NationStates Jolt Archive

The Road has wound long, the journey tiring and often fraught with dangers, both real and not so ...real. But even those are dangers, because what can exist in the mind can become terrifyingly real under the right conditions.But that is neither here or now for the newest arrivals.

The Inn was home for many, for each saw in it something that soothed, that reminded them of their homeworlds. There was always enough room at the Inn and always each ones favorite dishes available. Like the bowl of Gagh being eaten by the half drunk Klingon or the burger, hold the pickle' in the hands of the skinny, pimple faced human teenager sitting across from him. 'I'm sure glad Micky D's delivers' Mike thought as he wiped the bar down with the damp cloth snared in one of his minor handling tentacles

Three of his eyestalks turned as the door opened and he wondered who the new arrivals were

'At least when they bother to come politely in through the door they generally aren't much touble' the Sulamid's thoughts turned to the first questions generally asked by new comers..."What is this place, how did I get here..."

Inadvertantly Mike made a rippling motion with a few tentacles, his version of a shrug as he sottovoced his often given standard response to those inevitable questions.

He'd reply with an appologetic grin on his full pink lips "Ummm, actually I can't. Well, 'here' is the Inn at the End of the Road, but where 'Here' is I can't exactly say. Not a technical sort, just a bar tender."

Mike flushed faintly violet with embarrassement. Even after three hundred some odd years, as his people told time he still wasn't sure of how where, when, and how, were answered. Some of the more sciencely inclined boffins had tried a few times to explain it to him but went in one ear stalk and out the other.

"You might go check with the ivory tower types at the University." He'd suggest, and let them know that the Mat-Trans was down on Basement One, next to the styles boutique. Or if they liked to walk it would only take a few hours to get to the city, and you could rent a Snikkert there. And that it would also be a good idea to get their classification double checked - the best way to judge which foods would be safest, most nutrionally complete....

"May be these will not ask" He muttered hopefully to himself.

This anything like "The restraunt at the end of the galaxy"?

Never read the book. Heres the link to the OOC and more info thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=402917)

Before Mike could see who was going to come in the front door, the air, and indeed the entire building, shook. The half drunken Klingon fell backwards, toppling off the bench, while the kid across from him sprang to his feet, his half eaten burger dropped to the floor ignored.

From booths and tables numerous others popped like vertible jack- the-boxes, weapons appearing in various hands, paws and tentacles as if by majic.

"Incoming"

"Where's it centered?"

"Hmmmm" A Sensitive concentrated for a moment, as the shivver increased

"Here, in the tavern"

Almost before the slight green skinned man finished speaking the fabric of time and space ripped open and a murky fog billowed forthe bringing with it more than a whiff of brimstone and odors more foul

"A helverse incursion" Mike yelped as his main handling tentacles darted for weapons specialized for such an assault

The rip in space time vanished as if it had never been, leaving all within shaken, but not especially stirred.

"Well" Mike said as he put away the odd looking object that had been his first choice of weapons "I think that calls for a round on the House, and lunch to boot."

That was received with glee, especially by the Klingon who hadn't done anything save snore horrifically, while everyone else gathered themselves to fight off the not so now impending incursion.

Once Mike had finished handing out booze and various other toxins and had helped with running around taking lunch orders – Some times, and in some places there IS such a thing as a free lunch…he went back to waiting, polishing already polished glasses…

Unnoticed in the ensuing chaos, a small object dropped from the floor during the rupture. The object was no larger than a coin, and therefore easily overlooked. It was a scale, such as from a reptile. It was the kind of black that seems not so much to be the absence of pigment as it does the complete absorption of all light that hits the surface, though it somehow managed to be pearlescent and shiny as well. It was an easy item to overlook, but once noticed it drew the eyes. There was something about this simple, beautiful little scale that seemed irresistible. Unfortunately, before anyone became foolish enough to tempt it up, it disappeared, though not in the conventional sense.

A thick, black mist began to seep from the scale, oozing out to cover a two food wide circle. It roiled and writhed, faces seeming to dance just beneath the surface, tendrils shooting upwards, twining, forming themselves into a pair of shapely pillars. Those pillars met some two feet above the ground, linking together at a sharp angle, their tops growing a thick protuberance. As this spread upwards, a third pillar, similar in width to the first two, began to swell from just above the meeting place of the lower two, tapering as it lengthened to match, holding itself perpendicular to the rest of the mist sculpture. The thick, central column extended upwards from the joining another two feet. There it paused before a lump began to bubble up from the top and two more columns began to grow from either side.

As the mist form finally completed, a roughly humanoid form was modeled, exactly five feet in height. It seemed to condense and solidify suddenly. The lower two pillars became digitigrade legs, draconic claws resting agaisnt the floor. Slender ankles led upwards to powerful thighs which met at robust hips. A whipcord tail extended from the plush rump. The slender waist flowed upwards into the swell of a chest, slender arms extending to either side. The head was similarly draconic in nature, a tapering muzzle ending in a sharp beak, horns extending from just behind the eye ridges. Small, seemingly decorative wings protruded from just above the shoulder blades on the back.

With the shrieking wail of a thousand tortured screams echoing through the aether, the eyelids slowly rose, revealing a firey red nothing. The pits of Tartarus had once been compared to these very eyes. The pits were the more favorable of the two to gaze upon. The mist broke form, swirling momentarily before forming yet again, then falling to pool along the ground once more, leaving a slender female humanoid standing in its midst. Her appearance was Asiatic, save for the light absorbing hue of her skin. High, fine cheek bones and delicately pointed eyes, though her full, red lips pouted in a very un-Asiatic manner. Long, blood red tresses were pulled back into a tight pony tail, revealing pointed, elven ears. Her slit-pupiled eyes matched the shade of her hair. On her short, upturned nose there rested a pair of round "daddy-o" shades, frosted to match as well, hiding the slight flicker that encircled her irises. Her shoulders were slim and perfectly even, her posture severe, slender arms hanging at her sides. C-cup breasts were encased in an ebon-hued leather suit which covered her from neck to wrist to ankle, slashes of blood red breaking the monotony. The only things that remained from the prior form were the leg configuration and that whipcord tail, which tapered from a six inch diameter at the base to a fine point at three feet in length, every inch covered in minute scales.

Her eyes scanned the room slowly, noting the silence. A deep, courtly bow precedes her introduction. "In another time, in another place, I was called the Dark Lady Ronin. I grew rather fond of the moniker. You may address me as such."

So saying, she steps from the point of her arrival, the dark mist seeming to follow her, seeping from her footsteps. She seats herself at a booth alone, resting her hands in her lap. She exudes an air of infinite patience as she waits for the barkeep or a serving being.

There was a blinding flash as a rift opened up. Swirls of light and time mixing together, blurring the space time continum or something along those lines. Through this portal the familiar and odd sound of a Fiat 500 horn beeped comically. Several patrons and bystanders dart out of the way, seizing their significant others, backing away like frightened children. Through this swirling vortex emerged a blue Fiat 500 with white racing stripes along the top, sleak and sexy, despite its' size.

"Excuse me!" announces the driver, a female behind mirrored sunglasses. The bystanders make their disapprovement noticed and begin cussing in a dozen different tounges and one creature making various gutteral noises.

"Sorry about that" she apologizes, throwing her hands up, honestly sorry about the whole scene she just created, "I never know where she'll take me"

The door pops open and a dozen notebooks fall out. She steps out of the small compact car. Her hairs medium blonde, the tips just brishing the shoulders. She's wearing an outfit similar to a white sundress but wearing jeans beneath. Around her wrists and neck are various charms, necklaces, good luck charms, etc. This hellraiser removes the large hat and dips the sunglasses down her brow, "Finally, a chance to get some rest"

She snaps her finger and the compact compacts itslef, folding atop itself again and again. The wheels turning in as well as the mirrors, defying the laws of physics. Upon completion the once Fiat 500 was little more than a miniature blue cube that she pocketed into her jean pocket. The girl produces a pen and notebook and begins jotting down the arrival time and a brief description of the crowds reactions, her surroundings, and a reflection on the last universe she visited. Damn, I'm thirsty

A nearby bar offered a cool refreshing refreshment just suited for parching a universal traveler such as herself, "Bartender?!" she waves her hands madly, "Can I get a glass of water?"

The commotion from behind catches her attention. A grand entrance indeed for some sort of magician entertaining children, clouds, cloaks and all. She turned around and knuckled her hips and watched in amazement. What began as something from a Stephen King novel evolved into a rather beautiful woman. The girl looked down at her own body and felt her breasts and saw them inadequate to this new arrival.

"So you're sayin' you wanna be called a Monkey?" the girl inquires, departing a few feet from the bar.

The female being labeling herself, suitably from appearances, the Dark Lady, blinked at the human. "No, I wished to be addressed as Ronin." There was no trace of either sarcasm or humor in her voice. Indeed there was no trace of any emotion at all. It was a touch of the cold, dark, vastness of space. "Dark Lady, my Lady, and my Lady Ronin are also acceptable. I will tolerate nothing less as acceptable."

She crosses her legs in feminine fashion, resting her hands atop her knees. The twitching tip of her tail and the movement of her eyes are the only movements she makes as she scrutinizes the patronage, even her breathing seeming to cease. Were it not for the aura of authority she exudes and her obviously severe attitudes, no doubt several of the male patrons would have already been vieing for a spot in the booth of this statuesque beauty.

OOC: When security starts updating do what ever you have to to save the bloody post!

OOC2 Wang Chung To Live and Die in L.A., City of Angels 9 min 17 sec of primarily drum solo, perfect for kata
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"In another time, in another place, I was called the Dark Lady Ronin. I grew rather fond of the moniker. You may address me as such."

Can I get a glass of water?"

"So you're sayin' you wanna be called a Monkey?"

"Dark Lady, my Lady, and my Lady Ronin are also acceptable. I will tolerate nothing less as acceptable."

Mike slid the glass of icy cold water with crushed ice and a twist of lemon expertly down the bar, hiding a flinch but making sure he was close to the newarest stash of weapondry.

However his color immediately brightened when one of the booths emptied....

The being was obviously male, roughly eight foot tall and a dark breickish red hue. His skin seems normal save where it covered his right forearm and hand, which seemed unusually large and muscular. Over that oversized appendage his skin seems roughter, stone like, and the claws the fingers were tipped in were ...formidible.

