Roleplaying
2004 Archive
2005 Archive
Seminars
| When: | 18 March 2005 |
| Who: | Galen, Inarin, Kacela, Nicodemus, Rufus |
| What: | Nicodemus gets patched up a bit, forces of The War get more acquainted. Rufus skulks. |
No Dinero
The ground level floor for No Dinero is in fact the upper of two levels. Originally a collective by the more bohemian artists who sought to unify their creative efforts and utility bills, the building has over the years turned into a club. The main floor is L-shaped structure provides seating with the frugal minimalism that suits most punk venues, allowing party-goers ample view of the basement which serves as the dancefloor below.
The music from below ranges from thrash metal to ska to the more usual punk fare, and riot grrls mill about with rude boys in the decidedly... noisy and colorful environs. From time to time, a mosh pit opens up during the more vigorous numbers, but they're short-lived, given the effort required for their upkeep. Transactions, from who's buying the beer, who's doing the next tour with whom, and other, shadier business takes place in the shadows.
Galen has already staked out a choice corner near the door, but nicely secluded. He watches the others enter one by one, giving each a careful look-over.
Interestingly enough, in the same alley where the past soul-killings took place, there's another drama unfolding. Wreathed in wrath, the emotion practically emanating from her, Kacela is dragging a lanky, shortish man by his collar towards one of the vehicles regularly employed by Nicholas Lyman the IV. A few of his men are indeed stationed by the vehicle, although they're a bit uncertain what to make of the ravening black woman, other than it'd be wise to stay out of her way for now. The man Kacela has with her appears petrified, color drained from him face, as hands quiver in the air in a faint protest as she drags him backwards, muzzle of her gun pressed firmly to his flank.
"Puh, please, this vessel isn't very sturdy!" he protests.
"Well, shut your trap and just do what in the hell I need you to do, and you'll be fine."
"But why do we have to go anywhere? I can tell you're hurt, we can do it just do it here..."
"It's not for /me/!" She practically snarls, the tips of her braids clicking with the violence of her shove that sends the man careening into the side of the oversized SUV.
'Rin approaches the SUV. He looks at it carefully. And then he steps over to the door and knocks on it politely.
In the back of the Lincoln Navigator, a shadow is visible, propped against the tinted glass. This is Nicholas Lyman, or at least, what is left him. Though an elegant black overcoat is used to cover him, underneath he is slowly bleeding to death. Still, out of sheer determination, the industrialist clings to consciousness, sheer will keeping his eyes wide. Deliriously, he speaks to himself, "Strange, I could buy that watch, that ring, over and over again. But, no. I will have them back. Yes. Those ones." Hearing voices, Lyman is jarred and shreds of actual consciousness return. He offers a pained sneer as raised voices arrive at the door, "Make no mistake, now his associates will suffer. The Destinites...they will be first." Still, the expression softens as he some how shifts on the leather seats and reaches the door with his remaining hand. The Navigator's door falls open, revealing an armless Lyman. He eyes Kacela, his gaze beginning to cloud, "Your assistance, is as always, much appreciated."
Kacela growls out towards Inarin, squinting at him, although some of the muscle shift weight forward, keeping him at a distance, but allowing him to speak. Kacela's back ripples slightly as she leans forward, resting palms on the vehicle's floorboard, her skin and the back and right side of her suit stained black with copious, old blood. Some of the deeper cuts still ooze an angry shade of burgundy, edges of flesh visible. She gives another shake with her good arm, and turns back to her kidnapee hand holding the gun trembles slightly. "I didn't know until Tyrr said it himself. About your distinction," she asserts to Lyman, before hissing out to the slightly gaunt man, "Do it, and do it right, or this gun will be the least of your worries, I swear it, I will go celform and eat your soul in one swallow, you little worm. I'm sure he'll at least be appreciative of that and make it worth your while. We work for the same people ANYWAY."
