November 24th
Guns and Interplanetary Travel --Pt I
Mind was neither here nor there, but floating in the space between for now. A few moments to catch his breath, as it were. Or just trip the light fantastic. Still, when it was all over he snapped into place in the Metro. No sickness came with the sudden materialization, he had long since grown used to the feeling of coming into existence. The night was quiet, and the town brooded on such a silence in a way that spoke to Dillon. Telling him how slow the night would be. Well, until he remembered he remembered he had pot and video games at his place. Then it was all aces. Smoke trailed behind him in a slight fog as he prowled the back alleyways. Unseen by both predator and prey. Unnoticed by all until he came to the lawn of the inn and moved his mask into place. Quietly moving up the steps of the porch and inside.
Running shoes thumped up the steps, the powerful length of leg taking them two at a time, until Rayvinn was upon the porch. Bent over with palms pressed just above her knees, the elf was panting heavily and growing increasingly frustrated with herself. She had been home for nearly a month and didn't feel she was any closer to her previous level of health. A four mile run should never have winded her this much. Her muscles shouldn't burn quite this much from the buildup of lactic acid. Her head shouldn't be spinning as if at any moment she could fall over, especially if she closed her eyes.
Oh hello there, foul mood! A sword callused palm slammed into the door at the same time a jutting hipbone was checked into the lower portion and over the threshold, the Harbringer of Chaos stepped...looking worse for the wear. She realized she had nearly knocked Dillon over and offered him all she could force of a sheepish grin. "Mr. Dillon..." Her greeting was quite a bit lacking compared to the usual that required him to answer a near bajillion questions as rapidly as her quick little mouth could spout them out. Across the room and through the break in the bar she went, not a look or greeting for any other patrons, also not the norm. A bottle of water was pulled from the cooler, a note written on her tab, and she was moving back through the break and sliding her waifish form into a booth.
Now Dill could tell just from his own perception, and not some ultratech sensor array, what hand someone used at first glance. Their health. Their fighting style. Most anything that dealt with war. However he had a rather hard time just telling if someone was mad, or happy. Probably had more to do with him lacking a corpus callosum then anything, but that was neither here nor thre. When a usually upbeat and energetic Elfess just walked right by him with a rather singular greeting however, it did snap up a couple of red flags.
"Miss Rayvinn." Rumbled out with a general air of warm greeting, but she had already passed by him in that moment of confusion as Dill caught up to, well, social situations. Really, ask him to kill some eldritch God that was so incomprehensible it made people insane from just looking at it.... and he'll do it without even looking up from his video games. Ask him to ask someone what was wrong, and well, look what happens. Give him a few moments then he was slipping towards the bartop himself. Moving behind it to begin to make himself a new cup of coffee. His choir of artificial intelligences sang to him though, and gave him knowledge. "Rough day?"
"Nope." She drank the majority of the bottle in one long swig and gasped for breath once again, frowning at the bottle like the inanimate object was to be blamed. "Just trying to get my lazy ass back in shape is all." More like trying to make her recently broken body work perfectly without enough time to heal, impatient thing that she was. She slipped out of the booth once more and stood on the rung of a barstool, leaning waaaaay over the bartop to snag a bottle of..something from below. "Dillon...drink one with me?" Oops...forgot the polite formality this time. Apparently she had forgotten she hadnt ever seen the man drink anything other than coffee. Or maybe she was just playing the role of temptress tonight. Before receiving the answer, which would likely be "no," she grabbed up two glasses along with that bottle and slipped off of the bar and went back to her booth in the corner of the bar. Of course, she expected Dillon to join her there, regardless of what he was drinking. Give her a few minutes and his brain would be hers once again.
"Back in shape..." He was just testing out the words more then asking a question. His brow did furrow a bit, but things lined up again. He's been at work too much, it idled his brain in some places. He did however get a cup of coffee, which was his only goal of the night. So, so far so good. When she asked her question, he shrugged broad shoulders and unracked a bottle of bourbon. More then enough of a grip to move both bottle and mug over towards where the woman was sitting so he could slide into the booth himself with a small flourish of his longcoat as to not sit on it. The coat got angry when he did that, and it was a bit of a whiner. "What're you getting in shape for?" His mind assumed she was gearing up to kill someone. Just how he thought.
