Valentine rubs his eyes under the costume glasses. That chick ordered enough for a large family, and it's gone. Some kind of side show trick? She could have a genetic metabolic condition, although that would usually lead to a taller, slimmer build with no muscle tone.
Valentine muses, she would make an interesting vivisection. He smiles. Can't hurt to just think about these things, can it? It's practically academic. And not so different from working with cadavers in medical school. He couldn't act on it now in any case. He left his instruments and supplies back in Mapleton.
He shakes off the fantasy and checks his watch. Time is crawling. He starts to reminisce on his accomplishments as he sips his tea and relaxes a bit.
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Comic Talk and General Discussion *
Role Play: Late night cafe
The waitress plonks down an omelette in front of Ace. He greedily laps it up.
Hmm… not bad. He thinks.
He sees a suspicious red and black shape outside the big glass front of the cafe.
"Hey doll" he addresses Samantha next to him in a whisper, "is that someone you know? She thinks she's being sneaky, but there's not much place to hid out there"
Ace chuckles
"She knows YOU, I can tell. Keeps on reacting every time you burp or make a sound. Need any help?"
He pats the big Colt Walker in its holster.
Searsha strode over to Samantha and picked up her check. "You're in training. As a fellow fighter I respect that. It would be my pleasure to take care of this for you." She paused and smiled slightly, "Your – grandfather? Has enough debt if he has to provide for such an appetite."
Searsha took out a cigarette case, removed a dark narrow cigarette and tapped it on the case's cover. "If you'll excuse me."
She handed off the check to Larya. "Let them fight their own battles mon amour" Larya said quietly.
"Curiosity not combat dearest."
She stepped outside and lit the cigarette and breathed in it's fragrance. She only allowed herself to smoke in places tobacco was cultivated. Too many anachronisms in her line of work without introducing this noxious addiction someplace it was unknown.
Valentine makes note of the number of unescorted women out at this late hour. A good sign of the perceived safety of the streets. He came to the right town to hide out. The city he left was on high alert. Parents were imposing curfews; college girls were only found in numbers. Everyone there seemed a little tense.
But here there is nothing like that. On the other hand, the opportunities for mischief are very tempting. He's glad he left behind everything except the handgun and garrotte (the latter was more habit and sentiment).
He also has a small portable radio. Old technology has its benefits. Not relying on WiFi or containing GPS is a good thing. As much as he is enjoying the fact that cafe patrons (matrons?) aren't currently privy to TV news, Valentine would like to be informed. He slips on the headphones. None of the stations sound familiar. He's well away from his own city. He tunes it to a station playing news and listens for key words (serial, armed, at large…) as he slowly snacks on onion rings.
The lady outside seems to be looking for someone. But no officer would hunt alone for him. They never played fair. He also found it insulting when some woman was sent after him. Putting a uniform on a chick like some kind of costume party. They looked like they should be rubbing on a pole.
This one's not in a uniform, though. Dressed weird. The weird ones are really out tonight.
Betty walks up to the cafe after a hard day in the ship yards. She really needs a hot meal and somewhere to wind down. This place looks inviting… the warm light through the big windows is so welcoming at this hour. It's an island of light in the middle of all this darkness.
She notices a strange figure outside in the shadows… At this hour it's probably just some sad prostitute. Whatever.
Inside she sees a familiar figure face. Ace Kinkaid. What's he doing here? Should she say hello? Ace always seemed a bit chaotic for some reason, not entirely trustworthy. Just as likely to put his life on the line to save you as he was to sell you out.
Two rather snooty looking ladies, a shady looking all-too-handsome type in a baseball cap and a bouncy little teen rounded out the other patrons. She made up her mind.
She plopped down heavily onto the stool at the counter next to Ace.
"Ace!" she barked. "Who's your little friend?"
Ace looked around surprised "Betty! What're YOU doing here? Where's…"
"Pinky?" Betty supplied. "Don't know, don't care. I've just spent 14 hours banging in hot rivets. All I want is a hot meal and a hotter cup of coffee!"
Samantha smiled at Ace with an adventurous smirk, "Bah, if she's looking for me, we would have fought like Gods. She's just here to smoke is all," she quipped, "But if she want to fight, I'm right here if she wants to have a bloody nose!" she ended by popping her knuckles, "It wouldn't be the first time I had to kick her butt! That girl is as crazy as hell. However, she proved more to be a great fighter–you know when she's not eating her victims."
