RP:Overreacting - The Pinnacle of It

This is a Healer's Guild RP.

Summary: Thamalys, badly wounded upon a too-close encounter with a beast of old he looked for and found in the neighbourhoods of Vailkrin, enters the Hanging Corpse Tavern. The Blue asks for help, and the Waitress-Not-In-Service-Today, aka Orphyn, obliges - but only after addressing the Avian as turtle dove first, and doll face soon after. The Spellblade takes care of said wound via a mixture of alcohol and wyvern’s blood - and off he goes to take his revenge upon the girl, offering that odd blend to her. Turns out, wyvern’s blood is not exactly beneficial for non-Avians, as Orphyn ends up forgetting the entirety of the night up to then. Beaming in his own cruelty, the vindictive Winged Beasts leaves the Tavern - leaving some silver behind as well as a rather bewildered waitress.

Vailkrin: Hanging Corpse Tavern

Orphyn pushed open the creaky wooden door of The Corpse with a bit of force, a distinct air of confidence propelling her steps into the often busy establishment. She was sporting her bad girl look tody, complete with skull shaped earring, that long stylish duster and a leopard-print accented leather bodice. Long pink locks swept now past her shoulders- It was obvious she were due for her next hair cut. With a cool gaze, Orphyn's blue-greys circled the room in observation, footsteps first leading her toward the bar where that familiar face stood in wait. "Paaaatchy. Doll. Gimmie something to drink. Your choice. Well. Not water, or I'll stab you with a tooth pick." A bit of a smirk was given.

Thamalys dragged himself along the stony path, quite a few distance separating his ambling from that of the PinkHead, plainly boasting a mighty blend of pain and disgust. Clad in black entirely, that outfit of his was in perfect tune indeed with the mood of the Blue, presently fuming - and approaching the door of the Tavern as quickly as he could. With the usual graceful note that tended to characterise his moves - that is to say, none at all - the Winged beast slammed the door open, a sharp thud echoing throughout the comfy innards of the Hanging Corpse. Barefooted as always, for once the bystander would have not marvelled - chiefly - at those monumental silvery wings, which, however neatly furled, manage to occupy a ridiculous portion of the room. No, on that dire night the focus of the onlooker would have most likely be the awful laceration that run from the hip of the Spellblade down to his knee, an horrible open wound that managed to smash not only the leather of his black pants, but clearly enough even the black steel beyond. Blood was running freely still, soaking the whole of his leg, dripping in uneven droplets on the floor. And yet, the Spellblade did not care at all - or so it would have seemed. Immobile, he stood for a moment, evaluating the not-so-familiar scenery. The fairly oddly dressed one at the bar did manage to stir the attention of the Blue for a little while, but a split second after the latter would have eventually hauled himself onto a bench, heavily resting his weight on those pointy elbows now squarely sit on the wooden table. An impossibly thick, messy cascade of ivory-white dreadlocks covered much of the tattooed face of the Avian, the rest of him almost one with the wall, so pitch black was the colour of the shirt barely covering his inked, pale skin. Solid blue eyes nailed onto the figure at the bar once more. “Oi. You…” he simply went, raising a bony finger in the direction of the PinkHead, before muttering something not entirely meaningless and sprawl itself on the bench, breathing hard. Across his shoulders, the ominous shapes of the Gossamer Halberd towered upon him, her metallic gaze sparkling in the dim light. Drop after drop, the bleeding kept going…

Orphyn watched as Steadman slid a glass of clear liquid toward the deranged woman. "I swear to Solaris is that's water, Patchy." she growled. Slender digits with black painted nails wrapped around the glass and lifted it to her lips, eyes dead locked on the bartender with a twisted, yet somehow playful glare. Ebon lips part, liquid flowed past, and she swallowed. Steadmen smirked, picking up glasses to wipe down with a dirty rag- It was cliche, but expected. "You're such a dic-" Orphyn started, but immediately her words would be sliced in twain by the unexpected interruption froming from the door. There, the pair at the bar spied that large winged man, Orphyn's slender bow arcing as she made note of the dripping wounds, first. "I ain't cleaning that up." she said to Steadmen. "I don't friggin' work today." Another drink was partaken as she took to scrutinizing the wounded winged man; She wondered whom he had gone and pissed off. It was when that bony finger was aimed her direction that she set the beverage down and said dismissively, "I ain't holdin' today. Supply ran out. Couple of days, sweets." She figured, given his demeanor, that he was just another customer.

