|
|
Post by Nevan J. Blake on Aug 2, 2017 7:04:54 GMT
Thank all the pantheon of gods and goddesses known and unknown that Nevan could still drink beer. Little things, he supposed. He missed the way sunlight felt more than he would have expected. Food actually seemed disgusting now that he lacked a functional human digestive system and, horrifyingly enough, he had started to find certain people seemed particularly appetizing. His potions all had to be painstakingly observed to make sure his newly assimilated magic wouldn’t affect them. So fuck him if he didn’t want to get a drink from time to fucking time.
The bar down the street from where he lived. The place he had been going since he was eleven and the place he had tried alcohol for the first time then made himself so sick he threw up on the side of the bar. The place where the bartender had seen him grow up and had a tendency to offer him helpful and unwanted fatherly advice.
The bartender had seen Nevan’s pine brown eyes turned purple, and seen the fangs that he just barely managed to hide behind his lips and figured out what he was.
“We don’t serve parasites, boy,” the man said. His tone left no room for argument and when Nevan tried to argue anyway he had been roughly ejected by the man who, at one point, had said Nevan was like the son he never had.
So fuck him, right?
Nevan had spent a few weeks definitely not crying and working over potions - not batches for Ahman, though. A daylight ring was a long process and involved a lot of waiting so he helped his mum with standard orders. Pregnancy and curses, something for an old man’s sleep thrown in too.
The newfound energy that came with being a Daemon was a blessing and a curse. He didn’t need sleep. Well he did, but only every few days and when Nevan was focused he managed to last a week finishing all the brews before he wandered out of his small cooking area with armfuls of vials and dark shadows under his eyes. But he still didn’t really want to sleep because fuck it was night, apparently, and if he went to sleep now he would wake up in time for sunrise and just be trapped in the house and losing his fucking mind.
What he wanted was beer.
Nevan pulled on his gaudy red shoes and pulled his purple hat down over his eyes. His dark pants had bleached patches from spilled potion and his pale sleeveless shirt hung limp off his bony frame - and he smelled strongly of chemicals and metal.
But hey, he wasn’t going anywhere fancy. Just down the street to - oh. Right. Not down the street.
“Oi’ll be back!” He shouted up the stairs as he ran out the front door. He heard his mother shout something back but he was already halfway down the street.
He left his coat behind along with the sleeping cat curled up in it but as soon as he left the warmth of the house he regretted that choice.
It was summer but it was chilly, the bite of distant autumn already in the air. A shiver ran down his spine and he dug his hands into his pockets as he walked along the street. Passed his old pub and around the corner onto the main market road. He dodged around an horse drawn carriage and ducked behind a couple women wealthier than he.
He scanned the stores along the street as he walked, most of which were closing with approaching dusk.
Clothes, clothes, cheese, artifacts, clothes, wine, a healer…
Ah-ha! And a bar.
The Arcane Spider. Weird name but if they let vampires in then Nevan didn’t give a shit. Or maybe he did care, just a bit because when he opened the door he was briefly terrified at the sight of a huge spider behind the counter before he realized that no, it was a wolf spider shifter in his half form. Nevan blinked a few times before he squeezed inside the tavern. It was busier than he would have expected and it took a lot of shuffling to make his way up to the bar and he tried not to be creeped out by the insect leg that pushed the dense mug of beer into his clawed hands.
|
|
|
|
Post by Campion on Aug 2, 2017 20:16:22 GMT
Campion was having a hell of a week.
Not long ago was when he’d been chased down by hounds and had his arm cleanly cut off by one of the stupid human bastards that got lucky enough to catch him. There was still some time before he had to meet with Kez, and it was guaranteed that she would give him endless amounts of shit for what happened. Was the daemon somewhat more at an inconvenience now? Sure. It was odd not having both arms, and there had been a few times where it felt as if it were still there. Was Campion upset about losing his arm? Yeah, he supposed. But he was still alive and still fully capable of doing whatever he wanted really. Not much of a pessimist, there wasn’t too much about the whole ordeal that was upsetting to him besides being cooped up in the healer’s property for the week.
