Scene Listing || Scene Schedule || Scene Schedule RSS
Owner Pose
Calvin Nash      Travel to Ossabaw Island is now easier than it was before, thanks to the establishment of a Warpgate on the shores, courtesy of the Warprunners. That much is the result of last week's vote, but it's not the sole reason you've been invited here. The gatehouse has been expanded to fit the warpgate the 'Runners built, and a freshly-built desk is manned by a pale, gangly freckled redhead perhaps in her early twenties, who eagerly takes down names and times of arrival on the first page of a notebook.

    A short, stout Demon Marshal in her mid-forties offers warm greetings with a wave of her callused, dark sepia-brown hand and a glimmer in her blue eyes. A bun of wiry hair bound tightly behind her bounces as she animatedly introduces herself; Marshal Thompson explains that Calvin's waiting for you at the Last Resort, and offers directions on how to get there. "They call it that 'cause it's the last place in Ossabaw to get a drink before you're in Richmond Hill," she says. Unlike Calvin, her uniform has a toolbelt wrapped around the the waist.

    "Don't you mean Keller?" asks Rhonda, the girl at the desk, her lips curled in the smirk of a habitual shit-stirrer.

    Marshal Thompson rolls her eyes.

    Thompson's partner stands barely knee-high to her, a hoary old dwarf with a one-eyed squint set beneath a pair of bushy eyebrows, his white beard draped like a curtain beneath wizened cheekbones and pointed ears. He leans on a hammer--the kind for fixing and making, rather than fighting. Like her, he wears a belt meant for holding tools (his in a satchel); he wears also the blue smock and tough leather gloves of a craftsman, plus a high-collared mantle for warmth.  He and Thompson must be here to keep the gate working, then. "Don't feel compelled to keep up with that one," he cautions in a mirthful tone, his accent vaguely Icelandic.

    "You'll see what I mean, just watch him."

    "Anyway, go on ahead! I'll let Calvin break the news to y'all," says Thompson.

    The dwarf, Sven, snorts. "Aye, you'd never hear the end of the bitching if you didn't."

---

    Even outside of the gatehouse, there's a life in the air, a palpable buzz of excitement. The reeds swaying in the Ogeechee aren't alone in their dancing; a gaggle of fishermen have set up a bonfire and a small generator to power an old record player. The oldest of them guards it like it were made of glass (and it may as well be, aged as it is) while the others dance bootprints into the grey shore to the beat of a lively folk-country song bumping through the nearby speakers, cobbled together from scrap metal and carefully woven strands of palm.

    The way to the Last Resort isn't far, as Marshal Thompson had explained; indeed, some of you might remember it from the last visit here, being the first non-residential building you would have passed on the way in.

    It's maybe five minutes on foot, down that crushed oyster-shell road, beneath a mossy canopy of oaks shot through with pockets of starry midnight blue and lit by pale beams of moonlight.

    Along the way, you pass a few people already a few sheets to the wind; drunken revelers arm in arm stumble past you, variously offering slurred greetings, lost in their own little worlds.
Calvin Nash      "HOW 'BOUT THEM DAWGS?!" shouts an old man in a faded red baseball cap.

     "There ain't been no Dawgs in fifty damn years, Harold," slurs his equally elderly companion.

    "HOW 'BOUT THEM DAWGS?!" Harold shouts, triumphant and defiant as he passes by.

    The Last Resort, then: it's a building in the same style as the bunk houses, freshly made as opposed to antebellum, but larger, wider, to accommodate crowds. Calvin's truck is parked nearby in a little oystershell lot, as is another Marshal's half-track, evidently converted from a consumer light pickup with hammered scrap treads and salvaged wheels.

    Music--live music--thrums audibly from inside, something that sounds like an evolution-slash-fusion of 90s new wave with a washed out lead guitar inspired by pop country-western of the same era. It hits you all at once as the front door opens: the smell of flowing spirits, the music, the faint hint of tobacco, the clack of a broken set of billiards.
Futaba Nuki The ease of traveling to Ossabaw brings with it an easier time for Futaba to show up right on time instead of arriving early, dressed in her usual jacket and shorts combo that doesn't really look all that ninj-alike at all. There's no reason to today, at least, since it's a day of drinking and hanging out rather than a day to look fancy or get into hgigh-flying fights.

