Roleplaying
2004 Archive
2005 Archive
Seminars
| When: | 18 March 2005 |
| Who: | Bronwen, Kacela, Nicodemus, Tyrr |
| What: | A meeting between Kacela and Nicodemus to puzzle out the behavior of Low Key Lyesmith gets cut short - both literally AND physically - when the bar owner decides he doesn't like the clientele. |
Fado Irish Pub and Restaurant
Fado's has become a hotspot for many of the locals. The place is split between three different sections, the bar and tavern in one room, another room for the restaurant, and an outside patio area as an extension of the restaurant; all of which are no smoking. The owner, Tyrr Ceallaghan, opened Fado's two years ago and has advertised and made enough deals to watch it grow.
The bar and tavern room has a counter top bar where any of the patrons can sit and talk with the bartenders or their fellow patrons. Near the bar there are a few tables where anyone can sit with friends, share a drink, and just have a good time.
The restaurant and patio area is your classic walk in dine-in restaurant, with different celtic elements on the walls and in the way the rooms are built. The waitresses and waiters are dressed in all black, and always very courteous, as the owners insist on top quality customer service.
Fado's has become a hotspot for many of the locals. The place is split between three different sections, the bar and tavern in one room, another room for the restaurant, and an outside patio area as an extension of the restaurant; all of which are no smoking. The owner, Tyrr Ceallaghan, opened Fado's two years ago and has advertised and made enough deals to watch it grow.
The bar and tavern room has a counter top bar where any of the patrons can sit and talk with the bartenders or their fellow patrons. Near the bar there are a few tables where anyone can sit with friends, share a drink, and just have a good time.
The restaurant and patio area is your classic walk in dine-in restaurant, with different celtic elements on the walls and in the way the rooms are built. The waitresses and waiters are dressed in all black, and always very courteous, as the owners insist on top quality customer service.
Fado's has become a hotspot for many of the locals. The place is split between three different sections, the bar and tavern in one room, another room for the restaurant, and an outside patio area as an extension of the restaurant; all of which are no smoking. The owner, Tyrr Ceallaghan, opened Fado's two years ago and has advertised and made enough deals to watch it grow.
The bar and tavern room has a counter top bar where any of the patrons can sit and talk with the bartenders or their fellow patrons. Near the bar there are a few tables where anyone can sit with friends, share a drink, and just have a good time.
The restaurant and patio area is your classic walk in dine-in restaurant, with different celtic elements on the walls and in the way the rooms are built. The waitresses and waiters are dressed in all black, and always very courteous, as the owners insist on top quality customer service.
Apparently unsatisfied with his St. Patrick's Day, Nicholas Lyman returns to Fado's for another dose of the Irish atmosphere. He has obviously come from the office, his briefcase in one hand as the other opens the door to the restaurant. Yet, he is slow to enter, his gaze trailing back out on to the street. "After you," he says to another, bowing his head and directing them inside.
Cruising in after Mister Lyman, Kacela peers over the site of last night's debacle with narrowed eyes. "So, you realize I'm going to be looking about very anxiously for now not one, but two, tallish blond haired, blue-eyed, fair complexioned men, right?" The repartee from the black woman hangs in the air, but doesn't follow to its logical conclusion about jokes regarding the Aryan nation. The call and meeting appears to have been Lyman's idea, as she is clad in slightly dressy, perhaps club-geared articles of clothing. At least she'll look -- and smell -- nice while conversation was had. "I've been looking at files, trying to get a match on a name or fingerprints at least," she murmurs out, relaxing some visibly once she better visually acquaints herself with her surroundings.
At the comment about the two blond haired men, Lyman allows a faint chuckle as he follows in after the social worker. "Yes," he follows up, "You'll tell me if you see either of them, won't you." By the end, this is simply stated, words flat and unlike any question...though it is not a command either. As Kacela immediately begins their investigation, Lyman feels the need to address the hostess, who has been watching the pair shift through the foyer. "Just here for drinks," he says warmly, "We'll get them in the bar, thanks." After that, Lyman sends his words back over to his companion, matching her hushed volume, "On whom? Accused or accuser."
