The Lycan's Den
||January 18, 2018 18:14|
|Derek Norse||The bar.
This is Derek's calling. He has always been meant to work here. And now, with his brother's badge (because why does he need that?), he would live the dream. Pat downs and weed, every day. Food, all the time. And booze. So much booze. Hopefully, the boss lady doesn't mind her fearless security man getting goofy on the job.
Too bad he hasn't seen any ladies that aren't married and/or without children.
Taking his job very seriously, Derek would procure a stool near the door. Even more seriously, the man would sit in wait with a questionable cigar balanced between his lips as he puffs away and a beer in hand.
They. Would. Come.
|January 18, 2018 20:29|
|Adara Doe||It wasn’t normal for Addie to be separated from her husband; yet, leaving him in New Mexico to travel with Ella to her Colorado home for a spell seemed to be just what she needed. Refreshed, revitalized; Adara found the quiet, mountain home to be a perfect catalyst to ease back into New York and to recuperate from living far too close to her stoic in-laws for the last couple of years. It wasn’t like she didn’t enjoy the time with everyone on the Reservation, nor did she not like her husband’s parents and of course, EJ was doted on completely…
Yet, at the first chance she could get away, Addie would take it; this obviously says more about her than it does anyone else, she was never one to fit into a large family like that. So, the question was, if that were true, how did she end up flying back to New York with a two-year old terror, ready to swing back open the doors to The Lycan’s Den and settle back into the routine that she had really missed.
And her real family.
A bunch of drunken crazies.
She would just have to text her husband.
Adara and Ella would not be going back South.
And that is exactly what she did.
After the plane landed and she drove upstate.
And was standing on the front stoop of the Den proper.
Little did she know that her husband probably knows her better than she knows herself; that being in that Colorado snow would mean that nothing could drag her back to the desert. None of this would cross her mind as she and Ella stepped into the warmth of the bar, even as she noticed the mouthwatering smells wafting from the kitchen or the fact that Tabatha stood behind the bar with a wary eye on the demon child that Addie was lowering to the floor.
First, it must be said, Ella was just over two years old now; bright, talkative, loved to eat and more importantly, loved to terrorize. But, she had yet to master the walking thing, so teetering precariously next to her mother like a very small Stay Puft Marshmallow Man in her many layers and slightly bulgy jacket was just about all the kid could really do; arms outstretched as her large dark eyes took in the home she hadn’t been in since she was a couple of weeks old.
Really what happened next was totally on the kid.
Not her mother.
Who was distracted by trying to lure Tab back into her good graces, so she would watch Tiny Satan while Adara saw to the cleaning of the cabins, moving of her bags being piled up at the door; normal stuff, that apparently Tabatha would be taking care of because no matter how much Adara would whine she would refuse to play nanny to the Doe’s darling girl.
The darling girl who nearly face-planted as the leg that helped to prop her up moved slightly.
Still not her mother’s fault.
Addie at least caught her before she hit the floor.
And the look of disdain on little EJ’s face was purely her mother.
“We’re not going to tell your father about this. Wonderful thing that your vocabulary doesn’t extend beyond a handful of words and certainly none that can be put together in any way that would tell him I nearly dropped his daughter on her face.”
It would have been easy to say that he would never know, or she’d never get the chance to say it; but Addie was not a stupid woman. Careless, accident prone, predisposed to trouble… but not stupid.
Her husband wouldn’t be that far behind her; stuck like glue, the two of them were.
Three. Now three. As evident by the child dangling from her mother’s hand, saved from eating the floor but likely uncomfortable hanging in midair; and at least with Tab seeing to things Addie could unwrap the kid and get her some lunch.
While waiting for the text…
That had her cringing.
Until she noticed the man she had ran into on the way back home; the one that claimed he was a federal agent.
Sweet baby, Moses... they all needed help.
Getting Ella settled out of her heavy outer clothing and into her high chair, Raul already knowing the way he does what they expect; Addie would turn mossy orbs onto the so-called officer.
“I expect you to not tell my husband about Ella’s little… almost accident either.”
Secrets were not easy around here.
And there were probably more to be discovered, not just her own.
….as the Realm turns
|January 19, 2018 12:44|
||January 20, 2018 01:02|
|Derek Norse||Derek grins, giving Adara what he believes to be a rather executive grin. "No worries, boss. My mom dropped me on my head a few times, and I turned out okay."
In the eye of the beholder, at least.
Naturally, Derek has zero idea who the large man entering is, but he does know that he dares not try to pat him down. Besides, he's not his style. But if he can get his lame af brother to come around... the cuffs are coming out because there is nothing more he loves to do than annoy the sh-t out of him.
And he would, usually, make it a point to introduce himself immediately. Who doesn't want to meet a handsome, charismatic, ruthlessly fun person that grows and smokes and drinks - all while on the clock? This man should be so lucky. Alas, they are having one of those tender moments Derek has heard about from the many women that have come and gone from his life.
Adverting his eyes, he raises his eyebrows and shields his face with a large hand to give them privacy. A puff of foul smelling smoke would puff up and away, and through a hearty cough, Derek's voice would be heard.
"Don't mind me. I'm just the security. Pretend I'm not here. You're doing great."
|January 20, 2018 10:23|
|Tiber Loche||It's been exactly two days since Tiber arrived back onto the grounds of The Den proper, and he's already blown up a building, nearly burnt down his cabin, and broke the latch on the steel door to his misfiring kiln.
Needless to say, he was not having a great go of things. The cold weather helped to keep him motivated- thoroughly enjoying the way that the New York winds nipped at his elevated temperatures. It made working in the old shineshed that much more enjoyable.. Even though the term itself had yet to bare the full brunt of it's own weight.
Tiber, at present, wasn't in the best shape. When he pushed through the large, heavy doors of the Den, his face is peppered with black soot, bits of his beard singed off with a similar treatment evident over his shirt, jacket and jeans. Yes, the man is trying desperately to dust off his stills, working on a new brew that will help to draw in and appease the masses.
"I swear if John has drank all the whiskey already..." He mumbles, stalking his way to the bar and having a heavy hand to signal Tabatha. She, of course, rolls her eyes and mumbles something (surely inappropriate) under her breath, but Tiber pays it no mind. "Please, dear. Please. Bourbon. A lot of it."
|January 20, 2018 14:53|
|Quinn Abernathy||It had been a long, long drive from New Orleans to upstate New York. Quinn and Gideon traded off the responsibility of the wheel, stopping only for a night at a motel to sleep before taking to the road again. It would be late evening before Quinn drove them onto the property, easily finding her way to what had once been her cabin: a single room cabin with cozy, open loft overhead. The only place for privacy there would be the bathroom, and while Gideon is desperate for some rest... she is wired.
Her energy is practically electric as the excitement builds up at the prospect of being somewhere she very much considers a home. Seeing the Does, seeing the baby, even Raul is missed.
Not so much, Tabatha.
So, if only to give her husband some space and rest from her incessant chatter, Quinn showers and changes into fresh clothes before making the trek through the dark, wooded grounds to the Den proper. Gideon would join her tomorrow. Tonight, she's on her own. It feels like yesterday that she was stumbling around, drunk and fun, terrorizing everyone that crossed her path.
Quinn clears the door easily, giving the man upon the stool a strange look before coughing on the smoke he emits. Her damp hair would surely soak up the stench of wacky tabbacky. She doesn't even take look around before announcing herself, working to shrug her jacket off.
Somehow, she still manages to sound completely and utterly pleasant despite the residual coughing.
|January 20, 2018 16:47|
|Adara Doe||The new security guy would have Addie snort; clearly, something was wrong with him, but the blonde was certain it had nothing to do with being dropped on his head; this was something she was about to say to him but stopped short when her wayward husband made an appearance.
Unadulterated joy had her stop short, something that she would pay for since her daughter was more like her when it came to food; wearing food that didn’t quite reach a mouth was probably going to the fashion statement of the year. Yet, it would not remove delight on her face, at least not until John spoke; the man had a way of changing her moods and sometimes not for the better.
Adara couldn’t hide the sheepish grin that crossed over her features, her husband calling her out on secrets normally would have a blustering tone slipping free in words of denial but considering she was squished up against him before she could even utter a syllable nothing would spew from her slowly upturning lips. However, the mossy orbs that rolled heavenward, couldn’t be stopped; she certainly hasn’t change that much, nor would she ever.
First things, first.
As soon as she checks texts; from Livi. What the actual fvck… Need to text Val. Now, where was she.
“Derek, it is Derek, right? John, this is Derek. New Security. Pretty sure he’s not really a cop, I do have a nose for these things, especially considering I’m wanted in most countries. Not that they know who I am, but still…”
“Derek, this is my husband, John… don’t think you want to frisk him. Jus’ sayin’. But I’m sure you’ll have plenty to fris…”
A single brow drifted upward as she watched one their own slide into the bar; or something that used to be one their own. Jabbing a finger into her husband’s side, Addie jerked her head toward the lumbering man making his way to the bar without so much as a hello; granted, from the looks of things, Tiber might have blown himself up and wasn’t registering the other people in the Den.
