The Constant Macabre

[Lucien]

((Closed))

Everyday business was tough in Radasanth during the mid afternoon rush. Everywhere there were smells and sounds and constant movement of people who spoke a multitude of different languages from a variety of exotic lands. And yet even with the commotion, Lucien didn't give a shit. He ran through the streets and alleyways with a vigor only fear could bring on. He was a boy with a mission; as a representative of Sine Nomine, he had been given very specific instructions as to who he would meet and where to meet them. Virtue, the cult's leader, had given him a rather ominous talking to before he left one of the apartments the group called home, and the boy hated to what awaited him if he failed.

For now he dodged and darted through the streets with an awkward turn and missed footing; none could ever say the boy was all too graceful. Still, even he could squeeze in between fat merchants and gaudy dressed whores to reach his destination.

It was a dive deep within the bad parts of town. Despite a rather plain outward appearance, the sun made the chipped paint easy enough on the eyes, and the panes of glass still left in the windows sparkled like diamonds in the rough. Lucien walked in, confident he wouldn't make a complete fool of himself.

A cold sweat drenched his body as he entered the doorless frame. It wasn't crowded, but the boy suspected that was due to the fact that most of the usual customers were off committing some felony. The teen gripped the coin purse tucked away in his pocket tightly; the street urchin he looked would be easy pickings for any skulldugger.

Way in the back he saw his target; a man fixed in shadow despite the oil lamp above his head. Lucien padded over to him with a dopey smile on his face and a prayer to God in his heart. He withdrew the coin pouch carefully, so that no one else could see. The boy felt their eyes on his every misstep.

Presenting to the man the balled-up pouch, he uttered in his most mouse-like tone, "you're Mr. Striker, right?"

[Godhand]

Godhand sat in corner of the bar. He'd been nursing the same damn drink for a half hour, waiting for their kid to show up. Some group of cultists was offering to pay him a respectable amount of money to take out some big name. The mercenary never put much stock in Althanas "legends", and the fact that they were willing to front him some of the money meant they hadn't just picked his name out of a hat. He may not have been as big as Immelman but people knew that when he took a job he finished it.

A kid came in, didn't look any older than eighteen, and tried to make out what was what through the stale cigarette smoke. With just the faintest hint of recognition in his eyes and a whole lot of apprehension in his footsteps, he approached the swordsman. Godhand couldn't help but smile. The boy really didn't want to be here. He couldn't blame him; it was a lousy bar in a lousy part of town filled with lousy people. Lousy luck he'd get assigned here.

"Relax, kid."

Lucien stiffened up, nearly spilling all the gold in the bag, before placing it on the table. Godhand grit his teeth; he'd obviously never done this kind of business before. He hadn't even taken a Goddamn seat before throwing the cash down! The mercenary might as well have carried a sign that read "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap". He pursed his lips and removed his hat, the top part of his face finally having the shadow drawn away from it. Godhand put the hat on top of the bag, smiling cordially at a customer that was looking at them warily. Jesus, look at this bar. You'd think people would mind their own business.

"Is that what I think it is?"

The kid froze. Godhand pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes, before putting the hat back on his head and the money in his pocket. He got up from the table and walked up to Lucien.

"Max Dirks is a dead man."

With that he flipped the bartender a gold coin and left the bar.

[Rheawien]

“Your price must’ve lessened of late, Godhand Striker!”

The rough, female voice caught the hatted man just as he exited the shabby excuse of a tavern. Rheawien Mal’Ganis stood with her back against the wall, arms folded beneath the feminine bulges of the crimson Lightbane armor plate that could barely accommodate her bust. Her cape provided a cover for her head, but left the rest of her impressive curvature pretty much on display. Flaunting something that men couldn’t get and women envied brought some twisted satisfaction to the half-elf. When Godhand stopped in his tracks and whipped her with those demonic eyes of his, she pushed forward and pulled the cowl back.

“Or maybe the price matches your diminishing skill, old man.” There was history between the two. Not the good kind, not the bad kind. Just history. They had both been Brotherhood members once upon a time and wound up at each other’s throats. Rheawien remembered that encounter quite well; Sarah Dahlios and she against the silver gunman. It was a battle which Godhand managed to lose despite defeating both women. The battered pair wound up having a night of passion while the big, bad wolf went back to his cold room and his equally cold hand.

The gawky blonde tyke came forwards stumbling and straight between the pair that stood like gunslingers, waiting for the strike of the clock. Rheawien knew of the deal that went between the two. She had been invited by this Sine Nomine organization as well, but after she saw who they sent to conduct business, she changed her mind. Damn amateurs, sending a boy to seal such important deals. She did, however, stick around to eavesdrop on the exchange between Godhand and his new employer. At one point, she was certain that those red eyes of his singled her out in the smoky interior of the tavern, but after he simply turned to the boy before him, she reckoned he either wasn’t terribly concerned or he’d finally grown senile. Or both. Either way, she got out and planned to leave this sour deal behind her, but the truth was she had nothing to return to. So instead of some more wandering, she decided to play with the old fart a bit.

