The Drunk Demon

[Slayn]

Slayn was drunk. Again. It seemed to be a reoccurring event in his daily routine. Wake up at dawn. Go back to sleep 'til midday. Wander to the next town. Get drunk. Get into a fight. Get kicked out of tavern. Pass out at inn. It was a pattern that developed not too long after his banishment to this world. This place of humans, and other things.

At least there's decent booze.

And what was wrong with getting drunk? Nothing. To most people it was a common practice and something to be expected. But getting drunk before going to the tavern would probably raise a few eyebrows. Arriving into town early that morning, he quickly found a room in the darkest and most secluded place in town. Too depressed to sleep, he drank. And he drank, until the sun started to fall from its perch in the sky. Rising, falling, and rising again, Slayn made his way out of his room and into the streets of the little town.

"The Peaceful Promenade? Ha! We'll see how long that lasts.”

Shuffling into the tavern, Slayn pretended not to notice the eyes that followed him. With this tail wrapped protectively around his waist, he looked almost like any other human. Almost. His blood red eyes and long canines that showed when he talked or smiled often made people rethink their previous assumption of him. With his large sword strapped to his back and his 6'2” frame of lean muscle, Slayn though that he must seem quite the barbarian to those trying not to look at him. His scruffy appearance only made it worse. His short black hair was tousled and his clothes were covered in the dust of the roads he traveled.

Seating himself at an empty table, he startled the waitress by flashing her a toothy grin.

“Get me the best ale this dump supplies. Make it fast, wench, my throat grows dry.”

Slayn accented his demand with a slap to the girl's rear end. Leaning back in his chair, his back to the wall, he dared anyone to say something. He whole heartedly prayed for it. He was itching for a fight.

[Slayn]

As the evening worn on, Slayn drank more and more. In turn, he did more and more things to annoy everyone around him. Soon the waitresses began to avoid him, as their bottoms were beginning to ache from all his slapping.

Standing from his chair, Slayn slung his sword, still in its sheath, from his back and slammed it onto the table. His irritation with the lack of courage in the room was being to show.

"I see the courage of humans is as watered down as their ale."

Sighing wearily, he slumped back down into his chair. In his home world, amongst his own kind, Slayn was not used the kind of reluctance to fight as he had encountered in this world. On Helos, he was respected and challenged daily. Always having to prove himself to others, it became a way of life. And now?

“I am stuck in this place...this den of human filth,” he muttered to himself before taking another gulp of his ale.

Looking up, he noticed the waitress edging her way to his table with another pint of ale. Slayn grinned beckoned her over.

“Fear not, wench. My hands have had their fill and my interest lies in naught but the swill you bring me.”

Watching her set the ale on the table and scurry away, Slayn stood up. Walking to the fire, he stretched himself to loosen his muscles. As he stretched, his tail released itself from his waist and waved from side to side, involuntarily. Knocking a few drinks off of some tables as he walked to stand by the fire, Slayn was too drunk to notice.

[Andhaka Adiir]

Andhaka Adiir was splayed out face first in the mud, her eyes watering from the pain of the recent impact. She turned herself over to face the cause. High above her some light and fluffy clouds were gathering together to be something a bit more than 'partly cloudy'. Soon it would rain, she had seen that first hand.

She knew she had been blowing along too high, especially in full gas form. Being half human and half wind elemental held many dangers for her, since she could not control when she changed, much of the time. Her human father had passed away recently, peacefully of old age, yet still it hurt, and beyond that she had lost her direction. The town that she had grown up protecting had been annexed into another town and no one paid any attention to her any longer. The children who used to play with her were now all old with children and cynical beyond their years.

"You want to help? How about some laundry? Can you bring me some money, I have bills to pay! Can you make that stinking husband of mine stop cheating on me with the tavern wench? Spirit indeed, what good are you." So, with that friendly adieu, Andhaka had dematerialized where she stood, getting too emotional for her physical form to hold together. Once she was insubstantial, she already had troubles remembering what she had been so sad about, the sadness was a thing in itself, something to experience, but it had no cause, no effect, not to her wind spirit mind. Struggling to keep herself focused, as she always had been forced to do in that form, she began to blow away.

