John Barrister

[Barrister] This might not be Lonna's usual kind of place.

It's a pub, first off, not a bar. It's a ways from the hottest, trendiest areas of the Mile (though there are those that would argue that the trendiest nightspots were actually away from the Loop, buried behind the facades of warehouses and block-buildings), a tiny nook in a wall that bears a faux-faded sign with some Noun & Noun name. Fox and Feather, Goose and Arrow: something to make the Americans think it sounded British.

The interior is dark wood and polished brass, green felt. This is the sort of place with live bands on a saturday night; with pool tables and hot food well into the night, and the regulars are a bit, or a lot older than the usual 20-something 30-something barhopping crowd. That said, there are plenty of those, too. It's Friday, after all.

Barrister is at one of the pool tables. It's hard to miss him. The man is enormous, towering at six feet four. His shoulders look like bowling balls; he's so deepchested it might be better termed a drum than a barrel -- as in, 55-gal drum. He's laughing, though, having just sunk the eight-ball. There were no stakes on the game. His opponent claps him on the shoulder before taking his leave: the sound is somewhat akin to slapping a side of beef.

Alone now, still keen for another game, Barrister takes a gulp of his beer before setting the bottle on the side of the table and chalking up his cue. His hair is dark; the hair dusting the backs of his hands are dark, too, and his skin is weathered, tanned. Against all this swarthiness, the gold of his wedding band glints visibly.

[Lonna Larson] Bars. Bars she did. They were places where the music was too loud, where assholes in too-expensive clothing tried to stare down her shirt, or tried to figure out hold long her legs were, or thought it charming to guess what color her underwear was or inform her that the average D-cup weighed about ten pounds.

Lonna Larson, at a bar, attracted assholes. And, while she didn't have to buy the drinks, it came with the price of the idiots.

What was nice about the Noun and Noun pseudo British pub was this: she could get down to what she had come to do- drink. It had been the kind of evening, the kind of week, the kind of month that demanded cold drinks with uncomplicated names. And she didn't want to go to a place that she would be too horribly tempted to order amaretto sours until memories faded or became clearer [whichever one happened first. It didn't matter to her, really]

Point number two that was good about this place, as opposed to bars, was this: pool tables. Somewhere with actual, honest-to-god pool tables. She slipped in. She had showered, she had re-dressed, and she had hit the town. Attire was something comfortable- jeans. Flats. a light sweater- Lonna looked nice in green, she should wear it more often.

The lady paused at the bar, ordering a beer [Something that isn't domestic... bottle, not draft] and glanced at one of the tables. She was looking for an opening.

Where's the harm, right?

[Barrister] There are three tables here; two of them had games in progress. At one, a group of twenty-somethings are drunk and getting drunker, casting balls sloppily over the table on wild, careening tangents. Lonna watches them for three or four strokes without seeing a single one of them pocket a ball. That game's going to go on a while.

At another, a flat-eyed, lean fellow is playing for money. His opponent is an increasingly irritated redhead -- a man, not a woman, and nearly as large as --

-- well, as Barrister, who, standing beside the third table, has finished tipping his cue with the small block of blue chalk. He sets it on the mahogany edge of the table. There are ceiling lamps hanging low over each table, making the rich wine-red felt glow. The big kinsman starts to go around his table, fishing balls out of the pockets as he circles it. He catches Lonna watching as he comes around the corner, and when he smiles the corners of his eyes crinkle.

"Looking for a game?" And he fishes another three balls out of the corner pocket, letting them thump gently to the felt.

[Lonna Larson] She seemed to think about this for awhile. Seemed, ,of course, being the operative word, as that she did make a show of it. She grinned a little, then nodded, finally. Lonna took a pull off of her beer- something imported, bottle not draft- and then walked around the edge of the table to help gather up the balls there.

Looking for a game?
"Yeah, haven't played in awhile. Trying to decide whether or not I'm any good while I'm sober," she said.

Though, realistically, she knew she wasn't going to stay sober for long. She knew herself, she knew how much she enjoyed being out, and she knew that she didn't have half the tolerence that she used to. John was huge. John was huge in comparison to Lonna, and that was saying something because Lonna Larson was damned near an amazon. He was a good six inches taller than her and proportionally larger.

Besides, he was a married man. And it was just pool. And she wasn't drunk yet. Overall, seemed like a good recipe.

"Do you mind if I grab this next game?"

[Barrister] "I always play better after a couple drinks," John Barrister replies. His smile is a grin now, showing white teeth, something that might've been a dimple under his two-day beard.

It's not an two-day beard, actually. It's not even an eighteen-hour beard. He just has a five-o-clock shadow that shows up by noon. She asks if she can join the next game and, by way of reply, he grabs another cue off the rack. Hefts it at her easily, as carefully as a cue might be tossed -- sideways, not javelin-like. The block of chalk follows.

While she chalks up, he sets his cue aside and racks up the balls. Swaps a few solids and stripes, makes sure the black eight ball is where it belongs. Then he shakes the pyramid of balls back and forth a few times to pack them, then lifts the rack deftly away, hangs it beneath the table.

"Care to break?" He holds the cue ball out at her.

[Lonna Larson] He had a two day beard by the end of a long day; something about that, one could say, was vaguely appealing. The man was built like a linebacker; she was built like the girl next door. Well, maybe not the literal girl next door, but the idealized version. the one that had blonde hair and clear eyes and chewed on the end of her pencil while she was nervous.

That girl next door.

He hefts her a poor cue- not like a javelin- and for her part she's actually a decent catch. Who would have guessed that not being intoxicated has improved her hand/eye coordination. She wasn't aching, she wasn't tired- not yet, anyways- and she looked at the cue ball. The lady took it in her hand, letting a slight grin cross her face.

"Don't laugh," she said. Probably in reference to her implied inability to break well. She set it down, she lined it up, and for the time being she seemed content to think about this- how was she going to pull this off, where would hte balls end up? Was she ever any good at pool?

Lonna bent down, having decided that breaking was a good idea. That she knew what she was doing, and that if she didn't, she could always order another beer. And? Well, she lined up her shot.

Fire away, Ms. Larson.

[Lonna Larson] (Dex+science: because this bitch took physics for some ungodly reason...)

[Barrister] Ms. Larson, who claims not to be any good at this, who claims to possibly be unable to play while sober...

...leans down, lines the shot up, and breaks like a pro. Stripes and solids scatter every which way. Two, three, four of them thunk into pockets. Barrister leans on his cue, his dark eyes everywhere at once on the table. He doesn't have to check the pockets to tell her, "Three stripes and a solid. Looks like you're stripes. Still your shot."