The first chance Rosalind told him he could wander some, Campion took it. Cabin fever had been setting in and he was so eager to get out. There was one place and one place only that he wanted to go, and that was a damn loud bar to get a drink. Life out on the Savanna was quiet and lonesome, even with Keziah and her telepathic dragon around. Campion loved it, but he did miss the bustling of drunk bodies in a small, compact area.
He’d gone into the first bar he saw while avoiding any and all hounds, to a place called the Arcane Spider. It was tucked away, a bit out of sight and out of mind to most humans in the area. With his bright skin, shinning eyes, fangs and rabbit ears, it was obvious that Campion was anything but a human. Not that he’d want to pretend to be one anyways.
Campion was in his male form. He wore no shirt due to the heavy bandaging on the stump of his left arm. There wasn’t much there as his arm had been severed very high up and close to the shoulder. The bandaging was clean for now and was also wrapped around his chest to help keep the stump as firm against his body as it could be and to help keep the bandages in place. Additionally, there were smaller bandages on the far left side of his abdomen, both anteriorly and posteriorly from the crossbow bolt that had struck him there, just nearly missing his stomach and giving him an awful death. Even after a week, most individuals would not be able to move around like the daemon was due to the pain of it, but he was part golem and therefore felt minor pain.
Too lazy to bother grabbing anything nice, he just wore whatever Rosalind provided for him, which was a baggy set of grey trousers that fell down a little past his ankles . In the Savanna, he would have worn no shoes, but for the time being Campion wore thin brown leather boots that were hardly in the best condition. He stuck out like a sore thumb, but as long as there were no hounds around, Campion didn’t much care.
The daemon pushed his way through the drunk rabble, taking in some old and long missed smells of sweat and alcohol. The air was musky from being full of so many people, but it was more comforting than uncomfortable for the daemon. Not much a fan of spiders though, he about left at the sight of the spider shifter handing out drinks. Gods damned creepy, was what it as.
“Bourbon please. Lots of it.” From the last raid he did with Kez, there was still plenty of coin for him to spend on drinks. Most of it would go towards helping the kid get a bow, but spending a few coppers or even a silver couldn’t hurt.
As the drink was pushed towards him, he used his only hand to take out the owed money and sat it on the counter for the shifter to take. Immediately he began to chug the drink down and only stopped when all of it was gone. Though cheap and not the best, it was damn good to feel liquid poison make his chest feel warm and tingly.
Someone approached the bar next to him and he turned his head to see as a normal form of reaction. The boy was young, maybe a little older or around Kez’s age, but obviously a daemon. Campion grinned and nodded at the drink that he had ordered. “What’s your poision of choice, kid?” Naturally a social person, the daemon had been so devoid of meeting people out in the Savanna since he’d been too busy trying to kill them for their food and water. Since he had the opportunity to engage someone non-aggressively, the daemon went straight for it.
|
|
|
|
Post by Nevan J. Blake on Aug 3, 2017 9:30:17 GMT
Nevan didn't pay much attention to the people around him until a man built like a mountain – though still noticeably shorter than Nevan himself – spoke to him. The vampire coughed into his mug, coating his pointed nose and cheeks in foam before he wiped his mouth furiously on the back of his bare wrist. “Ack! Yer louder than a feckin' dragon, mate!”
He looked up and saw tall ears, then looked down and saw a broad face. And gleaming, inhuman eyes that gave away that the man was no shifter. “Uhhhh . . . beer,” Nevan said, “the kind without any hops so gruit oi guess. What's yers? It smells loike feckin' lamp oil.”
Then he blurted out, “hey, yer a daemon, right?” He grinned from ear to ear all of the sudden. The only other daemons he had met had been Ahman, who was the actual worst, and Gabriel who was just flat out intimidating. “Oi mean, yer got the right eyes though oi didn't know anyting but shifters got fur. What are yer?” He laughed as he reached out and brazenly touched the shorter daemon's jaw where his furry rabbit ears sprouted from his skin. “Feckin' wild, mate.”
Without breaking eye contact Nevan took a swig, downing over half his mug in one go before he set it back on the counter with a loud thump.
