Rael enters. He scans the room for Stu, the flower in a power suit.
Should he not be there, or at least not seen, Rael will go and sit down at one of the tables, and discretely create a large mouse.
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Rael enters. He scans the room for Stu, the flower in a power suit.
Should he not be there, or at least not seen, Rael will go and sit down at one of the tables, and discretely create a large mouse.
...how does one discretely create a mouse...?
Suppose if it was sort of out of the way and done with minimal arcane chanting and arm waving that would work. But it still seems kind of odd...
Anywho!
Divaonar is here!
Playing with toys.
And waiting for the opportunity to accompany his Father to go see Mother!
It would be... kind of sad.
Probably.
So for now waiting. And eating some muffins.
If one is Rael, you sit down, pull your cloak around yourself, and slice open your palm with your claws, allowing it to bleed (it pools in the air, not on the ground, since, again, you're Rael.) until you have an amount of blood equal to the mass of a large mouse, then seal the wound.
Since I think he actually needs to make such a mouse, let's assume that that was a description of what he does, and the mouse will now go up to the nearest person and say: "I'm looking for a sentient flower wearing a power suit. His name is Stu. Have you seen him?"
Stu is at an abandoned warehouse in Inside right now!
"Alright. So... what sort of information would be a fair trade and stuff? What do you want to know?" FHR asks.
"The information can be anything that would be of use, or could be worth money to someone. Common knowledge, or knowledge that is easily available, is not worth anything. A favor would be very much the same thing, save that I ask for a specific bit of information in the future."
This all seems rote to her, like she has gone over this dozens and dozens of times.
"Hmm... well I can tell you all about another timeline. Or about the tree that ate souls. But I don't think I know anything of use to someone like you." She'll probably have to go with the favor.
"So you will go with the favor?"
If FHR says yes, or gives some other affirmative, The dealer will hand her a slip of paper with the words "I owe Enveri Diiai a favor" on it. It cannot be lost, trashed, or stolen; it will reappear with some of her(his in the future) stuff. If merely filed away someplace for a long time, it will surface once in a while when he looks through a lot of old things. (Like when he clears off that desk that he hasn't seen the top of in two years, or cleaning out his drawers, and stuff like that.)
As soon as she takes the note, the 1:1 dealer will also hand her a piece of paper with 28 job openings on it. The first one is interesting: it is work for someone named Rael, "patching up injured people, creatures, and monstrosities." Medical training not needed, as it will be provided on-site.
Other, less interesting jobs are listed, varying from a small performance at a little restaurant to the secretary of a manager in a respectable company. Near the end of the list are several "last ditch" jobs, like an understaffed restaurant or a store in need of shelf stockers.
He aught to be able to get some job out of this. A nice, unspecific off-screen job for a stable NPC company if nothing else.
Sitting near the bar is a dwarf. The dwarf is wearing dirty chainmail armour patched with rust, a conical steel helm mounting a massive pair of antlers and a pair of hobnailed boots. His hair and beard are black and tangled, matted and caked with dirt. His eyes are icy blue, lit from within by madness. The dwarf lacks an axe, and at the moment he's muttering softly to himself.
"Yeah, sounds like it." Reinholdt will stick the favor slip into her hat and take the list of jobs.
"Thanks." She says, offering a paw to shake before hopping down from the table to go look into these.
The 1:1 dealer smiles and shakes her hand.
She then leans back in her chair, and resumes sipping her drink.
She then orders a new drink, since this one is empty.
The small lizard, now aware of the Drow kid will go end his drink, and then head to a table a bit away from the drow. This will in fact need half an houer or so since the lizard is so small.
A woman walks in, accompanied by five other vampires and Zwei (probably, anyway). The woman has pale skin, dark hair, and yellow-orange eyes. I'm not going into full detail here, but she's a short, relatively pretty, vampire woman matching that description.
((Beans, you can post Zwei's description.))
Zwei is, well...
http://img29.imageshack.us/img29/522...f075632938.png
Fairly good-looking for an undead girl covered in stitches.
