A Musical Act

Roxanna · Shapeshifting Deviant

A Musical Act

Fires Rebirth · Tainted Flames

While travelling to Rome he had barely left Lyliannas side. Even now being away from her was physically painful. It felt like he had a twin who had been seperated from him, and it made his flesh feel raw. At his best he was less than pleasent, now he was just downright scowling with annoyance. Being away from her made him restless, his eyes glowed a harsh topaz as he moved through the crowd at the bar to try to claim a stool for himself.

Slipping onto a stool he was finally able to pull the newspaper out from under his arm and lay it out on the bartop. Hands smoothed out the creases before he opened it to the Jobs section and let his eyes pass over what was available. He needed to find something that would give him as much time with Lylianna as possible. That had suddenly become his number one priority. Every second she was alone he worried that some cataclysmic disaster would take place. It was enough to set his hair on end the way he was getting all twisted up with worry.

A single finger dragged down the list of jobs available, then he passed over one and felt something like an electric shock against his finger. Jumping a bit in his seat he put the tip of his finger in his mouth like you would when wounded. Eyes squinted at the page as the words seemed to swim in front of him. Finally though his vision settled. Solomon didn't know it, but the ad was bespelled by a sorcerer. Anyone without supernatural abilities would see a normal ad for a company wanting people to call about doing scientific testing, but for someone with superhuman gifts a completely different ad would be seen.

Wanted:
Bodyguard
Contact Ishmael Goldman

The contact information was listed and he bit his lip as he looked at it. Something felt wrong in that skin crawling kind of way, but he was trying hard these days to ignore those feelings. Hearing the conversation between the woman at the bar and the bartender he looked up, blinking as his eyes readjusted after staring so hard at the enchanted ad. Clearing his throat he waited for the bartender to look over.

"Can I get a Sprite?"

It came out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying and it almost made him choke. A sprite? What the hell did he want a Sprite for? Normally he was a whiskey drinker. Then that sunshiney blonde face swam in his mind and he knew why Sprite was the order of the day. Lylianna wouldn't want him drinking. It was that simple, and that profound all at the same time. When it came to the girl he was absolutely helpless to displease her. It was as though he knew that on some level he was supposed to be whatever she needed in any given situation, and he was alright with that....if he didn't let himself think about it too much.

"Do either of you know an Ishmael Goldman?"

His accent was pure outback. The rough tones of an Aussie, and in that moment he looked like what you would picture a man from the desert outback to look like. His eyes were slightly red rimmed, and his face had a few weeks worth of beard on it. Travel had been rough, especially since he spent most nights sitting outside Lyliannas room guarding the door, much to the confusion of Mr. Bubbles. Fingers fished in his pocket for the pack of Lucky Strikes he knew were hiding there, and once he pulled one out he pressed it between his lips. A matchbook was taken from the bar and he struck the head, welcoming the sharp scent that followed before lighting the cigarette. What Lylianna thought of smoking hadn't been stated yet, so for now his own self-interest could reign at least in this one area.

Roxanna · Shapeshifting Deviant

With curious eyes of shocking green, Roxanna looked to the man with the newspaper. It seemed as though he was drawn to this newspaper, staring intently upon the soft, thin paper with black ink. "That must be a good story you're reading," She inclined, inhaling the last sip of her Jack Daniels, slamming the glass on the marble counter as Gino poured another round. Gino also handed the man a glass of sprite, and shook his head. "No, I never heard of that guy. Why do you ask?" The band on stage finished their set as they unloaded their equipment off the stage, and prepared for another band to excite the crowd that dispersed the floor; some heading to the bar while others returned to their tables. "Sorry, never heard of him either." Roxanna tuned in, removing the black suit jacket to reveal the overbust red and black corset that squeezed her dainty torso. As a soft, calloused hand embraced her alcoholic beverage, she slid from her chair and roamed around the bar corner, approaching the man with the paper, setting her drink down to the side. "Maybe I can help you locate him. Is he someone of importance to you?" Vibrant green hues really wanted to gaze upon the paper he was reading, to see what exactly captured his attention. When they settled on the ad, she too, felt the drawn, the magic, the pull of paranormal gravity of the ad, as though the man's name was a calling, a beckon, almost as though it was the only thing on the newspaper. "Hmm, that's......weird. Do you know what this man looks like? Perhaps we can find him here and ask why exactly he needs a bodyguard."

