milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

amascut,
zelgadiss

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"I suppose it was overdue," mutters Zelgadiss as he enters the bar, eyeing the damage that has yet to be fixed. He'd seen worse damage from bar fights (and was the cause of a few of them), so isn't really impressed, unaware what really caused the damage to Milliways.

What's mildly surprising to him is that there is also damage to be seen outside, though time and the efforts of the bar patrons have softened the signs considerably. Must've been some fight, he thinks to himself, passing out the back door and towards the open area near the lake.

He hadn't expected the bar to appear. But really, what counts as unexpected when one is exploring a ghost-ship? Lina and Filia were busy dealing with that talking jar thing. Why shouldn't Zel steal some time away for himself? He needed to distract himself from his worry about Amelia - where she ended up after the explosion at the gatway, if she were all right.

So he does what always helps him calm some of the turmoil in his head (and heart), he practices.

If one were to venture outside this afternoon, they will find a stone-skinned chimera going through his sword forms in slow, measured movements.

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It's a good sword. It'll live. So to speak.

Zel's just glad to find that fiery tornado gone. He would rather not have to tangle with that.

So he walks over to where Sarah is still pinned to her shadow, smiling slightly. "Shall we call it a draw?"

"Gnarrgnarrgnarr,"

Huh?

When Zel is in reach, Sarah's shadow elects to graw on Zeldagiss's leg.

Well, not gnaw. Gum.

There is a very catlike growl from Sarah before she sighs and consents. 'Tis sparring, not a fight to the death.

Meanie.

"Next time I'll know to use more overhead fireworks... I must admit, you are very skilled. I would say you would make a fine slayer, but I don't know how good you are with ranged weaponry yet." SMIRK

"Ummm, could you release me now?" she asks as sweetly as she can.

Zel... eyes the shadow gumming his foot. But it's a shadow. It doesn't hurt.

"Maybe we'll find out, some other day," he grins, and holds out his hand. "Can you not free yourself? Oh well. Lighting!"

How do you erase the shadow holding you fast? A simple light spell will do the trick.

Oh duh, she was thinking of using that as away of avoiding getting caught, but not as a way of escaping?

Silly snot for brains.

Oh no, she is thinking of it again. Ugh.

After shaking off that thought, she asks, "Are you hungry? Sparring always makes me hungry. We should eat."

Just a suggestion. Though her stomach is making sounds in protest of the narration's reduction in urgency. THAT'S A COMMAND, DAMMIT. AM I GONNA HAVE TO HYPNOTIZE SOMEONE? FEED ME!

"Sounds tempting," he says. "That much magic in a short period of time burns a lot of energy."

Being a chimera means he has less of a dependence on vast quantities of food than, say, Lina and Gourry, but food is good. He could use a good meal - it's not likely he's going to find one on the ghost ship he entered the bar from, anyway.

"I'll join you," he decides. "Drinks are on me, in appreciation. I haven't had the opportunity to spar like that in quite a while." Usually, the only time he uses his magic is in deadly earnest.

The people of her world cheat when it comes to magic. Or runestone, you miracle of magic storage you, Where would humanity be without you? There is a way to develop something live a natural talent for a certain type of magic, but it takes more than one lifetime.

All the earth, wind, and water based spells where taken care of by runes, but fire..... that's her thing. Well, perhaps a bit of death based magic pepered in for extra oomph.

"Me neither, most of the people who approach me for lessons are humans these days and think they can get away with just whacking at things with a sword," she says, leading the way and grinning. Then she looks back, "Say, what are you, by the way?"

He's... not grinning any more, the smile having faded with the question, but his tone is more wry than annoyed. "Human, thanks." If he's annoyed at all, it's with himself.

"Only currently cursed with the body of a 1/3 rock golem, 1/3 blow demon, 1/3 human chimera."

"Ah, curses," she says, sympathetic as she remembers her own. "At least you seem to have all the strengths and none of the weaknesses. The demons that I am used to can use magic but are very bad at defending against it."

Curses can be turned to blessings. Strengths. Weapons.

She reaches the door first and holds the door open for Zeldagiss. Chivalry isn't much of a thing in her world and is pretty much confined to a strange group of knights in a far away land. "How about you pick the drinks and I the food? I am afraid I don't know much about the drinks that are offered here."

Well, if he says no he can just pay for Atlantean :D.

"I don't like people looking at me like I'm a monster," he mutters. He doesn't give a care for the relative advantages or disadvantages of one shape over another, even if his nigh-invulnerability has saved his life many times. He just wants to be human again.

"Deal. What do you say to scotch?" He'd had similar drinks back in his world, but scotch is one of the drinks he's discovered at the bar that he finds quite enjoyable.

"I can't say I ever heard of it, but I won't say no." Unless it is something more suited to the the anatomy of a tro...ll

Ok, the trolls that come here are not ...

hmm...

That reminds her that there is someone Zeldagiss should meet about his problem. A certain golemy type person who was recently looking very ... fleshy? Well, if it were in her interests to help someone that can command that amount of power get over his image issues. She has a couple solutions for that, actually. Her hair and eye color aren't common in her part of the world. It would be bad for her if others could actually pay attention to it. There's a certain malevolent diety of the desert that has the same hair and eye color. <_<

No, power belongs in the hands of mentally unstable and vulnerable people. Things work out best that way.

They find a table and she starts conversing with a waitrat. Something about shark and tomato sauce and pasta and something called Karambwan? What is a Chocolate Bomb?

Zelgadiss throws in their order for a bottle of scotch and two glasses, taking a careful seat on the sturdiest of the chairs at their table. (One is not covered in stone without also weighing as much as a ship's anchor.)

"I suppose we'll both be trying something new tonight. Karambwan?"

"Oh, it is a sea creature. Soft bodied, eight armed, can squeeze themselves though tiny openings. They are dificult to catch and hard to cook right, but quite the delicacy."

In other words... Octopus

Zelgadiss may be making a face.

A face of... uughhh.

"Octopus."

"I'll pass."

Hmmm... eight legged. Now that is a practical name.
She gives him a quizzical look.

Silly thing. You'll starve!

"More for me, then!" Her stomach rumbles in agreement.

Well, he'll starve if he doesn't remember that octopus isn't the only thing she ordered. Maybe the octopus will corrupt the whole plate, though.

The scotch and the plates arrive, and there is the Karambwan, sitting on top of a pile of pasta, with a nice, juicy shark steak to the side. The Karambwan isn't even touching the steak on that plate!

Zeldagiss better be quick before she decides that he has forfeited his meal.

Shark, he recognizes, and that's what he goes for. She can have the slimy, chewy cephalopod.

In the interest of diversity, he leans down to a waitrat and orders a seafood hot pot that they can share. Magic burns calories better than any workout, and though he isn't so much a glutton as Lina, Gourry, or Amelia, he... does know the draw of a good meal. He'll even pay for the extra food.

OOOOO a new type of food!

Between bites, "So, what is it you do when you are not here?"

The rats soon return with the hot pot, the various ingredients and sauces, and Zelgadiss sets them to cooking.

"I seek a way to regain my human body," he answers, busy with the hot pot. "My friends and I also seek to avert events foretold in a prophecy of destruction. Or perhaps to bring about those events. No one is quite clear which, at the moment."

She is suddenly very intersted in something. Whether is the pot or the prophecy is debateable.

Watching the pot, she asks, "Why aren't you sure?"

"We don't know what the prophecy means, whether the events in it must be made to happen, or prevented from happening, in order to save the world," he says, stirring the pot a little to see how things are cooking. "My world and the Overworld, I suppose."

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