“You going to shortchange the kid?” she asked. Being one of possibly five people in Radasanth who was unafraid to get right into that weathered, scarred face and stare right through his eyes and into the steady inferno beyond, she stood before him with her hands on her hips. Sure, he was as strong as a flock of oxen – and probably about as smart as well – but she still had the upper hand when it came to speed. Without shifting her eyes from those burning reds above, she addressed the boy that shied away from the two.

“What kind of a crummy organization sends a boy to do a man’s job and hires good-for-nothings like this bull right here?” It was a rhetorical question really, a jab at both males present. She knew about Sine Nomine. She did her homework and found out she didn’t care much about them one way or the other. Just another bunch of people set on world domination or some other baloney like that. But if they offered some excitement, some distraction from the boredom, there was a possibility for her to reconsider. And there was a good chance that they could. You didn’t hire someone of Godhand’s caliber unless you wanted to cause quite a stir.

[Godhand]

Godhand immediately stiffened when he heard his name through the dead air of the bar. If it had been the kid that yelled it out it would have been simple; just smack him around a bit to show him that's not the way business is done. But this was different. A feminine tone, and familiar at that. Lucien may have been girly but the mercenary never would have mistaken his voice for a woman's. No, this was someone else. With a small smile, he realized it was just some broad from back in his Bandit Brotherhood days.

"Rheawien! Dearest of all my friends!"

Godhand turned to face her with a flourish, his previous scowl immediately banished. Gone was his quiet dignity, replaced instead with a boisterous joviality that seemed infectious. Part of it was an act but he was actually genuinely relieved that he wouldn't have to murder everyone in the bar to prevent himself from getting ID'd. That certainly would have been messy. The swordsman clutched his stomach as if he had just been struck, the smile never leaving his face. He was indicating that her ribbing had physically hurt him.

"My dear, you are merciless!"

The mercenary strode forward and grabbed her by both sides of the head. In this position he could easily crush her skull like a grapefruit but instead chose to exclaim endearments in Spanish and Russian, before brusquely pulling her forward and kissing her once on each cheek before giving her a long kiss on the mouth. When he released her, the jovial smile was still plastered on his face.

"How have you been?"

[Rheawien]

The answer to his question was the only one he could expect to get for presuming way, way too much. Rheawien’s balled fist was on the move a blink of an eye after his callous hands released her head, colliding with the side of his. It didn’t make the big man reel backwards – there were few shots that could upset his balance – but it did snap his head sideways and blow the hat off the top of his head. However, it didn’t take long for her to realize that the attack wasn’t worth the effort. Her knuckles hurt as if she just slammed them against a wall and they still failed to erase that cocky smirk off of his ugly mug. There was always a kick in the groin, of course, but she didn’t come here to pick a fight, least of all not with somebody who could snap her in two like a piece of rotten wood. Instead she willed her hand to remain steady despite the ache, even put up a smirk of her own.

“Just dandy,” she squeezed through her tightened lips. She could taste him, the disgusting mixture of hard liquor and cigar smoke, and it made the half-elf spit and wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. She didn’t necessarily hate the man no more then she necessarily hated men in general. She did, however, hate men who took the initiative on her. With men, she loved to be in control. With women, it was a different story. But Godhand was no woman, not as far as she knew. At best he was a very mediocre looking man.

“And better then you, that’s for sure. At least I’m not whoring myself for a fistful of gold.”

He made a nonchalant move to retrieve his hat, but her long leg was much faster, squashing the poor thing under her knee-high boots. As if that wasn’t enough, she ground it into the dust and kicked it away like a rag that it had become. It wasn’t the wisest of moves, but Rheawien wasn’t the wisest of women. Where others opted to leave the sleeping giant alone, she found it appropriate to poke it with a stick. Hard. With a very short stick.

“So, what’s the deal? You’re joining these amateurs?”

[Godhand]

Rheawien struck him in the face but to him that was just a love tap. She really was pretty, that wasn't him just buttering her up. But she was less than civil and every comment or action on the part of any male around her back in the Bandit Brotherhood always resulted in them getting an asskicking. Godhand surmised that the reason she had less patience for him than anybody else was that he was basically invulnerable and could thus harry her with impunity, although he only ever really started to once she'd made it clear she despised him. The mercenary reached forward and cupped her chin lovingly, like fathers did with daughters, to show Lucien. He puffed out her cheeks cutely and turned to the boy.

