For Clark [Warning: Graphic torture ensues]

[downsidedarling]

Normally, Eight-Hour's front door doesn't open into a cave.

A lot of things, however, are abnormal about this situation.

"...Ooops," she says as it shuts behind them with a depressing sort of finality. "Um, shit."

Comments

[hero_farmboy]

Well, she shut up which is about as good a result as he was hoping for. He really gets tired of people telling him what to do and if she's not in the mood to play his games anymore, then he might as well see who else is out there that might.

Whether or not he comes back depends on who he finds.

[downsidedarling]

Perhaps, then, he won't take it upon himself to interfere as she disposes of every bottle in the house.

There's a road just outside, after all. The left fork leads to the flats. The right fork, eventually, leads to the city.

[hero_farmboy]

She can't be the only source of Scorcher in this place. And even if she is, he figures he'll be having way too much fun to care if he doesn't find more.

He's out of the house in seconds, and heads to the city. He's seen the flats, after all.

[downsidedarling]

The fringes of it would remind him of Gotham, had he ever been to Gotham. The buildings are all old, many of them falling apart, and there's a general air of corruption and iniquity that pervades the place like a grimy thundercloud

[hero_farmboy]

It's somewhat reminiscent of Suicide Slums. Somewhat. But Clark isn't here for the scenery. He could really care less what the buildings or the streets look like, or that there aren't any cars.

The people, though, that's different. It's like they're scared of him and that's not what he wanted, either. Not right now, anyway. After watching a few women deliberately scurry out of his way when he attempted to approach them, he gives up and heads into what he thinks is the nearest bar. He could use a drink.

[downsidedarling]

The place is small, in one of the stone buildings, and it had a crude depiction of a bottle of beer carved into the door.

When he enters, although it's rather crowded, a space is cleared for him by the same unconscious force that caused all those women to get out of his way. This is what it's like to be one of Eight-Hour's people - and indeed, that's the murmur that goes around the room. (Eight-Hour's. He's Eight-Hour's. Don't get too close... she's said play nice... he's Eight-Hour's.) The man behind the bar gives him a friendly nod, at least, though it's a touch resigned. Can't be expected to ask one of Eight-Hour's to pay, after all.

[hero_farmboy]

The glare he sends around the room should be enough to shut them all up. Once that's done, he takes a seat at the bar itself - lucky him, he gets to choose which one as people still continue to get out of his way - and nods back to the bartender.

"Give me something strong. I don't care what." If he's really lucky, he might even be able to feel the burn of whatever it ends up being for at least a second before it gets neutralized. Invulnerability really sucks, sometimes.

[downsidedarling]

The man nods and pours out a glass of something unidentifiable but pungently alcoholic, then moves to the side to deal with a customer from whom he is permitted to garner revenue.

The seats on either side of Kal remain open, but for the most part things go on as normal. Gossip, arguments, people getting silently drunk, people getting loudly drunk... it's more or less like a living bar, really, except for the preponderance of violence and the lack of cash. Whatever the monetary system is in this place, it doesn't involve physical coinage of any kind.

[hero_farmboy]

The drink is downed in one swallow. He doesn't know what the hell it was, but it hardly made an impression. It's also probably a good thing that not only does he not have to pay, but that money appears not to be the preferred form of payment, because he doesn't have any on him.

He considers ordering another one, but there's really no point. The place isn't making much of an impression on him either and he makes his way back out to the street, all but ignoring the way he's being treated now.

It doesn't take long for him to find another bar - a better looking bar - and he heads inside. Hopefully, they'll be a little friendlier around here.

[downsidedarling]

The sign carved into the door is that of a beer barrel. With a tortoise swimming in it. Some things just don't bear further investigation

[hero_farmboy]

It's her heartbeat that he recognizes first. This is the one that Eights wanted to keep away from him. He's been curious ever since as to why. Watching her - and the way the people react to her - is very interesting indeed, although the tattoos, well, they're not his taste in the slightest. It's an intimidation tactic and while it's working, it's still just a tactic.

Kal's claimed a barstool and merely watches, making no effort to move or do anything more than simply stare impassively at the woman.

[downsidedarling]

Staring impassively at this woman is possibly not wise.

She looks at him; stares impassively back; proceeds in his direction.

Everyone sitting within a fifteen-foot radius gets up and leaves the bar. One might almost describe them as fleeing.

Jasmine, incidentally, is wearing sandals and bracelets to match the silver bikini. Although there's something peculiar about the bracelets; those don't quite look like emeralds strung on loops of silver wire.

[hero_farmboy]

A very small smile tugs at his lips when she approaches him, though he does his damnedest not to let it show. In fact, he's trying not to let any sort of emotion show until she makes the first move.

Well, until she gets close enough and those stones on her bracelets start to glow. Jasmine has probably never seen them do that before.

Kal's composure starts to crack, as his brow furrows in something that can only be called confusion to begin with. It's not that the feeling is unfamiliar, it's just not supposed to be possible here.

Fortunately, his skin doesn't feel like it's trying to rip itself off his body just yet.

[downsidedarling]

Jasmine looks at Kal as though he is a small scrap of dog feces she's just found on the bottom of her shoe, and she is now faced with the unpleasant dilemma of how best to remove him without further soiling her august personage.

"You belong to Eight-Hour?" she asks, aloof. It's best to make sure, after all. Eights had asked that Jazz stay away from him, but he stared so rudely at her and if he is no longer under the contractor's protection she would dearly like to show him the error of his ways in that regard.

The glowing stones on her bracelets and Kal's sudden mild distress do not go unnoticed, nor does the fact that they coincide. Further study may be necessary to determine their exact effect upon him. It seems as though it might prove useful.

[hero_farmboy]

It takes a little effort, but Kal manages to glare up at her. Answering the question takes a bit more, as his breathing is starting to become slightly laboured and when he finally does manage to get the answer out, it's stilted and peppered with pauses for breath.

"I don't belong to anyone."

[downsidedarling]

Jasmine's face is lit by a sadistic little smile.

"Excellent," she says, and surveys the room. "I know one of you is going to end up telling Chainsaw's whore about this. Let it be known that when I find out which one - and I will - that person is going to spend the next century of their meaningless existence regretting ever having allowed that existence to come into being."

This message delivered, she grabs Kal by the arm, digging strong fingernails into the inside of his elbow, and drags him seemingly effortlessly off his barstool and onto his feet.