Summary:Several supernaturals or magical folks bump into eachother in a magical bar. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
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"Look kid, stick with me, I'll show ya what ya need ta know." The voice of Rumblepug is rich and raspy with a good bit of phlegm considering the cigar he's smoking. Into the bar he appears in the corner of the room, seemingly out of nowhere. A four foot tall Satyr with hairy legs, a silk red vest, and a stogey that sits in the corner of his mouth.
His companion? Alexander Aaron to those who know him, though that's not exactly a deep section of the worlds and beyond. Phobos to those with the magical sense to perceive such things. Though here, in this crowd with the steady murmur and white noise from creatures across the myriad realms… it's his first time wandering in. The youth is barely six foot, though his slouch makes him seem shorter. Backpack on his shoulder, hands in his pockets, he grins at the small satyr.
"You sure it's cool for me to be here? I'm not 21 and all."
"Trust me, kid. These guys ain't big on rules…"
No sooner does Rumblepug say that, however, than a troll of some great stature steps over and growls, "No weapons of power!" He rises up to his considerable green height and glowers over the two.
"Except mebbe that one?" The errant Fae looks over at the godling.
"I'm not packing, buddy." Alexander spreads his arms as if offering for the creature to frisk him. The troll looks dubious.
"You got somethin'!" The troll rumbles, but confounded when it can't find anything it steps away…
Rumblepug takes that moment to say, "Anyways… don't worry kid, you'll be able ta get yer drank on."
The door to the place opens, briefly revealing a backalley in Hell's Kitchen, one of the many entrances to the bar. The girl who makes her way in draws no smiles or cheerful waves once people realise who it is. No, Jane gets glares and warding gestures instead. Magic and supernatural beings alike either glare sullenly at her, or pointedly turn away to ignore her.
Jane pops the collar on her leather jacket up as she makes her way in. The pretty, but tired looking punk girl is sporting a fairly fresh looking black eye, and a slightly split lip. She adjusts her silver septum piercing and winks at a lycanthrope as she passes him by, drawing out a snarl. She makes her way towards the bar as she pulls a battered pack of Silk Cuts from the inner pocket on her jacket. She fishes one out and tucks it between her lips, showing theres a hint of blood on a few of her teeth, but she licks it away. Like she got hit pretty hard, causing the bloodied mouth and lip.
She slides onto a stool at the counter as she plucks a scuffed bic from another pocket. She glances to somebody nearby and mutters, "One of the only bloody bars left you can still smoke in. Damn scandal it is, aye?" Her voice has a hint of pleasant rasp to it, and her Liverpudlian accent is damn thick.
She lights her filterless cigarette and takes a long drag, wincing at the pain of puckering with her lip, and she glances at the bartender. "Bag of ice and a pint of the black stuff." She pauses. "I figure that can mean a lot of things here, innit? Guiness. In the mood to get right and mundanely tanked."
This is the place where Ifede thinks that no american gods were to visit; for hers.. should they ever walk this plane see this as a home away from home. Even now, as she sits around the table filled with monsters, she could feel their presence looming. The Ori are fond of human games.
Of which she plays. It was something rather silly that she knew that the fae-folk and demon-kind would like. Five Second Dungeon. A game so childish that there was a crack, a whip, and a cackle of a laugh as the hands were tossed.
'OH what a shitty portrayal of a gnoll!' Khep squeals! 'Why we don't look like that at all!'
Ifede looks at the monster card, then back towards the gnoll, and says nothing. She just quietly plays her card as quick as she could, trying her best to keep her laugh to herself. But he doesn't stop!
'See, look at this handsome face, eh?! EH?! MORE ALE!' He cries out, his distraction ruining the game which causes all in attendance to drop their cards and groan.
"Ahhh modderfucker. I oug'ta skin ya alive 'n make ya' inta jerk! Wear ya' when the snow time comes, eh?!" Ifede says, standing from the table. For once, she was clad differently. Dashiki worn, tight and tied under her bosom with a skirt that carries the same pattern. Her hair was larger than life and here, chucked with braids along the side that try their best to follow their natural curl pattern, yet tamped down by shell-beads.
'Ahh long as I'm worn around your boobs, Mama!' Khep cries out in drunken joy..
"Ya little shit.." Ifede mutters, pushing her chair in. "Next time we bet tha coin, Khep. -The- COIN." Her final words were said as she walks backwards, her fingers making fake sigils at him, in which the gnoll pretends to be scared by fake shivering. The laugh was loud enough to be heard across the room, for she was already at the bar with a finger tapped against her lip to figure out what to drink next..
