What induced men to drink? It was a question Vexen had pondered far back into the time he was still considered a person. After all, alcohol was a poison. And yet, sitting alone at a cracked and rickety table in a dark corner of the boisterous tavern, the blond scientist bore witness to countless men and women streaming in, out and around the room, tankards of ale, rum and who-knew-what more plentiful than the number of people themselves.
It was, of course, the ideal atmosphere to remain perfectly anonymous in. For appearances’ sake there was a half-filled mug and a half-empty bottle of rum on the table.Had anyone actually been paying any attention to the lanky blond in the corner they would have noticed that the cup never once touched his lips.Nor the bottle, for that matter.No, Vexen had not come here to drink the murky water of Lethe.For now, at least, he was content simply to observe the inhabitants of Port Royal make fools of themselves as they drank far more than mere ‘excess’.
Keeping his head down seemed like the thing to do, really.Nothing had been going well for the scientist lately.First Oblivion… then finding out the entire Organization had fallen… and then that… woman, if she could be called such, in their Master’s home back in RadiantGarden.
A shudder rang through his narrow frame, creaking the leather of his coat.Yes, keep your head down.That’s really the best plan, all things considered.A moment’s hesitation, then the blond took a breath and lifted the chipped mug to his lips.The alcohol was strong and made his eyes water, but after the initial scalding sensation subsided it didn’t seem quite so bad.Yeah, okay.Keep your head down, and try to forget.
The second gulp went down much smoother than the first.Perhaps this had been a better plan than he’d originally thought.
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I carry a dungeon within me; within me is the chill of winter, the chill of despair; darkness enwraps my soul.
The woman as she entered the Bar twisted her hand from the hold of again another seedy, smelling man. A few chuckled as they noticed the way she dressed and carried herself. Though the chuckling usually ended when they saw the rapier at her waist. Not many women on this world could fight she assumed, she knew how that felt. Her homeworld had been the same way in the deserts.
"Get your hands off me or I cut them off, and I do not mean your hands," she finally hissed, as hands were placed on her red silk dress. Her green eyes flashed and her hand moved for her rapier, the hands as quickly as they could left her waist. This world was terrible, worse then her own, why was the troupe here? They would make little money here. All she wanted was a drink but she was going to have to watch it. They could try to drug her, though Sere'th were highly resistant to most human drugs she still should watch herself.
Taking a seat at the bar she motioned the bartender over, "Strongest thing you have, though make certain it does not at least taste like swine piss." Her voice had a lilt to it that carried when she sang, as if her voice was meant to be singing not speaking. It had a strange accent as well that was not something anyone else had here. The man brow raised at her but shrugged finding her something along the lines of what she had asked for her plunking it down before her.
Her hand moved quickly, quicker then could be seen normally, it was a blurry odd action that drew little notice from those humans that were not paying attention, the bar tender seemed confused but accepted the gold that appeared in her fingertips. She had actually reached down into her bosom and retrieved the coin, but had slowed time a little to do so. She did not wish anyone to know she was carrying money down there. That was a sure fire way of ending up being raped.
She brought the drink to her lips, though her green eyes observed the room, and her hyper sensitive ears listened. A few were talking about her, a few more starring. She expected it, she wore a tight fighting red silk dress with white lace cuffs, her skin make up powdered white, thick black curls, and heavy cabaret make up. She had come to expect the stares of lust, admiration and disgust.
-- Edited by LionHeart on Monday 6th of July 2009 01:49:13 PM
This world had seemed innocent enough to begin with. There was a quiet calm, tall green trees and smooth paths connecting with rough ones. Ivory was glad she didn't like heels or dainty shoes that would cause her to break her ankles by tripping over a ragged stone, or that she'd have to break them if running became necessary. While Ivory liked fighting she hated running. It was so boring and tiresome. She didn't understand how people could find it relaxing at all. None the less once a week every week she'd find a clear track somewhere and whizz around in the same set circle and hope no one joined her. She hated it when people ran faster than she did. It would spurn a competitive streak usually exclusive to weapon design and she'd end up flat on her face. How humiliating.
Still Port Royale had seemed nice enough when she first got here. Now she wasn't so sure. Ivy knew she was being followed. They weren't that far behind, but far enough someone with the tendency to be oblivious wouldn't notice a thing. Heavy footsteps but the pace wasn't fast enough for someone to be in a hurry, wasn't slow enough for it to be coincidence either. Heavy boots, long laces, dark, Ivory though. Probably a swagger too. She had sped up every so often so it wouldn't be too obvious. She didn't want, presumably him, that she was on to him. Nor did she want a confrontation. Although it might alter their perspectives on females. This world did seem to be a little old fashioned.
"Wai' up darlin'," A slightly slurring voice called from behind. Naturally he was intoxicated with a poison, an effect many seemed to enjoy. Didn't they realise it was a depressant? Ivory gathered she'd probably require a drink after this. "A jusssst wanna talk to ya luv,"
Ivory fingered her Sais. Such men should be missing a certain something but she had no idea what would happen if they discovered she had done such a thing. A different kind of pain would have to do.
