GM: Nightshade
Players: Nightshade, Watson, Aruka.
Synopsis: Back in town, Nightshade visits the hotspots to catch up with old 'friends' and make new ones.
Date: September 3, 2071
Melodrama - Main Room
Relaxation seems to be the key theme in this performance house. Entering from the street, the first view that catches the eye is that of the large stage at the back of the open building. Equipped with the latest in sound and lighting equipment, the stage gleams and beckons those with artistic dreams to mount its stairs. It is raised up so that it can be viewed clearly no matter where you may choose to sit.
There is no dominant color in this hotspot. In fact, the place is a general cacaphony of color. No two furniture pieces match. Even the servers who bustle around taking orders don't wear the same outfit. The only thing that sets them apart from the customers, is the fact that they wear aprons for convenience. The aprons are monogramed with a purple letter M.
Watson is a cold day out in Denver, and the sky is overcast with a frigid wind that tells tales of the coming winter months. Watson enters the room, looking all frail and morbid as usual, using her long black hair as a veil to hide half her face from view. She looks around, sniffing the air to appreciate the smell of really well-crafted fake coffee.
Watson is an almost painfully beautiful elven woman who might be in her early thirties. She has very long black hair — mixed with faint but noticeable streaks of white — that falls down over her face, shoulders, and ends at the middle of her back. Her body is slim and curvy, with long legs, a flat stomach and arms and shoulders that suggest she is quite strong. Pale, smooth skin covers her body and gives her angelic face the quality of a tragic, gothic beauty, the kind that might have inspired poets in ages gone by. She has large, sad black eyes and an expressive face that dimples when she smiles and blushes when shes unhappy. Yet theres a strange quality to her voice: its raspy as though she doesnt speak much; and when she does, she stutters very noticeably. Also, her body shakes all the time as though she were cold or hurt. She has the mixed quality of a wounded animal, looking almost helpless with her trembling body, but dangerous with her strength and beauty.
Watson is wearing a tight, speghetti-string top, colored a deep, impenatrable black, that shows off a nice amount of her skin. It reveals strong, developed shoulders and smooth, flawless skin. Below that are her low-rider jeans, in the style of the day, held up by a chain-beltr to give her that tough-girl edgey look. The jeans she likes are tight all the way to the ankle and disappear into her low-top sneakers. She's not wearing any makeup, and the only piece of jewlery she has on is a locket that disappears between her breasts, under her shirt. Her hair is left to fall wild and free over her face and shoulders, giving her an almost ferral-but-sexy look.
Watson is a nervous woman with a noticeable bearing of severe depression. She slouches, shivers and sighs, carrying herself with an air of exhaustion. Her speech is unclear, full of stutters and incomplete thoughts, rising and falling at odd intervals.
Nightshade is settled in the center of a small couch, she occupies both cushines of the love-seat one of her elbows resting on each of it's arms. Her fingers are steepled around a large cup of psuedo-coffee in front of her which she stares into contemplatively. "Why…when they can control the temperature exactly…" she muses, "Do they still serve it too hot to drink?"
Nightshade spikes her coffee in an alternate way, shifting her left hand to hold the cup, the delicately (for a troll) dipping her spike tipped finger into the brew. There's a little crunchy-crackle like stepping on frozen grass then she swirls the cup with her left while popping the finger of her right into her mouth to suck it clean.
This young troll woman is only a hair shy of two and a half meters weighing in the neghborhood of 185kg. She is trim for her metatype sharp and angular looking with heavy calcium deposits on her hands and the sides of her face making her fingers appear clawlike and her face appear draconian. Her eyes are mist blue set below eyebrows that bear tiney boney spikes. The pair of horns that begin to show just behind her cheekbones run up and back from her eyes, curling along the side of her head wrapping around her ear and tapering to a point just shy of the bottom of her earlobe. Her body, what can be seen of it, bears additional calcium deposits. These sharp lines, points and plates shift smoothly under her clothing as she moves.
She is wearing a flowing skirt made many uneven lengths of black cloth over a sturdy looking black bodysuit. The bodysuit is covered with zippers the pull for each is a short fine silver chain complimenting a silver chainmail belt around her waist. She has a large long overcoat of black that hangs heavily on her, covered in larger zippers. The top of the bodysuit is slightly unzipped showing a silver chain round her neck. On each wrist and ankle is a knife sheath containing a decorative silver and black handled knife with several short chains at the base of the hilt like tassles.
