so bad over here." Bernard says in response, "Plenty of opportunities for someone to prosper, and nothing threatening to destroy all of humanity, really." He says, "Or at least nothing in a position to actually succeed." he adds.
"No, that's the problem!" The man seems to have relaxed from his previous high. "Now you have humans insisting on being humans again, just like Adolf. Nothing as good as a white man from Germany, except for a white woman from Germany to bear him many white German children. Except of course, this time it's humans, not white people from Germany." Gabriel shrugs and moves off-topic, waving a hand to indicate a change of subject to the Ivory Lady. "This place? I hate it. The music's too loud, the drinks are terrible and overpriced, and it tears my heart to see these girls. You know, those girls in the photograph with us? All adopted. Romania, Russia, Poland, Greece, France, and yes, Germany, Italy, and America. We found them working as sex slaves for a communist group in New York. Sabiene was only eight. So these girls?" Gabriel gazes around. "I come here to remind myself that there are things that I can set right, that I have set right, that I can set right again."
"I don't understand what's so wrong with humans being humans." Bernard says with a grin, "I've profited just fine by being a human, and it's fine with me if other humans don't like that but I don't fault them for doing the same thing I do." He shrugs, "Most of the non human inhabitants of the world want to feed on us, or enslave us, or destroy us and take the world for themselves."
Gabriel arches an eyebrow. "That's almost word for word the same excuse that every dictator, every oppressive conquer, every emperor, every king and queen and faggot court jester ever used to justify death by their hand, or by the hand of someone they ordered around." He pulls on his drink, then lowers it. "Not many people see the difference between defending yourself and your family, and unnecessarily taking the lives of others. That's unfortunate."
"Both are acts of humanity though, are they not?" Bernard asks, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions, they say. You start out defending your family, your loved ones, and what you care for and it is good and righteous. But when your enemies are all gone you stagnate and some people rise to the top by exploiting those beneath them so soon you return to a state of imbalance again where you have an exploitive upper class and people will rise up to defend what they think is right and just only to repeat the cycle again." He says, "Humanity is as cruel as it is kind. This city here profits off of destroying other humans through their juicer programs, all in the name of creating wealth for itself, or at least for individuals. How many people have you killed in the pursuit of justice, when just disabling them or detaining them would have suited your goals just the same?"
The man shakes his head again. "No, no. It's not that easy. You do something, you do it. You don't fuck around, you just hammer something as hard and as fast and as quietly as you can. When I was with the Raiders, we struck fast, and hard, and groups of people and piles of equipment were killed or destroyed. With the CIA, yeah, it was usually assassination. Sometimes stealing someone for questioning - who would later die and never be heard from. Very rarely, a turncoat or scientist who we wanted to work for us." Gabriel shrugs. "I'm not saying that the world has to be all flowers, love, and handjobs. I'm not a naive fool. Yes, humanity goes in cycles, and history records it. What I *am* saying -" he pauses for a sip "- is that as long as I'm around, I'm going to do what I believe is right to make the world a better place for everyone, no matter what they are, or what kind of government they may currently live under." Gabriel then pokes the silver crucifix around his neck. "I firmly believe that God, in His infinite wisdom, bore every man and woman, of any species, with a certain ingrained sense of right and wrong. People know it. It's the ones who purposefully ignore it to do evil who are the ones I blame for the death."
"So you want to impose your own little portion of humanity on humanity, and demonize the rest of human behaviour?" Bernard asks, "I think the issue more accurately is tied to your views of Morality, rather than your views of how humans act. Morality is something of an illusion, a luxury item though. It's a tool humans use to judge others, and look down upon them. But I think we can both agree that you're acting human. You are going to protect what you believe in, and destroy what you perceive as a threat. The Coalition perceives magic as a threat, the Federation of Magic perceives the Coalition as a threat, the Germans perceive the Gargoyles as a threat, and you perceive all of the governments of earth as a threat, and everyone is fighting against what they view as threats. It's human to oppose things that you are fearful of, really."
Gabriel nods, conceding the point. "Human, yes. But that doesn't make it right." He sips at his drink again. "I don't wander around saving the city of Kingsdale. I just try to protect the individual freedoms of people who are being deprived of life, liberty, and happiness. Thomas Jefferson. Very wise man."
