President Black nodded to Narshawn, downing another glass of his liquor. So far it wasn't having any affect on him at all... The older he was getting the better his immune system was. Probably, some day soon, no amount would be able to make him tipsy. A pity too, but at least he could enjoy the taste.
"Thank you, I would appreciate that," President Black said. "And you can call me Adon, I'm never one to stand on formalities."
He pushed aside the bottles to the side of the glass, giving her room to pour more. "Unfortunately this stuff rarely affects me anymore, the disadvantage to an evolving immune system. Don't worry about me getting drunk... Though perhaps a steak would be good with these drinks? I do believe you mentioned them when I got in."
President Black looked down at the bar infront of him, a light scattering of gunpowder littering it. He wiped some on, but some bits were sticky and persistant. Damn rain.
"I'm sorry, but I seem to have messed up your counter... I would be careful with it, it does happen to be gunpowder," he said, smiling. Another burst of white flame erupted from his body as more nanites were expelled, but the powder on him didn't react...
Buck looked up at the waitress, "Yeah, just make it brandy this time." he stated.
Buck was starving and the thought of that large juicey stake made him all the more hungry. The auromas coming from the kitchin didn't help either.
Festival took in the towering cook's story in solemn silence. She pondered for but a moment, then offered, "One of my troupe, Madame Zostrina, is a seeress. I don't know how you feel about such things, although if you are skeptical, I would not be offended. Still, your own Gypsy can doubtless tell you of the insight gifted persons of the Travelling Peoples possess.
"In any case, 'Trina is not only gifted in that manner, she is also intimately familiar with the portals...as are all of my troupe. We would count it an honor if we would be allowed to help you search for your friend. If 'Trina can locate her - and I think she can - we would also be more than willing to go and find her." The concerned, serene expression hardens. "On the other side of many of those portals are those with whom we have a score to settle."
The gentle smile returns. "I hope I am not being too forward, but I would like very much to help." The smile deepens, becomes mischevious. "After I have my custard, of course!"
"And in this moment, I will not run.
It is my place to stand.
We few shall carry hope
Within our bloodied hands."
"Better than I deserve," she smiled, noticing that some of the other patrons were breaking out pitchforks and torches. "I'll be back in a Jiff, better head off the angry mob before Nar sees them."
"What can I get you gentlemen, this evening?" She stood between the immense black man and the trail-worn one. Betty was next on her list.
((OOC: Gertrude is an NPC, everyone, treat her like a middle aged waitress with a sharp tongue, no insults but sly wit, and she'll be glad to help out. She knows Jack, but is friendly with anyone. She makes her money in tips remember, so flirting is accepted.))
"Believe in see'ers? Girl, half my Order has some mental power, I believe in them all right." The woman cocked one hip over, relaxing.
"Offer of help is welcome, best I know is that she is ok, was as of last night anyhow. As far as me asking someone to go through one o' them damn portals, not on your life. Sweet thing like you should be sittin' in the shade somewhere the cottonwoods bloom, sippin' a ice tea and decidin' which beau to ask over." She winked, warming to anyone that would so selflessly offer help. She liked the woman's sense of clothing too, nothing Gal would ever put on, but her friend Bubbles would beg for the designer.
"Make you a deal, seems like you have some folks you team with. I do, too, and I imagine my people would delight in hearing about it. Sisters, I'm a Sister of the Order," she pointed back towards the beautiful sign near the door, "Ladies of the Lake is my group, the name of the place is a play on words.
"Enjoy your custard, hope it's decent, no chef or anythin'. You get a chance, I like your company, come back anytime and there's no hurry tonight. You sit there, have a bottle of wine, enjoy the fire. For Goodness sake, relax and let the house take care ah' ya'. Gal's is always open for you."
The odor of spice filtered through the air on a stray breeze, bringing Gal's head around.
"Gypsy! Leave those steaks alone!" She said in a voice only loud enough to carry. "If you're around in a few, once I get those steaks off, mind if I come and sit a bit? Platforms are definitely not for this floor." She lifted one foot, some three inch platforms making her that much taller.
((OOC: She means that Dollhouse, marvelous character.
Gypsy is like one of those mischievous house elves, she never does any harm, but nothing is ever quite spicy enough for her. It's a running joke with Gal and the crew, and they love her dearly.))
Buck glanced at the lady now standing in front of him.