She looks around, as much as one can with stitchmarks for eyes.
I brought Rael in for an unrelated plot earlier, but he's still here, so he waves to them, and then walks over to Raril, who he needs to talk to for yet another thing not related to this.
Karyana says "So, do you want anything? It's on me."
I guess I'd like an Ichor Liquor, thanks for offering.
"'Kay."
Karyana will order seven of them. The rest of them are vampires, after all.
(Deadtime. Sorry!)
Aether sits, in street clothes. He has a pair of black converse shoes, some thrift store jeans, a beat up t-shirt and an un-zipped hoodie. He has a lump in the back of his sweatshirt, near his waist. At the moment, hes downing a beer he just ordered, as well as a cigarette he grips in his mechanical left hand. His scarred face looks about the bar, his deep-set eyes searching for something - but even he's not sure of what.
An attractive woman in her mid-twenties sits down next to Aether. She has long black hair, held out of her face with a white hairband, and is wearing her armour. Seems like old habits die hard for this one. She orders herself a wine, and turns in her seat to look at the man.
"Hey there." She says, raising an eyebrow at him. "Y'look like a guy who could spin a good story." She says, and nods at his metal arm as her drink is placed in front of her. "Why don'tcha tell me how you got that?"
He turns slightly towards the lady, in his seat, and takes a swig of his ale. His face has a decent amount of scars and stubble on it. "I got it during the final war of my Empire," he says. "Got it blown off when I was trying to toss a grenade back." He has a look in his eyes, and you can tell he's having flash backs and memories, and his brow gets a bit more serious as well.
"Mmm. Grenades'll do that to ya." The ice elf shakes her head thoughtfully, taking a deep sip of her drink. It's a surprisingly light and fruity drink for such a robust looking woman. "So'd they give all the suicidal fools new arms, of didja just know someone rich?"
"I'm not a suicidal fool," he says, smirking and taking a puff of his cigarette, "Most of the time." He clears his throat and continues, "they give prosthetics to most the wounded, with rank giving priority. I was pretty damn well up there at the time so I got a new hand and a set of legs." He pulls up his pant leg to reveal that is, as well is mechanical.
Rael, probably having walked over to Raril by now, says"Excuse me, but someone named Victoria is looking for you. She says you're her uncle."
The charocal-skinned elf laughs at that. "Sorry, buck, but I'm gonna have to classify any activities involving a live grenade that are not 'get the hell away' as suicidal." She says, taking another sip of her wine. When Aether reveals his shiny robot legs, she peers down and lets out a low whistle. "Good Circle, they really did a number on you, eh? Didja lose them all at once or was it a series of decisions gone horribly wrong?"
"well... both? I got shot in one leg, so I was trying to drag myself away when I got ran over by a tank..." He says, cringing slightly. He finished off his beer and orders yet another.
"Ouch." The ice elf gives an empathetic wince. "So how'd ya get off the battlefield, then? You hitch a ride on the back of the tank, or didja just keep crawling through the mud like a trooper?"
"I found a medic after some crawling, and then I got so doped up on morphine by the time I got all the way to the first aid, I barely remember it..." He puffs his cigarette more.
"Sounds about right." Subata says, as if there was a wrong version of the story. "You're lucky to have survived, though, I'll give you that much." She pauses, taking another sip of her wine. "So, how'd you make it to the Nexus, then? That's what this place is called, right? The Nexus?"
He ignores her doubt. "yeah, the Nexus. I recovered and I was put on so many drugs, a bunch of which were experimental and addictive like morphine and cannabis and such. After I was shunned by the masses as a killer and a villain." He pauses, to drink and smoke, with a look of disappointment. "I ended up becoming a peddler of poisons, dealing the drugs I had the medicinal permits for. After a while, the whole damn system collapsed and I drifted for a long time, becoming sober due to lack of availability." He feels his stubble. "Eventually, I ended up here with a full soldiers set of armour and kit, and that was a while ago."