A Place Like This [open]

[Anonymous]

Pilots could do whatever they wanted on nights out.  They were fucking Pilots.  Liv had chosen to go down into the Lower City.  He took the elevator down and walked the rest of the way, past avenues of corrugated tin streaked bloody with rust.  It got a little cold down here at night--the area wasn't a priority for the temperature regs—so he’d put on a long black jacket.  Out of the elevator, he stepped into a clean space on the street and tucked up his collar for warmth.

   He stopped next to a flickering neon-lit sign.  It threw shadows against a wall hedged with graffiti, W... something something.  He felt the breath down his upturned collar before he heard anything.

   He didn’t turn around, but let his shoulders tense carefully, feeling out the situation.  No telepathy--that would be cheating.

   Someone grabbed him by one wrist and started to twist his arm up behind his back, but Liv grappled with him, and, tendons burning, wrenched his arm forward in a totally unnatural way.  Iagon went forward over his back and Liv tipped over after him, rolling through a puddle of something foul.  Iagon had already bounced back to his feet, but Liv waited before he stumbled to one knee, then came at him at waist-level for a tackle.  They slammed up against the wall and he slid away, watching the light hit Iagon’s open-mouthed gasp.  He expected the punch, but didn’t block it quite in time.

   Crack, to the cheekbone and the socket of his eye.  Tears stung his eyes, but he grabbed Iagon’s wrist on the pullback and—twist—twist—step—got it up behind his back, his other arm around his neck.  

   “Had enou—“

   Iagon slumped forward in a dead weight and swept one foot around to catch Liv at the knees.  He tripped forward and fetched up against the wall, faced pressed to the broad side of a green scrawl, Iagon’s knee in the small of his back and his hands clenched on Liv’s wrists.  Fucker.

   Liv went limp, face smarting.  Then… crunch.  He jerked his head back until he felt it hit nose, and, when Iagon staggered back, shoved himself off the wall and stumbled, in no real haste, around to face him.

"Fucking asshole," Liv said.

"Fucking asshole," Iagon said, sniffing and dabbing at his nose with a handkerchief.  

"Aw--c'mere--"  This time they collided into an embrace, grappling, feeling each other out to see if there'd been any change.  Iagon poked Liv in the side--obviously he had noted his attempts at bulking up.  "Where the fuck have you been, I've been fucking worried."  Liv underlined concern with an aggressive knuckle-rub to Iagon's hair, before he grabbed a handful of it and pulled the taller man's head back for a look.  

"Just some ar and ar."  Iagon eyed him sideways.  "Tch, Liv-oh, you worry too much.  Did you know you're getting a black eye, I wonder how that happened..."  

"I hope I broke your nose."

"No, it's fine."  He pulled free of Liv's slackening grasp on his hair (black today, Liv noted, though it was usually blond) and removed the bloodied handkerchief in illustration.  "See?  Besides, a little blood, a little bruising... good accessories for where we're going tonight."  

"We?"  Liv relaxed into skeptical posture, but he'd follow along, he always did.  Iagon, for all his faults, always had a plan.

"You came for the bash at Anima, I hope?"

"I came to find you."  Granted, he'd been fairly sure Anima was the place to be tonight.  Some things the Lower City apparently did well.  Like S&M clubs.  He'd never been comfortable with that scene, it felt contrived and embarrassing, but Iagon liked it.

He ignored Liv and went on.  "--Of course you did.  You'll fit right in.  Oh, I know you worry these Lower Caste types can't, what is it, conjugate verbs or... make puns about conjugating, don't, don't lie, you were going there--because let me tell you, there are some ladies in there wearing nothing but black lace and string, and they can conjugate me however they like."

"Conjugate this."  Liv flipped his friend the middle finger, but he had to laugh.  Iagon had taken him by one arm while he talked and started steering him down the block, past black empty windows and metal grates, dilapidated storefronts and blank-faced apartments, glittering fragments of smashed bottles and flattened cans.  The sound of the street got louder as they moved on, coalescing into a solid bass thump.  He felt it in his feet and teeth as much as with his ears.  

"Someone for you to meet later on, too," Iagon said, slinging one arm around Liv's shoulders and leaning in to speak in his ear.  "Very... anyway, we're here."  Marquee lights flickered red, shaping the word ANIMA.  Liv raised one eyebrow.  Well... Lower City.  Was supposed to look like crap.  Someone staggered out the door while they stood by, and threw up in the gutter.  "Classy, man," Iagon called, ushering Liv in ahead of him.  "Now--behave."