Thamalys lifted his cranium to a tiny extent, just that much he actually needed in order to peer through the pearly curtain of his own dreadlocks and make sure he actually heard her correctly. || Angry, are we not? You are bound to be, in this place. And yet, it was your choice, and yours alone… || chuckled the Ageless Black, directing a perfectly silent speech within the battered mind of the Blue - whom could not offer a rebuke to the Dragon, not even a proper answer, in fact. There was, in all fairness, something to thrill that was unique to Vailkrin, in that the Spellblade for some reason seemed to violate the boundaries of that awful place with a worrying frequency. Evil, pure or diluted, was what called the Winged Beast deep into the shadowy alleys, into the murky woods, into the forgotten caves that pierced that cursed land. Much can be changed in Lythridel, but not the mind of Avians, as still they found something intrinsically corrupted in Vampires - such a bittersweet contradiction, given the fact that some of the souls closest to the Blue did indeed belong to that parasitic race. “Supply of what?” growled the Blue in the deepest voice one could have possibly imagined, actual streaks of gold building already into the otherwise perfectly blue eyes. “ You mean to tell me there is no drink to be had? Not even!” he sort of yelled, suddenly producing a sizeable purse from his belt and immediately after shoving the latter on the table, a number of shiny pieces of silver tumbling away - a couple of them, in fact, even recached the floor. “The first of you two who brings me a bottle of the strongest thing you have managed to brew in this place…” and here he paused, not so much for showing off really, but mainly because of the sharp spike of pain presently crucifying his leg, “… can have the whole of the purse, content included. I just need… please…” he pleaded, albeit there was nothing in his voice that hinted less than a command - rather than an actual request.

Orphyn reached into the inner left breast pocket of her jacket and produced a small satin lined pouch as she said, "Ah. Nah, toots. My mistake. Thought you were lookin' for something else." A snall glittery powder sprinked onto the back of the pink haired woman's hand and snorted, her eyes briefly rolling back as she took in the near instant rush. With a sniffle, she spoke to Steadmen. "Gimmie a bottle. I'll do deliver it. And you won't have to pay me, either ya cheap bastard." The woman always had a way with words. When the bottle was produced, Orphyn picked it up by the neck and traversed from her position at the bar, over to the table in which the strange avian sat. Her daggers, sheathed at the hip, began to shimmer and pulse with an all too familiar viridian haze. "So what in the hell is your deal, winged one?" she asked, setting the bottle down before the avian with a loud thud. "Tangle with a wraith, or what? Actually, you know what? What the hell are you doin' in Vailkrin anyway? Did the bloodsuckers and the turtledoves finally settle their problems?" After all, last she had heard, Avians and Vampires still had a bit of bad blood between them.

Thamalys blinked only once, as he witnessed the Shadowy Waitress approaching. Then, and as soon the bottle touched the wood, the Avian rummaged into yet another of the countless pouches and pockets adorning his belt and shirt alike, this time uncovering an exceedingly small vial, apparently containing an amber coloured, viscous liquid. Still silent, albeit he did nail his eyes upon those of the girl standing right in front of him, the Blue poured the whole of the yellowish content into the bottle. Intricate, beautiful waves emerged from the mixture, bewitching glimpses of liquid gold mingling into whatever it was contained in the glassy vessel. Eventually, the Spellblade raised his eyes again. “Very much appreciated, Ma’am. Sure you don’t want any of this silver? You could probably get a finer blade than those two, I reckon…” he noted while something not entirely dissimilar from a creepy grin surfaced upon his broken, grey lips. “As per my business in here, I am afraid that will have have to remain undisclosed - for the time being, that is. You could join me at this table, for a start. How strong do you like your drinks? This one here…” he stated in a rather flat tone, a finger toying with the bottle, “… has now become something you have probably never tasted. Would you care to give it a try? Ah, incidentally…” he concluded, his voice reaching a whole new level of deepness, “… you address me again in any manner even vaguely related to anything that flies, and I shall have your ribs for dinner. So. Where were we? Ah yes, the drink… or maybe do you want me to go first?” he sort of teased, even if she could have probably told at this stage that the Winged Beast was by now desperately clutching his own leg in the vain attempt to stop the blood flowing.

