Lies

[J. Harte]

I haven’t RP'd in nearly 2 yrs, so forgive me, I'm still shaking off the rust :D
There was one thing Janelle hated about lies. And that was how no one ever noticed when someone lied. How could a tavern be peaceful when almost every other tavern she walked into was loaded with drunks and hoes passing as barmaids, a poorly lit fire, a flea infested rug, a lazy cook who would make a stew of anything that he had stored, all topped off with the odd drunken fight after dark. Strangely, Janelle was fine with that, but why go and call it such a name? Had she heard it wrong perhaps?
Her hope was crushed as soon as she took her first step into the tavern and her eyes adjusted. There was only one drunk sitting quietly on his barstool, and other than that no one was there, ignoring the group of young chaps taking shots around one of the round tables in the place. A fire was blazing away, and it was almost silent.
Disappointed and shocked, she sat at one of the tables with her back to the men.

At very least she had gotten peace and quiet from that pesky woman who thought she could control her. Why did people have families? What happened when you got sick of them?
"I’d rather be in hell" she muttered.
It was her birthday today, she was turning 170, or as her current body thought, 18. That meant she could drink, but she was too lazy to call over the barmaid and pay for one, and her mother had just made her eat. The man who told her of this place was stupid, but she couldn’t blame him, why would a man send an ‘innocent little lady’ to an exciting bar? A tavern was much more fitting for her profile.
So instead she asked for a cup of tea and listened to the slurred words of the men behind her combined with the whistling of the bartender and waited for someone to notice her.

[Winterhair]

Now there was a strange sight, Vincent thought to himself. He lounged back casually in his chair, gazing at the newcomer with mild interest. Not often did a grown man see a little girl come into a bar like this. The air was stale with the taste of alcohol, the scent of blood and sweat long having mixed until neither could be separated from one another. The room was dimly lit, shades having been pulled over the windows as to block out the irrepressible sunlight for some of the pub's more...nocturnal visitors, you might say. Slowly sipping out of his mug, Vincent turned to Samantha, who had been busy counting their total amount of cash in preparation to continue on their journey.

They had stopped at the Peaceful Promenade in order to get a good night's rest, at Samantha's behest. Vincent would have been perfectly fine continuing on and sleeping in the woods, but her consistent battering that they should stop eventually grew to the point where he could do nothing but give in. And so, here they were, Vincent peacefully drinking the morning away while his partner hurriedly arranged the coins they had.

"Alright..." Samantha murmured to him, her soft voice stirring a longing in his loins. As a half-succubus, or so thats what they thought she was, she caused stirrings in him that normal, ordinary woman did not. Her black hair falling over her face, she pulled it back quickly before gesturing over Vincent quickly, her blue eyes locking on his silver ones. "...we have enough for about two weeks of rations and supplies, I'm guessing. You and I'll have to pick up a couple jobs here and there, but we'll manage."

Honestly, Vincent didn't give a damn. And it showed. "Whatever." He waved one scarred hand in apathy and Samantha chuckled, a dark sound that meshed with her feminine voice. His silver eyes drifted back to the newcomer, who had ordered before sitting with her back to the couple, red hair drifting lazily downwards. It was strange. He didn't have an interest in such things, but there was something off about this girl. She was more than some simple adolescent, that was true.

Samantha followed Vincent's gaze with her own and arched an eyebrow. "A girl?" She murmured, scooting closer to the swordsman and taking his hand in hers possessively. Vincent softly chuckled at that. "...no, there's something weird about her."

He glanced down at her, his eyes swirling lazily. "You noticed it too, eh?"

"That I did, my love." Her eyes focused intently on the girl before suddenly, without warning, they became lightning yellow with black irises. Startled, Vincent almost let go of her hand, but her grip on it was tight and rough, abnormally strong beyond that of a normal woman. After a couple moments of this intensity, her pupils dilated and her eyes returned to normal. Shaking slightly with the effort, Vincent held her form to him in mild concern as she gritted her teeth. "...Sorry about that. I needed to see her life force." She shrugged as she sat up and brushed her black hair back, clearing her throat. "She's definitely not human, thats for sure."