"That still doesn't explain how after you ate a mountain of food, you still look fit," said the Waitress, "And she does what now?"
"Oh yeah, about that! I'm a werewolf!" she said softly to Searsha's ear but loud enough for Ace to hear, "Well, by blood anyway. I can't transform into one without this!" she points to her Badge of Zeta located on the belt.
She turned to Searsha who offered to pay her food. Samantha smiled.
"Why thanks!" Samantha said, "And I think I left training when I was what? 10? Are you MMA?" she asked with curiosity.
_______________________________________________________
Searsha nodded, not replying as she passed on her way to door after passing the check to Larya. Larya pulled some bills from her clutch purse to pay the waitress.
"Both she, " she pointed to Searsha who was outside lighting her cigarette. "and I have fought in MMA charity exhibitions several times. We cannot fight for personal gain though." She patted her own flat stomach. "I have to train constantly to maintain my build and strength."
"A werewolf, I had hoped you could give me some dieting tips. That apple pie will cost me this afternoon." She leaned closer to look at the badge. "Searsha and I have researched amulets, that's a Badge of Zeta. Never met a bearer before. Though we have met werewolves and all manner of other–" She paused and looked up as if searching for a word "Beyond-natural beings? That's one of our fields of study."
"I should introduce myself, Larya Vornasmare. You're a werewolf? I'm a sorceress."
Samantha was star struck. Though, she tried to keep her composure. Her training with her grandfather and his monks taught her to remain in a constant state of calmness…but being a hyperactive, animated teenage girl with raging hormones could challenge this ancient discipline.
Samantha, though chill, took a deep breath.
"Yeah, they are pretty common. Unlike the ones my mother got involved in, The Three Howlers Clan, I use her badge she stole from the Alpha (not the Alpha Badge users, the hierarchy for werewolves) for good as a self proclaimed superhero!" Samantha bolstered carrying a playful heroic smile reminisce to an innocent child. However suddenly something popped up, "Wait, you're a sorceress? THAT IS SO COOL!"
_______________________________________________________
"Did I hear mention of werewolves?" A somewhat deep but authoritative woman's voice asks. Its owner is a lean woman whose age is hard to determine under the make-up, but she's definitely over 40. She's wearing a smart pant suit, bangle bracelets, and an over-sized pendant. "It's a good start, but it's been done to death without a hook. Werewolf disease? Passed through the ground beef at WalMart? Maybe someone was selling werewolf cubs mislabeled as Goldendoodles?"
She enters the cafe. "Yes, you may stare. I am Martina Russo, star reporter of one of the most widely circulated publications in the WORLD. And no, you probably won't have it in your little vending machines out there. You'll find it in every supermarket's checkout. Maybe I'll give autographs later."
She eyes all the cafe customers. "This seems like a pretty happening place for gossip. I like this crowd. You look like a good bunch. Interesting lives. Interesting experiences. I followed quite a few leads to get here."
She sits beside Valentine. "Hey, fella, what's your name?"
He ignores her until she pulls out one of his earbuds. "What?" he asks, annoyed.
"Your name, handsome?"
"Duncan."
"So, Duncan. You know anything about abductions?"
The word sends Valentine into a minor panic. His hand instinctively reaches toward the hidden Smith & Wesson. But he keeps his composure as calm as possible. "Abductions?"
"Alien abductions," Martina clarifies.
Valentine scoffs. "Sorry lady. You're asking the wrong guy. May I get back to my ball game?"
"Please yourself," Martina replies smartly as Valentine replaces the earbuds. She then notices the TV. "Oh! It's almost time. May I change this?" she asks while changing the channel and ignoring any reply.
"Hey!" Valentine stands up. "I was watching that!"
"It's a rerun, Honey. Spoiler alert. No one believes Wilbur nor do they point out the countless health and safety violations incurred by keeping livestock in a suburb." She changes it to a late-night infomercial disguised as a legitimate talk show, where she is interviewing the famed psychic Madame Chloe.
Then she takes a seat near Ace, Samantha, and company. "Much better entertainment, don't you agree?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "Now, were we talking about werewolves? City werewolves? Any other gossip? I met a gentleman a couple blocks over talking about interdimensional portals and time-travelers. Know anything about that?" Okay, so all signs pointed to him being a wino, and he was wearing a tinfoil hat, but Martina doesn't mention that. Trivial details, really.