And, picking up his beer, he knocks it back and smirks at her: a sort of easy, conspiratorial quirk of his mouth. "Not any good while you're sober, huh?"

[Lonna Larson] "Well, aparently I had something before i got here," she said with a quiet degree of amazement.

she took a drink of her beer, still unaware of what, precisely, it was called and went back to the table to try and line up another shot. She looked at him; it is a quiet sort of conspiracy there. She might have been hustling him; then again, there was no money involved. None of that. Just, well, a blonde and a very large man playing pool

"Think about it this way, if I was trying to hustle you, I would have said that the loser buys the next round of drinks," and with that, she shot again.

Corner pocket.

[Barrister]

[Barrister] The tip of the cue strikes too low this time, chips the cue ball right off the table. It flies right at Barrister's face. The kinsman -- not that Lonna knows he's kin, not that he knows she's kin, not that they're anything to each other right now except friendly strangers sharing a game of pool -- brings his hand up in an instinctive arc, catches the flying ball out of the air. Slick.

Or it would be, if he didn't offer her a self-deprecating smile as he comes around to set the ball behind the headstring.

"You know, if you wanted to buy me a drink so badly," Barrister says, leaning down to line up his shot -- and there's a long, long way to lean from his height, "you could've just said so."

He has some experience at this. It's in the way his left hand open-bridges right and sturdy; it's in the smooth, rail-like glide of the pool cue, the wrist loose, the most of the energy coming from the snap of the hand rather than the forearm.

The cueball shoots across the table. Barrister is already straightening up and circling, confident of his shot, by the time the solid sinks into the corner. The cueball rolls to a stop, lined up against a solid teetering on the edge of a side pocket. A skimming, tangential shot nudges that in, and the cueball rolls to a stop again, this time lined up for a cross-table shot into the far corner.

A third solid drops into the pocket, bringing his total up to four against her three. Worse, the cueball's parked behind an impenetrable mass of solids and stripes now, no clear shot in sight. Apparently, no one ever taught Barrister to let a lady win.

[Lonna Larson] (let's see if she succeeds this time. No clear shot)

[Lonna Larson] Who was she kidding, that was slick. It was damned slick at that. He caught the ball before it had the chance to hit the floor, or hit him in his face. She looked in quiet, building horror when she thought Oh fuck, I'm going to break this guy's nice with a pool ball. This is really not my week.

He caught it, though: crisis averted.

If she really wanted to buy him a drink so badly, she couldn't just said so.
"But where's the fun in that? No allure, no awkward almost-hitting-someone-with-a-ball, no names," she looked at her shot.

None open. Nothing obvious. So, instead, she was going to go through with dumb luck and showmanship. She paused, she hoped, and she managed to get her ball somwhere and that somewhere happened to be a pocket.

"What is your name? And what-"

and there goes another ball into a pocket.

"Do you drink?"

Not so much luck with that last shot, though. She left it open for him. No one ever told John that he was supposed to let a lady win; no one ever told Lonna that she was supposed to give up when things looked crappy.

[Lonna Larson] (*nose, not nice. Ugh, firefox I miss you.)

[Barrister]

[Barrister] "John," he replies to the first question, "and ... anything, really. I'm a fan of a good smoky Scotch."

This time Barrister doesn't fare so well. It's a shot across the table, the solid ball squarely in the center; the cueball strikes a little off-center and by the time the solid rolls near the pocket, it's off by two or three inches. It thumps off the cushions and rolls to a stop.

Barrister doesn't seem particularly perturbed, though. He straightens up, leans on his cue, and continues, "What about you? Name and drink."

[Lonna Larson]

[Lonna Larson] "Lonna," she said. and she shot once more.

And the rather attractive girl-next-door got to lining up her shots. She claimed that she wasn't very good; obviously, she was either playing with pool sharks or she was one herself. Each ball sunk is done with nothing more than a resouncing click, and then a thump.

One.
After the other.
Again.
And again.

"And normally, amaretto sours... but tonight, I'll take anything."

Eight ball, side pocket. Landed, sunk without a problem. She looked at John, and for the moment she offered him a bright smile; it lit up her face, made her seem more real than she had before. Lonna pushed some of those blonde curls over her shoulder and looked back at the Fenrir.

"But, I trust your judgment."

[Barrister] For what it's worth, Barrister is a gracious loser. He leans on his cue, waiting, as Lonna sinks ball after ball after ball, until she calls the pocket on the eight and sinks it without hesitation. When she looks over at Barrister, he's biting the insides of his lips to keep from laughing.

"You," he accuses, "are either not sober, or damn good while sober."

He straightens up and holds his hand out to her, a friendly shake. The gold band on his ring finger is warmed from his skin, body temperature. "Thanks for the game. Do you only drink mixed drinks? I'm not even sure they'll mix them here. This is sort of a whiskey-and-brandy joint."

[synesthesia] I need a Perception+Intuition roll, diff. 8, or straight perception.
I need the answer to the question: would John rather be strong or beautiful?
to Barrister

[Liadan] [WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 5, 7, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Barrister] strong.

percep 3/intuition 1!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 8)
to synesthesia

[synesthesia] From the outside, Seven Fingers looks like a mid-range pub in a decent area of town. The sign out front is carved wood, the '7' joined with the 'F' in 'Fingers'. It looks like their primary business is at the bar, but there's menus here and there hinting at more substantial fare to go along with it. It's a classy place, warm and comfortable inside, with the sounds of classic rock. There's a stage near the back and surprisingly, most of the middle of the pub is open space, the tables and chairs moved more to the sides. They don't seem to want to cram people in.

The band on stage is lively, making the covers they're doing their own. When more than a few couples get up from dinner and actually begin to dance it seems that the layout makes a lot more sense: people spontaneously dance here, apparently.

There's a tall, burly man standing just inside the door, wearing a tight black t-shirt and jeans. He's chewing on a toothpick. His muscles bulge. He glances at John when he enters, narrows his eyes, but that's all. A quick up-and-down, before he went back to just watching the band. The players are all lithe, energetic and completely engrossed in what they're doing. The bartenders behind the counter to the left are busy. They look frazzled but...enjoying it.

It seems, from the menu, that 7 Fingers -- not surprisingly -- specializes in whisky.