"I've never done this before."  They sidled down a stairway to a concrete-walled basement annex lined with discarded coats.  Liv shrugged out of his own coat and examined what he'd worn out.  The usual: vest, buttondown, jeans.  Would it fit?  He didn't care.  The whole S&M thing really wasn't his, however one might suggest he find some arena to explore his baser impulses.  Yeah, yeah, maybe better an arena that didn't make him go 'squick.'  Anyway, Iagon had worn his usual too, an unassuming, perfectly tailored black suit, now scuffed and askew.  He still looked good, shrugging out of the jacket he'd put over a sleeveless black shirt.  Liv wasted a half-second on jealousy, then poked him in the side.  "Seriously, is there some sort of code..."

"Well, make sure not to hang off of me, they'll think you're into abasement, and you'll be... well, fucked."

Liv glared.

"That was a joke.  Come along, then.  It's pretty normal on the dance floor... I take it you don't want a tour of the rooms yet, they're for the special... hey."

They moved through a set of double doors into the main room, an echoing, vaulted area lit in dim red.  Liv spotted the promised lace-and-string clad women immediately, and wondered what the story was there.  Were they there to play some special role?  Maybe he'd ask later.  For now he followed Iagon to the bar, eyeing the people arrayed throughout the club.  There were a few doors and a screened area set off to one side.  The special--whatever.  Hey, that girl was wearing something entirely transparent.  Later.  Once he saw what the hell...

At the bar, he leaned back and kept scanning the room.  It would be--well--just a little embarrassing to run into anyone he knew.  He ordered his usual whisky, not in the mood to ask for the Mixed Metaphor, and, anyway, they'd probably take it the wrong way here.  Probably tequila, cherry syrup and banana was code for 'I want you to hit me with spiked paddles' or something.  He ran a hand self-consciously over the swelling around his eye.  "Fuck you," he told Iagon again, leaning shoulder to shoulder with him at the bar.  

"No, it looks cute."  Iagon surveyed the floor.  "You bruise so beautifully.  It must be a skill they teach at the ATC."  

"Hey."  Liv shoved him sideways a little aggressively, and he went over into--

"Oh, shit, sorry!"  Liv set the whiskey down quickly, sloshing some over the side, and grabbed for Iagon's hand, pulling him back from the guy he'd knocked into.  "Sorry about that."  

Iagon leaned over toward the guy he'd knocked and put on his most winsome (Livlike, Liv rather thought) smile.  "Heey."

[Anonymous]

Specialised, themed clubs were always something of a flashy and exaggerated cliché. They tended to project only the loudest and most common image of whatever they were supposed to be specialised for. For anyone who wasn't that stereotypical or exhibitionist about their private life, it was something of an embarrassment to be caught in. They simply didn't make quiet places these days- at least, not anywhere in the Lower City. Everything had to be magnified and sensational.

Which was why someone like Dermut would sceptical about going. While he was not ignorant in the least to his preferences, he typically never really thought about it associating with the kind of people that can be found in the Anima. He, who favoured anonymous street fist fights over leather and lace. Still, they sold alcohol, played music, and had people- there wasn't much more he could ask from it. It was just a bonus that the majority of them would understand without explanation.

The chill of the Lower City was something he never noticed, after all he spent his life living down here. Dermut had thrown on a lightweight jacket, which was soon quickly shed off and tied around his waist as he stepped inside the Anima. From the almost intense blanket of heat he stepped into as he descended a few steps into the main room, it was good of him to have chosen a fairly thin black t-shirt. Unfortunately, it meant his left arm hidden under his leather sleeve would be quite warm for the rest of the evening, but there was no way that was coming off.

Dermut made his way over to the bar and into a seat before he gave the place a good look over. Women dressed in provocative clothing of leather, lace, and some synthetic materials, caged dancers in the font corners of the stage, and plenty of red lighting around the place. Overall, it wasn't that bad, although he couldn't really say the same for the song the DJ was currently playing. After a few drinks, he'd probably find it amazing.

A female bartender made her  way over to him, dressed in what could have been mistaken for a series of belts sewn together, her blonde hair tied up to reveal a rather attractive neck and shoulders. She took one look at Dermut's face- still slightly bruised from a fight a few nights ago, complete with a not-yet-healed cut on his lip and cheek- and winked before taking his order. Maybe this place wasn't so superficial after all.