(Martina is not dressed as pictured. She's in a casual business suit, kind of flashy professional. And she's not from the same story/world as Valentine.)
A tabloid reporter! Larya bit her lip. It was almost too much she had to control herself lest she spit up her coffee and collapse into an hysterical laughing fit.
"Funny, you should mention time travel. My colleague and I are currently involved in a broad multi disciplinary study of the nature of time " Larya took a deep breath to maintain her composure. "It appears to some we are practicing magic so they call us sorcerers, but just imagine explaining calculus to an ancient Egyptian. It'd look like so much magic."
"Oh, fantastic!" Martina says, having half-listened to Larya. "What year are you from? Do you have some sort of time travel device you can pose with for a photo? If not, would you mind posing with a napkin dispenser? I can Photoshop it into something more futuristic later." Then Martina has a flash of inspiration. "Let's do multiple poses. We can put you in some historical images. – Just for dramatic reenactment, of course."
Larya fought to retain her composure. 'Couple of nuts' was right. "Or trying to explain pounding rivets to a worker on the Parthenon. Or even getting a tabloid reporter to actually listen."
She took another sip of coffee. It was getting cold. She gestured to the waitress for a refill. "And a touch of cream?"
"Sure hon," the waitress replied. "Anything else I can get you?"
"Now Ms. Russo, how about if I were to tell you I was actually from your past?" Larya grinned.
"Do go on," Martina insists. "I love a good story. Oh!" With a spark of inspiration, she jots in her notebook, Sexy Time Traveling Werelions from /Eastern European Country/ "As long as it's not too creative. Middle America doesn't buy creativity, and we aim to move paper."
She then beckons a server. "Iced tea, please. Unsweetened. None of that ghastly southern sugar water."
Larya read the title of Martina's notes. She couldn't even get the geography right. "Western Europe, we're from western Europe, though in our time it wasn't even called Europe yet."
Larya knew she could tell this reporter anything and she'd believe it even without a magical flourish.
But she'd tell the truth as that was unbelievable enough. She'd then make certain to get the paper to delight in how the story would be distorted.
"The exact date is obscured by the passage of time. As best as my colleague and I have been able to determine it's about 15,000 years ago. Researchers and philosophers have always talked of times before civilization arose in Mesopotamia around 6000 years ago. But it was no golden age and where I grew up Atlantis was as much a mythic land to the west as it is for you."
"Oh, Darling, these notes aren't about you. Eastern Europe is wonderfully mysterious, you see. Vampires and werecreatures usually come from areas like that." She adds more miscellaneous thoughts to her notes Vampire wolf? Werebats. Middleeastern werecamel? Martina reminds herself not to give away too much in regards to her life as a huckster and literary snake oil salesman. The people she talked to BELIEVED this nonsense. She has to do a better job being… pretending to be one of them.
Martina shorthands the quote from Larya verbatim, she might use a snippet or two in whatever story she concocts later. "Atlantis is incredibly drawing too. And I LOVE the idea that it can be compared to the wild west. Fantastic angle! Do go on."
Grinning, Betty nudged Ace in the ribs. "Eh, eh, what I tell ya, eh?"
Ace chuckled quietly. They both sat spellbound listening to these two chat away about fantastical things.
What a pair of whackjobs, thought Ace.
"Bet ya $2 accent-lady gets fed up and tells Brenda Star there where to shove her pencil" Betty proposes with a smirk.
"You're on!"
They shake on it and go on watching.
"If it's not about me then why am I talking to you?" Larya shook her head. These frauds.
"As a scholar I can tell you the mythology of Western Europe is just as interesting as Eastern and actually most of it pre-dates Eastern European traditions. An example, vampires don't appear in Eastern Europe until the 17th-18th century whereas Vampires and werewolves were known in France throughout the Middle Ages. Then there's the fact that flying bloodsucking child killing vampires date back into ancient times in Germany, not Hungary or Romania. The strix go back to Ancient Rome and probably the legends originated in Mesopotamia." Larya smiled. "Or at least so goes the legends, though the reality is not too different. Strix were kept at bay by Eastern European shamans until the 17th Century witch trials killed them all."
