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The Road to Truth; [Aey - Phedre]
Topic Started: Sat Mar 25, 2017 9:51 pm (260 Views)
Tian
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Flesh smashed into the wooden desk for the third time, leaving more blood and, this time, a tooth. Tian hauled the head back up by its hair, and three eyes glared at hime balefully, almost as if the owner of that face didn't give one shit about the fact that Tian was beating it to a pulp.

So you can do me a favor, and start talking. Now, later, whenever. I have all day, and I must confess that this is actually kind of fun. The zakona gave the face one of his award winning, shit-eating grins.

"You can go [removed] yourself," the thing said thickly, and Tian only smiled wider. Not my type, sorry. With that, he rammed the face into the desk a few more times for good measure.

This was an office. It was an office in the capitol of Balefire, the City of Lanterns itself. He should not have come here again, what with the bounty on his head for even setting foot in Balefiran territory. One day, he would have to go and have a polite chat with the Marquis about this minor detail. A few pointed words - well, a few pointed somethings anyway - and they could get the matter cleared up. In the meantime, since he was already a wanted man here, it freed him from the constraints normally placed on a decent individual. Of course, he wasn't a decent individual, but everyone needed to be able to delude themselves sometime.

The creature he was beating on had knives run through its kneecaps and shoulders, twisted viciously to cause as much damage as he could. It probably hurt like a bastard, but he didn't care. If he took thek nives away, well, then there would be problems. He didn't have silver on him, and this beast would probably regenerate pretty quick. It was unfortunate for them, because he'd have to cut the damned things head off before he left. Unfortunately for the werewolf, no one would miss him. He was involved in trade that was not strictly speaking legal. And Tian would starve to death for the number of [removed]s he didn't give about that.

No, it was the factt hat this man had a connection to others, and that Tian strongly suspected his foe was once more in this world. It had been nearly seven hundred years since the man in black had caused Tian his most grievous loss - red blood on hands, hot and steaming in the cold night air, while she looked at him in astonishment even as her eyes glazed in death - and Tian hadn't forgotten. He couldn't remember the name of the bastard, anymore; humans were not meant to live forever. But he remembered his face. He saw it every night when he slept, and woke up drenched in cold sweat. Every night.

For hundreds of years.

So, Sparky, I know you know where Giav is at. It would make my life simpler if you just told me. He grinend widely, and the bastard spatin his face. Tian's smile never vanished as he drew one of the long, heavy bladed knives at his waist. He was still smiling, in a fixed kind of way, when he cut the bastards head off. He stood there for a moment, holding the head, and then shook his head slowly.

The stink of werewolf blood was beginning to fill the small office dimly lit by a single lantern. They were in a part of Balefire that humans seldom went to, on the second floor of a warehouse that ostensibly dealt with freight for the new scorchlines. It was a front and a cover, and Tian would be damned if the Sheriffs didn't know about this place and do nothing about it. Human trafficking tended to be a very profitable business, and this fellow had survived the Taming by quietly offering transport out of the city and out of the Gloomwood for money. What wasworse, many of those same people ended up slaughtered and used to feed the werewolves and other creatures of Balefire who could not legally kill and consume human flesh. Ordinarily.

Zakona had no rights, though, and so long as Captain Killjoy here had operated this discreetly, he could keep the flow of people coming. And if he was caught? Why, no rights meant no protections. The son of a bitch would probably get a reward for capturing zakona.

Not anymore, he whispered aloud, and pleasured himself by urinating on the dead werewolf corpse before moving around to the other side of the desk, and began to go through the drawers. There was paperwork in there, but none of it had anything to do ith the real trade that this man had been on about. He didn't really expect to find anything. In truth, he hadn't expected to gain anything at all from this adventure; all he had been here for was seeking confirmation of his next target. He didn't ahve confirmation, but he didn't really need it or, more accurately, didn't care.

Sighing, he stepped back, and looked at the mess he had made. Blood, everywhere. Cabinets and other peripherals in the room knocked to the floor or askance, or both. With a grunt he picked the severed head up off the floor, and set it on the desk, just so. Then he grabbed a piece of paper, not even checking to see if it was blank or not, and took a pen from on top of the desk.

"Look below the warehouse", was all he wrote on it, and then he rolled it up and stuck it in the bastard's mouth. Straightening his dark armor and settling his knives (of which he had many), he turned and walked to the door, and made his way out of the building. His next destination was in one of the slums of Balefire, where humans tended to live.

I really hate this city, he muttered as he stepped out onto the street. He turned and started down the way he had come hours before, as confident as if he owned the street. The fact that he was an outlaw didn't matter; so long as you looked like you belonged, ordinary citizens wouldn't even take notice. Bounty hunters...well, they wouldn't try anything if they wanted to keep their kidneys where they were.
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Phedre
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A city was never a welcome home for the woman, for the sights and sounds vexed her in every possible way. Paved streets were cold and soulless, as compared to nature’s sweet counterpart. She preferred waist deep mud, gale force winds and the stinging bite of sleet to any of these claustrophobic catastrophes that some call home. It stank of human waste, and while in part that was due to the literal sense of the term, much more so it was the reek of disloyalty, selfishness and impropriety so cultivated by the souls of man.

Phedre leaned against a poorly maintained wooden building. Some portions of the wall appeared to remain in a perpetual state of sogginess, the source of the moisture of which only the gods knew. Her shoulder rested against a spongy wooden beam, its core soft with rot, but in the least, it was dry... and much more desirable was the silence that surrounded it. The woman was alone in her pose, the idle chatter from the townsfolk hummed softly from a few buildings down. She watched the odd drunk stumble down the road, tripping on the uneven flagstone footing. One tavern down the way had women standing out front, eagerly welcoming the lonely travelers in with the promise of drink, and the suggestion of much more... if they have the coin.

Phedre had made her way into the town earlier in the day, though time was illusive in the ever dark conurbation. Her bounties returned, and fresh coin on her person, she aimed for a relaxing sleep in a soft bed, and perhaps a warm bath as well. It was an unfortunate fact that inns and taverns were located at population hubs. Her daydreams oft consisted of secret inns hidden in forgotten caves, or deep forests, where the wait staff were mute and the tenants were... singular... her. But alas, daydreams were daydreams and if one sought the modern comforts of rest, one had to tolerate the human experience. Gods save them.