Kacela lobs an offended glower towards Nicodemus at the statement. "If I didn't, someone else surely would. Why bother with the obfuscation?" Her expression calms considerably though once they settle themselves upon the barstools, and she laces fingers together, resting them in front of her chin as she regards him with an inclined gaze. "Accuser," she breathes out. "The girl looked entirely too confused. There's something going on with her, but it wasn't murder. And the guy? He practically tripped on himself standing up. Ain't no one going to be able to kill, really kill, someone like that. Unless it's an accident. And no one accidentally shoots a gun and whatever else was done, twice, in two different directions. Midori sour," she adds once the tender, definitely not the creepy Kurgan, comes up.
At the glare, Lyman flashes a smirk that is both goading and apologetic at the same time, an expression that says, "Only kidding". It quickly fades, however, as the pair reach the bar and set to their work. Removing the elegant black jacket he has cloaking his business attire, Lyman uses the time to turn in a full circle and observe the bar. Finally taking his seat, he gives an approving nod in Kacela's directions, "Good instincts. I have to agree with you. I detected some strength of will in the girl, but nothing that suggested any conflict with the...mouthpiece." A low, almost feral rumbling comes from Lyman's throat, as irritation ceases his voice, "I am beginning to suspect upstairs has had nothing to do with the unfortunate demise of Nathaniel. Unfortunate, because the unity I had hoped for will be dashed if and when the finger pointing begins."
"Good instinct? About the drink?" Kacela says lightly, settling herself in, resting elbows on the counter as she leans in, keeping their conversation mostly private while still taking in the surroundings. Her gaze flicks over the faces of those present, as if seeking out any matching faces from the events of last night. Once done, she closes eyes, and takes in a deep breath, carrying along with it the local scents. "Factions?" she asks, eyes reopening as she rests her chin upon one hand. "It would be my guess, although I wouldn't put it past Insubordination, either. His purple eyes haven't been about to ogle me lately," she says sourly.
"No, on trying to profile the accuser," Lyman corrects, "Did you find anything?" This question is left to hang in the air, as the industrialist finally motions for the lingering bartender to come forth. "A scotch will do," he states, his gaze immediately drifting back to Kacela. At the possibility of insubordination, Lyman sneers, "Yes, I always seem to want to forget him. Perhaps we should pay him a visit, the way we intended to ruffle those feathers."
Kacela looks viciously displeased. "Nothing, yet. I'm tempted to say that it IS the folks from upstairs just because it's so hard to find anything. We can smell our own," she asserts, as she scoops up her delightfully green drink, and sips lightly. "And visit him? You've got to be kidding. The moment we do that, we'll be the ones under scrutiny. And I'm not sure just how much being the First Balseraph's playtoy protects him. Any shakedowns may wind up being futile."
On the topic of Uzal, Lyman concedes the point with a nod. Still, he manages a playful smile in the defeat, however minor, "I thought you might know the guidelines for 'playing' with him, which was why I asked." At this point, the scotch arrives and Lyman scoops it up to take a dainty sip. Bowing his head to indicate that this brand will suite his taste, Lyman adds, "Yes, our orders stand. We will continue with our investigation of the original suspects. But, I remain sceptical at this point. Speaking of which, any targets you'd prefer at this point?"
"I don't know," Kacela admits, "And it's not something I like saying." She drums fingers on the counter, "There's two names. One has a face attached to it," she gestures towards the private areas of the bar, "But's in what I'd like to call the 'big game' category." She smiles ferally. "On the other hand, there's smaller prey, Willard provided me with a name, but I have no clue what she looks like. I suppose our reputations proceeded us, and all viable targets left town," she says to comfort herself.