And then another text. Quinn. We? Uh.
“What the actual fvck…” Not exactly what she meant to say aloud; can’t be taken back.
Who the hell is we?
Back to now, with mashed something sliding down her face, moss met the darker eyes of her husband’s before sneering and finding kinder words.
“You’re feeding her from now on, dear husband. Derek, that man, at the bar. Feel free to frisk him all you want, since he cannot say hello. TIBER!”
Now she felt better.
And then the clear voice of Quinn penetrated with a resounding I’m home! and finally, once again, The Lycan’s Den felt like home. Yet that WE in the text message seemed to stick in the back of her mind…
Something smelled off.
And, for once, it wasn’t her child.
|January 20, 2018 16:55|
|Tiber Loche||Okay, alright. Tiber had been blatantly rude. He skated his way into the warm and cozy gathering spot without so much as a glance in the direction of any of his friends or peers. But. Just as soon as Tabatha had managed to pour him a glass of Bourbon and the first sop hit his lips, his mannerisms shift significantly. The hard edges of his flaring temper begin to soften, and once again Tiber is a cool and mild as ever (sans for a very aggressive full moon).
The tall man turns from the bar with the whisky glass still pressed to his lip. He sips, savoring the way the flavor dances over his tongue, while his eyes travel over the bodies that either sit or move freely. Adara and John were here, thankfully. Tiber had a lot of catching up to do, and a tiny Doe gremlin to make friendly with. That Derek terror seemed to be hanging around, too; And it's just now that he starts to consider an odious stench that does not mix well with his Whiskey.
A roll of his eyes begs the start of his journey to the Doe's- all three of them. Tiber would sit in a chair just a hair closer to the fire than they, because he had wet boots to dry before he trekked back out into the snow. But his passage across the room is derailed when a familiar voice invades the air, happily exclaiming it's return.
The soft groan that left Tiber's lips accompanies a paling of his skin and the gulping of the rest of the drink in his glass.
Tiber doesn't think twice before sidelining and dipping into the kitchen. Raul was fast, but Tiber is sure he is faster.
|January 20, 2018 18:07|
|Derek Norse||Derek perks up. Finally, things are getting interesting. He listens, studying John in a way that clearly says he would never attempt to frisk this man. There is no way. No. Thank. You. First of all, the man is built like a brick sh-t house. Second of all, he is clearly of relation to the boss. Third, that must be his kid. Fourth, what the f-ck is a kid doing in a bar?
Wow. That escalated quickly.
Next comes Tiber, and he can't help but smirk. Yes, he'd met this one. Not so pretty anymore, in reality. He might be stoned, but he isn't stupid enough to not realize that Tiber runs when the pretty blond walks in.
Derek grins from ear to ear, aware that this means that this one, with no ring on her finger and none there to challenge him, would get to finally do his job.
Standing, he takes the coat from the girl and tosses it upon his stool before pulling out the badge (read: not his badge), holding it up before Quinn's face. "Haven't seen you before, and you scared off Sloth." Derek might have raised his voice just then in hopes it would carry to the wuss in the kitchen.
"I'm gonna need you to raise your arms at your sides, feet shoulder width apart. Yep. Just like the TSA, except no funny business. Just doin' my job. Nothing to see here."
|January 20, 2018 18:22|
|Solomon King||It took approximately an hour and a half between receiving Adara’s text and the towering figure of Solomon King appearing in The Lycan’s Den doorway. An hour and a half because he’d needed about a half hour to work out a deal with one of Sonder’s members to keep an eye on a certain five-year-old, and the other hour to make the drive further north.
‘Surprised’ wasn’t quite the word to describe Solomon’s feeling upon seeing Adara’s short text. ‘We’re home.’ Well, it was about goddamn time. It had been a long and lonely stretch of time where Solomon had been almost entirely alone at the Den, at the end of which he had made the difficult decision to leave. Circumstances had demanded his departure, not only for his own safety, but the safety of someone close to him. There was safety in numbers, and there hadn’t been much of that at the Den.
The Den was the closest thing to home that Solomon had ever had since the start of his supernatural life. It had been extremely hard to leave, and now that it had reopened, he felt a bittersweet thrill. But he also had a bone to pick.
Solomon’s eyes swept the Den as the door closed behind him, taking quick note of the inhabitants. Most immediately, however, he noticed a guy (reeking of weed), and the familiar blonde head of Quinn. It took no time to realize just what was going down.
So this guy was security?
Solomon stepped up behind the pair, heavy footsteps thudding upon the old wooden floor. He reached up to lay a hand on Quinn’s shoulder.
“They’re frisking people at the Den, now? Damn. Well, kid, I think you’d better start with me.”
|January 20, 2018 19:35|
|Quinn Abernathy||A groan. Quinn looks, and immediately spots the back of a very familiar man. Opening her mouth, she barely gets out the first syllable of his name before a stranger is taking her jacket. Instantly, she is looking at the Does, unsure of what is going on. But what else is she going to do? Resist? No. Then Gideon would be mad because she got arrested and that is something they shouldn't do, on pain of death.
"Sloth? Who-Tiber?! You're calling Tiber, Sloth?! That's not very nice. Miss Addie, Mr. Doe, tell him that's not nice!"
Priorities. She totally has them.
Even still, she is doing as she is told. Her arms are held straight out at her sides, and Quinn looks down to ensure her feet are positioned just as she was told. Letting out a huff, she is about to start questioning Adara and John when a heavy hand lands upon her shoulder. If the stinky man weren't standing in front of her, prepared to pat her down, she would have just run for the hills. Better to run, than get arrested. At least if she runs, there is a chance she gets away.
Even still, she is protesting the name calling. "I didn't scare him away, officer. I swear. He's not scared of me. I'm not scary."
'They're frisking people at the Den, now?'
But the new voice, the one coming from behind her. Police be damned. Quinn spins around, because again, priorities. It takes no time at all for her to wrap Solomon up in a warm hug with a laugh of delight.
"Solbear! You're back, too?!"
|January 20, 2018 20:08|
|Adara Doe||Everything literally seemed to be happening at once; Quinn’s hello, Tiber’s odd escape, Derek getting handsy, The King coming home, and Ella, dear sweet Ella, tossing a plate in the floor. The latter, of course, causing one barkeeper to spit and sputter like a utter idiot before moving to clean the mess, this would be after Addie had removed her child from the highchair and moved toward the commotion at the door.
She would keep her mouth shut about the reaction from Tiber, at least for now, she’d get the entire story out of someone, even if it took certain torture devices that may or may not be hidden on the grounds somewhere. Not that she’d take pleasure in it, but her husband…
Well, he was a different story, entirely.
Thrusting the child toward Quinn, rather abruptly, as her pursed lips and narrowed eyes fall on Derek; it was feigned, of course, Addie totally liked the dude, but this was one blonde she didn’t want messed with.
And Sol was sorta protective.
“Derek, this is Quinn and Sol. Former members of our ragtag group of crazies. But forever family. Save the frisking for tiny Irish women, they'll love you.”
Or think you’re a snack. Whatever.
Dimpled grin flashed momentarily as she turned her eyes back to two of her favorite people in the entire world; not that she liked many people anyway, but Quinn and Sol were definitely beloved around the Den.
“So, what’s new with two of you?”
Right to the point.
Priorities, she had them.
|January 20, 2018 21:10|
|John Doe||Almost as soon as he and his wife disengage, with a hidden from the masses slap to her perfectly shaped backside, everything began to happen at once within the room. There were introductions and new arrivals, old friends and much missed Den family members as well as odd departures.
John didn’t know where to start as the room swirled into action which seemed disproportionate compared to the few number of people present. That was how it usually was in this place though, a few crazies doing enough for a whole crowd of regular people. Within the action taking place was the return of some of his favorite people in the Realm, people he didn’t expect to see so soon after the Den officially opened and was immensely glad for their presence.
He has hardly a chance to give a wave and nod to the new and the old who are being greeted and introduced but manages to at least make sure that they all know he sees them and hopes that his smile conveys his pleasure at seeing them there. Even as he is attempting to edge past his wife, who is giving up on force feeding the child some kind of mashed rabbit food instead of a proper steak or other suitable food, he sees the new face attempting to arrest Quinn but is soon interrupted by Solomon. This is all highly irregular and John feels the need to step in and quickly put a stop to whatever silliness is happening when further confusion sets in as Tiber makes a hasty retreat to the kitchens rather than joining the growing group on the floor.
Emotions are not John’s strong suit to say the least but even he can tell that something is definitely not as it should be between Quinn and Tiber else he would be there with them instead of braving the domain of the evil goblin. The big man is only momentarily torn between checking on Tiber and figuring out what is happening in front of him when he makes the decision to divide and conquer. Leaving his wife to handle the weirdness happening in the front of the house while he tried to work out what was happing in the back.