The woman was pleased to find herself at an inn with vacancy, although one without a large washing basin. No warm bath, limbs floating in the steaming water, heat melting weary muscles from the bone. Instead she received a trough, perhaps the size of a large chicken, with a small leak out the bottom. The water, in the least, was clean and warm, and so the woman made haste with washing before the contents drained fully from the bucket’s base. She combed out long curtains of black hair, leaving it loose to breathe for the evening. As she donned clean clothing, the sounds from the attached pub began to grow, which was her cue to spend the hours before sleep elsewhere.

She donned her weapons with practiced precision, and checked their buckles and binds once before leaving her room. She left nothing behind, the town had been known to house one or two (or hundreds) of sticky fingered fiends, and she endeavored to limit the risk of thievery if possible. Out into the night the woman wandered, pausing to lean against the odd building to avoid the foot traffic of the unfolding evening, and perhaps take comfort in the dark shadows of an already dark place.

The air before the woman was thick with moisture. Fog was swallowing her feet, licking up her boots as though hungry to devour her. The air was inky black, so dark in the sections outside the lamplight that one could easily make a fool of themselves and saunter into solid wall. Perhaps this was another reason that Phedre did not find herself eager to continue her walk. And besides, in this town, the commotion oft came to you, there was no need to hunt for it.

Phedre’s eyes flashed a sapphire spark when the dark frame of a man entered into view. From the distance he was barely visible, clad in the darkness that dressed the city day and night. She could not see his face, nor much else for that matter, but he walked with an air of authority, and perhaps... a couple of weapons? It would be easier to assume such than see it in this lighting, and assume she did.

The assumption proved a safe one, for as the man strode ever closer, Phedre saw a slickness that adorned his garb that any other could have mistaken for oil in such dark lighting. The woman knew otherwise. She could almost make out the smell of rich iron... blood. It called to her like a siren song, pulling her body up off of the condemned building and ever forward into the light of the street and the path of the man. Her mind played with the many questions this man’s appearance brought her. Who was he? Why was there blood? Was he hurt? Was it his?

At least to the latter question, she was fairly certain it was not. He did not limp, there were no obvious wounds, but again... the darkness held many secrets. She could not place a pin in her interest, for in fact, the curiosity continued to draw the usually solitary woman closer to the street lantern and farther from the deep shadows she usually called home. It was there she paused, beneath the haunting glow of the street lamp, watching him through long, black lashes. Her eyebrows gave away her analyzing mind, knitting together with the effort of deduction. Despite the look, her features were soft, gentle almost, none of which alluded to her hard and violent nature. But in what her features hid, her body did not. Muscled arms showed beneath the short sleeves of her linen tunic. Her skin was kissed with the signs of battle, scars and scabs. Her sword hilt rose up between her shoulders, as the blade rested in its sleeve against her spine. On her hip she wore another blade, a short dagger with an intricate hilt, the weapons such stark contrast to the womanly figure.

Though absentminded in her approach, she truly cared not if the man noticed her. She made no effort to conceal herself, nor introduce herself to the stranger. Instead she willed his crimson adornments to speak to her themselves, if only blood could speak, and read to her the violent tale of a lullaby that she could think on once tucked into bed at the end of the night. Perhaps she was not as solitary of a being as she insisted, for what kind of independent was she to risk human interaction for a mere tale of violence and vengeance.
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Tian
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He walked up the street, and maintained the air that he owned it. He already knew there was trouble ahead, but he moved without even glancing at the few people that shared this particular street. There was a certain feeling he was going for, of course: arrogance, over confidence, a weakness that could be exploited by someone which would in turn make them careless and over confident.

And as he moved, he took stock. The long standing promise, made to a dead woman centuries ago, had not been fulfilled. Yet. He had spent years wallowing in self pity, and further years running from the truth. Every attempt to begin the mission, to find the man that had stolen his lover away from him and turned her into little more than a thrall, well, all of those attempts had been as brief as a summer thunderstorm. Well, he was dne with that now.

Claire. It was amazing that it could still hurt, so many years down the line. He could still see her face, even if other bits of his memory had faded as time progressed. It was a bitter truth that he had forgotten more of human history than most people ever learned. It was also a sad truth that he didn't care. His vengeance was foremost, and all of the passing dalliances he indulged himself in over the years were little more than that. How could someoen grow attached to anything, when everything was ephemeral, and nothing lasted? Lovers died, and he still lived. Civilizations rose and fell, great men did great deeds, and then were forgotten as time marched on like a millstone, slowly grinding every accomplishment imaginable into dust. This was the onus of life eternal, if that was in fact what he had. He was Ascended, a being that had broken the chains of time and the limits of the flesh.

If not for that smiling, cold face that stared back at him every time he thought of his lost love, he would have begged for the release of eternity.

He managed to make it a block, and then counted his steps. There was a doorway ahead, deeply cut back into the entrance of the building. And neatly tucked within it...

Tian stopped for a moment. The assailant stepped out, driving a knife through the air where his kidneys would have been, and grunted in surprise. Tian moved quickly, grasping that hand and squeezing so hard that his knuckles cracked, and the bones of the assailant ground together, forcing him to drop the knife. He stepped forward and drove a fist into the exposed side of that man, driving the breathe from his lungs in one rushing gasp. And then he stepped sideways again as another figure dropped from the roof. He held two black steel knives and was cowled in a manner similar to Tian, but Tian already had his knives out. The first slashing cut was parried with contemptuous ease by the ancient assassin, and then he released the original foe and spun to face the enemy.

A dance began.

The other was good, but not good enough. Blades met and clashed loudly, were turned aside as each other fought up close and dirty. The staccato clang of their weapons grew faster, as each sough to end the other, and suddenly Tian's foot lashed out, kicking the enemy in the groin. He should have expected that. There was no such thing as fair in a fight.

Tian followed it up by a quick slice to the wrist of the fellow, forcing him to drop one knife from nerveless fingers even as he began to fold up. A moment later, tears in his eyes, he raised the other hand, muttering something in choked words. Magic began to swirl.