Over his eyes, were two polished ebon disc...stumps.. growing from his forehead. He had a cigar tucked in the corner of his lips, a thig wips of dim grey smoke rising lazily from it. His tail was much thicker and muscular than the Lady Romin's but his entire form seemed to be one big muscle. He smelled faintly of dry-roasted peanuts and he wore a large tan, but tattered overcoat.

He has an extremely lage, an vastly oversized revolver of unknown manufacutrer on his right hip.

"Now Miss Ronin, don't get your dander up, and you Miss...Tastee Li Compact" He grinned, obviously pleased at his Bondesque naming of the Fiat driver "Lets allplay nice untill we are sure we aren't going to be friends. Who knows you may both end up dating the same guy, and then who would you have to share your bitching with if you didn't become friends?" A small tabby kitten stuck it's head out of one of the tan coats many pockets and let out a demanding mewl. At once the massive being seemd to forget about the women and he turned way cooing to the kitten as he stroked it.

Mike hid his eye stalks with a groan...

"Now Miss Ronin, don't get your dander up, and you Miss...Tastee Li'l Compact. Lets all play nice until we are sure we aren't going to be friends. Who knows you may both end up dating the same guy, and then who would you have to share your bitching with if you didn't become friends?"

The Dark Lady's lips twisted into a slight smirk at his words. Her eyes danced to the kitten as it poked from his pocket, causing a slight twitch to traverse her form, the fingers of one hand clenching slightly.

"Anung un Rama, what a pleasant surprise," she greeted him, her tone cordial. "And are you after courting my hand? Also, your father sends his regards."

Her eyes continue to dance between the kitten and the large demon, her hand flexing and relaxing.

"Sit with me, if you will, Anung un Rama. Or do you still prefer to be called Big Red?"

"Sit with me, if you will, Anung un Rama. Or do you still prefer to be called Big Red?"


"Red'll do, but I don't know you...do I?" He remained standing, the kitten now held in his hand while being gently stroked by one immense slab o rock finger. He seemingly ignored her comment about his father. He was of the opinion that the one who raised ya was your father, not the seed contributer. He didn't like talking about his seed contributer, so he generally ignored any such attempts.

and her reaction to the kitten had not gone unnoticed. Not in the least...

"Red'll do, but I don't know you...do I?"

"No, you do not, nor I you in all honesty. I know of you in passing and by association. And since we already have the pleasure of each other's name..." She gave a light shrug, a bare lifting of her shoulders. "I meant no offense in referencing your sire. I was simply passing on a message."

An eye began to twitch as he petted the kitten, her hands clenching against one another to keep them still. She was tightly controlled in both speech and action, but the small ticks and twitches denoted a minor leak in the dam.

Casey entered the Inn, tired and out of sorts. It was just one of those days. He used the door, never really bothering for the flashy stuff. Besides, why expend the effort when the door could be made available to you as long as you knew how to look.

As he entered, he smiled at Mike. If you just asked to get what you needed, you'd often find that Mike would know ou better than yourself. As Casey sat next to an old friend, Mike offered a glass of extra-potable whiskey, for which Casey handed over a small bag. It was a currency more valuable than coinage, and here, it was welcomed for its worth. "Thanks Mike. I don't know how long, just that until the tab is maxed out again."

Turning, glass in hand, he bumped it against the one sometimes referred to as Hellboy. Casey rarely used that title, nor the real name, instead deferring to his wishes and simply calling him Red. "Hey Red, it's been awhile. How've things been since last we bumped into each other?"

"I meant no offense, must've heard wrong' The woman replies, leaning back against the bar and grasping the glass of water, "Thanks Chief"

The water is refreshing and ice cold, with a hint of lemon which hit the spot perfectly. Multiverse traveler's can often work up a monsterous thirst. Luckily, This Inn is her favorite watering hole. Zeta III; however, is less hospitable. Those damn creeps practically ran her out of town, maybe it had something to do with the Fiat ending up ontop of their favorite patron who happened to be someone important.

The crack made by the bartender curled her lips and let out a good chuckle, cocking her head back in doing so. "I've never heard that one before. Sadly that's not my name. It's-" there's a pause, "Hold on a second, gotta get my notepad out. Who would've guessed all this bending the space time continium, defyting the laws of physics, and slip streaming would have an affect on the mind and body. So, I'm a bit forgetful but luckily I have my handy dandy reminder right here" she says gingerly, flipping through important names, dates, her favorite flavor of ice cream, and other ones.

"Here it is" She points, "Alice...Springs?" Alice questions herself. Sadly, her last name is scrawled out and atop is the word Springs. Perhaps that pertains to some other tidbit of info that she just crammed in between the lines. "Damn, I guess that's my last name then. Pleasure to meet you" Alice directs to the bartender.

"I meant no offense in referencing your sire. I was simply passing on a message."

"Oh None taken."Red waved any concerns away "In my line o'...avocation one has to develop a thick skin" He didn't crack a smile but seemed pleased with the comment. "The kitten bothers you?" he asked innocently, but it could be noticed that he didn't offer her the tiny feline for pettings.

Thanks Mike. I don't know how long, just that until the tab is maxed out again."

Mike gave the wanderer a questioning, but compassionate look. "Casey, you still have fundage from your last pay in. But I'll add this to it, and your old room is still there. She's kept it as it was."

"Hey Red, it's been awhile. How've things been since last we bumped into each other?"

Hellboy looked over his shoulder at te new comers and now he cracked a smile. "Hey! Casey. Pretty much the same o' same o. Stop a demonic invasion there, rescue a hot lady friend here, try and decypher Abe's words of wisdom now and again." He looked to see if Casey had a drink, and nodded in satisfaction. "Oh and let me introduce you two a pair of new commers...Lady Ronin, and..."

"Alice...Springs?..."Damn, I guess that's my last name then. Pleasure to meet you""

Mike batted absurdly long eye lashes at her from an eye that wasn't there a moment ago, and he and Red replied in perfect unison "Please ta' mee cha'"

Then Red broke into a loud but kindly laugh "Miss Springs" as he finished the introductions between Casey and the D- Tripper. "Though, Alice I do have to advise you that we already have a restraunt named after you." He swcoopedf up a couple of note books she had dropped and handed them to Alcie. "I think you wouldn't want to be forgetting those."

"Lady Ronin, Alice Springs, this is Casey Longinious. He's been around a while" And he traded grins with Casey.

Mike brought a univeral data padd from behind the bar, using one of his more delicate, dexterous 'hand' tentacles. It was only the size of a credit card and about three times as thick. "I've got this spare, won it as a door prize last Fallin festivle. It only holds 2 Zettabyte and my new one holds five times that." He tossed it to Alice. "Just start reading every thing off and it will capture it all." He looked at her pile of notebooks and added "THough you might want to hire some one to capture all that info. You might get a little hoarse."

"The kitten bothers you?"

"No, of course not."

Her eyes, however, remained on the small, fluffy, cute creature, hands twitching against one another. The name Longinious catches her attention for a second, causing a raised a brow, but the distraction is only momentary. Slowly, the twitching begins to work its way up her arms, causing minute spasms. As it begins to affect her tightly controlled expression, she finally relents.

"Please, can you put it away? Or... at least let me pet it?" Though her voice remains the same cold, emotionless vacuum, the last bit has an undertone of pleading. Her eyes, also, have taken on a somewhat softer appearance, losing the hard edge of harsh judgment that had predominated her gaze, at least so long as they remain fixed on the comparatively tiny ball of fur held between those massive hands.

Casey smiled when he heard 'the Dark Lady' ask to pet the kitten. Red was unbelievably protective of kittens, but seeing a dragon woman relent was something else entirely. Maybe their was just a spark of good in her, or at least a lack of pure and absolute evil.

"Ms. Ronin, Ms. Springs, a pleasure to met the both of ya. Please, though, just call me Casey Lonnergan. I haven't used Longinius for a while. I'm sure you'd understand." Casey drank from glass, turning to face Red, and by extension, Ronin. "I heard about that job awhile back. I should have figured you'd be in on it. It sounds like Abe hasn't improved at all in communicating with us mere soldiers..." Casey let that one trail off, drinking again as he did.

Alice flicked some drapes of hair behind her ear and offered a grateful smile and wide eyed content at this excellent gift. It certainly beats carrying around dozens of notebooks but at the same time, doesn't have the luster of nostalgia as good ole' pencil and paper.

"Thanks a million Red!" Alice says, "I suppose my last name is Springs, has a nice sound to it, eh? Sounds a bit familiar though" she scratches her hed.

"I think I've heard that name somewhere" comes a pipingfeminine voice from behind them all...and rather much lower to the ground. The speaker lept up on to the bar and now was much easier to see.

"No wait that was Barton Springs, and the other was Colorado Springs...oh! I remember Alice Springs! In Austrailia, where the guy with the funny hat was from. You remember him Mike. Though, Red, he was here and gone before you were." The purple pixie burbled away as she crossed her legs tailor fashion and made herself comfortable in mid air.

She paused to draw breath and realised she hadn't introduced herself. Her long tail with the plush golden tip waving lazily over her head as she spread smiles all around. She was gbarely threefoot tall and dressed in greecian style guase of the same hue as the plush at the tip of her tail"Hi I'm Nikki"

"Oh Mike, Benny and the boys are tearing up the lockers agtain. They're higher than froggies kites on 'Bane" She tucked a wayward lock of irridescently black hair behind one delicately pointed ear.

Mike groaned and heaved a breath, giving Red a rolled eyed look.'

Red just met his look with a smirk and a grim chuckle. He rose bowed to the ladies and excused himself "I'll be back...whats the term...ohhh...It's clobbering time."

Casey downed the whiskey, blinking for a second, before getting up to follow Red, leaving his bag in Mike's capable appendages. He had been a bouncer in one form or another numerous times, and if he and Red were quick enough, it was a little more off his tab. As he left, he flashed a smile at Ronin, finally bothering to appreciate her. "Mike, a drink for the lady," he said shamelessly as he stood.