Oh, and cheese fries.
to Barrister

[synesthesia] When Barrister enters Club Haptic, he feels a sudden rush up the back of his spine. It's not a chill, but a tingle, warm and tantalizing. This place is not what it seems. He knows, without meaning to know, there's more. The bouncer gives off an air of protectiveness. The bartenders seem the type who will listen to your problems. The dancers and singers are the sort of people who are too perfect, too beautiful, too sexy, to exist in real life.
to Barrister

[synesthesia] [HA. Seven Fingers. RIGHT. Not Club Haptic. Serves me right for C&Ping.]
to Barrister

[synesthesia] It's as though the cute, freckled bartender's ears are cued to the frequency of Liadan's voice in particular. She's turning around just a moment later, like she was just waiting for Liadan to ask her what she was talking about. She hears her, and makes her way over, dropping an extra maraschino cherry into Liadan's drink. She nods her head at the stage, leaning on the pristine countertop. She has a bosom one would call 'ample', cheeks that would be compared to apples.

"Kestrel," she says, "the singer. You're just her type." Her eyebrows lift gently. "They're almost done with their set," she adds, hinting.

The woman in question, the singer whose voice is so passionate that she could make someone weep by singing a commercial's jingle, is not looking their way but she is winding her song down, and Randi is not sitting alone for long. Soon enough she notices a thin, pale young woman with shoulder-length, needle-straight, jet-black hair and enormous-seeming eyes poking her head around the wall of her booth. Her fingers, wrapped around that wall, look abnormally long. When Randi sees her standing there, she gives a thin smile. She doesn't say anything, but she looks eager for...a friend.

Over at the bar again, Leah notices that she's being noticed, and the boy with the warm brown eyes who looks like he's barely eighteen or nineteen years old. The second or third time she glances up, he smiles. And he waves. Someone has a crush. Without seeming like he needs much encouragement he sidles back over and says, with lifted eyebrows: "You sure you just want the Coke?"

The dancefloor is so full, to Aidan's eyes and ears and senses. People are brushing up against him constantly, he can feel their breath and he can smell their hair, their shampoo. He smells flowers. Real flowers, not perfume, not essences kept in bottles. He smells jewels. Do jewels have smells? Right about now he'd swear they do. And if they do -- surely they do, they smell like beauty and light and the sort of life he can't imagine in Chinatown -- then the woman staring at him, mouthing the words of a song to him as the song itself fades away, well...she smells like emeralds, and diamonds, and her lips taste like rubies.

Rubies must have a taste. He's sure they have a taste. She doesn't move towards him. He moves towards her. That's how it should be. When he gets close enough, those around her are looking at him, too, like he's welcome, like he's already one of them. Her hands on his cheeks are cool. Silky. Silk has a smell. It smells like love. "Do you want to dance with us?" she purrs. He feels that purr more than he hears it, like thorns stuck in his socks, scraping against his ankles.

[synesthesia] [Sorry about the wait, folks. Blame Damon. :-D]

[Randi McCollach] When she 'feels' a bit of movement, she looks to see someone peeking in on her in her booth. Randi is polite, and smiles back. "The song is wonderful, isn't it?" Seeing the place full, and Randi taking up a whole booth, "Would you like to sit down? There's lots of room." Making a motion to the empty seat across from her. "I don't mind."

[Leah Novak] You sure you just want the Coke?

Leah pushes her basket of molten, gooey cheese fries to one side and her pristine, half-completed application and pen to the other to allow herself the room to fold her arms on the bar. Tonight she's dressed for the job she's asking for, the way her mother always told her to: black Oxfords, black slacks, and a black button-up shirt with three-quarter sleeves. Her thick hair is pulled back with a modest silver clip, and her makeup is tasteful rather than seductive.

She's starting to wish she hadn't worn any at all.

"Thank you very much for asking," she says, her voice basted in the accent of the Deep South but not dripping with it; it's pure Mississippi for those who are capable of differentiating, "but I'm really just here to fill out this application. Wouldn't do me no good to drink while I'm filling out an application now, would it?"

[synesthesia] Randi's new friend nods enthusiastically in agreement and slides around the wall to join Randi in her booth, sitting across from her. She's...a tiny one. She's barely five feet tall, painfully thin. The collar of her jacket is high, the sleeves long, the cuffs covering her hands to the first knuckle of her fingers. It's form-fitting but her skirt scrapes the floor, like she bought a size too big. Maybe she's holding it around her skinny hips with safety pins.

She leans forward over the table when she sits down, peering at Randi with vast interest. She hasn't blinked. "You looked sad," she says, her voice straining to be heard. "You looked so sad, during that song."

They're playing something else, now. Something less sad. Something almost angry.

[Liadan] Dark brows, a moment ago knitted in a frown, raise. Liadan watches the singer in earnest. The woman is slim, the voice issuing from her lips unnatural. She contemplates the drink her hand for a moment as if it held all the answers to all the questions in the universe. Her shoulders shrug slightly as she comes to a decision. She raises the glass to her lips, knocks the remaining contents back in one go, sets the glass on the counter.

“Thanks,” she says with a smile, and starts making her way toward the stage.

[Barrister] Barrister, standing on the street bending down to read a menu pasted on a window designed for much shorter people, has a few hours to kill and a hungry stomach nagging at him. He wouldn't mind a serving of cheese + chili fries. The pub next door, St. Stephen's Green, is a tried-and-true haunt, but 7Fingers -- well, it just looks interesting. Has he seen it before? Maybe it's new, and if it's new, then it's gotta have something to recommend it, because even at 7pm on a Tuesday night, it's lively and it sounds like people are having fun.

St. Stephen will have to wait for another day. Barrister flashes his ID at the bouncer -- not that anyone would ever mistake him for under-21 -- and heads inside.

People are dancing. Barrister isn't much for dancing. So he squeezes himself into an open space at the bar and, excusing himself to the couple next door, reaches across them to pick up a menu. Cheese fries in a million variations. And an even longer list of whiskies.

Barrister settles on a glass of Auchentoshan, and a platter of chili cheese fries. With extra chili. Not exactly a connoisseur's blend, but damned if it didn't sound good right now.

[Barrister]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7)
to synesthesia

[synesthesia] "Oh, nobody here minds," the bartender assures Leah, shaking his head and leaning forward onto the bar right beside her, but away from her cheese fries. "We all partake a bit here and there."

He cocks his head to the side, a sly grin sliding over his face. "I'm not trying to hit on you, promise." Liar.

[Randi McCollach] Randi nodded slowly, and stirred the straw in her Coke. "Just brought back some painful memories is all. But it was still a good song." She looked back up and smiled to the girl. "I'm Randi. What's your name?"

[Aidan] Rubies look like fire, but they're cold to the touch.

His answer dies on his tongue.

A thousand nights in a thousand clubs, this had been enough to shake away the grime of the day. Music and glitter and, more often than not, some brand of high or another. They washed away the streets from his skin. (Not really, but it felt that way.) Tonight...

