Dirty Dives are a Dime a Dozen

Dec 8th, 2012 04:48 PM

As the group at the table behind him got up and left, some of the tension in the Ogre's shoulders unwound. Mark nursed his beer in his bone-white hand at the far end of the bar, where he could watch almost the entire floor of the dimly lit dive bar, it's entrance and small crowd of people drinking through their early evening. He had blown into the city a couple days ago and hadn't stumbled over any other Changelings or signs of a Freehold yet, not that he'd been actively hunting for them. It's not like I'm in a hurry, he thought to himself as he twitched the brim of his red baseball cap while watching the door, you got to learn about a city sometime.

Dec 9th, 2012 12:01 PM

Rook spent most of his time patrolling the grounds of the Freehold. That allowed him to have a pretty intimate knowledge of the city, and all the little nooks and crannies where threats might be hiding.

But he actually wasn't patrolling at this particular point - he had just finished his sweep of the area with a comfortable nothing to report. The Red Victor frequented dive bars for two reasons. He could get a quiet drink, and people rarely bothered him about anything important. Although he liked drinking at the Four Seasons very much, he was wary of his ensorcelled tongue causing problems for the home that he loved. As he entered, his blazing, white hot mantle rolled out ahead of him, warming the room as his mirrored sunglasses scanned it.

The Board flickered and stirred.

Enemy piece?

A Changeling. Rook restrained the instinct and walked over. He might have been coming off his patrol and wanting a quiet drink, but duty did not sleep.

For that matter, neither did he, most nights.

"Is this seat taken?"

Dec 9th, 2012 01:46 PM

Mark tensed up when the other Changeling entered the room, he tensed up more when the larger approached even though it wasn't a surprise. New faces weren't something you just ignore if you had any sense. Though Mark wondered if someone had followed him...

"No, go ahead." When he takes the seat, Mark forces his shoulders to unclench with a grimace while he turns to face Rook. "Mark Flay," he says, giving his name to the man with a furnace down his throat. "You local?" He asks, forcing a smile, though the fangs spoil most of the intended effect.

Dec 9th, 2012 02:42 PM

Rook didn't so much as bat an eyelid at the fangs. But then, he spent every night in bed with a purple dragon. If fangs bothered him, he would never have been able to wake up to find Anya lying next to him, with that enigmatic, enticing smile. He was intimately familiar with what extremely sharp teeth felt like.

He sat down with careful, slow movements, as if he was not only watching his surroundings, but expecting them to shatter around him. His rigid hands rested on the table, a steely sense of calm radiating from him. The mirrored sunglasses covering his shuttered irises did make him stand out, but the Metalflesh never really noticed that. Even if he had, he had more than enough reserves not to care if people stared at him.

"Rook. And yes, I am. Just finding your way around?" his voice was amiable and fairly pleasant. He even smiled slightly, although only one corner of his mouth went up. He never seemed to be able to help that little half-smile.

**Smudge** · Dec 9th, 2012 03:58 PM

The door to the bar opened and the Blightbent stumbled through the door, blowing warm air into his hands, a guitar case over his shoulder. "Fuggin' fall..." he mumbled, coughing as he wondered if he had caught a cold from all the other homeless bums that seemed to be sharing their illnesses.

His eye lit up as he spotted Rook sitting near to another Ogre, one he didn't recognise.

Three Ogres walk into a bar... he thought, wryly. Smudge went to the bar and ordered a drink, something that would burn his throat.

Dec 9th, 2012 07:34 PM

Jezebel liked scummy little dive bars. She felt at home there - in the grime and decrepitude, surrounded by people quietly eroding their bodies away to nothing with a mixture of cheap alcohol and despair. People didn't care as much about her style of dress, or the mask clamped stubbornly to her face, either. There was always a couple of funny looks, and that was that. None of the long stares or quiet tuts she got in nicer places.

Pushing through the door and swaying slightly on her platform boots, her dingy olive skin flushed darker against a chill she could only barely feel, Jezebel walked up to the bar. She was surprised, though rather pleased, to see a few Changelings already there. Catching sight of Rook and the other he was with, the Blightbent offered a nod of greeting. There was the usual, ugly flush of gratitude when she saw the newcomer's mutilations. Try as she might, it was hard to suppress the relief that there were other people as screwed up as she was.