After signing in at the desk and chatting up Rhonda for a minute too long for it to merely be polite, she greets the Marshal Thompson  and Sven with a two-fingered salute before introducing herself with that same level of energy. "That bad out there or something? Well, don't ruin too much of the surprise. I haven't had real bad drinks in a long time. Realy need to get that full experience tasting it fresh, y'know?"

Is it Richmond Hill or is it Keller? She'll find out by the time she gets out there to meet Calvin. Sven's gentle warning gets a chuckle out of Futaba, and she nods once before clapping her hands together excitedly. "Sounds good to me. Wait, who's gonna be bitching about whatnow?" She asks in feigned ignorance, laughing all the while on the way out to finally head to the Last Resort.

That's not to say she's in a massive rush to get there, of course, since there's plenty of things to see on the way there. She still remembers some of the way there, too, so she takes little detours here and there, checking out those fishermens' catches and watching the merry dancers from a nearby treeline to recharge some of her brooding hero batteries for the first time in a while.

Upon stepping into the Last Resort, Futaba takes all of two seconds to listen to the people inside before shouting out "Heck yeah, the Dawgs!" She has no idea who those are, of course, but the energy even from the old man is infectious, and she visibly vibes with the music the moment it hits her ears.  The smell, the sights, the sounds...

It feels just too old to be part of her past, but still fresh enough to be exciting to hear all at once. Coming on up to Harold and that just-as-old companion of his, the tanuki takes a moment to greet them with her usual salute/wave. "Hey there! You didn't happen to see the owner of that truck out there around, did ya? Calvin, if that helps."
Madeleine Cadrasteia     Madeleine is having a bad curse day. That's like a bad hair day, but with a higher chance of being eaten by a tiger. Even so, she's dragged herself out to Ossabaw Island. As she trudges out through the gatehouse with hardly a word besides her name, Rhonda's bright hair emits a growl only Madeleine can hear. Did a lock of it just swipe at Madeleine, or was that wind from the open door?

    Outside, the music grates at the huntress's ears, and she scowls and picks up her pace. The moonlight prickles on her face like a migraine aura, and the Last Resort is bound to be *worse*. The sound of live music gives her pause - on a day like this, was going out really a good idea? But, for one reason or another, she sighs, opens the door, and slinks inside.

    Immediately Madeleine scans the room for dangers and identifies the billiards table as a clear hazard to her curse. She steers far clear of that side of the establishment, nearly hugging the opposite wall on her way to the bar. Even at this distance, the five-ball regards her with a feline slit pupil.

    "Amaretto sour," she says to the bartender. "No cherries." Once she has her drink Madeleine finds a corner to sulk in and leans her bow against the wall, watching for Calvin and trying to subtly catch his eye without approaching anything too colorful.
Khosa The new warpgate to travel to Ossabaw means that Khosa does not have to deal with something that has increasingly become her bane: boats. Why are so many places only accessible by boat? The first time she was awed by all that water; now she's just getting progressively more vexed by the universe's insistance that she deal with it.

But she doesn't have to this time. So there.

Khosa doesn't mind having her name taken down, though she is picky about the spelling; that H is apparently important to the name even if it doesn't change the pronunciation all that much. She does not have any kind of family name or surname to give a 'full name' and gives her official name only as Khosa of Tyr; if she has a more personal epithet, she chooses not to use it.

"And what's Keller, then?" she asks with a smile, taking it as a place name. "I can find the place, though." She has been giving the dwarf a slightly thoughtful look, and as she passes by, she says - in Dwarven, which may not be the language he uses - "<I am pleased to see an elder.>" Because even though he doesn't look quite like the dwarves of her home - of which she's half-descended from - there's enough similarities that she can feel it. (She has the pointed ears, too, though much less hair - she's mostly bald.)

---

Outside is... nice. Khosa takes a deep breath of the night air, and has no trouble at all finding her way, even in the unlit (or less lit) areas. She grins at the revelers, though she is not entirely sure what the Dawgs are, and spends a moment listening to the music before catching up. She has long legs. She can manage.

