4836/Friday Night's All Right For Spelling, Sans Demonic Tomes and Nazis

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Friday Night's All Right For Spelling, Sans Demonic Tomes and Nazis
Date of Scene: 23 January 2021
Location: Oblivion Bar
Synopsis: Weird liquor for the cost of a childhood memory? Sure! As long as I'm not paying.
Cast of Characters: Illyana Rasputina, Julio Richter, Lara Croft, Hope Svelgate

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
It's a Friday night. What do young, wonderful things with a mystic inclination do? The same thing their counterparts in the mundane world do, as long as there isn't a mystic ward or some terrible cause forcing them to lie low.

The Oblivion Bar is a place that suits the purposes well enough, though having arguably the youngest of the Hell Lords -- and an outright ruler of a great realm in her own right -- present might be giving Papa Midnight hives. It wouldn't be the first time he probably wished visitors would mosey on. However, booze pays. So does crime. Information, equally. He must like all three enough to put up with the long-legged Russian sorceress who controls a corner of the room in the name of all things brightly coloured. She sits in a slinky, high-backed Atomic Age chair in stark vermillion and white Formica, and boasts a rather questionable beverage in her long fingers.

The challenge to Julio? Find something deliciously, deliriously wild. Make sure it counts as alcohol and top the bright blue thing she's imbibing, which looks rather like she stole plasma from Rigel's coronasphere and decided to drink it from a tall, snarling glass with a little paper umbrella sticking out.

Julio Richter has posed:
Julio can't pass up a challenge like that -- his professional pride as a bartender is at stake. Well, as someone who worked intermittently as a bartender at a desperate time in his life, anyway. He's leaning against the bar in close conversation with the bartender, well aware that he can't hope to match the arcane (in both senses) mixological secrets plumbed by the staff here.

Eventually, his consultation nets him a pair of what look like large, transparent tuning forks, which he brings back to the table proudly. The tines of each are filled with liquid, glowing white on one side, deep violet on the other. At the crux of the strange apparatus , the liquors(?) are held apart by a small, glass tab, just over a little spout. He sets one down in front of Illyana, then holds up his own to demonstrate how it is imbibed.

"You put your mouth here and pull this out to let them mix. He says the shot comes out as a fizzing vapor that will dissolve completely if you don't swallow it fast enough," he says, demonstrating the move, though his accented voice carries a hint of skepticism. Wild, yes, but more of a shot than a drink. We'll see if that meets the demon queen's exacting standards.

Lara Croft has posed:
Working in the world of magic has lead Lara Croft to experience a number of things that otherwise might not have ever been expected. Having a portal bring her to a bar that isn't of 'Earth' is one of those things, but here she is. WAND (a division of SHIELD dedicated to magic) had Lara learning ever so much about these types of things, and tonight seemed to bring her to another level of that exploration.

Lara stands near to where Illyana is seated, though a few paces away, her eyes are on a book that is on display at the top of a podium. She knows better than to read the words on the pages of the old parchment, and is instead just running her eyes across them and the symbols there-in.

The words from the bar pull Lara's eyes up to look, watch closely, and observe this fizzy-shot if it's consumed. "Even magic is used to find ways to get smashed?" She asks with a slight amused grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Papa Midnight is almost certainly watching tonight's events with keen interest. Papa Midnight, after all, is one of the ones who over the years became privy to just who Hope Svelgate as she calls herself when passing among humans actually is. If one Hell Lord is enough to be giving Papa Midnight hives, two of them including 'The Usurper' is likely to have him on the edge of his seat all night long. But such are the occasional trials of one who would run bar for this sort of clientelle. She had disappeared for a time since the Battle of New York, but now it would seem Lady Death has returned.

The blond haired leather clad woman of valkyrie-esque stature sits at the bar on one of the high backed stylish chair drinking a cup of Akvavit. It is a rather uncommon choice from Scandinavia. Quite potent, it is distilled from grain and potatoes before being flavored with various herbs. Not your standard fare but the Oblivion Bar is very good at catering to a wide variety of clientelle.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The circle of weirdly 50sesque chairs have enough open spots to accommodate a few guests, not just herself and Julio. Though when he comes back carrying a bridge-like structure involving reactive elements probably without counterparts in the usual scheme of things. That's just how to roll when limitations of physical forces and ingredients are purely optional. "How much did that cost you?" Illyana asides softly to Julio, perfectly within earshot of Lara to be conversational instead of a privy secret. Besides, this is not a place to have privy secrets.