"Really now..." Vincent grinned widely before standing up, his giant delyn claymore on his back brushing against the wood table. He started to move to the girl, but was stopped by Samantha's grip again. He frowned back at her. "What?"

"Let me. She doesn't seem to be of any trouble, Vincent." She strode in front of the swordsman, her own twin scimitars lightly tapping against the sides of her legs, curved and soft. Sitting next to the girl, Samantha gestured Vincent forward as she addressed the newcomer. "You look like you need some company, dear."

[J. Harte]

Company, she thought, was the wrong word. Jane had been sitting and waiting for a fight to begin between the two guys infront of her for a while, she needed entertainment. But what she also had been doing was listening quietly to the pair behind her, how the hell did the woman know she wasn’t human? She shook off the question, knowing she’d get herself in trouble if she asked. The woman seemed friendly enough, so her eyes followed to whomever the woman gestured to, and her heart fluttered instantly as soon as she caught sight of the man that had been the second voice behind her.
She leaned forward then back, regaining her polite posture, then turned her wide grey eyes at the woman and smiled innocently. This would surely ease the suspicion of this woman and her friend.
”Oh yes, thank you. I’m Janelle Harte, pleased to meet you two.” She shuffled so that she was facing the seat next to her and cupped the tea mug in both palms. It wasn’t cold, but it was a habit, and it also fit the insecurity of her disguise. She glanced once again at the man, hoping no one would notice. The pair were a dazzling site, as Janelle herself held no weapons. Nor did she ever think it needed. Why would anyone hate a 18 year old who’s done nothing wrong..? So she played along, for sheer curiosity and boredom, and tried not to think of the weapons they wore.

[Winterhair]

Vincent stared down at the girl with his silver eyes, and didn't flinch or look away when she turned to glance at him with large, grey eyes of her own. Her insecurity drove him crazy--he couldn't stand people like her who went through life contemplating each decision they made. Whatever happened to instinct? He didn't smile back, only nodded in recognition when their eyes met.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Harte." Samantha went on, getting comfortable in the ways of conversation now as she gestured a waiter over. "What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?" Her movements were easy, gentle, yet Vincent's eyes caught the nervousness behind her skin. She was still wary of the younger girl, it seemed, despite her open friendliness.

Vincent walked over to Samantha's side and pulled a chair up himself, watching two men argue over something angrily. He crossed his arms as one of them shouted something at the other man, saying something about "not having enough..." However, he soon lost interest in the arguing couple and returned to staring at the young girl, noticing the frightened way she looked at his blade.

[J. Harte]

Sorry, today was a busy day.
She let the dark-haired woman order over a waiter, using the distraction to think up a few answers. – Was she lost? Was she meeting her friend here? Was she running away? – None of them seemed good enough, and some of them were too true. The waiter reminded her of her mother, with the same blonde curls and rough skin. Her mother would be wondering where she was. Good, she deserved to worry sometimes.

Her lips curled into a smile as she felt eyes on her,
”It’s my birthday, a nice man told me that this would be a nice place to go.” It was mostly true. “I’m eighteen now, but I don’t feel very different” She smiled sheepishly to keep up her act. How long ago was it that she turned eighteen? She sighed and looked up at the man who was staring at her.
“Hello,” She blinked twice at him, why was it still so strange for her to see weapons? Her only theory was that she had grown up without them; therefore they were not needed.
”Why do you two carry weapons, it’s a tavern.” She chuckled lightly, and the sound was like a wind chime.

The friendlier woman interested her; she looked different, therefore beautiful in a way. She reminded her of a demon. But the man’s eyes.. they were almost hypnotizing, and no matter how much Janelle tried, she could not look away. But it seemed the same thing for the man, why was he staring at her?

