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The World's End Tavern

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Anjeru said:
Anjeru's cold eyes lifted back up from her glass to the man at the bar beside her. She nodded her head, her auburn tinted, white-tipped bangs falling across one eye. Her skin was delicately pale, freckles dotting across her nose bridge and cheeks.

"You would be correct in your assumption," she said, a small smirk spreading across her thin, pink lips. "We all seem to be setting foot in Trygon's domain today."

She grabbed the next shot of tequila between her thumb and index finger and knocked it back, once again enjoying the burning sensation. She set the glass back onto the counter top looking back at Damien again.
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"It would appear to be so, madam." Damien answered as he gripped his mug once more but this time took a slightly lesser quaff of ale before getting it back down then glanced off to the side for a moment before letting out a deep belch, not really caring as to who would've seen - let alone heard - him do so.

"But, I suppose that really doesn't matter, does it?" Damien added after a beat before turning his glacier-colored irises at the Valkyrie and arched an eyebrow at her with a smirk. As he waited for her response, Damien glanced back over his shoulder, seeing a few more new faces enter the tavern, one being a dark clothed, dark haired assassin - all of which he found to be somewhat odd, because normally assassins would have to have somewhere else to be. Not in a place such as this - and someone else. It felt dark, he knew that, but it didn't appear to be much to unsettle him at all. Rather, it put a smile on his face when he caught a glimpse of another female who appeared to be one with the shadows herself.

What also got his attention as Damien continued to survey the area, was that he also caught the eye of what appeared to be angel, but there was something truly peculiar about her. It wasn't exactly something he could put his finger on, but upon sighting her, his eyes narrowed slightly in interest. Following this, he merely turned towards the front of the bar and eased back into his seat, smiling to himself in relaxation.
 
Notte said:
A bare whisper of sound resided and would alert none to her arrival, just as if it were the wind, flowing, moving, creating her steps for she barely made a sound. Taking a seat in the corner of the room, her dress floated around her in waves before fluttering down to caress the floor. Skin pale, lips tainted the color of blood, a mix of black and golden wavy hair hung down like silk, her eyes but a golden glow in the darkness - the color of honey, heretic eyes that saw everything. Shadows seemed to be drawn to her and it was as if she herself were apart of them. A predatory grace dancing between light and darkness. And in the pale moonlight of her skin, at the deep V of her dress, burnt upon her left breast stood out with white clarity the marking of the cross.
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For a moment Naomi's were drawn away from the winged girl so she might lock them on a much more plausible target. A pale girl with hair of black and gold, and honey eyes who sat in the corner opposite her. She put her knife back into her sleeve pocket and stood up with her bottle of bourbon and her glass to go over to the new blood's table. Sitting down with a smile, she sets the bottle and an extra glass on the table. "Care for a drink, friend?" She asked with a sly smile.
 
Notte often played the game of cat and mouse - usually with her own soul, yet once in awhile with someone else. When the woman who was unconsciously nearly making love to her butterfly knife came over, Notte raised her heretic eyes up to her's and although her smile was pleasant, it was also predatory. She could feel the darkness from the woman's aura beating down on her and her body warmed inside, even as a little shiver went down her spine. Excitement, the thrill of dangers to come, maybe that is why she had been drawn into this Tavern - she knew that something or someone was here waiting.

She reached up a delicate hand, long tapered fingers that would be perfect to caress the keys of a piano, or strum any type of instrument. Her nails were of a dangerous length, blood red tipped, sharpened into points, and if one looked close enough, they would be able to see the glint of silver; razor sharp and lethal made to fit perfectly beneath each pointed nail. Waving to the empty chair in indication for the woman to be seated, her eye's still stared, unwavering and unblinking into the woman's. "I believe that a drink is perfectly in order for..." She paused and it was a silky silence before she purred out, "friends."
 
Naomi grinned and poured her a glass of bourbon. She made little effort to make small talk, feeling perfectly content to just look at this haunting beauty. She was sure this one would make for a beautiful death, and her head an equally beautiful addition to her collection of trophies. She once more pulled out her favorite knife and only flipped it open rather than constantly spinning and twirling it. Instead be put the base of it on the table and spun it around, anchoring the tip of the blade on her index finger. A single drop of blood ran down the sharp blade, the feeling making her shudder happily.
 
