Pick your Poison

[Leah]

The great oak bar literally gleamed beneath the cloth she ran along it, her pale countenance reflecting ghastly back at her. The oak seemed to devour the light in its darkened hue, causing her to look like little more than a floating head and neck, the dark hair that framed her face blending into the darkness. Sighing softly, she turned away from polishing the bar to cast a quick glance across the patrons that were disbursed across the bar's massive length. All were satisfied, either busying themselves with conversation or staring contemplatively into their martini glasses. Some eyes were dark, mirroring the moods of their owners - others were alight with the contents of their drinks. It was good to see that they were all satisfied...for as she thought of her own dark green eyes, she couldn't help but feel repulsed by the human blood currently swimming in her veins.

The blood was slowly breaking down under the effects of her system, and she knew that she would have to feed soon - but personally, she couldn't wait until she could feel that thirst gnawing at her, the back of her throat burning every time she swallowed as her eyes turned black as pitch all over again. She only drank straight sentient blood when she absolutely had to, and though it had been required so that she could be at her best when the Fears made their assault on the weapons factory, she still couldn't stand the fact that she'd had to drain another person to do it. Not to death, of course, but...

As she began running a rag and water through the used glasses that stood waiting in the sink, she couldn't help but allow her mind to flash back to the night of the raid...and with those thoughts came a slight burning at the back of her neck, where a new black X had been tattooed only a night ago. Reaching a hand behind her, she gently traced the sign that she couldn't see, but that she knew was there. Another job. Another step towards justice. Another payment for the life she'd lost.

And another dozen lives taken by her hand.

[Fynn]

Fynn needed a stiff drink. It was written in the lines of his face and the bruises under his eyes. He hadn't made much progress within the Caedo's ranks, and he'd begun to feel... hollow. He'd speculated one night while playing the guitar in his window seat that perhaps he'd always felt a little empty, but he'd written it off as a side-effect of being a blood-sucking corpse. The lack of company had done nothing for his disposition either.

He stepped up into the Lock 'n Load, fully intending to drink himself stupid and stumble home. Numb seemed better than hollow. He hadn't been to the bar in a few months anyway. He'd accumulated enough spare change to even afford something a little more expensive.

He chose a stool apart from the other individuals seated over the bar. Usually he'd chat up any willing (or unwilling) stranger. Tonight, he wasn't sure he wanted to muscle through the pretentious disregard for his attempts. He was a young vampire, and they knew it. He hadn't known young vampires were pariahs to their own kind.

He leaned his elbows on the oak surface and stared long and hard at the menu. No way he could taste Ambrosia again. The phoenix's screams from the farms still haunted him, and those screams were in the blood. They amplified the memories. No good. He closed his bi-coloured eyes and waved his finger around in the air. He stopped and opened his eyes. He was pointing at a drink called a Fireball.

He glanced at the bartender, still pointing at the item on the menu. "I'll have three shots of the Fireball?" He said, sounding a little quizzical. He didn't know what was in it, draconian blood, the spicy stuff, mixed with a hot liquor that could make all the hair on your body fall out. "Please and thank you..."

[Leah]

She looked up as the door of the bar clattered open, and a new patron wandered in. She tilted her head to the side as she watched him, her hair shielding her eyes from direct view. Normally, she didn't pay the patrons even the slightest bit of attention beyond a quick glance when they entered, or a minute to mix their drinks...but she had never seen this one before - and the way he kept his head bent to the ground piqued her curiosity. He looked so...dejected...

"Fireball?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, the corner of her lips twitching up in a slight smirk. He was a young one - anyone could tell - and from his pale demeanor, she couldn't imagine that he would have much resistance against the Fireball...and the quizzical tone he ordered with made her think that he hadn't the foggiest idea of what the drink actually was. She set the glass she was cleaning down, passing closer to him and leaning against her edge of the bar to look at him. "Aren't we feeling quite daring today?"

[Fynn]

Fynn glanced up, eyebrows pinching as the bartender addressed him directly. With words, no less. The bartenders he'd encountered before seemed incapable of language beyond Neanderthal grunts. "Er, I dunno, am I? If it's tasty and will knock me off my feet, I'll try it." He paused, registering the dubious look she was giving him. "Well, maybe I'll just order one first... Case I don't like it."