Khosa's tendency to wear open vests decorated with dyed geometric patterns and brightly coloured sashes for belts is probably not making Madeleine's day any better, and while she isn't sure *why*, she figures out to stay away from Madeline during the walk after a while. Maybe that's why she lagged behind for a bit.

"Hey!" she calls, as soon as she makes it into the tavern. The details are different, but she's been in places that feel like this plenty of times in her day. Unlike Madeline, Khosa immediately gravitates to try to see if she can figure out how billiards is played; she's in a pretty jovial mood today, apparently. It's nice to stretch her legs and walk around.
Petra Soroka     Petra never actually made it to Ossabaw last time, so this level of ease of arrival is exactly as normal for her. Practically anywhere worth going either has a warpgate right nearby, or is a hundred miles away from one. She's also not entirely certain about what she's been invited to: it had been Angela who asked her to take the Eggpack there, and she was informed it was some kind of party, so she thought no further than that and assumed it'd be like any other party she'd been to as an Elite. Alcohol present, but not mandatory.

    A *bar* is something else, though. Petra's been to a bar exactly once, in practically the least threatening situation possible. The Puppy Pub she went to with Cinder was low-key, adorable, cozily private to not overwhelm the dogs, and she was there with her girlfriend and just watching TV. There's a social ritual to a *real* bar-- whose realness is tangible in the air before she even gets to it, by the noise and energy in the atmosphere-- that Petra has zero context for at all. At least Cinder will be here this time, too, but it's still anxiety-inducing.

    And she's under twenty-one! And--

    Petra's blood runs cold, and she stops in the middle of the road, boot-crunch on the road cut silent as she freezes up in the gaze of an implicit, omnipresent predator. She's going to a bar, with her *girlfriend*. In Georgia.

    The call of 'Dawgs', far from invigorating her with mirrored energy, makes her tense so rigidly that a flinch feels like it'd make her snap. Futaba's distant shout in return, out of sight, is the broadcast signal of judgemental social permanence-- not that Futaba, in particular, registers as much of a threat to Petra, but the continuance and overlap of a community she knows with this suddenly hostile-feeling town is abruptly suffocating. Petra scurries sideways off the road, ducking into a narrow gap between buildings, and presses her back to the wall, sliding the Eggpack off to hug it tightly in both arms.

    "Fucking-- Christ. I didn't think it'd be a-- I thought it'd be, like, a normal *party*, Ange. Like-- you know, just the fucking-- just, like-- almost everywhere we go, it's just, like, *us*? Elites? I didn't think about, that we'd end up in this fucking-- hillbilly-ass racist fucking hellhole." Petra says racist, when she means homophobic, or even just bigoted. It's easier to say the one that's relatedly true, but not personally threatening.

    "I can't believe I never took the fucking chance to explain this stuff to Cinder when I had it. This *keeps* happening. Like, it happened with Meika, back then, too-- uuuuuuuuaghhh." Petra needs to get it out of her system, so she moans and bitches to Angela (who is, at the moment, wearing a cowboy hat that's being squished beneath Petra's chin). "It's not like I can say anything *now*. It's too fucking late. God, and then I can imagine, like, trying to keep a little distance with her there so no one gets weird, and her not getting it and getting sad about it, and then trying to talk and then it's *way* weirder for people to see, and--"

    "Fucking sucks." Petra kicks at the ground, now at least a bit more angry than petrified. "Sorry, Ange. This'll be a bit-- a bit weird. Fuck."

    She's still committed to going, and more importantly, committed to taking Angela. And not letting down Cinder. Maybe letting down Cinder, and letting down Angela, but only a little bit. It's normal for Petra to let people down, and probably everyone's going to be let down by her some tonight, but she can at least try to... try to....
Petra Soroka     Dragging herself along by paralytic nervous momentum alone, Petra slaps her hand down on the bar and stares directly at the bartender. Advanced processes like social grace are rapidly shutting down, and the dancing crowd within the bar feels like a physical mass of heat pressing against her back, expanding with the pressure of infinite Earths. "Hi. I don't know how to order drinks. Can I have something that makes my brain stop working?"