Tian drove a knife home through his eye, piercing the skull and entering the brain. The assailant died right then.

Tian stepped back, withdrawing his knife with some difficulty, and then kicked the bastard that was down in the head for good measure. His boots made a satisfying thump against his skull. He would deal with the filth in a moment, but first...

He stepped back, snapped his fingers, and was gone.

And suddenly leaning against the wall with one of his big knives in hand, calmly cleaning the dried blood from beneath his finger nails. He glanced up at the dark haired woman who had been watching him make progress up the street, and offered her the kind of smile that sent most women looking for a frying pan.

'sup, tall, dark, and beautiful? He hadn't even really paid any attention to see if the description fit or not, though now that he really looked, he saw that most of it did. Nice night for a mugging isn't it? I can't imagine why you would be wanting to watch me so intently from your little lamp post there, dearie. I am sure you ain't no prostitute, and I am sure you don't want nothing to do with any price on my head?

He fell silent, continuing to clean his nails, but his light colored eyes were intent and sharp on her face. Everything about him said he was weighing and measuring her, trying to glean hints of her motive.

Abilities Used...oops!
Edited by Aeyliea, Sun Mar 26, 2017 2:44 am.
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Phedre
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So it unfolded that the blood on his coat would not need to sprout lips to tell the tale of its adornment, for instead, violent poetry played out before her very eyes. The hooded man, nose turned upward and walking confidently, was not unaccustomed to violence. It appeared, in addition to this, that he was none too bothered by unsuspecting attacks either, for it almost appeared that he paused in anticipation of the assailant and his tactless attempt at a back stabbing.

The cutting sweep was interrupted with ease as the stranger clutched the assailants hand with his own. Too far to audibly hear the exchange, whether it be by cracking bones or spoken word, Phedre was sure that the defensive maneuver was not only successful, but indeed uncomfortable for the attacker. Her head tilted to the side somewhat, observing the technique with some interest. Although mentally providing a passing grade, she could not help but consider how she would have reacted... certainly not that way, her hand was not big enough to have a swallowing grip on the assailant’s fist. She tended to move toward immediate incapacity. Although many in her trade preferred more torturous methods, it was not oft that Phedre drew out a battle, much like the stranger she cut to the point. That kind of arrogance can get a man, or woman, killed. Especially in a realm where so many used magic. She spit on the stone by her feet, just thinking upon the word bid her mouth to sour.

Her attention was brought back to the scuffle when the clamor of metal hitting rock struck her ear. The attacker was disarmed, his knife laying on the cobblestone. “One point for the home team,” she commentated inwardly. Just then the stranger connected a blow so fierce the gust of air forced from the attackers lungs could be heard even from her distance. He coughed and sputtered as another shadowy figure dropped down from a nearby roof.

She couldn’t help but root for the stranger, donning the blood of another man on his coat, his face hidden in shadows. She parted her lips to call out a quick warning, happy to join the fray if need be, but the words had naught escaped her lips before the stranger pivoted to engage with the newcomer. “What fun,” she thought, amusement dancing in her eyes.

There was a short exchange of attacks, metal blades scraping off one another. Phedre was amused by the tactics, neither man embarrassed himself. They appeared well matched for a time and it certainly made the view more entertaining, until... The stranger raised a leather boot with quick release into the second attacker’s groin, connecting solidly. Phedre winced, the man winced, and crumpled to the ground. Indeed, all was fair in love and war, but this particular move was not one she preferred. Perhaps it was the slew of sexist comments that tended to follow. The quandaries of being a woman warrior... or any woman at all who doesn’t allow the hands of strange men to take what they have been denied.

With a quick flick of his hand, the stranger parted the flesh of the crumpled attacker’s wrist. A great spurt of blood shot forth and splashed across both men. She knew it would be curtains for the assailant, the blood loss alone on a cut that deep... unless...

Sure as a horse eats hay, the moment Phedre thought of the reviled idea of magic, the man began to cast an incantation. “Well that’s my cue,” she said, her skin prickling with new goosebumps. Phedre and magic were not a pair, not in the least. The mere thought of the thing caused her unrest, never mind witnessing it. She was no coward, she did not run from a fight or squeeze her eyes shut, but on an eve where mere entertainment was being sought, she would not choose to subject herself to such discomfort. Long had been the hatred for the mystic arts, long had she avoided exposure. She did not drink their potions, nor read their books. She avoided mystical healers and refused spells that could seal wounds closed by stitch. The physical realm is the world that she knew, and it is the one she could conquer. Leave the unexplainable, the relics, the mystics to the mages.

Phedre had began to turn away from the conflict, dismissing herself from the sorcery, when she heard the thud of a blade finding home in a skull. The hairs on her neck settled instantly and she could not help but return her gaze to the stranger and his persistent assailants. She caught sight of the mage, clearly free of his life, falling with finality to the flagstone. He was dead, and so was his magic, thanks be to the gods. But the stranger from before appeared to want to be sure, and removed his knife from the mage’s socket, pausing afterward to lay his boot solidly upon the attackers skull. Phedre hypothesized that if the mage’s head were liberated from his body, it may have traveled several yards down the roadway, such was the force of the connection.

But then, in a breath of a moment, there stood nothing where the stranger once was. He had vanished. “And before I could offer my sincerest congratulations,” she mumbled quietly to herself.

She had nearly turned again to leave when she caught the flash of white teeth and a playful grin. The stranger was now within closing distance of her, and she had not heard him travel nor arrive. It was an unnerving realization. ‘Sup tall, dark, and beautiful,” he greeted, cleaning blood from beneath his nails with passing interest. His eyes flitted over to her own, and her azure gaze held his steadily. “Nice night for a mugging isn't it? I can't imagine why you would be wanting to watch me so intently from your little lamp post there, dearie. I am sure you ain't no prostitute, and I am sure you don't want nothing to do with any price on my head?”

She cocked her head to the side, momentarily considering his words. She was more interested in his face, watching his lips form their shapes as his eyes bore into her own. “You would be correct in your assumption that I am not offering my body for coin,” she said casually, shrugging her shoulders to adjust the weight of her blade on her back. “That type of entertainment I bid of my own accord.”

