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Banishing the Demon - Chance and Circumstance - 10/10/2011

Participants: Horatio, Laurent, Talitha

    Submitted by Horatio via Autologger.


    ----------------------- Vixen's Grasp - Bar and Stage ------------------------

    Laughter, the sounds of drinks being served and music fills the updated darkened room. The lighting inside is as much a strategic decision as a decorative one, providing some cover for the acts of debauchery that are often on public display here. Windows are decorated with new white shutters that allow some light to filter in, though most of the room is lit with flickering candles that are replaced often upon the tables. The air is kissed with the scent from the candles and the perfumes from the dancers and waitresses that move about.

    Majority of the seating is restricted to the bar with a few highly polished maple tables scattered about. A large private booth offers a view of the stage and the bar is tucked off in the corner. The bar is to the immediate left of the entrance when one enters, an old mechanical cash register situated behind the bar is heard at times. It's flanked with a long mirror behind it, offering up unhindered views of the servers tushes from behind, especially when one leans forward. At one end of the bar, closest to the entrance there is a black door with a little glass window that seems to take one upstairs, when its unlocked that is. Beside the door, there is a little white intercom, who it informs or links to is only a guess. At the opposite end of the bar, there is a black curtain that sways and moves as if a draft from a door behind it is tickling it into motion.

    Facing you as you come in is the stage: a catwalk extends straight out from the back wall of the bar and ends in the middle of the room, where the stage flares out slightly into a square and a chrome dancing pole stretches from floor to ceiling. The stage is thigh-high if you're standing next to it, or face height if you're sitting. Music is provided by a single, neon-lit jukebox in the corner. At the back of the bar there is a gold painted door, and on the right hand side, tucked in the corner by the side of the stage large smokey curtain.

"Thanks for holding on to him for me, Snake," says the tall dark-haired man standing near the door where a burly, tattooed bouncer holds on to a scruffly little man by the back of the shirt. The Captain affixes the little man with a narrowed gaze.

"What have I told you about coming in here and starting trouble, Hafeez?" Horatio growls to the little man. "Snake and them have more than enough problems without your lazy, goatfucking weevil of a shriveled-up cock coming in here and trying to get dances you can't pay for. Now get back to work. This is the last time I pay your bill until you've paid me back, got it? Good. Now get!"

Snake lets the little man go with a shove toward the door, and go he does, flying out the door before he can barely get his balance. The Captain of the Raiders hands the bouncer a few coins and says, "Don't let him back in without checking with me first, next time. Fucker drinks turpentine when he can't afford booze. He's a little ... addled." Snake gives the taller man a nod and returns to the business of manning the door, just as a topless woman is dragged past by one of the bouncers.

Marrs simply steps around the flailing woman and heads on over to the bar. "Beer," he says. "And not the cat-piss you give the nobles."

Sitting off in a corner, the dreaded embodiment of the Loa, has picked his seat in the name of seclusion. Though shrouded, Laurent has a view of the stage, and watches as the chocolate skinned woman dances in her uniform. His face is slightly twisted as his golden eyes lock on her, it seems he doesn't quite like the uniform for some reason. The man is seen only by a plume of smoke rising up from the darkness and twisting about, coming from the cherry of a lit cigarette hanging from his pursed lips. Amber orbs are drawn quickly from the woman's dancing form to the ruckus at the entry, and he rises from his seclusion as the inky haired stranger takes a seat at the bar. Leaving behind an empty glass, the creole takes residence at a seat near the newcomer. Not directly next to him, however, the avatar of LaCroix instead leaves an empty stool between them. Eyes still cast on Horatio before he directs his gaze at the man tending bar. "Rum" He rumbles, a hint of an accent in the low growl of a voice that escapes him.

The barkeep, a lean, athletic six-footer with black hair slides the beer right past the creole and down to the long-haired space captain. "Rum comin' right up!" he bellows.

Horatio drops his hand like a slow-motion karate-chop onto the bar and catches the beer, immediately tilting it back and downing half. He wipes the foam from his goatee with the back of his marred right hand and turns toward the man with the strange accent, "Got another smoke? Left mine at the camp."

"Don make deese places like dey use'too" The man pours out in a rough voice to no one in particular, confirming the accent. He nods in recognition toward the bartender as he waits for his drink. Wordlessly, he passes the inky haired man a white tube, the tobacco product clearly rolled by hand. As he passes it on the barkeep seems to be done pouring Laurent's glass, and the hulking creole turns his attention to it. Taking the highball container and bringing it up to his lips, savoring the liquor as it enters his mouth. Setting the drink on the bar, he brings his cigarette back to his lips, a slow drag producing another roaming plume of smoke.