The waitress arrived with the ice tea. Larya twirled a finger and the glass fell off the tray onto Martina. To add insult to injury Larya cast another charm to decrease the temperature of the drink to near freezing.
"Oh, " Larya with another incantation caused the tray to drop onto Martina's head with several other drink refills pouring all over the reporter. Larya stood calmly said to the waitress . "Poor dear, not your fault Alice, just fetch some warm towels. Such an unfortunate accident. If there's a cleaning bill, I will take care of it."
Larya winked at Betty. There was no way any one watching, other than another sorceress, could have traced the incidents to her actions but Larya still lightly touched the minds of all the witnesses to guarantee it.
Martina coughs and wipes some of the tea from her suit. She smiles a sacharrine smile at the waitress. "It's all right, Sweetie. Clumsiness happens. I can most certainly afford my own dry cleaning bills." I'll deduct it from my taxes anyway, she thinks.
"I am sorry to upset you with this misunderstanding, my dear," she says to Larya. "As a writer, I am regularly struck with bits of inspiration, so I write them down to revisit later. I am following quite a number of stories at the moment. Multitasking. I completely understand the misunderstanding. So few people possess that talent." She flips through her notebook. Wet, but that's why she uses a pencil. She sets it on the counter to dry and takes out her iPad. "I wasn't aware that you were a historian. I've been interviewed for several documentaries that also contained historian interviews. To be perfectly frank, while world history is fascinating, most of my stories are far more local in nature." My readers couldn't find Europe on a map of France, she thinks.
"Oh! I never asked. Are you locals here? Or, I mean, of course you aren't, being from Atlantis, but have you been visiting long? Do you have family in the area?"
Larya laughed hard. "Family? I'm from 15,000 years ago! With all the generations between then and now you're all my descendants! Under the Edicts of Annah the codex that rules the conduct of sorceresses, we can't visit any who can trace a direct line to us. So we are forbidden to visit our children or grandchildren and the like. After the first ten generations or so It doesn't matter. So we tend to visit farther into the future than not."
She put her hand on Martina's soaked shoulder. "I'm not an historian, merely one field among many that is studied in the project to understand the nature of time."
Larya poked her again and there was a slight squish from the shoulder pad of Martina's suit. "You really are soaked, you should consider changing out of that clothing. And I'm not from Atlantis. Too far to travel in my time, months by sea. I'm from another island nation that disappeared in the flood that changed the surface of Theia."
She put her finger to her mouth. Generally she and Searsha tried to avoid direct references to the place names of their own time. "Theia is what we called Earth back in our day. Over thousands of years Theia became Earth and Rourmarth became Europe. Being that I can not lose my accent, whenever we're here we say we're from Europe. Any magic with adjusting speech would look like one of those badly dubbed movies, so we have to speak the language. And we're never here long enough to get fluent enough to sound as a moedertaal er- native."
She was talking too much. Because of the laughter and talking so much she was losing track of languages. She was slipping into Dutch. Better then slipping into her native tongue and totally losing them. She had that much discipline.
"Larya,
Qu'est-ce que tu fais? Silencieux. Vous en dites trop!" Searsha had been watching the girl outside chain smoke but she detected spell casting and had come back inside. Come back to Larya telling her life story to some tabloid reporter that she had drenched with a few small spells. Searsha switched to English, "Such silliness, Larya you're tired. We've had a long day and should get back to the hotel."
"Jeu inoffensif" Larya replied, "Martina Russo, my colleague Searsha Le Griffe."
"You must excuse Dr. Vornesmare, Ms. Russo. At times she likes to engage in fantasy. Truth we study the nature of time, and our studies involve the travel, but it is still hypthetical."
"I'm sure it's too technical for my readers." The inbred, dropout, teen-mom hicks, she thinks.
Martina touches Larya's shoulder in acknowledgement. "I'm gonna pop outside to grab a change of clothes. Don't touch the channel. I need to see how they edited me. These TV studios try to pull fast ones sometimes." She notes Valentine, who is now slumping over his half-plate of onion rings. "You look terrible, Red. Are you a trucker? I hope you are following all the regulations about how long you can drive without a break. We don't want you out there killing people."
Valentine turns his head slightly, rubs his eyes, and smiles. "Killing people. Can't have that," he mumbles. It's hard to tell if he's asleep or awake at this point.