She ran a hand through her hair, slender fingers disappearing in the loose ebon lengths. “Did you say there is a price on your head,” she inquired drolly, “and here I thought those men simply wanted to dance.”

She watched him fiddle with his blade, enjoying the game of words, “for what is it that you are accused, Shadow?” She asked the question playfully, with her own air of confidence. If he was looking for a distressed damsel he would have to look elsewhere. She did not approach him, not quick to put herself within striking range of a stranger, especially one who can disappear in thin air, though if that was indeed some form of magic, it did not strike her with the same trepidation as the rest. Unnerving though it was, she did not have the strong desire to remove his spleen from his torso as she did with all other mages.
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Tian
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He snorted, but did not stop his inane motions with his hand. In fact, he stopped looking at her, focusing on making sure those nails were immaculate. That, miss, is a good thing. I am not in the habit of buying flesh. Tawdry sex doesn't pass anything but time, and there are better things to do with time than making meaningless love. There was a trace of wry amusement in his voice as he spoke.

Those men might have made coin for killing me, but they were not after the bounty on my head. They should have known better than to try and tangle with me; after all, I was with the Wine River Pariahs for a time. He didn't expect this woman to know who they were, of course. She was assuredly not a native of Balefire, where the human populatio nwas small and tended to keep to themselves. He knew that he himself stood out simply because he was a human walking the streets proudly, rather than meekly. No, those bastards just wanted me dead because their boss - whom I killed a little bit ago - wanted me dead. Some people don't like it when you poke in their business. I reckon I don't give a shit if they like it, or not; they should learn to associate with a better breed of scumbag if they don't want me skulking around their door.

He flashed her a grin. Its not like I get paid for this work, anymore. And blood does damage my knives, which is irritating in the least and aggravating as hell at the worst. And of course, wear on the clothes - it does to keep appearances up, does it not?

As to what I stand accused of? I was part of a raid on the scorchliner company. Can't remember the name of it, don't care. The employer for that mission betrayed us, and that night was the beginning of the Taming of Balefire. We were the first zakona. I think they have learned, since then, that we kind of stick in their damned throat. He paused a moment, and then shrugged. And beyond that? I used to kill people for money. You don't make friends in that kind of business. The law tends to take a rather...dim view of the practice.

He slipped the knife back into the sheath at his waist, though he did not stop leaning agaisnt the with that infuriating manner about him. Of course, I do it for free these days. Though, to be fair, they did earn the privilege by working for him. He tutted, shook his head. Really, people should do research on their employers these days. Never know when there is a knife wielding skeleton in the closet that won't admit when its dead.

He stood up straight, and looked up at her face again. She was taller than he was, as it turned out. It didn't really matter to him. So, blue-eyes, what is your story? Whats a woman like you - dressed to kill- he gave a short bark of a laugh at his own joke -doing in a shit hole like this? You've neatly avoided answering my question by asking me one of your own. Don't make me have to knife you. So far I like you, and I really don't like having to kill people that aren't complete assholes. Something flickered in his eyes at that last comment, but it was gone in an instant.
Edited by Tian, Sun Mar 26, 2017 3:20 am.
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Phedre
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Phedre blinked. She remained motionless beneath the lamplight for but a moment, then raised a brow slowly. The man enjoyed his own voice. It had been some time since she had met with someone so... verbose. He offered his information so willingly, a thought that would never have crossed her mind, for the less they know, they less they are able to use. There was a reason she remained as inconspicuous as possible... at least on most occasion.

Firstly the man commented on sex, or “making meaningless love,” as he put it. The comment brought a smile to play on her lips, and her azure eyes to dance with amusement. Certainly this man did not mince words, though she admitted to herself, it was a rarity to hear a man, especially one so proficient in fighting, refer to the act as making love, meaningless or otherwise. He was a confident lad, and she admired the surety in which he held himself.

Next he offered word of his past, the Wine River Pariahs was it? She did not recognize the name, though it sounded like a gang or guild of some kind. The name was an interesting choice... not one that she would readily jump to be called. The man, for that is what she assumed he was, was blunt in his aggression, casually describing past conflict, murder, and opinion with a colloquial charm that would have brought gasps from a crowd of nobility. She appreciated the candor. Words are not knives, speaking sharply does not do aught but bring forth the clarity of the truth, and not soften it with the fluffy haze of eloquent vernacular.

“It’s not like I get paid for the work anymore,” his grin flashed again, bright teeth visible beneath the dark hood. So he was an assassin, she mused, thinking of the similarity the two shared. She had moved only to bounty hunting to avoiding being sought after by the law herself, it was a terrible inconvenience. Although, at times, when the coin is particularly promising, she found herself completing the odd murder-for-hire once more.

Nextly the man openly shared his sorted past and the list of charges for which he was being sought. He was a zakona, a rightless bastard, one that no law stood behind... one that carried a constant bounty. She paused for a moment, weighing the balance of the coin and company. It was clear that he was a proficient fighter, and she was... well she was freshly cleaned. It would be a bother indeed to have to delve back into the leaking bucket to wash blood from her, and she only just eased the tangles and knots from her ebon lengths. No, for now she would not pursue the monetary advantage of murder, she would be pleased with the conversation, for as long as it lasted, and return to her room with her coin purse as full as she had left it.

Admittedly, the man’s story was intriguing, though at times it seemed as though he spoke more for himself than for others. He carried on for some time without a word from her, but she held his gaze with polite interest and allowed him to continue without interruption. She eventually shifted her form, moving to lean against the lamppost. It was the theme of the evening, she mused, leaning. She pulled the lengths of her black hair over her shoulder so it hung loose down one side of her front. She had no cord with her, and so there was no option to restrain it, but the mists of the evening hour mingled with the strands and led to an irritating dampness.

“So, blue-eyes, what is your story?” She paused, a slow blink bringing long lashes together in contemplation, for she was not so verbose as the man, and how could she best be summarized in a brief sentence or two?

“What’s a woman like you - dressed to kill-“she could not help but join him in a laugh, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes danced playfully, he certainly was a unique character. “-doing in a shit hole like this?”