Jezebel ordered her drink and wandered up to Smudge. She'd been hoping to run into him at one point. As far as she knew he was the only other Blightbent in the city, and she felt an odd desire to at least get to know him a bit. Raking through the sludge of her thoughts for something to say, though, the only thing she could think of was how awful the pair of them must smell together. The combined chemical reek must have been horrendous.

"Alright?" She said, tugging the drinking straw from her mask and dropping the loose end in her glass. "Mind if I join you?"

Dec 10th, 2012 03:57 PM

"Sacramento? Yeah," The ogre's eyes narrow in suspicion as two other changelings follow Rook into the bar, sitting off alone together. Mark, spares a glance around to make sure none of the non-Fae are actively listening, the bartender is at the other side, those around Rook and himself are involved in themselves before continuing in a lowered voice. "Yeah, been here a couple days but I haven't seen anyone or any signs. I've been tryin to stay on the down low until I met someone, but if I've trespassed here, it was unintended." That's what it looked like to Mark at least, that he missed some sign saying the bar was off limits and someone called Rook & Co to investigate and deal with the problem.

**Swift** · Dec 10th, 2012 11:57 PM

Magnus was the sort of man to appreciate his alcohol. Sure, part of that was about quality and taste and ingenuity - the things he strove for in his own creations. But another part of it was the way it permeated every part of society. It wasn't about getting drunk, either. It was about the social setting, about people coming together over drinks to share their triumphs and their sorrows, and sometimes just their days. That was what it was really about. Strange, right? That someone as anti-social as Magnus would be devoted to his craft for those reasons. But there you have it.

And as the emotions and ties formed over drinks were often the rarer prize for the Brewer, he found himself more often in dives and dimly lit bars than in high class wine tastings and martini parlors. That's where you found the real Glamour of life.

Magnus was out and about this night, looking for a place to sit and have a drink when he caught sight of one of his favorite ogres and his favorite chess piece in a dive he'd not yet had a chance to try. Immediately the old man made his way inside. Being so close to the end of the year, Magnus looked older than most of them had ever seen, deep wrinkles creasing his leathery skin and a pure white beard upon his face, full in the late evening.

Magnus strides over to the bar and points out a bottle on the top shelf. Slapping a couple $50s on the bar he accepts the 20-year aged scotch and nods to the glass cabinet and holds up five fingers. After all, there was a small crowd to consider too. "And a clean rag," he says to the bartender.

Taking his bounty to the table where there seemed to be half a court turned out for drinks he sets down the glasses and pours off three glasses. Without saying anything he passes one to Rook and one to Smudge, taking the third himself. The other two glasses his leaves in the center of the table, a clear invitation for the others if they choose.

Dec 12th, 2012 04:04 PM

Rook watched Smudge and Jezebel enter in his peripheral vision, neither of them a particular surprise to him. He had a fair idea of who in the Freehold might show up to a bar like this, and who might stay away. It was his business to figure out where people would go, so he knew who to watch for.

At Mark's words though, the Metalflesh turned his head slightly. There was always something about the Red Victor's body language that screamed 'I am a cop!', but he wasn't consciously aware of it. His tongue twitched for a moment, and he scrambled against the ensorcellement.

"I'm not here on the job," Rook said, settling for that after a moment. "I was just looking for a quiet drink. This is Smudge and Jezebel, they live around here too-" And then Magnus showed up, proving that there was nowhere in the city where the Lost wouldn't run into each other.

The Metalflesh nodded to his favourite Lost bartender, and accepted the drink. He raised it in a little half-salute.

"Cheers, Magnus."

Dec 12th, 2012 05:12 PM

Mark nods in understanding. It was nice to know that he hadn't missed a sign something and that they weren't here to kick him out. "I see. Well that's a relief." At the introductions, he gives them all a small wave of greetings, giving his own name by way of introduction. "Mark Flay."

At the offered drink, he gives it a look before picking it up. He lifts it with a mumbled "Cheers." After drinking the shot, he grimaces and goes about trying to be a little subtle. "So uh... what do you think of the city? There any place that someone new really aught to go see?" The question is directed to everyone at the table.

Dirty Dives are a Dime a Dozen

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