Nevan wasn't drunk or high, but he was sleep deprived and starved for social interaction of any kind – much less a member of his species who he probably would never see again. “Do yer come around here often?” Nevan asked, unaware that was the opening line for pretty much every bar hook-up ever. “Oi've never been here myself. Kinda creepy but if they let in daemons oi can't feckin' complain.”
|
|
|
|
Post by Campion on Aug 4, 2017 2:05:20 GMT
Campion was…confused? Amused? Both? He wasn’t really sure. It looked like the kid was startled from his question since beer ended up all over his face. From his perspective, it seemed like maybe the boy was just jumpy, but either way Campion chuckled at the frustrated remark. “I mean, I’d argue the sheer amount of people hear as a whole are way louder than me, but sure kid, whatever you say.” It was loud, enough where the daemon had to raise his voice just a little as he spoke.
Once the boy answered his question, Campion caught the creepy bartender’s attention. “Another beer for my friend here, my good spider-sir! And another bourbon while you’re at it.” Already done with his drink, he was eager for more. That and he felt a bit bad for startling the…daemon was it? Kid seemed unnaturally pale with bright skin, normally a give-away, as were the shinning purple eyes. Regardless, he felt it was only right to help replace the drink that ended up on the kid’s face. “Lamp oil? Well, it’s bourbon, so probably not far from it honestly. Ain’t drinking it ‘cause it tastes good though.”
As their drinks were pushed to them by the gross arachnid legs of the bartender, Campion gave both a look of amusement and intrigue by raising an eyebrow questioningly at the kid’s outburst of a question. “That obvious, eh? Damn. Probably why I got caught by hounds in the first place.” The whole point of going to the city was to find an artist recommended by one of his raider pals for a tat, and now he was short an arm. “Yeah I am. Mix of mammalian and golem. I’m sure the mammal part was pretty obvious. What about you, kid? Golem? Vampire? Elemental?” Campion was convinced that the kid was one too.
Weird though, that the kid didn’t seem to realize that people other than shifters could have fur. Perhaps he was raised in the City, were there was mostly a shifter and human populace? It seemed possible. Or maybe he was just ignorant.
Truth be told, it wasn’t out of place for the boy to reach for the daemon’s ears. Most people who did it were a lot more sensual about it, sure, but over the centuries he’d met plenty of people that were just fascinated or adored them. Personal space was no issue for him as well and the kid was quite obviously not hostile, but in the daemon’s eyes he sure as hell seemed to be acting drunk already. “They’re fun to have, but make it damn easy to pick me out in a crowd.” Campion reached his arm out to clasp the boy’s forearm in a gesture of greeting. “Campion’s the name. And didn’t you just sit down and start drinking? Don’t tell me that’s all ya got for alcohol tolerance.”
Whoever the kid was, he was a riot. It was very unclear to the bunny daemon whether or not he was using the common pick-up line as it was meant to be used, or if it was a genuine question. Whatever the answer, he treated it as the latter with a toothy grin. Before answering though, he downed a good half of his drink. “Here? Naw, I spend all my time out in the Savanna. I don’t like skulking around avoiding attention from hounds. And don’t even get me started on the hostility towards daemons here.” He rolled his eyes and flattened his tall ears, though his tone was still light hearted and jolly. “Haven’ even been here a week and those damned Hounds cut my arm off. So yeah, it is nice that some place is willing to serve daemons.”
|
|
|
|
Post by Nevan J. Blake on Aug 9, 2017 9:04:34 GMT
“They're louder, yeah, but oi didn't expect anyone ter talk ter me!” Nevan shook his head, “yer feckin' lucky my skeleton didn't crawl out of my skin an' run off.” He drank more beer, noticing that there was too much foam and not nearly enough beer as he did.
“Ah! Thanks mate!” He cheered when the rabbit ordered him another beer. “An' easy on the foam this time if yer'd be so kind.” The spider ignored the comment and a long hairy leg slid a second mug of beer into his hands, just as frothy as the first.
“Anyting outside of dis is too strong for me, an't afford dat shite anyway,” Nevan admitted. Although he supposed that second part wasn't particularly honest. Ahman paid him well, if begrudgingly, but Nevan kept what he had close and divided it between his family as close to evenly as he could manage between the family.