She was all but ready to respond, her lips had even began their part to breathe a brief truth of her existence, when he followed with a threat. Phedre did not warm to threats... in the least. “You've neatly avoided answering my question by asking me one of your own. Don't make me have to knife you. So far I like you, and I really don't like having to kill people that aren't complete assholes.”

All playful banter that once danced on her tongue dissolved, and her arched brow dropped and met with its pair in a furrow. Despite being, in fact, a misguided compliment, Phedre could not get past the casual threat of stabbing. It was no longer jestful. “You would stab someone for not engaging in such a presumptuous monologue as you yourself just did? For in honestly I’m not sure that my lungs could hold enough air to breathe half of the words you just spewed in an instant.”

She crossed her arms across her chest, shoulder still pushed against the lamppost. She would have readily offered a thread or two of her life, but now stayed mute on the subject on mere principal. The playful candor in which she so eagerly engaged faded away and instead stood a strong woman with a blade on her back, a woman who deep down rather not stand on principal, and instead continue to engage with the man, but who would risk any basic pleasantly to make it clear that she could not be intimidated into completing anything against her will.
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Tian
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If he heard any alarm or threat in her voice, he took no note of it. No. But if you told me you worked for him in any capacity, yes. He looked up, and looked into her eyes. His eyes were as hard as stone, and cold as winter. You have a fingernail sketch of me, lady, and little else. A moment later, that cold, hard, dangerous look was gone. He gave her a wry grin. Alas, if you do not have enough lung capacity to speak so, I reckon you have never had to run from anything before, either.

He stood straight, pushing off of the wall. He looked up and down the street with a piercing gaze that did not miss very much, if anything at all, then patted the hilts of the long knives at his waist. Regardless, you won't speak. I shall take my leave, before you become entangled in the mess that will eventually make its way here. Guards, and such. He made an airy gesture, then turned and strode away, heading back to one of the downed hired thugs. The one he had not, in fact, killed. He had some rather hard words for the fellow, but he thought that hewould likely let him live.

Probably.
Edited by Tian, Sun Mar 26, 2017 5:23 pm.
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"You speak honestly," she said softly, watching the man's face change at once to severity, then back again to it's placid humor, "for I do not run, not from anything."

He had dismissed her, shoving himself from his place of rest to stroll casually back to the location of his two attackers. "But it appears that you must, for though your legs wander slowly, you do indeed run from a conversation as soon as its interest dulls your particular need."

She did not chase him, for it was not in her nature, but the dismissal was brutish and cold and left Phedre with a flavor of distaste. She could not keep her lips sealed, and instead called out one more comment, allowing him to do with it what he may. "You are more likely to get the answers you seek with honey, than with knives. Anger closes the mind and pain clouds the brain. Should your interest in my nature peak once more, I would be pleased to respond to the query if not followed by threat, idle or otherwise. I do not make such bad company, after all."

She paused a moment, watching his back sway with each slow step he took away from her, his form but a shadow against the black street, then added, "let them (the guards) come, I long for a good entanglement."

The woman did not move. Solid in her stance against the lamppost, bathed in its soft light, she continued to watch the scene unfold, blue eyes back to their pleasant curious nature. What would he do, the stranger who did not provide her with a name, to the remaining attacker? She wondered silently, feeding her patient watch with flitting glances between attacker and stranger. He had dismissed her, but she would not dismiss herself.
Edited by Phedre, Sun Mar 26, 2017 6:17 pm.
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He filed her words away as he knelt down to look at the downed assailant. He was almost- almost - surprised when he noted that the man's chest was not rising and falling, and that a knife had been shoved into his chest, through his heart. Tian lifted the hood from the assailants face, and stared at what he saw there. It was a trick, of course. It had to be. But then, given who he was dealign with, everything was a calculated slight. Everything had a purpose, and this case it was the purpose of causing harm. He let the woman's head fall forward, and stood up slowly.

He looked at the woman who had not given her name (he had not asked, anyway), and shook his head. What, was he some kind of curiosity that piqued her interest? The woman knew absolutely nothing about him, and hung around. This was Balefire, and she was a human woman. She might be a fighter, but there were things that lurked in the darkness here that could cause a strong fighter to quake in their boots.

He hesitated on the edge of just walking away. And he almost did. He did not often get involved with other people, because other people were dangerous. Sometimes, but most of the time he was dangerous for their heatlh. He had many enemies, and it seemed every time he knocked a few off the list, five more joined it.

He stalked up the street, the very picture of dangerous competence. Only curious in the fact that you are clearly a bounty hunter and you haven't tried to saw my head off. Not you'd find it easy to do that. You want to talk? Then lets leave the street. The Sheriffs are not very fiendly with zakona, and if you fight them you are likely to find yourself branded as one as well. Your pretty head would not look near so good adorning a wall somewhere. He indicated the street, the way he had originally come from. This way.
Edited by Tian, Sun Mar 26, 2017 7:42 pm.
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“So chivalrous to be worried for my own well being,” she mused, but pushed herself from her place of rest none the less. She followed his beckon with quiet footsteps, headed farther from the greater populace and deeper into the shadowed, almost abandoned streets. She halfway thought that she may indeed be being escorted to her demise, but for an unknown reason she was unconcerned. Perhaps she no longer cared, life or death, but much more likely so, her interest in the shadowed man and his story carried her onward. “There are some bounties worth more alive than collected, so to speak, “ she added, as an answer to his previous statement of curiosity, “besides, what a shame it would be to rid the world of such a proficient fighter. There are few left now a days...”

Continuing her pace she risked a question. “Do you always hide your face so,” she asked, leaning over to try to see under his hood, “your teeth flash bright enough when you smile, I thought your whole face would be illuminated... but alas you remain just a white teethed stranger.”

The implication for him to remove his cover so that she could meet the man she strolled with was obvious, but she dare not pressure him with direct questioning. And then she paused, footsteps stopping briefly before she asked, “and what is it I should call you? I feel that if we are to sneak into the corners of Balefire together were should at least know each other’s names. I’m Phedre,” she offered a haphazard salute with her name, and let a playful smile grace her lips.