[Winterhair]

Vincent arched one silver eyebrow as the girl's words reached his ears. 'A nice man', eh? It sounded more like the man sent her here to get her drunk, and then probably to take advantage of that fact. Gods, the girl was young, naive of the world's ways and the deadly twists and turns it could throw at oneself. Samantha threw him a look that said she too was thinking the same, before turning back to Janelle with a friendly, if strained, smile. "Well...you see...weapons are necessary for people like us to survive."

Vincent nodded in agreement, folding his arms across his barrel chest as he stared the girl down, her eyes still boring into his. There was some game she was playing, and the way she looked at him unnerved him to no end. It was if she could see right into his skin and see him for what he was. "Indeed." He spoke up, his voice soft but deadly. It was the first time he had spoke since Samantha had addressed the girl, and the sound was startling. "It seems ya got much ta' learn in the ways of the world, girl." Standing up, he broke their gaze off and looked around the room, searching for something it seemed. "Who was the man who sent ya here, kid?"

[J. Harte]

Janelle read his eyes, each facial expression of his, frustration, suspicion, then anger, he believed her.
A grin swept over her face before she could stop it, why, was the woman speaking to her? Like that? Hell, it sounded like she was talking to a kid! Her smile vanished as she realized she was one, technically.
“Oh… I see,” Images flashed into her mind of the people she had watched, wars and betrayal, they all seemed so exciting, so.. different. All those years of longing, she was finally here, and what was she doing? Sitting and talking to two strangers who thought I was a misunderstood little girl. She had to be part of this war; it was amazing the emotions a human body could have, like the thirst for killing and getting rewarded for it, and the feeling of glory!

Her thoughts were cut off sharply and her gaze broke off the man’s, she looked away, at the table. This man was dangerous, she realized, but was this a good thing? Hell yes! Lets see some action! Her thoughts screamed at her, but she tried to hide them by staring into the smooth grooves in the wood of the table. It had a wine stain, and a few crumbs, then someone had carved a hole on the edge of it, the man spoke again, this time anger seeming to flow out of him, as he searched the room, she panicked, he believed her too much.
She quickly spoke, hurrying the words.
”Why? He was perfectly nice, I don’t see anything you would need to do,” She answered sweetly, overdoing the astonished look a tad bit. Ha, the man was probably drunk in some dumpster outside his wife’s house –if he had a wife, or a house. Which had been exactly why she had asked –him-. He had been much too nice, or perhaps not judging the way the silver-haired man interpreted it.

[Winterhair]

Vincent laughed aloud at the girl's words and naivety. Did she think that he had been standing up for her benefit? No, he had simply asked out of curiosity and had been about to go get his drink from the table when the girl had spoken. "Don't be stupid, kid." He chuckled, an insane grin sliding itself upon his face. "...although, a brawl might be a good idea. I ain't haven any fun in a long time." His eyes started swirling excitedly as he slowly reached up for the hilt of his claymore. Some others nearby noticed this and they too started reaching for their weapons, watching Vincent's smile grow wider at their reactions. "Hell yeah, now that's what 'ahm talkin' 'bout." He half-growled the words, immediately ready to spring into action with his sword half drawn.

"Vincent!" Samantha barked sharply from the table, and he stopped in his movements before looking over his shoulder at her in bewilderment. "This is neither the time, nor the place. You'll have enough fighting to do once we hit the road." Her soft, silken voice was soothing to the warrior, caressing his skin like a lover's embrace, and he narrowed his eyes at her before releasing the hilt of his claymore. What seemed to be a collective release of tension went through the air as everyone also simultaneously let go of their weaponry as well, returning to their normal activities.

He sat down and crossed his arms, his lips pouting like a insolent child as he growled at the succubus. "...Fine. There'd better be." He crossed two massive arms over his chest as he looked over at the Janelle girl once more, who had been watching the entire exchange. He noticed a glimmer of excitement in her eyes, a betrayal of her true intentions. It seemed she had wanted a fight to happen. Why, Vincent wondered, but he wasn't curious enough to find out. He simply sat, still towering over the ex prostitute and the newcomer, staring away in boredom as he drunk out of his glass once more, fine cool liquid staining his throat.