Watson walks slowly and awkwardly towards the serving counter and waits a moment in line. She's then given her large coffee — cream and sugar, of course — and she walks away from the waitress. As she does so, she tries her best to discreetly pull a flask from the inside of her jacket and pour whiskey into it.
Watson has wandered towards a pile of pillows in the corner, still dumping whiskey into her coffee. She does witness Nightshade's odd way of stirring her coffee and gives her a disapproving look, as though she's borken some kind of moral code. Then she goes back to dumping whiskey into her coffee while sitting down.
Nightshade's eyebrow rises at the disapproving look, the skin of her forehead crinkling around the boney protrusions along her brow, "Something the matter, dearie?" she inquires. Then tilts her head back so she can pour some of the coffee into her maw.
Watson sets her coffee/whiskey mixture on the table next to her as she collapses down into a pile of pillows. She sniffs, then looks at Nightshade. "You stuh-stuh-stuck your finger in your cuh-cuh-coffee," she says in her raspy voice. "Thuh-thuh-that's… a guh-guh-good way to get the flu. Gross." She goes to take up her coffee in her hand and drink it, but when she gets it near her face, she has one of her uncontrollable shudders and ends up spilling half of it into her lap. "Awww… fuh-fuh-fuck!" she complains.
Nightshade nods, "It would be, dear, if I didn't wash my hands like some people." She gives a tsk then clucks her tongue, "Now, dearie, look what you've done there…" She gestures, "Come along, I know a little cantrip that'll clear that stain right out." She waves her hand for Watson to step towards her.
Watson is trying to wipe the burning coffee off her lap with her hands but she didn't bother to put the coffee mug down yet, so the more she struggles with it, the more she spills on herself. She keeps up an eloquent litany of swear words, making her quite the center of attention, but finally she looks up at Nightshade, frustrated and tired again. She stands, setting down what's left of her coffee and walks over to her. The spill looks as though she's wet herself. "I'm fuh-fuh-fine, really."
«Auto-Judge[]» Nightshade (#3173) rolls Sorcery + Sorcery Pool: 6 vs TN 5 for "Cleans F3":
1 1 2 2 3 3 3 3 3 4 4 5 5 = 2 Successes
«Auto-Judge[]» Nightshade (#3173) rolls Willpower vs TN 2 for "No successes needed, but to be official.":
1 1 4 4 4 5 5 = 5 Successes
======================> Spell Catalog Listing: Cleanse <=======================
Spell Name: Cleanse
Category: Manipulation/Telekinetic
Target Number: 4
Drain Code: L
Type: Physical
Duration: Permanent
-----—> Spell Description <-----—
This spell causes 'dirt' (stains, dust, mud, oil, grease, etc) to 'fall off' the target's body and clothing. The net effect is that the target is left clean as if freshly showered (but he is not wet) and in clean clothing. 'Dirtiness' that is removed from the target finds its way to the ground at the target's feet as a fine dust. Anything that would be considered a part of the target's body, such as hair or fur that is still attached, is not removed by this spell.
To remove simple dirtiness, such as some dust or hair, requires only a single success. To remove more serious 'dirtiness', such as mud spatters, oil stains, or ground-in blood stains, may require more successes, at the GM's discretion. The caster must touch the target. The number of successes generated when casting this spell may not exceed twice the spell's force. The spell can only affect areas of the target's body and clothing that are exposed; someone in a completely sealed spacesuit will only have the exterior of the spacesuit cleansed by this spell, while remaining sweaty and dirty inside the suit. The spell's effect are permanent, but the target is not in any way protected from being soiled again after the spell has been cast.
Nightshade laughs, the sound like a tinkling of fine glass hitting concrete, "Of course you are dear, now lets see, how did it go…baking soda and club soda I think." She reaches out one long arm, the plates of bone and spikes shifting under her top. A finger extends and the pointed tip taps one of Watson's belt loops over the belt. With a disturbing warm wet feeling the coffee stain travels down the pants then off to puddle at the floor. A bit of fine dust falls from the rest of her as well leaving her entirely clean.
Watson makes kind of a wimpering sound when the magic starts to work on her, especially since it's very close to a sensetive part of her anatomy. She is always completely unsettled by magic, so it should be no surprise that it makes her stand straight and stiff and start to shake. "Wuh-wuh-what… what was that? There's… wuh-wuh-water on the floor…." she sniffs and looks down. "I'm duh-duh-dry? You duh-duh-do that?"
Nightshade glances at the floor, then gives a sniff herself, "No dear, that's coffee and hooch." She sniffs again, "Whiskey maybe, or some sort of synth…never was fond of the stuff myself." She settles back on the couch, "And that was a cantrip, dearie, a bit of household magic, works wonders with ketchup too."