    Petra joins Madeleine in the corner with a shot of absolutely foul tequila gripped in both hands. Thankfully, she's not too colorful today. Dressed up slightly for what she expected to be a calm night out, she's wearing a standard beanie, flannel, and jeans, with the shirt beneath it having a deeper v-neck than she almost ever tolerates. This means exposing the tapestry of tooth-based violence inflicted on her over the week-long boat trip, extending down her collarbone.

    She mutters to herself, staring at the drink. "Oh god. They're going to think I'm some kind of freak." She's also still wearing a bondage collar.
Angela Cinder and Rose are part of the Lobcorp team and, of course, Angela is coming along as well. She has never met a fantasy-style dwarf before and actually, due to the range of the Eggpack's video screen, it's actually a little frustrating to look in that direction, with several seconds of a dip of the video screen to get a good look at Sven. Someone (Petra) has put a cowboy hat on the Eggpack.

Upon learning that they are going to a place called The Last Resort, both Cinder and Rose immediately start singing a song FROM THE MULTIVERSE that Mikey has been singing throughout the facility and getting Agents hooked on.

"Suffocation! No breathing! Don't give a fuck if I cut my arm, bleeding...!" Rose sings.

"This is my last resort!" Cinder joins in. It's STUCK in their head now.

Nevertheless, Angela raises a hopeful eyebrow when someone mentions 'Dogs' only to frown when she realizes dogs are not involved here. "Pitiable." Angela says of the lack of dogs. She has been thinking about pets, but she's not really sure if 'dogs' are her type. She's seen 'The Big And WIll Be Bad Wolf' shred people too many times. Something that doesn't make her remember things, Angela settles on.

Angela can't drink, of course, but the Eggpack settles into Petra's arms.

"Mm..There are more strangers than I am accustomed to," Angela admits. "Are hillbillys normally...--or are those two unrelated qualities?" She doesn't even know what a hillbilly ass is. "'Hillbilly' is a bit unfamiliar to me."

She looks over towards Rose and Cinder who are enough distance away that the noise is prevening them from hearing the conversation.

"I don't think it's too late." Angela adds. "If you want to leave, we can leave. LobCorp has an interest here, but it isn't ... critical."

''Can I have something that makes my brain stop working?''

Angela opens her mouth to make a suggestion and then shuts it.

She looks to Madeleine after.

"Madeleine. It has been some time since we could converse properly. ... Are you worried about the hill bills?"
Calvin Nash EARLIER

I am pleased to see an elder.

    The Understanding helps bridge the differences between Sven and Khosa's languages. "Aye, and I'm pleased to see kin. Stop by the forge sometime and chew the fat with Kendra and I, eh?"

    Hey there! You didn't happen to see the owner of that truck out there around, did ya? Calvin, if that helps.

    "Oh, that one'll be up all night," says Harold's partner. "I'm Avery, by the way. Me and Harold live down 'ere on the beach." They smile at Futaba with mirth dancing in their brown eyes. A tee hangs loosely off of them, the splatter eyes of a smiley face staring up at Futaba while the grin is obscured by their stooped posture. "I remember those days," they fondly reminisce. "*These* days me and Harold can't take but one or two drinks 'till we're ass over teakettle," comes the next admission between laughter. "Go on in, sweetie, you'll find 'im in there."

THE LAST RESORT

    At the east end of the room, the band plays on a small stage for a crowd of young and old--just like their members:

    An old man dressed all in black (western shirt, jeans, cowboy boots), with pink, sun-beaten skin and a thinning mane of shoulder length white hair works the lead guitar. His callused fingers, nails painted black, dance with expert ease up and down the strings, his guitar's sound heavily altered into a pleasant washout that gives the aforementioned mix of country-western and new wave.

    The keyboardist is his equal in age and his opposite in vibe, operating a lovingly cared pair of old Moogs, withdrawn into himself and lost in the music. Knobby, umber brown fingers poke out from the sleeves of a worn olive turtleneck, punching the keys with conviction. His gray-and-black curls are styled in a pompadour that you mostly see the top of, and he looks like he'd be just at home here as in an 80s British progressive act.

