[m] we'll be running out of fumes

POSTED: Mon May 07, 2018 9:11 pm

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

The Tavern had become a staple during their wanderings – and more and more often Mateo would pause on the buildings threshold to see who sat within. Spud had explained to him during their last encounter that there was a plan to spruce up the place – a plan to bring together like minded individuals to boost the places profitability. Mateo had thought it strange as usually the Tavern was full of raucous laughter and beautiful women.

Mateo had envisioned an event to showcase his poetry – a stage with low burning candles and eyes that lavished him with attention.

He had brought his papers with him, folded carefully into the breast pocket of his shirt. The Tavern buzzed with trepidation – but he realized too late that it was not an event for reading poetry or lifting his voice in over-eager song… but instead an event where drink was at the forefront of everyones mind. A large shaggy man (there were men everywhere) was tipping a thick mug of ale into his mouth, rivulets of the drink spilling along his chin.

The Onuban gulped loudly and promptly sat at an empty table.

This was not what he had expected.

Boys will be boys! Lets have a party at the tavern ! I will post once a week to keep things moving :) Also if you want to bring spicey ladies please do so so everyone can have some fun/Mateo can be uncomfortable :>

The Troupe
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POSTED: Tue May 08, 2018 9:03 pm

qui n’avance pas, recule

Though the bar in Amherst was not one she had frequented before, the woman had been to so many that they all started to blur together in a haze of cheap beer and raucous jeering. Like always, she entered alone; Krause’s large figure would cut too intimidating a figure for anyone to pay her any attention. Eleos folded herself into the crowd easily, her gaze flickering over the crowd to examine her choices. The night was new — she had the luxury to pluck whichever fruit she desired.

She eventually settled on a dog sitting gingerly at an empty table, back rigid, ears perked. Aside from those ridiculously thick eyebrows the man was, for the most part, quite easy on the eyes; his royal purple eyes glittered handsomely under the bar’s warm lighting, two pieces of amethyst amongst a sea of cream.

Of course, none of that would matter if he did not possess an equally thick wallet.

Luckily the male was well-dressed, clearly a little more clean-cut than some of the other rowdy bar patrons. He was not nearly as drunk as she would like, no, but she could fix that. A smile touched her slim face at the thought, her feet already quietly padding forward. The dog pushed her way through the mass of squirming bodies, ducking under broad forearms and hard muscle.

She found a small pocket of empty space in the crowd to smooth out the folds in her dress and tuck away any stray strands of hair before surging forward, a flurry of apologies already waiting to spill from between dark lips. It was almost laughably easy at this point in her life to fake something as simple as a fall — the constant jostling of bodies around her only added to the illusion, shielding her from his line of sight. The woman let her hands fly out uselessly as she descended, making a show of the entire affair; in the blink of an eye she lay sprawled out and seated atop the stranger’s lap, all the symptoms of a flush quickly spreading across her face as she blinked up at him in apparent disbelief.

A lock of silken hair tumbled down across her face, fluttering to a stop between her mismatched eyes.


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POSTED: Thu May 10, 2018 11:35 pm

Brocade pushed another coin across the bar, barely lifting his head from where it lay against the crook of his elbow. He had abandoned Etoile in the wake of Salsolas announcement in favor of the solitude that came with drinking deeply.

He could feel the mixture of wine and beer settling into the pit of his stomach, and he grunted as Spud pushed another chipped mug of ale across the roughly hewn bar. When he straightened he took in the Tavern, his glassy eyes blinking sluggishly as he glared out at all those who had gathered.

There were many men in the Tavern tonight - and he growled as a chubby man pushed him aside, his short arms tugging on the sleeve of his tunic. The brute who sat hunched upon a nearby stool was drooling from where his head lay, and Spud was shrugging - mopping the bar around him as if he was nothing more than a piece of furniture.

The tables were filling quickly, and Brocade sloppily wove his way between the mismatched and crooked chairs.

When he settled in one across from the violet-eyed boy he was already rolling his eyes - tipping the mug so that he downed the drink in an eager gulp. There was a woman slinking herself around the boys neck, and Brocade was hiccuping - ignoring the strange sensation that rippled down his spine.

