885/Interview with a Hampire

Interview with a Hampire
Date of Scene:	31 October 2014
Location:	Ivalice
Synopsis:	In Ivalice no one can hear you Squeak.
Cast of Characters:	152, 516

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Faruja (152) has posed:
Glorious, glorious Limberry! It's a rather large city, and mostly free of the urban decay common in them. Mostly. One Inquisitor Faruja Senra, has somethin of a vice. Specifically, very run-down dive bars. And thus, that's where one can find him today in Limberry, getting drunk off of his tail before the inevitable unholy mass he's been tasked with infiltrating.

Thank /Faram/ he doesn't need to be subtle about it. The rat sits in a private booth, alone today. There's only a few patrons, and most are content to keep to themselves or oggle the bar-wench serving them. In his little corner, there's already one bottle of booze down, and a large mug of ale being consumed.

Say what you want about him, but the short rat can hold his drink.

Ferham (516) has posed:
     Flying over the city is a strange form with black wings, rising up and obscuring the moon for a moment in a totally non-copyright infringing image, before descending back down and swooping down with amazing speed! Winged battle flies through the night, and finds the inquisitor ready. Well, perhaps not /battle/ perse, but definitely something winged! The chocobos outside the bar that Faruja is apparently half-passed out in are riled momentarily, before the doors of the bar opened quietly. But lets face it, this is a bar, every time the door opens everyone inside is going to turn their head to look, like deers caught in headlights.

     There is the sound of heeled boots clicking as a large black-caped form stalks into the bar proper, the hem of her large black cape stopping near Faruja's white-furred feet, apparently peering down at him.

Faruja (152) has posed:
Slowly, as he gets that feeling of being watched, Faruja looks up. Blink blink.

A squeak of terror! The drunken rat falls out right at her feet. He stares. And blushes.

And stares some more. A good two minutes pass.

"Ah...ahh! Lady Angel! Hail mine dear. Ye look..."

He hunts for the right word.

"Lovely." He ends, a little lamely. Even the tavern-wench is looking at Ferham.

"Oh, mmm, please sit. Order anything ye like!" Nope, the rat isn't getting up yet. He might need help.

Ferham (516) has posed:
     As the Burmecian tumbles off the bench in a confued and surprised state, the light around him is blotted out as that cape opens, the scalloped edges giving a momentarily horrifying image of bat or demon wings. As gravity takes hold and the fanned out cape settled back down, the... woman wearing it is revealed, her hands on her hips with the cape thrown back around her shoulders. Ferham is standing there with a smirk on those red lips of hers, her stockinged legs poised with her knees bent just a tad outwards thanks to those heeled boots of hers. Of course, it might be fairly difficult to recognize Ferham from the last time Faru saw her.

     "Hello there, Father Senra," there is that familiar deep feminine voice, reaching down and offering a red nailed, fingerless gloved hand down to the rat man to help him up.

Faruja (152) has posed:
A sound passes through the rat's muzzle. It is a very, very girly squeak. What horror! What terror! What...

That voice rings out, and he sighs. "Hail, Lady Ferham. Lord's blessings mine dear." He says breathily, as he slowly calms down. Mostly. Taking the hand, he sits up, and tilts his head.

He looks her over more fully this time.

"...'Tis truly tradition to wear such costumes? Mmm." He ponders.

"Mayhaps ye aught give me advice? I.../do/ suppose 'twould be rude to not get one of mine own." He squeezes her hand in greetings just a bit. Such nice gloves!

Then, he's smiling as he sits. "How hath ye been, my winged savior?"

Ferham (516) has posed:
     Yes, it's Ferham, yes, she looks like she decided to dress up as Dracula's girlfriend or the like, but it's definitely her, though one has to wonder if Inquisitor Senra has seen her without her helmet yet. Either way, that long black fine hair of hers runs down to her elbows gently. Ferham is able to help lift the burmecian up with just that one hand, as dainty as it might seem with those long scarlet nails.

     "Savior? thought you tried to save me moreso, when you thought I'd fallen off that bridge anyway," she's momentarily distracted by reaching out with both hands to dust him off and straighten his robes, before settling her long scalloped cape back around her again.