Which would probably why he and Raye seemed to get along...the way that he thought. She shrugged sweatshirt clad shoulders as she answered, he wasn't likely to get a fully truthful answer from the elfess. "Rehabilitating from injury is all." It was a truth, just not the whole truth, but some truth is better than none, right?
A sharp ebon brow arched as she saw the bottle of bourbon and glass. "Didn't realize you drank. This should be fun." Her gaze was pulled back towards her own bottle that she had blindly pilfered from below the bar. "Apple Pucker. F*ck that. You win." She pushed the bottle of neon green booze aside and lifted his bottle from the table. A small measure was poured into all three glasses before the bottle was placed in the middle of the table. Just a small drink, wouldn't want to look like a drunk, after all.
She slid his glass across the table and offered a half crooked smile. "So, last time we discussed combat jacking and the plasma weapon. You told me about your job and how very much you would like to help sever all of the gods' puppet strings from my life..." She nod-nodded even though that last bit was certainly not true...but the rest was, so maybe he would just go along with it anyway.
"I drink, well, used too. My people's land never makes sugar naturally, so we never made alcohol... It's a bit, different for me. More narcotic then just alcoholic." Though he was indeed pouring himself a drink and handing the bottle over casually. It had been a while, well, relatively. But that didn't seem to mind from Dill. He used to drink so much that this was a homecoming rather then a falling down. But the biotech running through his system could filter out anything he wanted in an eyeblink, turning him from a mess to a sober standup guy. The reason he didn't drink much anymore was because it also worked in reverse. He drank his glass down like others drink water. Setting it on the table top as he felt the heat move down his throat. "Mmmm." Give him a second. "...I never said I'd like to help. That denotes that I ask to do such. I just, do." A slow chuckle. "To anyone who messes with mortality. Gods or otherwise." Just to clarify. "There are a lot of rules for such though.?
"No?" Headcant as she lifted her own glass. "Are you certain? I am pretty sure I heard something like you wanting to kill gods." Damn him for having such a good memory! Her glass was raised as if in toast before the bourbon was tossed back. "Good stuff." She was over that train of thought quickly and focusing back upon his last words, even as she reached for the other glass she had partially filled. "So, what are the rules?" Not that the rules truly concerned her, she didn't generally like to play by the rules. But knowing the rules...that was the first step to knowing how to get around them, bend them, or all out break them.
"I do kill Gods, and Goddesses. Well, by the definition of Gods and Goddesses. Not the, actual God or Goddess." Yeah, he was at least agnostic it seemed. "I do not like to do it though. Too, messy. Demons are easy, even Angels. Just drag them to our level and beat them with experience. Gods are... tricky." He accepted the bottle back with a careful nod. More ritual then thanks. Some parts of him were just hard wired in from a misspent youth. "And the rules are pretty simple. Never kill another mortal. Never fight in populated areas if you can. Other then that it's pretty fair game. Though like I said we only go after Outsiders if they harm a mortal being, or interfere with their lives in a direct way." Another low rumble of a chuckle as he tilted the bottle to his glass with quite a bit of practice. Filling up another drink.
She would need to think on this for a bit to find the loophole, of course. In the meantime, the two fingers of bourbon from the second glass was sipped at as she stared at him for a moment, the wheels in her mind obviously turning--churning out a plot of some kind, most likely. Then again, she might just be thinking. "Do you like guns, Mr. Dillon?" Ahh...there was the formality again. She had never before called him by his name in a familiar manner, so this was a sure sign she was getting back to "normal"...or as normal as one with such a crazy fractured mind could be. Looked pretty normal, though, right? She was smiling just right. Maintaining eye contact. Sipping a drink. Perfectly normal.
Normal was a relative term. Especially when it was around him. "I adore firearms. Though it has been decades since I have used them..." A low rumble. A bit of a secret, or more like an omission. He didn't like people knowing that he wasn't as adept in firearms like he once was. Though, the bitter truth was... "I don't really need to use them anymore. Chemical based propellant is.... Kind of looked down at where at work for being antiquated technology. A common firearm doesn't even register on our ranks for dangerousness. Well it does, but its so low it's not even a threat. To us, or to what we hunt." Usual slow explanation. More used to listening then talking, but he can do the latter rather well.
