10235/Drinking in Oblivion

Drinking in Oblivion
Date of Scene:	22 February 2022
Location:	Oblivion Bar
Synopsis:	Clea and Elijah Snow cross paths in the Oblivion. Sparks ensue.
Cast of Characters:	Elijah Snow, Clea, Saeko

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Elijah Snow has posed:
Elijah Snow made his way to the bar through labyrinthine means. While a sorceror or magical creature may simply know of a way to teleport, Elijah must use his intellect. He follows old trails and hidden doors, going back to the days of Prohibition, the remnants of speakeasies buried beneath the streets of the city, shuttered and lost to history. Lost to most, but not to the Ghost of the 20th Century. Not to Elijah Snow.

He's clad in pure white, as is his habit, his snowy hair neatly trimmed, his face clean shaven and showing off the hatchet sharpness of his cheekbones. He has a half-filled glass of amber liquid next to him, the cut glass tumbler frosted over on the surface with skeins of the ice he masters. He has a cigarette, too, notable for the way even the smoke goes cold in his lungs, crystalline sparkles in the plume he blows above his head.

"I have missed this place," he says to the poker faced bartender. "Or at least, I have missed the illusion of civility it provides. A neutral place, where the wicked and the sublime may sit across from one another with a drink in hand. There used to be more of these places. But the divides grow deeper. The spirit of strife rides ever faster," he says, then sits back in his chair.

"Don't mind me being maudlin," he says, when he hears the footsteps of new arrivals. "I'm not as weary as I seem and not as jaded as I act," he says. "Welcome to Oblivion."

Clea has posed:
    Clea arrives via portal. It's as simple as breathing, these days, traveling inter-dimensionally via the magic that comprises her very being. She's been cooped up, lately, and is craving social interaction. Where better to find compelling conversation than in a gathering place for all beings of mystical bent or association?

    When she steps through the purple candescent portal, she is dressed to the 9's in a custom-created outfit that would make Valentino cry in envy. Dark black power suit with deep purple pinstripe accents; her silken blouse beneath the stylish, semi-high collared waistcoat, the turned up cuffs at her wrists and their opalescent cufflinks, the satiny purple pocket square, the trousers fit so flatteringly and just grazing the tops of her feet, clad in shiny black patent leather heels at a modest height. Her snow-white hair is styled in a short, trendy, angylar bob that complements her features nicely, her face immaculately made up.

    About her swirls the heady, intoxicating scents of femininity and opulence, elegance, as she steps up to the bar with a polite smile for the bartender. "I'm in the mood for....something spicy," she says. "Surprise me?"

Saeko has posed:
A 'magical being' if ever there was one, Saeko did indeed just simply seem to -step- out of nowhere, appearing in the space near the doors and stretching her arms lightly above her head.

A simple change of form had concealed her true nature, her ears, tails and 'foxlike' features hidden away to complete the illusion of a still beautiful but otherwise 'normal' human.

Catching the man's comment she offers a little chuckle and a light wave of her hand. "A bar is often a place sought by the maudlin anyway, no?"

Her own attire wasn't her usual yukata, instead a figure-hugging and backless little black dress clothed the kitsune's form while she made her way into the bar.

Elijah Snow has posed:
Elijah Snow gives a long look to Clea first, the pristine and exquisite Faltine making an obvious impression. He takes a long drag of his cigarette, letting the blend of tobacco burn slightly on his frost-favored tongue. "Give her a glass of scorpion brandy," he says to the barkeep. "I donated a bottle some time ago, I know. Mexican liqueur, honey-sweetened from hives in the underground hives that once lay beneath the Aztec capitol. Chile flakes and a hint of venom, just the barest taste of death to give it a little kick. Nothing the lady can't handle, I'm sure," he says.

To Saeko, he gives a nod of acknowledgement, "So it is. But I try not to succumb to melancholy too much. It shortens the lifespan and I've already exceeded mine a few times over."