Probably best not to have many secrets that you admit to knowing, really. Her fingers toy with the little umbrella jammed into the drink, neatly pirouetting one of the gloppy tendrils that really behaves more like it's on fire instead of an imbibed fluid of any sort. Flashes of aquamarine strobe beneath her fingertips, deflected away, burning up a bit. "It is. Sometimes the best. Not good to refresh what ails you, but what dims in different ways. Would you care to try first, Ms. Croft?" A gesture to the glass and the devices holding it together prove relatively captivating.

Simply sticking one's head to the spout might not be advised, but neither is she going to spoil the moment. She inclines her head in Hope's direction; it's not about being rude, not here. What the Demon Queen senses is another matter, but this form she can make. "Has something turned the wheel to ascend?" A question slid that way has an indirect quality, but such as it is.

Julio Richter has posed:
"Twenty bucks and a pleasant childhood memory," Julio answers with a smile, taking a seat next to Illyana: an abstract pop art 60s design upholstered in a deep, bloody red. "I told him he could have, um... the time I..." He trails off with a puzzled expression. "Anyway. ¡salud!"

He brings the forked apparatus to his lips, whips out the tab, and immediately chokes out a fizzing purple cough, which sparkles like the crackling end of a firework: vapors take up a lot more volume than liquids, and he didn't expect this thing to shoot /itself/ quite that enthusiastically. Moments later, though, he's back on that horse and guzzling down the rest of the shot.

Once he has finished, and set the empty glass apparatus back down, he waves weakly to Lara. "Si, and it beats a plain old beer to hell," he says, agreeing with Illyana. He hasn't yet noticed Hope, occupied as he has been.

Lara Croft has posed:
Certainly everything about Hope does draw Lara's attention, at least for a moment, as a Valkyrie-esque woman seated at the bar in this magical venue... well, this is a rather unique evening for the world explorer, even if this isn't technically apart of her world. Ultimately though, Illyana and Julio's work with this 'shot dispenser' draw her attention back.

There comes a light bit of laughter from the Briton as she places he rhands on the sides of her hips, palms against the leather belt that cinches her olive-drab pants about her slim waistline. "This... this is definitely not my 'I go first' kind of moments." She replies in her London-flavored voice. She does watch Julio though, and a playful grin plays across her lips. "Fair. I'll try it though, as I like to be a good sport."

Croft moves to take a seat in an ornate chair at the table, the sleeves of her red-top rolled up to her elbows as she garners herself a shot... after... doing her best to mimick Julio's manipulations of the pronged-apparatus.

Lara downs her shot, and sits back in her chair. She... sneezes, of all things, causing glowing sparkles to splash out of her nostrils and all around her to form a bubble of flashing, glittering, light.

"I'm horrified." Lara says in a dry tone of voice, eying the results of her drink. She doesn't /really/ sound horrified though...

Hope Svelgate has posed:
"Plain old beers are not something you are likely to find in Hell." Hope informs Julio as she turns in her seat. At 6'4, hers is an imposing presence starkly at odds with whatever low profile she might be trying to keep under this glamour.

Illyana's question earns her a nod from the valkyrie-esque woman, "After the battle with Loki's armies, I was a bit weary so I simply took some time to rest." Even Hell Lords need rest sometimes it seems, that must have been one hell of a battle, "And now I am back." As simple as that it seems.

She takes a long drink of her Akvavit draining the cup, closing her eyes as she does to savor the burning sensation as much as the taste. Anything to feel something.

"You know I wonder if Papa Midnight has any Asgardian Mead, I imagine it would mix well." Though she watches the trio with the magical shot machine, with an expression torn between wondering what the concoction tastes like and 'kids these days'.

Finally her gaze comes to rest on Lara, "You look like you are a long way from home." Though even the gruff woman has difficulty hiding an amused expression when Lara snorts sparkles.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Childhood memories? You make this an event," Illyana murmurs, though there's a frosty aureole to her aura that around here might stand out to the great majority of sensitives. Further reason for them to tiptoe back away from the risk of frostbite, were they inclined to loiter. Her leg crosses over the other, heel pointed outward, the solid curve of the sole to her boot ready to tread on any serpent short of Jormungandr. The slow lift of her gaze to the bartender marks the man, uncanny eyes frost pale, but no matter. He gives them something presumably worth the price, and the fizzy smoke spirals that emanate out cause her to lurch forward.