Bringer of Death · Effing God Moder

     "So Humans can communicate without blade or mirror? And over great distances?" Varrick poised the question as he and Percival walked side by side. The Moor gave a nod of his head.
     "Yes Lord Goodwind. The device they use is called a telephone, but the one you see them carrying is referred to as a cellular phone, cell phone for curtness. That is what this is here." Percival held up a small device, one that easily fit into the palm of Varrick's hand as he took it. He nodded to the knight's words, studying it with his earthen hues. They paused a moment in their walk, on some corner of a building so that Percival could show him the workings of the device. Varrick looked to Percival as he spoke, a bit of satisfaction at the sight of the man. He was a troll's load better to look at and be around now that the alcohol had been purged from his system and he'd had a shower or three. "You push these buttons here..." he demonstrated by pressing some of the numbers, and Varrick watched as the top part lit up, depicting the very numbers he brushed his fingers over, in unison with a clicking noise, "And the number appears. All numbers are idividual codes to reach the particular destined phone. I've programmed my number in, as you can see. But knowing you, I'm willing to lay wager you've already memorized it." Percival's tone was friendly as he teased the Old Man, as he liked to call him. Varrick chuckled a clapped a hand on the man's back.
     "That I have Sir Percival, thank you." Varrick took the cell phone and stowed it away in the breast pocket of his suit. They were jesting now, but it hadn't been that way a few days before. As a matter of fact, Percival had been quite wretched as his body went through the withdrawels of the absence of the drug. They began to walk again, easily matching strides as they were approximately of the same stature, and his thoughts drifted to their earlier conversations, of the threats and attempt at physical violence.
     With the strange plastic cards that Varrick had found, apparently it was some form of payment in the current era, he had taken a room at an inn for the week. It was quite luxurious really, as the room even had it's own outhouse. At first Varrick believe that to be rather disgusting until he realized the waste disappeared with a push of a lever. Whilst there he'd lowered his glamour, no need to adorn a costume when Percival Tavin, a Knight of the Round who'd quested for the Holy Grail and laid hands upon it, was the only soul around to see him. It had been a bit of a mistake, as it also revealed Yx'kaelbyr at his back. He never went anywhere without it, as it was his blade, but he hadn't realized just how much it might have, and did, mean to the Moor.
     "THIEF!" Guuyd'on turned, a bit startled at the rage in Percival's voice as he struggled to lift himself from the smooth floor of the bathroom. He'd been draped over the porcelain seat, his stomach relieving itself of it's contents. Guuyd'on raised a questioning snow white brow to the man, unsure as to what he was referring. Surely he was imagining some delusion, and not insulting Guuyd'on V'ryk so, but he had been. "You've stolen it! The sword! That does NOT belong to you!" Guuyd'on regarded him coolly, his thoughts collected as he realized how it must seem.
     "There you are wrong Sir Percival. The sword was mine long before I had the Lady pass it into the hands of you beloved King Arthur."
     "Excalibur is his sword! It belongs to him and none other!" Percival hadn't succeeded in leaving his position, and that odd shade of ashen green crossed his face before he began heaving once more. Excitement wasn't helping him get any better. Guuyd'on moved to him, standing over him with all the regality of any king.
     "Yx'kaelbyr was indeed used by your king. Before it was his, however, it was mine, and before that, the Sun God Lugh. Lugh graced it to me, and I graced it to King Pendragon. He rests now, and I do not. I need it for my journey now to recover the Book. I meant no insult, and had I realized your reaction, I would have kept it glamour'd itself, and explained the situation before the sight of it infuriated you so." His words were soft, and he laid a Hand on the man's shoulder, Illuding the ease of his pain. Guuyd'on had been surprised then to feel tears from him.
     "I'm sorry Varrick. I'm such a mess. You'd think I'd be able to hold to the standards that we held so dear..."
     "You are but a man Sir Percival. You've made one mistake, and you've had to live this long regretting it. A hundred years is a long time for a Human, but fifteen centuries? Most would not have endured." Guuyd'on reassured him, keeping his Hand on his shoulder. The man needed comfort, and so he would provide it. His words were sincere, as he believed them truth. Lesser men would be worse off than he'd found him, he was sure. Not fearing death, they would have discovered the thrills of a darker side of the world, taking anything and everything, from materials, to women, to life. And yet he'd found Percival who'd merely become a drunk. Yes, there were worse men than he. "You would make Arthur proud to call you one of his own, even now, in this seemingly sorry state."
     A sad chuckled elicited from the black man, and he looked up to the Tuathan with red rimmed hues. "I doubt it very much my lord." Guuyd'on regarded him, his lips forming a thin line of shade between the cloud white pads.
     "You think you know better than I, is that it?"
     Percival's eyes lifted to his and he shook his head, another chuckle coming from his throat. "I know better than Varrick Goodwind? Impossiible."
     "That's absolutely right. Now, finish up with your business here and let us talk about this era of Men."
     "Here we are!" Varrick was pulled from his thoughts at the sound of Percival's voice, and he looked up at the name above the door. Big Momma's Blues Bar. Even so far out of the times, Varrick believed that the name was suspiciously like that of a tavern. He looked to Percival, an eyebrow raised.
     "Don't you think you've enough of that dreadful fire water?" Percival laughed and shook his head. "We're here to get something to eat. Big Momma's has the best ribs this side of the ocean. And don't worry about the drinking. I've had enough to last me a few centuries more."
     "I'll speak to that." It was then he caught site of a woman, apparently speaking to herself. Varrick lifted a hand towards her, not pointing with a single finger, but indicating with the entirety of his hand, fingers out and held together. "Now there. That is what I was speaking of. There is no cell phone device that she is holding to her ear. She's merely talking to herself. And she's not the first Human I've seen do that." It was quite obvious she was talking to herself. She was beautiful, with dark hair and lighter eyes, and there was something about her that Varrick instantly picked up as not fully Human. But she hadn't been the first person he'd laid eyes upon to know as such, so it wasn't unusual to him. Her hands were swinging at her sides, so she was not holding the communication device to her ear that Percival had given him moments ago.
     Percival turned to look and then smiled as he looked to Varrick. It was almost as if he were a child. Imagine, him, teaching Varrick Goodwind a thing or two about the world. "She's using what is called a Blue Tooth. It makes an invisible connection to the cell phone and rests on the ear."
     "Dear gods why on earth would someone put a blue tooth on their ear? I've heard they can be quite poisonous if they bite." Varrick was of course speaking of a time before he'd left the People, but Percival didn't know that.
     Percival just stared at him for a split second, having no idea as to what he was speaking of, but knowing that the name was the same for something in the Fae's past that he most likely would never be able to fathom. A sigh was given, and he shook his head. He lifted to stop the woman a moment as she neared, if she so dared to pause in her walk. He would just have to show the Old Man.
     "Milady, sorry to delay you. But perhaps you could show my friend here your Blue Tooth? He's never had the chance to spy one before..."