Clea has posed:
    Clea turns her blue-eyed gaze toward Elijah, sitting at the bar so nearby she can almost smell the alcohol on his breath as he speaks in plumes of condensation. "Yes," she says with slow smile. "That does sound very tasty, and exactly like what I had in mind -- despite having nothing in mind, as it were," she says with a soft laugh.

    She settles upon the stool there, close to Elijah, and takes in Saeko's approach, giving her a pleasant smile and nod of her head. It isn't polite to dip into someone else's conversation, so she makes no reply about the nature of melancholy and whether or not one should wallow in it from time to time.

Elijah Snow has posed:
Elijah Snow smiles to Clea, "Anticipating the desires of beautiful women has been one of the things that make life worth living for much of my life. Although I may say I cannot remember one quite so beautiful. I can't help but notice the faint aura of flame about you. Faltine, I take it? With the white hair and the unmatched beauty, that can only make you Clea," he says.

He offers his hand, "Elijah Snow. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I've read stories of you and your family, but never had the pleasure in the proverbial flesh. Or not so proverbial, in your case."

Saeko has posed:
Musing on melancholy seemingly passed, Saeko herself leans to the bar, one finger tapping on her cheek as she ponders before offering a shrug of bared shoulders. "Something sweet, I think..."

Clea too gets a smile from the vixen, a little nod of her head and quirk of her lips at Elijah's own introduction and 'charming' rolled into one.

Clea has posed:
    Clea's blue eyes light up at the compliment, and a soft, almost reluctant grin tugging at the corner of her lips as Elijah continues to pour on the charm. To top it off, he even knows her name! Her jaw drops open slightly as she exhales a surprised little laughing sound, nodding her head, "That is, indeed, my name. But, you have me at a disadvantage, it seems."

    Then, as he introduces himself, recognition dawns on her face and she smiles, taking his proffered hand. "Ahh, not so much a disadvantage, it seems. /You're/ Elijah Snow, yes. I recognize your description, now," she smiles. "Fancy meeting you here. I should've known from your rakishly white countenance, so I must chide myself," Clea's grin is warm. Her drink arrives and, thanking the bartender, she lifts her glass to Elijah, "Cheers."

Elijah Snow has posed:
Elijah Snow returns the toast, extending it to Saeko as well, before he takes a sip of his own liquor, a much harsher and hickory blended whiskey that makes him smack his lips slightly. "Can take a man out of the South, but not the South out of the man," he says. "When I first moved to London, so long ago, some people could barely understand me, for my drawl was so thick and I had no idea that I was dragging my words so lazily behind my tongue."

"Of course, recognizing you, I can't help but wonder what brings you across the dimensional divide. Oblivion isn't the Earth realm, but it's close enough nestled that you must be spending time among mortal men. After the recent angel invasion, I'm sure the world is sore in need of strong hands at the deck."

Saeko has posed:
Her own beverage procured, it's lifted to Saeko's lips as the woman lazily observes the pair's greetings, indeed herself not one to interupt even if she does return the lift of the drink lightly and lazily rest her hip against the side of the bar to indulge in some unabashed people watching.

Clea has posed:
    Clea takes a small sip of her scorpion brandy, testing out just what kind of sting it has. Oh, the burn is good. Sweet, hot, sharp. Her brow furrows in enjoyment, "This is...very good," she offers to Elijah before taking yet another sip. A bigger one, this time. Like little daggers on the tongue! Exquisite.

    "You barely have a hint of that accent anymore, which is only mildly a shame. I do enjoy strongly accented English. It adds to the personality of the person wielding it, if you will," she says with another half-grin. "Not that you don't have an abundance of personality at the ready," she allows with a soft laugh and another sip of her drink.