"I already ordered ma'am, just waiting for my steak." He said politely, in his ever gruff tone of voice. He looked down at the silverwear that had been set in front of him and contemplated eating his fork, but decided that it might ruin his appitite.
With a slight nod, Basilisk answered.
"I say they because I didn't actually perform the procedure on myself... But I guess I'm as much to blame as anyone. It's bit of a long story, but for me to tell it, you're gonna need a few background details.
First off, you know about the drug Superadine, right? Well, it came out in the early eighties. Seems that they found that prolonged exposure to the drug could grant people certain exceptional abilities- super strength, enhanced aggression, and such. You know, like the Trolls. Well, it seems that quite a few of the democratic countries- Britain, the U.S., Canada, and a bunch of others- didn't like the idea that certain factions could make their own superheros. The Soviets were on their way out at the time, but the general worry was 'if they can turn their entire military into supermen, we're toast.'
So, naturally, there was an arms race started, this one considerably quieter than the nuclear one. A process was developed by the 'free' countries to combine the DNA of two distinct creatures into one. So, as a preliminary test, 3000 of the best and brightest soldiers, police, and whatnot were assembled from these countries. We were taken to be combined with different animal species, to see how we could improve our perfomance with heightened abilities."
He paused for a moment, took a drink of Vodka, and continued.
"I was chosen from my unit in Calgary, I was given the choice and, of course, I accepted. For king and country and all that jazz, right? So they took me to some nice little lab, strapped me to a table, and pumped me full of drugs. When I woke up, I could move faster, had better hand-eye coordination, my muscle tone improved, and I was tougher than ever. They told me that I had been successfully fused with a 'basilisk' lizard. Something from South America. It seemed that the project had been a success, so they began training us.
Of course, nothing that good could possibly last for long. And, right on schedule, [censored] began to happen. The Berlin Wall fell. The project- they called it Project Noah- got its funding pulled. After all, the Soviet Union was collapsing, so the threat we were supposed to respond to didn't exist anymore. We were pretty much told 'See ya! Don't let the door hit you on the [censored] on your way out!'
Well, we mostly we our seperate ways, but more fun was on the way. Seems the company that the governments used to produce the Noah Treatment wasn't entirely reliable. Some stabilizing agent from the treatment began to break down, and the animal DNA began to assert. The soldiers began to mutate radically. Now, a human body can only take so much punishment. Some of these people ended up with hearts the size of a blue whale's- crushing their organs from the inside. Some ended up with their bone marrow producing cheetah blood- poisoning them. Some developed poisonous fangs- when they eventually bit themselves- their body didn't have the natural immunity to their own venom and they died. Most ended up simply becoming horribly disfigured monsters, and their body couldn't cope with the strain. Only about 1% of the soldiers survived.
Some who survived ended up coming out of it looking entirely normal, like my friends Rock-hopper or Corvus Corax. Some ended up looking like me- like some hybrid mix of the two. A few even mutated all the way, turning into animals. We all, however, developed abilities that no one has yet been able to explain."
Up until now, he spoke as if everything had happened to someone else, an that he was merely telling a story. Now, though, his expression darkened, and sheer rage began to emanate from him like waves of heat.
"A few years ago, I did some searching. I found out the company that created the serum. It was Crey. Thousands of people simply died because Crey Industries [censored] up. And the worst part of it all is that if Crey went down for this, then the Government's part in the whole shebang would be exposed to all. They don't want that, so they're doing everything that they can to keep Crey out of jail, and more importantly, out of the spotlight."
As quickly as it had come, Basilisk's anger seemed to pass, as though it had burned for too much time to flare up for very long. His demeanor seemed to suggest that there was more to the story than what he had told, but he appeared unwilling to speak any longer about the subject. He threw back the remainder of the vodka in his glass.
"Well, as long as I'm here, and you're offering, then I suppose I'll have some steak." He pushed away the empty glass. "Vodka's not something that should be had with steak, either."
He placed his order with Narshawn, following up with, "If you have any of that Grasshopper still here, I'll have that. Otherwise, whatever's on tap will work, too."
My story arcs: #2370- Noah Reborn, #18672- The Clockwork War, #31490- Easy Money
Sartre once said, "Hell is other people." What does that make an MMO?
"I'd also like a steak, madam, and whatever special you have tonight. The steak should be medium rare, if you have more than one special I'd like a surprise. Anything would be better than military rations that I've been having for the past few weeks." President Black nodded towards the waitress, finishing another bottle of alcohol, which, to his distress, still had no effect on him.