At the possibility that their newfound partnership has caused the enemy to submit, Lyman laughs heartily, until another, more robust, sample of the scotch quiets him. Placing his glass back as his gaze trails to the back of the bar, he allows the taste of the alcohol to linger before swallowing back. The strength of the scotch leaves a smile with Lyman, an expression that matches Kacela's predatory desire, "And I suppose he is just the last one standing? And I thought I was the dreamer among us." To the prospect of smaller prey, Lyman nods, "The name, please."
Kacela raps knuckles on the bar countertop, sighing. "I suppose I should leave dark humor be. I'm much more pragmatic than that, I can assure you -- they're good at hiding," her svelte alto takes on a more dangerous tone, before she adds, "Willard Meyer said the name was Genevieve, and that she was present at the club before the two killings happened outside." She then unfocuses her gaze, scowling some. Perhaps a dug up memory, or she finally decided to present fewer lies of omission to Lyman. "The ones outside the police precinct!" Her voice drops in intensity, snapping her gaze back to Lyman, more hushed. "Remy, Sarah, although I know nothing more than a face and first name for them. And... Breanna. The police officer, actually. When the corrupt Saint was disposed..." She frowns and raises her hand to clutch her jaw at the recollection of the punch, although it turns into a lop-sided smile at being able to place an easily traceable name to a face.
The back door of Fado's snaps open, Tyrr having just 'arrived' in the back and hearing from one of the waitresses who was back there, who is in the place right now. Mid-day, Fado's only has about a half dozen people here. And given this, Tyrr's eyes immediately focusses on the two sitting at the bar not more than five feet from him. Hands clenched tight, he stands there for a moment staring at both of them, specifically at Nicodemus however.
"Knight of the Black Order, arm yourself, cowardly snake." Tyrr's left hand reaches into his sports jacket and removes a very old, very ornate, foot and a half blade.
"Perhaps the friend of the child," Lyman hums, verbalizing his suspicions. "Yes, both were present the night of the murders," he adds, his tone solidifying at this possibility, "But as you said, the Destinites are not front line soldiers. Though, that does not rule out their ignorance." At the mention of the other names, Lyman reflects on their failure outside the precinct, "Oh yes. Them. I have them on tape with Yves, but I never had their names." Before Lyman can settle on any of these targets, Tyrr makes his threatening advance, one which the industrialist seems to take all too lightly. Rising from his seat at the bar, Lyman smiles thinly, addressing Kacela, though his gaze never breaks from the bar owner, "This is him? You were right. A fine specimen." Finally, Lyman turns his words on the man, that gentle amusement that was there for Kacela being transformed into stinging sarcasm, "Tyrr? I'm a paying customer here. I would hate to leave the restaurant without management. The decline in service would be...unfortunate." Still, Lyman's voice comes to a firm note as the sarcasm drains away. "Oh, I'm always armed, I assure you," he states, tapping on something behind his coat pocket.
A curse is spat out by Kacela, who glowers out toward Nicodemus. "Do you really have to repeat everything I say?" Her head however is bent towards the cadence and lilt of his voice, the confidence nearly infectious. She coolly regards Tyrr, and positively lights up upon seeing the produced weapon. However, she has the sense to not ask the obvious questions regarding the sharpness of the item, knowing full well that he'd provide a first-hand look of just what it could do. Her lips part slightly, a whispered, sibilant croon beginning to escape her. She smootly stands, and steps to the far right, strolling into a flanking position in respect to Tyrr.
Roll by Tyrr: (2) (4) (6)
Tyrr twists the blade around and stabs it into the bartop as he walks around from the employ side to the customer side. The few others in the bar are moved out by the employees, just as Tyrr reaches down for one of the coffee cups sitting there. There's a wide smile on his face, having not been challenged in such a way in quite some time. A small murmur from Tyrr's lips causes the coffee cup to shimmer to life; after a moment the edge of the cup seems to have a ghostly blade attached to its open edge. And with a swift step forward of a seasoned fighter, Tyrr pushes the bladed edge of the cup toward Nicodemus's chest. There are no words from the Malakite of War, as the battle has been joined.