"Look at that, huh? Is that the face of an angel? I think it is!"

Her knee came up quick and hard, aiming for the swordsman's cash and prizes. Godhand had a lot of experience dealing with her though and easily slapped away her knee. Rheawien had picked up a few tricks of her own since they'd last met, however, and twisted out of his grasp to land a kick to his back. The mercenary didn't budge a centimeter.

"It's been a while. What have you been up to?"

"Training. Ridding the world of bad people most of the time. Shame we haven't crossed paths before."

Godhand smirked and waved a finger at her mischeviously.

"Don't get coy now, now! You know I've always had a thing for you!", he chuckled. "Sit down, I'll buy you a drink."

She tilted her head upwards ever so slightly, just a miniscule sign of her attitude and spoke.

"Is that how you get all your women? Get them liquored up?" She took a step towards him, looked up and added, "I don't think you can afford me given the lightness of your purse. Not that I'm interested."

Godhand visibly winced and feigned a hurt expression. Rheawien was what you'd call a two-minute girl. She was fun for two minutes and then afterwards she really started to aggravate you.

"The face of an angel and the tongue of a demon. You haven't changed a bit. Well...Actually, you seem a little angrier now. In any case, what are you doing here? Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Not really. I just wanted to say hello."

Godhand sighed.

"And you had to ruin my hat to do that?"

[Lucien]

Things had gone from bad to worse. When the white-haired woman arrived, an animosity grew in the room. Every lecher and lush turned their heads to gaze upon the the back and forth between the new arrival and old regular. She played the hard-core bitch to a T, and Godhand merely smiled and played along with each injury dealt to him. However, it was clear as day who would be the victor in an all out brawl.

Lucien merely padded forward towards the pair with a nervous smile on his lips and sweaty palms in his pockets. Beams of daylight broke the the cracks and nearly blinded the boy. And even with his sight impaired, he couldn't see what the fuss about Rheawien was.

It was easy to see she was a dyke; no, the envy of dykes,. On Earth, the boy had seen many like her parading the streets in their Doc Martens and crew cuts, with pins supporting Ellen or Rosie. "Christ," thought Lucien, holding his hand up to block the suns rays, "I wouldn't be surprised if her clit doubled as a tongue."

Had this situation been news to the boy, he probably would've freaked out to know end. But he had been told this woman might arrive here, and he had been told how much of a bitch she'd be. While Lucien dreaded talking to her, he took comfort in Virtue's seemingly incredible ability at precognition, or just normal ability to understand the nature of people.

"Rheawien," he began, his voice breaking slightly under the gaze of her brown-hued eyes. He swallowed deep as he moved just an inch closer to her and fished around his pockets further. "Sine Nomine has something to offer you." He pulled out a wrinkled and stained picture of a young red-haired woman, her face obscured by a decorative mask. Despite the hidden identity, her beauty and commanding presence were apparent enough. Without even the slightest hand gesture or mantra recitation, she had all the trappings of an enchantress and the perfect spokeswoman to push Sine Nomine. "You'd be working under her." He had a rather childish smile at the innuendo.

All staged; every word he'd been told to say and told to practice for this day. Even if Rheawien hadn't shown up, he had planed to find her and say the exact same thing.

[Rheawien]

Rheawien thought there was nothing Sine Nomine could offer for her services. If it was money, she had quite enough of it at this point. At her current skill level, people were willing to pay quite a lot for her services, which left her with quite a healthy stash of coins. If they were trying to find coinciding goals with their plight, they were once again pulling a blank with the half-elf. There were plenty of groups with nobler goals whose invitations she gave to the wind. But then the boy that has been quiet while she and Godhand exchanged greetings and salutations stepped forward and offered a payment that superseded any other. And the untouchable hardness of her frowned face took a softening blow.

There was a woman on the picture, and she was supposed to be Rhea’s superior.

Even though her face was concealed by a mask, and even though the object in Rheawien’s hand was no more than a piece of colored paper, there was an air of domination around the woman that stared back at her from the picture. It was her posture that was speaking what her visage could not, the way her head was tilted upwards, the way her one heeled boot stood before the other, the way her hands fell on her curvy hips. Rheawien could see herself looking up at someone like that, taking orders, feeling the whip of a harsh tone every time this woman spoke. And that was something no money could buy, the perverted half-elf knew. She tried paying a prostitute one time for such behavior, but there was no genuineness to it, no natural knack that made you believe you were inferior. This woman had that in loads. It made Rheawien bite her lower lip as something sweet and terrible passed from the top of her head to the tip of her toes.

Rhea’s brown eyes went up to those of the smiling kid, then to the picture, then back to the kid. Her frown made a return by then, followed by her hand stuffing the picture between the padding of her armor and the soft breast below it. This was a chance she couldn’t pass on. Groups that paid currency came a dime a dozen. Groups that paid with a possibility of depraved sex didn’t.

