Scene #7756: Snake Shack

Owner	Pose
Sylvi	Now, Bercilak may not be one of the people who carries a standard phone, but that just means when he gets text messages they get left on 'Sent' for a while. Maybe even a long while! The most recent is something as follows: :snake: - hey dumbass :snake: - im at steak shack :snake: - figure out which one or not before i finish :snake: - you ever beat up that one dumbass? :snake: - dont show up if you didnt She really does like him. STEAK SHACK in Saint Louis, Missouri is located in a moderate building across the street from a Whole Foods parking lot. Down the street, two fire engines and an ambulance attend to the flaming crater of what appears by signage to be a 'Smashburger'. The crater from the air looks like a giant handprint. Sylvi, in her 'natural' long white-haired form sits at one of the tables in an In-n-Out T-shirt and shorts, going at a #1 with x-large everything.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	SLAM. "HARK!" Silverware clatters to tables, a stunned murmur spreads like wildfire. The ones who Know are already just bailing. A manager who knows but doesn't Know comes and tries to stop him, stammering something out about 'sir you can't be here yelling' in his best authoritative voice. Bercilak engulfs his head in beefy green palm, lifts him up one-handed and places him in a recently vacated booth. "THOU HATH BET BILEVE I BETE HIS ASSE SO WHOLLI, HIM WAS STERT-NAKED BI WHANNE I HAD FINISHEN." -That- particular boast appears to have the would-be interloper sinking into that vacated booth. Perhaps it's the combination of that boast, and his black graphic tee--more colorful than his usual, it's one of those vibrant pastel brushstroke patterns like you see on certain party cups, with, naturally, a slogan above and below, in blue and pink that match the brushstrokes. THINK TWICE? BITCH I DON'T EVEN THINK ONCE Sylvi's food does a brief little hop when all of Bercilak's bulk crashes into the seat beside her. Slipping an arm around her, he continues, at normal volume. "'Twas fucked up. Non-thing binethe. But ynogh of that shit. Who-so asses hath thou bete?"
Sylvi	'HARK' Sylvi dips a fry in a black, molasses-goopy sauce that causes the potato to curl away from the contact, and then brings the fry up to eat it. The Manager approaches, and has his head palmed. Sylvi leans forward, and for a moment she has eyes solely for Bercilak. He can feel her tangibly-hot gaze burn along the nano-augmented muscles on his arm, linger in the spaces between corded might that hold the tension of the whole body up and the arm as well. He puts The Manager in a booth, and by the time he can look back Sylvi has grown disinterested with the show, returning to her fries and ill black Additive. "So was his dick big?" She asks bluntly after the naked-beating. "Or was this one of those Ghouls and Goblins sort of deals where you popped him once and the badass fell off of him like a dry corn husk?" Crashing into the seat besides her causes the chair to deform underneath with the wooden snap of the bracing plyboard and veneer wall simply giving out with nowhere to bounce -- since Sylvi was already on it, and she didn't wobble for plyboard. "Seriously? Nothing? Ken doll? That is fucked up. There was this kid, Haseo, thinks he's some god gamer. Also decided to be real rude about girls that were into him." "So I turned his god gamer powers into digital powder and threw him into Hel for a while to slap some sense into him. Then he took a set on me in Melty, and I'm never going to live it down." Her shoulders come up and down as her arms sweep out, fingers curling up. "What can you do? Can't press the buttons harder to make the character go better. Thought I was gonna totally dominate him, mind body and soul, and then he busts out the S-tier and I'm like 'shit, this kid really does not quit'. He didn't fraud me." She pffs. "Obviously." He frauded her.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	Despite having gone sideways and slammed his head into the floor, Bercilak is back up and in a good enough mood to slip his arm around her again pretty much immediately, completely oblivious of the incident causing another couple to leave the restaurant. "God gamer, bahahaha! 'Tis -verily- bicause thou shouved the butouns not hard ynogh," he facetiously adds with a wag of his finger and a shit eating grin. More seriously, but still fondly, "I shalt plai thee som-whanne!" He's never played. That won't stop him--because Flux has, and he can bully him into showing him the ropes. He nods towards the black sauce--that which shrivels fries and drives nuggies before it. "What's that?" If he can steal one of her fries to try it, he will. And if she pops him one for it, all the better. Popped or not, "We shouldst brak som-thing togeder."