"Madam," Inarin says, "Sir. I request to lend my aid to Nicodemus." He doesn't seem surprised to see them, though it is a happy coincidence on his part. "However, if you fought Tyrr, you earned what you got, I assure you. Or did he ambush you? Either way, it is of no matter, but I heard this conflict while I was passing by, so this should be dealt with quickly. May I lend my humble aid to Nicodemus?" He looks towards Nicodemus, as if searching for confirmation from him rather than Kacela. Then again, they're injured, he's fresh, and he doesn't have to go celestial form if he doesn't -want- to.
At the appearance of Inarin, Lyman visibly sobers, using his legs to straighten himself in his seat. Still, in spite of his dire need for medical attention, he addresses Kacela first of all. "Oh, so that is why you would help me in this dark hour?" he begins regally, as if he were not leaking blood on to his fine leather upholstery, "My distinction." Perhaps he has found a motivation of Kacela's he can finally trust. "Well, should the First Balseraph be gracious enough to bestow upon me the honor I seek, there may be a position open," Lyman says through a faint, fading smile, "I could think of no one better." Finally, his gaze turns to Inarin, "You, from outside the precinct. Are you as fine a healer as you are a marksman?" You think Lyman would be desperate at this point. But, a look drifts to Kacela. She dealt with him more closely during the Christian fiasco. This glance asks the question...can he be trusted?
Lyman's men, unsure of how to respond, follow Kacela's lead and allow Inarin through.
Roll by Inarin: (2) (4) (6)
'Rin steps inside, and claps his hands loudly, and sings. He is not the best singer, but he hits the notes accurately as he does the whole routine for an entire minute, gathering up essence for a song of healing. And then he presses his hands down on some of Nicodemus's injuries, saying, "Be healed!", and as he sees his work go off pretty well, as well as he can considering his skill. "If necessary, I can use normal medicinal skills to assist." He says when he is done.
As Inarin performs the Song of Healing, Lyman eyes his most pressing injury, the bloody stub that is his shoulder, with great expectation. At the words, "Be healed!", another arm appears, pale and white. As it slowly fills with color, Lyman gasps at a sharp pain, before cracking it into place. Finding it impossible to move, he can only cross it over his chest, as if it were in a sling. "Thank you," Lyman says, inclining his head, "But, could I make one more request? Your word, my good sir. You were unwilling to tell me when last we met."
'Rin says, "Might have attracted attention. If you prefer, I can make an impromptu sling until you get a real one." He glances about, "So you should make your decision quick. Work for Flowers." Total lie, but let's see if Nico buys it. He'll hesitate before adding, "War," more seriously. "Yours?" He seems quite relaxed. but then again, he probably has guns on him.
"A sling would be nice," Lyman chimes, as if Inarin were a salesman offering a free add on to his purchase. He quickly falls silent, carefully measuring the other man's response as the dirty business of showing cards begins. When Inarin suggests "Flowers" is his word, Lyman cocks his head to the side in a mix of mild amusement and annoyance. "War," he eventually replies, though his tone is contemplative, as if he were reflecting on Inarin's word rather than his own, "Well then, what has your response been to the loss of Nathaniel? He was a rather key player among the War."
Galen feeling the disturbance, unasses his chair and makes his way casually outside to investigate. He notices people in the alley and moves into the narrow street to see who or what is going down. Upon recognizing Lyman, Galen grows a bit concerned. "You've looked better, Mr Lyman."
'Rin says, "Don't really care, but orders are orders, don't think it was an Angel, though." He seems ponderous for a moment before adding, "Someone is trying to get us at our throats. Angels and Demons. Might be the Ethereals. Hate the Ethereals. Should've let Uriel wipe them out." He frowns, "No, no, shouldn't have, but it would have been more convenient. Yes." He looks back to Lyman, "So you're Baal's too? Guess was right then. If I find out it wasn't, won't be able to back you up no more, no hard feelings." He glances about, and then says more softly, "But even if you were lying to me, I have to let you know that Tyrr is a very dangerous individual. He used to be a Master of the Armies of God. Went to work for Michael. Our Enemy, but not one to take lightly. He's practically the Angelic leader in these parts, but striking him head on won't work." He hesitates, and then glances over his shoulder before looking to Galen. ".....Yo." He says without expression.
