The Bar With No Name (CVnU – Gothic Sub-Locale)

@humansfirst: Don't mind me; I'm just ignorant/inept.

@rosso:

The ride had been cold, quite and emotionally muted. The entire nature of their relationship had changed and neither seemed much to care. Where once there had been trust, now only uncertainty remained. Their criminal bond had been reset to a factory default, and all in all, professionally speaking, it was probably for the best. After all. Going after Elsa Beremud...they were already dead outlaws walking.

Emotional attachments made one vulnerable. Exposed. Noah thought he understood this already, but it wasnt until he stepped foot back inside his deceased friends abandoned hideout that he was reminded about the true nature of detachment.

Not a picture nor a cellphone with a meaningful contact could be found in the place. A rare mixture of utility and grace so far removed from the aristocratic aesthetics of the self-proclaimed First Family of Gothic, that if Noah hadnt helped him build it, would never have imagined it once belonged to Ishmael Strix.

"Laptop's over there. Doubt anything here's encrypted, hell," he gruffly scoffed for a moment, "I doubt anything's password protected." His smile lingered but quickly faded. As if for a moment he had forgotten what had happened. That he, had happened. He was distracted now. More then before. His hands and fingers tracing over the shrine like mounts were the Phantomshell's attire(s) were hung.

"Do what you gotta do Red" Speaking backwards and over his shoulder. Now lost in a well formed idea. From mount to mount Noah began to harvest a carefully selected stash of items. Belts, harnesses, masks and more before hunkering down alongside a modified workbench in the middle of the carport. "Hope you dont mind but I'mma get some work done. But I'm listening." the soon to be Secondshell tapped his ear speaking with his hands, getting down deep into an adjusted stance eager to loose himself in some manual labor.

Awww! I hate it! Something about him puts me in a nurturing way, but Val needs to be projecting strength. -___-

"How long has it been?" Vincent thought to himself as he sat in the back. His crimson eyes scanning the bar and the other unsavory patrons moving about their business. "It's been a few years since I was in this city. Everyone here is associated with Gothic's underworld. Everyone but me. Still, they ignore me. I like that. At least for now."

Vincent tapped his cigarette against the ashtray as a waitress finally made her way to him. "What can I get ya sweetie?" Her perfume was something else, and not in the good way.

"Whiskey neat. Something Irish if ya got it. Preferably middle to top shelf."

She let loose a shrill chuckle before she answered him. "I'll take care of you. Be back in a sec." Vincent furrowed his brow as she walked away to fetch his drink. His eyes closed as he took a deep drag from his cigarette. The moment he opened them he saw it.

There it was behind the bar. A hulking horned entity that evoked the worst nightmares anyone could possibly fathom. It's rotting form constantly changing and shifting as it moved from the main bar. But with a feline's grace that suggested that the nature of the entity was at odds with itself. It's hands were delicate, despite being the skin being flayed. In it's skinless hands it held a martini class filled with some form of viscous liquid.

Vincent's left hand began to tremble, so he hid it under the table so no one would be able to see it. It's been two years since Vincent reclaimed his sight. Now the Mark was always active. There was no turning it off, but it came with a price. Since regaining his sight on a permanent basis. That....thing had always been in the background. No one else could see it, only Vincent. Vincent knew what caused it, he was infected with the Mad Strix's insanity. It always made sure that Vincent could see it. It never harmed anyone. Vincent assumed that only he could see it. It never illicited a response from people going about their lives. Only him. It was always there. Just lurking, waiting for the right moment to be seen.

"Here's your drink sweetie." Vincent smiled as he placed a hundred dollar bill in her delicate hands. "Make this a double. Please Darlin?" Again she laughed. "Will do." Vincent took his drink, and noticed the ghoulish apparition raise it's own glass in a mocking celebratory gesture. The tremor's in Vincent's left hand grew worse as he raised the glass of whiskey held in right hand. His red eyes bore into the creature's. "Slainte." Vincent whispered, before he downed his drink.

Hmm...

@rosso: I really want to just walk up to you in the bar and start crap....I have no idea why....just feel it would be a lot of fun.