It wasn't until after his fifth drink, when the alcohol was indeed starting to make him enjoy the place a lot more, that something actually happened. As he brought the glass up to his face, a body bumped into him and caused him to both inhale some of his drink and spill a good portion of it over himself and the floor. Christ, and the alcohol here was on the expensive side, too!

Dermut slammed the glass down and turned to see who the guilty party was. He was going to use it as an excuse to start something, but their appearances and the manner in which one of them apologised caught him off guard. He hesitated a moment after he stopped coughing. His attention was derailed from staring at the sight of the two of them to the man smiling at him. Dermut raised an eyebrow and smirked- a highly unusual response, but something he couldn't help from the guy's expression.

“Oi, you tourists owe me a drink,” he said, grabbing the nearly empty glass and shaking it a little. Dermut's smirk only widened a little when he noticed the two looked like they had just rolled in from a fight outside. Indeed, perhaps this place wasn't as narrow as he first thought it might be.

“Technically, you owe me some new clothes, too,” Dermut added with a grin.

[Anonymous]

Tourists?  Liv took the brushoff with momentary pique, then decided he'd rather be a tourist than someone who belonged here.  For a second, looking at the guy's face, he'd been worried they would start a real fight.  He saw the bartender tense, too, reaching for the stungun he doubtless kept under the bar.  The fellow they'd disturbed seemed like a bruiser, bigger than either of them and about Iagon's height.  While Liv could defuse things telepathically were they to escalate, he hated to do so.  One of the nice things about coming out down here: no one knew him as a Pilot.  Well, they shouldn't do, anyway.  But he'd calmed down straightaway, even quirked one corner of his mouth into a kind of smile.

Satisfied he hadn't started any real trouble, he relaxed against the bar and watched Iagon go at it with their new acquaintance.  Sometimes Liv liked time off the outrageous flirtation, especially with an unknown quantity... he hadn't come out for this.

"First, I am not a tourist.  Second, my friend, who is, will be paying for the drink," Iagon said, jerking one thumb back at Liv.  Liv, one elbow braced on the bar, gave a lazy wave.  "I'm sure he'd give you his shirt, too--any excuse, am I right, Liv?"  

"Fair enough," Liv allowed.  As a general rule it was true.  He worked hard for his body and he'd only be young for so long, or so ran his philosophy; why not show off while he could?  But he kept his smile guarded and watched the stranger through the throbbing flicker of red-tinged light.

"Pretty good deal, yes?" Iagon said, leaning close to the man's ear, one hand on the arm not covered by a long leather sleeve.  He was turning on the charm; Liv knew it well.  He had the looks to carry off suavity just a little better than Liv himself.  Going out with Iagon always became an exercise in a certain amount of jealousy sooner or later.  Ah well.  "Free drink, and you may get one of us to show some skin, too..."

[Anonymous]

Dermut had his mouth open to retort when the chatty guy leaned in close and touched his arm. The boldness of it caught him off guard, although he probably should have expected something like that from him. Being on the receiving end of flirting- from another man, no less- wasn't quite something he was accustomed to. Not that it hadn't happened before, and he certainly wasn't phobic of it. A smirk spread on his face again. That wasn't quite what he meant, but fuck it.

“Shit, one is enough, I don't need more. It's already as hot as I'd imagine hell to be in here,” he replied as he shifted his gaze to the bartender. The bartender nodded, and Dermut shoved the glass towards the middle.

“So you're not a tourist then,” he started with a quick glance at the them both, sceptically taking in their outfits again. “What corner have you hid yourself in? Looks pretty rough. Or did you invite trouble?” His attention turned as a fresh new filled glass was placed down in front of him. Dermut grabbed it and brought it to his mouth while he pointed casually at Liv, and threw back half of it in one go.

“Cheers, mate,” Dermut grinned at Liv.

[Anonymous]

"What can he mean?" Liv said, keeping a straight face.  For someone so battered, their new acquaintance seemed fairly laid-back.  Then again, maybe that's how they got you.  Hey.  Wait.  Leather sleeve?  Iagon had told him about this guy once... on the list of people you might like to meet sometime.  Of course, it was Iagon, so one never knew.

"No idea," Iagon said.  He looked blankly back at Liv, brow set in earnestness.  

"Yeah, we always look like this."  Liv brushed some dirt off the knee of his pants and took a moment to run his chip under the order scanner, then took the refill on his whisky.  "Cheers."  He tipped it back when the stranger did, and brought the glass up to press momentarily at the sting of his bruised eye.  He lowered it in time for his friend's introduction.  