[J. Harte]

Post 6 aswell..
By now all her hope of a fight in this tavern had been completely replaced with disappointment. She was also getting sick of being called kid, it was such an understatement of what she really was. Perhaps she would see him again when she had recovered from her situation. By then she might be more self-sufficient, and perhaps he would learn to admire her a little more. She took her eyes away from the unsettled couple and drained her tea from the chipped clay mug, and turned back to them.

Glancing out the window and noticing the increasing darkness of the sky, she assumed what their intentions had been and decided to settle their nosy curiosity.
“Would you believe I am a fallen angel? 170, still feels too old to be true.” She admitted, chuckling. “My family’s probably looking for me, so it might be best if I went off.” She looked up, into the cold, tired eyes of the tall man, “I wish you a safe journey, and maybe we’ll meet again perhaps.” Her voice was already distant in the thoughts of adventure. She stood up and moved the heavy chair back. Oh how she hated being weak.
Taking one last look at the couple and smiling a pleasant smile, she said farewell and left.

Worry swept across her youthful features as soon as she stepped into the dark. How long had it been? A few meters away from her were the young men who she had seen before inside, they were leaning against the wall and taking turns smoking from a pipe. She cursed and wondered how the hell to get back to her house, before the slurred words of the man nearest her spoke up, a smile of greed in his words.
“Hello hun’, want help getting home?”

[Rebellion]

Rose carried in her left hand a corpse. Rather, she dragged it. Its smile was frozen, an eternal grimace of happiness before the bounty hunter had skewered the man on the end of her glaive in an instant. It had been a quick bout, no real challenge to the now-experienced hunter, and the draconian was left with a fleeting sense of disappointment. She got over it quickly, though; for she was first and foremost under contract, and that contract said only that she had to get the job done. Get it done, and she got paid. A simple deal.

Now she dragged the remains of the corpse, an undeniable proof of the job finished. Woman pulled children out from the streets as the scarlet haired woman walked by, never giving anyone a second glance from her cool, emerald eyes. She had no care as to the way she was looked upon, and said so from the way she walked silently passed the wary eyes of onlookers everywhere in her clanking black armor. A few murmured, whispers carrying her bounty hunter name through the streets, a wave of information and warning all in one short sentence.

The Black Monster. That was what she had been called.

She had to admit, the title fit. With her obsidian colored armor and night stricken cape, the term of monster fit perfectly with her dark appearance. She wouldn't say that a monster described who she was completely, but she definitely was not people friendly. Alas, that was the name they had given her, and she wasn't going to be one to dispute it.

Up ahead lay her destination, the famous (or infamous, depended on how one looked at it) tavern known as the Peaceful Promenade. That was where she had met the petitioner for the bounty, and did not expect the man to have left the tavern so quickly in the two hour period she had been gone. She had been promised her pay for proof of the job done, and wanted that pay up front after dragging the man's corpse all this way. As she neared the tavern however, she saw a sight that disturbed her.

Four men had surrounded what seemed to be an adolescent girl, chuckling ominously while swaggering with the obvious effects of too much drink. One of them stopped and said something to the girl, a cocksure smile spreading across his lips at first. However, that smile stopped once his eyes lifted from the girl's cleavage to the cold look on Rose's face, and immediately the grin split his face. He stood in front of the door, grinning like a moron as he addressed Rose. "Hey lady, that looks heavy." He referred to the glaive on her back, blood caked from its ealier usage. "We should carry it for you...Right boys?" He glanced back at his gang and snickered, the rest of them following suit. "Mhm, and maybe even bring this little lady home." He gestured to the girl, who looked confused.

Rose scowled. She did not have time for this.

[J. Harte]

”N-not from you.” Were the only words that slipped quietly from her trembling lips. Her eyes searched the group’s formation for any gap she could run through, she knew that she was a fast runner, but she couldn’t even remember her way home. Her thoughts were muddled and unreachable, and she could no longer think to shift away as the men continued to move closer.

