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Post by Mikhail de Romanius on Sept 21, 2016 21:50:50 GMT
The old man never cared much for sticking to certain territories, the Gangrel and the Brujah always had the best dives; the standard in Japanese bars never suited him and if he was lucky there would be other foreigners he could speak to. After all his Japanese was barely passable, loathing the stares and sneers he received from the locals any time he spoke; though the Ancient feared little it was in his best interest to remain somewhat low key. Therefore it was the Ducati that brought him to this particular bar in the arse end of Nagasaki, decked out in a simply black leather jacket with worn out jeans and a very simple band t from a stones show he literally saw in the 70’s.
There were no eyes that followed him in, the old man managed to mask himself fairly well; seemingly just another kine stumbling in for a stiff drink. The atmosphere was heavy with smoke and loud music, it reminded him of a place back in Australia; it was a nice feeling almost. That aside the towering creature strolled slowly but surely towards the bar, grabbing the first empty seat; calling out in English first off to grab the bartenders attention. “Vodka on the rocks, leave bottle please…. Stoli if you have it” That old world British tone lingering on each word that rang out, fishing out a cigarette then lighting up swiftly in suit.
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Post by Eto on Sept 22, 2016 0:44:54 GMT
Having spent far to much time concerned with the comings and goings of the court, the coming war, and the demons of the devil house. The mercenary had decided that it would be a good idea to get out of the high society echelons and enjoy some of the more mundane areas of Nagasaki. One of the dives in Brujah territory seemed to be the best option. Not that the mercenary was particularly liked by the Brujah clan.
The Mercenary walked in comfortably, as always dressed in his long archaic cloak, fine silk clothing over densely woven chain mail. A number of the gathered Brujah took notice rising from their seats at the bars and scattered tables. The mood of the bar suddenly tense, Eto's delicate hands dropped to the pair of scimitars strapped comfortably to his hips, his sanguine eyes glowing with an almost violent mirth. "The odds don't at all seem to be in your favor lads. I'd back down were I you." He commented casually walking towards the bar.
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Post by Dominique on Sept 22, 2016 20:04:35 GMT
Pouring the gentleman his drink was easy enough, even if familiarity tugged at the poor demon's heart. She recognized Mikael the moment he walked through the door, despite the drastic change in his attire; she'd never be able to forget the old man that frequented both De Morieve and the strange Perth hub. He had managed to both calm and infuriate the legendary Nuko, playing her roaring Beast like a well tuned violin; she had witnessed him talk her cousin Abbadon, the Devil House Princess, down from a rage that surely would have burned half the city to the ground. Nobody affected Nuko or Don like the old Carpathian... Dominique always figured him worth committing to memory.
Of course, she didn't expect him to return the favor. She had taken a host body that would be a stranger, and even if he managed to see the blazes of Hellfire in her muddy brown eyes, Dom had very little that set her apart from any other low-power Fiend. Her relation to Matrea, Marth, and therefore Don, was one of familiarity, not of Family. She had few strengths, and aside from the goal that always drove her, she was almost... forgettable. It had been decades since she had accepted that.
"There you are, Mister de Romanius," the demon said with a little wink. She was far from impressive, but letting pretenses drop, the temperature of the room would raise a few tell-tale degrees. She had no interest in trying to hide herself from the Carpathian... That could, after all, end quite badly. She slid him his drink, setting the bottle down beside the glass, and was just about to open her mouth to speak once more when a loud cracking noise interrupted her thoughts.
One of the Brujah - a tall, broad fellow wearing the leathers of a biker with stolen grandeur - had refused Eto's warning. He gracelessly brought one fist down on the wooden table, splintering the beautiful texture just beneath. The demon bartender felt her face twitch, fingers curling into her palms. It wasn't like she'd be much of an asset in a fight, but she was getting REAL tired of things breaking out in HER bar.
"Why don't you wiggle your way right back on outta 'ere?" The thick, country accent seemed strangely misplaced falling from the lips of such an obnoxiously dressed man, but the Southern drawl would not be denied. It made Dominique shudder in momentary revulsion, even as he freed his hand from the wood, splinters clinging to his fingerless gloves (and yes, they, too, were made of... leather). "We ain't got no time for this here, tonight. You caused enough trouble all by your lonesome before..."
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Post by Mikhail de Romanius on Oct 4, 2016 5:45:38 GMT
Between the chatter and all that, the old man wasn't paying too much mind to the idol on goings throughout the bar; a little twitch took to the nose at the faintest hint of brimstone. A brow rose above those wire rimmed glasses, the old man offering a half smile at the barkeep; perplexed on how she knew his name. He hadn't handled her a card to pay for the bottle, after all he was planning on paying in cash; so odd but there was something else that drew his attention elsewhere. There was a macabre sound coming from the pool table, a sea of various voices in a way but coming from one man; there wasn't just one man though.
A ginger seemed to be causing a wee of stir amongst the local ramble, a grin of mischief danced over that devilishly handsome visage; the old man took bottle and all. Stumbling from the stool like a man that had too much to drink without actually touching a drop, in a slur that old world accent passed from pale lips; making all the right motions with both body and face. "Oi.... Is there a problem here chums... " He swung an arm around the ginger, a feeling that instantly hit him with a cloud of confusion; again the brimstone but not quite the right kind he knew so well. " There isn't a need to be so cruel, we can all be friends" The old man swung around with his back to the Brujah's, looking to the stranger where a wink would follow suit before he spoke again. "Want do ya say there mate, take a swing at friends?"