"Haven't been in Paragon City long Mr. Lawhorn? Just register?" he said towards the man seated next to him at the bar. His eyes had lit up (metaphorically, they were already literally) at the mention that he had been to Monban.
"Researching anything imparticular in Monban? I consider myself quite the expert on the nation. Before it's collapse the ruins of the forgotten tribe of Mondani were the highlight of the archaelogical community in the nation."
(OOC - please be patient on this one. Your great post deserves a good effort on my part, and RL has become a tad complicated. Festi will answer post haste!)
"And in this moment, I will not run.
It is my place to stand.
We few shall carry hope
Within our bloodied hands."
Jack nodded his head at Gertrude's dismissal, then took a small sip of his milk. He was pleased that she had brought him whole milk, a natural base, it should allow him to finish a spicy meal. He learned this from his mother who's family had lived in New Orleans as long as it had been around. Setting the glass back down he walked up to the line and took another three throws. The last time he had thrown darts he had been in his father's barn the night before he left for Paragon city. His parents had thrown him a going-away party and his father had attempted to get him to stay by betting on a game of darts. His dad had lost and Jack could still remember the sadness in his eyes. 'Goodbyes are always sad, no need for me to tear up in a bar. Get a grip on yourself Jack.' He jerked the darts from the board, threw a smile on his face and headed back to the line to finish his game.
Gertrude and Gypsy carried out the heavy platters, figuring to get as many served as possible in one pass. On the bar, they placed cloth mats, keeping the ceramic from marking the wood, as they laid the plates. Portions fit for moderate eating, side dishes and water.
((Dinner is served, all you hungry heroes. I just wrote the ending to Sibling's story on the Jack Zodiac thread Siblings' Passing , and need some time to recover. Sorry 
))
((Just thought I'd add in that Basilisk has died. If anybody wants to check it out...))
My story arcs: #2370- Noah Reborn, #18672- The Clockwork War, #31490- Easy Money
Sartre once said, "Hell is other people." What does that make an MMO?
"Mondani? No, well, Old Man Brambles may have looked into that at some point. But no, on that trip we where searching for one of the four pieces of the Anubs triangle. Supposedly if you gathered all four pieces together and assembled it, it would unlock one of the pyrimids; allow you complete access. We never did find the forth piece. I think the Old Man is still looking for it." Buck stated. He looked down at the large steak that had been set in front of him. "Ah.. finally." He said, then began to tare away at the slab of clow that was practically still bleeding.
((OOC: Hey guys, though I would jump in and mention a few things. In one of the first posts, it says that Wednesdays the place is closed. Basically, this means that this is Sibling's day off from the forums. We all have one, it just happens that here it's Wednesday, but we can all still carry on and post here like usual. Also Sibling is on the west coast, so depending on where we all are, that could be up to a 4 hour time difference. So don't worry, no one is ever forgotten or ignored. Just relax and enjoy the atmosphere and the scenery. It will get back around to everyone eventually 
))
((OOC: Oh, let me know if I'm out of line here Sib and I'll retract this.))
President Black took a nice large piece of steak in his mouth and chewed it, eyes squinting. He gulped it down and the corners of his mouth turned upwards. The meat was done medium-rare, was juicy and had great taste. He would have to give compliments to the chef... After he finished another one that is.
He looked to the side at Buck Lawhorn. The man seemed quite normal, not used to Paragon. It was quite understandable, he'd gone through a similar process of culture shock when he had arrived in the city. He had only visisted the United States on State Visits, being here as a costumed hero was quite a different matter...
"Well Mr. Lawhorn, this steak is very good, worth the wait, much better than the military rations I've been having the past several weeks... I find it good to find somebody who has been to my country. It was a tragedy that it collapse, it was a shining jewel in Africa to show that we were truly able to compete with the rest of the world and beyond..." President Black looked past the bar to the wall, but his gaze went far beyond that.
"So Mr. Lawhorn, what is it that you do as a hero? I know from experiance and observation they only accept people with considerable skill to be one."
"If you're around in a few, once I get those steaks off, mind if I come and sit a bit?"
"I would like that very much, cherie." Once again, the country French had crept unnoticed into Lili's voice, a sure sign of her contentment. "I would love to hear of your folk, and regale you with tales of my beloved Carnival until your eyes glaze over. It is how people become friends, no? To speak together of that which they love. Please come back, sit, and share a bit of wine with me."
