[Nexus] The Black Dragon's Den IX

[Wolfbane]

Plat frowns at Raril's words. "Whaddya expect me ta do? Grab a lyre and play "fiddle-do-dee, fiddle do-dum" all day long and prance about?" He sneers. "I don't know who ya are, old man, but get wit' da program. Dis ain't like old times. Ya wanna survive on the streets of Red as a musician, ya gotta get tough and know ya stuff. None of dat lute crap."

[Hipho]

Old Flarg walks in and up to the bar. He orders his usual a rum on the rocks and a cigar and flips the bartenders an extra gold piece. He looks really messed up, hunched at the bar and staring at the lit end of the cigar like it's the only thing that makes sense in the world.

[The Mad Hatter]

Originally Posted by Wolfbane

Plat frowns at Raril's words. "Whaddya expect me ta do? Grab a lyre and play "fiddle-do-dee, fiddle do-dum" all day long and prance about?" He sneers. "I don't know who ya are, old man, but get wit' da program. Dis ain't like old times. Ya wanna survive on the streets of Red as a musician, ya gotta get tough and know ya stuff. None of dat lute crap."

I traveled with the grande opera. I know a thing our two, boy.

[Keveak]

Lewis' wings stop their flutter as he lands and summersaults over a chairback, sitting down across from Junior with an outstretched hand for shaking.

"Groovy meeting you, Junior Shortfernuddin. And I don't think I got your name, granola?"

The last bit is directed at Del, with a cheery smile that in no way indicates that shaking hands with a Pixie is in any way a bad idea.

Not at all.

Quite safe.

[Artemis97]

A rather predatory smile crosses the drow's face. This kid really didn't know anything did he?

"Well, allow me to educate you. I am Raril Xar'Cha. I own this bar, and I've lived in the Nexus since it was the Town. You want to talk about survival? I've been through multiple planes of hell and back. Laughed in the face of the most evil beings this world can produce. Stood and fought against apocalypse after apocalypse, and each time came out stronger. Though love, and loss, and more pain you can imagine, I survive. The streets of Red are nothing compared to the front lines of defending this city from certain doom. I live and thrive in this." Raril tells the young elf. "And I don't play a damned lute."

[Hipho]

Old Flarg downs his rum and turns to the elf, shortly after the Xar'Cha finishes his little monologue. My name is Flarg Tosscobble and I have traveled through space and time. I have converted masses with a look, razed towns to the ground with a single word, and ressurected the dead with another. Spent some vacation time in Hell. Defeated angels, demons, and shadow beasts that would tear your little imbecillic mind to pieces. I have bent beings to my will that are beyond your comprehension. I have traveled to the threshold of death, spat in the bony pricks face, and told him he'd have to do better if he wanted me. My name is Flarg Tosscobble and I play the lute with the last word a lute appears in his hand and he stares at the elf, a look of pure disgust.

[Wolfbane]

Phity-Plat gets up from his stool, obviously annoyed. "Alright, if ya'll think I don't do music, I'll prove it." He says forcefully before looking around at everyone. "I challenge everyone who can perform an instrument, sing, or do music of some kind to a contest. If I win, all ya gotta do is admit I perform real music. I ain't no Wannabe. If I lose, I'll learn whatever instrument da winner tosses at me." He says, glaring at Raril and Flarg. "I don't care who either of ya are. If ya can play, ya can play. And I don't need no instruments or backups to whup ya either."

[The Mad Hatter]

Really?! I might take yoi up on that.

[Hipho]

Flarg peers at the elf and shrugs, the lute turning into a small, black, acoustic guitar in a puff of shadow. He plays a short, fast, five second multi-chord riff that is laced with a powerful magical suggestion. The suggestion is simple. This guy can play well enough to beat you. Of course, it is just a suggestion. I accept your challenge.

[Kris on a Stick]

Suddenly, a flash!