"Over there, are the Hortons, you can tell 'em cuz of the noses." The satyr gestures with his cigar, showing Alexander around. "Those o'er there, they're the Svengilans, sneaky bastards." And then he ashes only to finish the roundabout. "And them, are The Glass Kin, unseelie. Don't talk to them. They're mad at you cuz of those pixies you roughed up."
That said Rumblepug starts to walk away, "I gotta hit the john. Go get a drink. I shouldn't be long. Mebbe 20 minutes." That said the little gross Satyr waddles his way towards the back rooms and the facilities.
Leaving Alexander there. Alone.
And he was eating it up. Bright blue eyes and handsome features glow with amusement. He cheerfully and companionably waves to the table Ifede just vacated as he walks along. Up to the bar he makes it, looking entirely out of place with his… so mundane terrestrial manner. Near the end with the lovely Ifede and the daring Jane, he waves to the tender.
"Hey!" A grin is given to Jane and he gestures, "Nice piercing." Then it's back to the tender. "Umm, a beer?" Hopefully he can get that.
Constantine glances over her shoulder towards the loud card game, eyeing the crowd there curiously. She spots the approaching Ifede and sizes her up a bit before she turns back to the bar. She reaches out to take the bag of ice as it is handed over, and she holds it to her eye.
She looks over when Alexander compliments her, and she wiggles her nose. "Thanks, mate." Her beer comes next, and she glances at it, waiting for the Guinness to settle before she takes a sip. She then looks back to Alexander.
"Might wanna be a bit more specific here. All kinds creatures drink here, and for all they know you're a ghost or a beansidhe in disguised, or some half-breed troll who got his human side's good looks, and you can only drink blood or some shite."
Is she kidding? She's kidding. Right?
Nope. Jane isn't kidding. Ifede made that mistake of drinking O+ and damn near got an addiction to it.
Kidding.
But Jane was not.
It really wasn't hard to spot Alexander and his shiny disposition to a darkened place like this, parked in between the two women as he was, happily ordering. She leans to the side to watch him and Jane, the accent is what Ifede picks up on first, and with a lean of the head she watches Jane with curiousity.
Code switching.
"I -hope- you beat that other persons ass." Her Haitian accent falls way to American now, her brown eyes now looking towards the room to at least see if the other'un was near. Apparantly not! But to help Alexander out, Ifede taps her fingers against the surface. "Get the kid.." He does look young.. "..a Modelo. Dark. I'm feeling ghetto. I'll take a Miller High Life."
There's a brilliance to the young man's smile, purity in sentiment, sincerity. In short, a rube. Ifede and Jane can likely see it, the open manner of his, then the words offered assuredly sells it in full. "Do you guys have any recommendations?" He pulls himself up on the stool and sits there comfortably, letting his back pack fall in front of his seat where assuredly it's safe.
He's got a grey unbuttoned overshirt, some blue jeans, white sneakers. And a t-shirt that displays a black kitten in profile with the caption simply being, 'Praise the Dark Lord.' Not exactly dressed to the nines, but it seems to fit him somehow.
But then Ifede eyes him across the way and ventures her idea for a drink. Modelo. Dark. And he goes along with it happily.
"Yeah, that. Please." The Bartender in his dark hood and grim visage looks the over, makes sure the orders are in and proper. Then nods slowly behind that black cloak and turns to prepare the drinks. Returning to present them.
Constantine blinks and looks to Ifede, offering a lopsided grin. The Brit shrugs a shoulder and picks up her beer to take a long pull. "Mmmn, steak n' potatoes of beer," she mutters to herself. She sets her glass back down once she has taken that long pull.
"'The other person' was possessed by a nasty little spirit. Spirit's banished and the bastard has a few busted ribs for givin' me a rough day." She keeps the ice against her eye. Jane isn't dressed for the 'fanciness' of the place, either. WIth tight, torn jeans, skater shoes, her 'WE ARE ALL PROSTITUTES' shirt, and the patch-covered jacket, she…doesn't fit. That, plus he probably notices the looks most are giving her…and possibly him and Ifede for associating with her.