After Gal had departed, Lili took up her spoon, her face alight with anticipation. Her good intention to slowly savor her favorite dessert lasted for two spoonfuls, then was forgotten. The custard was exactly what she wanted it to be, deceptively simple, a perfect match to the last glass of semilion. For a moment it transported her back to her childhood, to the smells of her maman's cookwagon, to a time when her Carnival were no more (and no less) than happy traveling players. Even the wine, for like most French children, she was permitted wine with meals.
The spoon clinked into the empty cup, the last sip of wine danced on her palate. Lili sat back and let a wave of contentment wash over her, awaiting Gal's return. A second bottle of wine...something perfect for slow sipping while making a new friend. A vintage porto, perhaps? Or maybe a dessert reisling. It would not surprise her in the least if this marvelous place had the odd trockenbeerenauslese or two on the racks. Costly, but so what? She sensed that this was a special night for reasons beyond the fine meal. Her troupe was wealthy, to put it mildly. Several "fashion shows" and the unexpected bounty from high-ranking heroes eager to help find a lost fortune teller had enrichened them beyond all expectation. Was this not the purpose of wealth: to make life more pleasant? Yes...
((OOC Festival will muse happily until Gal has time for a chin-wag!))
"And in this moment, I will not run.
It is my place to stand.
We few shall carry hope
Within our bloodied hands."
Gertrude finished her tour with Jack, making sure he was last so she had time to talk a little. She watched him throw the darts, something he obviously enjoyed.
"Here you go Jack, something spicy for you," her lips parted in a smile, "and I brought your food, too." Naturally long lashes fluttered. She had been waiting tables, not always in nice places, for many years. Her face showed a line or two, but was still fair. She had long ago learned how to swing her hips, toning it down a little with someone as honest as Jack.
Laying a cloth mat on the tall table, near his milk, she produced a large plastic spoon from an apron pocket.
"In case you have to rush off again...but if you promise to bring it back to me, I'll give you a real one." From another pocket she pulled the fine silverware the restaurant used. Her dimples showed, melting a decade off her face.
((OOC: Jack, you sure are a nice guy. The chili's hot, and Gertrude is even starting to warm up to you a little 
No strings, just some good conversation.))
"We have a few bottles remaining," Narshawn nodded to Basilisk. "And more on order." His steak arrived almost on cue, and the bartender floated back, not intruding on the conversation between the others, but close enough to be at hand.
((OOC: Do you know how much shipping is on that stuff? Even with Stam six-slotted, Nar has to stop umpteen times to get there. Rotten sharks and all. 
))
Jack finished throwing as Gertrude laid the plate on the mat. He left the darts in the board and strode over to the table. As she pulled out the plastic spoon he laughed openly. After she pulled out the silver he eyed them both acting like he was trying to decide between the two. "Well I guess I promise I'll bring the fine silverware back if I run off, but that won't happen tonight because nobody's gonna need me."
He returned her smile and wrapped two fingers around the silverware and waited for Gertrude to loosen her grip before taking them from her. "So your boy is into raves huh?" As he talked he made his way to his seat. "I'm a jazz guy myself, something my Ma instilled in me, but I've heard some of it, called acid jazz I think," he paused to take a bite, "that is pretty... holy crap." He swallowed quickly and did a clenched teeth sucking thing, then grabbed the milk and took a swig. Rolling the milk around in his mouth he patiently waited for the burn to leave then swallowed. "My goodness this is good, but you could warn about the Insanity sauce."
((OOC: Jackis just trying to open the line of communication with Gertrude here, the southern hospitality that was instilled in him growing up just shines through. He is also no stranger to hot food and has a weak spot for blackened gator. I personally love Dave's Insanity sauce.))
Gal pulled the last ticket from the rack, sending the second steak across the bar to a very tall man a shade darker than she was. She was going to try and get over to him before he left, rare to see someone that dark, who was not an alien. She fondly remembered the visit from Hand of Ma'at, hoping she would return one day.
Martin stopped briefly, setting down a bottle still cool but freshly cleaned. His hobby was turning the bottles in the immense cellar, well, the fabricated cellar, she didn't ask where he had found the temperature controlled room. Dark Vegas could be seen slowly walking the floor, pausing here or there, talking to patrons. The cook folded her apron and turned down the burners, any more food would wait a bit or someone would get her.