As he caught up with Red, he started stretching his shoulders out. "How're you thinking this, Red? Okinawa, Peru, or do you just want one side, I'll take the other, and loser buys the next three rounds?" Ah, clean up duty. Come and sweep my stress away.

"I'll be back...whats the term...ohhh...It's clobbering time."

She looked after him with a soft sigh of longing. The sound of her own exhalation caught her attention, reminding her of where she was. Her body jerked back into its earlier posture, her back board straight, shoulders back, head high. Her eyes narrowed, flowing slowly across the room, a flicker of red lighting her pupils, daring anyone to call her on it.

"Mike, a drink for the lady,"

"Bloodwine, please," she offered. "Vintage 2309, if you have it."

Her tailtip lashes for a few seconds before settling down to a steady tick. Patiently, she waits for her drink and the return of "Red". Such a simplistic being, but quite engaging in his own way.

"How're you thinking this, Red? Okinawa, Peru, or do you just want one side, I'll take the other, and loser buys the next three rounds?"

"Hows the healing time these days? Benny and the Jets are a bunch of 80's retro "I am a teenage werewolf" werewolves who are just as bout as bad as they think they are" He tossed his nearly finished cheeroot into a wide mouthed ceramic frog of an ashtray and stepped of the lip of a grav lift. He fell downward at an amazing rate looking completely unconconered. He came to a steady, uneventfull stop two levels down.

Music (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1BNWmnHPFvE) could be faintly heard drifting up, even over the sound of metalic destruction...that was apparently happening to the beat. Red just winced and pulled a large silver headed, long shafted mallet from a elephants foot style cane holder...it hadn't been there a second ago but the Inn was good at anticipating.

And it held a second one for Casey.

"Vintage 2309, if you have it."

"Always" Mike replied with a smile on his perfect pink lips. He slid over to a warmer, the 09 was best when at a body temp of 101.3. Carefully he uncorked the slender black glass bottle. A whisp of vapor rose bringing a coppery scent with a multitude of subtle scents with it. Reverently he poured a stream of red so dark it was all but black wine into a rock crystal flute. One of his most delicate tentacles wrapped about the stme and he glided back to Lady Ronin, offering it to her.

"Madam"

The bare hint of a smile graced her lips as she accepted the glass with a nod of her head. A practiced swirled the dark liquid around the glass momentarily, inhaling vapors nearly as intoxicating as the drink itself, before taking a sip. She allowed the well aged alcohol to sit on her tongue, closing her eyes and enjoying the flavor and the tingle in her mouth that slowly grew to a low burning. Long after even the heartiest of klingon warriors would have spat it out or swallowed, she held it, but eventually all things come to an end. The end of the sip in her mouth happened to be down her gullet. A second sip quickly followed it.

"Most excellent. It is somewhat cool for my usual tastes, but my blood runs somewhat hotter than the average, and it is difficult to achieve the temperatures I most enjoy without boiling it and ruining the flavor."

She eyed the glass a moment, swirling the bloodwine once more, then grinned as an idea struck her. Her grin was akin to that of most large carnivores: rather large and very full of teeth. Those plump, full lips separated, almost in slow motion. Unfortunately, the split between the upper portion of that ebony face and her lower jaw did not end where her lips did. Instead, an otherwise invisible line formed trailing back along the line of her jaw. That or her skin tore in a remarkably straight line, one could never be quite certain. As those luscious lips pulled back, they revealed fangs far larger than one would expect to fit in so small a mouth, each at least an inch long and so sharp that one wondered how her tongue survived speaking. The grin lasted mere seconds, but it was enough to send a shudder down the spine of the weakhearted, and perhaps shake even some stouter souls.

"I wonder if I might have a glass of water as well?" she inquired, glancing at Mike.

She enjoyed the look of concern he somehow managed to express as he handed her the glass. She downed it in a quick gulp and set the glass down. A small dagger appeared in her left hand as she lifted her right over the emptied container. She ran the razor tip of the dagger over the skin of her wrist, creating a small incision along the vein. Blood that managed somehow to be darker than her skin seeped forth, draining into the glass, steam rising from it. Once she had a portion equal to that in her wine stem, her extraordinarily long, serpentine tongue slipped free to lap at her wound, the skin sizzling momentarily as it sealed over. She then poured the bloodwine into the water glass, taking the tip of her tail in one hand to stir the mixture (and licking it clean afterwards) before refilling her wine stem.

She sniffed appreciatively and took a sip, that wicked grin making another fleeting appearance. "Delicious. I may have to introduce this to a friend of mine, though he may not thank me for the time he spends in sick bay afterwards." She gave a low chuckle, gave Mike a slow wink, and gave the grav lift another longing look, continuing to sip her mixed drink.

Hows the healing time these days? Benny and the Jets are a bunch of 80's retro "I am a teenage werewolf" werewolves who are just as bout as bad as they think they are.

As Casey came out of the grav lift behind Red, he took his leather duster off to hang on the nearby coat rack. With his arms thus exposed, he showed Red his left wrist, where a very thin, faded line encircled it just at the joint. "The healing's actually gotten more efficient. Past couple of years, some of the newer scars have been disappearing, and the older ones are fading away. That, and for whatever reason my skeleton and joints are getting tougher. I'll be fine with a pack of wolves."

Casey turned back to stick his knife, still in its scabbard, in an inside coat pocket, took out the second mallet and hefted it to feel the weight and balance, and noted with one final glance that his coat was now 'secured'. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Red, he took the left side, nodded a "Ready", then kicked in the door to the locker room where the music and sounds of destruction were emanating from.

The door hit the wall, bounced, then it's already abused hinges gave way and it fell to the floor with a dull thud that went totally unnoticed by those within the locker rooms. Dense steam fiiled the space, and the music seemed even more distorted than it had out in the hall way that dead ended at the large room. That may have been due to the white tiled walls or perhaps it was just that the speakers here had already been the target of fome of the barely seen figures attentions.

There were eight, maybe more maybe less, figures moving in the white murk but the jumble of more than half destroyed metal lockers, wooden benches and other once functional locker room furnishings might had hidden some. But the scream of a dwarf being used dribbled like a basket ball could be clearly heard.

"Oh damn, Tomtom..." Red snorted with disgust and waded into the mist. "Just bash heads we'll sort them out later. I wish they'd just ban Bane" He then lept aside a half step, dodging a bench that came hurtling his direction, then taking a casual but powerful swipe at the dazed, pinprick pupiled eyed, shaggy furred werewolf that followed it.

The crazed teen furbag tried to doge and fell on his face. Red's mallett followed, landing hard on the beastie boys head....

Above

Delicious. I may have to introduce this to a friend of mine, though he may not thank me for the time he spends in sick bay afterwards."

Nikki watched Lady Ronin's grin grow and went a little orchid in hue herself. "House Rule - No eating the unwilling...And the Inn will know." And the large number of felines that sat, lay, and lazed about the room suddenlyh found a reason to all look in The Lady's direction. But then again as might be expected, they were your normal run of the mill cats...but then again what feline ever was?

Mike didn't flicker an eyelash, he had seen...worse...but it'd been a while. However some of the customers how didn't frequent the inn often looked more than a little daunted. A sizzle and pop came from one of the back booths, as some one rather hastily used an ill calibrated D jumper to leave precipitously.

Just bash heads we'll sort them out later. I wish they'd just ban Bane.

"Got it," Casey said as he took a running leap onto an overturned locker, spinning to deliver a solid head blow to one of the locker room's vandalizers. Landing with his first downed target, Casey didn't pause for a beat as he suddenly caught another form coming at him. Casey side-stepped, and the creature managed to run its face directly into the flat end of the mallet, flipping itself over from the impact, only for it to quickly regain its feet.

Casey turned, launching himself into a spinning butterfly kick, barely able to stop his new opponent through the drug fueled haze that blocked the creature's pain. The sternum blow of the silver mallet, however, did manage to down the wolf, as did a follow up to the upper back just between the shoulder blades.

Red's offhand shout alerted Casey to a third creature soaring his way, likely a gift from Red's powerful body-swings, which was met with a return swipe that didn't do nearly the same distance. "Nice shot," he called, moving to the next.

"House Rule - No eating the unwilling...And the Inn will know."

The Dark Lady laughed, a stereophonic echo effect adding flavor to a sound containing all the warmth of an arctic blizzard. "I never eat anyone who is unwilling. Then again, that also depends on your definition of unwilling."

She smirked, keeping her teeth hidden, as she returned the felines' regard, her eyes meeting each similarly slitted pair. She gave soft, inquisitive "mrrrow?", her head tilting. She enjoyed the company of felines of all shapes and sizes. They inhabited every dimension and every world she had ever come across in one form or another. She found much in common with their general attitude: the arrogance that comes from deep self-knowledge, an almost schizophrenic personality swinging from fierce independence to incredibly needy, and a personal prerogative to do exactly what pleased them and nothing else. In most cases, they felt a kinship with her as well, and she usually found herself the center of their attentions and often their affections. She was glad they were all adults, though. Kittens were a little much for her to handle.

"Nice shot,"

However Casey's call was rewarded with a nice shot from somewhere deeper in the swirling steam mist. A bottle of Johnson and Johnson baby oil impacted hard against his chest, it clear, slick contents splattering every where. It ws followed less than a heart beat later by the limply unconscious form of a dwarf...or may be it was a large stoat. As it was all but enveloped in a large blue and red plaid cloth it was hard to tell in the seconds after it first impaced Casey. It was largish, heavy and upon impact became instantly soaked with the sitll air borne globules of oil.

A chorus of amused howls burst forth, for a trash can of somthing flamable, wreathed in pink smoke and emmitting the foulest of odors had gone flying in Reds direction at almost the same instant.

"I never eat anyone who is unwilling. Then again, that also depends on your definition of unwilling."

A large cobalt eyed, Siamese marked Tom stalked along the bar. He had to weight a good twenty pounds of lean muscle. With a tilt of his head he cocked his whiskers forward and his comment to her was a demanding "mmmrrwwwr!"

That got a set of raised eyebrows from Nikki. "Sixclaws doesn't like any one"

And Mike had backed up enough to stay out of casual swipe range. his neaest eye stalk nodded in silent agreement.

