}| 15 |{

[never_very_good]

[Private to Lucy Locke]

Uh... I wanted to thanks, for all that stuff... You really didn't have to do that. Especially not the stripper. But thanks.

[/Private]

All right, I know the drill on this one. Figured it was just a matter of time before you all came back. I wouldn't even post if I didn't think-- well, fuck it, I'm not getting my

Comments

for what was before is left behind, and what was not comes to be, and each moment is renewed.

[middlestate]

Darkness doesn't pose as an obstruction for a man who's vision renders night as lucid as daylight's sight. No, the large barreling monster that had blocked his immediate path was that interference; an obstruction quickly eliminated by a swift hand and equally sharp agility. Never has he been a man of sanguinary passions, never a man to indulge in the fervor that war brings despite having been part of a republic of conquerors. A man of words, a man of rhetoric and reason as indomitable pillars, self-sufficient and strong. Or so he'd like to believe. But necessary instances require men to act out of one's character, even for this man who survives on blood--- who's existence should perch on the adjective sanguinary. And so he had brought down the larger beast with superior strength, not a drop of crimson splashed on that crisp and clean suit jacket, cut perfectly to his form.

Exploration brings him to the front door of the raven, the gaudy neon-blue light shining bright enough against the darkness for him to squint. It's the first business he has stumbled upon in his search, and thus, the most opportune place for gathering information. He could fill in the gaps later-- for now, grounding himself amidst the unexpected was first to be done. He had been walking out the front door when he first appeared in this wretched maze, and usually teleporation takes a person capable to carry you along with them.

Even in foreign quarters, the man explores the bar with aplomb. Shoulders drawn back straight, a expression hinting to no perturbation. It's with this demeanor that he takes a seat at the bar--- bartenders always had an awful lot too say, didn't they? Often times, too much. And yes, he did notice the vampiric theme of this bar. How could he not? Too authentic to be a theme restaurant, nearly too much of a caricature, both vampire patrons and the idea of a bar for vampires, to be real.

"Tell me something about this place. Surely, you can."

for what was before is left behind, and what was not comes to be, and each moment is renewed.

[never_very_good]

This passes for an early shift at the Raven; he's been in since just before sunset, he'll be out in another hour or two. In some ways he prefers it to the late shifts up at the Blue Light because here he doesn't have to close up, though these days he finds he prefers the patrons upstairs. Not that the Raven is a bad place, or unfriendly-- far from it, especially since Eric took over with a push to be more inviting and thus lots busier. Frankie's just starting to feel human again, in a way he hadn't at first, in spite of the beating of his heart. Losing one's humanity isn't something you can pinpoint; there's more to it than the physical realities, and regaining it has proven to be the same.

He raises an eyebrow at the newcomer, slightly. Not a familiar face, but this is the City; people show up every day. He doesn't yet realize how true that is today.

"The bar, or the City?"

for what was before is left behind, and what was not comes to be, and each moment is renewed.

[middlestate]

A city, truly? He has only touched the edge of whatever there is to see, trapped in what must be either the catacombs or the literal underground
of this town. It's a fitting locale for a bar geared toward vampires, both in ambiance and necessity; if there's an overground, he knows where he'll be resting during the day.

But a sudden transition doesn't jar him out of place, it's been too long for that. Instead, he accepts it with patience, with practicality.

"This City, and the nation it belongs to. Tell me whatever you can."

for what was before is left behind, and what was not comes to be, and each moment is renewed.

[never_very_good]

"Just the City. No nation. You want a drink?"

Frankie's not usually the welcome-wagon sort but he's willing to lend a hand, if someone needs it. There are worse places to end up than the City no doubt, but that makes it no less jarring. All things considered this patron seems pretty calm, and things are... not slow, but not as busy as they could be. As they will be, matter of fact, once more visitors start finding their way down, but by that time Frankie will be happily gone.

"It's an interdimensional trash-heap. People from different worlds get stuck here from time to time. Welcome to it."

for what was before is left behind, and what was not comes to be, and each moment is renewed.