He raised his hand, "Bring more ale!"

Bringing my characters together is just YESSS Broc is too drunky-poo to remember Eleos later ;)

The Inquisitor
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Luperci Vedetto, Milite
you forget I have a gypsy heart
listen to the wild

POSTED: Sat May 12, 2018 1:43 am

Mateo was staring at the bushy-faced man as he guzzled another mug of ale – he traced a finger along his jaw where he felt the phantom trail of where the man’s drink sloshed along his throat. Everyone was so loud and messy, and there were brutish men who lay slumped in corners, pretty women who laughed and smiled coyly from their places at the bar.

The poems hung heavily in his pocket, carefully folded and stowed safely away from where any liquid could damage them.

He traced his finger through the rings that had been left on the table, and began to hum beneath his breath. Naji had warned him that this place was unlike Onuba – but he had ignored her, eager to be away from the rest of camp and surround himself with civilized luperci.

The sound of someone vomiting had him cringing, his expression dark.

This was not what he had expected.

She was not what he had expected.

A woman was falling for him, into him – and Mateo was gasping for air, struggling not to topple over as she was shoved from behind be a rowdy drinker. She wore skirts that were gathered at her waist, her hair smoothed behind her mottled ears. Mateo clutched her for fear of having her drop to the dirty floorboards below - and suddenly her chest was thrust awkwardly into his face.

"Careful there Senora," He murmured against her bosom, "Um, this is... Well, hello." His violet eyes were blinking furiously, and he glanced across at the dark looking man who had dropped into the empty chair. The scars around his eyes had Mateo narrowing his expression for a moment as the soldier demanded more beer - but the realization that the woman was still perched in his lap distracted him.

She was very soft. Very warm.

He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, but his hands remained around her waist.

Anyone is still more than welcome to jump in!

The Troupe
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POSTED: Mon May 14, 2018 3:41 pm

qui n’avance pas, recule

Careful there, Senora.

Eleos smiled, a sweet little thing with an appetite a hundred leagues deep and just as wide the way around. Her teeth glittered as she curled her thin fingers around his shoulder, the pressure light enough for the movement to be interpreted as accidental. “I am so, so sorry,” she made out, a hand flying to cup a strawberry-splattered cheek in faux-embarrassment. “I’m just not used to crowds this rough.

Her long eyelashes fluttered as she peered up at him daintily, shifting her weight in his lap inconspicuously so the boy could get a better view. Eleos giggled shyly, placing a palm on a clothed chest playfully. “You understand, right?” The Onuban looked just as out of place as she acted, anyways; his thighs flexed nervously beneath her own, matching the flustered expression on his face.

Through all of this the woman made no move to slide off his lap, enjoying the curl of his fingers around her waist. There was no reason why she couldn't have a bit of fun with the boy, after all. Cream claws slid up and over to his breast pocket, her eyes greedily devouring the slight raise in the fabric that indicated a bounty. Only a curtain of rose-tinted hair and another press of her chest against his own veiled the action.

The arrival of another — a tipsy, scar-streaked wolf this time — did little to deter her, though she relished the feeling of another pair of eyes on her. Unlike the boy fidgeting beneath her, eyes flighty like a rabbit trapped in a snare, the stranger was very clearly a man.

Her fingers dipped lower, teasing at the folded object within. Though she was only a shadow of the pickpocket she used to be as a child, the dog knew a sucker when she saw one.

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POSTED: Mon May 14, 2018 3:48 pm

smoke the night away

After the little fiasco with Aliyah’s bobcat the coyote had wheedled scraps of leather and spare bits of whatever metal trinkets Sinech had on hand, fully and unapologetically intending to cash it in at Biff’s. Perhaps it was something about the way he had asked — dull-eyed and flat toned — but the older hybrid had only patted him on the back sympathetically and provided without any teasing. Rumors spread quickly in the dens, after all, and the hastily-bandaged arm was hard to hide.

He needed a drink and he needed it bad.