She gave a few fuffers, slipping from her seat and moving to the end of the bar. Leaning across the counter, she put her eyes on level with the feline's stretching forward to sniff at him, noses nearly touching, tail lifted erect, tip twitching slightly. Everyone behind her received and lovely look at her shapely rump. Everyone to the front got a glance at her cleavage. Everyone to the side got to see a beautiful, frightening woman acting like a cat. The cat got a sniff and a mew.

Casey caught the wrapped up bundle with his left hand out of instinct, stepping back one foot to lessen the impact. He heard breathing come from within the bundle, figured that it meant the creature was still alive, so Casey simply turned, and with a shove the bundle went sliding out of the locker room through the unobstructed doorway. Casey hoped that a few staffers were assembling to wait for he and Red to finish up with the cleanup, and would be able to take care of whatever had come at Casey.

Standing, Casey began swinging the mallet in a circular motion, then set off charging at the direction of the laughing wolves. As he began hitting, he altered the length of his swing, building it into one long set of connected swings. When the mallet would make contact, Casey would alter the angle of the follow-through to shift his body into position for the next target as the silver hammer lost contact with the previous wolf. This continued, repeatedly, at least until Casey lost his grip and the mallet went sailing away from him. Not missing a beat, Casey grabbed his next target by the throat, ignoring the scratching of the long arms that couldn't quite get inside to his head, and took a leaping step off a bench miraculously left intact. At the apex of this aerial maneuver, Casey transferred as much downward momentum as possible to the wolf, send the werewolf to the floor and propelling Casey the two yards to the mallet.

Resuming the flurry of decking the drug-addled wolves, Casey continued on until he found himself facing Red, the sounds of drug-infused laughter having died off in the dust up. Casey doubted that any would have much worse than a few bumps, the impact of the silver being blunted and spread over the surfaces of the mallets. "So," Casey asked, smiling as he clocked the last werewolf behind the ear with the corner of the mallet head, "Which one's Benny?"

Sixclaws accepted it as his due, stretching out and delicately touching noses to the female, not human, not feline, but definitely knowledgeable about the Tao of the Feline. He made sure that all were aware of his approval by gently head butting her.

He then sat down and proceeded to groom his balls, yet another part of the Tao of the Feline.

Nikki chortled "Thats a cat for ya. But damn I would laid coin that he would have sharpeened his shivs on ya"


"Which one's Benny?"

Red looked around, taking in the variously unconscious wolflets and frowned as he unwrapped a fresh black, twisted cheeroot. "Now that's interesting no Benny...Here Benny Benny Benny..." He began hoisting stacks of lockers to the side and checking under them.


At the bar while everyone elses eyes were locked on Lady Ronin's antics with Sixclaws cat a gloved hand laid an envelope down next to Casey's glass. The owner wandered on to a booth in the back, unseen, unheard, and unnoticed by every one else.

"Thats a cat for ya. But damn I would laid coin that he would have sharpened his shivs on ya"

The Dark Lady chuckled softly at the comment, purring softly as she reached out a hand to stroke along the feline's spine, giving him a scratch behind the ears as well. With that she returned to her seat, assuming her earlier erect posture, though her eyes remained on the feline, a slight smirk curling her lips. Now that they were acquainted, if he wanted more he would have to come to her.

As Lady Ronin returned to her seat, Mike noticed the envelope left on the bar, and began to pick it up only to stop his tentacle dead in its tracks when he clicked on the hue of said enclosure. He rippled through a variety of hues as he swivelled his eyestalks about the room, looking fuitlely for any new commer.

Then with a hint of nervousness he slid back over to where Lady Ronin had chosen to sit and wait to see if the feline came to her.

"Are you going to be wishing a room?" He asked politely.

"Are you going to be wishing a room?"

"I believe I shall, thank you," she replied. She continued to sip her double bloodwine, patiently waiting for Sixclaws next move. It was his turn in this dance, after all.

"I believe I shall, thank you,"

Mike considered for a moment, very sure that 'just a room' wouldn't dero...however one of the penthouses might...The Sulamid pulled out a brochure and slid it over to Lady Ronin. "We have three penthouses available right now. Which would you prefer?"

The professionally done booklet, more than just a trifold, was laid out with many photos, and well done descriptions of each available penthouse.

Meanwhile Sixclaws had continued his grooming, only to have it temporarily interupted by a petite long haired queen. She rubbed along his length then continued on to where Lady Ronin sad sipping her bloodwine apertif. After an introductry merrow she flopped over on her side then rolled belly up.

"We have three penthouses available right now. Which would you prefer?"

She casually perused the catalog, thumbing through it with one hand while the other idly reached for the feline. She stroked the feline's stomach first, blood red nails slipping beneath the fur to tease over the nipples beneath. Then it trailed upwards, casually enjoying the feel of fur as she stroked the female's chest, fingertips dancing against her forepaws, teasing, playful, daring nips and barely extended claws.

"I think I'll take this one," she finally replied.

She held out the book to the tentacular barkeep, holding it open to display the requested room. The pictures were hard to make out. Obsidian and black marble covered every surface that was not carpeted, including the walls and ceiling. The carpet was also of a deep ebony hue. Silken drapes and bed covers, vases and plant holders, light and plumbing fixtures, all black. Even the flowers displayed were black lotus and orchids. It was perhaps overdone, in some opinions, but it fit this dark queen.

"Also, do your rooms contain individual environmental controls? I have rather... unusual tastes in comfort."

"Also, do your rooms contain individual environmental controls? I have rather... unusual tastes in comfort."

"Oh absolutely, within certain very broad tolerances. We wouldn't want the furnishings bursting into flames or melting. But the Obsidian is specially crafted so that should not be a problem." Mike turned away and slid down to where the card kes were kept and picked up one that semed chissled from the material that gave the suite it's name. Returning he offered it to Lady Ronin with a courtly flourish. You can chose to have a chef come up to the penthouse for you or take meals in any of our various dining rooms."

He looked at the tiny queen and smiled "Thats Megara Don't let her looks and purring manner fool you. She can be quite a fury when she chooses." But he seemed no where neawr as apprehensive fo her as he did of Sixclaws.

Nikko chimed in "Well there are more cats here than people and every one of them has their own personality. And hey if you'll excuse me I need to get back to my workout routine." She slapped her very trim thighs and sighted "I 've think of sweets and I seem to gain weight. Hope you enjoy it here Lady Ronin. There's always something happening."

"You can chose to have a chef come up to the penthouse for you or take meals in any of our various dining rooms."

She pondered this, continuing to stroke the purring cat. "I generally prefer my meals to be alive and kicking prior to dining, but I may take you up on your offer. There is a certain joy to be taken from foods carefully and lovingly prepared."

"Thats Megara Don't let her looks and purring manner fool you. She can be quite a fury when she chooses."

That gave her reason to grin. "I'm quite certain she poses no problems for me. Also, would you be opposed to my bringing in a few of my... pets? I have been away from my home for quite some time. A few of them tend towards... imprudent actions if left unsupervised for too long."


"Hope you enjoy it here Lady Ronin. There's always something happening."

She nodded to the woman, giving a gracious smile. "I certainly hope so as well, and look forward to seeing what may come. Such an intersection of times, places, worlds, and peoples I have never seen. I may come here more often."

Casey watched as Red began searching for Benny, but after a moment he went into the back where the steam was pouring out of the steam room. Turning the output down, Casey headed into the room. There was a brief sound of claws on hard tiles, various grunts and growls, and then Casey yelled "FORE!!" before another wolf came flying out of the steam room.

Casey followed, his hammer over his shoulder, nudging the limp form with his foot. "Here's BENNY!" said Casey, mimicking one of his more preferred movie lines by an actor called Nicholson. "Or, at least, I think this might be Benny. If it isn't, Benny may have gone out the back way. Either way, I'll leave you to your devices. Red, it's always a pleasure working with you. You've got my name, and as always, if something comes up, just give me a holler." Excusing himself politely from what was essentially a one person job, Casey walked out, clocking one of the wolves that was impolite enough to start coming out of his daze before Red had a chance to properly 'speak' with him.

Casey returned the mallet to the appropriate cane holder, took his cloak back from the rack, and headed up the grav-lift to the main part of the Inn. Heading back to his seat, he picked up his glass, this time out of enjoyment since his stress was at an infrequently low level. As he did, he noticed the envelope, more than likely left for him. "Mike, this for me?" The question was less about his personal safety, but rather for consideration of the House. He tried not to put his nose in another's business unless it got disruptive, such as dealing with Benny and the boys earlier.

"Well just call down to the kitchen with your preferances." Mike replied, his manner calm now as if he'd completely forgotten his nervousness of a moment ago.

I'm quite certain she poses no problems for me. Also, would you be opposed to my bringing in a few of my... pets? I have been away from my home for quite some time. A few of them tend towards... imprudent actions if left unsupervised for too long."

"Sure, you just need to be aware that you are ultimately responsible for their actions, and if the Inn has to take action against them, it will take it out of your hide" Mike nodded cheerfully.

Red waved Casey on his way with a growled "Thanks man. I owe ya one...or rather these louts do, an' I'll make sure they pay up"

"Mike, this for me?"

Mike looked over and turned an interesting shade of ...puce, then nodded abruptly. "It's got your name on it." And indeed the envelope that looked to be composed of a dark grey metal was inscribed with his formal name, in letters of dark oxblood hue.

Mike went back to looking nervously around the room.

"Sure, you just need to be aware that you are ultimately responsible for their actions, and if the Inn has to take action against them, it will take it out of your hide"

The Dark Lady nodded her understanding to Mike, then grinned at his second statement.

"In that case, I may have to let one or two off their leash..."

With that she turned to Casey, casting her ruby gaze over him. "Ah, Mister Longinious. I was awaiting your return. I was more looking forward to speaking with your demonic companion, but you will do for now. I do have a few questions for you. First, of course, and I'm certain you've had this asked of you before, are you perhaps related to the Longinious of legend? I sense that you yourself are rather long of life, so perhaps you are the Longinious of legend. The second question, is of a more personal nature. Do you always settle your debts by not giving a well deserved spanking to the pampered, egotistical, self-important, arrogant brat of the man to whom you owe said debt? Forgive me if I seem prying, but your answer is of some importance to me."