"Thanks," says the space captain. Retrieving the home-roll from the bar, Horatio takes it up between his lips and begins patting his pockets. "Shit. No fire." He turns to the creole man again and gives him a half-grin, "Captain Horatio Marrs. Sorry to be a pest, but do you have a light, as well?"

The dreaded creole turns his head over with a lazy grin, exhaling his smoke as he does so. "Gud ta'no, Cheef." He drawls slowly, "Laraun" his free hand rising slowly, casually pointing at himself. Laurent digs in a pocket for a moment, pulling out a matchbook and sliding it over. "Shud take care of'it, 'Orasheyo" There's a hint of laughter in his eyes as he returns the introduction, like it's a private joke perhaps. The Vodun takes no notice of the rough goings-ons about him, as if he were used to it.

"You know, I didn't even know how to work these things when I got here," says Horatio, now taking up the matchbook, opening it, and twisting a match around to the back to be struck without removing it fully from the pack. He holds the flame up to the cigarette between his teeth and puffs a few times, until thick white smoke begins to surround his head. He shakes the match out and slides the matchbook back toward the Creole seated one stool apart from hmi at the bar. "Interesting accent, too," he looks the towering behemoth of a man up and down appraisingly. "I can't quite place it..."

And into the club Talitha walked, looking around. "Hooraaatio!" she called out, with a grin. "I heard you came in here! Its easy to find you now that you're all titled and special!" the young woman says as she looks about the bar. "Where you at?" she says next- befor spotting him. At the bar, of course. "You alcoholic!" she laughs out, and moves on over to plop down next to him. Wiggling fingers towards Laurent, with a beamingly bright and happy smile offered as she did. "Hi! I'm Talitha!"

Laurent returns Horatio's look with a wider smile, his facial hair distorting what seem to be mirth lines in the works. Finishing his own appraisal he takes the matchbook back. Chuckling at the comment deeply, the hulking creole just drinks his rum. He slides his ash tray to the middle of them. "Nawlins." He growls a response after the drink, the burn of the liquor audible in his voice. Laurent draws his still burning cigarette close again, puffing and blowing it out toward the blond. "Hullo, Dahlin'." The creole says in a low rumble directed at her, the same cheer she possesses absent from his gruff voice.

Horatio breaks into a wide smile at the blonde's arrival, her comment on acoholism is greeted by his mug being raised into toast positon, tilted slightly her way, and then finished in a couple of quick gulps. "Special? Hardly. Almost got killed again last night, but I have to tell you, it was -thrilling-. You know, that business I had to slip out for after you girls went to sleep..."

He continues grinning and nods to the Creole. "Earth, huh? What year? We have folks around here from all over and just about every time there ever was."

"Nawlins!" Talitha calls out, beaming wide over to Laurent. "Bonjour! Mon nom est Talitha, C'est fantastique de vous rencontrer!" she offers, looking a bit surprised at herself to have just spit out a bunch of French. She covers her mouth, looking up to Horatio, blinking a few times. "Did you know I spoke French?"

"Très bon, ma fille." Laurent coos back in a debonair way at Talitha, quickly darting back to Horatio, "1906, Cheef." The creole leans his massive form back a bit, taking the slouch out of his posture. He draws in a breath slowly, a look of nostalgia spreading over him before he drowns it in his drink, finishing the rum off and causing a sour look to replace it. Laurent then spins in his chair and puts the cigarette out. He faces the stage to see if anyone new dawns it, having already viewed the flesh available to him from his barside companions.

"That redhead had you speaking in all sorts of tongues last night, my pretty," chuckles Horatio, his eyes turning to Talitha. "Mmm. That mouth of hers... and yours..." The space captain smiles happily at the recollection.

"Fill 'er up, Brian!" He must've been talking to the barkeep, because the athletic man comes down the bar and takes Horatio's mug, returns to the other end, fills it from the tap and slides it back down the surface toward the Captain.

"Nineteen-oh-six," repeats Horatio. "Well, that's a good six hundred, maybe seven before my time, best Koko and I could work out. Dates don't mean a lot here. Neither does where you're from. This is the City of Dreams. Akashat. Gods, demons, magic... even if it wasn't real where you're from, it is here."