Watson shivers. "Muh-muh-magic… that stuff cuh-cuh-creeps me out." She sniffs and steps away from the spill on the floor while a pouty-faced waitress walks over with a mop to clean it up. Watson looks down at the sitting Nightshade and says in her raspy voice, "I thuh-thuh-thought Trolls cuh-cuh-couldn't do magic? You… cuh-cuh-can do magic?"
Nightshade laughs, "Oh, sweetie, that's so cute." She clicks her claw like digits together then spreads then an inch or so apart, "We can do a little, from time to time, so far as I know, everyone can…there's just fewer trolls about, so there's fewer troll mages." She sighs, "Even rarer though are troll boys you can settle down with."
Watson shudders at the thought. "Thuh-thuh-that's too liberal… fuh-fuh-for my blood," she says softly. She runs her trembling fingers through her hair. "I'm guh-guh-gunna go. Thuh-thuh-thanks… for um… duh-duh-doing my laundry for me?"
Nightshade waves her hand, "Of course, dearie. Though I'd always thought marriage was a conservative stance."
"Not wuh-wuh-when there's a ten-foot-tall musclebound troll involved," Watson says with a giggle. "But wuh-wuh-what do I know? Elves duh-duh-don't marry very often." She sniffs and gives a wave. "Later."
Nightshade waves, finishes her coffee, then heads outside
6th Avenue and I-225
Highway 225 cuts north and south through Denver's east side, offering quick transport around the streets to the west of here. It also once served as the border between the UCAS and CAS sectors. To the west is the five meter tall fence that was topped with razorwire, each side bordered by ten meters of sand and gravel 'no-man's' land.
Despite the ragtag appearance of the area, KE is still quick to respond to any disturbances. As such, some entrepaneurs have chosen to take advantage of the spacious warehouses. One such warehouse has been converted into a Coffee/Performance House.
Aruka is presently leaning against a lamp post and watching some of the clouds roll by.
This human woman appears to be in her mid-twenties. Tall for her race and gender's average, standing maybe 5'11 at the top of her head. Her shoulder length straight sky blue hair hands down over her olive skin, the young woman's whole body holding the natural tan of a sun worshiper. She sees the world through a pair of icy blue eyes and her face has just a touch of make up about it. Her eye lashes and her violet lipstick.
She's wearing a short cut black bodice trimmed with lace and done up with a cord over her ample chest, only showing modest amount of cleavage. The bodice is complimented by a small coat worn along her shoulders and arms, green synthetic leather along her shoulders tapering down towards gray as it approaches her wrist only to end in matching lace frills. Her bodice stops such that her stomach is bare, exposing more of her tanned olive complexion and a large intricate tattoo of an ouroboros circling around a phoenix done up in several different colors that seem to be mirroed upon her polished fingernails.
A gray skirt is held up over her feminine hips by a black leather belt trimmed with silver, covering another matching layer of white lace. Only a small amount of her long legs are shown off, her white stockings reaching almost to her skirt and her thigh high black boots finish off the outfit.
Nightshade steps out of the Melodrama, puts her hands up over her head and gives a quick stretch, then moves to stand by the street. Her arms cross and the fingers of her left hand begin drumming on the elbow and tricep of her right as she waits.
Aruka turns her head slightly and glances at you up and down, smiling slightly. She was good at that smile too. "Waiting for someone?"
Nightshade tilts her head towards a black van with a red stripe on it working it's way though traffic, "My ride." She says, turning to look Aruka over more thoroughly, "You?"
Aruka continues to smile at you warmly, shrugging her shoulders. "Just don't have anything to do today, but I didn't feel like heading inside yet."
Nightshade laughs lightly, the sound like fine glass hitting a concrete pavement, "Oh, dearie…what I wouldn't give for that sort of trouble."
"Well it normally isn't like this but for some reason today is just the odd day with nothing going on. If I'd known ahead of time I'd have made more plans, but alas I'm left just standing here watching the clouds." Aruka says with a little shrug of her shoulders.
Nightshade smiles, the calcified skin of her face crinkling, making it a sharp and angular thing, "Well, you enjoy your day then dear, and mind those clouds…once it starts raining you don't want to get it in your eyes."
Aruka chuckles softly and nods in agreement to that, smiling at you. "Indeed, definately don't want to be out in the rain these days. I hope your ride gets here soon." She offers that with a parting wave, wishing you well.
Aruka leaves the street to enter the performance house.
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