"I'm Iagon, by the way," Iagon said, offering the dark-haired man one languid hand.  "That's Liv."  Not to tell this guy he was a Pilot, obviously.  Sometimes it was nice not to be famous.

[Anonymous]

Jorn was on his day off, and went to the lower city to see what was happening down there. He really didn't care where he went, he just wanted to party, and maybe score a little skin. Once he had gotten down there, he heard about some party going on in Anima, a S&M club. Not really his style, but that was where everyone was going. He was sure he would be able to find some girl that liked it regular as well.

He headed to club, hoping he was dressed right, but not caring if he wasn't. He had dressed in a tight white collared shirt, and nice black leather pants. The tight shirt showed off his muscles very nicely. The sleeves of the shirt did not cover his two tattoos. His skull smoking a cigarette and his green dragon. His amulet was currently resting outside of his shirt.

He entered the club and immediately went to the bar. "Whiskey." He said to the bartender. He sat and looked around. There were some women he could go after, and they were scantily clad, but so were most of the women. Many fop them were attractive, now he just had to find the ones who weren't that into this style.

He had been out on the floor, making his moves, and consuming quite a bit of alcohol, when he decided to come back to his chair at he bar. He headed back, and stopped short. There was a man sitting in his seat. In fact it looked like there were two other men that were part of the group. Both looked as if they had gotten in a fight, while the man that was in his seat was wet, probably from a spilled drink.

He normally would have found somewhere else to sit, but he had been drinking a bit more than he should have, and Jorn was a horrible drunk, really horrible. Now he wasn't weaving on the floor or anything, Jorn could actually hold his drinks, but he tended to get confrontational. He walked up to the man in his seat.

"Hey, fucker, you're in my seat. You see the seat you're sitting in, well I was sitting there, so piss off." Jorn stood there waiting for the guy to leave.

[Anonymous]

“Th'name's Der-” Dermut was interrupted before he could finish. He scowled and turned to face whatever moron was ordering him out of the seat. The black haired man stared at him for a moment, not quite sure if he was going to do more or not. Perhaps if this was anyone other than Dermut, a scene  might be avoided. But he didn't earn the alias “God-Shock” for nothing. Where was the fun in shrugging it off? Even more than that, how could he let a potentially perfectly good fist fight go?

Answer: he couldn't.

He frowned and reached a hand out to the man's shirt collar. The masochist couldn't be too sure how the guy might react, so he kept his grip as firm as possible. With a strong pull, Dermut brought the man's face down into his own, stared him in the eye with his own dull green, and growled, “I don't see your bloody name on it, you little shite. Why don't you piss off and find your own bloody seat?”

A little voice in the back of his head tried to order the other man to hit him, a little suggestive whisper. To do something. To start something. To give him a reason to throw him down and pound his face into the floor. Dermut had no idea how strong the twerp was, but judging by his attitude, he certainly wasn't a stranger to confrontation. Maybe, just maybe, he would be pleasantly surprised.

[Anonymous]

Recognition.  Liv hadn't expected to see anyone he knew, and certainly not a Pilot, but this one... oh, he'd seen him.  A new Cardinal.  Jorn--Jerm.  The idiot he'd teased on the blog, new Pilot, flushed with alcohol and anger.  His fellow pyro.  Was anger required of pyrokinetics?  Was it some poetic law of the universe, or just an excuse?

What an asshole.  It was one thing to start a few fights, but during your first few days as a Pilot, in an unknown venue in the Lower City?  Never mind how he'd gotten down here.  

Liv sighed, set down his drink, and pushed himself upright.  It wasn't often he found himself with seniority in a situation like this.  Iagon, by contrast, had simply backed away.  He looked a little amused, or bemused; he raised his hands and moved behind Liv.  Did not want to be involved with this one.  Liv shook his head and stepped forward.  Bad enough that they'd already knocked into the guy, now one of his happy compatriots had decided to act like a complete jerk.  What fun.

He reached out mentally, and--hey.  That flash from Der, something antagonistic there--couldn't blame him, but...

But even if he'd like to get some sort of satisfaction out of antagonizing Jerm, it wouldn't be a good idea.  He didn't know what the other Pilot was capable of, but messing with drunk Pilots was just never a good idea.  

"Shove off, Jerm," he said, though mental communication took some effort, as always.  He didn't make a physical move, but stood with arms akimbo, face set.  "I have fucking seniority."  For once.  "And you are a Pilot.  Stand down."