Orphyn 's fingerless gloves groaned as her finger balled into an extremely tight first. Finer blade? A finer blade?! That was like insulting her own mother. Actually, it was worse, because the pink haired woman didn't really give a damn about her own mother. Never met, in fact. "Nothin' wrong with these blades, thanks. They're custom, and they're wonderful." A matter-of-fact nod was issued toward the strange man as she observed his peculiar act of pouring something added into the bottle she had brought. With his explanation, she offered in retort. "As long as it ain't poison, I'm down to give it a shot." The veiled threat went mostly ignored, although deep inside, she was fighting the urge to flip the table and gut him like a pig. She did promise Patchy that she wouldn't mess up his bar again. Instead, she now brought the matter of his injury to light. "How bad is it, dollface? Do you need an amputation?" A sinister grin were showcased at the thought. "Or a less drastic approach, we can get that thing bandaged up. Doubt there are any healers in here at this time of day." Her blue-grey eyes looked over the few patrons seated around; Mostly seedy types and petty thugs.

Thamalys was enduring that rather passionate defence of her about the twin blades in perfect silence, when something absolutely remarkable happened. Upon her inquire about the mauled leg, the Blue started laughing, only a hint of a sound at the beginning, and then stronger and stronger his chortling grew, a strange and deep sound filling the whole of the tavern. “Healers, aye? By the Wind…” he went on, shacking his head, his left hand passing across his brow, tearing some cold sweat away from the inked skin. “You have quite the right of not believing me, but I can assure you, you are looking at one. In fact, this is no poison. Here, let me show you…” and with that, he seized the bottle in his hand, wolfing down half of his content in no time. Down the Spellblade put said vessel on the table, and not a second too early. The eyes of the Winged Beast went solid gold, as the whole of the ink covering most of his skin, in the form of complex patterns telling of ivy-shaped branches and leaves, twitched madly and started to pour a thin layer of what seemed to be liquid flames, converging promptly upon the open wound. For a moment, one could have thought the Avian lost his poise, that is when his wings threatened to unfurl, a huge collection of metallic feathers clinking already - but it was over soon enough, or at least, some of it. The eyes stayed golden, and the flames keep burning his flesh, there where the slash run across his leg. A sickening, foul smell rose into the air. “Ah yes. Probably not entirely pleasant a scent - apologies for that. Now, let us see what it’d do to you… it’s quite a rare concoction of mine, you know? Cost me quite some bruises to put it together. It can’t do you any harm, but still… I am curious.” he concluded in a suspiciously soft tone.

Orphyn was taken aback at the brilliant display taking place before her. In defense, and in part instinct, Orphyn pushed backward in her chair, her slender form disappearing in the blink of an eye; Immediately reappearing three feet back from where she sat, brandishing those corrupted weapons of hers. Between the pair, a faint mist of black and viridian quickly dissipated. "What the hell?!" she called out. "Don't do it..." Steadmen told the young assassin. "Did you not see that?! That's the kind of crap that gets a person killed! I ain't going out like that!" she called back in turn. In all honesty, she thought that this might have been the start of some kind of attack. Maybe he was with the law and her past misdeeds finally were finally catching up. Most avians she had heard of were a lawful type. Finally as Thamalys spoke, she began to ease. Only slightly. "You really gotta warn people about doin' that sort of thing." Then as the man's latter words hit her, she looked at him like he was completely stupid. "See what it will do to me?! So, you want to test some weird experiment? Really? You're friggin' mad!" Uh. Pot - Kettle, Orphyn. She thought about it for a moment, before going against all common sense. "You know what? Fine." The bottle was lifted and wiped against her sleeve- no thanks, germs - and then quickly placed to her lips for a good three gulps. At first, nothing seemed to happen. "Tastes like crap." she stated. Then, without warning, her head snapped to the left and she left loose a glorious wretch; A spewdom of pure black hitting the floor with a sickly splat. "You... you lied..." she spat out before another projectile vomit ensued. Orphyn doubled over in agony, dry heaving now as the contents of her gullet had been empty in those two powerful blows. Then, as sudden as it started, her apparent illness just stopped. Slowly, Orphyn erected herself in full, a sickly sweet smile offered to Thamalys with an equally sweet tone of voice, "Hello! Welcome to the Hanging Corpse! Can I get you anything to drink?" It was as if the previous conversation hadn't even taken place.