As the bartender gets to work, Ifede nudges Alex as she gestures ahead. "Watch the man work.." It was like teaching a fifteen year old the ins and outs of a bar. "See how he pours at an angle? My Granpappy says a bartender like that'll keep the cheat off ya." Whatever the cheat is, the bartender kept it at bay. As they were presented, Ifede takes her own mug, but in a moment of awkwardness, she leans forward across the bar to snag a straw to dump it right into the cup, to turn and sip.
"Now.." Iffie says to Jane after her own long sip was taken. "..you talking about the possessed, or the spirit?" She grins, actually enjoying this banter. No matter the look.
"Oh. How do you both do. I'm Ifede. Or Mama. Guess this place don't matter on actual names or tie'das."
Leaning sideways as he listens to Ifede advising him, Alexander's smile slips to a grin as she nudges and gestures, then he nods. He watches, nodding again as if he knew what the Cheat was.
The glass clinks and slides upon the bar's surface. Going to its home and the bartender turns around to hover off in another direction. It allows Alexander time to catch his drink and to consider it, the dark bottle, the label. He rubs a thumb over the sweat on the side of it and hrms thoughtfully.
To Ifede he smiles to her, bright blue eyes meeting her gaze, "Thank you ma'am, much obliged." And he tilts the bottle back to take a sip, though perhaps carelessly relegating Ifede to the title of 'ma'am.'
Jane, however, does not get the same title granted. He nods a little, "Your shirt is also digworthy." A hand touches the center of his chest, "Hi Ifede. My name's Alex. Alexander. Aaron. Alexander Aaron." A short rattle of words offered then he offers his hand to each in turn.
"It's nice to meet you guys."
Jane flashes Ifede a lopsided grin and doesn't respond to the question about which she meant, otherwise. She brings her beer to her lips for another sip and then sets it back down. She brings the ice from her eye and reaches out to touch the bruised skin before bringing the ice back up.
"Constantine," she replies. "I'm Jane Constantine, luv."
The name is very, very well known among those who dabble with magic or are supernatural. And just as much infamy. She gives Alex a nod when he mentions her shirt. In response she lifts her own drink and taps his. "Cheers."
Ookaaay. Ifede's brow raises as she watches Alex, in fact.. his entire demeanor reads false to her, but she wasn't going to put it out. She also wasn't going to attempt to cast a spell, to scan him to see if he was even real, but she does take his hand to give him a tight shake. "Ease up on the pippy." She quietly warns him. People might try to take advantage.
But Jane's lack of an answer earns Ifede's respect, not to mention the name that was tossed out into the air. "Aha." Ifede says. "You got a name out there in Nawlin's." And.. Constantine does. She was sure her grandpappy called the woman a goddamned bastard.
There's a clink of bottles and Alexander's grin shifts a little wry. He nods in response and takes a sip again at the 'Cheers' and then pulls his stool back a little, more into the path of travel before the bar, but not seeming to care too hugely about such a transgression. It allows him to look at them both as he talks to them, which is important.
"Jane Constantine, Ifede." He says the names again as if committing them to memory, which he is. Then he holds his bottle in both hands and watches the exchange between the two women. Not wanting to interrupt for now, he does mouth to himself without saying anything the words 'Less Pippy' for those that can read lips.
"Papa Midnight better not be talkin' shit," Constantine says in reply to Ifede. "Wasn't me that stole that box of shells, I keep sayin'…" She brushes her fingers back through her blonde hair and sighs a bit to herself.
She turns her bright eyes (Or, well, the one not covered by the ice bag) to Alexander, then. She smirks a hint when she spots him mouthing those words to himself. "So, what brings you in here?," she asks.
"Nah. Wud'n him." Ifede says, the turns to face the bartender so that she could call out a whistle. "Close me out, you know the uz." The bartender doesn't even ask for coin or legal tender, but the eyes of Ifede glow a bright hazel, and then calms to it's natural hue. She sniffs, finishes off her beer, then snaps and points towards where Phobos came from.
"I'm out. Y'all come down to Harlem. Own Mama Iffie's if you want some down home cooking. Free of charge for my kin." At least, the first plate.
With a glance around, she spots the greasy little gnoll Khep, then reaches out with a finger. "Hey. Hey asshole. "I cur-.."
Ever wanna see Ifede catch a free ride to get a thrill? This is how. For as soon as the word 'curse' was uttered upon her lips, she was transported -right- out the bar with a loud *POP*.