Greedily the vampire drank from his free beer, and he was fortunate in Campion's intentions because the boy didn't so much as consider the possibility of it having been spiked.
“Uh, yeah? Yer got sparkly eyes, in case yer didn't notice. Herd ter hide bioluminescence.” Nevan tapped the top of his monolid before he giggled. “Oi look like a feckin' nightlight, an' oi have no feckin' clue how ter turn it on an' off. The guy who changed me? Real feckin' son 'va bitch. He hasn't told me feck all about nothin'. Apparently that's normal fer vampires so looks like oi'm shit out of luck there, eh?” His giggle turned into a more hearty cackle before he drank almost his entire mug in one go. First Gabriel now this fucking furby. Were all daemons cooler than him? He would have loved rabbit ears probably.
“Pleasure ter meet yer, Campion, oi -” Nevan pointed the thumb of the hand holding the mug at his chest and almost dropped the whole thing “-am the witch Nevan J. Blake at yer feckin' service.” He finished the rest of his drink and added, “for so long as oi have beer.”
Nevan shook his head and grinned. “Oi'm not drunk – oi haven't slept in . . . six? Six days. All the blood in my body has been replaced with caffeine at this point an oi am a little sleep depraved.” He twirled a finger in a circle next to his ear before he shook his head.”At dis point drinkin' will make me function more loike a reasonable human being. Vampire. Feeeeck.” He sighed miserably before he rubbed the back of his neck. “Are yer a changed daemon or were yer born as one? Because as someone who was a human six months ago this is feckin' impossible.”
He did raise a scraggly eyebrow at Campion's plight and he shook his head. “Well dat feckin' sucks. When did dat happen?”
|
|
|
|
Post by Campion on Aug 10, 2017 7:54:16 GMT
In regards to how he’d startled the kid, Campion shrugged and basically disregarded that point when the kid showed obvious enthusiasm for more beer. With a grin, he gave a hardy pat on back as a response to the boy’s thanks. “No problem, kid. Always willing to help someone get drunk. Makes life more fun.” Should a grown man be encouraging a teenager to get drunk? Probably not. But Campion didn’t much care. “I can’t really afford this shit either, but I ain’t good with money. Which is why I don’t carry it very often.” As long as he had enough to help Kez buy a bow, everything would be just dandy.
As Campion finished his drink, he slammed the wooden mug down onto the counter and shouted, “Another!” To the bartender, though not so demanding as to rub off the wrong way. Last thing he wanted was to hasten getting kicked out, or even poisoned.
Campion gave the kid an honest look of, not pity, but sympathy. Even though he’d never understand what’d it’d be like to transition, he did know that vampires had a bit more difficulty blending in. They were much more sensitive to the sun and much more pale than most daemons, as well as…well, ugly. Or at least the..what were they. Nosferatu vamps? Them. They were more commonly corpse-like and skeletal or bony in appearance. Anyone who didn’t look like that was lucky.
What made life even worse for someone was a daemon who had no one to help teach them how to deal with it. “Hasn’t told you anything? As in, you’re still hanging around him?” Curiosity drove the bunny daemon to ask some questions, momentarily forgetting about the drink that had been prepped for him. “If ya don’t mind me asking, what makes him so awful? You could find someone else to help you. Maybe even challenge him eventually and just be done with him. Or you could just leave at some point. That's an option too.” Finally, he took the hard liquor in the wooden mug and took a quick swig.
“The pleasure’s all mine, Nevan. Haven’t had a drinking buddy in a long time, so I’ll gladly pay for more drinks.” The kid was interesting thus far, and Campion was truly curious about his life. Everyone had a different story, and as a social person, he was taking advantage of the chance to socialize before he returned to the Savanna.
He cocked an eyebrow questioningly at the statement about not sleeping for nearly a week. Campion loved to sleep, so the idea of not doing it for so long seemed…well, awful to him. Hell, he had to have a nap nearly every day! Or, at least he did in the Savanna. Despite his higher tolerance to the sun, it was very taxing on his energy and tired him out quickly. “Damn, kid. You been busy? You said you were a witch, right? So does staying awake so long have to do with that?” Campion knew nothing about witches, other than they did things with ingredients and…well, stuff.