Roll by Tyrr: (4) (3) (6)
Roll by Nicodemus: (6) (5) (4)
Given a moment to reflect on the sudden tension in the air, as Tyrr rounds the bar, Lyman again focuses words on his companion, "Well, my dear, this was certainly unexpected. But, perhaps we can clear up the matter of Nathaniel's murder here and now." Still with that smile, one which begs the enemy to wipe it off, he rolls his head back, cracking his neck in anticipation of battle. By the time his head comes back around, those blue eyes are narrowed fiercely on Tyrr and the smile has given way to a grim sneer, "Tell me, pawn of Michael, how is it that my brother is dead? What lies did He tell you to make it right?" As soon as that question is spat in Tyrr's direction, a hand rushes for the gun holstered behind Lyman's jacket. Only, the weapon does not appear in time, as Tyrr's response to the question, a physical one, is swift. Fortunately, Lyman has the good sense to twist away, so that the bladed coffee cup avoids his chest and rips into his shoulder. Still, that motion allows the blade to track down, closer to the vital organs and leaving a rather deep incision. Backing off with the blade still embedded, he growls lowly, "My suit." To ensure that Tyrr does not come attached to the make shift knife, a snarling appeal to the symphony is made.
"Creative," Kacela notes with faintly clinical detachment as the spatter of red erupts across the businessman's shirt and suit. However, the openness of hostilities, and the voice takes on a deeper note, and the demonic rasp echoes out, "To the death," as the Symphony quivers some with the ripple of spent essence, although nowhere near as much caused by Tyrr's own assault. Teeth are bared, and yet, she doesn't move, watching, waiting, and calculating just how much essence is being spent by the rampaging malakite.
Roll by Nicodemus: (3) (4) (6)
Roll by Nicodemus: (4) (3) (5)
Bronwen is walking down the street towards her preferred pub to try and pick up any extra clues from the other night. "Nice party," she murmurs to herself, spotting the departure of a number of people from Fado's main entrance. Except they don't move together and split to go their own ways. "Odd..." the cop starts to say when her Symphonic attunement starts to rumble from within her mind. "But that would explain it." Her personal chat to herself over, Bronwen picks up the pace until she's nearly running for the door and bursting inside.
Nicodemus' feral chanting carries on into a fierce growl as one hand, no longer human, reaches out to hold the malakite still. Tyrr is only in the clutches of these inky claws for mere moments, as another fly low, hoping to gouge the abdomen.
Roll by Tyrr: (3) (3) (5)
Tyrr takes one step back after shoving the coffee cup into Nicodemus, knowing that the Knight of Baal can't let that attack go unanswered. And sure enough, within seconds Nicodemus has grown foot long claws to rip out toward Tyrr. Taking the slash right across his chest, Tyrr looks down for a moment as the blood trickles from his cut skin between the ripped cloth of his t-shirt and sports jacket. "There now," Tyrr says mockingly, "Does your suit feel it's been revenged upon me, by you lashing out and scratching me and tearing up mine? Come now, I would expect a Knight to be more concerned about other things than how good you look." Tyrr mumbles for a second as he takes another second, getting equally close to Kacela as he is to Nicodemus, "Of course, you're both snivelling snakes, so I shouldn't expect much." And just then, this energy like blade forms in the air, a rather large axe... it quickly circles around Tyrr repeatedly, striking out at both Nicodemus and Kacela and creating a perimeter of constant bladed danger around the Malakite.