She continued onward thereafter, unsure of their heading. “Where is it that you mean to take us,” she asked with a raised brow, “I’m not sure that I’ve visited much of anything this far from the city center.”

The street was dead, windows were boarded or shuttered, doors were closed and locked. It was not a welcoming city to begin with, but this area took things to a whole other level. The evening brought cooler temperatures and the misty fog grew denser beneath their feet. At certain angles small clouds of breath collected visibly outside of their lips. She hoped they would head somewhere warmer, in the very least, she did not aim to freeze to death on this her evening off of hunting.
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Speaking as someone that has enjoyed the tender mercy and hospitality of Balefire, I wouldn't wish it upon most people. He moved on down the street with that same predatory grace, seemingly uncaring of anything the shadows might choose to hide. And well he was not to be overly concerned; his senses were well honed to the darkness, and the street was as bright as day would be when not in the oppressive drkness eternal of Balefire. Lanterns still cast pools of light that they passed through, but of viable threats there seemed to be none, at least for now.

They crossed a street, going deeper into a part of town that had fewer humans and more of the other ghouls of Balefire as primary residents, though it being a slum it was where the scarce human population of the city would be found. A curve of lips indicated amusement at her careful query, and he simply drew back the black hood to lay against his back.

Tian was...a rather unremarkable individual. He was not necessarily unattractive but there was nothing about his facial features that would make another sigh as he walked past. His black hair was cut close, his eyes gleaming with intellect and mirth and a light hazel in color. Small lines radiated from the corners of his eyes, and faint lines marred his smooth features that seemed untouched by age or at least so lightly touched as to be nonexistent. Spend a few centuries skulking in the darkest parts of the world with a knife in your hand and at least a dozen people that would love nothing more than to see you dead...I keep my hood up out of habit.

He unerringly turned a corner and headed down a narrow street that gleamed frostily in the few lanterns that were lit here. His breath misted in the air as the temperature dipped to its low point for the 'evening' as it were; Balefire was always cold. Always.

Most people call me an arse, Phedre. I am Tian. I would give you my last name, but I don't remember it anymore.

He did not immediately answer her other question. Instead, he continued on beyond another cross street. It was then that course music and rough laughter faintly wafted into the street, and not much longer before he stopped in front of a door without a proper latch. The sounds of presumed merriment were coming from within. Why, I figured the evening and my mood suited visiting a pit of depravity. There is nothing so refreshing as stumbling into a dive late of an evening - as if anyoen could tell here - where humans are looked on more as part of the menu and less as patrons. he gave her a smile, but it was malicious, mischievous. The added air of danger makes the experience so much more...palatable

He pushed the door open. There was no latch, because places like this, in a city like Balefire, never closed. The room revealed was large, with wooden beams supporting the roof. It was difficult to see much more than a dozen paces into the gloom within; the air was thick with the haze of smoke, creating little halos of light around the low burning lanterns hung from the ceiling here and there. The tables were all aged wood from dark trees in the Gloomwood, and they were scarred and battered and stained with long years of use from the rougher sort of Balefiran.

And the crowd was about as interesting as the setting. Multi-eyed werewolves sat at tables drinking presumably alcohol from wooden mugs. This was probably because what was in them would eat metal. There were vampires, things that ranged from near human in appearance to other, less humanoid looking creatures. Ghouls, horrifying to look upon were mixed in the crowd, and there were an occasional human or two. It was probably wise to point out that those humans that were here were probably not locals, and any one of them would take two of Tian to craft. And other, less easily identified people, though the term was used rather...loosely.

Several of the ones closer to the door looked up as he pushed in, and snickered to themselves, speaking in a language that was common to Balefire and nowhere else. Tian of course understood it; he was a man of culture and learning, even if most of the culture he had learned had been dead and gone, turned to dust centuries before. But he was naturally gifted with words.

If I wanted to go to a bar that catered to the kind of people that cower away from you lot, he said in passable Bridgetongue, Then I would be there right now. The smell in this place is good for the sinuses, anyway. One of them - a werewolf by the look of it - growled in displeasure at his remark, but was not deep enough into his cups to want to start anything. Which was just as well; the keeper of this place probably kept silver and any other items that were useful for dealing with supernatural beasts tearing his or her (or its) place up. The Wine River wasn't far, and bodies could be made to disappear.

After you, Phedre. Mind the first step, something vomited there. he said in common.
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He walked with a confident grace, once that spoke to his proficiency as a fighter and leaned away from an air of arrogance. He seemed at home in the damp chill, the endless shadows and eerie slick pavestones. This was not of her home, and though darkness did not bring forth terrors and nightmares, it did bring forth a loss of a keen sense... vision. Phedre did her best to use her other senses to adapt, but between the pools of dim lamplight there was little to illuminate the path and she caught herself tripping over a raised flagstone on one occasion. The clumsiness was not a common occurrence and it frustrated the woman, though not any further than to cause an audible curse.

Phedre stopped in surprise when the man’s wry smile reappeared, and without hesitation his hood was cast down revealing his face. It was... not what she expected... and perhaps that is why she stood in pause a moment longer than should have been socially accepted for such a thing. He was young, quite young by judge of appearance only, something that confused the woman as she considered his great skill with a blade. She would have thought it to take years to become that proficient. His hair was black, matching her own, although his was cropped close to his head. “Perhaps to remove the distraction of loose hair during a skirmish,” she thought to herself, assuming he was not one to decide his coif on fashionable standards alone. She envied the cut, for a brief moment, running her hand through her own lengths, but she kept hers as it was for her own reasons. Perhaps the most catching of the man was his eyes, light brown with dancing flecks of gold. They were alluring, hypnotic in a way, and their warmth and humor bade her attention more and more. She looked away, breaking the spell his eyes bound her in momentarily, until she heard him speak offhandedly once more, only this time providing a clue as to his real age.

Her brain hurriedly tried to process his words, ‘centuries,’ he had said so nonchalantly. She again bathed his face in her sapphire gaze, evaluating his skin, finding a distinct lack of evidence that would have been left by centuries of life. She checked his ears quickly, they did not look pointed. He appeared so... human, she had just assumed.