Taking the long route to the kitchen he swipes a bottle of Mr. Daniel’s finest from behind the bar and continues on to the double doors of the kitchen. He hopes he is in time to stop Raul from throwing too many of the good knives at Tiber before John was able to get there. Pausing at the door he takes a long pull from the bottle to prepare himself in case Tiber wishes to discuss feelings or something along those lines and with a push at the doors he leaves the happy commotion behind and enters the sanctum Santorum of Raul’s domain.
|January 20, 2018 22:38|
|Tiber Loche||There is no way that anyone can miss the sound of large knives ricocheting off of wood, metal and aluminum. Tiber has accomplished exactly what he had predicted- Flaring the temper of the perpetually angry chef in the kitchen. It's gotten to a point between the two men that Tiber doesn't even take any offense to his antics. It's just how Raul is hardwired, you see? And has a superb way of cutting down a steak... Heaven.
Tiber dodges and weaves through the islands and the countertop, his eye fixated on the exit at the other end of the kitchen. "Yes, YES Raul, I know. I KNOW." Raul continues to berate him in a language that he doesn't understand... Although he's certain he's heard Ella and Raul arguing in the same language before. It was some primitive form of satanic toddler that perhaps Raul never graduated from... Either way, Tiber doesn't exactly know what he's saying, but he gets the idea.
Alas, when he reaches the end of the kitchen, he finds that the other door is locked. Because why the f-ck wouldn't it be? This is Tiber's luck. It's exactly how everything always seems to work out for him.
Don't feel bad for Tiber, folks. He's landed himself in this predicament.
He has no choice but to mambo his way back through the maze of counters and trusty appliances. Raul continues to throw things at him- Food, utilities, the like. Tiber is about to burst his way back through the kitchen door when the large mass of John Doe enters instead, and even though Raul does not entirely desist, something about his demeanor mellows quite considerably. Maybe it's because John Doe could rip the head off of a grizzly bear.
Tiber eyes the bottle and secretly wishes that he had grabbed one of his own instead of settling for this glass before he fled. Granted, he wasn't exactly thinking when he fled.
"John." Tiber greets him his feet nearly screeching to a halt. He's pretty sure Raul isn't going to try and chop him up with John standing here, but he can't really and so he peeks over his shoulder suspiciously with every few words that exit his mouth. "I tried to escape, you caught me. Do you always leave that door lock? Did Adara come into psychic powers since I saw the lot of you last? I swear she knew I was going to try to escape.." He mumbles, clearly foiled.
|January 21, 2018 16:22|
|Quinn Abernathy||Things move fast here, and Quinn finds herself a little overwhelmed. First, Derek and his frisking. Then, Solomon to her rescue. Now, she's holding a toddler and being introduced to the security guard. She can't help it as she passes a smile in Derek's direction. He was just doing his job, after all. Like he said. Kind of.
"Nice to meet you, Derek."
Doesn't matter. It takes no time at all for Quinn to turn her attention to the tiny bundle of terror in her arms. She is booping Ella on the nose, creating some strange game that, at the very least, Quinn enjoys.
It's obvious by that stupid smile on her face.
She loves kids.
Don't forget the giggles.
Quinn's, that is.
'So, what's new..'
"Huh?" She glances at Adara, and then up to Solomon. What's new? Nah. We're going to avoid that topic entirely at the present. The safety of herself and other's depends on it. Of course, Quinn knows she can't avoid the topic of 'new' for very long. That 'new' has traveled with her to New York, and will be making an appearance at some point. Now that she knows Tiber is here... there are more safety concerns than she had been prepared for.
Quinn must maintain the peace.
What to do... oh. Yes.
Change the subject.
"I can't believe how big Ella is," She grins at the child, "I remember when you were in Miss Addie's belly! And Miss Addie, you look so good! You haven't changed at all!"
|January 21, 2018 17:50|
|Adara Doe||Oh, that’s sweet.
Same old Quinn.
Really thinks that Addie will let that sh-t go.
“Yes, she has grown.” Adara could play this game, especially since she knew her husband had followed right behind the retreating Tiber; someone would spill, come hell or high water.
Or sharp implements.
“And of course, John and I are pretty much the same. Other than the fact we’re exhausted from the last couple of years; being so close to John’s parents was… different. If you think he’s intimidating, you should see his father.”
Oh, yes; the blonde could play nice. Just innocent conversation.
She could totally do this.
Until then, Addie would let it go, she would let Quinn change the subject and while the security man and Sol stared one another down, she’d ease her lithe frame toward the closest table, being on her feet was just something she was not going to do at this moment.
“Come sit with me, Quinn… Sol… if you won’t tell me what’s new with you. Fill me in on other things.”
So, it didn’t last that long. Oh well. At least she didn’t outright throw a tantrum about it. She could have.
Yeah, really, she could.
The only thing that really wasn’t sitting well with her was the We in the text message and she was sure if she thought about it long enough, maybe she’d figure it out.
Quinn said we.
There was only one, not a w…
“OH, SWEET MOSES, ARE YOU PREGNANT?”
Well, if that was the secret, it wouldn’t be now with Addie’s voice carrying likely all the way to the crazies next door.
|January 22, 2018 10:43|
||January 22, 2018 12:19|
|Tiber Loche||The past year has been a rocky road.
And that's putting it mildly.
Tiber's lips press together, his teeth clenching just hard enough so that when the burst of air that fills his mouth releases from his chest it inflates his cheeks. John is pressing him about what's going on with him and Quinn. There's no dancing around it. Tiber isn't the best at being evasive, simply because he had never felt that there was anything to gain from it. Here was one of the people he trusted most asking him.
It becomes increasingly clear that neither of the Doe's are privy to the fact that him and Quinn were not together anymore. Nevermind that she had gone and married some lunatic who Tiber wouldn't trust any further than he could throw him.
And Tiber is strong.
The man is grateful for John as he topped off his drink, hastily taking a chug (or two) and washing the bitter taste down with an audible Ah.
"I'm just not ready to see her yet." Tiber manages as plainly as he can, doing his best to suppress any risidual emotion that might linger around the words themselves. "I wasn't the best husband. Or person. She should hate me, really. I'm sure she didn't know I was here."
Oddly enough, it starts to sound like Tiber is rambling. An unlikely sight, for sure.
Then, he really brings it home.
"I haven't seen her for months."
|January 22, 2018 17:16|
|Quinn Abernathy||Everything is going so -
ARE YOU PREGNANT?
Her ears ring, and Quinn is stunned into silence. The look on her face is something akin to a deer caught in headlights, and she can feel the heat rising in her cheeks. She understands, all too well, why Tiber ran for it. Honestly, she wishes she could, too.
Why can't she?
Suddenly, she is parched.
A drink would be nice.
Quinn gives Tabatha a little wave, "T-... Tabatha, could I have water, please?"
She would step up to the bar quickly to retrieve that water too, despite the glowering look from the woman on the other side. Once more aware of the child upon her hip, the girl would look from Ella to Addie.
"Solomon is marrying Katherine. In a skirt."
The words escape her before she can stop them. So desperate to hide, she would throw one of her best friends under the bus in her wake just to change the subject. Ella is quickly passed to Addie before the water is gulped down.
"Excuse me," the words are fast, and quiet, and Quinn sets the glass down upon the bar's surface hard before beginning her march toward the kitchen.
She cannot handle this pressure alone.
|January 22, 2018 18:27|
|Derek Norse||That escalated...quickly.
Derek, unafraid, and while stoned, certainly not impaired, continues the stare down with Solomon easily. He might be a goof, but he would always answer a challenge. What he really wants to say is that he would touch this beard with a twenty foot pole. The minute the contact is broken, the man is texting.
His brother, and Sloth, about the girl and the growing challenge.
It's on, Sloth.
It. Is. On.
But, the boss is screaming. The blond is doing nothing to deny it. She orders water. She says that the beard is a into ladies clothing.
She is running off toward the kitchen.
All is not lost.
Derek is still confident.
Sliding into the seat next to Adara and Ella, he picks up a napkin and looks at Tabatha, "Pen, Topanga. Please." The look he receives as the pen is practically thrown at him would cause anyone else wither. But not Derek. "Thanks!"
Instantly, he is scribbling on the napkin.
"So," he speaks to Adara, "is now a good time to tell you I'm not a cop?"
|January 22, 2018 19:52|
||January 22, 2018 23:52|
“Wait a minute…” If anyone could be distracted easily, it was Addie; it wasn’t always this way, normally she was like a dog with a bone (ha) when she wanted information, but today was just not her day. “Katherine Murray? The Scot?”
“I know her, well, John knows her, from years back. She used to live her, in the basement. John gave her a coffin; pretty sure he thought it was a riot. I didn’t get it. She’s… different.”
Now that she addressed Quinn’s little distraction, she would lock those mossy orbs onto the other blonde’s retreating back; Adara thought about chasing after her but with John, Tiber, and the little goblin in the kitchen that Quinnie was headed straight for.
She has had enough knives thrown at her already.
Plus, there was Ella.
Not a chance.
The kid would somehow end up with a knife and show just how much she was like the serial killer half of her DNA.
Just bad for everyone.
Instead she’d turn those green eyes back to the security man; Addie would just shake her head, an expression of disbelief crossing over her face before her lips tugged at the corners, there was no use in even trying to come down on this guy.
He was hilarious.