"Again, very human of you, and I have no problem with humans behaving like humans." Bernard says with a shrug, "But my views are different than most I suppose." He says with a little grin.
The older gentleman from Kentucky slides off of philosophy and politics, onto more fertile and friendly ground. "So, Bernard. How'd you spend your day? Better yet, what's *your* excuse for coming to this rotten place?" Gabriel waves his hand in a 360-degree panorama of the Ivory Lady.
"I'm taking in all the sights." Bernard explains, "One should know the city he lives in, whether he lives there for a short time, or the rest of his life. Now I know what to expect of this place if I were to choose to come back again in the future."
Gabriel squints sideways. "I thought you couldn't come back. Or are you just talking about moving to Canada for a while." He chuffs. "Canada. Another shithole. I've been there, too. People are idiots. Like going to London, but without even the attempt at being classy." He then dips his head in irony. "No offense to London. I just never really cared for the British, either. Pissed and moaned and got their asses kicked until we entered the war, then Roosevelt was chicken-shit enough to let himself get pushed around by that fat fuck Churchill. But I digress. Still deciding whether or not to stay, huh?" The older man shrugs. "Only reason that I know I'm staying here is because Natasha is here."
"You can't go back in time, but I presume that this establishment will be around next time I want to come here, if I want to." Bernard says with a shrug, "And I am going to stay, for a while. That is certain, I can't really leave on my own yet. And this is as good a place as any, there is access to magical knowledge, weapons, technology, and credits here in Kingsdale."
"So you are mercenary? Stay here to make some money, buy some trinkets? Seems like half the city makes a living with bullets and various forms of energy and mind fucks that I don't understand." Gabriel raises his pinkie-finger as he tilts his bottle back. "Not that I mean that as an insult. Just an observation that you can't deny. While you're here, the coffee place is nice, the deli's good, there's a gym and a library, and a bar to suit just about every interest you could want, from class to sick sexual fetish. You know, like this place." He ends with a wide grin.
"I'm not really a mercenary, no. I've done work for money, some of it violent, but I don't make a habit of fighting other people's wars for them." Bernard says. "But I have the skills set of most mercenaries, I suppose."
Sip sip sip. Gulp. Fizz. Clonk goes the bottle on the table. Gabriel takes in the man for a moment. "Okay. Broad-spectrum, or are you a specialist? Magic maybe? Mind fuck or brain basher? I really don't understand that shit, but I'm starting to handle it. So - what do they teach kids in New Camelot these days?"
"I've quite the range of skills, I suppose. I know my way around heavy weapons, I can be stealthy and survive on the land, And I've some magical background as well." Bernard explains, "Though not like the mages you've likely run into here in North America." He says, "And I don't rightly know what sort of education they get."
Gabriel nods. "I'm not a heavy weapon guy. I don't exist, which is why I'm still alive and good at what I do. You wouldn't believe what the Raiders go through in training. Brutal. So brutal that they cut us out not long after dubya-dubya two. A lot of living off the land, a lot of recruits dying in the process. But anyway. Magic? I don't even pretend to pretend to pretend that I have absolutely any idea what it does. Psychics; they trouble me too. I don't hold anything against psychics and mages. But we fear what we don't understand, and controlled fear is healthy." He drums his fingers on the table as the music momentarily lulls during a band change on stage. "How are you so unusual?"
"I just study older magic, that most don't understand." Bernard explains, "And I don't know a thing about your raiders, but I suspect that I can understand brutal training." He says with a soft little grin. From afar, to (Gabriel, Bernard): Sage tsks, "Always knew Gabriel was really just a bad influence."
The older man grins and dips his head again. "I expect you can, Bernard. Look us up. Colonel Carlson. The Makin Island Raid. First real operation of the war by the United States, period, in any theater, definitely the first against the Jap motherfuckers." Gabriel sighs and looks at his watch, then puts his wrist back on the table. "Getting late. But not that late. How is magic older than any other magic? Remember, you're speaking to a man who knows nothing about magic, except that I have a certain individual magician who needs to be dealt with."