Casey took the letter. The presence of the name Casca Longinius meant that it was important. He would read it, but first courtesy dictated that he reply to Miss Ronin's questions.

"If, by the Longinius of Legend, you are referring to the man that committed deicide, then yes, I am he, and a great load of good its done me for what was a soldier's gift to man experiencing the final stages of a very unpleasant death. As for the debt that you mention, it depends on to whom it is owed, and the nature of the debt. I recently paid off one that did not require such an action. However, there is still one account that I have left to settle, and when Time comes to that point, I'm going to have some words with Him." This last part was accompanied by an upward gesture of Casey with his thumb.

"And now, Ms. Ronin, if you will pardon me for a moment, this matter may require my attention, though I shall be back as soon as I am able." With that, Casey moved down to the end of the bar, accepted a refill from Mike, and opened the envelope to read what was on the inside.

A hooded figure, clad in dark robes, sat at a small table in the corner of the bar. He had been sitting there for some time. In front of him, cradled in his hands, was a drink, two-thirds full. The drink too had been there for some time. The archtypical mysterious stranger, one might think - but he was not. There was nothing mysterious about him. He aroused no curiousity, was the subject of no idle musings. Idle glances blanked him out completely. To those who focused their gaze upon him, there was nothing needing to be explained. Who was he? A regular. When did he arrive? Some time ago. What was he drinking? His usual. What colour were his robes? Dark. He was merely himself. Questions arose reluctantly, focused dimly, and were answered vaguely, all in an instant, before slipping away. Unremarkable height, unremarkable build, perfectly unmemorable. He sat, and watched, humming indistinctly to himself, so softly that nobody could remember hearing it.

OOC: To learn about the Cats of Thebes one might avail oneself of Robert Anton Wilsons / Robert Shea's The The Illuminatus Trilogy

Ah but the Cats of the Inn, or perhaps more correctly the Inn just provided a comforable place to set ones paws, for you see the Cats were not just any old cats - but indeed there is no such thing as 'just any old cat' now is there? - but these were the fabled Cats of Thebes, and while many prefered their own Divine Language, there were a number that would condescend to speak to humans, and others who thought themselves worthy (but as always fell short of Feline standards) in tongues that the non feline could comprehend...

Now I said all of this just to advise that the Cats did know of the Mysterious Sranger. But in that they loved a good mystery themselves they would allow him to keep his secrets. There was another recent arrival for whom his secrets would be an open book but for that one given what they were such was standard. Besides one weren't there on business, the visit was personal...but then again that one never got to take a holiday.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In side the envelope was a card, roughly the size and shape the iconic 'credit card', of a odd,heavy substance, that seemed to get heavier as Casca held it. As he tilted it in his hand the matte surface flashed slightly in the lights and writing could be seen a firm flowing script.

Get Out of
Life

Casey looked at the card, a smile of true and genuine happiness and relief coming upon him. J'age, he thought, recognizing the script. You won your title. Casey stood, nodding his reassurance to Mike, then turned, walking to a booth where a hooded figure sat, the same person that had delivered the note.

"Please," he said, sitting down across the table, "Tell me that you can take me fully, and that I have been released." He placed the card down, feeling its weight in the form of the countless years that he had experienced with very little rest. As he did, he stared into the eyes of the figure, changed since he had last met her, yet still the same person underneath.

Her hand came up and pulled the hood back, reavealing a tumbling mass of irridescent black blue hair cascading about her shoulders and past. Her skin was far paler than he remembered it, though she had always been pale.

"Yes Casca" She replied in the language that only a chosen few would ever understand. Her icefire eyes that could be so coldly assessing were alight with pleasure at seeing him.

It hadn't been easily earned, this Gift, but to see the look on the faces, across time and universe...

The Gift she offered, to him was priceless; for her- the price was beyond calculation.

"It's good to see you, J'age. Or would you prefer I use your title now? And what must I do for this Gift?" asked Casca, replying in the same tongue, a language he had learned when J'age had spent nights in his arms.

Casca had trouble explaining, even to himself, what in particular drew him to J'age. When her father had been around, the nature of his condition had kept them divided in some way, a way that he had hated. Looking at her, though, he could feel that it was gone, and though it excited him to realize it, he also, almost instinctively, knew that there was something more behind it, behind what she had done to win him this boon.

"J'age, please tell me what is the nature of this. I can tell that you've paid something, but that there is still something left undone. I won't let you sacrifice everything just for what somebody else did to me."

"You're leaving so soon, Longinious?" the Lady Ronin inquired, a hint of disappointment seeping into her voice. "I had hoped we might enjoy a bit of conversation. I'm certain you've an interesting perspective on some topics."

She continued to sip her concocted drink, petting the feline that had adopted her with her free hand.

"Please, ever and always J'age" She gave him a brilliant smile

She thought she was used to pain and loneliness but his palpable relief, the true, genuine, unshielded smile on his face took her breath away. A weight falling free of him. Her eyes drank it in, used it as balm for the pain. ''There is no trick, no price. If anything you earned this so long ago, that only the pettiness" Her eyes flickered cold for a moment "Lets just say that it was instructional to find out exactly what is meant by 'whatever is needed to get the job done.'" She paused and knew at this time she could not say further.

Her smile returned, and she reached out a hand to cup his cheek...and her eyes went wide and a frown creassed her brow, though that vanished in an eye blink, and she felt his slightly stubble roughened skin against her hand.

"You Romans, always needing to shave three times a day" She teased lightly.

She hadn't wanted to, had fought against it for ever so long. Had hoped that finally coming face to face with him would end her silly ...she blanked her thoughts, or so she tried and failed Silly Casca, the price is paid, by me. I've loved you for so long, and in giving you this gift I lose you. I guess I'm the idiot for never having told you how I felt. Be free my love Surprized at the joy welling up within her

He watched silently the way the black ink danced along his arms. The designs, an ever changing mix of Celtic and tribal origin extend from his wrist, dancing out over the top of his hand, winding and twirling up his well defined forearms, up powerful, toned biceps. They stopped at his shoulders, the dark black ink disappearing into his skin. Each arm held its own design. The rest of his body was flawless and without mark, be it from blood or ink, save for a single scar above his heart.

Watch the designs dance and change along his arm had satisfied him enough for the time he had been here. Wherever, of course, here, was. Some realm beyond any of those he had experienced on earth, or whatever his concept of earth had been. And he had been to some extreme places. Battle zones that many soldiers would have no ability to comprehend, expanses of space that even the expertly traveled would never see, and into the darkest underworld that the greatest gangster would fear.

He had, to use the phrase, been there, done that, got the shirt, and went back for the reunion tour.

But now, he did as he had done for the longest that his memory could serve him. Taking a bite of the cane sugar stalk, which had more than sustained him for the past few days, he continued to watch the way the living ink moved about his arms.

Then it froze.

The snap of a twig, even to the ear of the most trained tracker, would have been inaudible in the silence. Yet he heard it clear as if it were an explosion beside his own ears. He stood, and turned, facing three men. None of which looked to be a friendly eye.

The man stopped to roll down the sleeves of the dark green fitted shirt. It hugged his frame as a second skin, moving with him as he rose and turned.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" he asked, softly. He made eye contact with the closest of the three, dark, brown piercing eyes that could melt the skin of space cruiser with ease.

The farthest from him spoke. "Yeah. Make this easy. You got anything on ya we can use?"

"Christ, a robbery? Is this all that you can do now?"

One of the men pulled out a handgun, an old, worn Beretta 92 nine millimeter, and his hand hung by his side. The other removed a sword of sorts, something that looked like it came from the middle ages. The travel watched, not questioning the strange mix of weapons as the one nearest pulled out a wicked looking hawk bill knife.

"Just hand over whats in your pockets, that pack near your feet, and the piece on your hip."

The man looked down to his hip, the well custom 1911 based pistol hanging lewdly in its holster.

"Why?"

There was no counter response, but the nearest man lunged. The quiet traveler counterattacked, his moves a harsh reminder to the three of their purely military nature. There was no flowing kung fu, no practiced and perfected jujitsu or karate. It was instead the brutal perfection of years upon years of the Israeli Krav Maga intertwined with his own design of hand to hand offensive combat that met the attacker. A strong grasp from the left on the knife hand pulled the attacker in, followed by a hard twist and a right hook. The right hand came back down, grasped the underside of the knife hand, and completed the twist, the weapon falling free. The traveler's own knife, a primitive weapon made of hardened stone shaped to a blade with a handle wrapped in ray skin, came out of its own scabbard up into the attackers jugular. The traveler ignored the gush of blood on his face.

"Way," he muttered softly, hardly enough for any to hear.

The second man charged, raising the sword over his head. The traveler continued his response, bringing his left arm up, knife still in hand in a reverse hold, catching the bottom of the sword hilt as the attacker brought it down. His right shot out fast, first a fist driving hard into the attacker's kidney, then opening to a palm as he carried the momentum with him, lifted the attacker, and tossed him aside. His boot slipped up under the blade, flicked it into the air, where it was caught deftly with the traveler's right hand. A quick spin of the wrist, and a hard downward thrust brought it straight through the attacker's chest.

"Too," he said, louder this time, loud enough for the final breathing man to hear.

The Beretta came up, and its magazine emptied to no effect. There was no aim, no attempt to hit the traveler. Just a frightened criminal watching as the nine millimeter rounds screamed away from him, towards a target he could not hit. The traveler kept moving forward, and his right hand slid down to the 1911 on his hip. It came out, glistening in the mid day sun of the forest trail. A silver slide, cut heavily with more of the dancing tribal and Celtic markings, leaving dark trails of black metal moving along its length. A simple, matte black frame. Dark black and crimson wood grips, on the right side a list of female names, on the left hand carved notches. The gun barked once, sending out its deadly payload. The single round, the finger of the angel of death, brought rest to the last attacker, dropping dead as it tore into the base of his skull.

"Easy," the traveler said, this time in a normal volume. He holstered the pistol, wiped the blood clean from his knife on his pants and sheathed it, but not before adding another single notch to the grip of the weapon. He returned to where he had been sitting, and picked up the small day pack, full of small tokens and other things he had picked up along what had been his eternity of walking.