Aidan looked at the woman with the ice-blond hair and the sapphire eyes. The woman that smelled of silk, if silk had a smell. He looked at her and felt...empty. Beautiful and hollow. And he stopped dancing, and took a step back. And another. Not really sure why.

[synesthesia] Liadan's bartender winks at her with a grin and drifts away once more, pleased with Lee's decision. She has other people to help. And help them she does. She points out people in the crowd, points out the guitarist, offers a refill, tells one person: You look like you could use an ear. He does.

The singer -- Kestrel -- has thick auburn hair pulled back from her face, sweat sheening on her skin. She has the body of a runner, a volleyball player, more alive than Liadan can really hope to be. She makes eye contact with people in the crowd, smiles. She likes what she does. She lives for what she does.

And by some miracle, when Liadan makes her way to the stage, Kestrel sees her and winks. Hello there. Her eyes fall closed then as her head tips back, bringing out a high note that sends a thrill up the back of Liadan's spine. It doesn't make her throw her drink aside and jump on the stage, but that urge...does come to mind.

[Leah Novak] The smile that comes across Leah's face could either be forced for the sake of not trying to appear rude, or is just indicative of her being uncomfortable being hit on. She sits up straighter when the bartender moves to lean on the bar, then slowly returns her hands to her lap.

"Well, then you won't take it personal when I politely decline your offer," she says, that smile hanging on.

[synesthesia] Seven Fingers, to Barrister's eyes...is most definitely interesting. He can see the cheerful redhaired bartender talking to some poor sap, he can see the young man talking to a woman with her hair in a clip. He can see a crowd of beautiful people dancing to music that sounds like rock and roll, the best kind of rock and roll, and it's amazing how well that young songstress's voice fits the tune.

And the bartender that brings him his whisky is that same happy-looking, freckle-faced woman who just patted some poor sap's hand and got him another beer. She slides the drink and the fries over -- they're hot, and they smell like childhood, and they're going to fill him up he won't need dinner he may not even need breakfast after this -- and winks.

"Now you look like a man who always knows what he wants," she says, like she's got all the time in the world.

If you believe in things like Time.

=======

Randi's new friend shies away slightly from her name, then leans forward again. She whispers, harshly, as though raising her voice above the quietest sound is almost painful: "Trixie." She blinks for the first time since Randy saw her. "What memories? Did something...bad...happen to you?"

=======

The look of interest -- not desire, nothing so strong as that -- flickers in the woman's sapphire eyes as Aidan steps back. There's a shorter man beside her, redhaired like Aidan is, who looks from her to him with aching concern. She lifts one hand to her mouth, touching the memory of his skin to her lips, and then holds out her hand. One of the others, with lustrous black hair and lips like a goddess, pulls a small silver key -- an old fashioned, ornate sort of thing -- out of nowhere. There's a blue ribbon tied to it.

The blonde takes it without looking as it's laid in her palm and holds it out to Aidan. "You can come back whenever you want," she says, sounding bereft...but willing to let go.

=======

Leah's young suitor, god love his stupid head, grins shyly. "I'd never," he assures her, and takes his arms off the bar, stepping back out of her space. "Lemme know if you need anything. A refill. Some rum."

There's a beat of a pause, his eyes resting on her for a moment later. "Help." And then he beams again. "Whatever," and this is nervous almost, a shake of his head and a shrug. He has work to do. He gets back to it.

[Randi McCollach] All Randi could do was nod slowly. "Very bad." She pushed her plate of fries a bit towards Trixie. "Help yourself if you want some."

[Liadan] [Perception]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8) Re-rolls: 1

[Barrister] The rejoinder makes an eyebrow hike higher on Barrister's brow. The man has an expressive face: weathered, as though he'd spent most of his thirty-seven years out in the open, but open, with dark eyes that exactly mirror his thoughts and emotions. The type, as they say, that wears his heart on his sleeve.

Right now, the friendly bartender can read a flicker of amusement, a dash of cynicism, a more genuine good humor. "Thank you," he says, wryly.

[synesthesia] Trixie looks at the fries. Then she looks at the bar. Then she looks at the fries. Then she looks at Randi. Then she brings her fingertips to her mouth and wiggles them a little before dropping them to her lap, under the table. "Thankyousoverymuch," she says in a breathless rush, "but I must decline." Her eyes skip to the side, then back to Randi's own.

"You can talk to me...if you want to," she says. "A lot of people talk to me. When bad things happen." She smiles that thin, wan smile again. "I'm good at keeping secrets, Randi."

When she says Randi's name, the ache of the song comes back into the young mother's chest. It hurts. It's a sweet, lovely pain.

[Aidan] He really must have taken something. Some perfect combination that made the world intensely beautiful and every moment register with poetic significance. Only, he hadn't. He was completely sober. At least...he ought to have been.

Someone must have crawled inside of his head and dragged his subconscious out into full view. He started to reach forward, as if tugged towards the key by some invisible wire... but he stopped midway and dropped his hand back to his side.

You can't give me what I need.

"I'm sorry," he spoke quietly. Then he turned around and started to walk away from the dance floor. His head gave a slight shake, and his eyes blinked as if someone had covered them with spiderwebs.

[Liadan] Liadan looks up the beautiful singer, drinking in the sight of her. She's beautiful, like so many of the people on the dance floor in Club Haptic, but her voice makes her more so, makes her less of this world and more of something else. To Lee, anyway.

When that voice strikes that high note, so easily you'd think anyone could do it, the sound thrills up her spine. If not for the long sleeved shirt all th club would see goosebumps raise along her arms. If she still had a drink she'd be hard pressed not to toss it carelessly to the side and leap onto that stage, and kneel at that woman's feet. Kestrel. Such a strange name, but then so much in the place was strange to Lee.

Instead of leaping onto the stage she leans against it, angling her body so that only her hip touches the wood or metal or whatever it is that makes up the dais on which Kestrel and her band perform. She wraps her arms around herself, hugging lightly, closes her eyes, and loses herself to the sound.

[Administrator] peeky brick, welcome to Magnificent Mile (North Side) (Now)

[Randi McCollach] She gave an odd look when Trixie kept looking at the bar, but soon pulled the plate back, snacking on the fries once again. The song began running through her mind again. "Last week, some men took me and my son as..hostages, I guess you could call it. And I thought.....well, I felt..helpless."

[Administrator] peeky brick has left Magnificent Mile (North Side)

[synesthesia] "Oh, I didn't mean it as a compliment," says Barrister's bartender. As busy as the bar is, it seems like everyone is satisfied. Yet the bartenders around her still seem busy. Their hands are always working. There's a sign over the mirror that says Idle Hands Make Jack All Work And No Play For Your Supper.