Martina pats him on the back and heads outside to her magenta Porsche.
Grumbling, Ace hands over $2 to Betty, who smiles and pats him on the back.
"Cheer up! Keep an eye out for more sport, you might get your money back yet." She chuckles.
"What are you doing here anyway? You never said.
"Working on a new warship down at the yards… can't say more. Tell you what, keep an eye on baseball cap there. Bet ya he's gonna fall face first in that plate. 2$?"
They shake on it.
When no one noticed, Samantha had left the Cafe after feeling a bit tired; however, Victoria entered the cafe, a stream a slight cool air splashing in her face as she entered, strode to the back away from everyone. Like Samantha, she had a Badge on her too, but it was black and yellow instead of black and white. Her black and red spandex complimented her body.
She was tired after researching more on the Alpha user, Mopy, and dealing with him and his friend Stringy (Samantha). She could have used her her Kappa Fire Attack to blast her, but this was not the time or place, not was she strong enough to last to emit her own attack.
Her cellphone vibrated. She took a look at the ID. She answered the call.
"Speak to me," she began.
"Where are you?" asked an intimidating man on the phone with a deep voice.
"At the cafe getting bite to eat. It seems quiet. Samantha was here so…"
"So you let her go?"
"If I fired my Kappa Energy on her, I would have been out of commission after my attack. I would be paralyzed for weeks," she said with a monotonous tone.
"Where'd she gone to?" he asked.
"Out," she said, "Why are you so worried about her anyway? It's Mopy you want right?"
"I want them both," said the man, "Anyone associated with the little shit is dead–including her," he growled.
"Not that I am complaining, but unlike Mopy, Stringy can take on 25 of your guys no problem. Mopy should be your target," Victoria said.
"And guess what happens if I just go after Mopy? More will come. They will notice and I will get a headache if ANYONE finds out! The best way to kill a target, is to unwoven the web of connection. And if one survives, if one link remained to be chained, I'll kill you before I kill it. Do you understand? said the man.
"Loud and clear," she said.
The man hung up the phone and Victoria growled, hiding her anger. Her Badge started to glow. Victoria tried to keep herself calm, "Pieprzony kawałek gówna! Radzenie sobie z Samem to jedno, ale teraz to? (Fucking piece of crap! Dealing with Sam is one thing, now this)"she mumbled.
A waiter tapped on her shoulder, spooking her, "Hi, um…can I get you anything ma'am?" he asked in fear.
"Coffee and cream with sugar," Victoria said without looking at the Waiter.
"Sure, on the way!" he said.
_______________________________________________________
Martina reenters the cafe carrying a garment bag. She stands in front of the TV to watch the end of her interview. "Looking fabulous, as always," she remarks before heading to the restroom.
The channel goes into an ad break and is quickly interrupted. "The police are issuing an Amber Alert for 17-year-old…"
Valentine bolts upright. "SHUT THAT OFF!" He is gripping his dinner knife so tightly that his knuckles are white. In his sleepless drowsiness he made an error, and he suddenly realizes it. "I mean…" He takes his seat. "Please turn the TV off. No one is watching it, and I have a headache."
It couldn't be about him anyway. The last one was weeks ago.
"Miss," he beckons his waitress. "I am sorry for the outburst. May I have another black coffee."
"Sure." She turns down the TV volume.
Valentine figures that would probably be okay. It's the wrong hour for national news, and he's not a local threat. Besides, he doesn't want to draw any more attention to himself.
"Damn!" Betty hands Ace back his $2
"I could have sworn he'd faceplant, the bastard."
Ace chuckled.
"Bet you he's a serial killer." Betty says slyly.
"What makes you say that?" Ace looks surprised.
"Eh, nothing… Just a bit too jumpy and turns on the charm too easy."
"Ha! What would you know anyway?" Ace snickers
"I can't seem to face up to the facts, I'm tense and nervous and I can't relax…" Betty sings quietly
"I can't sleep 'cause my bed's on fire. Don't touch me I'm a real live wire!" Ace joins in
"psycho killer! Qu'est-ce que c'est!
Fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-far better…
Run run, run run run run away oh OH AIYEEE-OH!" They sing together in harmony, finishing loudly, drawing attention, before bursting into mad laughter.
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