"Indeed," the Valkyrie purred, downing her final shot of tequila, before setting the empty shotglass beside its twins on the bartop. As her companion's eyes wandered, so did her own; there were more people arriving every moment, it seemed. The fact that this dwelling belonged to the almighty hand of Trygon was what probably drew the masses to its door. Besides working alongside him to serve their one and only, Trygon was also a friend of sorts. The Valkyrie enjoyed his twisted sense of humor and enjoyed the games he played, usually standing back with a sly smile spread across her lips.

The Valkyrie was doing that sort of action now, surveying the patrons. The twisted hearted one was now engaging in conversation with the beauty she knew to be of darkness; she doubted the shadow woman didn't have intentions nearly as twisted as the knife wielder. Somehow, she also got the impression that she was well aware of what the girl was up to, so the mediator didn't pay it much mind. Her eyes strayed to the place where the vampire had finally made himself known; she'd been sensing him for awhile, or something of a dark aura at least.

"Tender, another round of Tequila, please." She said as the tender took away her empty shot glasses. Beginning to wonder what she should do now, she leaned back somewhat absentmindedly. Her feet idly kicked out from her greek-inspired dress; she liked how cool she managed to stay in it. It was only clasped on one shoulder, leaving the other bare.

"The lands seem peaceful, at least for today," she murmured.
 
Anjeru said:
"The lands seem peaceful, at least for today,"
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Van snorted and turned his grey eyes towards the source of the statement. "If this is peace, I would greatly enjoy witnessing your idea of 'hostile'." He said with a cracked grin. He spun around in the barstool to face outwards towards the rest of the tavern. He nodded towards Notte and Naomi, "Something is obviously going on over there." With a sigh he stood up and walked next to Anjeru and Damien. "And it doesn't take too much effort to see that most everyone here can take care of themselves... now all we need is the inspiration." His cracked grin widened a bit, his wrapped fingers clenching a few times in excitement. "Forgive me, where are my manners. I am Vanslaz, and as I understand it, this 'impressive' establishment is owned by one of this lands Lords?"
 
Notte watched in fascination at the dancing blade. She loved items sharp, shiny, and even more so, deadly. She reached out without even taking her eyes from the blade and picked up her glass of liquor. Bringing it to her lips, she let her tongue twirl along the edge of the glass before setting her lips upon it and taking a healthy swallow. When she pulled it away, a red stain mirrored where her lips were placed and it seemed to fall together and slide down the glass if it really were blood, her lips still looked the same as before as if nothing were faded even though it was apparent on the glass. She ran her thumb up the glass to catch the blood tear and wiped it way before bringing it to her lips and licking it off - a small sigh of satisfaction at the drop. "May I inquire to your name, Mon Cheri?" Her voice poured out in a smokingly satin caress that danced along the senses, her eyes raised up to look at those of the woman sitting next to her.
 
Angel returned the gaze that was cast towards her. Silently and slowly, as to not really draw attention she began to pour herself another glass of wine. "Tender if at all possible, I'd like some of your best roast." She said lightly, adding another coin to the stack in front of her. She glanced around her again. Wings remaining perfectly still, not a single feather moving. Almost as if that part of her was a statue. Complete stillness, even not as a 'human' she knew what that was. Her eyes closed though as she chuckled. Silently the food came and she began to eat. She wasn't going to interfere with anyone. Her job was not needed yet, there where no deaths, though there may be later.
 
Naomi watched with intrigue as the pale woman drank from her glass in such a sensual manner. The drop of blood was a nice touch. It almost hypnotized her, and left her wanting to see more. She was getting excited at the sight of it, though she managed to keep it hidden when she spoke. "My name is Naomi. And you, my dear? What beautiful name graces this lovely face hmm?" She cursed herself for having probably overdone that a little, but it seemed that it shouldn't matter much. This woman was interested in her just as much as it was the other way around. She always had her eyes if need be. It might not paralyze a god, but it would work on pretty much anyone else if only for a second.
 