=======

The pale hand closes around the untaken key. Aidan walks away and the beautiful, beautiful people who want him to dance with them look...stunned. Truly and verily, they're shocked that he didn't take the gift, or the offer.

He doesn't get to see the woman who drew him to her flare with fury, as though her skin is shining, her eyes blazing. The silver key is digging into her palm as he walks away, and then she whips around, saying something low to the black-haired girl beside her. That black-haired girl immediately slips from the group, from the dancefloor.

=======

Kestrel is moving to her knees on stage even as Liadan is walking over and leaning nearby. There's another huge, burly fellow at one side of the stage. His hair is shockingly blond, thicker and longer than the hair on the bouncer by the door. He sees Liadan and is about to move forward, but Kestrel is leaning towards her, too. Kestrel is reaching out and brushing her fingertips over Liadan's forehead.

And then there's a black-haired woman on stage, murmuring to the guitarist, who has to be dragged out of his reverie as if by force. He glances to the side, his fingers never missing a beat, and nods as she speaks to him. The song, winding down, starts to blend into another one.

Kestrel's hand drops from Liadan's forehead. She looks startled, but covers well, and picks up after literally one dropped note. She's back on her feet and the music is going faster and even people at the bar are tapping their feet now. The music isn't stopping yet. They were almost done with their set. They aren't now.

=======

Trixie gasps. It barely sounds like more than a breath. "Oh, that's horrible," she says sympathetically, fluttering her hands upward before they fall again. It sounds like she means it. She reaches over and pats Randi's hand awkwardly, her fingertips ice cold. There's a weird...smell...about her. Like a library. "You were helpless, poor thing."

Her head tips to the side. "Anything could have happened to you. And the baby...oh, the baby."

Helpless. More than helpless.

[synesthesia] [Willpower Rolls, Diff 8]

[Liadan] [WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 6, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8)

[Barrister]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 8)

[Aidan] (WP)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 8)

[Randi McCollach] She flinches lightly at being held, but doesn't exactly pull away. She felt the woman's sympathy, and it seemed fine by her. "But we're fine now. It's hard to sleep sometimes, but we're fine."

((WP))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 8)

[Aidan] It was probably a lucky thing that he didn't look back. Didn't see the furious response his innocent dismissal had induced.

Frankly, he couldn't exactly understand what had just happened, or why that tiny little voice in his head that he usually pushed away had suddenly gotten so strong and insistent. What does a person have left when their usual means of escape fails to chase the shadows away?

He didn't want to think about it. He just settled himself upon a stool at the bar and thought about ordering a drink. He looked different than he had earlier in the evening. Not like some beautiful creature dancing around in a dream. Now he just looked tired. And sad.

[Barrister] "Just an observation then, is it?" It's the same sort of faintly cynical amusement. He's been around the block a few dozen times. When a waitress flatters you out of the blue, she's been having a slow night and wants a bigger tip. He reminds himself to leave her a big tip: for the effort, or something like that.

A flick of a glance up at the rather bizarrely worded sign: clever, but a little madcap. "I probably shouldn't keep you," he says. This is a hint, albeit a polite one.

[synesthesia] [Randi: roll me Perception + Alertness, diff 7]

[Liadan] The fingertips on her forehead are warm, heated by the exertion of performing and the lights from the stage and the press of bodies. Eyes still closed, Liadan doesn't see the dark haired woman step onto the stage, does see her converse with the guitarist. What she senses, what she hears is the lead of another song. Her heart, which had been pounding with the music, sinks suddenly. She feels it somewhere in the vicinity of her lower abdomen, thudding uselessly against her stomach. At least, that's what it seems to feel like.

When her dark eyes open, they see that Kestrel is still on stage, and getting ready to sing another song. That's alright. Liadan's fine with waiting.

[synesthesia] Trixie's hand slides away reluctantly, leaving a cold trail over Randi's hand that feels...oddly slimy, though there's no moisture on her skin. She pulls her hands back to herself. "Hard to sleep?"

She shakes her head, hair falling in her face. "That's no good at all. If you can't sleep you can't dream, and you have to dream to survive. You need some sweet dreams, that's all. Some quiet ones."

Her eyes are black. And that's when Randi notices that they're not just dark brown: the pupil is indistinguishable from the iris. Completely. "But you probably won't be able to sleep tonight, will you? You're not really...fine now. You're still helpless."

Trixie leans forward, looking sorrowful. "They could come back, Randi."

There it is again: that ache. That hurt. That knowledge that Trixie is telling the truth.

[synesthesia]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Randi McCollach] She held her chest for a moment, fighting the ache and pain. Things were slowly starting to add up. There was something strange about this girl. She wasn't goth, she was something else. "I think maybe I should go."

[synesthesia] "Enjoy your whisky," says Barrister's bartender, as she moves away. She takes the hint; hell, she looked like she was heading off before he even spoke. Like she knew what he wanted.

Before he -- the man who knows what he wants -- even did.

People on the dancefloor -- or the empty space in between tables that Randi and Leah and John see -- are starting to act...weird. One woman has broken down sobbing in the middle of it all. There's a couple who has just fallen towards a table, sweeping glasses and menus to the ground. They're making out furiously, pulling at one another's clothes. Near the front of the house, a short man with spiky hair just punched another in his bulbous nose.

And then someone decides to climb on the stage with Kestrel. "Uhoh," says the redhaired bartender, who was just about to take Aidan's order. She's laughing. A lot. Brightly. Her hand goes to her stomach. "Uhoh," she repeats, and puts her forehead on the side of the counter, cracking up.

The person climbing onto the stage is not, at least, going for Kestrel. He's going for the big blond bouncer, poking him firmly in the chest. No one can hear over the music. Kestrel is killing tonight. The whole band is. They're working up a sweat, they're losing their minds. Or...

...making everyone else lose theirs.

[Aidan] Something strange was going on.

He forgets that he was about to order a drink and turns around, watching with confusion as the club seems to erupt into chaos. That's when he finally notices Liadan, by the stage, seemingly hypnotized. As he had been moments ago. He didn't really know her. They'd only met once, briefly. She'd brought him a beer. But he latched onto that fleeting and small familiarity. Anything to ground himself. Anything to make the night seem sane.

He slid down from the stool and walked quickly over to the other kin, glancing around nervously. "Liadan. Do you remember me? I think we should get the hell out of here."

[Randi McCollach] She doesn't feel so good. Then looking around, seeing all the weirdness going on. Her head snaps to Trixie. "What the hell is going on?"