Drawn back towards Jane, Alexander's eyebrows lift then beetle a little together. She can likely get a hint to the youth's aura, a feeling of duality, of consolidated magical infusion. But it's a rare variety, not one she comes across too often. "My friend, Rumblepug." There's a pause as he looks over towards Ifede, as if expecting her to admonish him for having that particular friend, not knowing the reputation of the rather grouchy satyr.
"Acquaintance, really." He elaborates as he uncurls a hand. "There are some Fae causing some problems in Staten Island, and I asked him if there was a place where some gathered…" His blue eyes slip back and forth between them, and when his gaze lingers they casually drift between Jane's irises, or Ifede's. No qualms looking at them directly, and no qualms about his manner of conducting himself. He is either that comfortable, or that oblivious.
"And here I am,"
But then Ifede starts to make her departure and he offers a hand at first though she's already striding, so he lifts that hand in a wave. "It was nice meeting you, ma'am." Very Pippy. And then she's gone.
It gives him a moment to contemplate her departure, where she headed off… and then for him to glance across toward some of the Glass Kin.
Tilting his head away he turns to lean closer to Jane and murmurs, "Do you get the vibe that some of the people here might be displeased that we are? Here that is."
"Well, I'm in New York now, so I might take you up on that." An offer of the Hellblazer swinging by your home can be seen as a curse by most, really. She finishes her cigarette and snuffs it out in the ashtray. She stifles a small yawn and then lifts her beer to her lips for another long pull.
"Rumplebug? He owes me a fiver." She pulls her pack of cigarettes out and taps out another, even though she finished the last one only a minute or two ago. She smirks softly at Alexander's question. She rises from her stool and turns about, plucking her cigarette from her lips.
"OI! Any of you have an issue that I'm here?" Her question is responded to by a lot of grumbling, and quite a bit of assent, and she just smirks, sliding back into her seat. "If you want to make it here and among these kindsa folks, you need to not give two f**ks about what they think. Got it?" Constantine is amazing at giving out bad advice.
The young Olympian can't help but smile, his features twisting wryly as he looks across the room at the shared sentiment of so many mythical and magical creatures rather displeased that they're having to share oxygen with /the/ Jane Constantine. It's just this awash wave of grumpiness that seems to flow over them, washing past Jane, and leaving her unphased.
It amuses him.
That said he sort of turns to the side now, drawing his stool back in closer to the bar, having to hop-step-hop-step to do so without leaving the seat. Might look silly but that doesn't concern him so.
"Not Rumplebug. Rumblepug. Wonder if they're related…" But his conjecture is not overly examined as he turns back to her and says, "Oh no, I wasn't worried too much. More just curious. I was told fights don't break out here that often."
"Ooooh. I don't know. Rumblebug. Short…skinny? Foot-long tongue? Brooklyn accent?" She takes a puff on her cigarette and turns her mug on the counter, eyeing the dark brew within before she glances over at Alexander again.
"Nah. Folks know better. But if someone really hates you they can always follow you back into the mundane world and trash you in an alleyway, right?" She grins lopsidedly, before she winces at the split lip.
Those blue eyes widen a little but the smile doesn't change beyond twisting to the side a little cluing her in that he's on to her little game as he replies, "No no, that's Rumplepug you're thinking of. He's the one with the false teeth."
And then, in that moment he lifts his chin a little as if about to embark upon a most risky gamble as he then says, "But what about Rumblebug you ask?" He then waits as if seeing if she's on the same wavelength before she starts to speak and in the same moment when she does so, he says loud enough so their words might well go together.
"Third base!"
Either it's a beautiful shared moment of synergy. Or he's just making a joke only he'll get. Either/or, he's still grinning like a mad man.
Jane smirks a bit at Alex's exclamation and she shakes her head a bit. "I…think there are actually two different satyrs with really similar names. But, uh…nice callback." She grins lopsidedly and drains the rest of her beer.
"Anyways. I gotta head back to the House and feed the fish or some shite. I'm sure I'll see you around, Alex. Our types tend to bump into eachother way too often, right?"
"Alright," Alexander takes up his beer again and takes a sip. "Until another time then, Jane Constantine." That said he turns back towards the bar and settles in for the remaining ten minutes until Rumblepug makes his way back on inside.
Jane takes another drag of her cigarette and then nods to him. She turns and saunters her way out the door to the place, vanishing back to the mortal realm.
A moment or two later the bartender glances about. "Hey. That was out ice bag."
.~{:--------------:}~.
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