Then the voice. The same voice he heard after every fight, after every kill. It was the voice that drove him, held him, pushed him and kept him company when he was at his loneliest. It spoke the same words it always had, the only words the voice seemed to know. The road meant for warriors was never easy.

"Christ," the traveler said out loud. "Can you come up with something else. I get it, my road isn't easy. I figured that out ever time I start walking. You think I would have figured it out the first time someone killed me."

He sighed, tossing the pack over his shoulder, and kept on walking. All he knew was eventually, along this road, there was somewhere for him.

And he found it.

The Inn wasn't anything what he was hoping for, but then again, they never were. He pushed through the door, hoping this was the last door he would have to push through, before he could have a final rest of sorts. He had been told we all must atone for our sins. And his sins were many. It never helped that every time he managed to make up for one of his earthly sins, he committed a sin on this other plane of existence.

He stood in the doorway for a half second, letting his eyes adjust to the light. He did his best to ignore the myriad of scents that both teased and taunted his nostrils, and looked past the sights that both were alluring and horrid. The inn did hold something for everyone, maybe even himself.

His moves were different know, almost cat like. He stepped around a brewing fight, past a couple who weren't aware that they were in public anymore, and an offer or five to join some card game or gamble that would rob him of something else this time. His walk brought him to his finally destination for the moment, the bar, and he sat at one of the free stools, dropping his pack at his feet.

He caught the eye of a slightly more human bartender, and waved her, or at least he thought it was a her, over.

"I'm gonna need something really cold." He paused for just a moment, and took a long look around. Finally, he looked at her with his brown eyes, no longer the warrior's eyes, but a softer, pleading look (http://www.mymovies.it/cinemanews/2007/2073/clive1.jpg). "And I'm gonna need a room."

Cathy wasn't really one of the bar staff, she normally managed the Inns quite respectable kitchens, but with Alors out sick... She smiled at the young man who seemed to cat walk his way though the bar from one of the ever changing number of side entrances.

About the bar the myriad cats seemed to pause in their various taos to study the newcomer, then in unison went back to their various habites with an air that said clearly 'he's supposed to be here.'

"Something cold. Will a Sam Adams do? and how 'bout a meal to go with it ?" Cathy said sympathetically. Something about him seemed so tired, worn thin..."And don't worry about a room, we've got plenty. Just sit awhile, rest. The Inns good for that"

The Dark Lady watched the newcomer, her eyes tracking him, observing, cataloging. Eyes that saw far more than most discerned the world weary aura about him, a seeking for final rest that never came. No rest for the wicked, came the wryly humorous thought. His movements displayed none of this, however. He was cautious, observant, wary. That was good. His eyes though, his eyes. So tired, so haunted. That was good also, though for an entirely different reason. Perhaps, just perhaps...

She noticed the fresh blood that had yet to even coagulate. Yet another good sign, since none of it was his. Not a fresh wound to be seen upon his muscular form. No indeed. He wended his way with the air of a seasoned veteran in both travel and war, ignoring the distractions offered him in favor of a more direct route to his obvious destination. The bar.

The Dark Lady stood, gathering the fluffy queen beside her into her arms as she did so, her glass in one hand, the other continuing to pet the feline. She walked the few paces to stand behind the man and deposited Megara on the bar beside Sixclaws.

"If you are in need of a room, a warm bed for the night and perhaps company to keep it so, I would not be opposed to sharing mine," she offered. "If it is rest you seek, then I can afford that as well." That startling, frightening grin returned for a moment. "Mike can tell you where to find me."

She gestured to the tentacled bartender then departed, the dark, swirling mist following her footsteps, myriad tortured faces winking into existence for but a brief second upon its diphaneous surface. She cast a meaningful look towards Casey and his companion. The meaning was lost on Casey as his back was turned towards her, but hopefully the female with whom he spoke would catch it and understand. One last glance over her shoulder at the newcomer, and then she was gone up the stairs to her suite.

Casca was about to rebut the remark about shaving when he saw J'age raise an eyebrow as she looked past him. "Don't dignify her actions with a response," he said. "She's probably just jealous of what you've had that she'll never get." This came with a smile that was accentuated by the scar at the corner of Casey's mouth, an action that made him look both roguish and wolf-like.

Reaching out, he took her hand, holding her deceptively strong fingers in his own. "J'age, thank you for this. I could never have imagined I'd acquire this. Before I go, I need you to know that you were...are...the last. You know my story, the ones before, but being alone after you was beyond all the rest. I loved you, and I still do. I know that since you've taken your father's place," he paused, gathering his thoughts, "Please, just know that you've done more for me than anyone could possibly have imagined."

He stood, releasing her hand as he felt an odd tingling in his palm. "A moment more, then I will let you take me Beyond. I'll be outside." And so Casca Longinius stepped outside, readying himself for what was to come.

Or so he thought, until an annoying presence of a plainly clad figure with strangely bright eyes approached. "Ready to die, Casca Rufio Longinius?"

It was a voice similar and yet different to one he had heard ages ago. "What are you doing here, Gabriel? J'age won my freedom from your boss. I thought it was the other guy that told lies."

The Messenger smiled, almost in defeat. "You are correct in what you say. But when J'age won her new role, and your freedom, it bothered us to notice that other jobs in the field needed filling. One, in particular, we felt would suit you. After all, what better to use than a formerly immortal mercenary whose native tongue used the same word for both beauty and war? Add to it that everything important in your life has occurred whenever Mars was in season, it pretty much marked you for taking his job."

A dark look came over Casca. "I was told that this was the end, for me at least. It is something that I look forward to."

"But," came the Messenger's reply, "God spoke, and commanded that you remain until the two of you meet again. Besides, you are pretty much the only one that the higher ups could all agree on for the job. Tell me, have you noticed anything about conflicts recently? What have they managed to do?"

"Little," said Casca. "It's as though there were no purpose, no guiding hand, no necessity." Cold realization hit Casca. "As though there were no Avatar of War. And now you're looking to get a new one. The answer is no."

"Very well," said Gabriel. "It's a shame though. J'age does all of this, and now you want to throw it in her face? You, the one person whose experience has shaped into the perfect candidate, a person that knows every side, every explanation or justification, and yet you walk away? You, whom have never backed away from a fight when it was necessary, who has never been held in dereliction of duty? And to think, without that weariness, and in this position, you and J'age could finally be together? She was willing to give you up forever to give you what you wanted most. Do you really think that we're just going to let you walk away from that? Man, you are thick." Casca said nothing, merely thinking to himself. "Tell me," said Gabriel, practically glaring at Casca, "have you ever fought knowing that no matter what the cost, the alternative to not fighting was far worse? Have you ever breathed relief in accomplishing something that cost you much, yet ended even better?"

"Aye," said the soldier. "I have thought that, and often." Gabriel said nothing, still waiting for more. And though it sickened him, it relieved him beyond belief to hear himself speak what came next. "I Accept the Offer to become War. What must I do to assume the mantle?"

"Make it a Dos," Robert said, leaning forward onto the bar. There was a grimace, possibly of pain, of old aches, of injuries starting to pile up. His wrists, elbows, and shoulders all popped as he leaned forward, placing weight on his arms.

He eyed the bar tender gently for a moment, not quite sizing her up, not quite undressing her, but simply eying her. He nodded, as if in acceptance, and waved off the offer of food. "Not really all that hungry. Just thirsty."

He accepted the beer greatfully, and took one, long swig. The amber liquid splashed down his throat, offering a strange relief one would never find with the coldest, purest water. He seemed to settle out with the beer, letting his shoulders drop, the weight he carried collapsing to the floor. His arms relaxed, his torso releasing the protective flex, his legs no longer tense to spring to action.

"Good beer." He smiled in thanks, and took one long look around the bar. He took in a quick account of everyone around him, looking for any faces that struck him as decently familiar. A few here and there, but none seriously. Mostly those he had met on his travels else where, in other lives.

He froze again at the approach of the strange woman, took note of her words, and never responded. She left before he could answer, which would have been a simple "I'll think about it."

Damnit, I just can't shake them off. I swear to God, one of these days they'll just let me go on my way. His thoughts were humorous, maybe, serious possibly. Robert had found now, more than ever, he never thought what he was thinking. Maybe he'd find some Zen master to shake him out of that unfortunate state.

He looked back to Cathy. "Whats her story? Hell, whats this place's story?"

OOC: Music to mood by (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tUWRlphN0hk)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Don't dignify her actions with a response, She's probably just jealous of what you've had that she'll never get."

That made her laugh. She had never been the jealous sort... no she had to be totally honest she had never had a relationship, other than her one with Casca - to be jealous over, so she didn't know. And jealous of any woman Casca paid attention too? No that had never happened...for as far as she had been able to figure out...love wasn't jealous, not real love. But she wasn't one hundred percent positive, for until Casca her life had mostly been barren of emotions.

“oh, Casca, She has every right to look at you and your company is a gift. that any could wish for. “

His admission that he loved her, loved her still took her breath away …

J'age watched Casca go, her eyes as they followed him soft and misted over. She memorized every moment he made, his walk, his stance, even the unique scent of him that lingered about her...

So many yesterdays ago, but never enough...

The sparring session with Death's daughter was, interesting. Casca noticed it after the first few minutes. Both he and J'age had been right, and it was an interesting progression. She started with a flurry of punches and hand strikes, the first landing quite solidly, but after a half dozen, they weakened considerably, before Casca found it unbothersome and easy to land a blow of his own.

It had progressed with each of the fighting styles they practiced. At first, when they wrestled, J'age easily pinned Casca, but after a few seconds of struggling, he gradually won the upper hand, subduing her with his left hand and right leg only. Then came the Kung Fu, the Tai Chi, the Tae Kwon Do, and the Jujitsu. Each time, Casca started at a disadvantage, but each time, he gradually, but steadily, gained an upper hand, as though he drew from some hidden power that diminished J'age's abilities. He could tell that she did not weaken at all during their fight, but her ability to do damage to him was reduced as they fought.

"My lady, even when you do subvert your benevolent father, I fear that you could not take me. Nobody subverts the will of the gods, and even you are but their tool. A shame, you are one maiden that I would gladly submit to." He guzzled down a bottle of water, before eyeing her again. "I can tell from your talents that you would easily have a grasp of dancing. What form is your favorite?"