He was already announcing their arrival at the shadiest of pubs Phedre had ever set foot in, and if it was not for his polite warning of vomit on the step, she may have remained lost in her mental calculations for some time. As it was, it took much of an effort to pull her mind and eyes back from his gaze and to the present, where there was indeed vomit on the floor scant inches from her feet. He bid her to enter first, and she did so slowly, feeling the eyes of many non-humans on her as she did. It was not common that she found such company on a “day off,” but again her curiosity led her onward.

She moved toward an empty table, close to the door should anything arise. As she made to claim it, a long, fur covered leg extended from the shadows and kicked away one of the chairs. “Taken,” the creature growled and Phedre did not require another word before moving on. There was only one other table free, apparently it was a thirsty night in the balefire for all of the gods’ creatures. As their only remaining option, she led the way with confidence, careful not to bump or jostle any of the other patrons that she moved past.
The table was in an unfortunate location. It was the farthest from the door and not near a single window. They would be in need of much improvisation should they have to vacate the building with haste. She sat quickly, adjusting the blade on her back briefly for comfort. She did not await his seating, nor the ordering or arrival of drinks, before asking, “Did you say that you are centuries old? You do not look a day past your twenties...”

The hunger of her curiosity was apparent but she did not mind. The man had captured her attention and held it firmly. Even the beasts and wildlings in the bar could not draw her gaze from him. That was until she felt the slow trace of a finger up the side of her neck. Her head snapped around, looking back and forth for the being which risked a touch of her skin unbidden. There was no one, or nothing, within reaching distance and the entire situation bade Phedre’s pale skin to crawl. “Such interesting company you keep Tian,” she said his name for the first time since he had mentioned it, continuing to survey the crowd of patrons lest she gaze back at him and be hypnotized by his golden irises, wait was there green in there too perhaps?

It was not often that she drank alcohol. She preferred her wits about her to their fullest degree. But there was something about this evening, the strange company in the pub, and the once-stranger’s gaze that led her to order a mug of ale along with a shot of something much stronger. “To get the edge off...” she told herself, justifying the risk and completely disregarding the realization that the company of the zakona was having a drastic impact on her usual decision-making practices.

Again refusing to draw her gaze back to his, for fear that their depths would swallow her whole, she surveyed the room. There were wolflings of all kinds, some had a few more eyes than she was used to, and her spine shivered at the sight of a pair of ghouls in the opposing corner, their patchy flesh marred and decaying. There were several pairs of red eyes on her, and suddenly, once more, the faint trace of a finger up the side of her neck.

Her hand slapped against her throat and she scowled back and forth at the cluster of creatures around her. “Would you,” she spoke through clenched teeth, “ever so kindly, leave your paws, claws and fangs to yourself?”

She erred on the side of nicety, as the drawing of swords and uttering of threats were likely not met with much kindness here. Again she was reminded of their location within the bar... and the door seemed miles upon miles away now. She decided to pause and await her company’s lead, for it was the theme of the evening, it would seem.
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The creatures in here did not bother him, and he ignored their stares as if they weren't even looking at him. He had seen such creatures up close and, he had to admit ruefully, knew exactly what made them tick. At least internally, biologically. In fact, their company seemed so unremarkable that he didn't pay any of them any mind.

Instead he looked at Phedre, and shook his head mentally. In many ways, she is like her... There were striking similarities; the assuredness with which she carried herself as well as some of the little tics he had already noticed. Like wanting to be close to the door to make a hasty exit. It did not apear that she shared any other characteristics, at least upon surface examination. Claire would have been completely fine with having to fight her way out of a bar, because personally it was the thrill of the danger that really turned her blood to smoke. He could still recall her, even now. Fair haired, light eyed and lean, sharp features that enhanced the predatory gleam of her eyes. He banished the memory at once, of course. Some things healed over time, and other things did not.

He found himself unconsciously wiping his hand on his leggings, trying to scrub off blood that had turned to dust hundreds of years before.

I do not wish to talk about that, he replied as politely as he could. He reached up and drew the hood back over his head, providing the security of darkness to keep any pain that might show from being revealed to anyone, and most especially to his companion for the evening. He placed his order for drink - The whole damned bottle, understand? And don't bother bringing me a shot glass, thank you - before handing off enough pieces of gold coin to probably buy every drink in the place as carelessly as tossing coppers. The coins looked remarkably old and worn.

What, the riff-raff of the world? At least this lot is honest. He glanced around at their drinking companions - more than a few eyeing them oddly, and gave a short laugh. Better a bunch of cut throats and murderers who are more honest about their trade and business than businessmen and politicians and 'honest' citizens who conceal their misdeeds.

Drinks arrived, and he noticed her briefest hesitation before she took her first sip. Himself, the bottle of aged whiskey gleamed in the colored glass that comprised its bottle. He had to wonder where the keeper of this place had found it, because it was worlds more expensive than the swill this lot would be drinking. It was almost sacrilege when he popped the top and took five or six mouthfuls in one rush, sighing as liquid fire ran down his throat and into his belly. There would be no calming of nerves, though, unless he allowed it. The strange physiology of and Ascendant was difficult to understand, but it could be summed up in this particular instance as such: He was not drunk unless he wanted to be, and he did not stay drunk when he did not wish to.

And, in any case, polite society reminds me of too many things I want to forget. I it was just as easy as slipping away from the world and fading away...only, you know, that it not how it works. There are always things to do. So I keep company with the deplorable ones, whom should be most comfortable with my presence given my own sad state. From the shadows, she watched those eyes, so ismilar to hers dance.

And then some idiot decided to make a move that was unwise. It happened to quick to follow: suddenly, there were three knives stuck quivering in the table, and Tian's hand rested on the top, steadying the bottle so it did not spill. There was no apparent magic involved in this act, only unbelievable skill and speed. I suggest whichever of you is doing it be the polite one and obey the Lady. If you want to start a fight so quick, wait until we're properly sauced. It'll be more fun that way. There was no response from the few that even bothered to look up. They were humans, after all. No threat.

You have said nothing of yourself, of course. I believe I derailed that once already by being crass and ungentlemanly. Which is basically who and what I am, so there is no need me to ask forgiveness because I'll just do it again, later.