Alcohol turned the room into a vivid painting, with blurry grey-brown brushstrokes indicating broad-shouldered men and dots of vibrant color for the giggling women that latched onto their sides. Ichabod melded into the canvas seamlessly — his pelt was just another blotch of tan amongst the shifting crowd.

Through his ale-addled vision he thought he caught a familiar face in the crowd, a dash of cream and fawn on rouge. Another sweep — there, in the corner to the right — Ichabod squinted, snagging a flicker of purple. Vaguely he could register the memory of the dog and his horse, their matching charcoal-stained fingers, something about skulls? Whatever it was, the recollection was enough for him to approach.

Booze made everything easier that way.

“Matty!” he slurred, roughly shouldering past the moving mass of limbs and chipped mugs to reach the table. Ichabod grinned, not missing the woman on his lap nor the way his fingers crept around the her waist. “I didn’t know you had a gal.”

Not waiting for an answer the coyote pulled a chair to their table, plopping down next to the couple with his half-empty tankard still in hand. “What’re ya doin’ here tonight?” Blood-orange eyes swept the empty table critically, noting the tragic lack of alcohol. “You ain’t got enough for a drink?”

Ichabod grinned sloppily, jabbing a finger in the direction of the silvery blob to his left who held his own emptied mug. “See — he knows what I’m talkin’ 'bout.” Maybe if he were sober the coyote would’ve noticed the damning scars that traced the man's brow, caught the familiar stench of wolf over the haze of alcohol, seen those goldenrod-yellow eyes.

Maybe, maybe not. In this instant, at least, the war seemed like something that was waged between two men very different from the ones sitting together now.

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POSTED: Tue May 15, 2018 2:03 am

000 trubbblleee

In what felt like the blink of an eye, Griffin's entire world had shifted. No longer was he confident that any of his actions had been made with good intentions, and neither was he secure in the idea that Tiamat's affections would eventually return to him. As he'd come to this revelation, so did he arrive at another: the boy was responsible.

At a table where he could get a full view of said boy, Griffin sat in silence. It was not entirely clear that he had already scavenged a few abandoned drinks (he never seemed drunk, and that was the trick), but he had most certainly bummed the half-smoked cigarette from the dog passed out at his table who was still holding the original pack. For a long time, he brooded over how he had told Tiamat he'd look after Mateo, and how his attempt at atonement might have fallen on deaf ears for how little she acknowledged him. It didn't seem fair. His transgression had been that he was honest with her, perhaps overly so, but wasn't that what she wanted?

It wasn't fair. He took a drag of the cigarette and tapped the ash aside. It wasn't fair.

The landscape of the crowd changed as more patrons filled in; it was beginning to feel more like a tightly packed saddlebag than a bar. When the bodies finally shifted out of his line of sight to Mateo, Griffin nearly dropped his smoke. His eyes grew wide at the sight of a woman in Mateo's lap, and then quickly narrowed as another voice calling the boy's name pitched through the din of the crowd.

He didn't see it all the way, but that didn't matter to Griffin. Maybe it was the jealousy, maybe it was the drink, maybe it was even a little protectiveness of Tiamat on his part, but Griffin was angry. Nevermind that he had made passes at pretty women all the time, which he excused for the reason that Tiamat had rejected him outright on multiple occasions. He reasoned that if Tiamat were to return his love, he wouldn't bat an eye at anyone else. But this boy, who had the love of his life right at his fingertips, was just messing around? This, he couldn't help but think, this was the person she favored?

Griffin rose from his chair with a clatter. The action didn't register in the crowded bar, nor to his table mates who were in varying stages of dissociation. The only one still awake hadn't blinked in over an hour. Hold on to this for me, buddy, Griffin said to the stoned wolf, and shoved the remaining cigarette into his hand.

It was a long and arduous way through the intoxicated crowd, but Griffin managed to slip through unscathed in spite of his own inebriation. He arrived at Mateo's table with his hands in his pockets, and a hearty glare for all the members there, as if they had some part in turning Tiamat against him. God, he wished there was some kind of technological device, some eye-like lens that could visually document and be used as objective evidence to the scene at hand. If only there could ever be such a thing.