"I don't even know what war you're talking about, or what the United States is." Bernard says in response to that, "And just like some weapons are older than others, same with my magic." He explains, "And more powerful in many ways."
Gabriel snorts softly. "Okay, fine. I have you captive in conversation. My magic knowledge is how to pull a coin from behind my daughters' ears, or make a rock disappear with my sleeves pulled up. Harry Houdini, now he was good. Getting out of handcuffs and chains, straight-jackets, all while underwater with a swinging axe over his head." The man points the neck of his bottle at the other man. "In fifty words or less, in simple terms, what is modern freakish magic, and how does it work? Assume that you can lump your 'old magic' into the same category as you're talking to an ignorant man."
Bernard considers for a few moments, "Well, quite plainly I can manipulate Time and Space." he says with a shrug of his shoulder. "From simple parlor tricks, to stopping time, or prematurely aging someone to the end of their natural lifespan."
He takes it in stride. "Uh-huh. Well, that's how things seem to be going these days. I imagine that there would be a lot of people who wouldn't exactly appreciate having that kind of thing around, y'know? Probably something you should keep to yourself around here, Bernard. I don't care how progressive people are here. Not that I'm particularly fond of any of it." Gabriel shrugs. "So what do you do? Chant, dance around in circles beat-off and *boom* there you go manipulating time and space?"
"I don't go advertising it, no." Bernard says with a smile, "And nothing so elaborate, an incantation, a few gestures, and force of will are all it takes really."
The older man shrugs mildly. "I guess I just have to go about it 'old school' as apparently the recent saying goes." He taps the long-barreled sidearm on his thigh. "Of course, I have had to learn to use these new energy weapons. They're okay. But it just isn't the same solid feeling of knowing what you're doing than having a rifle buck against your shoulder. Further -" Gabriel pauses to sip at his bottle... then wave down yet another new one "- bullets are cheap, but the price of electricity has soared."
"Not all bullets are cheap, but a rifle has it's uses, yes." Bernard says, "It's best to be well versed. So, you have a mage you need dealt with? Tell me about him, what do you know about his abilities?"
Gabriel nods. "I know that he's a murderer. Directly responsible for one death, indirectly responsible for a second death, and I heard a rumor that he's involved in a third death as well. A very dark individual, literally and figuratively." The man pauses as a girl thrusts her chest in his face, there is a discussion of how she could get better, more honest work in the Merchant's Plaza, then she's off with a bit of a huff. "Sorry. Ah, yes, he manipulates people's minds, and makes himself invisible in a number of ways. Makes people believe things, want things, do things that they would never do if he wasn't in their mind. But I'm dealing with the situation. Admittedly, it's unusual, but it fits well with how I operated within the Company."
Bernard considers, "Does he manipulate minds with magic, or with Psionic powers?" he asks, "And in what was does he make himself invisible? Does he have any specific immunities, defenses, or items that help protect him and keep him alive?"
The man lifts an eyebrow. "I did say that he's a mage, didn't I?" but Gabriel goes on to chuckle. "How the fuck should I know? Have you not been paying attention to my continually admitting that I don't understand any of the magic shit that goes on around here? Psychics?" The Kentuckian looks rather amused.
"Well it's important so you know how to counter it." Bernard says, "If you don't understand your enemy your chance of defeating him decreases. Certain types of invisibility can be seen by very easy to acquire Technological devices, for example."
There's a shrug. "Well, I'm afraid that you'll have to find someone else to answer your questions. I've yet to recruit a mage to deal with the problem, and if they know more than I do beyond what I've just said, they're holding out on me. None of which I believe of the people I'm organizing." Gabriel smiles. "I'd give you the fellow's name, but I'm afraid that I don't know you well enough yet to trust you with it. Loose lips sink ships, and all. No offense."
"Fair enough. Perhaps you and your friends should think about finding out that information before you act." Bernard says, "Unless you plan to add a few more names to the ranks of the deceased. But that's just my advice."