[Anonymous]

After Jorn finished talking, the man seemed to consider his options, and then what he did next surprised Jorn, in that he wasn't ready for it and the drink made him react slower. He was pulled down to the man's face, and told off. Jorn would have done something, but a voice intruded into his head.

Shove off, Jerm, I have fucking seniority. And you are a Pilot. Stand down.

What the hell? Jorn thought. His eyes flicked towards the man that had stood up, and recognition dawned in his eyes. That was Liv, the man who teased him on the blog. Shit, this night is not going good.  Unfortunately, he had to listen to Liv, as he was a superior officer.

Jorn used his arms to break free of the man's grip, and in a final act of defiance, he went to the seat right next to the man that had threatened him. He turned towards the bar and called the bartender over. "I need a coffee, the strongest you got." Jorn wasn't normally like that, and he realized he needed to sober up a bit. And maybe then he would apologize. He lowered his head to the bar. When he's coffee came, he drank some. He already felt a little better. Fuck He just made a bad impression on a superior Pilot, wonderful evening he was having.

[Anonymous]

Fuck. It was disappointing that the mouthy guy backed down so suddenly. Although what made him back down, Dermut wasn't sure. He refused trying to glance at Liv with a puzzled expression and make nothing of it. It wasn't as if the guy was all that physically intimidating, not to his mind. The masochist concluded that he probably didn't want an uneven fight- understandable enough- and spun around to face the bar again.

Not entirely keen on giving up the antagonism, he patted the man's back and said, “Good boy. Don't overexert yourself or anything.” Despite knowing full well that he was inviting trouble, he grabbed his glass and threw back the rest of it. Just a little cherry of nonchalant on top of the asshole pie, really. He knew it too, and waited rather curiously and anxiously to see how he'd react.

Unfortunately, thinking about it too much was starting to make him antsy. Perhaps he got a little too excited about possibly tasting his own blood, and ultimately having that euphoria wash over him after a lot of good hits. No, no, no. He couldn't start craving that right now! It would be horrible, horrible timing, and the last thing he wanted was to clue anyone in- especially strangers he just met- to something like that. In an effort to get his mind off it, Dermut gestured to the bartender waited impatiently for a refill.

[Anonymous]

Mmmm.

The smell of sweat and the sight of scantily clad...well almost everyone in the damn club.

This was Frazier's kind of place. He had been told about it by one of his more dedicated clients. She would be dressing down quite a bit to attend from her normal Upper Level excursions. He was hoping he could catch a glimpse or taste of her, or at the very least her money. The sight of shining leather always seemed to get him excited, there was just something about that black material. He grinned his smile shining in the dark.

The dealer had known a few people, he was sure he knew more, but it was hard to tell when normally you met people mostly clothed, when here was the opposite. Not that he could complain about most of them. Some people though...they should just stay far, far away from clubs like this...far away. There are some things his innocent eyes just did not need to see.

He himself and chosen not to dress as provocatively as everyone else, but he thought he still looked Goooood.  He had worn a pinstripe suit jacket that had zipper all over it. The large zipper up the middle was unzipped all the way revealing his chest in the middle. Then on his lower half he wore a tight dark pair of purple bondage pants. They had straps and zippers all over them.

"Well darling you really should give it a try." A red-head...Celia and a blond...Amber (was it?) were busy giggling at him their arms interlocked. The way they were looking at each other and then at him gave him more than a few ideas. The blond had on this lacy sort of skirt that looked like a tutu. He could just imagine bending her over while the other...then his head snapped to the side his eyes narrowing.

His attention had been drawn over by a sort of scuffle. Then it was kept there by a red-head that he recognized. Liv. The name was in his head like a sort of growl and purr at the same time. He looked back at the girls, who were starting to drift off. He caught the red-head by the elbow and slid a half vial into her hand along with his phone number then slid his fingers up the back of her arm. He had leather gloves on with the fingers cut out of them. Goosebumps rose up on her arms.

"Just give me a chance darling, you might never know what the two of you will like." She blushed madly, despite the party she was at and her blond friend dragged her off towards the other end of the bar. He always had a weakness for the red heads. As they ran off he focused attention back to Liv. He was here really? He didn't seem like the type, but really maybe he was. It was hard to tell with people sometimes. Plus, he probably got off on power just like all the other Pilots...

It would be too fun to scare him right?

He had to do it? Right?