"The' yoo are Swee'hear'," he slurred around. "She's pretty," he nudged his friend. "Jus' wan'ed a good time luv,"
Clearly she hadn't been fast enough at all. Slowly she slid her weapons from their resting place. The good thing about these defensive weapons was they looked dangerous and as an added bonus could be used as offensive ones. It was why she liked them so much. Calmly she waited until the were close enough. Their intentions were clear. Lashing out quickly she used her sharpened senses and her not so good eyes to dodge their sloppy attacks and smash hers against them. The sharp blades grazed skin and when they lay on the ground the edges were tinged with a thin coating of red.
Quickly now she made her way to the Tavern and went to the bar. Ubruptly she found herself on the fall unsure whether she tripped or was forced to do so. Calmly she brushed down her clothes and ignored the incident.
"Hey man, I was just trying to make a few coins! Don't hate on me for a little music!"
Demyx sputtered his protests to the group of ruffians that hadn't exactly found his playing sitar on the corner very entertaining. They said something about it being 'their' street (though he hadn't seen their names anywhere on it) before one of them had him by the scruff of his neck and off of his feet. Before he knew it, he was being dragged down the street like a toy while the others followed, jeering and laughing at the spectacle.
Just his luck, right? What a lousy world to end up on. And Luxord had always said Port Royale was a fun place!
"HEY!!" He shrieked when one of the other scruffy looking men leaned close and yanked his sitar out of his grasp to examine it.
"What the bloody 'ell is this twanger?" The man knocked on it with his dirty hands and plucked it's shiny strings, bringing forth an off-key hiss. "Some sort of fancy singing violin I reckon. An ugly one!"
"Hey watch what you do with Arpeggio! Don't touch her like that! No! You'll break her strings!" Demyx protested quite loudly, much to the delight of his tormentors who continued their mocking.
"Maybe you'll learn ta watch where ya play the d*mn thing then." The man holding him joked and laughed with his fellows. "Oi, o'er here, we'll toss 'im in there. Maybe the drunks'll like his music."
"Huh? What?" Demyx craned his neck and caught sight of a tavern. The stink of rum as they passed a few of the local 'patrons' outside was so strong that it made his eyes water. No, no, no, what a dirty wretched place. The people in there were probably low class and boring. He didn't want to go in there. "Aw man, no, c'mon! Just put us down, I won't play anymore, cross my he.. uh... scratch that. Ahaha.. c'mon.. wait! What's that word.. oh yeah.. PARADE! PARADE I SAY!"
"Ride's over, music man. No parade fer you." The man holding him grinned and tossed the musician through the door his buddies were holding open, sitar following shortly after. Demyx hit the floor with a soft oof, scampering to right himself and grab for his instrument before any harm could come to it. For once, he was thankful the place was filled with rowdy drunk folks.. because that meant they weren't staring at him.
He brushed himself off, hearing the laughter of the group of men fading in the distance as they walked away. At least Arpeggio was okay, right? Yeah... she was good. If he ran into those guys again... no, no he was trying to keep a low profile. No Dancers. No dancing water. No drowning lowlifes to the tune of 'A Pirate's Life For Me'. Got it.
Plastering a fake and cheerful smile on his face, Demyx moved through the crowd quietly and looked for a quiet corner where he could sit. Perhaps he needed to think for a while about whether this world was a place he wanted to try to kick back on or at least stay in the tavern long enough to avoid running into any more unsavory types with no taste in music.
The splash of brilliant red caught his eye, so out of place among the subdued earthen tones of the working class that inhabited the tavern he'd chosen. It was unexpected, and the unexpected always drew the scientist's attention. Vexen watched as the woman commanded her way through the rough patronage and felt a smirk twist his lips. Serve those uncouth barbarians right to have the proverbial rug pulled from under them. Whoever she was, she was amusing. If he were prone to those kinds of actions, he would buy her a drink.
His attention now back to the room rather than the bottom of his mug, the blond scientist scanned the room from within the safety of his hood. Near by the tall figure in red, another young woman was approaching the bar, and Vexen's eyebrows drew downward on a contemplative frown. Albino, by the look of her. One out of the ordinary person was circumstance. Two could simply be coincidence.
Except that Vexen didn't really believe in such a thing as coincidence anymore.
Wait. Observe. Not everything is a conspiracy, the Ice-Elemental sank lower in his chair anyway. The universe is constantly expanding, both literally and figuratively, so it's perfectly reasonable that several... entities from different Worlds could wind up in the same dingy bar out of many. Sure. Perectly logic--
"Oh for crying out loud!" Vexen snapped out loud as his attention was wrenched away from the two women at the bar to the commotion at the door. Even with the annonymous uniforms of the Organization, it wasn't like he could mistake that bloody sitar as belonging to anyone else.Well then, it seemed that the Academic and the Schemer were not, in fact, the only survivors of the Organization.
Oh no, no. It was a neophyte, of course, that Fate decided to cross him with. Vexen rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Glancing back at the Nocturne as the younger Nobody made his way through the throng of people, Vexen debated if he should leave or hail Number IX. Oh for the love of-- whatever. I refuse to care. And to help him in his refusal to care, another large gulp was taken of the rum.
