12168/The Shifting Tide

The Shifting Tide
Date of Scene:	26 July 2022
Location:	VIP Lounge - Hellfire Club
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Talia al Ghul, Sebastian Shaw

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Talia al Ghul has posed:
Tides ebb and flow. Waves that crash towards the shoreline during a full moon can yield hundreds of feet, if not more, when that moon sleeps. It's a matter of gravity -- falling, you see -- in that it is inevitable. But one can resist the tide, can they not? Talia al Ghul is sitting alone at one of the long bars of the VIP Lounge. It's got that stale sort of air that places meant to be -alive- have when they are anything but. In the harsh light of the day, the dance floor is empty and the din of the place has hushed to a low murmur.

Low tide.

"Would you like another Manhattan, Miss al Ghul?" comes the voice of the bartender. Talia looks up from behind long lashes at them behind the bar, and her tongue briefly flicks over dark-painted lips to give that matte stick a bit of a fleeting gloss. "No, but I will have a boulvardier with chocolate bitters and an orange peel. Light on the campari, if you don't mind," she says. An empty drink in her left hand, a dagger in her right. A thin, parrying blade, its tip -just- carving into wood and boring out a small hole as she gives it a flick between her fingers.

Light catches off that reflective surface, spinning little shards of sun in all directions as the blade whirrs about on its axis.

Sebastian Shaw has posed:
"Miss al Ghul, I would appreciate it if you could keep our antiques free of harm." The voice is soft and only slightly chiding, a hint of amused mischief in it, as it floats up from behind her as Sebastian Shaw approaches. "If you truly wish to bore into something to alleviate your boredom, I have several alternate suggestions, some of which would likely be far more entertaining for you."

Even when the life within the Hellfire Club is at its lowest, Sebastian Shaw still swims within it, churning up all manner of entertainment where he can for those that linger. Either for his own sake or for those of others. He is, of course, the consummate host. Or at least, that is his outward appearance, and one he cultivates rather well. Most who know him well know that he is a shark swimming in the sea of depravity in search of meals to consume. And like with the ocean's best hunters, he can smell bored women from miles away.

Talia al Ghul has posed:
"Mmmmmh?" Talia intones, glancing lazily over her shoulder to the man approaching her from the rear. She's in a dress that looks as if it's been poured onto her. Red, as opposed to her usual black. It plays well with low light and her olive-hued skin that's tanned from the summer sun. A glance is given back to her knife and the fresh, raw wood that she's revealed with the edge of her blade. The bartender has arranged the ingredients within his stirring glass and has begun to stir. A nervous glance is given to that blade, Mr. Shaw, and then Miss al Ghul in turn. He nods. "Mr. Shaw. Be right with you sir."

Talia slips that blade up and rests it flat on the edge of the bar. Her index finger slowly smooths over the small edge she's carved into its surface, and she gives an amused huff of air from behind a dark brown twist of hair. "Antiques are nothing without their character. In a few centuries, someone will run their finger across this groove and wonder what sort of woman was bored enough on a Tuesday morning to stab it with a knife."

Sebastian Shaw has posed:
Slipping up to stand just a bit behind and a bit to the side of Talia, Sebastian looks towards her finger and the spot she has claimed. "Surely their wildest imaginations could not hope to capture the magnificence of the one who made that mark." He is dressed, as always, in the manner of a bygone era, when men knew how to be men and women knew their place. Not that he has ever enforced that belief, of course. Topcoat over a crimson vest, lace spilling from sleeves and throat, tight black breeches with boots over top.

He gives no indicate to the server, although a drink appears. Sebastian Shaw is a creature of habit, which makes it easier for the staff to attend to his wishes.

"I am pleased to see you here. Your absence has only made my heart grow fonder." His eyes glance over her form - to be expected, of course, not just from Sebastian, but likely from anyone in her presence. But especially from Sebastian. "To what do we owe the honor of your company today?"

Talia al Ghul has posed:
"Well, you know, I might just be around to show them, myself," Talia murmurs thoughtfully. The Lazarus Pit. She exhales softly and smiles up to the bartender when he comes to deliver her drink. It's served in a zipped-up little modern martini glass. The bourbon mixes with the campari to create an almost ruby hue, though it definitely tips more towards caramel than it does red. The orange peel has been twisted to the side, its oils floating prettily on the top.