Sylvi	Sylvi's right eyebrow hikes up at Bercilak's jovial arm-around, considering for a second, and then smiling coldly. And popping a fry in her mouth. "It's one of those dumb pain additives, the ones they say imparts a smoky flavor if you dilute it in a whole stew pot. Well, they're right, it is pretty smoky if you're not a bitch." She explains, the tarry black stuff popping muck-slow of a single errant bubble. "I'm not gonna break my console because he's better than me at a game I play thick-thumbed norsemen in who can't do seven twenties. The resistance is weak, basically. Purely for fun." Bercilak offers to break something 'together'. "You almost did. I was so excited, for a moment. You should've just squeezed. It would have made things so interesting. Ahh, that feeling of things popping in your grip is the best. Isn't it? That last snapping, thrashing gurgle is --" She brings her fingers to her lips to flourish. "Mwah. Perfect."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	"Him?" laughs the biker, jamming his french fry the fuck in that bubbling muck of a condiment. Chomping down on it as boldly as he does... well, it is smoky! In the chemical death sense. Bercilak laughs a hacking, hearty laugh, louder than the first. "That shit smites!" Beating his chest with a fist banishes it. "Quar lien the sporte in that? Bisides, 'tis mo japeli bi fer to quiken the spirit of theim as medeme as he. To fraist theim," he says, casually listing with fingers, "To espy theim offered. If I am toquell som-wight, hit shouldst wel ofern the quellinge." "Gaze upon this." Bercilak rises from his seat, and his armor constructs itself in rapid molecular assembly, blue light bathing his body as his axe, aglow in that same blue light, appears in his hand. People are straight up just bailing--just running out, except for the manager, a scrawny thirty-something trying to shrink himself as far down into that vacant booth as possible. Clank. Clank. Clank. Clank. A shadow falls over the manager, who is now trembling like the last unshed leaf of a tree, in a cold, hard fall breeze. The monomolecular edge of the axe casts a gentle, sickly glow over him. "Quar is that shit thou wert spekinge bifore, sib? Is this Steak Shack -thine?-" Silence--almost. There's a whimper. "O, but a litel weve bifore, thou wert speking that -god- shit. /Gate up./" When he doesn't, Bercilak picks the short-haired man up by the throat, and squeezes it--hard enough that Sylvi can feel terror arcing from his mind. A cornered animal. "Al thy felaues journeied outwith. Thy hirer shalt not journei hither to at-ren honds for thee. Gate the fuck oute--and ayen-come not in lasse thou shalt ren theim honds THYSELF!" Bercilak chucks him--puts his whole back, hip and shoulder into it. He goes flying through the window, shattering it, staining jagged shards red. Outside, mending nanites give him just enough strength to stagger to his feet and allow him escape. "'TIS -MY- STEAK SHACK ANAU, BICCHE! LITEL BABBE MAN!" Sylvi's will, should it bump against that manager's, does feel fear... but also the kind of humiliation that only shit talk as stupid as Bercilak's can incite. "BABA! BABA!" He raises his gauntleted fingers to his T-visor and pantomimes a crying child wiping its eyes. Humiliation done, he says, "Espy that? Hit shalt be /over/-sportli if he ayen-comen." He might just... not. Because you'd have to be really proud to try a runback against someone that just put you through a window. But that's the fun part--sometimes you get someone that actually mashes the rematch button. Bercilak removes his helmet, and is grinning wide. He carefully sits down next to Sylvi. Clunk. The chair collapses anyway.