"Demyx!" he called just loud enough to be heard over the din of drunken humans with little regard for their personal hygenie or personal space.
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I carry a dungeon within me; within me is the chill of winter, the chill of despair; darkness enwraps my soul.
Mallie at first sniffed the concoction put before her before raising it to her lips. Alcohol was something Sere'th saw no point in, they had been born unable to get drunk. How sad is that? Sometimes she really wished she could just get wasted on occasion. But no her body saw it as a poison and usually ended up with her puking it up later. Oh well, self punishment she supposed. Was this stuff at least taste wise going to be worth her later hurling?
Sipping it she ****ed her head, not swine piss, but damn near close. The falling of the other woman drew her green eyes over and she winced a little in sympathy. Well another girl had braved this mass of perverted, depraved fools. Interesting. Was that blood on her weapons? Well then, she had not gone unmolested.
"Lass," Mallie called to the nearly albino looking girl who had fallen and stood. She patted the seat next to herself invitingly. The albino-ism was not strange to her at all, her step father and step brother were albinos. She knew it usually ended up in others making fun of them or asking questions but she herself would not. Not something you randomly ask someone, 'Are you albino?'
Her attention switched from the girl to the male who had entered, her musical curiosity wondering what that instrument was he was holding. But she stayed silent as a man in the room seemed to know him and called his name.
-- Edited by LionHeart on Wednesday 15th of July 2009 12:34:24 PM
Ivory dusted herself off. She had no wish to acknowledge the incident for it would create satisfaction among the males and cause more trouble than it was worth. Ivory looked at Mallie surprised. She had not expected any hospitality in this place nor had a female addressed her in such a manner before. Perhaps it was customary on her world to do so. Ivory decided she didn't mind - there were worse things to be called or known by of course.
Ivory sat down next to Mallie carefully. "Hai," She replied before correcting herself. "Yes. My people found it most abnormal. My condition is unheard of. No one expected this occurance," she said politely. She probably should not provide so much information to strangers but she was good at forging friendships.
Ivy only had the accent to go on, the voice but she was fairly certain her companion wasn't from around these parts. "You are a traveller?" She asked. She was attempting to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of being watched but luckily a loud male entered the tavern attracting attention by his antics. She always felt more comfortable blending in.
"Neither of you are human," Ivory said softly, gently, not wanting to distress or panic Mallie.
The musician turned abruptly when he swore he clearly heard the sound of his name above the din of drunken chatter and laughter in the crowd. Not since he'd woken in Hollow Bastion had anyone called out his name first. No one had known it. He'd been forgotten, just another lost in the battle of one thousand heartless... or whatever they had decided to call that whole mess.
Cradling the sitar against his chest as if it were a living, breathing creature in need of being sheltered from the throng of smelly, rowdy drunks, Demyx made his way towards the table in the corner where the solitary blond sat, indulging in what appeared to be rum or so he guessed from the bottle. The garb of the Organization was unmistakable and had Demyx possessed a heart, he might have felt almost relieved to know that he had not been the sole survivor of the chain of events that had brought Xemnas' plans to a screeching halt.
Instead, he felt rather indifferent. Perhaps even disappointed that he'd been found in a place like this by someone he was sure was not Luxord just by the tone of voice alone. Who was it anyhow? Axel? Xigbar? Limp strands of blond and chiseled high cheek bones gave away the man's identity the instant the musician was in range to make him out clearly. Vexen?! One of the elders who had perished in Castle Oblivion?! Oh.. sh*t....
"Yo." Demyx forced a little smile to his lips and drew a breath in to keep his composure as his steps brought him to the tableside. He'd never been any good at knowing how to talk to the elders aside from Xigbar. They were always so serious, so detached from anything remotely human. Okay, yeah, they probably had a good reason for that, not being human and all. Not like the musician was either but he could still remember, even if such recollections were often tinged with a bitter, hollow sensation. "Guess you made it out too, yeah?"
"Obviously," the elder Nobody snorted, looking back and forth between his bottle of rum and the mug in his hand. "Though your choice of wording is noted. Who else have you seen alive?" Vexen eventually figured out the solution and poured a generous portion of the alcohol into the mug before sliding it toward Demyx.
"Have a drink," he ordered, "It's actually not as bad as I thought it would be. I'm beginning to discover number Ten's appreciation of the drink not as, hm... objectionable as I used to." While the scientist was not slurring, there was a certain liquidly relaxed quality to the way Vexen's words strung together.
Green eyes performing a sweep of the room again and being drawn back to the two females who'd attracted his attention before, the Chilly Academic pondered what exactly it could mean that the Nocturne was here. He'd found Zexion, though they'd only been together shortly before winding up alone again. And now here was Demyx. In the first case, he'd been looking for the rest of his companions, but in the second he'd been hiding from anyone recognizable. Well, clearly the universe wasn't having any of that and had thrust them together. But did it mean something?
Vexen stared at the younger Nobody for a long moment, debating. If nothing else, he thought, I can get more data.
"So, Nine. What exactly happened after Oblivion Fell?"
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I carry a dungeon within me; within me is the chill of winter, the chill of despair; darkness enwraps my soul.