[synesthesia] Trixie shakes her head, shrugging her narrow shoulders. "Nothing's going on."

A chair breaks, wood skittering across the floor to hit Randi's feet. Trixie smiles. "Stay! You're safer here than out there. Promise."

[synesthesia]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Barrister] The atmosphere in here was changing. When Barrister stepped in, this place was warm and welcoming. It promised good food and the fire of whisky in the belly. The staff was friendly and the people were attractive, and ...

... and now, if he'd been passing by on the street, he would've never come in. There's something raw in the air, a sense of electricity, like a building storm. Barrister stares blankly at the woman sobbing on the dance floor. Averts his eyes from the couple all but tearing at each other on a tabletop. He turns to ask 'his' bartender, with that sort of nervous humor people adopt when they're not really laughing at all, if this was a commonplace occurrence here. Except she's not there anymore. She's over by Aidan, and she's cracking up.

Barrister looks down at his food. There's a fork supplied, and he's only three or four forkfuls into his chili cheese fries; a sip or two into his whisky. Seems a waste to abandon all that good food, but -- a chair breaks, bringing his head snapping around. All right, that's it, Barrister decides, shovels another mouthful of cheese fries into his mouth and stands.

He heads for the door, the big bouncer standing outside. "Hey," he says. "It's getting a little rowdy in there."

[Liadan] Liadan is lost. She's half-leaning against the stage and her eyes are full of Kestrel and only the lithe singer. Her voice wraps around her head, seeps inside her, buries itself deep. The fluttering of her heart in the pit of her stomach has changed to something else, a deep longing, a need. She's just about to leap onto the stage when someone approaches her.

Liadan. Do you remember me? I think he should get the hell out of here.

She turns to the sound of the voice, her eyes glazed like a sleeper waking from a dream. For a moment she doesn't recognize Aidan. This could be because of the trance-like spell of the music, or the fact that she's slept several times since meeting him.

“What?” she asks, looking confused. She still wants, still needs the woman on the stage.

[Randi McCollach] She was just about to leave the booth when the wood hit her feet. Then all that ache hit her like a ton of bricks. All the nightmares she had been having. She sank back into the booth, deep into the seat against the wall, pulling her knees to her chest and hugging them tight. "I won't leave. I can't leave. You're right, it's safe here."

[synesthesia] Something strange is most definitely going on. More and more people on the dancefloor are breaking into tears, or makeouts, or fights. And the band isn't stopping. They're dancing, they aren't missing a note, the sweat's pouring off their bodies and the music keeps going faster and hitting harder. People's strings are being plucked, pulled...broken. Even the blonde bouncer at the back of the stage seems to have succumbed; he's disappearing backstage with the black-haired woman who brought the message that the music wasn't to stop anytime soon.

Randi's being broken. Trixie is sitting there, her eyes bright and her skin all but glowing white, her hands shaking as if with pleasure. "Oh yes...yes you need to stay here...baby's safer without you anyway...my friends...my friends want to meet you..." She reaches out, grabs Randi's hand, and starts to slide from the booth, as though to drag her along. She's surprisingly strong.

Similar straits, for the Whelans: "You can't leave," says a voice behind Aidan. It's her again. She's got blood on her right hand where the key bit into her. It's her left hand in his hair though. "You can't leave, it's my birthday!"

And some people want to run away from these strings being tugged at. Some people do, chased out by people like the spiky-haired man with the yellowing teeth. He's cackling as he chases the fat-nosed guy he was punching towards the door. The bouncer is about to intervene when Barrister goes over to him. He turns towards Barrister...

...and for the stalwart Fenrir kinsman, the entire world fucking. Falls. Apart.

[Aidan] "Something's wrong." He sounded more insistent. "Like...they put something in the water?" Even as the words came out of his mouth, he was doubting them. It sounded crazy. Maybe everyone was just drunk and acting a bit off-kilter? It happened.

If his mind hadn't been so insistent upon making logical sense of the situation...he might have stayed. If he'd been better informed. But Aidan was still so very new to the concept of illogical things. His mind was trying to shake off everything that it was seeing.

And Liadan didn't want to go with him. She was staying right where she was, thank you. When that woman approached him again and started shrieking nonsense, he took one look at her and bolted out into the night.

[Aidan] ((Sorry guys, I gotta run!))

[Randi McCollach] Randi doesn't fight it. She takes Trixie's hand, and slides out of the booth. She doesn't pull her hand away from Trixie, and follows. "I want to meet them too."

[synesthesia] The bouncer's hair is still jet black, still close-cropped and military-tidy. His eyes, however, are no longer brilliantly blue but turning black even as he turns towards John. He's...bigger...than he was before, and he was well over six feet before. He's now closer to seven, or seems like it, a tower of rippling strength and solidity. He may as well be made of stone.

Pale blue stone. He has two sets of horns, large ones that curve back over his skull and smaller ones at his temples. His ears are pointed, his hands are bigger than John's head. One of his arms could encircle John whole, if he tried.

It's not the only thing he sees. The spiky-haired man has chalky gray skin and bright red hair, sharp yellow teeth in a mouth that looks big enough to wrap around the head of the person he's chasing. He's got chains hanging off him, ragged and torn fingernails that are as long as claws, and he's leaping over a table, hauling ass over that poor guy with the busted nose...

...who is glowing pink around the edges.

The band?

Don't even look at the band, John. You don't want to look at the band right now.
to Barrister

[Administrator] Aidan has left Magnificent Mile (North Side)

[Liadan] As Aidan kept talking, Lee felt herself growing suddenly, irrationally angry. She's about shove him away from her, make him leave her alone so she can go back to watching the goddess on stage when the blond woman comes up behind him, grabs him by the hair. Lee's anger has a new focus. She hurls herself at the woman, presumably forcing her to let go of Aidan, for the boy leaves, all heels and elbows.

“Leggo 'o him!” she shouts as she falls upon the woman. She doesn't feel necessarily a bond of kinship with Aidan, doesn't feel protective of the young man she only met a few days ago. But her anger craves an outlet, and the blond fury with the bloody hand makes for a better target.

[Administrator] peep, welcome to Magnificent Mile (North Side) (Now)

[Administrator] peep has left Magnificent Mile (North Side)

[Randi McCollach] ((*checks for V's pulse*))

[synesthesia] [Waiting on John, DI.]

