Rockin' Night at the Belly (H 1.2, L 1.2)

Location: Poseidon's Belly
Time: evening


Litch,

As it should be, Kestrel enters Poseidon's Belly ahead of you (she is your scout, after all). When you enter with Mynah, Kestrel gives you a significant look and looks over at the Sippians - they are out in force. The fighting cage has a pair of scrappers and the jingle is flowing - lots of bets happening. The Sipps have taken over main seating and they're currently harassing both Dakota and Helix. You spot a few Librarians standing and drinking at the bar with Kiwi.

By the way, how do you present yourself with Kestrel and Mynah in public? Is there a public display of affection, do people know the Talons are family?

Helix,

You brought some ice for Karo and lit his cig for him. His hand really is a mess. He's begged for more alcohol to drown the pain and if you give it to him, you know he won't pay, but he will eventually pass out and be quiet. How did you handle that situation?

Litch and a few of his Talons enter the bar. The Sippians take note, but right now they're watching Bristol do some knife tricks on the table (which means the table will end up pitted from multiple stabs, but no living folks will).

What do you do?

After Kestrel scans the area and gives us the "all-clear", I enter, Mynah at my shoulder. Folks know we're relationally involved. The Ashen Talons are a familial gang, whether born to the life or adopted into it. In public, my ladies and I interact as trusted colleagues and friends. Intimacy is reserved for when we're behind our own walls. We are comfortable with each other in our ternary union.

A few heads turn in our direction, but there are no open stares. I keep my black goggles on, even in the dim light, flipping on the night-vision setting. The gray-green hues create a congruent atmosphere that quiets my mind and allows me to be open to the divine, in case they deign to speak to their servant again.

I turn and lean in to speak to Mynah. "Darling, could you get us some refreshments? We'll find a spot to sit." I glance toward the bar. I've heard the rumors about Kiwi's parentage - that Mynah was unfaithful in her youth. Fools. Our lives are short and difficult. I don't begrudge my lovers for finding comfort and emotional healing where they can. Our faithfulness to the Gray Wing and loyalty to each other as disciples is my chief concern, not some youthful dalliance. Besides, some rumors are only created to sow division. I've never asked her about it and she's never revealed the truth of the matter, though we are both aware of the hearsay. Everyone is allowed some secrets. I try to give her opportunities to converse with the bartender when possible and leave them alone to it.

"Kestrel, luv, are there any free tables for us?"

I can't help but watch from across the room as Karo slides my hopes at a full belly straight down his gullet. His train of shots have drained most of my hard-earned tips straight back into Blackjack's coffers. I hope this isn't an indication of how the remainder of my service to the Sippians is set to proceed. Maybe Edmund could do something to speed Karo's recovery, but I doubt I could afford it, and I'd rather be in the debt of the Sippians than owe my soul to the denizens of the Tower.

I tell myself that adding a little extra water to my soup for the week will be well-worth it if it will prevent Karo from complaining at me and keep the Sippians from rescinding on the deal we made. I have no desire to see that bloody nail again.

Then the Talons descend on the bar. Thankfully it doesn't seem to be all of them. I hope that means they'll find a corner to claim well-away from the Sippians. I find my gaze sticking to Litch as he touches his goggles. If he'd been here just a little earlier, would I still be sworn to servitude like I am now? Would there be Sippian blood and Talon blood mixed on a tabletop that I could wipe away with jingle still heavy in my pocket? I have no right to it, but I resent Litch for not being here, but maybe it's easier to blame someone other than myself.

I grab a towel and make my way deliberately toward a table that's been lingering, hoping I can nudge them out and offer their spot to the Talons instead.

I pinch the tip of my hat toward Helix in thanks, then slide in next to Kestrel. Steepling my hands together, wrists on the table, I lean towards the girl. "Yes, thank you child." I peer at her, watching her face for any signs of trouble, turmoil unspoken.

Oh, it's charged enough. But I think you're better suited to Read a Situation right now.

Hey Litch, ask a question anyway... but be prepared for the worst.

Litch,

You take a seat with Kestrel and survey the bar. The old CRT TVs are showing the latest match in the fighting pits a stone's throw away - you could stand up and look through the chain-link fencing behind the bar to watch with your own eyes, but it's easier to just watch it on the tube, right? The Sippians are taking up half of the tables - they're out in force tonight and itching for trouble. The rest of the clientele around you are scuzzy dock-workers, fishermen, and the kind of folk who don't say exactly what they do to make some scratch. Dakota is limping her way around the tables, serving the orders she can remember, while Helix is making up for the loose ends she leaves behind. Kiwi is smiling while chatting with your mate Mynah.

As you're watching Mynah, Kestrel elbows you and nods toward the Sipps. The thing you should keep an eye on is their recent arrival...

Nuport is a screaming mimi, a wildcat, an unhinged psychopath, but a reasonably good singer.
Too bad she sings over watery graves.

Why does Nuport have a major hate-on for the Talons specifically? What have you taken from her that she'll never forgive?

What do you do?

I turn my head first toward Kestrel. She points toward the Sippians, behind Helix. I inhale deeply, bringing calm to keep myself from becoming agitated. "Ah...Harpy." The only person to ever receive banishment from the Ashen Talons. She goes by Nuport now, I've heard. When we knew her as Harpy, she was fearsome, but still sane. She nearly drowned on her last hunt with us. I think part of her vanished beneath the waves. Or perhaps she swallowed too much of the poisoned depths. Regardless, the fighter lost her way. Killed her lover Condor and wounded Merlin. He took one of her eyes for that, before we could restrain him.