@lost_carbon: Because I'm expressive, with the full range of emotions vampires like yourself find delectable. You think you see a prime candidate for your next "victim of the day" and you'd like to have yourself some fun at my expense. But no, that'd make you stupid. You're not a stupid boy, are you?

A more likely story: Maybe...

@rosso: Victim? Oh no darling, I find you are quite the opposite. You are the farthest thing from a victim, someone who can hold their own in just about any situation. One who has all her cards in a row and knows how to cause the most effective damage in a given situation. So that she can get away or win, but some times its folks like me who enjoy how you correctly said enjoy the pain...so what do you say.

@lost_carbon:

I don't fight for free and I don't get personal with the help. But if you ever feel like you wanna make something more of yourself, maybe then we can talk.

@rosso: Suit yourself, you want to have this somewhere else by all means. I found you once without trouble, I can do it again.

@lost_carbon:

Look at you, already bending over backwards to accommodate my whims. So well-trained, maybe I'll grace you with my presence yet.

@rosso: You make it sound like I am not the most interesting thing around, and you are so kind as well. Where shall I be graced with your MAGnificant presence?

@supreme_sapien: Just trying to shake off that rust.

This was his first time here at this particular bar, and he felt like a complete outsider. He didn't leave the best impression in New Orleans either, but he knew people there, knew how things worked, though here? Here... well it's different. It wasn't fear he was feeling however because Bell believed he could take anybody in the bar if things turned ugly except this one person, the person he came here to meet. Crimson Assassin. That's what he dubbed her as because rumor has it, it's the color of her hair, and she has quite the rep. But despite his doubts to best her in battle if it ever came to that, he had blades hidden in several locations: in his combat boots, around his waist, and the leather jacket he's wearing. Plus he had a briefcase in his left hand that contained his white suit, tripwire guns, and his trusty sticks that can be used as grappling hooks and a bo staff, so he was more than prepared even if it resulted in a losing effort. Moreover, there were curious faces in the bar and he could hear unclear whispers. Were they about him? Maybe. The weird looks were for sure. But he wasn't looking for a fight or trying to participate in one, just a convo with a cutthroat chick that can potentially help him if what he had to offer in return was worth her time.

So the search was on. Bell started to maneuver slowly but with confidence. There were several redheads in the building, and he didn't want to come off as some sort creep if he guessed wrong, but that was a chance he was willing to take.

The bar had undergone renovations recently, its owner insisting a stage and live performers would "add some class," but the wall to separate this area of the bar from that of the sports enthusiasts was only partly constructed. On stage some young, beautiful but outmatched wannabe starlet sang a soulful song, struggling to overcome the many TVs on both sides of the bar.

Not a single head turned as Bell entered. However, for the sake of inconspicuous monitoring, per custom several eyes darted over shoulders to the new arrival, followed by thinly veiled whispers. No one else made a move but the agent of subterfuge strode toward the bar, shooting him a knowing glare whilst tossing her scarlet hair over her shoulder. Most eyes, including the singer's, feel on her, and then on the man she seemed to have singled out. The air thickened but she herself hadn't seemed to notice, placing an order with the barmaid who hurried to meet her request.

@rosso:

Bell waited for her to take his eyes off him before looking her way. His look was fierce and serious and this unknown redhead was the first of many he would potentially approach. She fit the description perfectly and had the rep to go along with it. All eyes were on her and she was without a doubt feared, plus she has the hair to match the girl everybody talks about, the person he's looking for. But despite it all, he still wasn't 100% sure. Still, he would confront her, and that he did. Walking towards where she was, Bell spoke, uttering his first couple of words with a stammer. "Are... Are you h-her? You know the girl with the deadly rep, the one I'm supposed to meet?"

@mockingjay: Valentina combed him over with her serpentine gaze from her perch. All around them, arrested eyes fell on the meeting between the redhead and the wayfarer. "Be a bit foolish to walk into a lion's den if I didn't have something about me, no?" Posting with her elbow on the counter, face resting against her fist, she looked him up and down, lips pulled into a devilish smirk. Her eyes flared. "What's gotcha nervous, big boy?" And he was. Neophyte though he may have been, he cut an imposing figure, in stark contrast to the timidity of his approach. Zeroing in on this, the manipulator prepared to prod him for holes, strengths and weaknesses, and suitability as an associate. "Why's a strange outta-town nobody looking for Rosso the Crimson?"