    "Ohhh, I've been cooped up, doing things behind the scenes to try to aid in both the abolishment of the angels and the recovery efforts. I just wanted to take a night out to relax and unwind, have some good conversation... A good drink," she lifts her glass to him, again. "Thank you for the recommendation. I'm going to have another, I think, once this one is done." She glances to Saeko and nods to her drink, "If that one doesn't satisfy, definitely give this one a try. If you like sweet and sharp, that is."

Elijah Snow has posed:
Elijah Snow summons a refill of his own drink and there's a moment as his power spreads over the glass, frosting it freshly to give his drink the proper chill. "Sometimes it still comes out, especially in a moment of anger. I feel that Mississippi sun on the back of my neck again. It was never comfortable to me, being a man of cooler temperament as I am," he says.

"I tried to intervene some with the angels, but it was difficult to get in. They put up formidable shields to keep others at bay. Hopefully, we won't have to deal with such as them again."

As to his personality, he winks, "Well, at the very least, I hope I don't leave you bored, your majesty."

Saeko has posed:
The Angel business had been...less than pleasent for most mythic and magical beings in the city, both for similar and other reasons than most mortals. Just the mention of it overheard was enough to bring a frown across Saeko's lips before she shrugs her shoulder at the talk of bordom and then chuckles at the offer of the drink. "I will keep it in mind."

Newer to this more modern age than most, even the Kitsune understood the concept of a 'third wheel' and there were plenty of other distractions to seek.

With a lift of her glass and a wink to the pair, the woman pushed away to find her entertainment for the evening!

Clea has posed:
    Clea watches the glass frost over with interest, enjoying the way the branches of ice crystals spread up and out, making intricate patterns. Her gaze slides back to his as he speaks, smiling at the lyrical words he chooses, giving her a visual that's pleasant to imagine. Elijah, in the hot Mississippi sun, backlit and brilliant. Mm, what? The conversation has moved on.

    She nods her head and exhales a sigh, "I agree. It was a horrible time, but we're healing. Things will get better. Or, they won't. Either way, we'll make it through." To the last comment, she laughs and shakes her head, "Not bored, no. I believe, if the things I've heard are true, you couldn't easily bore me, considering all the things you know and have witnessed. A storyteller?"

Elijah Snow has posed:
Elijah Snow smiles, "I've been telling stories all my life. Planetary, my life's work, has helped people to learn much of the world's wonders. But I have kept perhaps as many tales to myself. Not everything is meant to be seen by the wide world. Some secrets are better when they're kept," he says.

"Of course, I'm sure you've seen wonders that would stagger even my mind. How could it be otherwise? I've heard tell that the Dark Dimension only knows light because it spills from you. I've heard it said that you're the most beautiful woman of your world and perhaps this one as well. That one, I can attest, is true," he smiles.

Clea has posed:
    Clea seems interested when Elijah brings up Planetary and speaks about it, albeit briefly. She's heard of it, before, of course. While it has occasionally occurred to her to look into it more, to read what Elijah's written, there's always been something else that dragged her attention away. She feels bad about that, now, in this moment where she's face-to-face with the man, himself.

    She smiles softly at the comment, nodding her head in agreement, "It's true; I have seen some truly amazing things. Both wonderful and horrible, awe-inspiring and terrifying. What I like about all of those things I've witnessed is how alive they make me feel. It's the pointy edges and chill-inducing moments that bring us to the point of being truly in the moment, very much alive and breathing and heart-pounding... To cherish life, appreciate it,"

    Then, the flattery comes pouring forth and Clea can only laugh, rolling her eyes good-naturedly as she shakes her head, sending silky white locks shimmering in the half-light of the bar. "Ahh, Mr. Snow, you give me far too much praise. While I hope to be a beacon of leadership and reliability to my people, I cannot be their only light, or I'd never be free to leave it to visit elsewhere," she says with a laugh. "Are you buttering me up for something?" she asks with a playfully skeptical expression on her face, her eyes narrowed as she finishes off her first glass of scorpion brandy. She inhales a hissing breath through her teeth as the stinging sensation crawls along the inside of her mouth, prickling and hot. And, pleasant. "One again," she smiles to the bartender.