     "Come, it is a fine evening tonight, let us go out for pleasure," she said with a mock sort of dramatic flair and held her right arm outstretched, that long red lined cape draped over it, as inviting the burmecian into darkness. She was grinning as she gestured with a chin towards the door.

Faruja (152) has posed:
The rat's head tilts to the other side. He looks over her hair, and burns her face into his gaze. "I hardly recognized ye! Ye aught wear that helmet less. Not that 'tis not a good idea, but ye hath lovely hair, ye know?"

Yup, definitely tipsy. He wobbles lightly, and ends up leaning on her slightly.

Then he's being dusted off! He squeaks again, turning away in indignation! Huff! There's some cat-calls and whistles from the rest of the bar.

"EYES AND HANDS TO THINESELVES, KNAVES! THIS IS A /LADY/"

Grrr. There's that mock laughter, and the rat points!

"TO PLEASURE! Come, mine dear, after ye! Lead me away from these ill-mannered /gentlemen/."

Then? The rat is grinning just as widely, taking her arm, and heading out into the night with Ferham!

This couldn't possibly end badly.

Ferham (516) has posed:
     Ferham's eyes went wide as she realized something, it appeared, peering down for a moment, before looking back up. "Oh, I wear it whenever I'm out on official business, though tonight I think I'm out for pleasure," she seems amused he's trying to defend her honor, though various gawkers and onlookers was the exact reason she'd come to drag him out of this bar. What was an /inquisitor/ doing in a bar, anyway? She didn't pose this question to him. Her heels clicked softly as she strode out the door and into the quiet darkness with the burmecian, leaning just a bit closer to him as she walked hand and hand almost like that.

     "But yes, this is simply a... over achieving costume I had one of the err, technicians (thanks Dr. Wily!) assist me with making, I see the results have you frozen stiff," she grinned, and even in the light of the moon and whatever lamps he'd be able to see those long ivory fangs over those red and gorgeous lips of hers. "Though, I'm wondering what you were doing in there Father Senra," she tugged him just a bit closer, perhaps sensing his intoxication. Likely could, if it could be smelled off him. Uh oh, Ferham had caught the rat in her trap, and he was too ossified drunk to defend himself.

Faruja (152) has posed:
Our brave protagonist hardly seems to notice Ferham's look, too busy glaring at gawkers! Drunkenly. Grr! Hic!

"I..." Pause. Cough. "The weather does that, ye know!" He agrees, gaze locked on lips and fangs.

"Ye aught thank whomever assisted ye! Truly a master craftsman of costumes!" Nod! The rat approves, clearly.

There's eyes in alleyways, gang-members and women of ill-virtue prowling openly. The Inquisitor happily leans closer, hardly able to defend himself in this state! Caught and drunk, he ignores those around them in favor of Ferham.

His tail squeezes here as his chest puffs with nationalistic pride.

"It reminds me of home!" He states.

"I was born upon a community not unlike this in Burmecia. My Father, a watchmaker. When I became of age? I wouldst go here to drink. A young oprhaned mage-apprentice hardly makes much money, and I knew the streets and establishments. Now? Well. I suppose we all hath our vices." Smile!

Faruja (152) has posed:
Not far away, there's a tailor shop open. At this hour! It's a cut-rate little establishment, but it's about all this section of town has. 'The Needle and Chocobo' is emblazoned on a sign that's about to fall off. The door's windows have been nailed over, and only a magical sign that blinks notes that it's not abandoned, and open.

Faruja points! "Why not there, mine dear?" Grin! He does need a costume if he's going ot infiltrate a Heretical Mass.

Ferham (516) has posed:
     Throwing an arm along with her cape over Faruja's shoulder, she's content to walk with him like that for a time. Sure she puts on that she's having a lot of fun with this, and she is, but inwardly she was also perhaps just a tad concerned as where she found the rat man. Ferham still had her weapon with her, course, though it's hidden beneath her cape, the vampiress's boots necessitating care when navigating the streets. Streets back in the time period Ivalice was from were just rocky island in the middle of what were essentially streams, those being the gutters. She didn't come to this rustic area for no reason, for sure.