[middlestate]

"Unless bartering is a viable option, then I will have to decline. Least until I locate a bank."

He offers the slight bend of a smile at this, demure enough to carry a appropriate message across. He is not a foe, nor does he wish to mistaken as one. But even that smile exposes secrets, the tips of fangs peeking out where normal canines should be-- longer and larger than Frankie's ever were. Though he may sense this boy as human, Frankie holds a trump card hidden in blood, and so what the other veils is as clear as glass to the once-vampire. To any other human, they would be as any other teeth.

"I find it difficult to be surprised," he pulls back, securing his words before he proceeds, "Yet, what is an old muscle finds its vigor in the most unexpected of moments."

for what was before is left behind, and what was not comes to be, and each moment is renewed.

[never_very_good]

Given where they are that hardly comes as a surprise to Frankie, nor does the fact that, aside from those telltale eyeteeth, the man seems perfectly human. He's become accustomed to the peculiarities of the City, the looseness given to the definition of words like 'vampire' and 'human' and 'normal.'

Well, he's feeling magnanimous, and it's rare that they get newcomers down here. And if Eric got word of it, it might annoy him, which seems worth a couple of colorful coins on his part.

"City gets the best of all of us. Spot you one on the house, you got a type preference?"

for what was before is left behind, and what was not comes to be, and each moment is renewed.

[middlestate]

"I am picky. " he responds, implying what must be obvious to Frankie. He isn't yet aware of Frankie's knowledge, as there's no shift in expression to indicate anything out of place. From observation of his surroundings, he knows well what the bar could serve to him, but cemented habits lead him to refrain from anything but subtlety, "Answers will be enough for tonight."

for what was before is left behind, and what was not comes to be, and each moment is renewed.

[never_very_good]

"Suit yourself," he says with a shrug. "Bank won't help you, though. The City's its own place-- no way out, no connection to wherever you're from. Couple of guides floating around the Network that oughtta help explain it. What else do you wanna know?"

for what was before is left behind, and what was not comes to be, and each moment is renewed.

[middlestate]

"Then one doesn't leave. Acheron awaits us a mile down, as we rest on the cusp of the Fore. Perhaps a more apt question to ask is what ring we are heading toward. Limbo is what we should hope for, if choice could be in our hands," he muses, a pervasive humor of a sarcastic breed curling between his syllables. Does he find his predicament nerve-wracking? Frightening, even? Interesting? He will not betray anything like that to the bartender, so Frankie only has physical gestures to by which to measure his new customer. Beyond details of garments and expression, there's breath from him, as from any other living man, a pink tinge to his skin which marks his body temperature into the higher degrees. "Tell me what you think is worth knowing. You seem capable of judgment."

for what was before is left behind, and what was not comes to be, and each moment is renewed.

[never_very_good]

What the fuck even does that all mean? Frankie's used to keeping his face a businesslike blank, not necessarily friendly but always confidently competent and uninvolved. It's a side-effect of months spent more or less in charge down here, when the best way to keep the peace was by reminding his customers of the safe haven they'd lose if they wrecked the peace, when he couldn't do it by force.
He can't resist a little roll of his eyes now, though, which he tries to mask by turning for a moment to rearrange some glasses on a shelf behind him. It doesn't entirely work.

"Raven here's one of the easier sources for blood, though a couple other places sell it and you can buy synthetic shit... somewhere. Rent's free the first month in the main buildings, but you'll wanna find a job or something to pay the bills after that. It's 2010 here... July. Most stuff's overground."

for what was before is left behind, and what was not comes to be, and each moment is renewed.

[middlestate]

"Youth is no excuse for ignorance," he shakes his head, imposing bias upon the bartender with strong emphasis, "It's a classic, boy."

Staring at the younger man intently, Lucas picks and pulls at what he observes. His behavior indicates nothing of secret years; his smell, appearance, and behavior are characteristically mortal as one could be. A soldier's presence, it nearly seems, hidden between the lines of his gestures. Maybe this entails that Frankie is ultimately human, and by some fluke, for the first time in centuries, his true identity has showed itself unknowingly. Or perhaps he is immortal, or at least some sort of preternatural, one that knows how to hide it extremely well.