Guns and Interplanetary Travel --Pt I
Mind was neither here nor there, but floating in the space between for now. A few moments to catch his breath, as it were. Or just trip the light fantastic. Still, when it was all over he snapped into place in the Metro. No sickness came with the sudden materialization, he had long since grown used to the feeling of coming into existence. The night was quiet, and the town brooded on such a silence in a way that spoke to Dillon. Telling him how slow the night would be. Well, until he remembered he remembered he had pot and video games at his place. Then it was all aces. Smoke trailed behind him in a slight fog as he prowled the back alleyways. Unseen by both predator and prey. Unnoticed by all until he came to the lawn of the inn and moved his mask into place. Quietly moving up the steps of the porch and inside.
Running shoes thumped up the steps, the powerful length of leg taking them two at a time, until Rayvinn was upon the porch. Bent over with palms pressed just above her knees, the elf was panting heavily and growing increasingly frustrated with herself. She had been home for nearly a month and didn't feel she was any closer to her previous level of health. A four mile run should never have winded her this much. Her muscles shouldn't burn quite this much from the buildup of lactic acid. Her head shouldn't be spinning as if at any moment she could fall over, especially if she closed her eyes.
Oh hello there, foul mood! A sword callused palm slammed into the door at the same time a jutting hipbone was checked into the lower portion and over the threshold, the Harbringer of Chaos stepped...looking worse for the wear. She realized she had nearly knocked Dillon over and offered him all she could force of a sheepish grin. "Mr. Dillon..." Her greeting was quite a bit lacking compared to the usual that required him to answer a near bajillion questions as rapidly as her quick little mouth could spout them out. Across the room and through the break in the bar she went, not a look or greeting for any other patrons, also not the norm. A bottle of water was pulled from the cooler, a note written on her tab, and she was moving back through the break and sliding her waifish form into a booth.
Now Dill could tell just from his own perception, and not some ultratech sensor array, what hand someone used at first glance. Their health. Their fighting style. Most anything that dealt with war. However he had a rather hard time just telling if someone was mad, or happy. Probably had more to do with him lacking a corpus callosum then anything, but that was neither here nor thre. When a usually upbeat and energetic Elfess just walked right by him with a rather singular greeting however, it did snap up a couple of red flags.
"Miss Rayvinn." Rumbled out with a general air of warm greeting, but she had already passed by him in that moment of confusion as Dill caught up to, well, social situations. Really, ask him to kill some eldritch God that was so incomprehensible it made people insane from just looking at it.... and he'll do it without even looking up from his video games. Ask him to ask someone what was wrong, and well, look what happens. Give him a few moments then he was slipping towards the bartop himself. Moving behind it to begin to make himself a new cup of coffee. His choir of artificial intelligences sang to him though, and gave him knowledge. "Rough day?"
"Nope." She drank the majority of the bottle in one long swig and gasped for breath once again, frowning at the bottle like the inanimate object was to be blamed. "Just trying to get my lazy ass back in shape is all." More like trying to make her recently broken body work perfectly without enough time to heal, impatient thing that she was. She slipped out of the booth once more and stood on the rung of a barstool, leaning waaaaay over the bartop to snag a bottle of..something from below. "Dillon...drink one with me?" Oops...forgot the polite formality this time. Apparently she had forgotten she hadnt ever seen the man drink anything other than coffee. Or maybe she was just playing the role of temptress tonight. Before receiving the answer, which would likely be "no," she grabbed up two glasses along with that bottle and slipped off of the bar and went back to her booth in the corner of the bar. Of course, she expected Dillon to join her there, regardless of what he was drinking. Give her a few minutes and his brain would be hers once again.
"Back in shape..." He was just testing out the words more then asking a question. His brow did furrow a bit, but things lined up again. He's been at work too much, it idled his brain in some places. He did however get a cup of coffee, which was his only goal of the night. So, so far so good. When she asked her question, he shrugged broad shoulders and unracked a bottle of bourbon. More then enough of a grip to move both bottle and mug over towards where the woman was sitting so he could slide into the booth himself with a small flourish of his longcoat as to not sit on it. The coat got angry when he did that, and it was a bit of a whiner. "What're you getting in shape for?" His mind assumed she was gearing up to kill someone. Just how he thought.