Just enough to get a hand on Julio's shoulder, grounding a man who never needs to be grounded, not even here. He can easily shake it off. Keen to watch if he keels over, turns to stone, or starts spouting sea shanties, apparently the first hit isn't the worst. "Da." Yes. Just that. "Salud."

Light as before, she surrenders a bit of space for their brunette counterpart to take her turn. Lara won't have to climb over a giant glowing sword or a demon lurking under the table. No grin there, though the sharp curl of her lips is a smirk as bubbles form.

"Wait a few moments. The first effects pass quick, the next do not, I will guess." Who is to say if that's formulated for a mystic or likely to wreak havoc on magical creatures, let alone humans? Excitement awaits the bold. "Do you want to try?" This general, slow offer is delivered to Hope in what counts, most likely, as a welcoming of sorts.

But Russians are Russians. That fatalistic view extends to weddings, celebrations, funeral marches, and drinking on a Friday night.

She'll wait until a decision follows, not quite drinking. See, responsible chaperone!

Julio Richter has posed:
"It's not as sweet as I expected, but I'm not horrified," Julio says, coughing out a few lingering sparkles and a puff of purple smoke. "More spicy. Kind of nice, I think. I'm Julio," he says, giving Lara a grin and extending a hand. "I'm a druid, sort of."

He doesn't /look/ like a druid. He looks like a shaggy-haired kid who took a wrong turn on the way to a hardcore punk show: Black denim jacket covered in patches and buttons, a violently pink tee, leather pants with studs, Doc Martens. He's definitely a kids these days, unless he's a kids these 80s or a kids these aughts. (Punk style is kind of perennial like that.)

"I know I'm not in hell," he answers Hope, glancing toward Illyana with a grin. "Been there. Or close enough. Got swallowed up by Cipactli, but he let me go in the end." And that experience, among others, taught him to listen to Illyana when she counsels caution. It's not a frequent occurrence, but it's usually a serious one. He'll give the forked drink a minute to settle.

Lara Croft has posed:
Through the sparkling sphere that surrounds her, Lara looks to the Valkyrie as she approaches them and speaks to her about being unusual in some ways. Lara is quick to grin softly back to the tall woman. "Well." She starts her reply, her hands going to the arms of the throne-like chair she'd chosen to sit in. "In my experiences, the further I am from home, the more memorable the moments I find."

And with that said, her eyes sweep back to where Illyana is. "I should expect more from this?" She asks then. "How could it possibly get more strange?" As she says this, her entire form becomes solid gold. She's just a gold plated woman sitting in the chair now.

She notes Julio's offered hand and leans over to offer her own back to him. "It's a pleasure, Julio. I'm Lara, Croft." She pauses between the words and as she extends her hand she ... sees it shining in golden hues. "Oh-- ah... that, this is unexpected..." Her hand doesn't /feel/ gold though, it just looks the part, along with the rest of her now... "This couldn't possibly be Hell, I'm clearly too valuable now to be in Hell." A dry joke, she is British after all.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
The tall leather clad blond is perhaps almost a hard rock or metal vibe to Julio's punk, dressed as she is in a black leather halter top and black leather pants both accented with metallic skull ornamentation. "I would not turn down hospitality." She informs her Russian counterpart. Though the irony of the situation is not lost on her, to be sharing a cup with one of the descendents of Novgorod, the very people her homeland fought so many crusades against, though that was centuries ago.

Hope gives a short chuckle at Lara's too valuable to be in Hell remark, "You would be amazed at what winds up in Hell, sometimes things that were never meant to be there."

She raises a brow at Julio's statement that he has been to Hell or at least something similar, perhaps impressed that he clearly survived. "The Hells are not the safest of places. You must have some skill."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Illyana crooks her fingers slightly, considering how to work that stopper with its frothy, sparkling contents. The devil is in the details when it comes to the drink, what remains between those upright forks and spilling down with the light touch of the surprisingly fragile toggle. A nudge aside and the airy miasma threatens to shoot away, buoyant and bursting free. Forget the glass! She does, anyway, or has sacrificed it entirely to Lara to manage.

A large straw isn't a choice, so she snaps her blue liquor glass beneath the pronged creation to catch the violet miasma. That fog is pulled straight into a deep sip, a flavourful disconnection from her surroundings.