Addie liked him.
“Noooo, really?” Yeah, she liked him, not enough to not be sarcastic. “Who would have guessed that? I mean, you’re the epitome of law enforcement.”
-Insert snort here-
“Oh, by the way, I’ve found your brother. Invited him here too.”
|January 24, 2018 08:29|
|Derek Norse||Derek doesn't pick up on sarcasm. Or, if he does, no one would ever notice. Likely the former is the case, as the man is almost constantly out of his mind. It is when he does his very best thinking.
No one would ever suspect him for what he is.
And no, we don't mean werewolf.
"Listen, Linda," he looks at the boss, expression sage. "Don't be fooled by my boyish good looks. I can sniff funny business a mile away. Sometimes more."
At the mention of his brother, Derek comes to realize that maybe this woman is more skilled than himself and his dweeb brother combined. He can't believe it.
Wait. How did she find him?
Did he lose his phone?
Nope. Got that.
Did she search for his stash?
No way. She'd never find it in the sock drawer.
Did she inject him with a some sort of tracking device?
Maybe. Just maybe.
Play it cool.
"Wes isn't so hard to find. All you gotta do is follow the stink of cigarettes and angst." He pauses, taking a long pull from the rolled, questionable cigar in hand. "How'd you find him?"
|January 26, 2018 11:00|
|Mackenzie||Mackenzie made her stance clear: Today would be the day that Sonder moves in on the Den proper, and drinks the entire bar dry. The Doe's and their people had been given a solid week or so to settle, and surely by now - this shouldn't be a surprise.
So, as the petite
Solomon, thankfully not dancing on the bar.
Adara, with Guy Ginger at the bar.
Tabatha, behind said bar.
Quinnie [read: sarcastic af] marching toward the kitchen.
No one else.
For a moment, she wonders if she should check the pulse on this place. Of all the times she had ever been here, it has never been so quiet. She tiptoes in, shrugging her jacket off as she makes her way to the bar to sit on the other side of Guy Ginger.
"The f-ck did you do, Adara? Murder everyone?"
Yea, she'd missed these people.
|January 26, 2018 14:53|
||January 26, 2018 15:35|
|Quinn Abernathy||Quinn hesitates outside the door to the kitchen. The two men (and a single goblin) within have still not emerged, and she is more than aware that she is running away from a confrontation that she is unwilling to partake in. How hard is it, really, to tell people that love you that things are vastly different from what they expect? Other people are starting to filter in. The brogue she recognizes easily, and the second voice that breaks through the quiet chatter is new.
Quinn likes new. She enjoys meeting new people. In some sick way, she probably manages to live vicariously through them.
Don't judge her. Her own living arrangements aren't exactly desirable.
Tiber could wait, right? It's not like he will get very far.
But she wants to see him.
Sucking in a deep breath, she steels herself, peeking into the kitchen to see the two men talking. Chocolate hues wander over the back of John's burly form before locking on to Tiber. Some things never change, and Tiber Loche is one of them. She gives him a small, stressed smile. Heartfelt as always, but clear she needs some back up. Her eyebrows would raise, and her head would tilt momentarily as if beckoning him to follow.
And then she would be gone, back into the bar. Those same eyes would sweep over the scene. Avoid Addie, she's asking questions and she isn't ready to talk. The security guy.. he's okay. But he's talking to Addie. Mackenzie, also talking to Addie. But there is that new girl.
This is meant to be.
She blond would find her way near the other woman, waving at Tabatha for another water before looking at her. "It's better with moonshine."
She's not a drunk.
|January 26, 2018 17:21|
|Tanvir_Buckley||Tanvir holstered the bag strap higher over her shoulder. The same beaten leather bag she’s carried during her first encounter with the curiosities that made up the realm. A tan leather, re-sewn in parts, torn in others. Her jeans didn't fare much better, though the majority of the 'wear and tear' was intentional. And as for her jacket, they'd have to remove it from her person when they lowered her into the grave.
Funny the things we seem unable to throw away, even when they’ve passed their best before date.
Within, her camera, equally as beaten, equally as loved, some clothing, a few passports in different names, each with a matching photograph of her face, and cash. Too much cash. Far too much cash that she’d have to figure out where to store…once she’d found somewhere to lay low for a while.
The last few years had been tough. Days of discover, weeks hidden in the darkness. Months undercover with the one man she’d never imagined to call an ally. But now it was through. It was over. It was all actually fcking over and for the first time in years, she could fill her lungs with fresh, clean air and have a little peace.
Just the littlest of peace. Was that too much to ask?!
Her life prior, her life as one of the aforementioned curiosities, had been spent in After Dark, surrounded by vampires, witches and demons. Her love, her Yoshi, had been a vampire. Her friends, vampires. She, herself, had lived as one for many years, knowing no different, believing it was all she was.
But she’d been wrong and she’d been wronged, and now she wanted the fresh start, the one that, yes, had limitations, but was do-able. But for ease, and possibly safety, she decided to cross the line and spend some time with those who would believe her to be their equal, at least in race. For she could walk in the light, breath and beat, and pass as human like the best of them, only falling short when the thirst became too much.
Or when the voices joined in.
The Lycan’s Den. She knew the name, albeit only by reputation, and she knew the owner. Well no, she didn’t know him, but she’d known the woman he’d once loved, and she owned much of her life to the angel, wherever she now was.
So with a deep breath, and a deeper reach for courage into the pit of her stomach, Tanvir Buckley entered the Lycan's Den, heading directly for the bar.
|January 26, 2018 17:50|
||January 26, 2018 23:24|
|Gideon Abernathy||No more coffee, she'd said, so he obliged. That doesn't mean he's letting the fifth cup go to waste, though, and it's clutched firmly in his hand as he trudges across the grounds of the Den toward the larger, roomier bar of sorts.
The weather here is face-bitingly cold, a welcome change to the oppressive heat of New Orleans. Much quieter, too. For a moment, he remembers why he'd chosen it as a temporary home so long ago, and for another moment, he longs to come back. A thought that is short-lived as soon as he remembers who else resides here. Taking a deep breath, he re-centers himself; he's here for Quinn, he'll do the best he can.
Upon entering the building, he will not stop and look around. His black gaze is trained directly on the bar and the blonde that happens to have taken up residency there. Perfect, right where he wants her. Coming up beside Quinn, the only acknowledgement he offers is a gentle hand to her lower back, a show of affection or possessiveness, however you want to look at it.
The mug in his hand, now only a fourth of the way full with the steaming black coffee, is held out over the lip of the bar until the less-than-pleasant tender takes notice. "Can you put whiskey in here?" She stares at him for a moment, and he finally gets the hint. "Please." Uncapping a bottle, she dumps a splash in, to which Gideon's eyes narrow infinitesimally. "More." Another glug. "Fill. It. Up." She must have seen something in his gaze, as she does as she's prompted without further complaint.
Content with his drink, he takes a large swig before finally glancing over to his wife and her new companion. "You two are already on water? Christ, I'm really late..."
|January 27, 2018 09:20|
|Tanvir_Buckley||There’s a sudden drop in Tanvir’s throat, right down to her stomach. The nervous type. The shocked type. The sort where you feel like you’ve been caught out, or seen a ghost. All of which she has, simply by scent alone. Because it didn’t take long to cross to the bar, and it took less time still to locate a solitary stool and establish a temporary residence upon it. But the scent hit her in a split second, and the figure that emerged as her view of the patrons altered brought a very real face, and an even more familiar voice, blaring into the space.
This is why she’d come here. To escape the darkness, at least until she was ready to face it. And the grounds of the Den had been so congested with the scent of wolves, mortals and angels that she’d obviously missed the curious scent of her own kind. Idiot. But what the hell was Mackenzie doing here anyway?
Without much thought to the matter, she quickly slipped her hand behind her neck, loosening the braid of her until it fell like silk about her face. And with a hand in the right position, with fingertips to her temple, she could distort her profile just enough to get away with being ’random redhead’ and nothing more.
“Whatever the strongest whisky is. No e. Whisky. Strong and doubled.” she replies to the standard question, before slipping her free hand into her inner pocket for her phone. But once the device is in her grasp, she realises the sheer lack of people she’s able to send a ‘help me!’ to, and instead replaces it, opting to pick at a bar mat until her order is delivered.
Far too much had changed. Someone had redrawn the line and she’d obviously missed it on her way in.
So let her drink her drink and slip out slowly when the opportunity presented itself.
|January 27, 2018 09:43|
|Quinn Abernathy||The smile that the woman receives from Quinn is warm, the name being committed to memory. Dempsey. Should be easy to remember. She likes it, too. This is the first Dempsey she has ever met, and there is something excessively nice about the woman before her. It causes a nod of understanding and acceptance as the woman voices her lack of care of the drink.
A long pause.
Another moment of quiet, and she makes another confession.
They'd get along swimmingly.
"You're honest," the observation, and vote of confidence in Dempsey, combined, is voiced with appreciative ease.
Quinn didn't see Gideon coming, but she knows instantly he is there by a simple touch. To her, it is affection. To him... probably definitely possessive. But it's okay. Her attention remains on Dempsey, the only acknowledgment to Gideon being the slight shift of her body as she barely leans closer to him.
