Jan 20 16:54:58 108 PA - Fast Times at The Alibi

From Chronicles

Jan 20 16:54:58 108 PA.

THE ALIBI

It's "magic hour" at the Alibi, on a rowdy Saturday night. The clock has just about flipped over to nine in the evening, but what makes it a real blast is the fact that in one corner of the club is a blue-skinned, four-breasted D-Bee having a wicked bachelorette party. In the other corner, distant side of the club is presumably her fiance, having an equally rowdy bachelor party. Thus you have two clashing bunches of gender, two clashing music styles, two classes of dirty jokes, two clashes of gifts, but rather ironically, a pretty equally defined spread of humorous sexual enhancement objects. Sex toys. At least, people probably hope that it's humorous. Most of them are well on their way to getting loaded, and all of this is rather dumbing-down the Alibi's normally level-headed mix of class and brash. Oh well. At least it's warm, and even Gabriel seems to be dressed for entertainment tonight, sitting on his stool at the bar counter itself, half-on, half-off, as he is wont to do. It's probably going to be one of those nights where you have to yell in order to whisper. But hell, life is strange sometimes, and there's nothing that you can do about it.

Sebastien jogs back from one side of the room -- the ladies' side, of course -- with a scandalized look on his face as he reaches to one of those oval-shaped gaps in his pants to pull out a rubber phallus. Lobbing it underhand back at their party, he laughs out loud and half-collapses against the bar, panting, as he declares, Yes, I would stay far, far away from them if I were you." He gives a daring look over his shoulder from the bar -- apparently neutral territory, and eases gingerly onto a stool.

Vargus sidles in from the chilly evening outside, stopping in the 'check area' to drop his pistol into a lockbox, and stopping to allow his armor to liquify and roll over his body, to collect in a thorny mass in his right hand. He slips the big ball under his cloak, where it disappears inside a sack that has no business holding that much material. A survey of the club reveals the competing parties, and the rather obvious theme of each. He shakes his head, moving toward the bar, and then stops at Sebastien's rather distinctive arrival. Sliding into a stool he smirks at the man, "Should have kept it.. I think it was your color."

It's a good thing that Gabriel chooses that one-cheek, other-cheek stance when he sits, because he has to dodge out of the way when Sebastien comes barreling his direction and slams the bar right over where he'd been sitting. Somehow he manages to not spill his glass of brown fluid. In a greatly ironic tone, one enhanced by his Kentucky drawl, the older fellow greets, "Evening, Sebastien. Didn't see you when I came in. Guess you were busy with the ladies. I probably won't want to know what you were doing holding on a dick that wasn't your own." He grins widely and pulls from his glass before politely asking, "What're you drinking tonight? What can I get for you and then allow the bartender to expect you to pay for?"

Sebastien calls out, "Long island," giving the bartender an extra grin, and peers sideways at Vargus. He slides a little towards the mage, getting just a touch *too* close, to say, "What, that little thing?" It was nine inches long. "Non, if I'm going to have cock, it has to be..." He closes his fist hard, doing his best Popeye with his forearm as if to indicate girth. "Rocks your world. I'll lend it to you sometime." He winks at Vargus, and staggers back as he spies Gabriel. "Mon Dieu!" he exclaims. "So that's what you look like under all those clothes!"

Vargus rolls his eyes at Sebastien and shakes his head, "Thank, but, I'm fine. Anything I need, I can always summon...." he lets that hang out there, then leans over and gives Gabriel a wave-of-greeting. "Evening.." he yell-whispers, "Man I can never figure out why I keep coming in here. Place is so loud they can hear it in other dimensions."

"I'm a real sheik, all right," Gabriel says with a chuckle in response to Sebastien's subtle (or not so subtle) jab. "Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I had a beautiful woman lie to me and make me feel good, but I'm pretty sure that your average human woman wouldn't like being stabbed by a nine-plus-inch penis. You know the apparently very innocent, demure, blushing bride?" Hmm, looks like his drink may have a fizz to it. Again. The bulky humanoid is noted - how could he be missed - but not really recalled. Still, polite is polite, and he both bobs his head with a smile and raises his glass in greeting. "Evening. You with the groom?" Of course, none of this is at normal volume. No, it did in fact turn out that conversation is being conducted primarily by yelling. Some DJ is getting serious money tonight.

"Are you kidding?" Sebastien half-yells back. "That's Vargus. He's with the bride ... As entertainment! Didn't you see the cape?" He leans towards Gabriel, turning towards Vargus to point out the man's clothing, "You know what he's got under that? Nothing!" He gives Gabriel a suggestive head nod."

The older man spins around as a man and woman go past playing grab-ass, tumbling over in the middle of the floor and nearly needing to be hosed-down by some bouncers who are at least enforcing *some* standards tonight. The woman blushes brightly and returns to her side. The man is a mean drunk, and is thrown out of the bar - followed by raucous laughter coming from the rest of the men at the bachelor party side of the establishment. However, when Gabriel is able to settle once more on his stool - then watches the other, caped fellow hurry out - he points his free left-hand at Sebastien and his kinky outfit. "Scared the poor man, off, Seb. Must have been sudden stage fright. You actually know the broad, or just fitting in well?" After a quick sip of his drink, he adds in, "Met with that guy today."