It tickles her nose, bad as Lara's. But /sneeze/? Never. She hiccups instead, just the once, lungs brewing a storm up that leaves her hair floating and crackling with something of sparked charge. The crackling fizz of pop rocks flung into lemonade takes its time to enfold, and it's a calculated risk even to speak, considering a reply of any sort. "That he does."

She sounds like the sweetest angel, voice chiming like a bell, beautifully high and girlish. Almost saccharine and ... and bubbly.

With a look of narrowed-eye disdain, she chirrups at Lara, "That look suits you. A reflective one, very nicely done." And then, a giggle. Someone is going to die at that bar.

"Here is to travels far and wide. Your path returning towards home," she enthusiastically (nonono) tells Hope, and then glances askance at Julio.

Death is promised for that drink. Certainly. But it's so happy!

Julio Richter has posed:
"Ooh, shiny," Julio comments, shaking Lara's hand with a good-natured laugh at her sudden transformation. He seems to take it in stride; this is a strange place, and they are undoubtedly all strange people. "Nice to meet you. I think I saw you in an old movie, though. James Bond?" His pop culture references are all over the map, as he didn't live in the States until recently, but apparently he can count Goldfinger among them.

"I don't know if I'm /skilled/," he demurs at Hope's compliment. "I was with her, and she's--" he gestures at Illyana, but then she contradicts his modesty, and he's stunned speechless. Not by her confidence in him... by /that voice/.

Listen, Illyana is his friend, and he respects and loves her in all her fell majesty. But if he'd known he would get to experience her giddy, giggling helium voice? Forget a pleasant childhood memory. He'd have given Papa midnight years five through eight and half of nine as a tip. He claps a hand over his mouth so that he won't say anything and his excited jaw-drop won't give it away, but the eyes widening over that hand? The eyes are damned snitches.

Lara Croft has posed:
Lara's golden shining face looks to Hope and offers her a wide smile at her rundown of things that end up in Hell. "I'm quite amazed at what things can be found in many places. So I imagine you're right, and I would be impressed of what I find ... in Hell. But to be entirely honest, I do hope I avoid finding out. I'm all for going to new places, but..." She exhales sharply and raises a golden hand up to stroke away golden locks of hair from her shining forehead. "Hell isn't on my list of places to go. Call it fear of being able to, you know, leave."

Of course, Illyana's ... everything, draws Croft's attention back to her. She's left with a grin upon her metallic visage. "I'm starting to think, however, that I -- or we -- may not even survive this night though. Remember, none of this is my fault, I promise."

A glance is given to Julio again but Lara looks once more to Hope. "Are you Asgardian?" She asks. "I ask because of the reference to the ale. I've never tried any... call me, curious."

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Hope tries the machine as bidden, filling her own shot. She studies the violet contents of the glass for the moment. It is certainly not her usual fair, more accustomed to just finding the strongest thing possible to feel the burn and the intoxication and remind herself that she just might still be alive within the flesh of her deathly pale unchanging form beneath the glamour. This drink seems to have a deeper aspect of entertainment to it, maybe this is what Death meant when she told her to try actually living, it is hard to say.

"To interesting journeys." She raises her glass with Illyana and upends the contents of the drink into her mouth letting the mildly sweet and surprisingly spicy liquid work its way down her throat. It doesn't burn but thanks to the magic she still keenly feels it like sensations she hasn't actually experienced in a very long time. Her eyes go a bit wide and the glamour concealing her true form flickers in and out almost like revealing a black and white picture beneath the color print intermittently. A hand goes over her mouth to stifle a hiccup, surprised white pits of eyes glowing with blue fire visible for only an instant. "That, that is certainly something." Her own voice has become sacharine and bubbly, even giddy, as well and she eyes the glass even as stark white hair is visible in the next moment but again it is fleeting as the glamour restores itself like an old TV struggling to keep the proper picture. If looks could shatter glass, the look she is giving that glass might just do it. But somehow Lady Death resists the initial instinct to try and eliminate all witnesses that might hear her like this, even as she struggles to regain control of her glamour, it's quite a sight (and sound).

She shrugs lightly as Julio tries to pass off the praise but Illyana affirms it, "She seems to disagree." That voice again, her gaze now in the direction of the bar. Somewhere Papa Midnight may be sweating a bit.

"Hell is not somewhere anyone usually winds up by choice." She agrees with Lara, stifling a hiccup of some glitter, even as all of her skin flickers bone white for a moment before correcting itself. "You could say I am part Asgardian on my mother's side, yes. I am originally from Sweden."