Dempsey, meet Quinn. Quinn is naive, looks for the best in people, trusts easily, wants to be everyone's friend, and is low-key crazy for all the reasons listed prior. Right now, it is obvious to her that there is slight discomfort in the social aspect of things, and she thinks hard on how to turn it around.
A confession of her own.
"I had an imaginary friend until I was 12."
Finally, the two women are acknowledge, and Quinn gives Gideon a smile. "Giddy, this is Dempsey. Dempsey, Giddy." With that, she finally takes a drink of her water before giving the woman a smile behind the rim of her glass. She swallows, lowering it to the bar, and finally speaks.
"We started with water."
|January 27, 2018 10:08|
|Mackenzie||There is a great deal happening around her, which would be why she does not immediately sense the ghost of marriages past. Mackenzie lets her observation go, noting how quickly the space is now filling up. And, as one of her own shows up, she would prepare herself to go greet Dempsey... only for that plan to be thwarted by the little blond subject of her saltiness.
Good. Let her make some friends. That's what this is for, right?
So she would sit, and wait, and have two neat whiskeys before she finally seems to realize the figure sitting upon a lonely stool.
And she is... what? Really?
Clearing her throat, Mackenzie considers all the ways in which she could blow up Tanvir's spot. Words, yelling, invasion of personal space. All of these things come to mind, but instead, she beckons Tabatha.
The petite thing would stand up, leaning over the bar to whisper in the angry woman's ear. For whatever reason, the woman seems to like what is said. The reason why, of course, would be unveiled in short order as a shot of several different liquors is poured and placed before Tanvir.
And then lit on fire.
Bailey's Comet strikes again.
|January 27, 2018 10:17|
|John Doe||As he prepares to elaborate further with large helpings of fatherly type advice for the younger man John is interrupted by the head of Quinn poking past the door and then just as quickly disappearing. It looks like things were working themselves out without John needing to interfere at all. All he really needed to do was make sure the two occupied the same relative space for a little while and he was sure they would begin talking and all of those things couples did.
Speaking of couples though, the man thinks he has been away from his darling bride for entirely too long both now and the last couple of weeks as well.
Giving a stern but knowing look at his friend he makes a motion with his head towards the main room that the girl just slipped back into after looking in. “I think it is time we both got back out there. I do believe we have people waiting on us.”
With that he turns and heads through the double doors, relatively confident that Tiber would follow him out and the young people could figure out whatever it was that needed figuring out. John was sure he would find out from Addie exactly what the full story was but until then he was content to let them see to their own affairs.
Once back in the main room John heads directly to his wife and child. He was sure they would both be needing their sleep soon and he meant to have them in their beds very soon. The baby so she could sleep and the wife so...other things could happen.
Making his way across the floor he gives nods of greeting to everyone once more, happy that more were showing up. The Den might get to be a hot spot again after all as long as people keep showing up like this.
As he approaches his darling wife he overhears the last of the conversation she is having and with a chuckle and the shake of his head he answers the question for his wife.
“Trust me friend, you don’t want to know. She likes to keep tabs on everyone and everything and will use as many illegal and even immoral ways as she can to do it. Don’t worry though, I’m sure it was a simple trick that will cause few permanent injury.”
With that he begins collecting his bride and their child and ushering them towards the back door of the Den that leads to their house over the lake. He allows her to say her goodbyes and promises of coming right back once the baby was asleep but continues to push her gently to the door until she is broken free of the main room and they are on their way up the path to their house.
John will come back down to the bar shortly, once the baby is asleep and he has been able to enjoy a bit of quiet time with his wife. It has been a couple of weeks since they have seen each other after all and they had a few things to catch up on.
|January 27, 2018 10:30|
|Tanvir_Buckley||Tanvir reached for her whisky (no e), bringing the glass to her lips. It’s something old and strong and as the liquid coats her tongue and throat, she groans a little, content for the first time in, Jesus, how long?
But such things are short-lived, as is the way of the realm, for no sooner does she place her glass upon the table does Tabatha produce some odd-looking shot of something molten in front of her. The glass is placed so close, in fact, that the immediate fear of setting her loose strands of hair on fire causes her to sit back, pushing the bright red locks from her face.
She looks up, her eyes instinctively narrowing in on Mackenzie as she grabs at her hair in both hands, gathering the wavy mess into an equally as wavy ponytail. She’s re-braid it later but, for now, at least it was out of the line of fire.
Fire. A damn burning shot of fire that stunk of baileys and sambuca. But fck it. There was far too many directions to that this in, the easier option being the door, the more painful option probably also being the door. So instead, Tanvir leaned forward, blew out the near-invisible blue flame atop the shot glass and plucked it from the bar surface, necking the contents in one, short gulp.
Was this it? Despite everything, was this it? Could something more be gathered from this than an awkward hello or a meeting of fists behind the building? Tanvir knew the pain the woman had suffered. And she knew the part she’d played in that pain, over and over. And while she’d always found it so bizarre that Mackenzie seemed to be able to forgive Tanvir at every turn while struggling to allow Jack the same courtesy, would she deny herself some sort of happiness and a possible rekindling of friendship simply because she felt she owned Jack something?
With Tabetha looking on, Tanvir beckoned her over and made her own order, sitting back with a genuinely playful smirk, eyes on Mackenzie, as the woman produced before the vampire a Slippery Nipple.
Hey, at least it wasn’t an Irish Car Bomb.
|January 27, 2018 10:39|
||January 27, 2018 12:56|
|Quinn Abernathy||So, her new friend is a little shy. That's fine. Quinn is perfectly okay with shyness. She, too, could find herself being shy at times. It would flare up when she found herself somewhere with no one she knew. And now, she finds herself being shy of the people she knows. Because secrets.
But they aren't really secrets. Quinn simply does not want to have to explain things. She doesn't want Tiber to get in trouble, she doesn't want Giddy to be subject to questions, and most of all - she really doesn't want anyone here to find out that she lives with an actual cult.
Not just live with, but help run.
Fortunately, this shyness has helped her to meet Dempsey.
"It is hard to find friends as good as Imaginary ones," she agrees.
Normally, Quinn would be drinking. To be in the Den, without alcohol in hand, is not normal. It had been a stressful situation when she ordered her first water. Now, with Dempsey, it feels natural. Better, even. The blond feels as though she is in control of herself. That is rare.
With that in mind, she takes another sip of her water and looks into the glass momentarily. There is something about this woman that makes her want to spill her whole life story. Maybe it is because she is so nice.
In an effort to keep from alienating Gideon, while trying to hold this conversation with Dempsey, she sits facing the bar so that she can easily look between the two. The rising steam from the mug catches her attention, and Quinn leans to glances inside and sniff the contents as subtly as she can.
She would have to make sure that he had no more. He's going to have such a stomach ache. He needs water, too. Quinn decides not to say anything as she starts speaking, sitting up straight as she speaks to them both... but mostly, Dempsey.
"Her name is Suzie. Like the song, Suzie Q. It's one of my favorites." And so, that hopeful imagination begins to pull from it's depths some small thing from the past. "I saw this movie once, Drop Dead Fred. This girl has this imaginary friend that comes back when she's all grown up, because he misses her, and wants to play. She wasn't very nice to him, though."
Sidenote: Quinn loves movies.
Pressing her lips together, Quinn wonders momentarily if she is blowing it. She tells herself she isn't. This is the first friend she'll have made outside of the compound in months. This is going to be great. With that thought, her cheery disposition returns tenfold. Her moment of uncertainty is barely a blip on the radar.
"Are you part of the Den?"
|January 27, 2018 15:42|
|Gideon Abernathy||“It’s Gideon,” he corrects his wife, casting her a perturbed glance in the process. She knows all too well that he hates when she introduces him as her pet name. Giddy. It’s damn shameful.
He shifts to offer a hand for the new woman to shake, but he halts as he watches her body language. A brow quirks; is that…fear? Her mumbled response, barely above a hum, only solidifies his initial impression, and a smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. “No alcohol?”
At this point, Quinn goes on a tangent - as she’s wont to do - and Gideon takes the opportunity to weigh his options. His eyes are still trained on this Dempsey woman as she does everything in her power to avoid looking in his general direction. However, she seems mildly drawn to Quinn, and his eyes narrow evilly. Oh, no, this is too good to pass up.
Waving down the bartender once more, he plants a winning smile on his face. “Could you please get us two-- make it four shots of whiskey? You did say you wanted to drink tonight, right, Quinn? I’m sure Dempsey wouldn’t mind, and we did come here to let loose.” The shots are placed in front of them, and he makes sure to scoot Quinn’s closer to her, letting the scent waft over to the woman on her other side.
“Bottoms up,” he prompts, taking them in quick succession and waving for more.
|January 27, 2018 21:03|
||January 27, 2018 23:10|
|Tiber Loche||Tiber had opened his mouth to speak, fully ready to elaborate on what he had meant by hadn't seen her in months. The fog begins to clear and he realizes that it's likely that no one is privy to exactly what happened between him and Quinn. He's not entirely sure that he's read to face the proverbial music when it came to his closest peers and their forms of judgement. Not that they would be any more harsh than he deserved - he understands that they care about him. But they care about Quinn, too. And so did he. And he really f-cked up.