"Tango. A pity, as it seems that I won't get you for myself after all."

Casca smiled, accented by his scar. "Then can I have you for the dance floor?" he asked, standing. "And may be a little more?

It was black, unrelieved, no light intruding, for she who slept there needed none. Eyes like ice with hidden fire,- color almost imagined, the ethereal blue of the hottest flames, snapped open as she awoke instantly, clear headed, both appraising and appraised of the situation...

Her lover did though and she reached out unerringly to flick on a switch, a heavy art deco lamp that provided a dim, warm amber light. A light that lit just enough area to highlight and shadow the two forms that had, until moments ago, been intertwined in the depths of sleep.

One still slept and the one that had awakened looked down upon his face and the faintest of smiles lifted the lips of one mostly unaccustomed to smiling. A gentle hand reached out and stroked the sleeper's dark brown hair, and caressed a ruggedly handsome face. "Sleep... , I am called, I will return" She spoke low, the merest breath of a sound, but she knew that Casca would remember her words upon waking and know that she had to attend to things beyond the ken of mortal man.

On soundless feet, and casting no shadow, she who had been called the Singer in the Shadows, the Death-yet-to-be, packed such as she needed and left the place where she and her lover dwelt.

But she had not been able to return as she had planned, for in Hell - Oh it's not the familiar Judeao - Christian Hell, but maybe those who believe in that Hell created their Hell from the nightmares that spring from this warped and weirding alternate dimension. Hellish simply isn't an adequate word to use to describe that alien realm. It was...is a dimension where your own imagination will come alive and eat you for a pre priandial snack. ..And that was the mildest of descriptions

But she had nights and days with him and those memories she took and stored in the tiny garden of peace that he had helped her forge in her soul. Unknowingly he had given her so much.

J’age smothered a sob, letting the pain sweep over her for a long moment; then her voice rose in a dirge that none other could hear. She sang his life, her rich voice laying forth every nuance, lamenting his passing, for while there were others of him out there, they were not him, for he was the one from whom all the other realities sprang.

Too soon it was over and she wiped the tear that had found it’s way on to her cheek away. Dredging up her strength she stood and wended her way though the bar on soundless feet, unnoticed by all and casting no shadow.

She stepped out of the Inn and stiffened her eyes now truly afire as she looked at Gabriel “Why are you here. Came to play some blame or torment game.” Her voice was smooth, no hint of emotion about her, but she changed… until she was little more than a shadow in a robe of eternal darkness “And never forget or presume. Remember what I learned to do.” Her voice was a wind from an abyss, a cold doom that had no mercy, nothing human about it.

"Good beer."

Cathy chuckled "Some one once said that the Gods gave us beer to make up for everything else they did to us. Not to sure that’s not true. A cold one cures a myriad of ills."

She nodded at his wave off on food, and made sure there was another XX before him when he finished the first.

Whats her story? Hell, whats this place's story?"

Cathy looked after the vanishing form of Lady Ronin and the cat she carried. "I don't know I'm really not bar staff. I'm the kitchen manager, but I know she's a new arrival like yourself. " She looked around the bar, one of the larger rooms at the Inn but no where near the largest. The Centre, down stairs could hold twenty thousand without being over stretched.

"This is the Inn at the end of the Road. Any Road, every road ...or journey if you want to be all meta 'bout it." Cathy explained further. Her voice was a pleasant soprano with a vague lilt to it that rather went with her dark red hair and moss green eyes. She had a equally pleasant roundness to her. Not in any way fat but full figured in jeans and a snug fitting tee shirt.

"It's what ever you need. Want some real rest - nothing will disturb you here, want a little action well we've got everything from gambling to reality simulations that are well... indiscernible from what ever reality you want. The Inn has been around for a long time and it's never failed any guest yet."

She gave him a very frank look over that held nothing but kindness "And you look like you could use a little down time. We have good masseuses and sauna on the third floor down under. Maybe that would suite you, then you'd be ready for dinner?"

Towards what could be conceived as the front door of the Inn:
A hand slipped through the fabric of reality separating and pushing back the curtians of illusion. It was like seeing an actor stepping off stage, or watching Johnny Carson walking into view to do his monologue. He was a odd looker, even for this place, he looked like some kind of sales man with a sense of noir about him. Red pupilless eyes framed by glasses, a black fedora hat, and typical black business suit complete with black tie and shoes. A classic look from Earth pinned in contrast to his pale gray complexion.

The inn was his favorite place to wait for the next trans-dimentional train out. Here he could get peace of mind and quick drink of ambrosia that would help him past the time. The wanting taste had gripped his throat earlier in time, and he couldn't wait for the next drop of the sweet necter. He moved toward the bar at a posthaste pace.

His seat would always be available since it was the one that drew less attention than the others. He liked it that way; it was easier to think about his next shift. Allow his mind to wonder, think about ways, and to plan out for future events. He had jobs to do. Duties thats would go unnoticed and unthanked, but he did fill out and turn-in the job application. In his contemplation a sudden snap occured to him. He held out his hand and began to count his fingers. The count tally reached just two fingers. Just two more shifts and then.. vacation. He looked off into the spaces between spaces; thoughts swirled about his face. Thinking to himself to remember if he got the numbers right: lets see, this next job then the one after this next job which will be easy and... His face changed to one of great delight.

With new found exuberation he waved his arm rapidly high in the air beaconing the bartenders attention.

Mike caught the flash of an upraised had out of the corner of one of his many eyes. He had been mostly busy watching Lady Ronin go up, and Casca head out... He wondered if he'd ever see either of them again.

Shrugging he turned his attention to...darn I never can remember this guys name...and I hate have to keep asking it make me look like my sap isn't running. The Sulamid fumed to himself, as he poured a careful flute full of the Ambrosia. "At least I remember what he drink!" Mike muttered to himself through one of his secondary mouths, this one had small pearly pointy teeth. He didn't use it much many found it disconcerting.

"Hey, You haven't been by lately. This is a fresh batch too, just brought it up from the ageing cellars" He haid it with a proper flourish before the man in the black business suite. "Tell me what you think...is it up to par?"

"Yeah, business usually has me on the move from one universe to another." A sight of glee washed over his face as took the first sip. "Mmmm; Very up to par. It hits the spot like nothing else can, but then again you can never go wrong with the stuff." He paused and wiped some of the liquid away from his mouth. "Umm.. Mike isn't it? Anyone here been able to guess my name yet?" He asked raising his hand pointing to a glass jar filled with numerous extradimensional currency, applied abstractions, and seemingly rational but politically incorrect ideas. He turned to Mike again. "Oh and do you have any gravity-pay-phones near by?"

And never forget or presume. Remember what I learned to do.

"Pax, Morta" said Gabriel, using her title. "I come only in my role as an envoy, and you and I both know that we of the heavenly hosts have no real free will. I come to bring an offer to this man, though you'll need to send him beyond first. After all, one can never fully comprehend what War is without you coming to gather your due. And now, I must leave. As for you Casca Longinius, it is good that you accept the offer." And so the Messenger turned, and walked back the road that he had come.

Not knowing whether J'age had an knowledge of the offer, Casca turned to explain what had transpired. "He said that you would have to send me beyond, to take my life and the last of my mortal nature. They want me to become War. I've accepted, because in doing so I can have the only thing that truly matters to me. You." Casca took off his cloak, placing it near the side of the door, and offered his hands. "Shall we?" he asked.

As for you Casca Longinius, it is good that you accept the offer."

J'age's face twisted in a snarl, a cold, hating ferocity that rarely etched her usually coolly reserved, patrician features. Peace with that one and the one he represented, was obviously not an option in her view. She declined to answer him, but never took her suspicion filled eyes off of him until he had faded from view. Casca’s words jolted her from her concentration, turning her towards him as she looked him over carefully, fearful that the some deceit or harm had been brought to him.

"He said that you would have to send me beyond, to take my life and the last of my mortal nature. They want me to become War. I've accepted, because in doing so I can have the only thing that truly matters to me. You."

She turned to Casca, shock replacing the hate, leaving her speechless for a long moment. her mind completely blank. Then she was moving, dipping into a graceful curtsey. Her eyes sought his, and her voice was but a whisper but it rang with a joy that shook the universes.

“Might I have a last dance with you Beloved?”

Oh and do you have any gravity-pay-phones near by?"

'Sure we installed some new ones in the calling room, just around that corner" And the pointing hand ...

Mike looked over at the ten gallon wide mouthed jar filled to nearly over flowing with a vast array of currencies and small slips of paper. Three of his large handing tentacles went into play and each brought equally filled jars from under the bar and sat them in front of the ambrosia sipper.

Then he flushed a lovely mauve in pure embarrassment " Erm, no, but the guesses are getting ever more creative...I think..."he leaned a stalk tipped with a perfect shell pink ear close and whispered " I have to admit. What is your name any way?"

~~~~

One of the wait staff set a fresh drink down before the hooded figure at the back table and placed a bowl of freshly popped triple cheddar buttered popcorn on the table as well, then moved away, quoting softly without really knowing why "Yesterday upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there. He wasn't there again today. I wish, I wish he'd go away."

~~~~~~~~
and speaking of stairs...

Lady Ronin found that the stairs wound ever up wards, some twenty stories high, on an building that looked, most of the time, like a English country cottage. But the views were magnificent, on a clear day , and they were all clear days unless desired otherwise, one could see forever. Literally. And her sprawling penthouse suite was every thing it had appeared to be in the booklet. She received the distinct impression that it had been impatiently waiting for her to arrive...

May I have a last dance with you, Beloved?

"Of course," he said, relief in his voice. Relief, and anticipation. "But then you must take me, for I must begin that journey. And when I return," he smiled at her, "Then you and I will be dancing together till Time rings down upon us."

He shifted his feet, made a deep and courteous bow, then offered his hands. "A Tango, my Lady?"

"A Tango, my Lady?"

The sweetest smile he had ever seen grace her lips spread like the dawn across her face and up into her ethereally blue eyes. Lightly she took his hand as the Inn obliged, music welling from nowhere and yet every where. It loved lovers, especially as perfectly a matched pair as this couple. Her depthless robe became a flowing crimson dress, the one that he had always liked the best against her preternaturally pale skin, and roseate blushes stained her cheeks.