“I was born one. Was actually born in the Dream Land.” He paused for a moment, stopping mid-way as he brought his drink up to his mouth and frowned at himself. “Er, if you know what that is. Please tell me you know what that is.” If not, then well…damn. Kid was really having a hard time with his transition. “When were you turned? I can really say I related or know how to help much, but I can at least tell ya some things I do know.” It was no skin off Campion’s back to help the kid out some.
He finished bringing the drink up to his mouth and placed it back on the bar. Another stranger sat on the opposite side of him, accidentally elbowing Campion in the side and he sneered with irritation. Asshole. Though it was hard, he moved the stump where his arm had been and motioned towards it as he explained his story. “Goes back like…a century or so ago. It’s a long story, but I got a bad rep in the City apparently and some hounds decided to ambush me and cut off my arm to make me suffer or somethin’ along those lines.” He didn’t want to give the full story, partially because he was lazy. “Not really suffering though. I don’t feel pain much. And my left arm wasn’t my fighting arm. Just makes it more of a challenge to start fires and shit.”
|
|
|
|
Post by Nevan J. Blake on Aug 27, 2017 0:29:26 GMT
“Oi feckin' hear dat!” Nevan cheered as he got his third beer and began to choke it down. A few people on the other side of the bar whooped in response to his cry without looking at him. Oh, that was actually rather nice. There was no rowdy music but the crowd here still seemed pretty lively. Get a couple violins in here and a bard or two and maybe he could ignore the excessively creepy bar tender.
“Ah, oi can't do any of dat shite, mate. He knows where my Mum lives – probably the rest of my family too. Hells, oi bet the old bastard figured out which Hound's my old man! Feck. An' oi'm not his slave since he pays me. Oi'm more loike a. . . a private contractor? An' he jist made me a vampire for fuck knows what reason. So challenging him wouldn't do much good for me, even if oi was able ter take him. It's more loike extortion an' he loikes ter rub it in my face. Because he's a dick.” Oh sure, he could leave. But he wouldn't and Ahman was well aware of that.
Nevan nodded a few times when the bunny asked if he had been busy. “Yer ever baked? Yer got loike a five minute window ter pull bread out of the oven between it being raw an' burnt? Well, witchcraft is even worse than that. Once yer start yer gotta time everyting perfect or start all over again an' the best way ter make sure yer don't feck it up is ter jist stay up the whole time. Sooooo, oi haven't slept in what feels loike decades.” And he had the dark bruises under his eyes to prove it.
“The Dream Land? Yeah oi know it, it's in the tunnels, right? Never been there but oi've heard good things.” From Gabriel and Gabriel only. But he was the Daemon Lord and Nevan was pretty sure nobility of any species were right by default. And if they weren't then the gods would make it so.
“Oi was turned about six months back.” Nevan made a face as he went on, “ter be honest oi don't even really know what oi eat or how dat whole . . . eating thing works. Oi miss eating actual food, though, instead of jist eating emotions or whatever gross shite oi do now. Potatoes? Yeah oi miss de feck outta those but if oi ate one oi would die. Or make myself sick at least. If oi couldn't still drink oi'd probably jist off m'self.”
He raised his chin a little and arched an eyebrow at Campion's claim. “What did yer do?” He asked, sleep deprivation once again preventing him from realizing that was none of his fucking business. “Heh, well must have been real feckin' bad if they're still mad after all de people yer pissed off are already dead. Two generational anger, huh? How feckin' old are yer, anyway? Yer look younger den my mum.”
|
|
|
|
Post by Campion on Aug 28, 2017 4:28:04 GMT
Campion loved the atmospheres in bars. The drunk people, the smell of booze and sweat of a bunch of people being piled close together. None of them knew each other, and yet everyone still whooped to Nev. There was such a positive energy that could come from them, and Campion was all about that life. He loved to live in the moment, enjoy what was happening in the now. Worrying too much about what was to come was too stressful. And at that moment, he was merely enjoying a drink with some random kid that had daemon dad issues apparently, all the while being served drinks by a fucking spider. Litharia was great. He’d never trade it to return to the Dream Land where he was born.