    The drummer, a rosy-skinned girl in her twenties with a flannel shirt tied around the waist of her white tank top confidently pounds a backbeat into her paint-flaked, mismatched kit, foot pumping the hi-hat as she rocks to the rhythm and sets her blonde sidetail bouncing. A kid a few years her junior (but still old enough to be in a bar) appears to be her brother, his own blonde locks falling over the right side of his face as he bends a countermelody to the lead guitar out on a taped-together keytar.

    At the west end, the same wreath of wires which powers the band's equipment adorns the spot where ceiling meets wall, looped into a large LCD timer which rests on a nail driven into the wall, currently reading 00:00. What this timer is for is fairly evident: a mechanical bull, surrounded by a protective circle of padded scavenged chain-link and a cushioned floor.

    A COMP-wearing couple of men in their fifties are engaged in back and forth games of pool with a pair of demons; the portly broad-shouldered hobgoblin among them seems to be shit at the game and loving it. If it's at all visible to Petra past the radiation of her own expectations, no one seems to be after them with any pitchforks.

    The hobgoblin explains the game to Khosa: his understanding is sound, so say the other players as he explains. His issue is that he loves trying to take risks and be fancy and either stops short of a shot or ends up making one for his opponent. This is his third game, and one of many played by this group tonight; he's not only lost all his matches but his score has consistently been the lowest among the other players, much to the playful derision of the thirty-something couple and the cait sith (who, despite having to stand on the table and tuck the cue under his arm to play, is a decent shot). He's a good sport.
Calvin Nash      Meanwhile, the bar proper is lined with shelves of spirits spanning a diverse selection of points of origin; many look pre-WWIII, some look homemade. A chalkboard behind the bartender--that same graying redhead that waved hello on the first visit--displays the mixed drinks on offer, as well as prices for spirits and homemade draft beers.

Amaretto sour, no cherries.

    "Coming right up, darlin'," says the proprietor to Madeleine with a smile. She kicks open a cooler with a backwards buck of her leg, grabbing the spirit down from the shelf with her left hand. Fresh lemon is of course involved--squeezed, not garnished, but she also introduces a little bourbon and egg white, stirred with a glazed clay spoon for lack of something more bartenderly.

Hi. I don't know how to order drinks. Can I have something that makes my brain stop working?

    "It all does, sugar pie," purrs the redhead to Petra. "I could too, if you ask nice. How 'bout I start you off with some of Glenn's... oh, what the hell does he call that shit..." She snaps her polished-nail fingers (one nail differently shaped than the others), trying to rouse her brain into working.

     "Berlinweiss!" calls someone down the bar. The word sounds funny in the southeast US accent.

    "That's right!" The bartender beams. "Berlinweiss. Just you wait--This here's real mild, goes down easy and it's a great summer taste." She grabs a glass and taps a keg, pouring it for Petra. Golden brown, with a nice head. Her eyes drift to the collar, then to Cinder. "That your girl there?" she asks conversationally as she slides the drink down the bar to Petra. "She's awful lucky," teases the bartender.

     True to her word, it's delicious. It barely tastes like beer, and it's pleasantly, refreshingly sour, rather than the watered-down excuses for pilsners that often get served in America.

    Calvin is seated at the bar, too. Sans uniform, sans hat; rather, he wears a beige barn jacket with red flannel inlay over a white tee, and tight sky blue boot-cut jeans hug the ankles of brown leather cowboy boots. The curls at the end of of his blonde mullet actually resemble the curls of the tiny, older, just-barely-platinum-blonde woman sitting one seat over from him... as do their blue eyes share a resemblance. "Hey, y'made it," says Calvin excitedly, lifting a glazed clay glass once he notices everyone.
Calvin Nash      "Gandharva, Apsaras, Mama, these are those people from off-world I was tellin' you about."

    "Hey there. Gina Nash," she says, extending a wrinkled hand no stranger to hard work in the direction of whoever will take it. Like Calvin, she's wearing a COMP, too, wrapped around the sleeve of a well-loved and comfortable looking University of Georgia sweater. It's been patched over many times, but keeps her warm this cool evening, while deep blue jeans terminate just shy of heavy work boots. "Nice to meet y'all!"