She went away from her home, in no particular direction, and she knew not for how long. An instant or a millennium, what did it matter to a timeless one? (She thought not that she might not be timeless due to her human blood, such things did not occur to her in that form). Flying itself was ecstasy and she climbed higher and higher, racing clouds and other spirits that happened to be near. Falling in with one particular group that was playing cloud shaping that day, she pushed herself higher and higher...the others would burst like dolphins through the enlargening puffs of white then shimmer in the golden light of the sun before diving back below again. It was a beautiful sight and experience, for those high enough to witness it. Andhaka gave a push start to try, but the instant she entered the cloud, she remembered something she had forgotten. Rain made her materialize, and clouds were rain that had not yet fallen. She condensed in an instant and began to fall to the earth, fully solid, panicking all the way, a sentiment that was intoned with a high pitched keening scream. She managed to dematerialize enough to not kill herself, but the pain was such as she had never felt before.

She rolled over again to push herself to her feet, her body hurting and head pounding. Never had she felt so physical in all her life. Her long light brown hair that normally wafted with a constant unseen wind hung in damp dreads down the back of her neck, and her soft blue eyes shone with liquid diamond tears of frustration. The clothing she materialized for herself stayed clean as always, being made of wind-stuffs more so than herself, and it glimmered perfectly a shining glittering blue. It was just enough to cover, a belly tank top and short skirt with no shoes, and enhanced her imperfections and dirtiness with every waft in the wind.

She staggered to a nearby tavern to get warm and hopefully evaporate out of this pain. She pushed open the door and flopped down at a nearby table, sinking her head into her crossed arms. Steam rose from her damp form in a shimmering cloud and she stared grumpily at the cracks of the table.

She did not take much notice of a demon made clumsy by too much liquor, swishing his tail near the fire.

[Graph]

Hope it's okay if I just join. And sorry, Andhaka Adiir - I totally ignored you. Forgive me.

“Oh, shit… How long was I out?”

Demonica lay sprawled out over the bar’s counter, looking very much the part of disheveled drunk. A tumbler was still clutched in her hand, and she pried herself upright, if only to glance inside it. By some miracle, it was half-full, and she drank the remaining ale zealously. Her head throbbed, and she kept her eyes squinted as she drank, the bar’s dim lighting enough to set off her raging hangover.

After downing what remained of her drink, she slumped over at the counter once more. Her voice muffled by the wood, she questioned the bartender.

“I’ll ask again, in case I wasn’t clear enough: How long was I out?”

Not bothering to lift her head, she listened to his answer. “Five, ten minutes, miss. Less than ‘alf an hour.”

She groaned, propping her chin up with one clawed hand. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the lighting, and she scooted her mug towards the bartender disinterestedly.

“I think… I need another one of these.”

The fog of unconsciousness lifting, she ran a hand through her hair, tearing at the snarls. The pain seemed to brighten her, and she sat up, some small fragment of composure regained. Her eyes lazily scanned the room, not knowing what exactly to look for. Idly, she watched two of the bar’s patrons, listening in on their conversation about how best to prepare mutton. They quickly became boring, and she shifted her attention to a young man. He drank quite heavily, she noted, and seemed quite unsatisfied with the Peaceful Promenade’s customer service. She snickered quietly as he smacked the ass of every waitress who mistakenly came within range, and sipped her refilled glass, enjoying the man’s antics.

Embarrassingly, it took Demonica ten minutes to determine that the young man was, in fact, a fellow demon (which, in retrospect, probably explained his temper). The tail was a dead giveaway, but was well-camouflaged in the yellowish, dusky light. She watched him more intently as the night wore on, keeping track of the obscene amount of liquor he could hold and comparing him to herself.

Though alcohol certainly didn’t sharpen her mind, she was half-drunk by the time she considered the idea that he was a Serkan. Panic struck her, though its hold was brief, as intoxication dulled her. Her eyes followed the demon as he stumbled drunkenly to the fireplace.

No, there was no way. She saw them all die. He couldn’t be a Serkan. He couldn’t know her. It was impossible.

And yet… The resemblance was striking. She decided, as she polished off her fourth ale, to make a move.

“’Scuse me, demon! You, you with the jacket! C’mere.” She beckoned him over, unsheathing her claws.