"Wait, are they having a musical contest? Mercutio, dear, I think they're having a musical contest! I love musical contests."
There's... a man sitting backwards on a chair in the Den, arms folded across the chairback, chair tilted on to two legs as he leans forwards excitedly. At least... I think it's a man. It's hard to tell under all that scruff. He's wearing a dilapidated hoodie, a pair of faded blue-jeans that are more hole than jeans, and a pair of sneakers that may have once been white, and indeed, may have once been a pair of proper sneakers, but now resemble nothing more than a ragged grey explosion of plastic and rubber wrapped around his feet. His hair (brown) is shoulder length and unkempt, his lower face heavily shadowed, his chin adorned with the sort of beard that looks startlingly like a dead rodent has simply been taped to his face, and his brilliant amber eyes underlined by heavy rings. On the whole, he gives off a smell that might have been oil paints, or instrument polish, or marble chips, or iron, or ink and wet parchment, or any number of such things, but mostly seems to smell old, and not altogether pleasant.

Next to him, a slightly more presentable man, 'Mercutio', stands next to him, straight-backed and at attention. His light blond hair is sleek and well-cut, his face clean-shaven, his pale complexion bright and cheerful, though his silvery eyes seem to lack the raw energy of the other man. He's dressed in a classic 'butler' combo, white shirt, pressed black pants, polished black shoes, black gloves, black waistcoat, black tie. On his tie, a silver tie-pin in the shape of a pair of ravens.

He nods carefully.

"Maybe they'll let you judge, sir?"

"Oooh! I love judging!"

Anyone with the capacity to sense such will sense a powerful HOLY AURA surrounding the two. Stronger around the scruffy man, weaker around the clean one. Looks like the Den is hosting visiting divinity. And his angelic attendent.

[Wolfbane]

Phity-Plat just gives them a snort, immune to the Suggestion. After all, if he listened to those, he'd probably still be living with his parents and became a lawyer or someone else that suffocates in a tie every day.

"We need another coupla judges, then go ahead and start so I can trounce ya."

[Slii Arhem]

Originally Posted by Keveak

Lewis' wings stop their flutter as he lands and summersaults over a chairback, sitting down across from Junior with an outstretched hand for shaking.

"Groovy meeting you, Junior Shortfernuddin. And I don't think I got your name, granola?"

The last bit is directed at Del, with a cheery smile that in no way indicates that shaking hands with a Pixie is in any way a bad idea.

Not at all.

Quite safe.

Since Del doesn't seem to be answering, Junior will shake the pixie's hand anyway while he waits for a response, partly just to see what, if anything, will happen.

Mostly to shake off his deadtime and get moving again though.

[Keveak]

As the Pixie and Junior shakes hands, any loose buttons or holes in the undeadtimed Drorf's clothing should fix themselves and a charm of sorts will try to keep his drink from spilling accidentally.

Lewis doesn't seem to notice the lucky charm, however, as he appears to grow several heads taller, taller even than many Orcs.


"Oy, sir Elfenman! Judging sounds a groovy snip! Could I harmoniously be allowed a try?"

Replying to the rapper's statement of judging lack in the most modern of tongues he know, the Pixie-gone-halfway-giant waves at the unfortunate Elf.

[C'nor]

Originally Posted by Wolfbane

Phity-Plat gets up from his stool, obviously annoyed. "Alright, if ya'll think I don't do music, I'll prove it." He says forcefully before looking around at everyone. "I challenge everyone who can perform an instrument, sing, or do music of some kind to a contest. If I win, all ya gotta do is admit I perform real music. I ain't no Wannabe. If I lose, I'll learn whatever instrument da winner tosses at me." He says, glaring at Raril and Flarg. "I don't care who either of ya are. If ya can play, ya can play. And I don't need no instruments or backups to whup ya either."

A pretty drowess, with the standard red eyes and white hair, stands, and walks over to the group, grinning.

"I'll take that challenge," she says, drawing an ornate bone harp, carved to look like a snarling dragon, wings folded over the strings; it would appear that it would be somewhat harder to play than a normal one, given that the player's hands are restricted, and they can't see the strings.

Originally Posted by OrchestraHc

It's more praise then he gets most of the time. "No and no, boss." he says putting any of those fears to rest. "Female, human, brown hair."