     "Vices indeed," Ferham raised a brow and smirked to him, though the high collar of her cloak might have hidden it. Turning the rat into the tailor's, she makes sure he's safetly inside before sort of taking over the place, calling the clerk over. She's not a 'bad guy' perse just for being in the confederacy, though it'd be hard to say she hadn't picked up a few hints of aggressiveness like that since joining.

     "He's going to need something to wear, we're going to a masquerade," she is thankfully adept at the terminology used during periods like the one Ivalice is from. "Dress him finely, like we're going to the opera," the shop keeper, a middle aged bald but homely looking fellow, quickly agrees. Soon, with help from Ferham, the rat is stripped down to his under shirt and the like.

Faruja (152) has posed:
Faruja hardly even notices. He has, after all, grew up in a place like this. Though it's a sight more pleasant on the 'stream' front. Comes from constant rain. Lean. No one makes a move on the pair this night, given how confident Ferham looks.

Another huff! His tail pokes her in the side!

"Cast ye the first stone!" That's his job. "Surely ye hath thine own, mine dear!" Teases the rat right back. Grin!

Then, they're in the shop, and the agressive 'vampiress' swiftly gets the owner's attention. Particularly when he notes Faruja's robes. It's not hard to spot clergy, and judging from the silk, important clergy.

The balding man doesn't ask questions, and soon, there's a rodent shivering lightly. There's no undershirt. Just a pair of happy-face boxers.

"...I knew ye had something up thine sleeve!" He calls in indignation, red in the ears and beneath the fur! Embarrassed rats are embarrassed!

In a whirl of measuring, prodding, and be-clothing, Faruja is a rat transformed! He now sports a half-mask, white, as well as a black suit, and white, ruffled shirt! He ponders...oh, right.

"Fear me! For I am the Ratling of the Opera!" He calls out. Yes, he's seen this play. And drunk enough to play along. He spins about 'gracefully'!

Ferham (516) has posed:
     "I do, it usually involves causing pain for money," Ferham replies casually, standing there and pointing as she directs the tailor about. "Careful of his tail when you adjust the material," she cautions the tailor man, who obviously would be armed with scissors during that phase of the outfitting. Of course, there is a bit of pointing and giggling with her hand clasped over her mouth daintily at those smiley face boxers. There is thankfully no Nelson-laugh from off screen.

     Soon, the tailor returns and the rat is be-clothed in finery. A white dress shirt, black slacks and black dinner jacket, black cape... even a pair of spats for each of those ratty feet. He must look his best, of course. And to look his best, a white domino mask and tophat is added to complete the outfit. Faruja of the Opera, as it were, is now complete.

     "Mmm, I think this is good work," she pulled the tailor aside, handing him some gil coins, likely not from Faruja, but wherever she got them from is unclear. If he's paying attention she might overhear her whispering, "This now and I can come back and flog you later, deal?"

Faruja (152) has posed:
Faruja just /stares/ at the good reploid for a long moment. "Ye art some sort of...mercenary?" He inquires weakly.

Someone needs to educate this mouse a bit more. Still, the tailor does his job, and he doesn't lose that tial of his! His flush grows worse as he's laughed at.

"These...these are /excellent/ underwear, darn ye! Gaze in awe at their hope and happiness!" Arms on hips. Pose!

"Rum luck missy, come right back." Grins the tailor as he whispers back. Ears fold back. And Faruja is once more staring.

"...What is it ye do again, Lady Ferham?" Then, the Ratling of the Opera is at her arm, walking beside her.

Ferham (516) has posed:
     "When necessary," Ferham's elegant feminine tone rolls out as she stands up from the now flustered and lightly sweating tailor. Apparently Fer didn't have /all/ the gil to cover the finery the rat was now draped in, but she had other means of paying. She seemed to ignore the question from the rat at first, acting like nothing had happened. "I just had to take care of the costs of the outfit, are you ready to go?" she replied, as if eager to leave and deal with the tailor later. "Now we just need a ball to go to, you know anywhere that's fun, Father Senra?" she'd bug him as they were leaving the shop, taking caaaareful steps as they navigated the streets.