Elijah Snow has posed:
Elijah Snow leans forward at that discussion of the terrifying things of the world, of living on the edge. That, of course, is where he has thrived for a hundred years, pushing himself to the limits of his experience, challenging the unknown, often at the risk of life and limb and sanity.

"Very much so. The blood pumping in my veins, the feeling of my muscles straining to keep me aloft or teetering on the edge of a burning volcano. It's those things that are so vivid, that burn themselves upon me in such a way that I have to share them," he says.

"I don't write all of Planetary the way I used to. I have correspondents and other thinkers who add their thoughts, their adventures. But I'll never give it up entirely," he smiles.

He watches that sting hit the beautiful sorceress' throat and shakes his head, "It is my custom to speak of things truly, especially things that are wondrous and otherworldly. You are certainly both, Clea. If any would say different, I'd call them a liar."

Clea has posed:
    The Sorceress Supreme of the Dark Dimension smiles, listening to Elijah's description of how to live one's life embracing the sublime, feeling echoes of similar sentiments in her own heart and mind. "Who expects you to give it up? Isn't it at least a portion of your raison d'etre? Documenting those experiences, that knowledge?" she asks, raising her brows.

    She accepts her second glass of scorpion brandy with a nodded thanks to the bartender, shifting to a more comfortable position on her stool. "You mean to tell me you've never told a girl she's pretty just to see her smile? It doesn't have to be a lie to be flattery," she says with a soft laugh.

Elijah Snow has posed:
Elijah Snow looks for a moment at his glass, tracing his finger along the edge and leaving a crystaline trail in his wake, spreading slowly down the glass. "I have already out lived my allotted time. I am a child of the 20th Century, an embodiment of its ethos, and I should have died with it. Instead, I linger on, a ghost in flesh and I cannot help but wonder why. For what purpose am I spared? For what secret fate do I still walk the world?" he says.

He drinks the rest of the whiskey and turns his head, "I don't have to lie to do that. Most women are beautiful, seen in the right light from the right perspective. At least aesthetically. It is only moral ugliness that I find repugnant and I have seen it in some of the most symmetrical and well-formed faces you could imagine. Have I ever made someone smile just to do it? I don't know. Maybe that's a moral failing of my own."

Clea has posed:
    Clea shakes her head, frowning slightly. "You speak as though you've got no place in this century merely because you were born in the last," she says with a dry laugh. "How do you think that translates to me, who has lived ten centuries and more, besides? Should I only have lived one century and not adapted as time spun on, embracing the gift I was given to continue to learn, grow, evolve, and experience life and all it has to offer?" she asks, sounding mildly incredulous at the thought.

    "No? Well, neither should you. Just because you're a child of the 20th century doesn't mean you can't be a teenager of the 21st, a young adult of the 22nd, an adult of the 23rd, and on and on and on," the Faltine royal says, confident, assured.

    To that, however, Clea looks contemplative. "So, you are saying that physical beauty is of no consequence or meaning to you, but you make sure to speak such pretty words regarding mine. You haven't said it to make me smile. So, why, exactly, did you say them?" she asks, genuinely curious.

Elijah Snow has posed:
Elijah Snow strokes a hand along his jaw, "It's not as simple as that, in my case. I was born on the first stroke of the 20th Century. My immortality was tied to it, or so I was told. That I was a spirit of the age, a zeitgeist. And yet, when the millenium came and I expected the curtain to fall...it didn't."

"Don't get me wrong, I"m more than pleased to still be breathing. I simply didn't expect it. And it makes me wonder why. And, if you've heard of me, then you know I'm one who likes to solve puzzles and mysteries. Even more so when I'm the mystery in question."