With passion and the ease of many a tango danced together they flowed though the steps, their eyes never parting save for the obligatory ‘refused glances’. It was a love making as intimate and heady as any ever known.

Then the music was ending and they were in each others arms. Her hands cupped his face as their lips met in a simple, perfect kiss. And as that too ended, for even the most perfect kiss must end, Death took the one she loved and gave him the release he had craved for so many thousands of years.

She caught his body as it crumpled, cradling it against her chest, a scream of pain gathering in her chest. Gathering, held, and released as the tiniest of cries, unheard by any.. Easily she carried him to where his cloak lay and she laid in him it, wrapping it about him. Once again she cradled Casca’s body in her arms rocking slightly back and forth whispering “I love you, you taught me what love is and I could never say those simple words to you. Thank you, beloved, and I… I hope to see you again”

She had been unable to warn him. The quest for any mantle was dangerous, fraught with the very real chance of final death. It was a test of endurance, and belief and sanity to rival any ever imagined.-

" I have to admit. What is your name any way?"


He spoke his name in whispers and hushes in multitudinous tenebrous tongues all at once in unison. In the noise, static, and blur the words that rung clearest formed "In truth I have a few. I have even passed out a few pseudonyms of my own. However, you may can call me Indrid, though." He gave a polite smile while his hand reached deep down into one of the jars in search of coinage for the phones. He then promptly drank his ambrosia, stood up, and walked around the corner.

Mike watched Indrid go with a quizical expression on his face as he picked up the empty flute of ambrosia "But is your last name Cold or ...?" He trailed off without speaking the other name and shrugged. It really was of no matter to him but he did know a few people whom might be interested.

He wouldn't have known an Icelandic accent if it had bit him on one of his several olfactory receptors.

The Dark Lady was untroubled by the never ending staircase. She had seen such things before, found the spacial dynamics inherent to such things quite fascinating in fact. The room itself, the sensation of impatient waiting that seemed to radiate from every surface, caused a pleased grin, somehow softer than those displayed below now that none were there to witness such a thing. She allowed the door to shut and closed her eyes, feeling the space around her with senses that found the most use in the cold vacuum between stars. Her grin softened further. This place felt, as she had expected, like home. As long as you disregarded the atmosphere, at least.

She twirled on one clawed foot, her hands rising to the horizontal. The constantly swirling mist shot tendrils up her legs, climbing her body, sliding down her arms and sweeping out to caress the walls with a mind of their own, intertwining and crossing as she twisted and turned, independent of her movements. With each revolution, more shadowy tentacles sprouted until she seemed nothing more than a writhing mass of pure darkness filled with millions of screaming, tortured souls. Her dance carried her across the obsidian floor, though her movements were masked from any clandestine observation by the vortex of abyssal energy. Eventually, she reached the bedroom, and by then not a single surface had not been touched by her dark caress.

The soul-filled mist dissipated as she reached the bed, leaving her changed. No longer did she wear the humanoid form that so comforted others. This was but an echo of her true shape, yet much more comfortable still. A slender, shapely muzzle abutting a raked head atop a long, equally slender and shapely neck. The breasts that lent her humanoid form its definitive femininity were gone, likewise the clothing that adorned her for the sake of humanoid morality and decency, though her chest arched outwards in a manner reminiscent of those mammaries. Hips, waist, legs, and tail remained as previously, though her hands were shaped more in accordance with draconic physiology than humanoid.

With a contented sigh, she slipped onto the bed, pacing along the covers to the head on all fours, then nosing her muzzle beneath them, allowing her to slip under. She curled up, letting the tip of her muzzle poke free of the warm embrace. Seldom did she sleep, nor did she in truth require it, but it was a luxury she had decided she would indulge in. And so, the Dark Lady Ronin let down the last of the guards that she held at constant ready, closing off her senses, shutting her eyes, and breathing deeply. Slowly, she drifted into slumber, the mist that now coated the walls keeping watch over its mistress.

Not only did her dark mists of tormented sould keep watch over her but the Inn did too. The inn had never allowed anything to disturb a guest that the guest didn't want disturbing it.

Though there had been several very ugly incidnets that could only be described as domenstic disturbances. However the Inn had been able to quickly turn them into pie fights, one of which ended up involving the entireity of the Inn patrons and was still legendary to this very day. And it had been some four thousand years ago...

And there had been more than one incident that would have strongly reminded any one observing of a classic French Farce, but again that was several years ago.

Things had been so quiet of late.

The Inn didn't want to admit this, but it was quite frankly...bored...

The Dark Lady awoke, neither knowing nor caring how much time had passed. Time was rather immaterial to her kind. As her lithe form slipped free of the covers, the mist that painted the walls condensed, sliding along the floor, the slipping sensually across her scaled hide, caressing every centimeter of her body before resuming its usual place, hovering beneath her. She stretched and stepped onto the carpeted floor, pacing across it to the living area. Here the furniture was sparse, having wide stretches of the marble, oddly warm even to her touch, free of impediment.

She began her morning routine with stretches, displaying to the blank walls a flexibility that bordered on improbable. After limbering up, she began a series of kata, the first of which anyone familiar with ancient earth martial arts forms would recognize as the dragon form. She continued, moving through a plethora of forms and disciplines, from lithe, athletic control to brute force blows.

With her blood running hot once more, she resumed the humanoid form that she had donned the day prior, transforming her lower extremities as well and adding a pair of heavy combat boots to her attire. And now for the "pets". Her shark-like grin returned. The mist gathered about her feet shifted, creating a dark, seething puddle on the warm marble. The center began to swirl in agitation, revolving as a spire began to push forth.

The single spire slowly resolved itself into an appendage as it rose higher, a head following and a body. The draco stepped onto the marble and shook itself before moving to rub against its mistress, a deep purr rumbling in its chest. It was the size of a large feline and shaped similarly save that it bore scales instead of fur, its legs ending in draconic claws, its muzzle matching. The Dark Lady gifted the draco with an affectionate stroke along its spine as she waited for the second arrival.

It came quickly, though not without struggle. A blackened hand shot forth then fell back. Another surfaced momentarily before falling back once more. As though someone was swimming to the surface of a bog, a form slowly pulled its panting self onto the floor. It was an anthropomorphic fox. Black gloved the hands and bare paws, tipping the ears as well. A silken red covered most of the body with creamy white flowing along the underbelly and tipping the tail. Breasts larger than that of her mistress adorned her chest. She wore shades similar to those perched atop the Dark Lady's equine nose, though these were shaded black instead of red. Fingerless gloves covered her hands, a mesh shirt trailing up the arms. A sleeveless leather vest barely covered her large bosom, open to show her cleavage through the mesh. A pair of baggy leather cargo pants covered her lower extremities, bloused just above her ankles. At her hips hung a pair of custom-built nine-millimeter pistols. On her back were sheathed a pair of short swords. Around her neck was a thin, blood red collar, no clasp marring its perfection, though a small emblem was emblazoned on the front. The draco wore a similar collar, though much thicker.

The Dark Lady pressed a hand to her chest, where her heart would be were she truly human, and a replica of the emblem appeared, a stylized dragon in black with a silver starburst behind. She assumed her normal dour expression as the anthro fox pulled herself to her feet.

"Jeezus shit! Ya cout'n o' put it sideways?" the diminutive vulpine inquired. She stood no more than four and a half feet tall, head and shoulders below her mistress. "I hate those damn things, you know that!"

The Mistress was unimpressed. "Watch your language, pet. We will be traveling among fine company. You will be on your best behavior."

The vixen tucked her ears and tail, giving a soft whimper. "Yes, Mistress."

Ronin's expression softened. "How have you been since last I saw you, Yuri Yaoi?"

The name was of the vixen's own choosing and its meanings did not pass the Lady Ronin's notice. The vixen perked up instantly at the question.

"Oh, man, it was great! Diablo 'n me, we went all over the place, fightin all kinds o' things!" She punched at an invisible foe, dodging phantom blows. "We did all kinds o' good stuff!"

A smile of genuine affection lit the Dark Lady's face. "That is good. You must tell me about your adventures in detail. For now though, we shall rejoin the company downstairs."

She turned on heel, her pets taking station to either side and a pace behind as she left her suite. The stairs going down were shorter than the journey upwards. She reentered the main room to find it had been mere minutes since she had left. A small "hm" was her only comment on the passage. She slipped into the booth she had so recently vacated, Yuri joining her. The vixen snuggled possessively against her Mistress's side, favoring the numerous felines with a glare and a growl, legs tucked up onto the seat, tail twitching in agitation. The draco, on the other hand, went to each of them, exchanging greetings with what it seemed to consider as smaller cousins. Eventually it settled in the seat opposite the Dark Lady, taking up the entire other side of the booth.

The Dark Lady smiled still, stroking the long brown locks that fell from the vixen's head, soothing her pet. She leaned down to kiss the smaller female's forehead, giving her a gentle squeeze. "Don't be so jealous. You are my pet. They are simply friends."

Yuri nuzzled against her Mistress, favoring the felines with another glare before asking, rather loudly, "What's a girl gotta do to get some alcohol around here?"

What's a girl gotta do to get some alcohol around here?"

Sixclaws half hung from a lantern holder and sneered "A little patience might be in order" he said very clearly, then groomed his shoulder at the vixen. Fox and cat had never been natural companions - a fox would kill a cat when they had the chance. However there were far more cats about than fox, and Sixclaw never backed down from anything wearing a collar.

The vixen simply stuck her tongue out at him and snuggled closer to her Mistress. The dragoness shook her head in amusement then refilled the empty glass that still sat upon the table from the accompanying carafe. She offered it to Yuri Yaoi, who downed it in one. Mere moments later, she was trying to KEEP it down. She managed, but only with some difficulty. The Dark Lady smirked as she looked around the suddenly quiet and relatively empty Inn. How unusual in such a place for silence to reign.

Sixclaws sniggered and vanished, leaving not even a grin to mark where he had been.

The Inn did have its slow times, particularly when so many were out adventuring...

Mike trundled over to check on the state of Lady Ronins drink and to advise her what were the tavern's specials for the nights dinner..

They had lots of slow smoked mega bison, there'd been a rash of them just poping up in various parts of the Inn recently.