Mar 16 16:48:02 106 PA
From Chronicles
The current game time is: Wed Mar 16 16:48:02 106 PA.
The Alibi is only just beginning to wake from the torpor of the early hours of the day. The evening staff has settled in and the 5 PM hour nears. Early revelers have begun to raise the noise level to rival the DJed music that begun just a few minutes before and Desmond is observing the beginning of the evening mutely from a place near to the edge of the stage nearest the doors to the back meeting rooms. Armored, armed and helmetless, the item held in the crook of his arm. Standing straight and firm, his eyes sweep employee and patron alike in this moment where he can give them a more detailed examination, making a mute study of the place.
Maya has done her shift, torn off her white coat, revealing the entirely unsuitable clothes beneath it. She has turned her footsteps towards the club, a place to let her hair down, to release the stresses of the day. A place that comes with evil purple drinks that she loves. She arrives, her hair up in bunches, heading towards the bar, a bounce in her step, and as she reaches it, she jumps, landing both feet firmly in front of it. A wave to the bar staff and she has a large purple drink, complete with straw, her mouth curving into a broad grin as she turns to survey the bar itself. Desmond becomes of interest, a thing of curiousity and she watches him openly for some time.
Desmond is, initially, not too interesting in his ways. Except for those who enjoy observing silent sentinels. Maya herself comes under scrutiny when she first enters, Desmond's eyes following her as she goes towards the bar. But, once reached, he seems satisfied with his prior observations, shifting to someone else. Though as the five PM hour rolls around and the trickle in becomes more a flow and study of the arriving patrons becomes more difficult on a personal basis, he leaves off on that and turns, striding slowly around the stage, just outside the edge of the central dance floor. Keeping out of the lights, making a slow circuit that will, in time, draw him towards the bar, though in the now he continues to move steadily along the wall of the place, helmet under arm, posture straight.
A flicker of silver, a shadow of flesh, and Sebastien emerges from the writhing, dancing throng in full clubbing attire. Sweat beads at his forehead and chest, blowing air as he turns back to the protestations of a blue-wrapped alien of some sort, plaintively begging forgiveness before he walks backwards to collapse on a stool. Panting heavily, he finally turns back to the bar with a grin. "One tall water," he calls, "and a shot of goldshlager!" For the moment he seems oblivious, though as he receives his water he turns back to eye the room. Catching, for the moment, Desmond.
Desmond's progress is clearly of interest to the woman as she settles herself onto a stool, drink in one hand, her other resting lightly on her knee. Should their eyes meet, she will offer him that broad grin, hazel eyes unashamedly assessing him. The DJ music is clearly a temptation to her and her feet jiggle as if she might leap off the stool and join the dancers at any moment. Sebastien's arrival gets a glance, and the interaction with the alien brings that grin back to her face.
Desmond only focuses on the bar itself when he comes near to it, his attention easily obtained by the two, in part, due to Seb's silver clad presence. Moving from considering him for a moment to a sweep of the bar, which includes Maya. Her attention on him earning her a moment more than the other occupied individuals at the bar. Perhaps the attention given is what leads him to come towards Maya and Seb, coming to a pause near to both. "I trust your evening here as begun well?" His deep voice rolling forth smoothly as his eyes flick from one to the other.
"Monsier!" Sebastien calls, waving at the great cat. "What is this?" he wonders. "I leave Kingsdale for a couple of days and people are being dragged from the streets?" Reaching behind him, the young man snatches up that tall water to place against his forehead, clearly overmatched by whomever he was dancing with moments before, and gulps greedily half the glass.
Maya hops from the stool, the music finally winning and she almost dances on the spot, lacking skill and grace but making up for it with enthusiasm showing in her face. "Do you dance at all, mister cat?" Her grin is broad, and she shakes her head, "Kill cat, creation of the Coalition, now breeding free. Am I right?" The scientist peeks out from the little goth girl, but only briefly, Sebastien's comment about people being dragged from the street sending that grin and the jiggle from her feet. "They are dragging people from the streets?"
Desmond fixes on Seb as he questions the incident not too long past. "Apparently so," he rumbles. "It came about before nightfall. The fog came again and, as many have spoken of, blood creatures emerges. Across the city, if reports are to be believed." The topic addressed simply, though the mention of it seems to discomfit some of the nearby bar patrons, one or two moving away to evade the dimmer on their good time. Maya's words get her attention, but her mention of his possible origins gets her a firmer look, it not seeming to please him exactly. "I have no formal training in dance, no," he responds precisely, leaving the other topic unanswered for the moment.