Of course.

The fairy moved around to the bar ordering a screwdriver his old favorite. After he waited for a bit and received it from one of the female bartenders he moved up behind Liv, but there someone between the two of them. He sighed in his mind. He would have to bide his time.

[Anonymous]

Now that he'd gotten a glimpse of the tenor of... Dermut's mind, that's right, the name had been there, the edge of identity visible beneath the thought like metal under velvet.  Now that he'd caught a glimpse, Liv was just not sure.  He shifted, watching him.  Not like Liv himself had never been disappointed to avoid a fight, of course, nor that he'd never antagonized someone, but he could feel the gritty thrill thrumming off this one like electricity.  He leaned in toward Iagon, gesturing him down so he could speak into his ear.  

"This is the guy you wanted me to meet?" he said, confident his voice wouldn't carry past the throb of the music.  For now he wasn't too bothered about Jerm.  He was a Pilot.  He'd probably be able to follow a direct order.  "He's off the handle.  Hell, he's off the whole hinge."

Iagon shrugged, his shoulder brushing Liv's.  "Among others.  Hey..."  

He twisted to look behind him, and Liv blinked and drew back.  Frazier.  Fancy that.  Well, it wasn't a real surprise, but... Liv felt his cheeks heat up a little.  Great.  Now he'd found two people who knew him and would henceforth think him kinky--granted, he wasn't sure if Jerm would actually recall any of this tomorrow, and besides, he didn't much care what some cocky asshole thought.  Right.  Purple bondage pants?  Okay, maybe he wasn't the one who ought to be embarrassed.

"What a surprise.  Iagon, Frazier Inness... Frazier, Iagon... were you trying to sneak up on me, Inness?"

Liv kept half an eye on Jerm.  New Pilots could be so interesting.

"Hey, it is a party," Iagon said, slipping behind Liv and setting one hand on Dermut's shoulder, lazily, and one on Liv's.  "... and whoever you are, little coffee-drinking angry man."

[Anonymous]

As Jorn sat down, the man next to him patted him on the back and left him with one more vocal jab. If Liv wasn't here... He thought. Ah well, he went back to nursing his coffee. It seemed to be helping, because his mind cleared a little more. Now he had to figure out what to do. He needed to apologize, but he didn't want to seem like a chump, but he also didn't want to seem like a jerk in front of another pilot.

He was getting ready to say something, when another man joined the party. He heard the name Frazier Inness. Hmm, who is this person. It seems as if Liv knows everybody. Now Jorn knew three names of the four people. There was Iagon, Liv's friend, who seemed really cheerful, Liv himself, and this other guy, Frazier. His thoughts echoed Iagon, this was a party, and their group kept turning into one even more.

... and whoever you are, little coffee-drinking angry man.

A little chuckle escaped Jorn's mouth. It was hard not too. He sighed inside, and turned to face everyone. He shot a quick thought to Liv. I'm going to apologize, okay, I'm sorry. "The name is Jornal,Jornal Lael, but you can call me Jorn." Then he turned to face the man he had threatened. "Hey, listen, I'm sorry for what I did. Let me make it up to you. The next few rounds are on me." He held out his hand to the bartender, who had heard him, and was already there waiting. She swiped it and authorized his account. He sat back down, but this time facing the group.

[Anonymous]

Everything around him had the volume turned down. His focus shifted from what was going on around him, to keeping himself sane and normal- a task made easier with his new drink. Dermut only snapped back into the real world when a hand was suddenly on his shoulder. The masochist turned his head with an eyebrow raised and looked for the source of Iagon's comment. So, more people he didn't know. Dermut snorted at the thought of being in a rather large group of complete strangers that all seemed to know the pair that originally bumped into him before the night was out.

So who was that guy anyway?

Dermut finished his glass just as the subdued idiot on the other side of him introduced himself and offered to pay for a few rounds of drunks. He shrugged- who would turn down a free drink?- and set the glass back on the bar table.

“Right,” he added, reasonably convinced that he was back in control of himself. “Th'name's Dermut.” It wasn't long before he caught sight of the guy in the gaudy outfit. Somehow he held in his tongue, but man were there a million things he could say to him about that. He seemed to know Liv though, so it probably wasn't a good idea to fly in shooting.

[Anonymous]

Well...fuck...spotted.

Frazier groaned at Liv and moved closer to him when he was acknowledged. This was not how he had planned his grand entrance back into the Pilot's life. It had involved more squealing from him and a way better view on Frazier himself from the other people around Liv. He gave a full pout in his mind but on the outside accepted his defeat with barely a blink of an eye.