@rosso:

"Nervous?" Bell frowned slightly. "No, it's totes, not that. At that particular moment, I had a hard time getting some words out. Happens to all of us sometimes, does it not?" She was kinda right, but he wasn't about to admit it. It'd be better if he kept Rosso guessing. "Anyway, why I'm here you ask? Well, I wanna stand out, make a name for myself and I believe you can help. Of course, I'd be willing to assist you also. Think of it as a favor for a favor kind of thing. Now I have no clue what it is that you may want, but I'm willing to find out." While awaiting a response, he took a seat at the bar and clasped his hands together, looking Rosso's way.

@mockingjay: "Oh really? Just cursed with a natural stammer?" she teased, nodding a sarcastic acceptance. "Of course. My mistake." But as Bell commenced with the discussion in earnest all pretense and humor faded from her. She locked onto him, unblinking, and motioned for him to be brought a drink. "Wanna make a name," that type was the most dangerous to ally and enemy alike. More prone to "loose cannon" behavior, blurring those lines. But she couldn't help but smirk. That he came seeking the Scarlet Shadowrunner meant on some level she'd succeeded, even if she still saw herself in the same way. "What I want? What makes you think you can provide it? Or are you determined to make your name with me one way or another?" At that she adopted a minatory tone; yet despite the potential implication of conflict once more bore a jovial smirk.

@rosso:

Deep down he wanted to deny the request for a drink, but Bell ultimately decided to give a nod back and go along with it. If you're trying to convince someone it's sometimes best to do things you didn't plan to do, even the smallest of things. As the liquid was being poured onto the glass, Bell let out a simple thank you casually, intended for both the barmaid and Rosso. He took a sip and savored the liquids in his mouth before swallowing and soon after got back to the conversation at hand. "What, you want me to go through some kinda trial? The fact that a newcomer such as myself would enter this bar all by himself to seek you out is telling enough what I'm capable of. I mean, you gotta admit it takes one fearless son of a bitch to do that," he said, raising an eyebrow and delivering his words confidently. "And to answer your followup question, yes. Yes, I will do what I have to do if that means working with you. I didn't come all this way to leave empty-handed."

@mockingjay:

"Fearless, or stupid," echoed a voice through the loudspeaker. Silence throughout the room. "But ambitious all the same." The singer, microphone in hand, sauntered down the steps. The barrel of a pistol peeked just slightly from the slit in her dress.

"The last guy I pulled the doppie act on went right for it so you're already a step up in smarts. But Noah knew how to carry himself better, so...room for growth."

She nodded and the woman at the bar excused herself from Bell's company with a final, mockingly sincere conciliatory look. As Valentina handed off the mic and approached the bar, all around them business resumed as usual. "You must understand," she offered a non-apology "apology." "Fearless and capable you may be, but those can be just as much a threat to me as a help. New guy looking to make a name...I still don't know if you're here to kill me or not. And if you're not," she threw her head back and finished the decoy's abandoned drink, "then you live, and we get to see how capable you are.

"And all you have to do...is take my hand." And she unfurled her arm so her hand rested on the counter between them, palm up. Valentina locked his eyes in her gaze, patient but expecting. Waiting with the expectation that, should he take her hand, unbeknownst to Bell or the others she should be able to gaze into his soul using the Universal Lavaliere of the same name; allowing her to see his intent to betray her, or not. And while she was at it, looking to secretly steal a peek at his past and the events that brought him to her.

@rosso:

As Valentina was speaking Bell's attention was split between her and the approaching, shady singer with the intent to do harm. Quickly Bell reached for a blade by his waist and kept it hidden, clutching the handle. The closer she got the harder he squeezed and just as he was about to pull it out and potentially shank her, he saw Rosso nod, and just like that he was out of danger. Well for now at least. He let out a sigh, inaudibly saying bitch. "Eh whatevs," he shrugged. "Honestly, I expected this to happen at some point. I knew it was only a matter of time." Bell said it in a nonchalant manner, hinting he's been in these situations before. And your suspicion is noted, but I am not here to murk you or have any plans to do so. What will it take to convince you?"