Baroness DuMorne · Demonic Nobility

The Blues bar. A lovely bit of Americana in Rome. It was so quaint Rowan would have ordinarily scoffed at the very idea of going there. But sometimes nostalgia hit, and the only way to satisfy the longing was to bite the bullet and take a trip down the memory lane. Recall times gone past, even if some of those times weren't exactly the best. The whole mess with the book had her spirits somewhat depleted. It was a bitch finding another buyer. Seems rare antique books with blank pages didn't sell as well as one would hope. Three book experts later, and still all she got was a sub par quote to take the book off her hands with assurances that it was the best deal she was going to get. If so, why did the priest want a blank book? Much less willing to pay through the nose to get it? After the run around, and one dead end after another, the idea of becoming just another face in the crowd, if only for a little while, was like a balm on her soul. A bit dramatic, but sometimes it felt good to pretend to be ordinary. Get away from the source of her frustration. Kick her heels up, do a little dance, get down tonight. And yet, she just couldn't help but seize on the opportunity while one presented itself.

The place was loud, full of people, and outside of her usual range of hangouts. It was perfect for what she needed.

Powers were a funny thing. Like muscles if you didn't use them, they tended to atrophy. Her innate talent got a workout every time she went on a job. And if power translated into physical enhancements were muscles, Rowan would be buff. The other talent however, was not as easily managed. What she had fondly came to call Powerdar, either functioned or it didn't. What use was a blip on the screen if you didn't know what that blip was. Bars, pubs, restaurants and generally large places where people tended to congregate were a treasure trove of new experiences. New blips on the radar, new tingles down her spine. Every day she discovered a new fact to add to the vault of experiences inside her head. And if she could take care of a little business at the same time, well that was just a cherry atop of her Sunday. The kind dripping with hot fudge. Rowan rarely watched her figure. She left that up to the others as she strolled into the

It was rather fun at times. Picking out a strange spot and letting her shields down as her little feelers of power slid out among the crowd. Seeking like scent hounds, those with the touch of preternatural about them. Were they vampire, lycan or witch? It was a fun game. Not unlike what predators teach their young. Trade scent for magic and the principal was the same. Rowan loved the guessing game. That man by the door, the warm sparks that shot up her spine pointed him out as a Lycanthrope. The one by the bar, a witch. The leather clad, brunette, a lycan. And so on so forth, till Rowan pinged every "other" in the place. With the knowledge of what was around her, the Djavo felt herself relax. The demon inside sighing in annoyance as it realized Rowan had no intention to cause a scene. It was just a night out.