A secretive little smile danced at the corners of her lips and her eyes shimmered with amusement and... something else that was there for only but a moment, as if it never even passed her expression. It was her eyes that were truly remarkable, like the moon glowed behind them, a silver sheen of danger, a night predators eyes; cat eyes. Lifting her right hand to her mouth, she ran one nail along her bottom lip in what appeared to be a tender caress, yet only she knew differently. "My name, Cheri, why it is Notte." The way she spoke her name, in a mere whisper, a slight of shivers in the dead of night, the eerie sound of howls towards the moon - sweet, haunting, melodic, all rolled into one. Her smile seemed to grow even darker, more dangerous in its secrecy. "Merci, for the compliment."
 
Indeed those haunting eyes haunted her, but not so much that it was scary. It was just enough to give Notte an air of exciting curiosity. It captivated her, the eyes shone like diamonds in the moonlight and put Naomi under their spell. Even so, there was always something inside her head that nothing could control. It has helped before and would help now when she would need it most to take this mysterious beauty as her own. To think that she herself wouldn't be alive today if her sister hadn't killed herself. "You're very welcome, Notte." She said, taking a sip from her glass. "Although I believe my words do you no justice."
 
The door banged open, and a tallish man in jeans, sneakers, and a horrendously clashing Hawaiian-style shirt came in, face buried in the map he was trying to make sense of, twisting and turning it while deftly avoiding chairs, support pillars, and other obstructions as he walked from the front door to the bar. John Blevins stopped at an empty spot and spread the map on the bar-top, poring over it in the dim lamp-light.

Second day of vacation, and he was already lost. The drive from Chicago to Philadelphia should have been simple, but no. Noooooo, he had to decide to avoid the Interstates, to see "real America" from the ground level, stop-lights and all. And now he was cursing himself and the Universe for not giving him the one sense that would have been useful in this particular context: GPS.

He also blamed Destiny. He blamed Destiny a fair amount, actually, considering the flashes Destiny would hand out to him frequently made his life much more complicated than it had to be. John preferred a quiet life, without the hassle and drama and constant deaths and resurrections and strangely flexible backgrounds that plagued metahumans like himself that pursued a more public life. He liked to keep it personal and sensible, not raising too much trouble, just using the abilities the Universe had gifted him with to do a good job at work and keep himself out of danger at home.

But then Destiny would give him an image, such as picking a particular lottery number, or visiting a specific address, or taking a specific turn off the highway to wander through the back-roads, and like a fool, he'd always take it, hoping it would be one of those times like when he won $10,000, as opposed to the time the guy in the Gimp suit answered the door. True, the Gimp had been grateful that he'd been able to pick the lock on his partner's cuffs (to which they'd lost the key), and considering the Gimp was an accountant of no small skill, now John got his taxes done for free, but the point was, Destiny was always giving him hassle. And if it hadn't been for Destiny, John would have been the other side of Punxsutawney by this time.

He was so focused on the map, he barely paid attention to the rest of the bar. He'd half-expected some honky tonk or something to be playing as he walked in, but instead there was some kind of subliminal background buzzing he'd never experienced before. If he hadn't been so distracted by trying to figure out precisely where he was, he might have been more concerned about it, as there were very few stimuli that he couldn't identify at this point. But that would have to wait until he had a few spare moments to look around.

"Hey, barkeep," he said in a friendly tone when he sensed one of them nearby. "You wouldn't happen to be able to point me toward Harrisburg, would you?"
 
Anjeru's eyes wandered to the man who spoke to her now, a wry smile twisting across her lips. "I know the ways of hostility, my good sir." She said. "One of my profession often does. The days of Valkyries are filled with battle front after battle front."

As her sentence died off, the tender brought her the requested round of Tequila, placing three freshly filled shotglasses before her on the bartop. She knocked one back and set the glass onto the counter; she had a high tolerance to mortal's drinks and so she had yet to feel any real effect from the beverage.

"Where are my manners?" She chuckled. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Vanslaz. I believe I shall call you Van." A small nod. "It's a tad easier to remember. I am Anjeru. And you would be correct; this tavern belongs to Trygon."