[Barrister] Actually, Barrister doesn't get as far as that. What Barrister says is:

"Hey, it's ge--"

and he just stops. He stares at the bouncer, rooted to his place, thunderstruck. He just stares for a second. And then he reaches for his gun, but of course he doesn't have his gun, but his hand is at his side anyway, where his shoulder holster would sit. Barrister snaps a glance around, left, right, because someone else must be seeing this. Is anyone else seeing this?

(What the fuck is going on here?)

John Barrister starts to back away from the monster at the door. He's a monster. That's what he is. And the irony of the situation is that Barrister has more experience with war and monsters than most kin would, and far more than he ever lets on, this is exactly, exactly what makes him unable to analyze the situation objectively. He doesn't really know what's going on because he thinks he knows what's going on.

And meanwhile it's getting worse inside the bar. Fights are breaking out. There are monsters on the dance floor. Someone runs out the door, all but screaming. He should run too, right? -- except no, wait, he knows that girl following that other-girl-that's-not-a-girl from the booth; he remembers her, vaguely, from a meeting several months ago, and he remembers the baby she cuddled to her chest.

John doesn't run out the door, though perhaps he should. He backs away from the bouncer and crosses the floor, intercepts Randi and her new friend.

"Hey." He grabs the kinswoman by her free wrist, quite firmly. "Hey, wait. Where are you going?"

[Randi McCollach] ((No problemo, babycakes))

[Barrister] (was cooking, sorry folks. going ot get my food now!)

[synesthesia] Trixie stands, helping Randi along, and then reaches into her pocket. "Would you like a sucking candy?" she says archly, softly, holding the wrapped piece of cherry-flavored goodness out to the woman. "It will make you feel better. I promise," she says.

She strokes Randi's hair with her free hand. It's still cold.

=======

As soon as Liadan shoves the blonde woman, four others suddenly leap towards them. Liadan is shoved backwards by two sets of strong hands, and gorgeous men with blazing eyes get in between her and the blonde with the bloody hand and the crystalline tears running down her face. "It's my birthday," she weeps, looking only more angelic as liquid diamonds roll off of her. "It's my birthday and I wanted a present!"

Aidan has bolted, leaving Liadan to be his hero. When she regains her footing after being shoved he's long gone, out the door and into the night, away from this madness.

And it is madness.

It's bedlam.

=======

The monster at the door bares his teeth at John when he reaches...for something that isn't there. He is standing straight, shoulders rolling back, until it's clear that Barrister has nothing to back up that gesture.

The couple that broke a chair is now half-naked on top of the table, shirts pushed up and pants pushed down and ...they're not the only ones, shockingly. There's something decidedly R-rated going on in the booth beside the one Randi and Trixie were occupying just moments ago.

John intercepts Randi and Trixie, though, who looked like they were heading towards the hallway where the offices and bathrooms are located. He can see flashes of insanity all around him: a tiny man made of twigs is running around in circles on the floor under a table. There's balls of light floating everywhere. The entire band has ...horns. And goat's legs. They're wearing goddamn loincloths!

And Trixie is white as a ghost, her eyes completely black from one corner to the other. She has an extra segment to each finger, making them horrifically long where she has them on Randi's hair and arm. She looks like she has no teeth in that thin mouth of hers. Her clothes are covered in cobwebs.

"We're going to keep her safe," Trixie insists, pushing the candy into Randi's hand.

[Barrister] Barrister doesn't look around. He just doesn't. This is insanity, and he's convinced that if he looks, if he keeps looking, it'll never stop. The whole world will be like this when he walks out of this hellhole, and he'll be tainted, infected.

Absurdly, he recalls the internet meme: some kid doped up after some dental procedure. Daddy, is this gonna be forever?

It doesn't seem so funny now.

"No." This is a bark of a word, sharp, a command, like what you might shout at a dog who's tearing up your flowerbed. He reaches out and snatches the candy out of Randi's hand, throws it on the floor. Maintains his hold on the girl's wrist, tugs. "Come on. We're leaving."

[Randi McCollach] Randi seems calmer, safer, with Trixie. She smiled to the Sluagh (guessing) as the candy is offered, and takes it. Then she is stopped, someone else grabbed her arm and she turns to look. For a moment, she was confused, just a split moment. And recognition. "John?"

Then she blinks, the candy is gone just moments before she was about to eat it. She sees the chaos, and it's not registering. Now she is the rope in a tug of war. "Please help me."

Now the question.....who was it to? Barrister or Trixie?

[Liadan] Liadan is grabbed, shoved, left alone. She shakes her head, long hair swinging around her face. She feels dizzy, lightheaded, and barely in control of herself. She wants to attack the blond, wants to scratch her nails across that pretty perfect skin, feel the diamond tears wash over her hands, soak the cuffs of her sleeves.

She shakes her head again, staggers away. Logic tries to assert itself in her head, but it's like something is in there, in her head, blocking the logic, telling it to go fuck itself.

She makes her way through the crush of writhing, fighting, lustful bodies to the stage, hauls herself up onto it. And then she waits, dazed, blinded by the lights. She doesn't realize it, but the drunken way in which her body sways is in time to the beat of the music, Kestrel's voice still infiltrating her mind.

[Administrator] You-Don't-See-Me, welcome to Magnificent Mile (North Side) (Now)

[synesthesia] [Barrister: Perception + Alertness, Diff 8]

[Barrister]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2 (Botch x 2 at target 8)

[synesthesia]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Randi McCollach] ((Ok, Kahseeno had to be in the bathroom when you rolled that, Damon))

[synesthesia]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[synesthesia] [Barrister, Soak]

[Barrister]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 5, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Randi McCollach] ((and constipated))

[Barrister] (*bawls*)

[Barrister]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 1 at target 9)
to Barrister

[Randi McCollach] ((*comforts Damon* No worries, Randi is a glutton for punishment. After a year online and keeping her nose clean, it's about time she got into trouble))

[synesthesia] Several things happen at once.

Barrister gets hit in the side of the head by an elbow thrown while someone's trying to punch someone else.

Trixie yanks another candy from her pocket almost desperately, unwrapping it with spidery fingers while Barrister is distracted and shoving its sticky sweetness towards Randi. "This will help! I promise! I promise!"

Funny how even her shrieks sound like she has laryngitis.

By the stage, Liadan is clambering up. She's not even under the sway of the music as the others are, not even partaking of what the others are. She's free. She chooses this. She chooses to go towards Kestrel. And Kestrel drops the mic onto the stage as the band keeps playing, takes Liadan's face in her hands, and kisses her deeply on the mouth.

The crowd roars.