A good actor would have no cracks, and this man seems to act essentially mortal.

"Unless you aren't a boy, not even a man."

for what was before is left behind, and what was not comes to be, and each moment is renewed.

[never_very_good]

"I'm human as they come, if you're asking." Which seems to be the implication; admittedly, Frankie doesn't look his years but the difference isn't great enough to make him seem more than well-preserved to anyone who knows their number, and he has never acted his age. Sometimes it feels like he hasn't lived the last decade, anyway; he's always been aware of the strange stagnation of society, the way the City's year feels so familiar when it should be an age ago, but the feeling's only increased over the time he's spent breathing.

"We don't discriminate down here."

for what was before is left behind, and what was not comes to be, and each moment is renewed.

[middlestate]

"I can assure you I'm no a savage."

Blood, for him, was procured through connections and smooth talk, never directly from the necks of victims unless he could not help it. There is something about taking it in a glass that makes him feel on an equal level with humanity, a member of that same natural cycle despite not being a part of it at all. There was a time, of course, where he had to bend necks, but never was he cruel. Not unless it was warranted. The majority of time, he left innocent victims with woozy heads and their lives intact.

But that was a long time ago.

"Normally, a mortal cannot discover my identity, at least not without my consent. And yet, you noted it outright. It is only natural to search for a reason, is it not?"

for what was before is left behind, and what was not comes to be, and each moment is renewed.

[never_very_good]

A flicker of surprise passes across the bartender's face. Well, he sees what he sees and how's he supposed to know the guy is trying to hide it? The likeliest answer is obvious, to him at least; the cure and its attendant immunity, working in its strange way across worlds. The way the virus had reacted with Amory's blood (and the irony, of course, is entirely lost on Frankie for now,) the way he's pretty sure he could make some of the vamps here sick if they bit him, though he'd prefer not to test the theory.

"Practice, maybe. Most people don't come down here for the atmosphere," he says with a slight shrug and a hint of a polite smile. "Who knows. Things don't always work right, here; 'cause we're all from different universes. Fuck if I understand any of it."

for what was before is left behind, and what was not comes to be, and each moment is renewed.

[middlestate]

"A time ago," he muses, the slightest slip of his lips a tacit implication of a secret, "I was younger than you then, barely a man, even then. An impulse of rebellion, the plague childhood inanity, sent me tearing into the scab of the city, where I cavorted amongst the squalid and terrible. At that tavern, I was mortified, while simultaneously delighted, cast beneath that eclectic shade of whores and gamblers-- [ An abrupt pause with a dry laugh attached on the end. ]-- a few Celts, even. I was galvanized by an insatiable curiosity, and in a fit of ignorance, I had asked myself whether this was where the Gods lay. Bacchae with his assembly of harlots."

He rests comfortable on a plateau of silence, shifting his head to cast brief stares at the patrons lined alongside him. The blue-skinned alien; that woman with a cat's ears rather than the human organ; another vampire with comparably inhuman features.

"Like cobwebs and echoes, this place."

for what was before is left behind, and what was not comes to be, and each moment is renewed.

[never_very_good]

"There's worse dives around here than the Raven," Frankie says with a shrug, feeling an odd little touch of pride because it is a pretty damn decent place. A little smile quirks his lips, slightly crooked as it usually is though he's got no fangs to flash. There was a time when this man's odd story would have fazed him; but he's starting to get used to that kind of thing in the City. At home, vampires hadn't been so different from the humans they'd once been; but they were young, remarkably young in the grand scheme of things, crummy novels aside. It's different, with the ones here. Most of them have centuries at a minimum under their belts. Oddly enough he finds it kind of comforting, his inability to identify with that perspective. Self-definition by means of differentiation. It makes him feel more human.

"But, you're likely to find all that and more, here or overground."