Sylvi	He puts on a show -- and what a show it is. And the whole time Sylvi watches... Him. Oh, she can hear the man that he sends mewling and fuming away, through the wall. When all is said and all is done, though, yellow-green ophidian-slit eyes blink, and Sylvi smiles-approaching-fondness. "It's sweet of you to make offerings and mark temples, and I won't tell you to stop. I'm just built different, B." Her voice drops to a sibilant rattle-husk. "It's ssso boring, the little ssoulss of all of them. I don't even noti-ss-e them mosst of the time. They're worth lessss than a blade of grassss." As Bercilak slides in next to her, and then collapses the chair beside her, her own chair follows suit, simply unable to bear her, and she makes no special efforts to stay upright, instead sprawling out on the floor next to the Green Knight. She breathes in deeply through her nose, and holds for an irregular moment before grunting and rolling over onto her elbow and side, to sprawl there in the rubble of their seating and gaze lazily. Her husk ceases with an 'it can't be helped' shrug. "I won't get into which has more worth. It's because I can tell. I can smell it on them. Worth, and the stink of being a complete waste of my time." She shakes her head. "He won't come back. And that's why I didn't bother. If I want cheap fear I can go to any city in most worlds and sit in a bar with the news on the TV. It's free. Humans got so good at torturing each other I can't even be bothered with the smallest fry any more."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	"Per happes not," Bercilak concedes. Maybe he won't be back. "'Tis -theim- dice which I shalt threu al-wais." But he makes a point of trying, nonetheless. Often, people do run away. But sometimes, you roll the dice and win big time. The armor disappears. "I lik that thou'rt differenced from me," he says, sitting up and scooting over to be closer to her. He takes her hand in his. "That theim differences stond bituhhen us not." Gently, he takes her hand, stroking across the back of it with his thumb. "I am muchly biloven of theim liti soules, mightles and medeme thei might be--nothing maken me mo joiouse than to espy theim bettringe. And thou..." He smiles. "Thou stond above-forth al theim liti soules, thy fortitude, thy magnificence, gret ynogh to maken theim unhopful and despeiring." There's a little glimmer in his blood red eye as he squeezes her hand. "Dight differentli, yea," he says again. "But dight beautiousli. Thy mightihed, thy savageri, aues me to hights e'er mo gret--maken me ifele smal biside thee, quikens mine herte, my lest of bettringe." He chuckles. "That thou smell som mesure of esteme in me..." His hand squeezes her. "I liken hit wel. Whanne-so thou loke upon me, as thou did litel weve bifore..." His sly grin says it all. He likens that -really- wel.
Sylvi	Sylvi lets her hand be turned at the wrist, drawn with a little slack and the gentle curl of muscles at rest. Actually moving it about - shifting her arm - is an amusing task roughly equivalant to the presumptive bars of a strongman competition - Casually resistant to those unchosen many, but a simple matter for the few. Resistance enough to be interesting. "You're the most interesting guy in the room, B." She smiles. "And, you know, you literally worship me, so I have to play favorites. What will you do next?" Her hand leaves his, pointedly, to move about Bercilak's head, taking him by a scruff of head and the meat of his right ear. Her fingers claw lightly into the side of his scalp, gently dragging sharp fingernails across the back of his skull with the pressure of her fingertips. The pressure would send pops and stars to the forebrain and eyes of a human, but perhaps Bercilak is built different too. She doesn't say anything for a moment, eyes drowning his with a dopey reflection across her severe, wide-slit gaze. Then she locks lips with him, a taking-kiss, all rough passion and force. The whole time, rather than an intimate dimming to a point, she watches him, drills into his eyes, pours her attention all the way to the back of his skull. Then she releases his ear and pushes him, by his broad and arch-braced chest, back. Five fingers braced on outward-curled points move him with a firm pressure, and stay there. "Yeah, B? You want to just be looked at? You know how to get my attention, but..." She licks her lips. "What are you going to do to keep it?"
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	What will he do next? The only thing he can. Watched so intently, he is seen to close his eyes during the taking. He is felt, trying to take back. Trying to enjoy the struggle, to revel in it, heart racing, chest swelling with hurried, greedy breaths of air, hands daring hers to intercede as they wander. Intercede she does--pushing him back. What does he do, to keep that attention? Panting, licking his lips, he strains against her grasp. "I shalt prei," he says, with a fiery gleam in those blood-red irises. Bercilak knows better than to expect she'll hear his prayers without suitable offering. So, after seemingly backing off for just a moment, he drops into a low stance and leaps forward like an animal after the jugular. His broad arms attempt to pin hers with the strength of his grasp and the force of his sudden impact against her--strong enough to crack the floor beneath her. But is it strong enough to pin her arms? Sylvi is far stronger than he, but he's trying so very hard. So very hard to use every part of him as an instrument to demand her attention--her favor, that he even uses his teeth, attempting to drive them through her shoulder and grunting a nonverbal expression of his will. Of course, he doesn't expect her to make it that easy--which is why, should she try and strip her grasp, he'll reach for the nearest chair to try and bludgeon from above like a club. He'd said they ought to break something together, and there's such a nice handprint across the street. Maybe they can go for two?