Whomever it was this kid was speaking of though, this vampire that turned him, sounded god awful and a drag. Campion frowned as the kid momentarily ranted about the guy, drinking as he spoke. When he finished, the bunny daemon slammed the mug onto the table and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Guy sounds like a complete piece of shit, if ya ask me. I guess it’s good you’re being paid, kid, but figuring that shit out on your own sounds like it’s a tough road.” Sure, Nev didn’t just met Campion and would probably be too drunk soon to really remember him much in the morning, but regardless the daemon was serious with his next offer. “You ever need some help with him kid, get a hold of me. Somehow.” He scratched his head. Though he meant it, he wasn’t really sure how to go through with it. Campion himself was a little too tipsy too really work out the details. “I don’t fucking know how you can get a hold of me since I ain’t in the City like..ever, but just ‘cause I have one arm doesn’t mean I can’t kick some ass.” To the bunny daemon, Nev was just a kid and Campion didn’t appreciate pieces of shit that treated them like garbage. Sure, a few of his raids had lead him to making a child a newly found orphan, but he’d never intentionally do it and he always gave them a good chance to survive on their own.
Without even needing to ask, a gross hair arachnid leg slid another two drinks to them. Despite the creepy factor of the bartender, Campion already liked him. As Nev explained the witch work he did though, the daemon gradually became lost with everything the kid was saying, but even so he nodded his head like he understood. “Well, you’ll probably get some good sleep soon then. The booze will help with that.”
“Yeah that’s right, they’re in the tunnels. Haven’t been there in ages myself, but I recommend visitin’ them.” He gave a sad excuse for a shrug. Personally he’d never been all that impressed. He much preferred wide open skies. Perhaps it was odd for a daemon from the Dream Land to not be all that impressed with it, the tunnels, or even to have a lack of desire to return. But Campion didn’t care much beyond himself and few select people. Not to mention many daemons looked down on him for his rabbit influence. The moment another daemon would give him a condescending look, he’d fight and/or kill them. Campion did not deal with bullshit well. He also had no real loyalty to his own race beyond thinking daemons were just cool in general, but that was besides the point. Maybe Nev could find some form of closure or great epiphany from going there.
Nev’s nosiness didn’t both the daemon at all. He grinned, the tips of his fangs just barely visible. “Uhhh let’s see. I was tryin’ to get by with my group of miscreants. We basically formed a gang and stole a lot of shit. And got into a lot of fights too. Maybe we killed someone? Not really sure, honestly. And it’s no secret that a dude with bunny ears frequently raids trading caravans in the Savanna soooo. Yeah. There’s that. But they had me locked up at one point. Good friend of mine broke me out though. Not sure where the second generation grudge comes from though, besides the raiding. Thought I was in the clear.” Truth be told, Campion didn’t much care for the details anymore. Spirit was always an alternative option to the City.
“I’ve got roughly twenty years till I hit my five-hundreds. Been alive for a good long while.” Campion enjoyed looking young. The concept of looking old like humans got was a foreign idea to him, even if he still aged very slowly. “Can’t say I’ve done a lot of productive shi-“ As he had been speaking, Campion had been looking at Nevan while reaching for his glass. Instead of grabbing it though, it spilled in the direction of his own lap and without a second though, he jumped out of his seat back about twenty feet, not even realizing that he had jumped so far to avoid getting wet until he was suddenly far from where he’d just been.
The rabbit daemon had no idea he had been able to do such a thing, but instead of actually thinking about it too much, he just grinned like an idiot and walked back to where he’d been, ignoring some of the curious looks he got from the occupants. He’d been lucky not to jump into someone. His walk was defiantly not straight, but it was not one of a drunk man just quite yet.
As he sat back down, the bartender came over with a frown and started to clean up the spill. “Sorry, man. My bad. Didn’t mean it.”
He raised an eyebrow questioningly at himself, but was looking at Nevan. “That was odd. Can’t say I’ve ever done that before.”
|
|