    Opposite Calvin, between him and his mother, is a green-skinned demon with horns and long, silky black hair that reaches the spot where his calves would be, did his legs not more closely resemble a horses from the knees down. A jeweled circlet, bangles at the biceps and wrists, and a belt of matching baubles adorns his svelte, mostly bare body, save a white waistcloth--he's got a hand around Calvin's waist, as does Apsaras. "How's it going, gang?" asks Gandharva. The accent sounds Indian. "Gandharva," he says, offering a hand. "That's my wife, Apsaras."

    "Enchanted to meet you!" By comparison, Apsaras has skin like the color of a moon-kissed pond, hair like the blue of the oceanand a fondness for silver and sapphire to contrast Gandharva's gold and ruby. Her hair is kept short, bound in loops at the back, with a teardrop-jeweled headress to keep it neat up front. Like the demon opposite her, she has the physique and bearing of a dancer, sporting a white silk leotard, a sapphire-encrusted belt, and a white silk scarf draped on her shoulders, no doubt easily used as a prop. Also like Gandharva, she seems... 'friendly' with Calvin, one hand resting on his bicep and the other on his back.

    Calvin is completely oblivious to the way the two dote on him. "So, I wanted to be the one to break the news t'yall: Votes came in! As of today, the Southeast Assembly's gunning for a place in the Commonwealth. Can I get a HELL YEAH?"

     A chorus of HELL YEAHS plus a 'HELL YEAH BROTHER' erupts scattered across the bar.

     "Chug that shit, boy!" Comes a cry from a smoker in the back.

     Calvin tips his glass back and finishes his beer in one gulp. "I got your tabs tonight," he says, clinking the glass definitively on the table. "Y'all just remember the golden rule," he says, holding an index up, a grave expression on his face.

     "Liquor before beer, you're in the clear. Beer before liquor, never been sicker. Y'all got some catching up to do, y'hear?"
Madeleine Cadrasteia     "Madeleine. It has been some time since we could converse properly. ... Are you worried about the hill bills?"

    "The- the what? No, it's..." Madeleine trails off. "Yeah, we haven't talked in a while. Sorry I was only around to help with Chesed and not Gebura, but you know how Girl In The Mirror gets. I'm glad it all worked out anyway. It's..." she looks from her drink to the Eggpack's screen. "Yeah, it is good to see you again. I've been pretty busy, honestly, between stuff here and Elibe. Nice to have a chance to relax." She does not appear relaxed. Instead, she rubs her temple and blinks hard a few times before taking another sip.

    "Hey, uh, Petra? Do you... do you need a doctor?" A glance at the exposed bite marks. "You had those at Castle Carrow's grand opening, right? They don't look like they've healed one bit." Look away, sip. "Don't want to get infected." A pause to think, but not long enough to think very *clearly*. "Did you get those from the Quicknest stuff? Those squirrels have some claws."

    Madeleine keeps her eyes mostly on Calvin, and gives him a little beckoning wave when he turns around to announce the results of the vote. She silently prays that his jewel-bedecked and brightly-toned companions won't see fit to follow if he notices her and approaches.
Futaba Nuki EARLIER
"That so? Oh, I saw some pretty chill people hanging around there on the way over here. Nice place." Futaba chimes back at Avery, evidently comfortable with just mingling with the locals without a second thought to pretty much anything. Just as well, too, since she's not so dense as to not notice Madeleine's and Petra's earlier discomfort with being in this area at all. Avery's amicable enough that she doesn't feel a need to put her guard up, though, and she even chuckles lightly at the admission. "Really? Sounds like some of the folks I know back home. Thanks!"

INSIDE
Still slightly on guard and acting as a self-appointed/unstated magnet to vibe test the place, Futaba takes a quick look around inside the bar proper. Luckily, there's already a show inside for her to enjoy inside, both to continue vibing to with her ears to and to watch with her face. The band keeps her distracted for several moments before she finally notices the game of pool going on between humans and demons, and she stands on her tiptoes a few times to try and see around everyone else before remembering she can just subtly add a few more inches to her neck with nobody being the wiser.