Roll by Tyrr: (4) (6) (6)
Roll by Tyrr: (5) (6) (4)
"Too soon," Kacela hisses to herself, as she watches the pair square off. Even as Bronwen bursts through the door, she squints, and turns to peer at the police officer. "Alone? Odd, for... a MUNDANE officer," she purrs out, before taking a paced step towards the doorway. "I remember you from that wretched Christian fellow. What ever did you do with him? Got tired of not being able to find real demons? Had to start going after you own?" Her hand slides up across her trim belly, skimming past her chest, as she goes for her shoulder holster. At that point, she snaps out the functional lines of a Glock, and takes a bead upon Breanna However, her world erupts into a flash of agonizing pain as the blades made real slash against her form. She bites her lower lip, drawing blood to match that which leaps to crimson existance upon her shoulderblades and flanks. "You... BITCH!" she shrieks out in rage at Bronwen for drawing her attention. Her hand snaps up, and with a lurid leer, she inclines her chin to her chest, lips drawing tight. The muzzle is pointed towards Bronwen. It is but a feint, as with a grunt, she snaps her hand around with torn muscles to squeeze the trigger, sending two rounds towards the already compromised abdomen of Tyrr.
Roll by Kacela: (1) (4) (1)
Buying some time without Tyrr's strength behind the blade, the demon man rips the coffee cup from his shoulder, where his suit is damp and stained red. "Oh, that I do," Lyman asserts, "I am greatly concerned with the murder of a certain police lieutenant. Far be it from me to take the side of the Austin police department, he will be avenged. And that will require more than a mere scratch." It as this point, that Bronwen arrives, bursting through the door behind the Knight of the Black Order. Snarling a rather unpleasant greeting, Nicodemus thinks to take care of Tyrr first and foremost. Unfortunately, that drives him into the celestial blade and Nicodemus is forced to back pedal with his other shoulder disfigured. Pushing into abandoned tables, Nicodemus returns to his first choice, his pistol, and begins to fire round after round in hopes of getting them past the heavenly axe.
Roll by Nicodemus: (5) (3) (3)
"Yes, a corrupt cop on the take by you, who was killed by one of your own, fool." Tyrr lifts his hands and rips the already torn up sports jacket, revealing a 'holster' setup much like most cops use to hold guns under their arms. Save this one is setup to hold an axe against Tyrr's back. As the bullets riddle him, Tyrr gets nudged in different directions as the bullets hit his chest or shoulders, thankfully missing the more important 'organs' though it won't really matter with the vessel. Reaching back and removing his axe, Tyrr lets the song of Blades disappear as he rushes toward Nicodemus with axe in hand. He goes to bring the axe down right toward Nicodemus's neck, but at an angle where it'd slice deep into the man's chest. "Your time on the Corporeal Plane is over Snake."
Roll by Tyrr: (6) (5) (6)
Roll by Nicodemus: (5) (1) (1)
"I didn't do anything with him, if you really must know," Bronwen replies with relative calm as she pulls out a chair when passing by a table. "Now what did I do to deserve that name, hmm? I haven't even put a scratch on you -- yet." As Kacela's attention is wrenched around towards Tyrr, the female Malakite lifts the chair by its back to smash it on the floor into smaller pieces. Plucking two of the legs out of the ruins, she stands back up to her full height to fling one of the legs at Kacela's gun-wielding wrist.
Roll by Kacela: (2) (1) (5)
Roll by Bronwen: (1) (3) (6)
"A possibility I've not yet ruled out," Nicodemus returns, continuing to fire rounds at the malakite in hopes of slowing his progress. Yet, there seems nothing that can stop Tyrr this day and to meet the axe all he can offer is an arm, which has phased back into its human form. His mouth dropping in horror as his limb is ripped, Lyman gawks at the blood that spills on to the floor. Yet, he cannot linger as signs of another strike quickly become clear. With his remaining arm to brace his fall, the Knight of the Black Order dives to the ground and into a rather ungraceful roll. Popping up in a painful crouched position, Lyman hurriedly looks between his arm, which he wants desperately to go back to, and Kacela. In the end, he rises to his feet and admits defeat. "Kacela, we go," Nicodemus spits, as if his own words were so disgusting. Still, he tries to apply a positive spin, "We may have to finally accept this is a matter between our own." With that said, Lyman withdraws to Kacela's position, again treating the symphony with a rather unpleasant tone.