A little time passed and evidently, Valentina had a change of heart as her hand was placed on the counter, suggesting a handshake or something else devious. Perplexed, he wasn't sure what to do. First, she questions if he's legit and now wants to what, shake on it to make it official? Bell pondered and pondered before reaching a decision. "Oh, what the frick? Deal?" Bell touched her hand looking confused as ever and unknowingly giving up info about himself in the process. "Although I'm still not sure what this means."

Valentina's smile turned into a slight frown. He was taking an annoyingly long time thinking about it. Fecking Christ, guy, it's not that difficult. What you came for is right there saying yes and you still have to think this hard about it? Not quite doubting he'd follow through, but irritated at the waste of time. Maybe he was playing a mental game of his own. Determined not to be outplayed, Valentina shrugged off her own sentiments until he was ready to answer.

As he grasped her hand a series of images flashed in her mind's eye. His history, sentiments, a glimpse of his future made manifest. Surprised, Valentina blinked rapidly and appraised him again with a smirk. An accident. An--until then--decent family life that explained why, despite their similar age, he carried himself much younger. A brutal upbringing and radical shift in perspectives. Their experiences may have been different but something about him felt familiar. Like she'd known him all along and he was a brother.

This thing really is incredible. It was like truly seeing for the first time, and she was the only one who could. What else could she do? What if she had the others? If his spirit remained true, maybe he could help her with that.

"This means that we're birds of a feather. Two peas in a pot. We have each other's backs and nothing can disrupt our bond." Then, dropping her voice low, she spoke again and a bassy echo whispered beneath her words - subtle but unmistakable, for his ears only. "But if you betray me, the retaliation will be so exquisitely brutal that God himself wouldn't recognize the soul he created."

"This means that we're birds of a feather. Two peas in a pot. We have each other's backs and nothing can disrupt our bond."

Bell forcefully let out a laugh. "Just like that? Nothin' extra? I mean, you did just pull a stunt double type shit on me. How can I be sure that you're the real Rosso? That seems to be the case, but I thought the same thing last time. Bell second-guessed himself again, wondering if he made the right choice by coming here from the jump. Was it worth it? Can I trust her? Does she trust me? Will I die in this bar by her hands? Thoughts ran through his mind, though on the outside he kept it cool and followed through on the partnership. "Okay, Rosso." he put emphasis on her name, still a bit uncertain about her legitimacy. "Now that we've bonded, what is it you want in return?"

"But if you betray me, the retaliation will be so exquisitely brutal that God himself wouldn't recognize the soul he created."

This was a sick burn and he didn't have much to say besides mostly laugh and a typical comeback.

@mockingjay:

Valentina's winsome smile didn't change, outwardly, but now she was, actually, amused. All that and still more questions?"A lesson then? Not just a partner but a teacher? Well, my student, the kind answer is you can't be sure but it's a little late for second-guesses now." Turning the glass to her lips again after apparently having forgotten it was empty, she waved the bartender down and called for two more drinks.

"You trusted the faceless communication ordering you to meet in a strange hidden bar, so you may as well trust the woman sitting before you. There's power in anonymity, and apart from a perfectly reasonable measure taken to ensure my own safety - so possibly a bruised ego - I have done you no harm," she said, eyes feigning total innocence.

"Now that we've bonded, what is it you want in return?"

"I'm glad you're so eager! If you'll follow me...no, wait!" She hesitated. Looked around, then lowered her head and her voice. "...Well I suppose we can talk about it here. Now that I've vetted you for loyalty I'll need to see your capability. It starts with you tying up a looseend." As if on cue, a man in a black suit approached from the other side of her, sliding a Manila folder across the countertop. Several pictures within of a man in a skull helmet. "An old acquaintance of mine. We had a...disagreement, and now he's holding out on crucial funding I need for something big. See if you could...make him a little more amenable?"

"Well, you see I don't have a problem with your methods and why you did what you did. If I was in your position I'd probably have done the same, although a bit differently. But at the same time, you have to understand my stance as well and why I feel uncertain about your identity." The words came out effortlessly, smooth as silk, and delivered strongly. But with his next set of words, he'd seem to put his suspicions to rest and have faith, faith in the almighty one himself, God. "Whatever though because God led me here and I believe in him, so you kinda get that treatment too. Pretty much water under the bridge now."