But John was right. Now was not the time to run. So when Quinn had peeked her head in, (and his heart had effectively dropped into his stomach) and John made the move to vacate back to the Den (properly, away from the kitchen), Tiber followed suit. Although he's careful to avoid eyecontact with just about everyone... And he hadn't even noticed that Gideon had snuck in, either.
Instead he makes sort of a B-line for Derek, sandwiched somewhere in the tangle of Doe bodies, chairs, and smoke.
"I know the smell you're omitting is not from that cigar." Tiber murmurs, leaning in over the table as his eyes locked on to the faketective. "Trade you?"
|January 28, 2018 14:07|
|Mackenzie||Perfect. Not only did Mackenzie treat Tanvir, but she also nearly set her on fire without lifting a finger. That is skill, ladies and gents. You will never possess such a power. Satisfied, Mackenzie smirks to herself as she sips upon the icy beer before her.
A change of pace, if you will.
Tabatha would present a new shot, and Mackenzie comes prepared. One whiff tells her precisely what would be within those shots, and Mackenzie grins before blowing it out. Two seconds later, it would be gone.
So, the texting begins.
The expressions on her face are animated, far from her usually surly, cagey expression that she relies on to hide practically all her emotions and thoughts. Tanvir would see the profile of some true signature looks.
Leaning forward, Mackenzie beckons the grouch behind the bar once more to send Tanvir a parting shot before all hell would let loose - a Flaming Ąsshole. Watching as the poetic shot is served, the Irish woman would give a salute to her fiery counterpart down the bar before standing up.
"Honestly, Tabatha. I ordered those shots eons ago." Her voice is loud, and highly dramatized. Luckily, her brogue would save most from recognizing the theatrics. Tabatha, in the meantime, looks highly disgruntled. It is distinctly heard as she mutters something rude under her breath. One look down the bar, and she would spot two sitting upon the surface before the Star Wars man and his humanoid beeping circle of psychotic sunshine.
"Hey! Poe! Pass the whiskey! Harry! Yea, you! With the patchy scruff. Can you slide those over, please?"
No one is avoiding anyone, today.
Prayers for fireworks.
Lest I make them myself.
|January 28, 2018 18:59|
|Tanvir_Buckley||Texting. Fcking hell, she’s missed this. She’s missed banter. Just fun conversation with someone. True, her and the Frenchman had had some fun between the hunting, stalking and killing, but it was always limited. Certain events or people were never brought into conversation, certain jibes were off limits. And while Tanvir appreciated the pain Jack had suffered, appreciated the hurt in his heart regarding the fiery Irish along the bar, she often found herself, especially toward the end, harbouring a few resentments toward him. After all, Mackenzie had been her friend too. And more, in fact. And while their time together in the past was predominantly alcohol fuelled, it had been meaningful and exactly what she’d needed at the time. Especially with everything regarding Yoshi, and the heartbreak she’d been left with. Heartbreak, a dangerous thirst, and a dead puppy in the finger freezer.
Eyeing up her new shot, and taking a moment to google it, Tanvir rested back a little in place, finding the best view for what was about to go down.
Quinnie, Mackenzie had called her. Of course her name was Quinnie. Uggggh, she could vomit right here at that one fact alone. She was the epitome of the All-American High School Cheerleader and since Tanvir was British and had never met an All-American High School Cheerleader, she could only go by the stereotypes. And Quinnie was ticking all the boxes, right down to that sickeningly sweet smile. Tanvir tilted her head to try and catch sight of a possible promise ring to seal the moment.
And that’s when Mackenzie started to Mackenzie about the place in the beautiful way Mackenzie’s do.
“HEY!” Tanvir found herself blurting out, her feet finding purchase upon the footrest of the stool, allowing her to stand above the heads of her fellow patrons. “I THINK YOU’LL FIND THOSE TO BE MIND, ACTUALLY. YOU, PRINCE JOHN. SLIDE THEM THIS WAY, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.”
|January 28, 2018 19:16|
||January 29, 2018 04:36|
|Quinn Abernathy||From one of the bar, Quinn watches as things unfold once her new friend leaves. Dempsey. She'll not forget the name, and makes mental note to tell Solomon to make sure he passes her contact information off to the woman. Gideon drinks, Tiber emerges, Mackenzie and a redhead start heckling some men named Poe, Harry, and Prince John. And Quinn, after finishing her water, takes a single shot.
The better to calm her nerves.
She looks at her phone, taking the seconds it takes to tap about her screen before returning her attention to the chaos around her. Her phone calls her to attention, and the only reaction it gets is a sigh. And then a glance at Gideon, with the second.
She's slightly annoyed at that one, it's true.
"Tabatha... may I have another, please?"
The bartender would oblige quickly, most likely due to Quinn's slightly paler complexion. One more glance at her phone, and her attention turns to Gideon. She leans into his side, pressing a kiss upon his cheek before slipping off her stool.
"Three minutes," Quinn speaks quietly to Gideon.
That said, she picks up her new shot and steps away to find a table at the back of the room. Once seated, facing the bar, she would down the shot and place the small, emptied glass upon the surface.
|January 29, 2018 22:55|
|Tiber Loche||If you thought that Tiber is completely ignoring the strange woman who is referring to the name Harry, you would be correct. Even though the glances tossed his way were a solid indication that he was, in fact, the splotchy haired man she speaks of. He doesn't exactly understand the reference, but he's also pretty sure that she's half in the bag. Or, at least, she is well on her way.
He's not even going to speculate about the rest of the bodies holding up the bar. No one on earth has enough time for the rampage he wishes he could go on. One way or another, as uneven as his temper seemed to be on the inside, outside he remains flaccid against the wooden chair where he sat at the round table where Addie, John and EJ has been just a few minutes before.
Your friend smells bad.
And he tried to frisk me.
Look to the left.
Suddenly he straightens up once more and finds himself glancing to the left as Quinn had instructed.
It's where she sat alone, at a table in the corner. Perhaps under the facade that she was enjoying the heat coming off of the fire. A rather cozy spot, he thinks.
Tiber makes the move before his mind can catch up with his body's betrayal.
"This is a dangerous dance." He's all but whispered, even though the voices belonging to the other patrons carry over his own quite easily. Unsure whether or not he wants to sit, he hovers over the table for a few more moments than it takes to seem awkward. His mass blocks out much of the light from behind him, and casts a shadow over Quinn where she sat facing the bar. But even with the lack of light, he doesn't find it out of the ordinary that she looked so... "Raul has nearly decapitated me once this evening. Imagine my surprise when John swooped in to save me and subsequently grieved me for avoiding my wife."
This is a Quinn
|January 30, 2018 01:11|
|Quinn Abernathy||"I laugh in the face of danger," Quinn can't help that little smile that touches her face. Lion King is one of her favorites, and how often does someone get to use that line?
Staring up at him, she feels rather small. It is impossible not to see the slight discomfort in the man, and she doesn't fail to notice his choice to remain standing. So, as he talks, she responds on kind. The smile falters, and there would be no surprise as he tells her of the mishap, and his conversation in the kitchen.
'...grieved me for avoiding my wife'
There is also zero shame.
"...Please sit down, Tiber..."
As Tiber would know, Quinn has been living in a place where she must think ahead. She is careful not to shift blame, but also refuses to claim it all. Words are something now meticulously chosen, if only to save face for herself and Gideon.
"Miss Addie was asking questions, too, and I didn't know what to say." Simply put, Quinn wasn't comfortable with telling them by herself. Even more than that, the last thing she wants to do is get Tiber in trouble, or herself. Suddenly nervous at the prospect of their situation, her gaze reaches his own.
"What did you tell Mr. Doe?"
|January 30, 2018 12:44|
|Gideon Abernathy||Dempsey takes her leave, snide comment in her wake, but Gideon hardly pays attention. The woman had barely slid out of her stool before Quinn had her nose buried in her phone. The emotions flit across her face, plain as day, and his brows furrow as his gaze darkens.
Discreetly, he watches as she slips into a lone table in the back. She keeps her eyes trained on her phone; she’s smart and knows he’s watching. But the recipient might not be as careful. Easily, blackened hues find Tiber and, just as suspected, he looks up to find Quinn. Within seconds, he’s rising from his chair, and Gideon has to turn away to level himself.
So, she has been in contact with him.
Blood boiling, and the ringing of Poe!, Prince John! heavy on his ear drums, he can feel himself practically vibrating with internalized rage. Simply to give himself something to do, he drains the rest of the whiskey in his coffee mug before staring down the two shots Tabatha had placed in front of him moments ago. He knows the womans’ voices are calling to him; it isn’t the first time he’d been told he looks like a guy from the pictures. In response, a dark smile crosses his features, and he takes up both shots, one in each hand. Raising them up in salute to each voice in turn, he makes sure his voice is loud enough to hear over the din of the bar.