The dealer nodded to Iagon and put a hand out his other on Liv's arm leaning in. He gave his winning smile but addressed Liv first.

"Maybe just a smidge, you would have liked the pounce." An arch of the eyebrow then his eyes were back on Iagon. "Nice to meet you." He gave a look up and down at the man his smile still in place. Then his eyes drifted to the two other people he had yet to be introduced to. A bigger guy, with a somewhat smaller one but not by much. The smaller one seemed to be giving off angry vibes and Frazier spotted the coffee in front of him.

He shook his head at Liv and sighed. First, there was another knife to stick in.

"Well, Liv darling." Frazier's voice had a dark turn to it, an obvious venom coated with honey. "How have you and your...."He trailed off licking his lips. "delicious girlfriend been? I really do need to get her number from you." Then he leaned more over so the two other men could hear him. "And please, who are these other two gentlemen? You are just rude. But I already knew that really." He winked back at Liv and squeezed his arm just a little.

[Anonymous]

Liv pulled free of Iagon's hand and took a step closer to Frazier.  Just a step.  He wasn't entirely sure how this would go; from what he had read on mission, Frazier had felt a little attached to the vampire they'd brought in.  Well.  Harder to start a fight when you were standing really close, though tonight felt generally as though it could erupt into a brawl at any moment.  Between crazy-ass Dermut (Liv liked him already, but the moniker just seemed apt), drunk Jerm, and sleazy old Inness--not to mention Iagon and his penchant for off-kilter unpredictability... well, everything felt strung very carefully on a trembling wire, and he didn't want to get kicked out of an S&M club, for the Gods' sakes, that was just pathetic.

What a fucking night out.  He'd wanted to see Iagon, have a few, maybe even talk about things, Livvy, imagine that.  Instead...

Well, admittedly, creepy old Inness could be just a little entertaining.  Liv leaned against the faerie and shut his free hand over Frazier's, on his arm.  He squeezed just a little too tightly.  "Typical, you suave sonofa, you have eyes only for me.  That's Dermut, we've just met him, no fucking clue, and Jerm, one of my--coworkers.  Don't think he has a fucking clue either, but hey."  Iagon, leaning back against the bar, shook his head slowly from side to side in mock disappointment.  He had that little bit of enigmatic smile that reminded Liv of--something.  Okay, so he could let up on the new Pilot a little.  Okay... so he wouldn't.  Too much fun.

Iagon turned to speak quietly to Jerm, leaning past Dermut--Liv didn't quite catch it.  "He's compensating for something, boy, ignore him," Iagon said.

Liv lowered his voice, tilting his chin up to speak in Frazier's ear.  Damn the man for being tall.  Damn everyone for being tall.  "And Sabela is out of your league, Fraz, but hell if I care, I'll give you the number later."

[Anonymous]

Jorn looked around at all the people. It seemed as if Liv was a popular person. He seemed to know everyone, in fact looking at it, that seemed to be the connection here. "What the hell Liv, do you know everyone?" Jorn asked and chuckled. Jorn felt a bit more sober, and the coffee was taking effect. He turned his head at what Liv said next. Jerm, one of my--coworkers. Don't think he has a fucking clue either, but hey.

"Hey, Liv, it's Jorn, when are you going to get it right." He smiled a little to show he was joking. He was feeling a lot better, and was finding this group of people interesting. Then his friend, Iagon, leaned past Liv and said something quietly. Only Jorn heard it. He's compensating for something, boy, ignore him.  Jorn cracked a smirk. "Aren't we all." He replied just as quietly.

He realized that Liv still hasn't revealed his job, and figured for some reason, he didn't want to. He guessed he was going to have to follow Liv's lead. Frazier and Liv had a conversation that was too low for him to hear. Jorn didn't know what to do, and out of habit, he started playing with his power. He did it unconsciously, since it was such a small usage of his power. And he could easily control small acts. He snapped his fingers and a tiny fireball appeared between his fingers. He started rolling that ball across the back of his hand, much like a magician does with a coin.

He looked back at the group of people. They were an interesting bunch. "Well, What do you guys do. I know what Liv does, but how about the rest of you?"

[Anonymous]

Judging solely by what he could see, thanks to the loud music and general chatter of people trying to speak over it, this was starting to turn rather strange. How did all these people know that guy? Never mind how exactly this new addition to the group was acting. It was like he managed to find someone famous that he'd never actually heard of. Or was there something else going on? What the hell did he fall into?