He shakes his finger, "I didn't say that physical beauty is inconsequential or meaningless. Merely that it can exist in a wide variety of forms," he says. "In your case, your beauty has a majestic quality. You radiate. Quite literall, I can perceive motes of light that seem to cling to you, shimmering, a veil of stars as if the very firmament of the dimension clings to you. How much more brightly you must shine in your Dark Dimension," he says. "I think you are beautiful because you are an impossible, secret thing and I have made my life chasing impossible, secret things and adoring them. I wonder what secrets you hold in your heart, if I might unwind them around my fingers, strand by strand, or if you keep them so tightly bound that I may only glimpse them through the amethyst of your eyes? I do not know. But I would like to find out."

Clea has posed:
    Clea nods her head as Elijah explains more fully what he means, from where the nature of his seemingly-morose mood stems. "Ah, yes. Perhaps you aren't simply the spirit of that single age, but many. Who knows such things? Perhaps, through your actions and deeds, you were deemed worthy to be much more than the zeitgeist of a single century, however important and magnificent it was. You are here, and that you don't squander that time is what's most important, I think," she says, sharing her opinion, though it wasn't requested.

    To the flowery words, Clea lowers her gaze to her drink and exhales a little breath. It's not quite a sigh, but neither is it entirely a mere exhalation. "You speak so prettily. Would it surprise you to hear that I'm tired of it, always being addressed in such a 'high' manner, with flowing, eloquent words? It can be lovely, especially in poetry. But..." she takes a sip of her second round. "It begins to feel hollow. Like a performance. It's a mask behind which many people hide; especially politicians and rulers. It's...it doesn't feel genuine. So, it makes me wonder why you're buttering me up," she concludes, lifting her blue eyes to gaze into his, searching for truth not shrouded in poetic platitudes.

Elijah Snow has posed:
"'Butter you up'. The second time you've used that phrase. Implying I have some sort of agenda or intent beyond the merely complimentary," he says. His voice is a little colder, perhaps, not offended but merely more objective. This is one of his gifts, the ability to withdraw, to put his eyes pragmatically on the world around him and see it as it truly is.

"If you grow tired of it, then I suggest that is because you have lived within it for too long. From the height of your throne, the view seems ordinary, everyday, but that is not so for those who see you from the outside. You are a thousands year old queen of an eldritch realm. You have fought alongside sorcerors and kings, you have felled demons, you have walked the roads of sacred faerie realms and you have harrowed the halls of Hell," he says. "I am both a Southerner and a writer, so my language may tend to be a bit on the vivid side, yes. If you would have us speak of more earthly subjects, more fleshly topics, I am surely capable of such. I can be crass, I can be mundane. I can be cruel. I can be lewd. If any of these please you better, absolutely, do inform me so, dear Clea, for I am happy to give you what you want. I am a man at odd ends and with nothing at my fingertips to keep me entertained except the sculpting of your cheekbones, the line of your thighs and the glowing potence of the magick that stirs within you. Forgive me if I was too evocative as I basked in its light."

Clea has posed:
    Clea leans back a little, nodding. "I have used it twice, yes. It's such a...fitting turn of phrase I enjoy using," she agrees. "And, you're also not wrong. I /have/ lived inside my position for a long, long time, compared to most. To others of my kind, I am but a toddler, barely tapping my true potential," she lifts a shoulder.

    "Can you blame me if I want people to just /talk/ to me, sometimes?" she asks, canting her head and seeking out his gaze, again. "Is it so wrong that, even if I have a mastery of the most eloquent kind of language that can possibly be collected and woven together to create grandiose tapestries of description, emotion, and meaning...." she pauses, taking another breath, this one definitely a sigh. "Is it so wrong that, sometimes, I just want to talk? Plainly. Casually. Without all the folderol and high-speak? Does it make me more common, less regal?" she asks, her brow crinkled, again. "Is it so wrong to want to feel...'normal', sometimes? Normal being subjective, of course, but the sentiment is easy to surmise, I think." She scans Elijah's face, wondering what her words are doing to his opinion of her. This entirely alien being, brimming with power, alive for century upon century, and she's complaining about formalities in speech?"