He wanted to say something scathing and cool, something to really put Mateo in his place, but instead all he could say was, What gives you the fucking right?

POSTED: Wed May 23, 2018 12:13 am

The alcohol had him buzzing, his long limbs weighing heavily on the suddenly crowded table. He wasn't sure when so many dogs and wolves and coyotes had encroached on his territory - and he bowed himself over the new mug of ale that was sloppily poured for him. The form dotted his chin and splattered the long fur on his chest, the dull gold of his eyes drawn to the doggish woman that sat splayed across the pale dogs lap.

He burped, wiping at his mouth with a slurp as he leered, "Garcon!" He was shouting across the table, thumping his mug as he spoke, "She likes you!"

The soldier rolled his scarred shoulder, "She is already in your lap - you are half way there." He rumbled deeply, ignoring the coyote boy who trailed his way through the sea of bodies to chirp and bark at Mateo in recognition. Brocade glowered instead, licking his scarred lips with a click of his teeth. The boy was lanky and reminded him of someone - flashes of the battle of Drifter Bay caught him off gaurd and he grimaced - burying himself in the frothy drink.

It ran down his throat like a dream, and he stretched - smiling as Griffin angrily shouted - his voice bouncing and echoing thrugh the Tavern as Mateo struggled against the woman's skirts.

"Hey there little 'yote," His claws dragged across the table, "Sounds like a fight."

The Inquisitor
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Luperci Vedetto, Milite
you forget I have a gypsy heart
listen to the wild

POSTED: Mon May 28, 2018 3:47 am

qui n’avance pas, recule

The dog shifted on the Onuban’s lap, turning her head so she could wink suggestively from across the table without the purple-eyed male gaze catching it. Her French was rusty, no doubt, but she did not care; all she wanted was for her words to remain discreet.

Her teeth showed sharp even under the dim lighting. <“He’s hardly a 'boy', monseiur,”> she replied, her eyes glittering with a strange sort of giddiness that came with the spotlight. <“From up here I can tell you he feels very much like a man.”> Smirking, the frenchwoman shifted her weight once more on his lap just for good measure.

Her fingers retreated from around the fold of his shirt pocket as the chocolate-furred stranger approached their table, eyes serving them all a hearty glare and obviously familiar with the boy underneath her. His barbed words gave the woman the opportunity to press closer to the Onuban’s broad shoulders, shrinking in apparent fear.

“Who is he?” she asked the Salcedo softly, making sure her voice shook slightly on the way out. Her free hand rested carefully at the curve of his collarbone, not quite to the point of possessive but slowly inching there. Eleos had seen his type before -- young, brash, quick to anger and even quicker to act on it.

Hopefully he would compensate her for the loss of the paper in the form of something a little more worthwhile.

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POSTED: Mon May 28, 2018 4:19 am

smoke the night away

With the help of alcohol, the newcomer’s glare flew over his head entirely unnoticed.

“Huh?” the coyote blinked in confusion as the gray blur traced his claws against the sticky table. “With who? We’re all friends here, ain’t we?”

God, he had fought too much and for too long to fight anymore. Wolf blood colored the insides of his mug instead of the cheap beer they served everyone else. It wet the walls, the floors, the table, his tongue; it dripped from between his lips as he spoke, molasses-slow and just as dark. “‘M tired of fightin’.”

Ichabod nodded, punctuating the statement with a slam of his mug against the table and ignoring the twitch it elicited from the strawberry-haired woman on Mateo’s lap. “Mmm-hmm, yessir. What you need…” he trailed off, the words falling haphazardly from his lips. This was strange. Usually sentences came to him sorta easy-like. What was he saying again?

He jabbed a finger up at the splash of brown swimming around in his vision, his aim wildly off. The thought finally came, floating down on lead wings. “What you need is a drink!” Ichabod exclaimed victoriously, standing up and slinging a tawny arm around the jade-eyed man’s shoulders.

Craning his neck, he attempted to catch the attention of the bartender through the crowded floor before giving up entirely. “One more!” the Scintillan shouted over at a passing server, waving his free hand in the air.

Damn, this felt good. He really should get out more often. Who knew making friends was this easy?

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