Or so she told herself. Finding a seat by the bar, was easy enough. With the cold outside, she didn't see a lot of die hard fans, willing to brave the chill to visit the Blues Bar. And as she made herself comfortable, and finally paid attention to the music, she felt sorry for those who stayed at home. The music flowed over her. Pelting her ears, mercilessly demanding entry. A pang of something not unlike sadness strummed her heart strings, pulling at the memories evokes by the music. Home, her mother. For a moment Rowan allowed herself to wonder how her m other was doing. If her diseased had taken her mind completely, or whether she still remembered and missed her little girl. The annoying sting of tears in the corners of her eyes, made Rowan snap her attention to the present.

She gasped, surprising herself, and the man next to her, as she felt something....something. It didn't send a tingle up her spine, it slid it's ice cold hand down along her back, and let its cold fingers of power, linger. Her very body felt on fire and frozen solid at the same time. A moment later it was gone. The man a bar stool over, gave her a look. She knew that look it was that "what is her problem." Look she had grown to know oh so very well. With a dazzling smile of her generous lips, Rowan plucked the little ear piece out of her purse and slipped it onto her ear. "God sometimes I hate technology!" A light hearted joke everyone could relate to. Seeing the source of must have startled her, the man offered a smile of his on, nodded in understanding and returned his attention to the stage. Leaving Rowan to continue her charade. Cellphones, they were fantastic things indeed. You could talk to yourself and no one would even pause to wonder if you were talking to someone on the phone...or just talking to yourself. Maybe there would be less crazy people on the street talking to ghosts, if they only had a cell phone. Then they would just be members of society.

Hopping off the bar stool. Rowan, adjusted the earpiece to keep it from slipping off as she told the bar tender she'll be at one of the tables rather than the bar, when a strange man stepped into her path.

"Milady, sorry to delay you. But perhaps you could show my friend here your Blue Tooth? He's never had the chance to spy one before..."

Hours of practicing in the mirror, paid off in the instant Rowan quirked an eyebrow at the request. Of all the ones she heard in her life time, this one...was the most different. "Excuse me?" Allowing her face to express momentary confusion, Rowan took in the appearance of the man in front of her. Not too tall, dark skin, odd speech pattern. Sub par clothes, but the accent was either bad fake, or he came from a region where people still used proper diction. The gentleman in question however, struck Rowan as completely out of place. In a Bar where the average age seemed to be firmly stuck in the mid 30s, he looked like someone's father come to claim a wayward child and take him or her back home. The odd sensation flashed for a moment. Just enough to make Rowan glance around, as if she could spy someone looking at her...Spy. One phrase and already she was picking up that particular use of the word.

"Why of course, here." With a smile that flashed her perfectly white teeth, Rowan reached up beneath her hair, and slipped off a tiny device, which she held out in the palm of her hand for the two men to see. It was small, and looked to be made of metal. No bigger than her thumb, the On light, flickered a bright blue, as she pressed the talk button on the side. "I doubt he'd seen this model because it just came on the market. For the holidays I suppose. It's really a neat little gizmo." Because, why else would someone want to look at her BlueTooth earpiece? With the Show and Tell over, Rowan, once again smiled ever so pleasantly at the two men while delicate fingers, fastened the ear piece back to her ear. Something was charging in the atmosphere now, and the demon inside was sniffing at the potential for fun, like a hungry dog at the dinner table. But something was tickling her intuition just the right way, to make Rowan want to continue the conversation...Which was never an issue for her. "If I may ask though, wouldn't an electronics store be a better place to check out BlueTooth accessories, rather than Blues Bars?"

Bringer of Death · Effing God Moder

     "True. But we are here to sup, and just happened to notice that you had one. Saved us a trip," Percival pointed out with an easy smile. As he spoke, it was then that the full impact of the odd tingling he got from her fell into place. They'd been at a tailor shoppe, getting fitted for the articles of clothing that were modern appropriate for their caste, though Percival said those hardly exist. But Varrick, of course, knew better.