    "I don't ask anything of you, Elijah Snow. I'm simply sharing my thoughts. If they are unpleasant, unwelcome, or any other form of un- you wish to attach to them, please let me know and I'll refrain from sharing them with you," she says, sounding a little cool, herself. Though, of course, she doesn't have the same ability or tendency as Elijah does to explain it away. "Thank you, in any case, for your compliments. I'm grateful to know that you find me attractive. I will lock this memory away for a day when I'm feeling rather plain and 'blah,' as they say." She busies her mouth with taking a slightly larger sip of the scorpion brandy than she has previously.

Elijah Snow has posed:
Elijah Snow sighs softly to himself and runs a hand through his snowy hair. "I have offended you. And rightfully so," he sighs. "Speaking plain does not come naturally to me," he says. "To get where I needed to get, I had to impress, which wasn't the easiest thing to do for a poor sharecropper's kid. The great minds of the age don't open their door to plain speech," he says.

"But if you want me to be straight and simple with you, I can do that. I'm sorry if I seemed angered. Maybe I'm not used to someone talking back to me. To be fair, I have a bad record of getting along well with royalty. I'm still not allowed within a hundred yards of Buckingham Palace,' he says with a slight smile.

"What normal things do you want to talk about, then? I am willing to follow your lead."

Clea has posed:
    Clea looks slightly appeased as Elijah's hand rakes through his hair, the physical gesture almost enough of an apology in itself. She tries not to be too haughty, because it's not kind and doesn't leave good impressions on others. But, sometimes, a princess is a princess, even when she's trying not to be.

    "Tell me about the last time you had a really good, genuine laugh. The kind of laugh that you feel in your whole body, that rings out from your mouth as well as your soul. Something that truly delighted you," she says without hesitation. The look on her face is calculating as she watches Elijah digest this 'normal topic.'

Elijah Snow has posed:
Elijah Snow narrows his eyes shrewdly, "Is this what normal people talk about? I admit, it's been too long since I sat around a campfire with a beer in my hand," he says.

Still, he takes the question seriously as he smokes his cigarette, the cold smoke wreathing his head like the lingering rains at the top of a mountain. "Hawai'i. Eight years ago. A cult had been attempting to steal the power of a volcano spirit. I helped to thwart them, along with some of the local heroes. Afterwards, there was a luau in celebration of our victory. Dancing, liquor, a whole roast pig. One of the heroes got incredibly drunk and swam out into the ocean and we all laughed as we watched him try to ride a dolphin like a horse. He kept getting thrown off and even had the dolphin spray him in the face from its blowhole, but he just wouldn't give up until his friends finally just took him and dragged him to shore and we all laughed ourselves breathless at his hubris."

Clea has posed:
    Clea grins cryptically. "I don't know if this is what 'normal' people talk about. I'm trying to /be/ 'normal'; I'm not yet an expert at it," she says affably. "It is, however, what /I/ want to hear from you, since you asked," another smile is granted as she sips on her drink.

    Her face is pleasant as she listens to Elijah speak on his selected memory. She smiles and even laughs at the climax of the story, "Oh, that must've been amusing, indeed." She takes a deep inhalation and lets it out, again, in another sigh. "My problem is that I /can't remember/ the last time I laughed that hard. It's been too long. Or, it wasn't enough to really etch itself in my memory to stand out. I've been stressed out and unhappy for a while, now. I want that to change," she says softly. "I figure, if I spend my time doing things that interest me, I'm more likely to, y'know, find my bliss, as they say. 'Chase your bliss.' And, currently, trying to just...relax a little, take off all my political masks and let my hair down... It sounds so appealing. I feel so weary thinking about putting them on," she confesses.