She was a liability, manic and vengeful, but I wouldn't allow her the honor of death while she was a part of the family. In retrospect, I should have taken her dockside and buried a bullet in the back of her skull. Mercy. Now she's the Sippian's wild-eye b*tch. I sigh and murmur to Kestrel. "Best prepare for another scrap, luv, just in case. I wasn't looking for another fight, Kes. Looks like it keeps seeking me out, eh?"

Litch's name for me isn't one I've gotten yet tonight, and I can't help but wonder if it truly reflects how he sees me - a mere child caught in this cold, uncaring world. For a long time, he would have been right, but I like to imagine that I've done better for myself in recent years. My own place, a steady job - assuming I don't snap and injure another customer - and my pets to keep me...safe.

I move away from the Talon's table, not trusting the way they watch the Sippians. I'm perturbed Litch wasn't here to help with them earlier, but now that he is, I only want him to leave well enough alone. The ship has sailed and there's no returning the tide once it's gone out.

I head back to the bar and when lean across to say low to Kiwi, "Do you sense the storm I do?" I glance meaningfully toward the Talons. The Sippians are always a given when it comes to trouble.

I scoff. "I wouldn't work there if they gave me a tiara and named me queen. Those Tower tightwads are self-absorbed jerks." I sweep some crumbs off the stool near me then sigh. "You're right, though, we don't get paid enough to deal with this place. If you want to carry that complaint to Blackjack, I'll support you... just don't bring up my name when you do it. I'm not planning on getting fired any time soon."

I cross my left hand over my right to place upon the back of Kestrel's hand. With my thumb, I gently caress her knuckles. "Only if it's absolutely necessary. If it gets too hot, we leave. They'll call us cowards because they have numbers. We know what's true and what's bravado." I pull my hand back and look over at Mynah standing next to Helix, then back to Kestrel. "But thank you, luv."

There's too much human noise. Too much audio traffic. I'm not going to be able to get a good read on the situation here without calling using higher powers. I breathe out in a whisper, calling on the Gray Wing to allow me to glimpse the unseen. Should we leave now? Did I miss a sign? I close my eyes, picturing Helix. Can you hear me, young one? Helix?

I watch Kiwi's antics with soft amusement. I didn't know him as a child, but I imagine he had an ethereal joy.

"Blackjack won't get rid of Dakota. Whopper likes her too much." I sigh. "Alright. Back to the grind." I pull a bit of jingle from my pocket and slide it across the bar to him. "One more shot for Karo. I think that should put him under for the night. One less conscious Sippian is a win for us all. I'll take the stuff for Two while I'm at it." Two is Dakota's table, and I know she got their order in to Kiwi a while ago. No one's drinking yet, though, and I know that's not Kiwi's error.

A gunshot cuts through the din and the chatter at Poseidon's Belly like a belch at a garden party. It happens, but it's never a good thing when it does.

Most people flinch and duck down, heads on a swivel to see who's drawn a gun. Some draw their own weapons, eyes wary for a big fight coming in a second wave of bravado and pitched fears. The music continues blaring through crackling speakers and the scrums in the fighting pit keep slugging each other, their heads swollen and drunken.

Mynah lets out a strangled cry of alarm and lunges foward to try and catch Kiwi before he falls behind the bar. Kiwi, for his part, falls as soon as his knees buckle, eyes glassy, mouth open with an unspoken retort about Karo.

Helix, you feel wet spots on the side of your face and look down at Kiwi, a bullethole in his chest, blood burbling and streaming out. Spatters of his blood have stained your top - they'll never come out.

Litch, your eyes were closed when the gunshot brought you out of your haze. Your eyes snap open and you see Kestrel has vaulted your table to interpose herself between you and the threat. Mynah is desperately trying to help Kiwi, ignoring everything else. Across the bar to the Sippians' side, you see Nuport holding a smoking .38 special, painted pink with the words "pArtee Gurll" hastily scrawled in Sharpe on the barrel. Around her you see several surprised Sippians - they are rowdy, but they've never shot the staff before. Pinched and groped, yes. Shot or harmed? Not even. Nuport has pushed it too far and now Lucky Strike has to defend her, Litch. You know this. You move on Nuport here and you and yours will be in for some pain. You may lose one of your ternary or worse.

What do you do?

There is a certain stillness in the clutches of catastrophe. A place where time turns from hard-edged sand plummeting toward oblivion to pastel petals, dancing in languid arcs left and right. Same destination, different journey.

It is in this netherworld that I first feel the viscid spray of Kiwi's blood on my skin. It is in the elongated seconds that I watch his eyes go from wide and alive to fading and falling. The momentary quiet echoes his question back to me: Do we really get paid enough to serve in the middle of a battlezone, Helix? In the protracted moments, I turn to see Nuport's eye staring, pArtee Gurll smoking, Sippians swigging away my tips and shooting my friends. We should wear armor.

I turn back toward Kiwi and time turns back to stone, falling at too rapid a pace, hitting too hard a floor, and disappearing long before I was ready to say goodbye.

I scramble to where Kiwi's fallen, desperately shoving the same dishrag I have used to wipe tables and beer for the last several hours against the hole in his chest. Someone is saying his name, and when they've repeated it three times over, I realize it's me.

"It's going to be okay. Can you hear me? Stay...stay here, Kiwi. It's going to be fine. Weh-we're going to..." What? What can I possibly do? I serve beer and sometimes smash hands, and only one of those things ever turns out well. "We'll get you to the Tower," I whisper, a dream and a wish, and maybe all of it too late, too little, too lacking. "Those elitists can fix anything. You'll see."