"I have been... busy. And I suppose the answer to your question is also what 'busy' has entailed," she murmurs. Her lips close around the rim of the glass and she slowly, delicately, tips it back. When those lips release, they've left a small print behind, and a subtle smudge of ruby red from her lipstick. "Mmmm, it tastes like dark chocolate with oranges. How can a drink taste so good?" she muses. Her finger presses to the glass's base and she slides it an inch or two in Shaw's direction, head cocked to the side.

It's worth noting that she hasn't answered his question. Talia al Ghul is not a woman who knows her place, after all.

"I met Tessa. A lovely creature. I can see why you like her. Very dedicated, too. I think she may have thought I was going to kill you some day."

Sebastian Shaw has posed:
"Which would almost certainly be a true gift to that future world, as well," replies Sebastian, turning his gaze towards her drink. A brief study of it, and then his eyes return to her expression. "Whether busy has been to the delight or pain of others, I'm rather confident it was extreme in either case. And I am sure enjoyable for you in any event."

His gaze returns to the glass pushed towards him. With a slight lean that carries his frame slightly into Talia's personal space, but not by much, Sebastian retrieves the glass with a practiced hand. He turns the stem within his fingers until the remains of her lipstick aligns with his own lips as he brings the glass up to take a sip. He seems to savor the taste for a moment before replacing the glass, nodding in appreciation. "Indeed, as always, our staff has outdone themselves." There may be some lingering traces of her lipstick upon his lips now. If so, he gives no mind.

"Tessa is an utter delight in every way that I can conceive of. I am glad that you have made her acquaintance, and trust that both of you found the meeting to be mutually satisfying." There is that brief moment of predatory smile on his face. "Tessa assumes that everyone might want to try to kill me some day." A pause. "Most of the time, she is right."

Talia al Ghul has posed:
Talia smiles softly at Sebastian's words, though there is certainly a flicker of disbelief on her face. Something is clearly gnawing at Talia. It's unlike her, after all, to have her blade drawn in this space, let alone to carve a hole into expensive hard wood. "Hmmmmh," is all she says in response to her presence being a gift to future worlds. Perhaps, in this moment, Talia al Ghul is not so certain.

Low tide.

"She has ambition and instinct. Two rare qualities in someone her age. But we spoke about a purpose behind the drive. Motivation is one thing, but purpose, mmmmh," Talia taps her fingers on the bar as she considers her words.

"More ephemeral."

She takes the drink back and looks down into it. The chill of the liquid has frosted the glass of the exterior, save for spots where Sebastian and her own fingertips had left little oil smudges on its surface. She crosses her legs and leans a bit backward in her stool, putting a low arch in her delicate spine. Beneath that soft skin, those powerful, spring-loaded muscles flex.

"Do you have a purpose, Sebastian?"

Sebastian Shaw has posed:
Sebastian's gaze lingers long on Talia as she reclines, considering her question for a long moment. "I am fortunate in her choice of purpose."

His own drink has arrived, and he leans over again to retrieve. "My purpose is simple, Miss al Ghul. To ensure that everyone who comes to the Hellfire Club finds what they wish to find." His eyes twinkle with amusement as he slowly takes a sip, swallowing down what other glorious purpose he may feel he has.

"Do you chafe at the purpose that your father has chosen for you, and see to find your own? I would daresay that you have the talents to suit any purpose I could imagine."

Talia al Ghul has posed:
Talia laughs at Sebastian's alleged purpose, giving him a look from behind long lashes and dark brown eyes. "I see," she says. Even if she doesn't entirely believe the man, she doesn't press further. Instead, she reaches to take that dagger still lying beside her and draws it in. She clasps its grip with her right palm and delicately presses its point to the tip of her finger. Just enough to indent the flesh, but not quite enough to break it. Not yet.

A flicker of irritation flashes across her pretty features, but even that is beautiful, in its own way. Talia al Ghul is far from perfect, but her particular imperfections have fallen on the right side of the aesthetic scale. And then that irritation flattens and softens into something else. Not quite sadness, but perhaps some blend of that and wistfulness.

"The Lazarus Pit takes parts of you. It... eats," Talia says, and taps the flat of the blade against her forehead, "At you. Bites out of who you are, until you no longer are. You are someone else."

"My Father's purpose for me was to be me. To grow up and have a life. To find happiness," Talia says.

"That man is not my father. He has not been for quite some time."