Roll by Nicodemus: (3) (2) (5)
Kacela twists with a limber flex of her spine, heels skidding along the lacquered woodwork of the floor, adding insult to the injury already inflicted upon the surroundings. Hands splay on the ground as she curls lips towards Breanna, eyes narrowing dangerous. However, she dismisses the arriving officer, perhaps foolishly, as attention is drawn to the unignorable events playing out between Nicodemus and Tyrr. She rails against the edict, still in the clutches of her own induced battle zeal. "It's not time yet! I still can..." But could she? Two angels, one of which would just likely easily return as soon as they acheived anything resembling a victory against Tyrr's vessel. "Futile," finally concedes, and stands, "I -hate- being right all the time." She begins to pace towards the door, allowing Nicholas to retreat first, a glance cast towards Breanna, forbidding her from coming any closer.
As it forms, the corporeal shield is visible, rising from the ground as a nearly transparent wisp. Growing taller, it seeks to envelope both Nicodemus and his counterpart, refracting the restaurant lighting until it completes itself and settles as a totally invisible bubble. Yet, just before the shield's construction is complete, Lyman offers a false smile to Tyrr, "My ring, my watch. Keep them in good condition for me. I will be returning for them, I assure you." Sure enough, gold and silver glint from the severed arm. "But, in the mean time," Lyman continues, his voice descending into some snarling dark as frustration pulls at each word, "I will have to part with them. Kacela, we're going now." With that, the armless one simply walks out. He attempts the regal, purposeful strides to which he is accustomed, but quickly finds he will have to travel at a limp.
Bronwen reaches up towards the nape of her neck to withdraw her own concealed axe from under her jacket. "Sorry to see you leave so soon, Hellspawn," she remarks with almost a pleasant smile on her features. "It would have been entertaining." The glint in her amber eyes might indicate just how much she would have enjoyed that. She shifts slightly to the side to let the pair of demons pass by but remains at the ready to lash out should the need arise.
Tyrr reaches next to him toward the bar top and grabs a few napkins as Nicodemus rolls and brings up the familiar tone of the Corporeal Song of Shields. Taking the napkins, Tyrr literally shoves one into the hole in his left shoulder and another into the hole in his right upper arm from the bullet wounds, to cut down on the blood. "This isn't over, Snake. You'll be seeing me again, and my axe, soon enough for the death of Alexius." Tyrr then reaches down and grabs the arm, "Oh, I keep them alright, as a trophy for the moment before collecting the rest of your celestial carcass to adorn my walls."
Kacela's eyes gleam upwards at the generating bubble, surprised to see herself within its perimeter. "Typical," she remarks to Tyrr's still standing defiance. However, she's gotten a taste of what the malakite was capable of, and found some more feral side of her savoring it. "Utterly barbaric, but a delight to find such fine resistance. It will be a pleasure to..." However, she cuts herself off, shooting Breanna another glare. "And Carter was /not/ taken by one of our own!" she barks out towards Tyrr, even as she hovers about Nicodemus, snatching up the cellphone from him, and squinting at the speeddial entries, before finding that one... yes, that one... that he always did when he wanted pickup. The eight beep down on the menu. She's seen it enough times.
Once the pair leave the pub, Bronwen follows them and snaps the lock shut. "Kurgan, I hate to impose, but could you please clean up this mess? I'm going to go fix his vessel before it bleeds out," the female calls, her axe still in hand. "It shouldn't take me too long. Should be able to reopen in time for the Saturday dinner rush at any rate. If anything comes up, we'll be in the back." Tyrr gets a not so subtle pointed direction towards the back hall while Bronwen grabs a few extra bar rags.
Labouring out of the front door, Lyman is still capable of his usual charm, even in defeat. "Thank you, my dear," he says warmly at the hand that removes his cell phone from his jacket pocket. Defiance, also, is still within his repertoire. To Tyrr, he calls back, "Don't count on it, malakite." And this, the end of Lyman's patronage at Fado's restaurant.
Previous: Logs