The one who had spoken continued to babble, trying to convince her to stay with them for a while, and horrid icicles ran through her body as the man played with the lace of her shirt. She clenched her fists to stop them from shaking and tried to breathe in as much air as possible in order to brace herself to scream. The air tasted of alcohol, and the man continued to caress her arm, but before the air could escape from her lungs, a clank of metal and a sound of dragging came from behind turned the heads of the man and his group.

She struggled to get a look of the man who had come up behind them, then one of the men moved to reveal a fiery-haired woman in black armor, carrying something that gave off a foul stench - the stench of death. She let the air out in a sigh, and it took all of her not to faint.
The man spoke to her as if she knew her, and slowly the words were muted out, she looked to the side, not wanting to smell or hear or breath, not wanting to live. Instead she stared at the brick wall of the building and summoned one word, hell, put it to the side of her mouth, and sucked on it like a lolly.

[MoonChaser]

Briza threw the tavern door open and kept her eyes directly in front of her. Through a very keen peripheral view she saw nothing of importance. Rotting fabric, the smell of some animal’s fecal matter, and very vulgar speech filled the room. No interest was sparked by the scum who lurked around these places.

Her steps were light and only heard if there was complete and total silence. With swift movements she pulled out a chair that was tucked neatly under the table. The table whose wood looked like it got attacked by wood lusting parasites years before she was even a thought in her mother’s head. The critters seemed to have broken through the surface and then dug their way back with much hostility.

As she fiddled with a piece of tin that she found resting on the dank surface, an extremely thin sliver of dark red liquid trailed down her finger. Her eyes followed in fascination down the path being made on her pale index finger. Her tongue was quick to follow from base up; taste buds enjoyed the mix of metallic taste with warm temperature. Once done chasing away the tiny red beads that tried to create a new way, she looked up from the ever fascinating cut and scanned the faces in the room.

Her eyes never adjusted quickly enough to changes in light. Her lids squeezed together into horizontal windows to the world that is all together… very odd. A white haired man seemed to be staring down other people. A woman whose body looked to die for and hair seemed like it was caught in beautiful fire had her own bids to take care of. Then there was the female who she failed to see clearly due to the men around her, obviously the group of men and this little lady has a special connection going on.

She tipped her chair backwards, her right arm draped over the back of it. She bit the thin layer of skin over her lips, surveying these people as if they were all prey. Of course she had very little experience with fighting strangers and usually stuck to friendly matches between comrades. But this bunch was a whole new field of which she’d like to explore.

[J. Harte]

I love your activeness in threads Winterhair… ah well.


She swallowed her word, the men were getting louder and it was far too daft to simply hang around. Her big eyes opened, and all there was to see was a rough brick wall. Her cinnamon curls bristled against the wall as she turned her head towards the scene.
The men’s attention were mostly focused on the lady in armour, and she saw the fear in their shaking postures. They tried to joke about bringing Jane home with them. At this, Jane hissed. Though it drew no attention from her men.

This meant she could try slipping back into the tavern; get someone, maybe that couple she had met. Or she could try running, who cared where she took herself, as long as it was away from this situation. The first idea seemed more promising, if the men noticed she had disappeared, the first thing they would assume to would be that she had run home. But was the couple still there?

Men and women continued to walk through the door into the tavern, only some daring a fearful glance at the scene. As a woman with hair full of indigos and violets drifted past Jane she managed to whisper “Help” But the lady didn’t even so much as notice her plea, and carried on into the building.

Her chubby fists unclenched and clenched again as she carried on juggling her options. She glanced through the thickly glassed window to see that the purple-haired woman was watching them, seeming utterly interested in where this would lead. She tried to catch the woman’s gaze, but it was difficult, as if the woman was staring into a different person.

Jane’s now-wet eyes searched over the tables, but couldn’t see the couple, had they left when she wasn’t looking? Was she really that doomed?

[Taskmienster]

This thread has been sitting since before the beginning of this year (2009). Since no response has been made to create activity I am going to be moving this. If you would like it to be reopened please feel free to PM myself or another admin and they will be able to move it for you back to the Peaceful Promenade.