Elijah Snow has posed:
Elijah Snow nods, "I understand better, then, I think," he says. "You need to loosen up. For that matter, since you've pointed out my habitual over-eloquence, maybe I do, too," he says, his eyes a little brighter as he sits up.

"Once upon a time, I knew a few writers in Europe, mostly American expatriates. Drunkards and fools, all of them, and all of them brilliant artists of one stripe or another, too," he says. "They were like you, in that they felt like they wanted to get the real things from life, that they were tired of artifice. They wanted to taste life. You know what they did?"

"Mostly they got drunk and fucked."

"But along the way, they also travelled, indulged in vices, ate strange foods and had adventures. So maybe that's what you need. It just so happens that I'm extraordinarily good at all of those."

Clea has posed:
    Clea finishes her drink in a gulp. The razor blades of venom and alcohol and the sublime roll over her mouth and down her throat as Elijah speaks.

    Finally, he gets it. Finally, someone understands.

    Her eyes, sparkling and vividly blue, often carry a slightly preternatural cast to them, a spark of the ephemeral, the weird... But, as Elijah spins his latest story, it's all Clea can do to hold back her tears. "I don't think..." she begins, blinking her eyes to attempt to will away the emotional outpouring that wants to come. "I didn't think," she starts again, clearing her throat, "...that anyone would ever be able to understand what I've been feeling, lately. So, I've...kept it to myself. Suffered in silence, as it were," her voice is a little tinged with the emotion she's working through. Or is it just that scorpion brandy?

    "The angels came, wreaked havoc, ended lives, damaged even more... I swallowed my needs and did my job, as is my responsibility," she says, sniffing once. "But, now, I want to embrace this idea, to...just /exist/ for a while. How can one possibly accurately defend the right to live happily...if one can't experience brief moments of it oneself?" she smiles crookedly. "Right?" her eyes are bright, maybe a little glossy with extra moisture, but...she hasn't actually cried.

    "Good at those things, are you?" she asks, lightly, lifting an eyebrow and looking askance at Elijah. "All of them?" she grins, making a joke she ordinarily would /never/ dare utter for its impropriety!

Elijah Snow has posed:
Elijah Snow listens to the emotion in that resonant voice, letting his hand stroke along the wood of the bar, as if those textures let him focus somehow. "I have learned that there is always understanding to be had. Even of the most unusual experience. There is too much diversity, too much life, for there not to be another who can know what we feel."

"Immortality tends to breed stagnation. Isn't that why so many of the so called immortals are essentially dead, vampires and spirits locked into their old forms, unable to change, unable to learn?" he sighs. "I think it is not only good, but vital, that we can find a way out of the bonds that might imprison our minds, our experiences. Not to mention make us fucking miserable," he laughs.

To the last, his lips curve in a slightly wicked grin, "Oh, my Clea, I promise, I can keep up with anyone in all of those departments and in some I have no equal. Give me a chance to show you."

Clea has posed:
    Clea wasn't looking for a response to her statement that she felt as though no one would understand her, but she receives one. She inhales and lifts a shoulder, "It's not that understanding can't be had, but... I didn't expect it from any of my friends or allies. I am the Sorceress Supreme of the Dark Dimension. I am the ruler of the Dark Dimension. I am a powerful being with a millennia under my belt. And, I'm whining because I don't get a vacation." Her smile is wry.

    Nodding her head, she voices her agreement. "Yes, exactly. Stagnation is as good as death. Especially in beings as old as me, and you," she includes him in this group of long-lived creatures. "So, we need to be sure we don't let that happen. For the greater good," she nods sagely, asking for yet a third glass of the scorpion brandy.

    To that wicked grin and the silky nature of Elijah's reply, she gives him a playfully acerbic smile, "Have you considered that there may have been countless of prior claims to the same tune?" She shakes her head, "Am I a conquest to be written about in your beloved Planetary? I want something...real. Something I can sink my teeth into, and will sink its teeth into me. I don't want to play around, despite having said almost exactly the opposite. At least, not in this sense."