[synesthesia] [Liadan, WP Diff 9]

[Liadan] [WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 9)

[Barrister] Crack! The elbow hits the big kinsman hard and drives him down and to the side for a moment. He loses his grip on Randi's arm; tumbles awkwardly against a table. A blinding flash of pain explodes across his field of vision, turning everything white for a moment. By the time it fades Trixie's pushing more candy on Randi, and Barrister lurches swayingly upright, one hand to his battered temple, the other reaching out again to smack the candy out of Trixie's hand.

"No! RANDI. Look at me. Give me your hand," and he'll grab it if she doesn't give it to him, "we're getting the fuck out of here."

[synesthesia] Trixie
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[synesthesia] Barrister doesn't get to smack the candy from Trixie's hand this time. He doesn't even come close. Trixie just tugs on Randi's arm, easily sidestepping Barrister's swatting hand and then pushing the candy towards Randi's lips again.

[Randi McCollach] John went down, and she was confused. Then Trixie offered more candy and Randi anxiously awaited for it. "It's just candy, John. Right?" She held out her hand to John. "Come and meet her friends too." Then John missed and candy was now in her mouth thanks to Trixie.

[Liadan] There's no telling why Liadan is seeming to act without inhibition. It could be the fruity yet high proof alcoholic beverage she knocked back like it was water. It could be that she's just caught up in the frenzied mood of the club. Or maybe it's none of these things. Maybe she just really wanted Kestrel, wanted to taste her lips, hug her close, touch her, feel her so badly that when Aidan interrupted her yearning moments ago it drove her to a sudden burst of fury.

And maybe she tried to attack the birthday girl because, somewhere deep inside, she does feel a connection of some kind with her fellow kin.

And maybe the moon is made out of cheese, and water can be turned into wine.

Liadan doesn't care about the whys of anything anymore. All she cares about is that the woman with the unnatural voice, the lithe, athletic woman on the stage had grabbed her face and pulled her close and was kissing her. She kisses back, wrapping her arms tightly around the other woman's back, crushing her against her.

[synesthesia] "I have something for you," Kestrel says when their lips finally part. She's close enough that Liadan can even hear her when she whispers. She stays pressed to Liadan, her full mouth in a sly smile. "If you want it, take off my necklace."

The necklace in question is a beaded hemp choker around her throat, one of the clay beads bearing a painted butterfly. "Promise. You can have it."

She kisses Liadan again, whether she takes the necklace or not.

[synesthesia] [Barrister, Roll Dodge]

[Barrister] (IN KAHSEENO I TRUST!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[Barrister] (...)

[Barrister] (THE DICE GOD IS DEAD.)

[Randi McCollach] ((*blinks*))

[synesthesia]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[synesthesia]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 4, 4, 6, 7, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[synesthesia]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[synesthesia]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 5, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[synesthesia] [Barrister Soak]

[Barrister]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 4, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Barrister] (you're gonna have to do better than that to win me back, kahseeno >:! you and i are DONE PROFESSIONALLY.)

[Randi McCollach] ((Can I put that in the Quotes section Damon?))

[Barrister] (LOL sure. *hushes, goes back IC*)

[Liadan] She doesn't even give it a second thought. As soon as Kestrel's lips are on hers again, Liadan's hands are reaching up to undo the necklace. He fingers fumble with the clasp, but soon she has the choker balled up in her right fist.

[synesthesia] And the world, for Randi, changes instantly. She sees Trixie's vast black eyes, she sees the cobwebs on her clothes, she sees the extra segments of her fingers. But it's too late. As soon as her lips and tongue wrapped around that piece of candy, the world changed. She sees the orbs of light, hears the other tones of the music, sees how it all blends together.

She sees that the gigantic blue man with the horns missed punching someone right beside Barrister and bowled into him. He could have knocked him out, that much bulk slamming into John. But he gets lucky, doesn't even get knocked down.

However, when the skinhead with the surgically forked tongue hits back, Barrister gets hit pretty firmly in the ribs.

Trixie, in the meantime, urges Randi to follow her towards that hallway. "Run," she whispers. "Run fast, or he'll take us away and take you back to that world. It's not safe in that world, come quickly. Run!"

=======

When Liadan takes that necklace off of Kestrel and brings it towards herself, tightening her hand around it, she sees Kestrel for what she is. She sees the delicate, gold-colored horns poking up out of Kestrel's hair. She sees the goat legs, the auburn, curly fur from mid-thigh down. She sees the green loincloth with the gold designs along the edges, the leather vest barely containing her tanned breasts, she sees the pointed ears.

And then she doesn't see the rest of the band, or the trolls and the chimera all around her, because Kestrel -- smiling -- is kissing her again.

[synesthesia] [This is going on longer than I thought. *L* Here is what you need to know:

All of you are Enchanted. This means -- as I'm sure most of you know -- that your characters will have little to no memory of what happens to them from here on out. I would like to keep you mostly in the dark as well. I have closing posts of your characters 'coming to' mostly finished. I would like to wrap at this point and give you those posts unless any of you think you are going to run screaming into the night.

What say you?]

[Randi McCollach] ((I'm leaving it up to Damon since he's trying to help Randi))

[Liadan] (I can stay up a bit longer. I'm feeling pumped, and we've got Dew if I'm too tired in the morning. I will play on.)

[Barrister] (i'm cool with that, V.)

[synesthesia] [Oh...see...I want to wrap this so I can stop STing. I've been writing for like 5 hours. *L*]

[Liadan] (Oh. Then I'm cool with that, too. =) )

[synesthesia] John Barrister's next memories begin sometime the next morning. He has a black eye. He has blood dried on his face from a nosebleed. His lower lip is split. He is also very, very drunk still. Someone gave him ...wow. Whatever they gave him was good shit. He doesn't even much care that he's battered to hell and back. That he's got bruises all along his ribs.

Oh, he'll care later. He'll care later when it starts to really hurt. But right now he just kind of feels...good. Worn out, even exhausted, but in that incredible way after a good workout. Hell. He feels like a good workout right now. He can take it.

His ribs don't feel broken. Nor does his nose. But the headache, when it hits him, is going to be killer.

Though it may bother him to realize that he's processing all this in a garage. No one's around, and there's morning sunlight coming through the windows of the pull-down door. There's oil stains but no cars, no tools anywhere, no one in the adjacent office. Just him and the blood dried on his face and shirt.

If he looks down he'll notice his knuckles fucked up to hell and back. Looks like he gave as good as he got. Well, that's something. He's tough as nails, isn't he? He's just got to convince his legs to get up under him so he can go --

wait.

Where are his shoes?
to Barrister

[synesthesia] [I won't tell you what all damage he took all night, but suffice it to say that when he wakes up he's probably got like 5B still both from injury and alcohol.]
to Barrister