Sevet might notice that there's another female human, with black hair, who seems to be drawing scraps of shadows to herself, sitting with Siri.

Said human, while she's smiling slightly at her companions' antics, is watching the other occupants coldly, much like a bodyguard for the winged woman might.

[OrchestraHc]

If the woman was visible when he first walked in, he would definitely report it to his boss. "Also another one, but black hair, and possibly magic. Is there anything else you'd want me to do?"

[Lord Magtok]

Magtok suddenly appears at a table, wearing his usual robe, but with an enormous, powdered, curly white wig hanging askew atop his ridiculous bald head. He leans back in a chair, steeples his fingers together, and smiles.

"You've got yourself another judge, Platman. If the lot of you are any less than as good as you say, though, I won't hesitate the bash the lot of you upside the head with a gavel."

[C'nor]

She was indeed visible when he first came in.

If his observation could be noticed by someone who's had a lot of practice at noticing such things, and is rather paranoid, Sevet is probably being watched more closely than the rest of the occupants of the Den.

[OrchestraHc]

Certainly, if she was capable of reading the skeleton's lack of face or eyes, which honestly, in Nexus you never know. He did go to the back awfully quick after Winguardia stood up. So y'know, eitherway.

So this post doesn't go entirely out of character, a pair of halfling construction workers walk into the bar. "Now this is what I'm talkin' about, Cracker," the younger, blond one carrying a blue metal shovel says, heavy on his Boston accent, "A tavern, not an inn where there's stuff like manners, foot wipin', and yer not aloud to spit." He tilts his head back and makes an hacking sound in the back of his throat, only to be hit in the gut by the handle of the other halflings strange blue metal pick. He accidentally swallows.

"That no spittin' rule still applies Digger," the elder, black haired and goateed halfling says in a Brooklyn accent. "That's just basic courtesy." The two of them both sit down and order beers.

[The Mad Hatter]

Thenadíer warms up vocally. He has a deep baritone voice. Operatic.

[Artemis97]

Behind the bar, Raril shakes his head. "I've got nothing to prove here." He looks to Phity-Plat. "Kid, if you want to hone that talent of yours, come find me. But I've got business to attend to. Only came in to make certain my kin didn't blow up the place."

[The Bushranger]

Rhyan undeadtimes once more.
Clocks her player over the head...
And looks around, the half-drowess scrutinizing the bar.

Once more.

[Wolfbane]

"Alright, Raril." Phity-Plat says. Even as rebellious and disrespectful as the elf may be, he knows someone who runs this type of place never had to prove himself. The Den had a Rep after all.

The others though...

Plat gives them a slight, yet extremely arrogant, smirk. "Alright, go ahead and start. Ya'll saw me already, so ya know what ya're up against."

[Artemis97]

"Good luck, everyone." The drow says as he slips out the back door, chuckling at some private joke.

[The Mad Hatter]

I go last.

[LadyOfWar]

Originally Posted by KerfuffleMach2

Human? Well, yeah, I guess one could think that. Until they notice her fangs. Which Alysha makes no effort to hide.

The peppy vampire's eyes grow again as Winguardia reaches the good part of her sentence.

Yeah? Can it be done? I mean, I'm not heavy, if weight's the main factor.

((Night, LOW!))

"Weight is the main factor, yes. Though aerodynamics play a part." she smiles at the young vampire's eagerness. "I'm thinking that while I could not take off with the weight of another, nor gain altitude... I could glide. It would be like hang gliding. Now there is an idea! We ought to to find a place to rent some equipment and go hang-gliding. I will need to earn some money first though."

She turns to the others in their little group. "Would you all find that fun?"

Originally Posted by OrchestraHc

If the woman was visible when he first walked in, he would definitely report it to his boss. "Also another one, but black hair, and possibly magic. Is there anything else you'd want me to do?"

"Keep her in sight. I'll be there within six minutes. If she tries to leave before then, stall her. She doesn't know you, so walk right up and talk to her if needed. If you can't come up with an idea of your own, ask her to help find a home for the kitten. She's a fool for little animals, it will be good for several minutes distraction."