     Apparently, the inquisitor's next rambled possible destination that meets Ferham's ears is a rather secluded establishment just down the street, and so is a short jaunt. Ferham is rather surprised when it turns out to be a cathouse, and not the sort that would give the rat a scare. Quite not, this is a rather fancy looking homey sort of spot, upholstered in satin and lace like most of the furniture. Of course, cue gawking and staring at the various girls, who are likely quite... catty, to use the term loosely, and perhaps just a bit jealous at those legs on Ferham, much to her chagrin.

     "This is where you like to spend time, Father Senra...?" she looked over, half cross, half amused, slowly peeering over at that rat.

Faruja (152) has posed:
Faruja follows along, and rambles out the first place he can think of.

He might be drunk, but he's not /that/ drunk. The rat is scarlet as he realizes where he is. It's always like this.

Worse yet? When they enter, and the women are looking catty? There's knowing looks from them. A few, however, show flashes of recognition.

"Father Senra!" One of the women all but tackles the Inquisitor! With a drunken laugh, he's returning the hug. "Hail, Annie! Looking well, mine dear! How is the little one?"

The short, pale woman smiles. "She's growing up big and tall. Thanks to you. Oh? My!" She looks to Ferham, then winks at the other woman.

Annie waves a hand, and the other girls are soon out of sight, or seeking more customers.

"Hello Miss, and welcome! So. Are you the Father's dance partner, or did you just peel him off the street corner?" Grin!

Faruja sighs. No dignity for him.

He looks to Ferham. "I do. Even women of...this profession require spiritual healing. I do not judge them for their line of work. And oft assistance with their young ones. Besides. This place /does/ have a dance hall."

Ferham (516) has posed:
     Apparently this isn't the first appointment Faruja has payed to the joint, as all the girls seem to know him--as Ferham finds out, more or less, having to try and peel them off one by one as they latch onto the rat. "When I said go out for pleasure I'm not sure this is the sort I had in mind," Fer said in a strained voice, trying to keep one from fastening onto the inquisitor's cheek with her lips. "Eh, little of column A, little of column B," Fer has apparently been listening to people talk moreso nowadays, and is picking up their phrases rather well.

     "Spiritual healing, huh? I bet, and dance hall sounds nice, but first," Ferham grinned a little predatorily as she reached into her cape and withdrew the handle of her whip. There is a gasp all around as Fer swept her cape back and cracked the whip a few times, flourishing it overhead before bringing it down again with a sound like a gunshot.

     "Bitches leave!" Fer does her best Clarence Boddicker impression, giving quite an intimidating display to make sure her and the rat are left in silence.

Faruja (152) has posed:
Oh Faram save him! He's being crowded by women! Thankfully, Ferham does a good job of the deed herself, and the rat is mumbling polite excuses.

"They art all fine souls, however, they may be...exhuberant when someone genuinely gives a damn beyond the, erm, merchandise." Duck! Weave! He comes out relatively unscathed.

Crack! The women scatter, and they're alone. Faruja turns to Ferham, and sighs deeply.

"Now, now! Hardly necessary, that. Ye couldst hath asked." Frown!

But this /does/ leave them free to enter the dance hall. This part, at least, seems decently legitimate. Even nobles occasionally go slumming, after all. (Fake) marble floors, well-lit, a small bar with drinks...everything you could need. There's even a few women with instruments waiting. When they start playing? They actually are pretty good.

Ferham (516) has posed:
     Ferham had to blew a straw lock of hair out of her face after that display, she wasn't used to having her hair not safely under a helmet when using her whip of course, well, mostly. "There we go, sorry Father, more than two is a crowd for me tonight," she calmly mutters, putting that whip away thankfully back into her cape. "Now, where were we? Ah yes~" one of her arms reaches right over to curl around his shoulders and she walks into the dance hall, burmecian in tow.

     "I kind of like it in here," she nodded, her stiletto heeled boots clicking as she walked past the small bar and to the dance floor, not letting the rat go tonight, apparently, even as she turned to his front, slowly dancing with him. "Little song, little dance, is this what you do for fun, Father?" she could tell this place still had a somewhat faux vaneer about it, but she didn't mind right now, burying her face in his shoulder.

