Log:Drinking With Lions

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Drinking With Lions

Cassian, Talbot, Teagan

16 August, 2017

Three Lost walk into a shitty bar...



In the afternoon, a place like this might not be as busy as in the nighttime hours-- but that doesn't mean the dive is dead. Not even vaguely so. People still mull about, some imbibing in daytime drinking to various extents. The usual.

Outside, the rumble of a heavy motorcycle engine can be heard approaching. Anyone knowledgeable enough about that sort of thing would recognize it as something resembling of a Harley, but not quite. And then, just a moment later, the door to the bar is brought slamming open to admit inside one (1) Talbot. Clad in biker's leathers with a small rucksack slung over his shoulder, mane of black hair flowing down to his neck in a free, surprisingly un-tussled manner despite just having spent a good long while driving down the road on bikeback.

Bright green, predatory eyes scan through the interior, slowly, briefly meeting the curious looks of various patrons with a glint in his own eye that seems to ward them off immediately after, and only then does he step in further-- as if he owned the goddamn place, such is the determined prowl and gait of him, exuding animalistic air all through him from every single pore.

There's only so much that Teagan can take of the wholesome, cookie-baking aura of the Wayhouse. Really. It's just not for them. And so, despite the fact that it's the middle of the day, the Darkling is out and about, looking grumpy as fuck because the daystar is about. And also because the Darkling is always grumpy as fuck.

They'd shoved their way into the bar with their shoulder a while ago and are already sitting in a corner booth. It's possible to miss them, but much less possible if they're not actively hiding (they're not) and if someone can see their Summer Mantle. You don't get much more Summer than Teagan, and their Mantle is one of Urban Warfare: shimmering heat, the static of distant radios, the occasional distant patter of semi-automatic gunfire.

Teagan. Silvery-black eyes that shift in the dim light. Staring at Talbot as if he's the most interesting thing this town has yet had to offer. Other than maybe Clio. Right now they're pretty much tied.

Of course Talbot is one of the most interesting things in this town. Why wouldn't he be? He's a goddamn Lion. And it shows to their eyes, too-- those telltale signs of his mien holding more feline features mixing into his otherwise human ones, the faint signs of fangs beneath those lips. ANd the sheer strength of his mantle, at that-- easily matching their own. Warfare across the globe, through the deserts, through the forests, the jungles the cities. But something much more primal. While the way he stands might evoke thoughts of a modern soldier, they can still tell: this is a man who rips and tears.

And through his path towards the bar counter, he eventually notices the Darkling there. INterest immediately lights up in his eyes, and that feral gaze moves along them to take them in. Sizing them up. Interesting.

The leonine man makes his way on to the bar counter, and growls out an order for something strong-- somethign that he then takes in a tall glass with him over towards that booth in the corner. Eyes on the Darkling. They definitely caught his interest, and he seems very determined to pursue that interest, too.

They're not quite a foot shorter than Talbot -- average height for a man, tall for a woman -- and of indeterminate gender, but very determinate anger. Teagan smiles, the sort of low-grade weaponized smile that says 'come buy me a drink and then I might cut your throat for shits and giggles, or I might not, but you're not going to know unless you come over here, are you?'

That might be how they find places to sleep at night. Heh.

Finishing their current beer, they pick up one of a plate of chicken wings and absently gnaw on it with perfect white teeth.

The implications behind that smile don't seem to deter Talbot at all. He just goes on approaching them, still, and once he's close enough to actually say "Hey," he does it with a low, growling undertone. "You mind a stranger sitting down for a bit?" He asks then, but before they can really provide an answer, he's already setting hte glass he brought along down onto the table. "You seemed like you wouldn't mind." Or rather, seemed like they would actually be able to keep up with him. It's not said, but... the meaning might be picked up on.

      • IC Time: Tue Aug 15 20:52:30 2017 ***
      • OOC Time: Tue Aug 15 20:52:30 2017 ***

"Hey," answers the shadow in the corner booth, leaning back and enjoying their beer. Teagan's in a back corner booth, with a lumbering giant of a lion-man leaning over said booth. "Are you going to sit down anyway? The answer seems like yes. So sit down. But you're buying next round." A wave of a hand as Talbot sits down anyway. "See? Predicted it." Their face shifts and shimmers briefly in the bar's low light.