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Post by Eto on Oct 8, 2016 0:53:50 GMT
Ruby eyes shifted to the saunter ingredients drunk, who's bottle seemed to be far to full for his actions and a strange, almost smirk crossed his face. The moment his arm prodded down on the mercenaries shoulder, he'd hear a gentle ringing and feel the chain mail under the cloak. "Friends is a most interesting declaration." He commented just under his breath so only the strange dark-haired figure could hear him.
"Alas, my dear friend, they feel I've wronged them horribly, by cutting through their friends after fair warning was offered to them." He wasn't avoiding the conflict at all, almost inviting it. "Ya see, I put a round through one of their friends head after he decided that I was bluffing. Getting between myself and someone I care for is generally a bad idea." The last statement made loud and clear to the gathered Brujah. Eto clasped the man's shoulder, as if they were supporting one another.
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Post by Dominique on Oct 8, 2016 6:00:20 GMT
The barkeep froze as soon as the Carpathian rose from his stool to move, her eyes the only thing that moved: they darted back and forth between the gathering group of Brujah and the two men that stood opposing them. She had already witnessed the damage that the mercenary could do, and she knew from her cousin just how powerful he was. She understood that he rarely acted unless challenged, but that challenge was already spoken. She groaned audibly and shook her head from side to side.
There was really no way to calm the situation down. If she were in a bar filled with humans, she'd easily be able to distract their tempers and force their attention elsewhere. It was, however, rarely that simple. There would most likely be a fight, but if she could help it....
"Get outta here!" Dom hissed, waving her hands at the lot of them. Her eyes were narrowed in distaste, her lips tugged back in a fierce looking scowl. "I've had about enough of your shenanigans coming out of MY paycheck! Your little blood feud can take place out back!" She managed to keep from making a West Side Story remark about the chain fences, but only barely, as she continued to glare at them. "We've got enough trouble as is."
She watched as the Brujah glanced between the pair, leaning into each other as if they would be no fight at all, and the angry Fallen who - as far as they knew - could be just as powerful as her cousin. There was a moment of obvious hesitation as he stood there, even with the strength of his Clanmates at his back, and contemplated the ramifications of his actions. Then, his gaze returned to Mikael and Eto, waiting for one of them to make a move. At least that way, he couldn't be blamed.
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Post by Avice Locke on Oct 9, 2016 0:22:07 GMT
Quinn was just arriving, She started hearing some angry noises which would not help her normal brooding mood. The bar was Brujah territory and the Primogen was head of this area under the Prince. She'd already have plenty of marks under her belt about her Brujah acting out against Amy, she'd rather not have more. It was not just a job to represent the Brujah though. With this area she needed to protect things within the territory as well. Keeping the Camarilla and making sure the residence and businesses are kept up with. This being one of her favorite places she had a softer spot for it.
Opening the door she would pear her bright grey eyes scoping the whole room. They would notice her immediately as the Primogen standing a little over six foot, wearing only colors that blood never stained well, black and red. Even her hair is a half parted black and red and it's thick waves were lifted some what with the black classic bandana she ties across her forehead. She'd see the scuffle between the men, some were not her Brujah... She clicked her lips.
"Shit...Looks like these Fucker's want to repaint your Bar Dom, a nice rustic red." She took her pole out and slammed on end on the ground knowing she mean business. "Now I am gonna tell you son's of bitches right now, I don't care who starts shit. A. There would better be a fickin' good reason. B. There is room outside, most of all you better fuckin' have some respect this place or You fuckin' will be payin' for the shit you fucked up!"
She eyed the Ginger, the familiar Carpathian, and then the Brujah who are involved. She hardly knew Mikhail, but he hardly looked like the kind to come to a such a low place to her. She knew he was old and even though she too was old she did not compare to him. "What are you all doin' here anyway?"
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Post by Mikhail de Romanius on Oct 9, 2016 3:00:20 GMT
There took a small sea of various emotions that crashed against the Ancient, he fought hard and well to keep his beautiful goddess from over hearing; it was next to impossible but if he had to explain a bar fight to his wife... there are fates worse than death. Flawlessly the mask held of an absolute drunkard, playing close attention to the strange ginger; watching the other Brujah's reactions whilst the other spoke. "As age has taught me, mate. All is fair in love and war, technically it was an act of war against your person" Of course the old man noticed the little whispers, he remained in full character. Though there was the brimstone, it wasn't faint anymore; that was a Fallen flexing their muscles. "Oi.. now now now... There isn't a reason to be cross perhaps our foolish new chaps will come to their sense"
The old man rose the bottle high in air, waving it at the barkeep with a stupid smile on his face; there was only one thing the old man could not take on in any case and that was a demon. His heart actually raced a little when all the lights came on, killing the bottle altogether before fate dragged another soul into their great bound of fun; though it seemed to only echo death. A woman quite strange strolled in firing on all cylinders, he popped a kiss onto the males cheek without even asking; strolling off with the bottle being swung left to right. "I'd be happy to write a check for whatever you'd like love.... I just wanted to drown myself before the wife came a calling but alas it seems your kinsman can't play nice with anyone"
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