Bell stared at the photos briefly but long enough to envision what he might look like if he ran into him. His knuckles cracked, seeming to be up for the challenge. Then quickly Bell realized something. "Oh, fork where are my manners!? Name's Bell by the way." He got back on topic swiftly, not wasting any time. "Anyway, where's would I find this bitch so I can rock his bells?" Bell had that assassin look in his eyes similar to the late great Kobe Bryant, and felt he could conquer anything as long as God's on his side.

God led me here and I believe in him

Ohhh buddy...

We are gonna have So. Much. Fun.

@mockingjay:

Whatever though because God led me here and I believe in him, so you kinda get that treatment too."

Well that's an odd thing to say. Who're you trying to convince, me or yourself?

Outwardly Valentina just smiled, while inwardly considering how to manage what could be a delicate balance. He can't be that stiff if he's legitimately hitting me up about collaboration."That'll do. I'm something of woman of faith myself. I can respect that to ground you so long as it doesn't interfere with what we're here to do. If it helps, just tell yourself God brought us here together for a reason, and every step we take together is part of God's plan." It wasn't entirely untrue, she told herself, Because from this point on I am your God.

"Okay, Bell," she said, sounding deliberately skeptical, "while the pun is charming, I really hope you're not running around using your real name every time you meet a shady individual. Even if she is...well, me," flashing a smirk and a wink.

"Noted. You'll have to work on reconnaissance, information-gathering, and planning if you want to last as anything more than a journeyman in this life. Wolves hunt. Pets must have food placed before them in a bowl at mealtimes."

Shuffling photos as she sipped her drink, on top she placed a paper file of mostly text, containing information and photos of both individuals. "Luckily for you, I've gone through the trouble of it myself this time. I've had an associate contract Ragnarok to handle"—indicating the second individual on the page, a rather plump man with a hook nose and a monocle—"an information broker with a history of playing different sides during conflict. You'll intercept him as he looks to complete this job three days from now. Location in the file. I can assure you they'll be there because I've scheduled a meeting with the broker at the same time and the associate's told him to intercept us there."

@rosso:

"Good point. However, the thing is I never said Bell was my real name and I will neither confirm nor deny it. I just felt like if we're going to be partners in crime you should at least call me by something. And quickly shaking his head in disapproval, I prefer it to not be a name you choose because people tend to call you stupid shit and it somehow happens to stick. Long story short, don't question MY ability to be low-key 'cause darling, I can do that with the best of them, and that's facts." Gruffly the words came out followed by a grin and a couple of sips from the refilled glass, Bell was not to be intimidated or questioned. He tried his best to keep up with her wits.

Looking at the papers and photos once more this time paying a little more attention to the unloyal guy, he sat there taking notes and already planning how he'll succeed in his head. "Well...okay." Running his hands through his hair, he scoffed and indicated that he'll be more than ready. "Well, I'm just counting the time in my head as we speak. I'll show you what this boy is capable of."

@mockingjay:

For nearly a minute after he'd spoken, Valentina stared expressionlessly, dead eyes looking through him more than at him Assigning several presumptive traits based on their interaction so far, and roles in future schemes. More importantly, wrestling with what to do with him there and then. Somehow, he'd managed to slight her multiple times in the few seconds it took him to respond. Eventually she'd have to beat his ass to firmly establish the pecking order. Better sooner than later; she could no longer allow herself to tolerate the disrespect she had as a grunt.

I'll have to train him to watch his mouth, but he's already so gung-ho it shouldn't be much work making this puppy into an attack dog.

"Keep that," she said, motioning to the folder left on the table. "And don't be late." With that, she stood and left.

The young man entered the bar, stepping to the side immediately next to the door, his back to the wall. After allowing his senses to adapt to the dimness and powerful smells of the place, he moved towards a seat, eschewing the stools surrounding the main bar and instead finding himself an unoccupied table near one of the emptier corners. He waved off a server that passed by and gave him a quizzical eyebrow.

This was it. Gothic City. The place where lost things and people had a tendency to turn up.

That made it the ideal place to start a search for one of them.