She waited to see if the name registered before she spoke again. "I'm pretty sure you are aware of this person, even if only in name. He's not one to be crossed. Like Damien and I, he keeps a very close eye on the ways of Blue Moon and the people who inhabit it. Just...he has a more sadistic sense of humor than a good number of us." Again, she chuckled.
 
Damien merely bubbled with dark laughter at the remark Anjeru made about him then shook his head with the equally same amount of mirth before he spoke again. "If only you knew the half of it, Anjeru." He answered. "Usually, when I dispense my form of justice, I prefer to have the offender's limbs ripped off piece by piece. But that's only an ugly rumor that was spread about me." He added, chuckling again as he then waved a hand dismissively as if the subject didn't even faze him that much.

"However, if some unlucky fuck were to... directly piss me off," Damien added, his eyes narrowing sharply as his face straightened out. "Then that would be when I would have to confirm that rumor and in more ways than one." He added, the gravely serious tone of his voice never leaving him.
 
Van performed the 'jazz hands' move with his right hand as he raised is eyebrows in mock shock, "Ho noes, sounds like little ol me should be weary of this 'malevolent' godling. seriously, if your egos were any larger I'm sure this toothpick shack would fall apart from the sheer audacious amount of hot air steaming from the two of you, forces forbid we add ANOTHER one." He said in one quick, clear, and concise breath. A wide grin spreading across his greyish face as he leaned on his staff, the blade near the top starting to flicker into visibility.
 
(Anjeru, were you referring to my chara as a vampire? Cause just to clear it up this one is the necromancer inhabited by a demon ^.^)

Damascus sat stiffly in the chair, as if something was constantly setting him on edge. Well, that was likely true given the unending battle his mind fought with the demon, even though he was always welcome. The problem was, the presence wanted too much control, so much that Damascus would be merely a memory. He was not going to let that happen, however, and he calmly sipped on the last bit of red wine before setting down his glass. More had entered the tavern in the past few, giving new life to it all. Hah. As if one could really call it life. The demon was speaking of the various patrons; Damascus only had a limited connection to the demon's extrasensory powers. Though he could tell a good deal about people, given his magical background, there were certainly limits, and the demon he had wanted gave him that extra depth of perception that he had found so useful over the years.

Wood scraped on wood as he pushed away from the table, standing with a slow precision to his movements. Again a thin hand, the flesh hugging the bone neatly, reached and took hold of the goblet. When he walked, as he did so now towards the bar, her had a peculiar gait. It was a combination of a slight shuffle and a limp, staggering slightly with each step as if just walking caused him some sort of pain. But pain he did not feel as he moved through the middle of the tavern, cutting a path through the building's occupants. He didn't seem to look at anyone, not really, that darkness filled hood just facing towards the bar.

Damascus came to rest somewhere between a pair of those Blue Moon rulers and an intriguing woman who sat stock still like a statue, feathered wings around her shoulders. He paid no heed as the bartender refilled his glass, a bony hand pressing coins into his hand. As the man's hand retracted with the money, Damascus froze. He stifled a gasp as fire exploded in his brain. Hidden fingers balled into fists as it washed over him, a sudden flare of pain and anger, malice and power. Against his will he staggered forward, bumping the bartop, the hand which was motionless knocking over the glass suddenly as it hit the bar for balance. With a panting breath his shoulders hunched, red clouding his vision as his head moved from side to side. No, no he had to get away. The people, no they mustn't... Garbled thoughts rushed through his mind as, with greater speed than one would have expected, Damascus found himself climbing the stairs to the upper floors. He knew not if he had paid, or if anyone had said anything, just that he had to get upstairs.
 
A quiet thud sounded through the building, as of 800 pounds of dragonscale landing on the roof. Trygon leaned over, lifting the entry hatch, before dropping to the second floor with another, louder, thud. There was a moment of silence from above as he crossed the length of the building, and then only faint whispers of talons over wood as the dragon descended.

"Hey. You. With the mouth. C'mere for a minute. Let's talk."
 
Van craned his neck upwards and folded his arms across his chest as he gazed towards Trygon. "I find it horribly rude to not meet the eyes of a person with whom you are speaking with." A dragon, it said a few things about him already.
 