The sounds in the background change to rushing wind as the winged man takes off. "After six minutes, if she tries to leave, let her go, don't bother following. I'll be waiting."

The connection stays live just long enough for the skeleton to say something else, if he must, but it had best be quick.

[OrchestraHc]

"Gotcha boss." Is all he really has to say after the order.

Returning to the main area, he takes a seat at the bar and puts a few copper pieces down on the bar. He receives in return, several books of matches. Taking the books and an ash tray to a table with the women just off to the side. He then begins to indulge in a little habit of his. He lights a match throws it into an empty eye socket and let's it run its course before removing the burnt out stick and starting over. He'd been giving a great deal of focus to giving off warmth rather than eating heat and chilling the air around him. This has been a slow strain on his fire reserves without any replenishment. Now was as good a time as any to heat up a bit.

[Hipho]

Flarg peers at the judges before him and a thought pops into his head. His acoustic guitar changes to an electric one in a puff of smoke and he tunes it quickly. Deity, Magtok, funky looking pixie giant thing he thinks to himself. He strums the strings once, the music sounding as if its coming from an invisible amp.

He then launches headlong into a complex disco/soul/funk song. There are no words to this song, but the notes bring to mind images of enjoyment and dancing. As he gets a minute or so into the song small flickering lights start to appear. They flash between multiple bright colors and seem to be moving to the music. By now Flarg's hands are flying across the fretboard as the songs melody and harmony get more and more intricate. By the time the song ends the air around him is absolutely full of the dancing lights.

The lights fade away as Flarg looks up I apologize if the lights bothered anyone. My instrument sometimes has a mind of its own.

[The Bushranger]

"I woudl certainly enjoy the chance to enjoy flight," Rhyan says, almost wistfully, giving Winguardia a smile.

[C'nor]

Originally Posted by Wolfbane

"Alright, Raril." Phity-Plat says. Even as rebellious and disrespectful as the elf may be, he knows someone who runs this type of place never had to prove himself. The Den had a Rep after all.

The others though...

Plat gives them a slight, yet extremely arrogant, smirk. "Alright, go ahead and start. Ya'll saw me already, so ya know what ya're up against."

Once Flarg has played his piece, Lellienth sits down, so that she can use the strange harp properly, and begins to play, and sing.

As she does, anyone listening, unless they're immune/resistant to illusions, should find that they seem to be in a small clearing, in a dark wood, at night. In the center of said clearing is a large tree, hung with swords, and beryls set into rings and necklaces, under which Lellienth sits, though she seems to be a normal elf instead of a drow, and would seem to be crying as she sings, though it doesn't affect the sound.

Originally Posted by LadyOfWar

"Weight is the main factor, yes. Though aerodynamics play a part." she smiles at the young vampire's eagerness. "I'm thinking that while I could not take off with the weight of another, nor gain altitude... I could glide. It would be like hang gliding. Now there is an idea! We ought to to find a place to rent some equipment and go hang-gliding. I will need to earn some money first though."

She turns to the others in their little group. "Would you all find that fun?"

Sevet's hasty exit, since it came so soon after Winguardia stood up, would likely have been what she picked up on. After all, Siri is pretty conspicuous when she's not trying to hide, and since he's a skeleton, most uses of the back rooms, except for business deals, are out - especially since he came out this soon after he went back.

In any case, Mayhala nods, smile widening a bit.

"That would be enjoyable, yes... Siri, can you think of anyone who might hire someone to find you for some reason?"

[LadyOfWar]

Hearing her friend's replies, Winguardia nods. "Well then, it's decided. Our next adventure will be hang-gliding. We'll just need to find a fast way to turn a buck so we can afford to rent the equipment." she looks excited. "You all are in for a world of fun!"

She pauses to clap for the last performer in the battle of musicians that is going on across the bar from them.

She leans closer to Mayhala, to hear her comment about someone searching for her. "MMmm... A few. Yes. Why?" Her strangely dark eyes scan the crowd in the bar, and the tension that Alysha's hug had knocked out of her wings, returns.