It totally looks weird, but it just happens so smoothly and naturally that Futaba doesn't notice herself doing it. She doesn't really know how to play pool, though, so watching the balls hit other balls after getting poked really hard with a stick only keeps her attention for so long before she heads over to the bar.

"Calvin, hey! Haven't been waiting for us long, have you?" She asks with an easygoing laugh, raising her hand up for what is most assuredly going to be a full-on dap. "Futaba Nuki. Good to meet you, too, Miss Nash!" She moves onto Gina afterwards, going for a more polite handshake complete with gentle double-handed patting. "Futaba. I'm doing great, Mister Gandharva. Same to you, Miss Apsaras."

Although she doesn't recognize their specific names or their particular style of dress, Futaba's tone does change juuuust a bit, like she's subconsciously shifting to a more formal one. Even the handshakes are more reserved.

Calvin's news gets a briefly confused look from Futaba, and then she understands what he's getting at a few seconds later. "... Oh. Hell yeah, brother! That'll make things way easier for sure, especially if you wanna see what kinds of stuff we get to outside of here." Feeding off the energy from the bar, Futaba lets out a mirthful noise before leaning towards the counter and turning to the redhead bartender. "Oh. Can I get your... What's your most unpopular thing that tastes bad? I want one of those, aaand something good to follow it up with."

Wait. Calvin's got a tip, and she remembers something else. "Oh. You got any big big BIG sandwiches? I haven't had lunch yet." She asks, then she turns back to Calvin with the same grin from before. "Soooo. What've you got your eyes on now? Any big plans or just seeing what comes up?"
Sarracenia      There may now be a more convenient warp gate, but Sarracenia is always looking for excuses to use the Dyna. And showing her favorite vehicle to another vehicle enthusiast is a good reason! As others come walking through the local gate, a wooden VTOL much like an Osprey comes flying in overhead. It may be a bit difficult to see in the early hours of night, but it has proper flight lighting and headlights to fix that. It circles around the new warp gate and even barrel rolls a couple of times before coming down for a landing.

     It lands near the new warpgate, the engines wind down, and the cockpit pops open. Sarracenia hops out, not wearing her usual red royal gown for once. This is a party in 'the country' if she heard things correctly, and so she has donned what she thinks is an appropriate outfit. An open red denim vest over a white shirt, a red denim skirt to match, black leggings (because she still isn't allowed to show much skin), and a set of black cowboy boots with Bullet Bill shark faces on the toes. She also wears her metallic gloves and her burgundy metal lotus hairpin. Her crown has been temporarily integrated into a short-brimmed red felt cowboy hat.

     She also gives her name to the freckled redhead if asked. Princess Sarracenia Sundew, Crown Princess of the Sundew Kingdom.

     The reason it is called the Last Resort is mostly lost on her, as is the reference to Keller. She laughs politely anyway before walking the five minutes to the bar.

     The man passing by shouting about the dawgs makes her giggle lightly. She arrives a bit after everyone else, so she does not realize who all is here until she nears the bar.

     And one of the first things she hears is Petra complaining about things. She can't quite hear what is being said at first, but she makes her way that way to try and listen in. She doesn't take a seat by Petra and Madeleine, but she does say something as she passes.

     "Of course they will think you are a freak. But, luckily for you, this is the sort of place that celebrates or at least tolerates freaks. Did you not hear the man shouting about 'dogs' that have not existed for 50 years?" she says. There is some snark to it, but this is supposed to be a party so she is trying to play nice. She does also say hello to Madeleine and Angela. Only hello though, because anything more than that seems likely to start trouble.

     Sarra moves to Calvin after that. She curtseys in a royal fashion despite her outfit and smiles to those gather with him. "Nice to meet you as well!" she says to Gina. She shakes Gandharva's hand when offered, and is obviously marveling at the appearance of the demons.

     She looks curious about how they dote on Calvin, but since he seems oblivious she figures it must be he's a good friend of the pair.