A deep laugh comes from the mountain of a man that is Laurent. Both at the brunette dancer's outfit, and Horatio's comment. "Gawds, ay? So you mean dis berry moment der cud beya Gawd in our berry presense?" Laurent finishes his rumbling laughter with the statement and then spins around as the dancer finishes. He awaits the rest of the drink orders to be filled before he motions the barkeep to him. "De whole boddle dis tyme, Bra." With that, he keeps his glass. The bell rings to signal the entrance of another into the establishment. His amber eyes dart toward the new patron, though his head stays facing the two as the bar tender not only brings the bottle, but the boy even refills the glass.

Talitha beams back, and listens now. "And one for me, my good sir! Something delicious and alcoholic! If my friend is to be inebriated, it would be rude! NAE! Unforgivable for him to do so alone."

"Inebriated?" laughs Horatio in response to Talitha's comment. "Hardly. Hafeez got himself in a bind and I bailed him out. Again. That's how I know these guys. I'm always paying that daft little man's tab. So I decided to stay for a drink, since the Griffon's been so crowded lately."

The Captain's attention turns back to Laurent, "Well, I suppose so... that woman Dahl and I visited the other day is possessed by a demon, after all." He shakes his head. "We're not real sure what to do about that."

"Possession?" The hulking creole looks rather seriously at Horatio, eyes widening at the Captain's statement. Thoughtfully, he removes a beat up tin from his pocket and gets out another home-rolled cigarette. He strikes a match and brings the tobacco tube up to his lips before bringing up the lit match. Drawing on it until it's lit he gently smokes it, concern washing over. He moves seats to end the space between himself and the inky haired noble. "Prryvatlee, we need toobe speekin'. I may be able too help wid dis pahticuler ailment." And then, as quickly as the serious air about Laurent started, it is lifted. His amber eyes falling now on Talitha, and her tipsy antics. Thinking back on Horatio's earlier musings on what sounded like some sort of menage trois. A wicked smile playing on the creole's chiseled face now, seeming to be getting some ideas by the look on him.

Glancing over at Talitha, Horatio grins, "You might have to be a bit more subtle than that... That only works when you're holding the Dionysis cup." He winks.

Then his visage grows more serious as it turns back toward Laurent, lowering his voice just a little. "Well, it's made no secret of it. That surprised me, for some reason. I've seen the woman in question, too." His eyes glance straight upward as he thinks about it for a moment before continuing, "She was ... quite adept at twisting words and playing one against the other, but seemed relatively helpless. The ... Senara beat her nearly to death, it looked like."

Talitha's cheeks burn a bit towards Horatio and she gives him a playful shrug. She's quiet for the time being. "I think she just had to go!" She pouts a touch- and then, decides for herself to get warm by crawling into Horatio's lap, regardless of his preference of it. He'll just have to accept the grinning blonde there.

At Horatio's comment, Laurent sets his cigarette down for a moment. The devilish look is gone now, and then the towering man stands. At this he takes hold of the Captain, and cups his hand over the side of the man's face and jaw. Laurent draws him in closely, coming down to whisper in his ear. In a low growl, the Loa personified speaks to the inky haired man, "Maybe tis I who has da secret, Cap." With that, he returns himself to his seat and cigarette, taking to his drink before he begins to smoke again. On that note, Horatio is occupied by the blond in his lap, and it seems Laurent has returned to his dirty thoughts as well as the bar stool.

Accepting the blonde into his lap is no mean feat, and eventually the captain has to twist a bit to give her room to perch on his athletic thighs as wraps an arm around her protectively. This places his back partially toward Laurent, and his own words right in Talitha's ear, his tone kind but cautioning, "Now behave yourself. This just turned into 'official business'."

As the larger man places his hand on Horatio's face, pulling him back away from the blonde's ear, and the Captain nods slowly after he is released. He relaxes a bit then, blinking slightly as if he'd not even noticed his own tensing. He leans his head back over his shoulder, "You'll want to talk to The Margrave. Dahl. Tell her I sent you. Tell her you don't have a dead cricket, but you might have something better. She'll know what you mean."

Talitha just rolls her eyes and sighs. "Fine!" she leans forward on the bar- wiggling her rear into Horatio's lap teasingly as she sips her drink. Completely innocent with that grinding, firm rear there. She's being perfectly well behaved.

Laurent nods in Horatio's direction, "Tank you kindly, Cap. Al be sure to do dat." The loa in disguise then puffs on the cigarette for a few moments. Paying no mind to the blonde's playful motions in the Captain's lap. Amber eyes on the golden toned liquor in his glass. Thick digits tracing at the top of the glass absent mindedly, as if he is yet again deep in thought. This time, the subject a bit more serious.

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