Two Summers, alike in huge fucking Mantles of heat and the occasional patter of gunfire and radio static, sit in a booth together now. With beer. "You are buying next round for commandeering the table," drolls Teagan.

"So you see," Cassian says, "Our terms were met perfectly according to our contract. I provided exactly what I promised, at exactly the cost advertised." Cassian seems to be speaking with a counterpart--A short, stubby man with bushy eyebrows and hairy features. "But, I'll offer you a few drinks to rectify any hard feelings. I would hate to think you thought I was taking advantage of you," he says, before sliding a hand along the man's shoulders and ushering him to the bar. The man seems to begrudgingly do as told, leaving Cassian to search for a quiet place to drink alone.

"Well, of course you did," Talbot tells Teagan upon settling down on the opposite side of the booth, voice all growling undertones-- but not for anger. That just seems to be how his voice naturally goes. Especially since his smile seems to be one of extensive amusement. "And that's *fine*. Though I tend to not stick to just beer alone."

Their hand flips absently as the androgynous Mirrorskin's eyes start to track Cassian on his way toward the bar, or, well, inward from the door, anyway. "Hunh," agrees Teagan. "Well, sure. Buy what the fuck you're buying and I'll drink it. Just not if it's fucking Malort." Everyone's got a line, and apparently, Malort is one of Teagan's. The Darkling extends a hand to Talbot, easily. "Teagan." One name, apparently.

The man that arrived with Cassian seems easily enough shrugging off the words with Cassian. Cassian, too, had already forgot the tiny things existence--He was no longer important, after all. Before ordering anything, Cassian seems to busy himself at a table with a nice ink pen and an elaborate ledger. A quick glance would not yield much to cold eyes, as he seems to write in cipher. In a strange twist of fate, he seems to be wearing shoes. Though, he clearly dislikes it, as toes and foot shift uncomfortably within them.

"Didn't quite intend to go that route, no," Talbot says with a growling bit of a chuckle, head slowly shaking in time with that sound. His bright green, utterly feral eyes study Teagan over, slowly, from this closer vantage point (or more or less closer anyway). "We'll worry about what comes there on after the first round." Though he's not in a hurry to sip at his drink yet-- just idly fiddling his finger over the rim of the glass. "Talbot." Just one name for him too, at least for now.

A glance slides over Cassian, inspecting him without much fear of him seeing that they're doing it, and then Teagan's attention returns to Talbot, however briefly. "Good. Fucking nasty shit." They roll their eyes at the feral appraisal they get, kicking back in the booth and taking another swallow of their beer. A glance after the man who came in with Cassian, and then a glance back at him. While Teagan doesn't move much, their eyes never seem to stop.

Cassian seems content enough writing, untip he senses a pair of eyes on him. Uneased, he glances around a moment, eventually sliding his gaze over Talbot and Teagan. He didn't recognize them, but, offers them a bit of a nod. A single nod, in fact. The nod of a merchant always happy to do business. It was possible they had met and he forgot--He forgot so many faces, after all.

Talbot's eyes turn towards Cassian, having followed the gaze of Teagan there. While those predatory eyes take in the man there, curiously, he cocks one dark brow upwards slowly, before shaking his head and turninng a look back at Teagan instead, asking them, "How's your tongue handle whiskey instead, hm?"

"It, and the rest of me, handles whiskey just fine," Teagan answers easily, and they click their tongue absently against the roof of their mouth. "Buy one for him, too, and get him to come drink with us. Let's meet everyone, since he's taking notes." Or whatever it is he's doing.

Cassian considers the pair for a moment before he offers a final penning to the paper of the ledger. He didn't seem overly concerned about hiding the cipher--Because why have one anyway? But, the ledger is shut in a gentle motion and tucked away quietly. It was time to get a drink, and Cassian didn't know what that was going to mean.