Sebastien and Gabriel sit in the DMZ. To their right a bachelor party is in full swing -- beer, catcalls about heading to the Ivory Lady, and one guy seems to have lost his pants. Sooner or later they'll be ejected, likely to seek harbor on friendlier shores. To the pair's left is a matching bachelorette party, sweeter drinks, sex toys, and what looks like a lap dance skirting the bounds of acceptable. And yet, for some strange reason, Sebastien is parked in the middle. With the old guy. He replies, "I just get along well. But they *did* run me off, recall?" Sebastien laughs and peers back across the bar, before wondering, "And did you learn anything new? When I asked, it seemed things were so much in flux."

The old guy manages a chuckle before sipping from a glass... containing what is probably just another cola-type fizzy-soda of some kind. "Learn? No." Gabriel ticks off some points on his free fingers. "I learned that the man you sent me to is an arrogant asshole. I learned that he apparently has no idea what he needs. I learned that he thinks that I am in desperate need of his assistance. I learned that he is *not* in charge of things. Someone called 'the boss' is in charge. I learned that he knows absolutely nothing beyond the fact that something is destroying towns up near Tolkeen, supposedly on both sides of the Front. But he couldn't give me a good count, or what was left after they were destroyed, or any other piece of intelligence worth flipping a dime at." He gives Sebastien a significant, stern look. "Fucker doesn't know shit, he's at best a front for 'the boss' and he arrived here with someone who's been hanging around the Magic District." He shrugs elaborately. "They're going to have to do some real convincing at the meeting he wants to arrange between prospective hires, or I'll let him walk. Like to get Sage in there to get a read on them when they talk. He and the 'boss.' See if there's anything truthful about them at all. Oh, and he's offering between fifteen-hundred and two-thousand a day, plus any salvage, if you care."

"So," Sebastien replies. "What we know is that it will pay..." He frowns, and thinks. "Say ten hours a day of travel, thirty miles an hour, a day there to investigate..." He reaches for his Long Island, gulping as he muses. "So ten grand plus salvage." He makes a face, and notes, "I would be bringing seven million in gear. Plus my," he grins, "priceless life. So." He shrugs, and says, "You know what, my jet pack has a range of eight hundred miles. I could fly there, look around, and fly back. Make it an overnight at some town on the way. See if there is any truth to what he says."

Gabriel nods. "Makes more sense to make a quick aerial recon pass of an area, if it's not going to be too obvious. Figure no one'd be paying much attention to smashed towns, though - if they really exist. Man didn't even know what he wanted, except for escort. Not recon. Not preparation for combat. Just escort. I really, *really* don't feel good with anyone who just says, 'hey, come along, I'll pay you.'" He shakes his head. "If it weren't for the possibility of innocent women and children being killed, I'd already have moved along. I don't do mercenary work. Want to know what he and the 'boss' are all about though. Feel a lot better if you'd drum up a psychic, y'know?" The older man empties his glass, and asks for another refill of... 'Donovan's Fizz.'

"I know a few," Sebastien replies, "and a mage can do the same thing. Can even force a person to speak the truth -- the police have some on staff -- but how will we even be able to tell the difference between a mysteriously destroyed town and one destroyed by the war? And since he will not tell me where exactly we would go, how we would get there, what is wrong with the towns themselves..?" Sebastien shakes his head. "Well, I'll ask along a couple psychics I know. Reading the mind of another is extremely rude, and often illegal, but." He shrugs. "So is murder."

The older man places his mouth close to Sebastien's ear. "I don't often trust the Law to be able to get out of their own way. If this is going to be done, if it's going to be done right, we do it ourselves. Turns out this guy's dirty, then we isolate him from the area, then we call in the cops. Meantime?" Gabriel shrugs. "You want it done right, you gotta do it yourself, or leave it to someone you trust. This guy... I've been doin' this shit a long time, and there's a helluva lot more to the story than either you or I has heard. We just sign on with him, might both end up dead somewhere in in Iowa cornfield."

Sebastien leans in to listen, nodding, and reaches to pat Gabriel on the shoulder, before reaching down into his pants to dreg up some money. Who knows where it's been? The young man just replies, "He does have another chance for his song and dance. When he does, I'll have a psychic with me. And if I can't scout the route, I can scout the man. That is a start, non?" He shrugs, placing money on the counter for the drink before slipping from his stool. "Well, I should be getting back. Au revoir, monsieur Gabriel. Now we exercise the most important talent a man in our line of work can have." He grins, and steps away. "Patience."

After watching his erstwhile companion leave, and glancing back and forth between the two parties that are obviously just seconds away from being kicked out of the normally classy place... Gabriel too decides to leave. Sure, it's still early-evening, but it's always a good time to sit and talk with Natasha. He pays his tab, and heads out.