     "-I mean, absolutely no mention of the color of my skin." His words had been bitter. "Gods forbid a Moor actually being the one to find the Holy Grail..."
     Varrick watched the tailor, who was studiously doing his measuring and chalking, and quite the picture of oblivion to their conversation. Good man, Varrick would have to leave him a tip. That and maybe the Human thought them insane, which was just as well. Varrick sent a sidelong glance to the knight, shaking his head with a smile of amusement on his lips. They stood side by side in front of several mirrors so that they could see how the material fell against their form. Unfortunately, he had had to remove the sword at his back, and now it leaned, invisible to everyone but he, against the mirror that he stood in front of. He had wanted to leave it, but no amount of Illuding could make the suit fall right against him as he felt it should, at least without a constant thought process to have the tailor make it so. He could still see it, and it was within reach, and that was well enough. He reached up to pull at the lapel of the mahogany suit, quite satisfied with the way it befitted him. The tailor had been unhappy with their choice of the earthen hues, as apparently, it wasn't 'in', whatever that rubbish was. Varrick cared not, as he was a humble man, and even this seemed a bit lavish.
     "Sir Percival, no mention of your skin tone, yes. But they did state that you did indeed recover the artifact."
     "In one story yes, but in others, they bestowed that honor upon that sod Galahad."
     "Humility my dear boy."
     "Hmph."
     "At least you were mentioned at all." Varrick spoke the last words with a smile, knowing the stories full well himself. He'd plenty of reading time on Percival's laptop computer the few days he'd spent in his small apartment after Percival had recovered from, well, his recovery.
     "Ah, yes, well that is indeed true." The Moor admitted, realizing that Varrick was correct. Percival had tales about him, and there was absolutely no mention of the Fae at his side in the stories. Which was just as well to that Fae, as he could care less if anyone knew of him. After all, he'd woven a working of Three thousands upon thousand upon thousands of years before so that the People would forget his Name. What cared he that the Humans knew it not as well?
     It had been at that precise moment that he felt a great pull from his book. His head snapped sideways, looking in the very direction the pull came from, recognizing the release of the ward he'd placed upon the bindings, the Hand of Blood. He focused on the connection through the wound, tilting his head.
     "The reason I came was to tell you that The Dark Lord calls us to the catacombs for a meeting. There is a mission for us."
     Just as suddenly, the connection had been severed, the offering of blood recanted. Either the offering had been old and quickly used, or fresh and the person healed. Either was a possibility, but Varrick couldn't be one hundred percent certain. He returned his concentration to the dressing room, relieved to know that the book was still in Rome. It was quite close by, really. If he hadn't been so out of practice with his magicks, he would have been properly able to pinpoint it's location exactly.
     "Are you all right Lord Goodwind?" Varrick turned his umber hues to Percival, and nodded.
     "Yes Sir Knight. I've just discovered the book is in Rome, and presumably going to the catacombs. Specifically where is the difficult piece of the puzzle." It was at the moment the tailor straightened, apparently satisfied with his work. Varrick reached up to straighten his tie quite naturally, and regarded himself in the mirror. Yes, well, that would do nicely. He gave a smile to the man, glad to have his services.
     "Thank you Mr. Brioni. Handsome job you've done," Percival complimented, stepping down off of the little stool just after Varrick. He glanced to the Old Man. "Shall we head there straightaway?" The inquiry was sounded as he handed off another piece of that worthless plastic, as Varrick believed it to be.
     "No I don't think so. I'm rather hungry, actually. I suppose you know of some rather good inns or taverns?" And so they had left the tailor shoppe and found their way to the Blues Bar, where they had met the woman with the Blue Tooth. The very woman who sparkled with the energy that matched that of the ward that had recently activated on his book.

     Varrick took that moment to step forward, taking up the woman's hand and giving a bow, as any proper gentleman knight should do. "Allow me to introduce myself and my comrade. I am Sir Varrick Goodwind, and this is Sir Percival Tavin, Knight of the Round. How do you do?" As he spoke, Percival nodded his head and Varrick offered up a friendly smile, quite curious now, as she didn't seem to be capable of teleportation, let alone of casting powerful illusion spells, whether it had needed an anchor or not. As he gently grasped her hand, his Hand made the most subtle pass through her blood, and he tasted the demon blood within. How very interesting indeed.