“Not to worry, ladies! If there’s one thing I share, it’s alcohol.” With that, he takes one of the shots, swishes it around in his mouth, and spits the contents back into the glass. After having done the same with the second, he then sends them sliding in each direction, to land perfectly in front of the intended recipients. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with other things, he might have been able to fully appreciate the one time the Universe worked in his favor.
As it is, he can’t be bothered.
He pushes off the bar and turns on his heel. For a solid moment, his eyes will lock with Quinn’s, a hard, oppressive gaze. In that gaze, a plethora of messages can be read: Do not follow me. Do not leave anyone’s sight. Above all else, stay safe.
As he’s walking toward the door, he’ll pull out his phone and send a text of his own.
|January 30, 2018 14:31|
|Derek Norse||"Man, you have no idea who you are dealing with, here."
True. Once again, Derek isn't exactly what one would expect him to be. He makes a serious business out of his craft, the only thing he was ever any good at. Weed. So, feeling somewhat generous, Dare would reach into the pocket of his of his jeans and slip Tiber a small bag of questionable substance.
Kidding. It's not questionable.
It is exactly what you think it is.
The door has opened a few times, and he had lost his opportunity to do his duty when a small Irish woman walked in. In hindsight, as she bellows for Edgar Allen's shots, he is grateful. Especially after the redhead joins in. Derek is in rather high alert, but thinks nothing of it as the door opens once more to reveal the new girl.
He remembers her, kind of. Derek had been testing his new breed at the time, and could barely account for the hour much less the day. As he tries to remember, Tiber stands and walks away after spending an uncomfortable amount of time staring at his phone and huffing at it.
Wait. The blond?
Not cool, bro.
I called dibs.
Not even the shot flying by him would distract from this betrayal of broskis.
|January 30, 2018 17:40|
|Tanvir Buckley||Well then.
Tanvir sat back in her seat as the glass slid before her, stopping with the aid of a well-placed beer mat. Yeah, Giddy, you don’t have the mad skills. Sorry.
Feeling somewhat defeated and at a loss, Tanvir raised her hand and, akin to a cat, flicked the shot glass off the counter, watching the contents of whisky and spittle wave through the air before the glass bounced off the floor behind the bar.
What? The damn thing didn’t even break? For fuc...
Grabbing her phone from its resting place upon the stool beside her, she slipped it into the inside pocket of her jacket, scooping up her satchel to replace it upon her shoulder.
The bar was starting to fill and despite her sudden rush of ‘let’s fck up the place’ she attributed to Mackenzie, she simply wasn’t feeling it. This was The Den, not the Black Rose. And while the latter had always been a place of security and comfort, she didn’t feel the same here. Not yet. Maybe it was the sheer lack of vampires. A kind that she’d always felt comfortable around, simply because she’d spent so long in their company. And now, only a week or so since parting with the one man who truly understood her feelings of being a crossbreed, an outsider, she realised how truly alone she felt.
What an idiot to think she could simply slip into a new life and be satisfied after everything she’d been through.
Tanvir stood, tugging the satchel strap tighter to her chest and made a step in the direction of Mackenzie to say goodbye. Not goodbye forever, simply goodbye for the night. But the few people in her path made her feel iffy, and instead, she reached back for her phone and typed a few words.
I need air. And to not be here. Call me
She was out the door before she’d hit send.
|January 30, 2018 18:44|
||January 31, 2018 14:27|
|Derek Norse||Bloody fingers would be the first thing Derek would see as he furiously text his broski at the back table. It is startling, certainly, but not something he can't deal with. After all, in his business and his likeness, blood is something he is very attuned to. And then she starts talking.
They were married once.
Is this the ghost of Christmas Past? Is that why she had been so scary when he first saw he? Was she an omen of things to come?
A grassy set of eyes would set upon the woman, hazy with red and glossed over, he listens intently as if she might just tell his future. There is a lesson to be learned in this extra experience - he just never thought, in his wildest dreams, that he would be the next Bob Marley.
And if he is Bob, then Weston must be Jake.
Those half closed eyes would widen to something that feels like they might just pop right out, despite them being simply just normal. Derek looks between her and the duo in the corner, shaken to his very core. "Well... she... we... th-th-there's a bet."
"Derek, Your Ghostiness."
Do you need an ear?
"The better to hear you with, my dear?"
|February 02, 2018 08:25|
||February 05, 2018 13:15|
|Tiber Loche||"I didn't get much of a chance to tell him anything. Saved by a tiny blonde with an innate ability to pop in at.." Opportune? Awkward? Life saving? "Times."
Tiber shifted to find a seat at the heavy table, pulling a thick chair back in order to make room for him to sit. The movement would once again allow for the overhead lights to flood them with luminescence, even as Tiber slouched lazily and scratched against the hair on his jaw in a nervous way.
He doesn't want to be cheeky, and it's not his intention, but the small smile that plagues his lips when he addresses her can't be helped. His hands would find their way to the table top as his fingertips tap lightly, and the man's vibrant cobalt gaze finds nearly every place to settle except Quinn's own.
"You look good, Quinn." The smile tugs more heavily at one side of his mouth than it does the other.
Tiber wants to admit that there are a thousand things that he should say. That he wants to say. But when is the timing appropriate? Where? How could he begin to waste her time in such a way, when he had done it so many times before.
He didn't even have the right.
"I hope you're taking care of yourself."
|February 05, 2018 23:40|
|Quinn Abernathy||"You're welcome," she quips. It seems neither of them are sure what to say to the people that care for them, and neither know how to begin to express things. She can't fault Tiber this, because she failed in the same fashion.
Quinn is naive, sure. But not in the ways most thing she is. Only one person has ever realized and read her for who she is, and that person is watching with an eagle's glare as everything unfolds. As Tiber sits, paying her compliments with that goofy grin that once melts hearts, that person is terrorizing the patrons at the bar. As Tiber comments his hopes that she is caring for herself, her eyes are locked with Gideon's, and she feels the full weight of his fury. She understands what is about to happen, and she understands that trying to do anything about it would be catastrophic.
It does not stop her from shifting uncomfortably where she sits.
Tiber has no idea what a dangerous dance this really is.
To pull her back, another woman is calling loudly for Tiber's attention, though her eyes instead linger on the door for just a moment. Quinn, so wrapped up in her thoughts, doesn't begin to process what is going on around the bar. She has to focus. She has to do this.
"Well, no more junk food, and drinking doesn't happen often. Gideon is good to me...." Those chocolate hues cut to Tiber, finding that focus. Quinn knows that isn't what he meant, but it is the best she can offer. In truth, she has fundamentally changed. She knows what she is capable of, now.
"Tiber..." Quinn wants to talk about the note. She wants to ask how he found her at the commune, but she knows better. Tiber Loche had found her in a bunker in the middle of the woods. Of course he would find her, no matter where she is. Be it alcohol, errant emotions, or the knowledge that Gideon is supremely upset with her, she can feel herself slipping into melancholy.
She stands up, changing seats to turn her back to the bar. The last thing she wants is for anyone to see her as less than what they know her to be. Sat beside him, she doesn't have to look at him. It just hurts. Her hands clasp together in her lap, as if holding her together. "Are you okay?"
|February 06, 2018 08:03|
|Derek Norse||The Ghost of Katherine Past.
With an eager nod, Derek would take a drink from his beer as he regards the woman with wide (normal) eyes. And then, she shares her liquor. This is how friends are made, and she is fast becoming a favorite. Really, anyone who treats him is a favorite friend. He has a lot, because he tends to get loads of free ****.
Perks of people thinking you're a bum.
And now, with liquor poured into his beer, Derek would have something new.
Irish, he doesn't know. He supposes it is the woman she is talking to, but that would be a ridiculously obvious name.
TIBER! Why do you have a bet? What is this bet?
"NO! Sh shshshshshsh! It's a secret!"
"Her name is Quinn? That's the name of my third girlfriend. She broke up with me because I didn't buy her drinks. Or meals. Or anything."
Clearing his throat, he takes a drink from his spiked brewski and leans in. It is imperative that she not blow his cover, and it would never strike him that this Quinn would have heard the woman's banshee screech. "I'm gonna take her out. On a date."
He turns the napkin he had scribbled on over, revealing his name, number, and the words Call me scrawled upon them. With a wink, he flips it once more, sitting back again as if very proud of himself.
"No lady can resist the Derminator."
|February 08, 2018 11:19|
|Solomon King||Solomon, having abruptly disappeared from the party some time ago, made his way back into the lively bar, phone in hand. He’d gotten a call that couldn’t be ignored, and had ultimately been tasked with reciting The Very Hungry Caterpillar from memory – quite a simple task for the hulking man at this particular point in his life.
However, his recitation hadn’t done the trick to placate the little girl on the other end of the call into even attempting sleep, so he’d resorted to desperate measures. Bribery. It all hinged on the goodwill of one of his very best friends, who would doubtlessly go along with it.
Quickly scanning the warm, bustling space, he spotted just the girl he was searching for, sitting at a table with Tiber. Solomon expertly navigated the space and stopped at their table, bluntly unaware that he was interrupting something. A heavy hand landed on Tiber’s shoulder in greeting, and Sol’s eyes crinkled up to indicate he was smiling somewhere beneath his beard.