Edited by Tian, Thu Mar 30, 2017 4:07 pm.
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The moment her drinks arrived she flung back the small glass and downed the concentrated alcohol. She made a face after swallowing; it took her best effort to not utter a curse. This was not a concoction that she was familiar with and proved to be one of significant strength, for after she chased away the distaste with a swig of ale she began to realize that the tip of her nose was numb, and the soft hollow of her cupid’s bow was losing sensation as well.

The solid thud of blade biting wood brought forth a hiss from some creature behind her. Phedre’s eyes followed the hiss first, foggy blue lenses catching a glimpse of a vampire skulking back to his seat across the room. Her focus then traveled to the three knives anchored into the wood of the table. “Surely you don’t mince words,” she mumbled, “though I cannot argue with the effectiveness.” She offered a seated half bow in thanks.

Tian pulled on the bottle before him as though near death with thirst. One gulp followed another and Phedre could simply think on how it could be possible that he remain upright in the minutes to come. She recalled the vomit at the entranceway and hoped that he would not be adding to it... or that she would be, for that matter. Never had one drink brought her so far from her senses.

She was just pondering whether or not to touch her lips to see if they retained their feeling, when her brain sluggishly registered a statement of curiosity. “You wish to know about me?” she said, disappointed when she looked back at him to find his hood up on his head once more. When had that happened? She paused to frown, disappointed that his mirthful gaze was once more hidden from view. Suddenly the weight of her blade on her back caught her attention and she reached back to readjust it. By the time she straightened once more she had forgotten his query. Ah yes, her story.

“I wish I had something interesting to share,” she began, her index finger suddenly moving of its own accord to her lips. Yep, she could still feel them... mostly. “You already know most of what is fascinating, if anything indeed is, about me. I am a bounty hunter,” her hand then moved to the hilt of one of his knives, pulling it back and releasing it to watch it tremor slightly in the wood, “and a woman,” she did the same to the next knife, “and I enjoy little about humanity, or the population in general. People either bore or nauseate me.” Flicking the final knife she added, “oh and my favorite method of murder involves sharp objects to the neck, whilst my favorite color is black.”

After releasing the final blade she looked up at his hooded face and sighed, her eyes foggy from the drink. “I don’t really care for mages. Magic is for fools and weaklings. But that’s my autobiography in summary.” Another pause, “wait... I’m not going to tell you my age, for a lady never tells or some rubbish like that, but you may know that you are older than I... much, much older. Now tell me,” she asked, resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, “where do you hide all of these pretty knives?”

She fought to pull her lashes apart from their blink. They were heavy and it required much effort. Slender fingers reached to retrieve the empty shot glass and bring it to her nose... no, definitely not a drink that she recognized. From under long lashes she drew her gaze back to her companion, shaking the glass in her hand back and forth. “Do you know what this is,” she queried, a loose strand of hair falling to cross her cheek, “I hate to admit that I do not quite feel myself...”

She paused, glass still in hand and looked past it into the shadow of his hood, “I wish that you didn’t hide them.... those eyes of yours.” She winced slightly and shook her head, she did not mean to say that aloud. Had she been poisoned? What in Balefire was happening? She struggled to tuck the loose stand of hair behind her ear and pushed off of the table to lean back in her seat. She looked back across the surface and found Tian sober as a clam, despite sucking back his alcohol in great draws. Her brows knitted in confusion and her left hand moved to rest on the hilt of her dagger. No she did not drink often, but when she had, it had never gone like this.
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No. You don't wish you had something more interesting to tell me. Interesting is not...always better. His penetrating gaze was strong on her features from the veil of his hood. Only his chin showed no, and the barest curve of his lips. Only, they were not curved now, they were drawn straight and pressed together. Surely she is not this much of a light weight? he wondered to himself, and then paused. He was unfamiliar with the drink that she had taken, but as for his own...

He took a whiff of the bottle, and there, subtly hidden beneath the scent of alcohol, was something else. They had added it to his drink as well, but no substance unless it was particularly virulent could afflict him with a problem. He had drank half of a fifth of whiskey, and it was steady hands he placed on the table. He was suddenly extremely alert, his senses finely honed to detect danger. And the problem with this place: it was all around him.

"Fancy meeting a zakona here," a voice rasped by his ear. He didn't move, although he was doing something else entirely. A quickly, silently woven spell to try to purge the woman of her alcohol induced state, that and the drug that had been administered to her. And even as he did that, working one painfully careful thread of magic at a time, he turned in his chair and gave the werewolf that was standing behind him the worlds biggest shit eating grin. Ever.

Oh, I reckon you meet lots of zakona everywhere, he replied in Bridgetongue, the sound of mock surprise in his voice. Its not as if there aren't thousands of them around.

"Yeah, right, but there's not many of them like you are," the werewolf said thickly around teeth. Three eyeballs glared at him, red rimmed and malevolently. I wonder if this is one of those [removed]ers that needs a solid silver enema to drop in the chamber pot neatly. "I heard about you, oh yes I have. Tian the Chicken?"

He melodramatically looked himself over even as he worked his spell silently, and let the first thread of it lightly touch Phedre. She might not like sorcery - he had no compunction about using it himself - but she would like being touched by magic far better than anythign these bastards might do, which ncluded possibly making a meal of her. Well, I must have mange, or whatever it is chickens get. No feathers, see? He made a critical inspection of the beast in front of him, and whistled softly. Looks like you have a fine case of it, though. You should really get that looked a-

A clawed hand shot out and gripped the shadowdancer by the throat. Even though there was enough force to cut off his air, Tian still grinned insolently up at him. "You have the smart mouth they talked about, though." I hope you snap to quickly woman, he thought as he finished casting his spell. Because this shit is going to get heavy in a moment, and I only have a few dozen knifes to go around.

Me? Sassy? I never would have guessed. And, at the same time, he smashed the half filled bottle of whiskey against the bastards head hard enough to make his eyes go blank for a moment. You will pay for making me break a perfectly good bottle of whiskey, you son of a whore.

OOC
Edited by Tian, Fri Mar 31, 2017 1:23 am.
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