When the guy spoke up enough to be heard by everyone else, it seemed his own introduction had been drowned out by the noise. Dermut scowled slightly and raised an eyebrow. It wasn't often he was actually willing to give his real name out to any strangers, and he wasn't keen on repeating himself. Thankfully, although he couldn't quite hear all too well, it seemed like the popular guy was doing it for him.

Dermut pushed himself backwards and against the bar to allow the two guys beside him to exchange words. He grunted and reached for his new refill, considering the option of leaving shortly after the free rounds were up. After all, he was the only loose link; Dermut didn't know who the hell any of them were. Besides, he was still riled up.

Unfortunately, a sudden glow from Jorn caught his attention. A fireball, however, was the last thing Dermut had expected to see. He jumped back as far as the bar would let him, banged slightly into Iagon by accident, and nearly threw down his drink. It wasn't like he didn't know magic and the sort existed, but for someone like him, he never really actually came in contact with it. Ever.

Really, what the fuck was he being dragged into?

“Who the hell are you,” he said after the initial surprise was gone.

[Anonymous]

Two pilots. He gave a move of his head and a slight closing of the eyes. He stopped a sort of growl rising in his throat as he felt Liv close his fingers on his arm.  

Entitled police, over powered military, legal assassins, filthy spoiled...

Frazier wasn't delusional in thinking he was someone that could rightly without any humor judge someone on their moral choices. He was fully aware that his life thrived on bad choices, on manipulation, he knew what his game was. There was just something that didn't leave him alone about them, something that gave him one of those bad itches...those bad feelings in your stomach. Plus, there was the small matter of Jericho, the uncatchable...being ...caught. It still rolled his mind.

He clenched his jaw the bone twitching in his cheek as Liv talked into his ear. He felt his hair brush against him. He felt that string in his mind winding tighter and tighter till it was ready to snap in half. Luckily control was something that he could get a grip on when it meant pain for him or something was part of his game. Plus, he knew that his battlefield wasn't a place where there were four guys and his skinny ass. He was more of a chess player.

Then Dermut (right that was his name?) was hopping back away from the bar. He followed his eye line seeing the fire crossing Jerm/Jorn's hand. He arched a brow, it wasn't really common...but it wasn't something that needed that much of a reaction. He turned To Dermut and came up to him, pushing passed Liv. He put a hand on the man's arm leaning in.

"Well, you don't get out much do you mate? These two..." His index moving from Jorn to Liv, "are good old Pilots. They are stronger than the average man." He winked at Liv from across the small space between them.

[Anonymous]

Jerm, you fucking idiot, Liv thought, when he caught the sudden pyrokinetic glow.  Drunkenness could excuse a little stupidity, but this?  Fucking idiot, unless he'd just wanted to fuck with Liv.  They would have a little talk later.  Just now Liv wasn't sure he could get himself together well enough to marshal his mental voice.  

He sighed and pinched at his forehead, eyes shut.  When he opened then, he caught Frazier's wicked glance askew, and a glimpse of Iagon, smiling.

Iagon set his hands on the edge of an empty spot along the bar and kicked up to perch on its edge.  "Stronger?" he said, nudging Liv with one toe.  "That's just the smell."

Liv eyed Frazier, then Dermut.  If they really showed anti-Aedolian prejudice... and by that of course he meant anti-Pilot.. he'd have to report it, or at least take a look.  He really didn't want to do that.  Thank you, Iagon, for the attempt, but.  Frazier was on thin ice already.  Technically, anyone magically gifted got the draft, but hey, species exemption... and then the matter of Jericho.  He'd come about a hair too close to Failure to Report a Known Psychic.  And now he'd come to find Liv?  Okay, fair enough, you're irresistible and he wants you.  But the aggression was a little much; Liv could feel his anger, and had Jerm not been so drunk he might've decided to take a closer look.  He still might try to score some points turning up a subversive.  Liv?  Wasn't going to try for a peek inside Frazier's head, or Angry Dermut's.  Fucking idiots.  Everyone was a fucking idiot.  

"Pilot Cardinal Livos Sulo, new Pilot Cardinal Jerm... Jorn Leel or something, don't care, and you're Dermut, so sorry we didn't tell ya but I was embarrassed to be seen with so much, uh, black leather, so let's just play nice with the poor confused Pilots, okay?"