"Then we're just speaking the same tongue. Good."

Trygon grinned and opted to cross the room instead, bringing the newcomer into the middle of a triangle consisting of himself, Damien, and Anjeru. His serpentine neck folded over into a question mark shape, bringing his eyes to bear on Van's from above. He snorted softly, blowing a cloud of thick smoke, reeking of reactive chemicals.

"I wonder. What could posses you to tromp into the middle of my grounds, and start running your mouth? You don't know anything about me. That sort of stupid shit gets a man obliterated."
 
DJBayview said:
Van performed the 'jazz hands' move with his right hand as he raised is eyebrows in mock shock, "Ho noes, sounds like little ol me should be weary of this 'malevolent' godling. seriously, if your egos were any larger I'm sure this toothpick shack would fall apart from the sheer audacious amount of hot air steaming from the two of you, forces forbid we add ANOTHER one." He said in one quick, clear, and concise breath. A wide grin spreading across his greyish face as he leaned on his staff, the blade near the top starting to flicker into visibility.
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Damien first arched a curious eyebrow when he heard this remark from the assassin, but after a bit, broke out in an uproarious fit of howling laughter, slapping a knee as he laughed before turning his eyes over to Vanslaz and gave him a sawtoothed grin. "Under a normal circumstance, I could've easily had you crucified upside down naked and disemboweled before feeding you your own entrails, but for some reason, I find myself... Enjoying this little chat of ours." He added, smiling a little more at the assassin. "Besides, you're giving me a great source of entertainment." He added, chuckling a little more.

The conversation, however, would be cut short when he saw Trygon enter the establishment in his dragon form. Damien would the look upwards at the mythical creature and quirked an eyebrow up at him, not feeling the slightest bit threatened or intimidated at all. "Hmm. Seems like our esteemed host of honor has decided to show up." He said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
 
"If I was entirely worried about it I wouldn't have said anything at all." He waved his hands in front of his nose and wrinkled his face in disgust. "And you know, you aren't the first dragon to control a spit of land and suddenly thinks they are omnipotent."

Vanslaz then turned and rose his own eyebrow at the seemingly manic man. "Well, it's overbearingly joyful to know that you have a sense of humor that rivals a mentally challenged toddler."
 
Angel's attention snapped towards the staggering male. Then towards the re-arrival of the Dragon-God. She braced her hand on her hip. Leaving her meal unattended and stood. The other male was running his mouth, 'Vanslaz' as he called himself. Her eyes narrowed as she flicked her thumb on the edge of her blade. She really didn't like to fight, but if something was starting, she had to be damn well ready to react, in case she had to defend herself. She snapped the blade back though, and shifted her hand towards her scythe. Silently palming it's smaller form, and keeping her wings mantled on her shoulders.

Once again she went back to stock still, and silent. Listening for any problems that may arise, and anything that may be happening. Sidonie help them all, if a fight broke out.
 
"I've been on both sides of omnipotence enough times to know the difference. If you'd like, I'll be more then happy to prove it."

Trygon's eyes gleam slightly, and his long forked tongue flicks over his lips hungrily, as he awaits the first word of confirmation... Small eddies of air breeze about him, and heat waves begin rising from the corners of his mouth, noticeably raising the temperature around him.
 
"If you want to dance Wyrm." He grinned widely as his hair turned bright green, his eyes to a bright red, and his cloak shifted to his bone armor and purple assassins uniform. "By my guest." Twin katars snapping out of their homes with a squeeze of the pressure plates. Van's staff faded into the shadows as it travelled back to his pocket dimension.
 
Angel watched in silence, the shift that overcame Trygon and then Vanslaz. She sighed mostly to herself, a soft brush of air that was barely like the whisper of a breeze. Her hand twisted as she stepped back. She let the scythe remain collapsed in her palm, making it larger may make her seem like an attacker, and she would only defend herself if she had to. She pressed her free hand to her forehead and closed her eyes lightly. "Sweet Sidonie, preserve me in my time of need. Give me strength to overcome these odds..." She said softly and gently. This calmed her, and strengthened her enough to be ready for what may come.
 
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