He twiddled his thumbs and waited for her to prepare it. His brain was trying to muddle out whether she was interested in conversation, or if it had been a brief, one-time thing because of the drink he'd ordered. Fynn was desperate enough for conversation to try introducing himself by name. "Name's Fynn, by the way..." It sounded lame but, at the moment, he couldn't care less. He wouldn't sound very impressive after getting thoroughly trashed anyway.

She handed him the shot and he considered it for a while. The blood looked far too bright to be natural, and it was literally steaming. Some cinnamon powder had been sprinkled over the top. He picked it up, tossed it back, licked his lips and exploded in a fit of coughing. It burned like hot oil, lacing his throat and staying their. The spicy taste lingered on his tongue. It wasn't all-together unpleasant, but it was insanely shocking. "Wow... Befitting name. I'll have another."

[Leah]

"Oh, it'll knock you off your feet, all right." she answered with a grin - as if she were secretly laughing at a private joke. "One Fireball, coming right up." Collecting a shot glass from under the bar's surface, she turned to the collection of bottles and spouts that decorated the many shelves on the back wall. She looked away as she twisted the knob of the Draconian spout, the scent of the blood sending a momentary searing sensation up her nostrils. It was tempting, of course - it was always tempting - but then again, so was walking into a Phoenix nest. And she'd had quite her fill of Phoenix blood the few nights before.

"Leah," she answered over her shoulder, hardly turning her head as she capped off the blood flow, turning to mix the liquor into the bright red substance. No one had ever told her where the Lock 'n Load got their supply of blood from...nor did she ask. She was afraid that if she found out, she would feel the need to make the bar's demolition the next X on her back - and she honestly did need the job. If she could have made a living out of being a Fear without anyone asking any questions about how she managed to keep up with rent or clothing or what have you, she would have dropped the bartending job immediately. But, as it were...

Garnishing the shot with the final touch of a sprinkling of cinnamon powder, she turned to slide the shot over to him. "Bottoms up." she said, that same knowing grin twisting the very corners of her mouth - and not much more. That changed when she caught sight of his reaction, a small, lopsided grin taking residence on her pale lips, her eyebrows raising when he asked for another. "By George, I think he likes it!" she said, turning to mix up another.

[Fynn]

Fynn's face split into a grin, mirroring Leah's. It was the first smile he'd seen in Malum for what felt like a very long time. He set the empty shot glass aside. "It's good, if you can recover from the, er... kick," he said, scratching his chin. As Leah turned around, he noticed the trail of 'x' tattoos coiling down her neck and disappearing below the collar of her shirt.

"That's an interesting tattoo," he commented, accepting the shot as she turned around to hand it to him. He took that too, and this time he was a bit more prepared for that kick. He still smacked his lips and clicked his tongue before setting the second shot glass upside down on the counter. "Not to sound incredibly pathetic, but I do intend to get utterly shit-faced tonight, so keep 'em coming until I'm legally messed up." He considered that this might not be the best way to impress a lady, but his romantic aspirations had died the minute he'd woken up to find a corpse staring back at him in the mirror. He had no social status, no reputation, no identity, and not much money. Nothing to really offer a woman. So he'd put that aspect of his life on the back burner until he did have something going for him.

Still, the drink had loosened his tongue up a bit. "So, I'm not around here too often, but the few times I've been there's always some surly clout manning the bar. He doesn't talk much. You new or did I just have rotten luck the past few times?" He didn't realize that his words could be taken as flirting. He was feeling just a little bit buzzed from the drinks. Just a little bit. They left a wonderful, burning aftertaste in his mouth though. He decided it must be draconian blood, and that he quite liked it.

[Leah]

"Kick," she said, still grinning slightly, "That's one way to put it." Regardless of what it was mixed with, Draconian blood always had that little fiery burn to it - undoubtedly a side-effect of the dragon that lay hidden in the serum - and Leah wasn't entirely certain how any vampire could handle it in such large quantities as to hunt and drain a Draconian. That, of course, could have just been her personal preference. Even in life she didn't enjoy overly spicy foods - no, she had much more of a sweet tooth than that...meaning her greatest weakness was the Phoenix. She ran her tongue over the tip of a fang at the thought, the motion hidden by her lips. Damn birds...