"I think 'breeding free' may be a tad, ah," Sebastien peers pointedly between Desmond's armored legs. "optimistic, mademoiselle." He leans over, shoulder nearly brushing hers as he mouths over the thundering bass, 'Eunuch.' "But ah," he continues, "the great cats, though renowned for their agility and strength, would never participate in such an activity. It is too crass. Now, should you find a suit of appropriate size for Desmond to wear, you may yet convince him to tango." He winks at the young woman, retrieving his syrupy, colorless drink to swirl the gold flecks in salute to Desmond before downing it with relish.
Maya notes the lack of reply, apparently not holding it against the feline, her grin returning to her face briefly. "We have had some arrive at the hospital." A passion lights up her eyes and she launches into a lecture tone, "It is fascinating, the pathology of the injuries to the survivors, and even to the cadavers..." She pauses, bringing herself back to the actual location of this conversation, and letting Sebastien's comment in her ear distract. "Really?" She replies, giving Desmond a look of deep sympathy, "Perhaps I should learn to dance." The thought is a passing one, apparently her mind being a thriving home to those fleeting thoughts.
"I do not dance because it is not something that appeals. Some might argue that combat is a dance of sorts, but it does not apply well to places such as this," Desmond corrects firmly, his attention lingering on Sebastien for a moment before he regards Maya for the rest of the answer. "I am more drawn by art. An agreeable form of expression. Though perhaps some day I will be taught about dance. Even so, it still doesn't speak to me in the way that other means of expression do." Whether or not he caught the rest remains unknown. Those ears are sharp, but the din is growing. Either way, they go without attention from him.
Sebastien leans towards Maya again, giving a little shrug. "Now mademoiselle, should you ever find the opportunity to learn, I might be able to help. Though I think what I call dance might be a bit ... energetic, compared to most." He winks at the little darkling, and slips off the stool. "Desmond, I wonder if you and I might have a word? Someplace less public?"
Maya gives the pair a thoughtful look but Sebastien's offer is nodded at, before she turns, taking her purple drink into the crowd. Her style of dancing is soon seen, arms in the air, jumping up and down to the music, her skirt bouncing with her. Enthusiasm rather than style.
Desmond glances towards Maya for a moment as Seb asks this, before nodding his head once. As the young woman goes off, he turns and moves back along his path taken. Back near to where he was before, a space between the stage and the back door, not frequented by many. Discreet, if not completely private with enough noise to cover over a discreet conversation. Once there, Des will turn to the man and ask, "What concerns you?"
Sebastien follows closely, keeping pace in the wake of the large armored cat. As he finds that lll in the room, he replies in a normal tone, "Katsumi. I have not seen her in... Well. She has disappeared, I think. Perhaps back to look for more of her kind, or to hunt, or..?" The young man peers out at the crowd, rather than at the feline, crossing thick arms before him as he frowns at the assembled. "Is it that you have heard from her?"
"No," Desmond replies, frowning subtly at the topic that has come up. "She and I have had some distance. Perhaps due to the events of the past. Though I still consider her a friend and offer her my protection, I think she things distance a better thing. Thus I do not hear very much of her." He considers for a few moments, then adds, "I would not be surprised if this is what she has done.. she has spoken of that in the past. She craves a structure. A path to walk that I believe she does not feel she has." He pauses a moment before he offers slowly, "Within the Coalition there is structure. A guiding path and purpose. Here one must determine their own. In some ways I am lucky. My own path came clear to be quickly. My structure forms easily. For her.. it is not so easy."
Sebastien's frown deepens as he hears that, and the young man gives a curt nod. "If you hear anything, you will tell me?" His blue eyes flick back up at the cat, jaw working silently on something that tastes awful. The young man's neck bunches with tension, body rigid as he stares out over the dancing throng. Desmond nods his head once, the big male studying Sebastien mutely. "If I hear anything. Unfortunately, my reach does not go past these walls. But there are those who come here who have been outside. I will listen to the talk as I often do." His head turns then, gazing out towards the rest of the patrons. "Though in all there is a positive. She is not here to weather this storm." His attention returns to Seb as he adds, "Perhaps we should speak again later. On other topics."
"Is that positive?" Sebastien wonders. "Who is to say our plight is unique? Here there are walls. Rough men armed and armored, providing some measure of security for those inside. In the world, there is no sanctuary." His eyes stare ahead, looking at something other than the bouncing, happy throng. With a curt 'Oui," Sebastien pushes off to head towards the door. "But later." "It seems it might be so," Desmond opines. " But one can never been sure of things with this land. But I prefer a more positive outlook, when one is possible." And he leaves it there as the man looks to go. Lingering in the place where he began the evening, a shift of stance turning him to face the healthy night revelers. Come and forget your troubles is the theme of the evening as it is every evening. And he observes the gathered to keep the peace that allows that.