“Hey you two! Sorry Tiber, I need to steal Quinn. It’s sort of an emergency.”
By emergency, he meant that Quinn would soon be required to drive out to Sonder with him to meet Lucy. The child was adamant that she wanted to meet the Quinnie that he spoke so much about.
There was no denying that kid.
|February 11, 2018 12:00|
|Quinn Abernathy||Mere minutes have passed since Gideon's departure.
She'd barely gotten her question out when a familiar, heavy hand finds purchase upon Tiber's shoulder. Golden hair shifts as she lifts her gaze upward, looking over her shoulder at her bearded friend. It is almost automatic as a well-trained, dazzling smile graces her features.
He's asking for her, and a polite 'no' is almost on her lips. She needs to talk to Tiber. She needs to see him, and know that he is okay. To say Quinn is worried is an understatement, though she steels herself against letting it show too much.
But Gideon said...
Swallowing, she nods.
What she is doing to Gideon is unfair. Walking away from him like that was unfair to him, and disrespectful. It was wrong of her. She hurt him, and she had promised to never do that. This isn't... it isn't right.
Chocolate hues lock onto Tiber's brilliant blues. A delicate hand would reach out, poised to land upon his forearm in that caring way she has always reached for the Lycanthrope. But she stops, redirecting herself to the edge of the table. "I should go. Call me later, Tiber..."
Standing with a heavy, hidden guilt, she turns her attention to Solomon, still bright. Gathering herself together, Quinn would then allow him to lead the way out the door, and as she gets into the man's car, she would text Gideon.
Leaving the Den with Sol.
|February 11, 2018 17:29|
|Katherine Murray||“Uh…huh. So… a date.”
It could be said that Katherine was sporadically confused by things; perhaps because she was usually so lost inside her own mind, so she just never really focused that hard on the typical going-ons until it was all muddled together in a giant mess that she’d have to question.
This was not one of those instances.
She was just completely disoriented by the Derminator yelling at her.
That was new.
And simply put, it was the sole reason for her face deadpanning and the words that were uttered softly; he did tell her it was supposed to be a secret after all.
Kat knew secrets, had a few herself, she totally could help him out here.
You’re gonna pop his bubble, aren’t you?
“I really hate to be the bearer of bad news…”
Haha, no you don’t.
“I do not think Quinn likes polygamy. She has Giddy. Giddy forever, you know.” Why she was still whispering, no clue, nearly everyone was leaving or had left; but Katherine really didn’t like yelling, unless it was her doing it.
“I hope you did not bet money. I think Tiber might have pulled one over on you.”
|February 12, 2018 17:52|
|Travis Faulkner||Who knew dying would be the best thing ever to happen? Since his revival to the land of the living he had not only been complimented on how aesthetically pleasing he was by assorted strangers, but he somehow ended up in a Sanctuary! AND he got a free steak dinner. And face money. There had to be catch here somewhere.
Shortly after he had returned, Tiber had come across his path. Despite his gruff and tough demeanor, the two seemed to hit it off rather well! Sure, being tricked into buying a ridiculously expensive steak dinner would strain any new friendship, but they were strong.
After the Bro Dinner, Travis felt so giddy he bought himself and Tiber some ice cream to enjoy on the trip to the one and only Lycan's Den. His companion had spoke of alcohol, good times, bad decisions, a possibly piano, angry man named Raul, and a few more tid bits.
Then he saw it.
The rustic, homey feel of the main building had a glimmer in Travis' eyes. His ice cream cone was thrust towards Tiber to hold. Whether he did or not, Travis would release and, like a fat kid to chocolate cake, he was off towards the building.
A yard out from the entrance his clumsy feet snagged a stray rock sending him tumbling down onto the cement until he slid just outside of the door. For a second he just laid there. Contemplated life. Contemplated whether he wanted to try for a now third shot since he just ate sh!t infront of his bro. He had a feeling there would be blackmail in the future.
Quickly he pulled himself up and patted off any debris that had decided to stick to his hoodie. After a deep breath he walked into his new home.
Home. When was the last time he had one of those?
A few steps in he gazed around at the wonders around. "TIBERTHISPLACE IS AWESOME!" His excitement had infected his words, mashing them all into one, long word. The man was rather excitable.
While he waited for Tiber to catch up he began to check out all the amenities in the current space. All the alcohol was memorized for future crazy nights. The space was inspected for the perfect placement of a karaoke machine.
He was just so d@mn excited.
|September 27, 2018 22:41|
|Tiber Loche||To put it bluntly, trying to keep up with Travis had Tiber feeling like an old man. His energy seemed comparable only to that of a child younger than seven. His own age was of no consequence, since on the outside his appearance still reflected his youth. It was the medicine that broke him down internally, and for the sake of appearances, he put himself through the ringer.
Don’t worry, Trav. Old man Tiber doesn’t even own a smartphone. Blackmail is off the table... For now.
But he still laughed as the other man ate sh-t on his way in to The Den proper, grin plastered on his face even as he extended a hand to help him to his feet. “It is pretty great, isn’t it?”
He couldn’t deny that The Den would always feel like home. There was some comfort to be drawn from its energy, and he relished in the fact that he wasn’t the only one who could feel it. Tiber glances around quickly, out of habit, before he made his way to the bar. Tabatha was a gem, removing the top from a yeasty brew that he’s almost always started out with before she slid it over to him.
He muttered a quiet thank you before turning back to find Travis through the commotion. “Come on, new guy. Get yourself a drink before we start the tour officially.”
Just before he took a sip of his beer, he smiled. “You’re going to need it.”
|September 28, 2018 00:57|
|Travis Faulkner||While Tiber moved towards the bar Travis had begun to sit on all the seats strung about the bar. With each new seat he would mumble to himself. Sometimes too hard. Sometimes too soft. Sometimes just right, but he still wanted to try the other seats. Finally he found himself sat next to Tiber looking jubilant as ever.
"Uh...I will... take what he's having?"
Travis was not a beer drinker by any means. Typically, he went for the hard liquor and only ended up with beer when there was nothing else readily at hand. Alas, he would give it a try.
It only took moments for his order to be fulfilled and, unlike Tiber, he gave a vibrant thanks to the woman. For a moment he stared at the liquid and tilted his head. What really was this kind of beer? His knowledge of the assorted brews were rather limited to Bud Light and Corona.
Tiber's words snapped him back to reality with grey hues darting over to him. "Is that a rule? Gotta drink before you are officially shown around? That sound suspicious."
The mug is lifted up to his lips before stopping, narrowed eyes gazing at Tiber. "Is this drugged? Are you gonna harvest my organs?"
After a few moments of intense staring, his bright smile returned with a rhythmic laughter. Clearly, he was teasing.
|September 28, 2018 17:15|
|Tiber Loche||"No, it's not a rule." Tiber spoke back. If one didn't know any better, they might detect a hint of sass in his dialect. "Sometimes it's easier to handle the hike when you're not sober." He grinned, knowing full well that the length of the Den's property was extensive. Tiber would show him where the cabins were and subsequently who lived inside of them. There might even have been a detour planned along the way.
It was hard to carry a bunch of Halloween decorations on his own. Travis was an extra set of hands. He could totally pass it off as necessary.
"I personally have no interest in your organs, but..." He lowered his tone, making a show of the way his eyes darted around and carefully considered who may have been listening, "Just be thankful that Derek isn't here."
Derek. Bro senior. The broski of all bro's. Tiber isn't sure that Travis has had the chance to meet him yet, but... That would provide it's own entertainment in time.
He cleared his throat.
"I mean, just enjoy it, yeah? Tab' has all sorts of stuff behind the bar. Anything you could imagine, really. Go crazy. We'll hang out here for a short while, if you don't mind. Been a long day."
|September 29, 2018 15:11|
|Travis Faulkner||A look of amusement overcame the male's visage at the unexpected sass from Tiber. Little did his companion know but Travis used to go on hikes with his father's hunting group playing the part of the perfect, masculine son who just loved to hunt. It was exhausting playing the part some times, but the hikes were worth it.
Although he was a city boy, he had always been a hippie at heart.
For now, he would tuck that aspect of himself into the back of his mind. Tiber didn't need to hear about his past life. Nobody did.
A brow arched upwards at the man's sudden, suspicious behavior. Travis leaned closer and also looked around, even though he had no clue what to look for. He replied in a low tone, "Who is Derek? Does he want my organs?"
The sound of the man clearing his throat had Travis return to his original position but his eyes still looked around.
With Tiber content at the bar, Travis departed but didn't move far. He looked up towards the ceiling as he spoke. "What, am I tiring you out? Gotta work on your stamina, Tiber." A devious chuckle fluttered from his lips as his grey hues fell to the man.
"For once, I'm content taking my time. It's weird. Must be something in the air. Or the beer."His mug was lifted to emphasis it before the beverage was brought to his lips for a sip. It really wasn't so bad for a beer.
|September 30, 2018 20:41|