Closed to NightsAngel
It was hard to gauge time. Underground the only way to determine a day was to follow the cycle of people. Everyone slept, everyone ate, everyone went out and went about their business. The cycle was what let one determine if it was day or night, but to the uninitiated it seemed that night and day were as chaotic as the people who lived underground. The trick, was to remember that the technical night was the busy time, and the day let people sleep. This was because vampires and other light sensitive races hid in Haida and being able to get above ground during their natural cycle was a boon.
A figure pushed through the crowds, ignoring those that seemed to take umbrage. The casualness of his dismissal made a few give rude gestures before walking on. Some shouted at him only to receive nothing in turn. One made the mistake of grabbing for him and found a blade pressed tip first just below the chin. Shoving the blade upwards caused the Vampire that thought he was special to spasm before a heavy boot thrust the man off his blade. Blood leaked from his mouth as a crowd watched, and the victim looked up and was pulled away by friend before it tried to attack again.
He hated Haida. He hated the darkness, he hated the way it seemed to make him angry. He hated the vampires and the demons, and the undead, and the humans driven underground. He hated the lack of a sky and the lack of morals. He hated the fact it was one of the only places truly absent of the Cult of Blessed Torture, and hated the fact he was driven underground by that very Cult. To say he was angry was an understatement, and the brutality that visited anyone perceived to be attacking him spoke volumes of his mood. It deterred the creatures about him, and gave him the space to see what shops he was walking by until he finally spotted the only dive bar in this Thayne forsaken town.
The Fallen Angel was the quintessential bad idea. It was tavern, exotic dancing club, and inn all in one. To sleep there would probably mean to contract all kinds of disgusting diseases and curses while drinking was marginally safer. The Dancers were alright, if you didn't mind risking your life to enjoy their company. Seth of course was a creature of wrath, not lust, and so when he entered the business he ignored the pouty and sultry looks of the dancers he passed by. Finding a booth far from the action a waitress that barely qualified as dressed was sent off with an order for the stiffest alcohol they had and waved off.
He spread his arms, taking up more space in the booth and discouraging people from trying to force their way into a meeting with him as a boot was kicked up in a seat. The waitress raised an eyebrow as she returned with the drink and leaned over almost jutting her chest into his face as he looked up at her plainly from beneath the brim of his hat. He then said softly, “Put em away, I’m not here for flesh. You’ll get your damn tip without me shoving it between those.”
She straightened up and looked at him with a frown before she spoke, “You do realize where you are right? If you aren’t here for the pleasures of the flesh why bother?”
“I hear the drinks are good…” He replied sarcastically. The lady let out a soft snort as he offered up the coin and tossed her a couple extra as promised. She secreted away the money somewhere on her body.
“Thats a shame, man like you looks like he could use a good fuck,” She replied crassly.
“My fucking days are over,” He replied plainly. The waitress looked at him perturbed as he sipped the drink and nodded stiffly. A hand reached into his pouch and a couple coins flipped onto the table, “For following instructions.”
A greedy hand snatched the coins from the table as she looked at them. A frown crossed her face before she held up one, “Don't recognise that minting, where's it from?”
“Revanian, Port Otaria uses them, any other questions or can I drink in peace?”
The woman shook her head before she tucked the coin away and muttered about her rude customer. She moved through the throng of patrons that grabbed at her only to have hands swatted expertly. Drinks were passed by other similarly clad woman even as a trio of dancers gyrated about the stages, slowly losing clothes to the cheers of the patrons.
Sex, smoke, and sin pervaded the air as Seth Dahlios drank, letting his mind rest briefly. He looked about the area his gaze taking in every face that seemed too interested. He filed those faces away for later as he sipped the malt scotch whiskey he was presented with and sighed. He had to do something soon to change this game he found himself embroiled in, otherwise he was going to lose.
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