Elijah Snow has posed:
Elijah Snow lays out his hand in a gesture of concession, "Of that, I've no doubt. I imagine many men have made promises to you, in order to gain your favor and access to your formidable charms," he says. "I am not better than them in intent, necessarily, but I have certainly always backed up my claims with evidence. I could provide a bibliography, although some of my references might not think of me so fondly anymore. Not all dalliances end in delight, not matter how finely they may have burned in their time."

"Ah, but there I go, being verbose again. When what I really want is for you to sink those teeth into me. As for Planetary, I have always kept my personal matters out of its pages. And I suspect whatever transpires between you and I will be quite personal indeed.

Clea has posed:
    Clea smiles as the bartender brings her third drink. While locking eyes with Elijah, she tilts her head back and downs the entire glass in one go. She scrunches up her face as she lightly smacks the glass back down on the bartop, her eyes squeezed shut tight, her teeth grimacing and sucking in air as she processes the sensory input. "Ahhhhh," she exhales, inhaling through her mouth and fanning herself.

    Coughing lightly, grinning at the handsome man across from her, Clea is beginning to feel quite pleasantly drunk. She purses her lips and gestures for a fourth glass from the bartender, but doesn't take her eyes off of Elijah. "You were a bad boy to them, is that it?" she asks, her words not quite slurring, but definitely fuzzier than they had been before.

    With that witty quip, Clea laughs, again, her cheeks flushed a little from the alcohol, but also the forwardness of Mr. Snow! "If you can win me over. If you have patience, and perseverence. If you can keep me laughing. And, tease me mercilessly. Maybe," she allows, blinking slowly at him, leaning forward slightly. "I don't want to be easy," she whispers, putting a hand up to conceal her words from anyone who might be looking on. "I want to be won. Can you win me? Do you have the...balls...to try?" she pauses and whispers the word 'balls' with an arch look on her face.

    It seems she's drunker than she thought she would be. 'Course, she did slam back that third one. And, she drank the second faster than the first. Soooo, math. Is complicated and she won't do it!

Elijah Snow has posed:
Elijah Snow refills his own drink, reaching over the bar to get the bottle for himself. He waves away the bartender dismissively and the man listens, keeping his distance and dealing with other customers, few as they may be tonight.

"No one would possibly imagine you to be easy. And if they did so in my vicinity, I would free their tongues and shatter them in their mouths. Let them chew on the shards and see how they taste," he chuckles darkly.

"Patience and perseverence I have in abundance. I also have honor, which is why I think it is best for me to find a place for you to perhaps rest and regain your wits. That or find a nice, soft place where you can get properly blackout drunk and wake up in a safe and secure location. I'm happy to offer my own abode, if yours isn't convenient."

Clea has posed:
    Clea's grin is a little silly as Elijah threatens to freeze tongues and shatter them inside mouths. "You wouldn't!" she laughs, shaking her head and leaning a little more heavily against the bar. "An empty threat that you'll never have to follow through on. So easily made," she points a wagging finger at the white-haired gentleman.

    "Do you want to know the truth?" she asks, her eyes a little sleepy-looking. "I could be sober like -that-," she says, snapping her finger. "It would take nothing. But..." she exhales. "I don't want to be sober. I like how this feels. I want to feel it more," she smiles, leaning closer. "My face is very warm, though. Would you blow a cool breeze on me, Elijah?" she asks sweetly.

Elijah Snow has posed:
Elijah Snow smiles and the air around him immediately chills, like a sudden breeze from northern climes, the precursor of incoming weather. Maybe it is at that.

He takes her hand in his and leads her towards the door, taking the bottle of Scorpion Brandy with them and taking a sip directly from the mouth of it himself. "My god, I'd forgotten how potent this stuff is. No wonder," he laughs. "I need to get more of this stuff..."