Brain fog from a blurred encounter had Serkan drifting through the crowd aloof and feeling alien. Detached from the body he walked through the bar in. The MAHARISHI hooded sweat fit him unnaturally perfect. His scalp buzzed when he moved or a brush of wind passed. He quietly crawled through his memory for a clue or connection of what occured the last hour. His spectrum of time frayed when he charted it in his mind.

"What can I get you?" a man around his age in a dress shirt, with sleeves rolled up showing a sleeve tattoo, held an impartial focus on Serkan, his dazed customer.

"Uh..." an ominous darkness sparked his mind any time he attempted to recall things from his mental rolodex.

(Open to anyone)

Julia turned her attention from her fifth drink to the man behind her as the bartender alerted her to his presence. A smile stretched across her face as she beckoned the stranger to sit beside her, ignoring his somewhat dishevled and confused state as she found herself immediately smitten.

"Whatever he'll have, it's on me!" This was a common move of hers. After all, her drinks were free. She'd fixed the place up more times than she could count, it was the least they could do. Even supervillains can show gratitude, and without The Handygal who'd be able to build or repair an evil lair as efficiently and with no questions asked? Who could be better at making an elaborate diabolical deathtrap to exact specifications? Nobody, that's who.

@cancas

@walachec:

A femme voice broke Serkan's mysterious mental miasma. He turned her direction processing her words a bit too long.

"He can't even spit out a full sentence." the bartender jabbed, leaning on the bar island smirking at Julia.

The entire situation felt alien, like a simulation. It irritated him. "Sita'aya Punch." Serkan flourished with an unheard, alien accent.

"We don't got that." the bartender grew in impatient. "What would you like?" he looked at Julia with a customer service smile. He drummed his thumbs in percussive sync with Megadeth's 'Blackmail the Universe' on the bar surface.

(oh i like her skillset)

@cancas: (there's a DC character called the Carpenter, that's the look and the inspiration)

@walachec: (Looking them up now lol )

@walachec: @cancas:

A couple miles away…

The darkness surrounded an rundown cathedral, a gothic setting outside and in. Mutilated statutes and broken windows decorated the tattered insides, inside smelled of wet charred wood with the hint of aerosol. Down the center of the aisle, stood a lone dusty mahogany podium. On the wall behind it were golden bull horns, appearing much more recent than the rest of the abandoned church.

Vatican sat at the center most pulpit, the Blade Of Sanction rested in its sheath as his arms were folded underneath his chin. He wasn't here for prayer, this wasn't holy ground. Instead, his eyes scanned the bull horns as he was trying to figure out something.

His eyes shifted to outside, through the broken glass he saw a figure in black robes and a golden mask make his way out of the forests and towards a car. A member of the cult he was following, the ensignia of a golden bull with black horns on his back proved so.

A few moments after the cultist's departure, Vatican grabbed his blind and climbed onto his own vehicle, his motorcycle.

At The Bar…

The car pulled to a stop in a back alleyway. The figure stopped out, no longer in a robe, but still wearing their golden mask. The area offered his nose beyond high heavens, smelling of both kerosene and wet dog. From the rumors in the Swiss Guard, he knew Gothic was a horrible place. But he never imagined the types of depths a person must go to come here.

Walking inside there in his Vatican attire, would most likely cause alarm. So he found a duffle bag lying around and took it off, swapping with the outfit inside the duffel bag, some tattered jeans, a rigid grey shirt, and a wife-beater.

The sword was still strapped across his back, and he knew better than to take off the Rings Of Enoch, believing he'd fare better in a bar fight against a potential mutant with them instead of without them. The rosary he carried stayed on.

With a deep breath, one he immediately regretted when he smelled the foul odor again, he pushed open the door and took a quick scan of the room. A golden masked person wasn't that hard to find, even in a crowd as diverse as this. Seated at the bar, a seat away from what seemed like a girl taking her shot with a young guy. Was the golden mask, who hovered over what seemed like bourbon.

He made a beeline towards the man, taking a seat between the man and his target, giving the two a friendly smile before looking ahead. A hand was placed on the figures back, the Strength of St. Michael now flowing through his veins, keeping the cultist in place.

A low growl emitted from his throat, making his accent difficult to pick up. But the message itself was clear.

"Move, and my hand goes through your back."