"Very intuitive," Lyman replies, as if he were congratulating his healer for reaching some higher state of being. "I have had similar suspicions," he adds, his voice falling flat, "The angels have been equally disturbed by the loss of their own." A low, irritable growl invades Lyman's tone, however, as the conversation reaches the topic of Tyrr, "We were discussing just that when Tyrr attacked, exploiting his underlings I mean. He suspected we were involved in the death of this Alexis." At Galen's interruption, Lyman smiles brightly. He recognizes the face from the restaurant and, thanks to Kacela, he now has a name to go with it. "Galen," he greets warmly, in spite of the other man's assessment of his appearance, "You heard our friend here at work and came running?"
Galen squats down beside the two in the alley. "You could say that." He looks back over his shoulder. "Wouldn't expect to find *you* here, in this neighborhood, though." nodding toward Lyman. "Our resident Malakite do that? I can't imagine anyone else able to do it so cleanly." he adds. Subtlety isn't Galen's strong suit so he just blurts out. "You know I serve The War, what about you? Kacela never said, though I think she knows."
Allowing at mild chuckle at Galen's directness, Lyman searches Inarin's expression for a similar reaction. Quickly looking back to the newcomer, though, he bows his head formally, "You are in good company then. Fellow servitors of Baal." He even goes so far as to verbalize an afterthought, "However, he suspects I'm lying and I him. I thank you for your honesty." 'Rin says, "Indeed?" He actually smiles. It's not really a nice smile, but it's not one of those creepy murderous smiles. He seems happy. He never got to kill all the Ethereals he wanted to. "I will have to inform Tyrr that it wasn't us. If he directs his rage to the true killer, or the wrong killer, we still win." He shrugs, "If a demon has died too, perhaps they killed each other? No, not really likely in soul death." He considers and then turns to look back to Galen. "More than one Malakite in this city, I'm suspecting. Tyrr is dangerous. Best to strike at the underlings he cares about." He looks back to Nicodemus, "Genevieve, Khurgan."
Rufus walks down the block quietly, still mulling over the other night, passing The club only by chance. He pauses, watching the saps go in and out as he pauses to light a cigarette, Replacing his zippo in his pocket, and heading down the street past the goings on. "Well," Lyman says, eyeing his other cuts, "Now that your song has worked its magic, I must be on my way. Galen here caught the disturbance, you never know who else may respond." Really, the other cuts are quite serious, but minor scratches when compared to the arm that once was missing. He bows his head gratefully, "I am in your debt." Turning between the two, he whispers, "I will be in touch." Getting this cue, Lyman's men that linger outside the Navigator swiftly shut their employer's door and climb aboard.
Galen looks after the Navigator "Doesn't dawdle, does he?
Inarin doesn't seem to mind. But then again, he's uninjured and likes to kill people. "Nope. What you say your name was?" 'Rin says politely. Or at least calmly. His smile is gone, not something he shows people much, clearly. Doesn't notice Rufus yet.
Galen looks back, "Galen." He looks over toward Rufus. "I guess he's right though. We should probably scoot before someone else comes to see what's up." He looks back at Inarin again. "And your name?" he asks.
"'Rin," Inarin says, "Nice to meet you, Galen. I like your shirt. It's very poignant." He seems to be serious. "Anywhere you're headed?"
Galen hmm's. "I should probably go get some sleep." He gets a wry smile. "I like the night, but seems nothing ever happens in it." He looks around Austin. "Ya know, I thought being on the Corporeal would be more....I don't know....lively." His face takes on a look of abject sadness. "Seems the mortals spend an inordinate amount of time sleeping."
Inarin says, "Sure thing. Catch you later. I'll be hanging out around No Dinero more often.", and with that he steps into the shadows...before darting off in a quiet run.
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