The right door swung open, Gal motioning for Gypsy to follow, and the two of them walked to Festival's table.
"I hope a Port would work, Martin said this was tasty." She glanced at the smooth black bottle, "Damned if it ain't older than me." A smile that meant she was pleased by that fact. "They say women are like fine wine, better with age," she winked at the Wanderer. Gypsy smiled small at first, some humor not making the leap between languages.
Gal read the label, "Romariz, Nineteen fifty-two, Colheita Port...Nineteen fifty-two...Evita's last year." A small frown, she looked around the room and motioned Martin over. "Gypsy, sit down. Lili, I think you met Gypsy earlier, if you don't mind her joining us." The brightly colored hair shook, and Gal pulled up one of the heavy chairs for herself, relaxing into it with a long exhale.
"Martin, do the honors." Gal blinked, *How did he do that?* As the man produced three crystal stems, flared at the bottom of the glass and tapering slightly at the top. The emblem of the Sister's was etched into them, an Oak, a mountain and the crescent moon above.
Gal held her filled glass up once he was finished. "To women of grace."
((OOC: Hopefully the choice will suit the well bred Festival. The life of the nomadic folk is without peer, you said it beautifully, lady Dollhouse. The fortune teller bounty! Good on ya!))
Gertude didn't even try to hide her laugh, throaty and free, tension she had forgotten evaporated. It brought some looks from up the room, but she didn't care, she hadn't seen anyone that could eat Gypsy's chili straight, except maybe the Dark Magick woman herself, and she suspected that had something to do with infernal spirits.
"My god, Jack, that was priceless!" Her hand laid quickly on his arm, then was gone again. "I'm sorry, but I was waiting for that."
Narshawn was placing another tall glass full of thick white milk on the end of the bar, leaving some patrons alone to their conversation. A quick step brought Gertrude there and back, sweat dripping from the refill.
"I did mention it was spicy," he had a way, like he didn't mind flirting, "or did you confuse which dish was hot and which was spicy?" She patted his cheek playfully. "I'll be back in a second, let me get the tall man's order. Almost my break anyway, I'll be right back."
She left with a blush in her cheeks, nothing to do with the heat in the bar. The giant had ordered a second steak, well, Gal did make quite the steak, and rare was Southern rare.
((OOC: Jack, communications are open. She's a good girl, flirty, but honest and good to know. Her son, oh man, he's going to be trouble one day...))
President Black listened politely at Mr. Lawhorn as he waited for his meal. Today was going to be much difficult later on, and he wanted to postpone it as much as possible. When he returned back to his apartment, "temporary" lodgings he had aquired almost a year ago, he knew he would shut down. The alcohol hadn't worked here. Jamael was off fighting in Striga Island with a host of other heroes. He would have to bear the pain alone...
"Excuse me, madam," he said, gesturing to Narshawn. "Would you be able to play any music in the bar? And if so, would you happen to have the song "Summer Daydreams"? It was a popular song in Africa quite some time ago, my wife's favorite one. I wish to listen to it while I eat, to commemerate her death today."
He gave Narshawn a small smile, his eyes much dimmer than when he came in. It was a small lapse, but the small amount of sadness still showed. The buisness with the Nemesis on alternate Earth's had distracted him, he hadn't realized it was a year since she had died. Maybe it had done it's job too well, it was all starting to hit him at once... But whatever he felt, he knew he would be able to stay in control until he went back home. One did not run a country by letting his emotions control him, and that had run right into his heroic career.
"Please, if you are able to..."
"This song," a cold air drifted from her mouth, "it is by Kevin Kern? A piece for piano?"
Narshawn might be alien, might be young and might be from an enclave of women isolated from society, but information never left her mind. Music was a hobby of her Lady, Gemini, and most especially piano and strings.
She waited for some indication from him.
President Black nodded. "Yes, my wife found it very soothing, she said it reminded her of the day she first saw me... And now it reminds me of her, just her..."
He let his voice drift off a little, haunting memories just at the edge of his consciousness...
((OOC: Come on guys, a girls gotta make a living, work you know...))
))
Narshawn drifted back with a full platter of liquors, eyeing the dark man intently. Drunkeness was not a virtue, but she knew ways to make sure all stayed well.
"Sir, your order," she saw that the dusty gentleman was also a little low. "Would you like a refill?"
((OOC: Just imagine that the staff are there when you need them, I like hearing others RP, and don't want to spoil it by being in the middle