Which would probably why he and Raye seemed to get along...the way that he thought. She shrugged sweatshirt clad shoulders as she answered, he wasn't likely to get a fully truthful answer from the elfess. "Rehabilitating from injury is all." It was a truth, just not the whole truth, but some truth is better than none, right?
A sharp ebon brow arched as she saw the bottle of bourbon and glass. "Didn't realize you drank. This should be fun." Her gaze was pulled back towards her own bottle that she had blindly pilfered from below the bar. "Apple Pucker. F*ck that. You win." She pushed the bottle of neon green booze aside and lifted his bottle from the table. A small measure was poured into all three glasses before the bottle was placed in the middle of the table. Just a small drink, wouldn't want to look like a drunk, after all.
She slid his glass across the table and offered a half crooked smile. "So, last time we discussed combat jacking and the plasma weapon. You told me about your job and how very much you would like to help sever all of the gods' puppet strings from my life..." She nod-nodded even though that last bit was certainly not true...but the rest was, so maybe he would just go along with it anyway.
"I drink, well, used too. My people's land never makes sugar naturally, so we never made alcohol... It's a bit, different for me. More narcotic then just alcoholic." Though he was indeed pouring himself a drink and handing the bottle over casually. It had been a while, well, relatively. But that didn't seem to mind from Dill. He used to drink so much that this was a homecoming rather then a falling down. But the biotech running through his system could filter out anything he wanted in an eyeblink, turning him from a mess to a sober standup guy. The reason he didn't drink much anymore was because it also worked in reverse. He drank his glass down like others drink water. Setting it on the table top as he felt the heat move down his throat. "Mmmm." Give him a second. "...I never said I'd like to help. That denotes that I ask to do such. I just, do." A slow chuckle. "To anyone who messes with mortality. Gods or otherwise." Just to clarify. "There are a lot of rules for such though.?
"No?" Headcant as she lifted her own glass. "Are you certain? I am pretty sure I heard something like you wanting to kill gods." Damn him for having such a good memory! Her glass was raised as if in toast before the bourbon was tossed back. "Good stuff." She was over that train of thought quickly and focusing back upon his last words, even as she reached for the other glass she had partially filled. "So, what are the rules?" Not that the rules truly concerned her, she didn't generally like to play by the rules. But knowing the rules...that was the first step to knowing how to get around them, bend them, or all out break them.
"I do kill Gods, and Goddesses. Well, by the definition of Gods and Goddesses. Not the, actual God or Goddess." Yeah, he was at least agnostic it seemed. "I do not like to do it though. Too, messy. Demons are easy, even Angels. Just drag them to our level and beat them with experience. Gods are... tricky." He accepted the bottle back with a careful nod. More ritual then thanks. Some parts of him were just hard wired in from a misspent youth. "And the rules are pretty simple. Never kill another mortal. Never fight in populated areas if you can. Other then that it's pretty fair game. Though like I said we only go after Outsiders if they harm a mortal being, or interfere with their lives in a direct way." Another low rumble of a chuckle as he tilted the bottle to his glass with quite a bit of practice. Filling up another drink.
She would need to think on this for a bit to find the loophole, of course. In the meantime, the two fingers of bourbon from the second glass was sipped at as she stared at him for a moment, the wheels in her mind obviously turning--churning out a plot of some kind, most likely. Then again, she might just be thinking. "Do you like guns, Mr. Dillon?" Ahh...there was the formality again. She had never before called him by his name in a familiar manner, so this was a sure sign she was getting back to "normal"...or as normal as one with such a crazy fractured mind could be. Looked pretty normal, though, right? She was smiling just right. Maintaining eye contact. Sipping a drink. Perfectly normal.
Normal was a relative term. Especially when it was around him. "I adore firearms. Though it has been decades since I have used them..." A low rumble. A bit of a secret, or more like an omission. He didn't like people knowing that he wasn't as adept in firearms like he once was. Though, the bitter truth was... "I don't really need to use them anymore. Chemical based propellant is.... Kind of looked down at where at work for being antiquated technology. A common firearm doesn't even register on our ranks for dangerousness. Well it does, but its so low it's not even a threat. To us, or to what we hunt." Usual slow explanation. More used to listening then talking, but he can do the latter rather well.