She unconsciously lifted a hand to the back of her neck, touching her finger to a spot that she knew was blackened by one of the symbols. Leah was fully and utterly aware of the location of every one of her tattoos - even if she couldn't see them, she knew of their position and of their shape. It was part of the weight they carried for her, a weight that she would never allow herself to forget. Those that she killed were hardly innocent, it was true, and most had killed or destroyed the lives of so many more people than she could ever imagine...but their lives were still taken by her hands, and so became her responsibility. "Yeah..." she said absently, before turning to the bottles again, this time with a small pitcher in hand. He probably wouldn't need more than a handful of shots to start seriously feeling the effects of the liquor, but it would be faster and easier to just make a pitcher of the drink and pour it out one by one, instead of constantly refilling a shot glass. "Keep going at the rate you're going, and it won't be long," she promised, before her lips twitched in a tiny grin once more. "All I ask is that you don't try and vomit on the floor." Most people didn't seem to think that it was possible for a blood sucker to throw up - but she had seen it happen, and it was not pretty.

"I would say you were having pretty shitty luck." she answered with a decisive nod, speaking to him over her shoulder as she finished mixing up the pitcher. Pulling up another shot glass, she poured it full and dropped some cinnamon powder on it before handing it over to him. "I've been here...for a few months now, actually." she said with a light shrug as she set the pitcher down on the bar, keeping it close at hand and setting her elbow beside it. "It isn't the most glamorous of jobs, but...it pays the bills."

[Fynn]

Fynn held up a finger, shaking it at Leah meaningfully. Little did he know that he was pointing just slightly over her left shoulder. The room had started swimming just a little. “Now, don’t you worry, I can hold me liquor,” he said, hoping to sound impressive. Truly, that ‘kick’ had sunk in quite a bit. He did hope that he could keep his word on that one. It wouldn’t do to ruin the nice, hard-wood floor with bile, and it would lessen his chances of befriending the bartender considerably.

He took the last shot she’d offered and rolled his shoulder as a shiver rippled down his back. At her answer, he cocked his head and considered a while. His pupils had dilated, eclipsing his irises so that only a bright ring of green on the left and blue on the right could be seen. “Might be the reason I haven’t seen you before. Haven’t been here in a few months myself,” he slurred, staring at the next shot glass on the bar top contemplatively. He already felt dizzy.

She hadn't elaborated on the meaning behind her tattoo, and Fynn didn't intend to push the matter. In fact, he'd forgotten completely until she turned around. He cleared his throat and threw back yet another shot. This was going to cost him, he was sure. He licked the spice from his lips and sighed contentedly when a large, white-haired vampire took a seat directly beside him. The stranger flashed a smile with bright fangs like needles. Fynn arched an eyebrow and turned away, intending to take another stab at conversation with Leah. He didn't get father than opening his mouth.

"You owe me a drink, I think," the strange vampire said. His voice sounded like the wind howling through a drafty window pane, weak and chilling.

Fynn scrunched his eyebrows, concentrating on the stranger's face again. His papery skin and crimson eyes were not familiar in the least. "I don't know ye," Fynn said, waving him off. "You must be thinking of someone else."

"No, I'm thinking of you," the strange vampire said, still smiling. Fynn wondered if he'd filed his fangs to such thin points. "You owe me quite a bit of money, Fynn."

"How do you know my name?" he growled, shoulders stiffening. The alcohol buzzed in his head, fueling an uncanny anger. Fynn was usually a laid back individual, but his frustrations could very well use a vent, and this stranger presented as a wonderful punching bag to his drunken mind.

"I know a lot about you, Fynn," the vampire said. "And you owe me a lot-" He didn't get farther than that. Fynn's nerves snapped and he threw a punch, knocking the vampire off his stool. He steadied himself with a hand on the bar, wiping his split lip. Fynn raised his fist, but the other vampire vaulted over the bar top and snared Leah, grabbing a tangle of her hair. Fynn only then noticed the knife he'd withdrawn from his dark cloak, pressing the blade to Leah's throat. Fynn's eyes narrowed. He swayed on his feet just a little, the alcohol blurring all coherent thought. What the hell was going on?

"Let her go," he commanded, shocked by the authority ringing in his own voice. The vampire laughed, a high, rasping noise. He pressed the knife closer to Leah's jugular.

"First, you will pay me the money that is duly owed..."

ooc~ thought I'd cause a little bit of trouble. Feel free to control the NPC, or have Leah beat his head in