“Fine. Count me in,” she finally responded, pulling her hood back if for no other reason then to hide the color that flushed her cheeks. She finished with a nod towards the silver-haired gunman. “But I am not working with him.”

[Godhand]

Godhand watched, arms crossed and a pleased expression on his face, as the young kid shakily handed a picture to the half-elf. The mercenary craned his neck to look at it, interested in what Lucien was sure would move the cold Rheawien to join them. It was a red-head; good body and posture but Godhand couldn't see what the big fuss was about. At least not when she was wearing that mask. That and the mannerism she was expressing in the photograph, although only perceptible to those who had come across them before, hinted at something like a sociopathic streak. He couldn't be sure, obviously; the common thing about all sociopaths was that they were experts at faking normality. Still, he wouldn't have taken any chances and he didn't Rheawien doubt wouldn't either. After all, she was even more suspicious than he was. Besides that, what kind of a lecherous subnormal would put their life on the line for a piece of ass? Nobody was that stupid.

"Fine, count me in. But I am not working with him."

Jesus Christ she was simple! The mercenary had been trying to exude an aura of happy-go-lucky foolishness but even his trained facade nearly cracked with the half-elf's sudden whim. If she had been offered gold or favors and accepted then he would have continued playing with her; maybe force her into tangoing with him before making a quick exit. But after that little display he was so damn dissapointed in her that he didn't even want to stay in the same room with them. Clenching his jaw and affecting a fake smile, he spoke.

"I'm...Bored." He didn't have the will to keep bothering with them anymore, especially not Rheawien. He was done playing games. "I'll see you both later." With that Godhand made his way out of the bar, pausing only to pick up his decimated hat.

[Rheawien]

Of course Godhand was disgusted with her sudden change of mind and the low-low price she agreed to. Hell, she was disgusted at herself for it. And yet it was something that couldn’t be helped, a queer sort of magnetism that attracted her so strongly it nearly drove her insane. She tried to assure herself that it didn’t matter, that opinions of some drunk going through a middle age crisis didn’t matter to her, but they did. Even if Godhand tried to hide them, leave them unsaid, they were stabbing at her with a million knives, bringing pain and guilt and remorse in spades. She was selling herself for the cost of a cheap thrill... Nay, for the possibility of a cheap thrill. How much lower could a person drop before she hit the rock bottom?

Seeing as she couldn’t fend off these accusatory thoughts, Rheawien decided to drown them. With Godhand gone, she ignored the kid and sat on one of the barstools. The barkeep was big and fat and sweaty, a defective copy of pretty much every other barkeep with a dirty apron and a dirty rag in his hands, but she barely noticed him. She needed something to make her forget. Alcohol wouldn’t do that at first, she knew. It would first make her feel even worse, then nauseous, then she’d throw her guts out in some ditch out back. But after all that maybe she’d pass out and forget about the deal that she just made.

“Give me a bottle of your hardest stuff,” she said to the man on the other side of the counter, tossing a handful of gold pieces on the smooth surface. It was too much, she knew, too much for anything that could be bought in this shithole, but she wasn’t in a mood to care about a couple of gold pieces.

“Are ya sure, missy? This is some hard stuff...”

“Just give me the bottle and shut the hell up!” she growled, snatched the bottle from his meaty fingers and started the slow drowning of her sorrows. Soon enough, the kid, Godhand, the Maiden, the bar, they would all be blanked out. And for a moment she would be at peace.

[Ataraxis]

Quest Judging
The Constant Macabre

Sorry for the wait, and here’s the succinct judgment you asked for: one with no comments.

The scores are averages.

STORY

Continuity ~ 6/10.
Setting ~ 5/10.
Pacing ~ 6/10.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 5.5/10.
Action ~ 5/10.
Persona ~ 7/10.

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 6 /10.
Mechanics ~ 8/10.
Clarity ~9/10.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 4/10.

TOTAL ~ 61.5/100.

EXP Rewards

Lucien Aeonis receives: 250 XP!

Godhand Striker receives: 1430 XP!

Rheawien Mal’Ganis: 1320 XP!

GP Rewards

Lucien Aeonis receives: 50 GP!

Godhand Striker receives: 96 GP!

Rheawien Mal’Ganis: 96 GP!

Other Rewards

Godhand Striker receives 42.5 GP from the coin pouch, because Sine Nomine is full of cheap bastards.

Rheawien Mal'Ganis receives a nice, signed picture of Maiden.

FINAL NOTES

I claimed a country in the name of Lennon – I gained more than any of you three did, today.

[Witchblade]

EXP and GP added!

Rheawien reaches level 6!