Thamalys witnessed the drama unfolding without moving at all. By the time the girl was done with her rant, the flames upon his legs would have died out already, leaving a massive blackish scar in place. The ink within his skin seemed at rest as well - eventually. Only the golden eyes endured, and in fact, they would have for quite a decent time after. But then, the PinkHead retched as if there was no tomorrow - to which the Avian barely flinched, the idea of a smile in fact remotely visible on that sharp face. The final outcome of that experiment, though, caught him off guard by quite a lot. “Fascinating…” he uttered in an undertone. “In fact, you may not - I had my share already, and I do feel my time in this place is about to come to an end. As a matter of…”

|| Steadmen || “You what?! Oi, mister, there is blood everywhere, plus that black stuff that did come out of here… not to mention the sodding flames running my sofas! You better pay for that, or there will be trouble!” yelled the bartender at once, interrupting squarely enough.

Thamalys did spend a little moment addressing the man, disgust dripping from every word. “Of course. take the silver, is still there, and it will serve to refund you fully - and more than that. Consider it a gift, bartender. As of you…” he kept going, actually standing up and coming close enough to the girl still in front if the table - black stains of smelly vomit trying to elude while stepping upon the soiled floor. On he proceeded, leaning wholly, bending like a willow, till - if allowed - he would have reached her left ear - dreadful jewellery included - and whispered into the latter, in the softest tone possibly ever heard within the classy walls of the Hanging Corpse. “That man will try to make you think I tricked you, that I toyed with you, that I used you out of mere and selfish fun alone. But you must know, m’lady, that the whole of his words are actually… true. My name is Thamalys - and you may very well jolly say that you paid a little price today, for having addressed me as doll-face. And yet…” and with that he turned to his heels, a long step already hinting toward the door, “you brought me a bottle. For that, I shall thank you - and I will remember your face, whoever you might be called. Till soon…” he concluded, fast enough devouring the distance separating him from the door.

Orphyn seemed lost. Confused, even. Then again, when wasn't she? "Um. Okay?" she muttered as Thamalys made for the exit. To Steadmen she beamed, "Nice guy! I'll go get the mop now, m'kay! Seems to be a bit of a mess over here." The jacket came off to reveal her overly colorful inked arms, and tossed onto a nearby table. Into the back she hurried soon after to go fetch a mop and pale, there was work to be done!

Thamalys gained the exit swiftly enough. True, it would have remembered - her face, and most importantly the effects of wyvern’s ichor upon non-Avians. A rather useful piece of knowledge, in fact. A part of him did, for an impossibly short while, feel guilty. After all, was he not a Healer indeed? What would the Wintry Lady have had to say about the Blue’s revenge upon just a little remark? And what about Lady Sabrina? || Ah well, but this is Vailkrin, is it not? || chuckled the Black, knowing the answer already. “It is indeed, you bastard. Sod them all…” he voiced to the murky sky. He only spent a few seconds flexing the newly scarred leg - which felt fantastic, only to take a brief run-up soon after and with a single swoop of those immense silvery curtains, disappearing into the air. Away from that darkness - till that tempting call would have brought him to the City of Vampires once more.