Faruja (152) has posed:
/Sigh/. The look Faruja gives promises a lecture later, but for now, he's not going to argue! Led away, he's a perfect gentleman, and just drunk enough to not be able to protest anyway.

That cape is wonderful, he finds. Soft, and relaxing. The click-click of heels helps.

"They remodeled it, oh...a year or so back. I offered a few suggestions." Grin!

"Quite so! We nezumi art artists and dancers by our nature! Even I can dance, ye know?"

He follows Ferham's lead. Limp or not, he proves graceful, swift, and a passionate dancer. He knows the little number, slow and relaxed, and the music is well timed.

"Where didst ye learn to dance? Ye art quite talented?" He doesn't seem to mind his shoulder taken up.

Ferham (516) has posed:
     "So I heard, dancing is a large part of your ceremonies, yes?" Fer lifted her head lightly, cool breath going down the neck of the Burmecian of the Opera there. "I still need lessons, you can probably help me still," Ferham isn't going to go into explaining the process of downloading simulated dance routines into her brain to know what to do in this situation, actual learning came from teaching and experimentation, just like how humans learned. It was a slow dance, anyway, the kind she wanted right now. "Suggestions, huh? is that what you meant by those brass poles back there?" she coyly asked, voice soft, but seemed to not need an answer.

     "So much we don't know about eachother, I'd like for us both to know sometime, I don't like lying to people, though I do like it when you call me Angel," she paused for a moment to reach up and boop Faruja on the nose softly, her green eyes watching his through that little opera mask, likely.

Faruja (152) has posed:
FAram help him, but he manages to look like a gentleman. Soon enough, he's moving slightly more swiftly to take the lead. Step-step turn. Step turn! He exaggerates the movement as he teaches, letting her get a feel for the proper motions.

"You have some talent. Just a bit of practice. And I am /always/ on the hunt for new dance partners." Her comments get a huff, then a blush. There's a smile there though.

"Shall I always call ye that, oh Angel of the Red Wings?" Grin!

Squeak! His nose wiggles! He missed a step, and tumbles a little! Grace, it is in the gutter now.

"Then tell me more about yourself, and I shall do the same. But a gentleman starts off. I am, as ye likely know, an Inquisitor. Oh, how did they put it...think policemen for the Church. Judges, and oft, executioners as well." He's swift to move past the unpleasantries.

"But I am also the Church's ambassador to the Union. I was born in Burmecia, before the war destroyed the city. Orphaned at eight. Plague." A shrug. Step.

"Ended up in the local monastery. I found a talent for Time Magic, and more...rare gifts beside. Eventually, I would enter the Church's service proper as a Templar. And after ending a plot by a political rival turned Heretic? I was granted the title of Inquisitor." Faruja's life in a nutshell.

"Now, I seek to keep Ivalice in one piece while assisting mine friends in the Union, and mayhaps find a place for mineself and the woman I love."

Ferham (516) has posed:
     Looks like this little halloween party ball has turned into a bit of a date... oh the scandal. "Really, you'd tell me all that?" she sucked in what seemed like a great lungful of air, which was possibly both a functional as well as cosmetic thing for her. "For an inquisitor I was surprised you were with the SRD... union, that is," she reached up, brushing hair out of her face as she turned along with him, not minding apparently that he was taking the lead of the dance.

     "Mm, I'm not human, as you know by now, I think. Created in a pod on Giga City, man-made island in the south Pacific ocean of my world, high performance flight-equipped new model Reploid," she shrugged, it all sounded so pathetically clinical and impersonal than Faruja's, but such was the way of things. "I took part in a rebellion of my people, and was punished for it. It's how I wound up on this side in the confederacy--yes, that's right," she was bracing herself for some sort of outrage at that point, likely. Would he shout, push her away, ect? She didn't know.

     "I realize I probably should have told you earlier, but... I'm not evil, bet that's not the first time a lady has told you that, eh?" she snerked.

Faruja (152) has posed:
Ears wiggle. "I hath not told ye anything that is under Inquisitorial seal. Besides. Ye wished to know more of me? Few ask. 'Tis a rare opportunity to tell mine life true."