Another head is dipped, another bottle raised. "I do appreciate your advice. However, I've been in this business for twenty years. Half my life. Setting ambushes has become more of a hobby at this point, gone beyond even a skill or an art. The way that I deal with situations in this, where leaving no trail isn't an issue, and the foe is unknown? Surprise and overwhelming, well-planned firepower. I haven't seen anything yet that can't be killed by that kind of thing." Gabriel tilts his head. "Not even a dragon juicer, though unfortunately she was my friend and on the receiving end of overwhelming firepower that she instigated. It was unfortunate, she was a rather headstrong woman."
Bernard seems to have lost interest in the first part of the conversation, in favor of the later, "What in the hell is a Dragon Juicer?" he asks, his brow lifting a little, "I didn't think Dragons could be made into a Juicer.."
Gabriel laughs again, actually loudly this time. "Again, you're asking *me*? I don't know, what the fuck are any of these juicers?" He waves his hands in a circle. "Apparently she used dragon blood or something like that instead of normal drugs. I don't know. All I know is that I'd fought beside her on a number of occasions, and saw her get hit with things that would have destroyed a tank. I saw her rip a tank apart with her bare hands. But in the end, even her strength and healing abilities couldn't save her from one, singularly enormous blast from another tank and four Coalition commandos with heavy rifles of some kind." His eyes turn sad. "Unfortunately, like I said, it was a fight that she started, and it was entirely unnecessary. Absolutely nothing to be gained, except that she was hyped up on juice and wanted to kill Coalition soldiers who didn't look kindly on non-humans, particularly enhanced non-humans. I fought with her, nearly died fighting. Would have died fighting, save for when she was killed, there was no reason for me to continue to engage. Ran like hell and got lucky that they didn't decide to follow." Again, he raises his hands, palms to the sky. "But if you want real details, you'll have to ask one of the juicer techs."
"Huh." Bernard says with a slight nod of his head, "Sounds impressive, far more impressive then a regular juicer." He says, "Interesting. Sounds like some sort of blood magic to me, drawing power from the Draconic essence and channeling it into a human."
The man from Kentucky raises his hands in surrender. "Bernard, I don't even know what that's supposed to mean. I know shooting people with things, clubbing people with things, stabbing people with things, and taking people apart with explosives, *and* I know it with normal, well-exercised human muscles and instincts. Beyond that?" Gabriel's face quirks up. "It's like asking a girl in pigtails about how airplanes fly."
Bernard laughs, "Well, Kingsdale has quite the fine library, Perhaps they have a book telling you about magic in there. You can't afford to be ignorant in this world, or you'll find yourself not long for it."
"The Library of Congress had all the books I could ever want to read, but I wouldn't have been able to pull up Newton, or Aristotle, or da Vinci, and understand what they were saying. That's why it's important that the village elders be around to teach the youngsters." Gabriel smiles. "Sister Catherine was a very smart woman, and nice, too. Kind of unusual for a school-nun. The men and women of Hazard, they taught the boys and girls, respectively, the life lessons that they thought we needed to know. Reading is important. But you need a reference point to begin with. Or at least, you do if your brain works like mine. I guess that there are much smarter people than me who don't need teachers."
"There's an entire district of Mages here in Kingsdale than." Bernard counters, "But I think it's more of a desire not to learn about it that keeps you ignorant rather than a lack of resources to learn with or from."
Another chuckle comes from the older man. "Bernard, most of my time is spent working. Good, honest, hard labor that eats up a man's day. Even I need money for certain items. When I'm not doing that, I'm setting snares and hunting for my next meal. I don't have time to learn, save what I pick up day-to-day." Gabriel just shakes his head, his entire torso. "Times like this, this place of debauchery? Actually a fairly rare thing, and frankly something that never lasts as long as tonight's discussion. Speaking of which," Gabriel checks his watch again, "I should probably be going. That was certainly my conversational cue, wasn't it?" He sets his final empty bottle on the table next to the others and begins to get to his feet, kicking his chair back with the backs of his knees. "It's been good seeing you, getting to know you a little, Bernard. I'm sure we'll run into each other again."
"If you say." Bernard says with a shrug of his shoulders, "Enjoy yourself, and your trapping. Next time you venture out to a house of Debauchery perhaps I'll see you there."
Gabriel dips his head and sketches a sloppy barely pseudo-salute, smiles, bumps his way through two large drunk men, three waitresses, and at least one whore before disappearing into the night.