Faruja smiles as he looks into her eyes. He laughs a touch.

"Let us just say I am more...restrained than many. There art three types of Inquisitors. The first, the cold and calculating logic-driven crusaders. Not me, obviously. The second, those whom burn with zealous fire, seeking to burn away anything with the slightest hint of taint. That wouldst be mine colleague, good Inquisitor Cecaellia. The third, is a mix between. Faith, logic, and restraint. That wouldst be mineself. /We/ deal with the politically sensitive situations." A shrug.

Nope, not a hint of being bothered here.

"Nay parents? I..." There's wetness to his eye for a moment. Even /if/ he has mother issues, he doesn't envy the woman.

He listens, and nods. Strangely, there's sympathy and understanding in his gaze.

"Ye saw what was wrong with society, and acted. I..." He licks his lips. A pause.

"I envy ye." He says finally.

Smirk. "No. I hath heard that many a time. Mostly when they were trying to kill me with magic, demons, or swords. I find dancing far more disarming. And besides, were I to think ye evil? My dear, I am an Inquisitor, and not /that/ bloody drunk. I wouldst be calling ye a Heretic and ordering Acolyte Strawberry here post-haste to put a bullet between thine eyes, were such the case."

Then, he pokes her nose in turn.

"The Holy Church is neutral in political affairs. I am merely am ambassador, and support those I love and care for in the Union. Also, I judge it the faction with lesser Heresy in mind. I shan't fault ye thine choice. 'Tis a political one, and I know politics well. Ye art not evil. Rather, I offer thee mine services, and mine friendship if ye wouldst hath it."

Ferham (516) has posed:
     "No, my parents were a piece of machinery, but there were other individuals that 'raised' me," Ferham shook her head. "It's a worrying concept, I know, but I'm no more alien than any of us in the multiverse are to eachother," she nodded then, her green eyes studying his still. "I wasn't aware inquisitors were meant to turn people evil, moreso to punish it," she smiled, tilting her head. "As far as poltiics are concerned I have no desire for mass destruction or what your enemies in the confederacy want, they don't mean anything to me," she coldly shook her head, apparently putting her heeled foot down on that.

     "I am not sure I need your services at the moment, your friendship however I would love," she grinned and took his muzzled head in her hands by the cheeks, tilting his head a bit to face hers. "You've been very kind to me, and I'd like to return the favor if I can, I just have the dubious honor of being in the confederacy for now," she winked. She didn't care for /all/ of the more colorful types in the MRD, of course, though some she did.

     "For now though, besides your friendship, there is something else of yours that I want," there was a griiin and she had her arms around his shoulders again, this time her lips and fangs brushing past that fuzzy neck of his...

Faruja (152) has posed:
There's a little groan from the rat. He sighs the sigh of one simply unable to cope with advanced technology. "...Nezumi as a whole art not comfortable with technology of /our/ era." Nevermind that of those beyond it. A shudder. And an apologetic look. The difference in ages is simply far too great for their worlds.

"I hope they were kind." Says the rat with a bit of hope. She's such a nice woman!

Scowl! "We hunt evil. Not turn people to it." He says just as pointedly.

A small nod. "I understand." In short? Politics suck.

Tilted up, he looks at her with a happy gaze. A friend, even if on the other side, is a boon. A smirk.

And then there's lips and fangs.

"Ye hath mine friendship, now and ever, Angel."

Then, there's a squeak. Muttered words of something.

It distinctly sounds like 'nezumi don't make good blood dolls'.

Ferham (516) has posed:
     "Well, I can see why Dracula enjoys this, at any rate," Fer leaned back from the poor mouse's neck, though only after teasingly denting the Burmecian's soft neck flesh with one of those ivory fangs. They were made from the same material as her actual teeth, in fact, all her armor program did was overlay it over her normal ones. "Too many eyes here, alas," she reached back and brought up an armful of cloak, sweeping that ebony cape up and around the burmecian.

     Likely, Faruja would awaken with a bit of a hangover in the brothel the next day, on one of the sofas, thankfully un-punctured.