     Calvin makes the announcement, and Sarra joins in the cheer. "He-...h-heck yeah!!" she says, then blushes a bit and her eyes dart around self-consciously. She does not curse. Even heck is pushing it quite a bit. She blinks as she is told she needs to catch up on drinking. "Oh...ah...w-well, I do not really drink alcohol. But, this is a celebration so I will follow your lead!"
Angela ''But you know how GIrl in the Mirror gets''

Angela smiles fondly at Petra, just for a moment, before looking back to Madeleine. "That's alright. Battling Gebura directly is something I could only trust to a singular--well two, in the end--individuals. Simply swarming Gebura with numerous enemies would have only made her stronger and even should victory be obtained in battle--it would not have served as a victory over the Meltdown.I could not be more pleased with how it went--especially considering we've never gotten past Gebura before. I would not change anything--for all I know it would result in a disaster."

She quirks her head. "Elibe?"

''DO you need a doctor?''

"Do not worry, she had those even when she was a robot." Angela says. " My understanding is they are normal."

Rose, sobering up metaphorically (and is too young to drink) ((In her mind)), watches the demons with some wariness but it seems so normal she can't be too fussed.

''That your girl there? She's awful lucky.''

"I'm the luckiest gal alive." Cinder beams. "Petra! I love this bartender!"

''I could too, if you ask nice.''

Cinder freezes in place. "Ahah..."

She can't make Petra's brain stop working!! Agggghhh!

Angela continues to be unaware of homophobia as a concept.
Khosa "Just don't expect any great skills from me," Khosa says, about being invited to a forge - she's never worked one in her life. "I'm more into carving and engraving." Because you can do a lot of it without much in the way of tools.

--

Khosa has some interest in the mechanical bull, too, and she can make a guess what it's for. She's seen rodeo before - they don't do it with bulls, but some other animals are just as hard to stay on, fast in sudden bursts and surprisingly strong. She'd probably be pretty good at it.

But far more of her attention is for a game being played with people than for a machine being set to one side. Billiards is both social and competitive and thus far more interesting, and Khosa falls into some easy conversation, asking questions about the game - and the players. She's friendly, and clearly interested in both those topics.

"I'm gonna be back," she says after a few minutes of that. "I've a drink to get, and someone to meet. But maybe if there's a spot for a fifth I'll play later... and if there's not, I'm going to come back and chat, at least." She will, too; she'll almost certainly be playing with *someone* by the end of the night.

But Khosa really does want a drink. She recognizes none of the brands but a couple of the actual spirits are familiar to her, and some others she can make good guesses (she's never going to identify some, like scotch, though). "Hey," she says, trying to get out in front of Petra getting teased - she's gathered she doesn't handle it well. "I'm not local and I don't recognize half of these. What's good - is there a local special? I'll try anything." She glances over toward Futaba as *she* orders. "Maybe not everything, though. I'll leave the bad stuff to her."

She leans there and chats with Calvin while that's handled. Well, Calvin and friends; she's quite happy to shake Gina Nash's hand. Khosa does not go to show off by squeezing hard, but she's a large, physically powerful woman and it comes through. "Nice to meet you, too," she says. "Khosa. I'm one of the foreigners, you might have gathered." That with a grin - Khosa can't really be anything else around here.

Her gaze passes toward Gandharva and Apsaras. She approves of... at least one of them, judging by the change in tone of her smile. "Pleasure," she says, leaving it at that. Calvin doesn't seem to care, so...

"The vote went through? Congratulations, if that's the right word - I think you all made a good choice, though." Well, Khosa, being a Paladin, is probably slightly biased. She laughs at the advice: "I'll be fine with either order," she assures Calvin.
Sarracenia      Sarracenia is glad to see Futaba. They aren't friends really, but so far Nuki has proven not to hate Sarra. Which, you know, is nice, so Sarra ends up staying somewhat close to Futaba for now. After Calvin's introductions she takes a look around the bar. Her eyes sparkle at the novelty of a mechanical bull. "Oh! I will have to try that~" she says, then looks toward the pool tables.

     And blinks a bit at Futaba's oddly long neck. She giggles softly. "Usually when someone stretches to see it is not quite this literally." she teases lightly.

     Khosa is someone that Sarracenia hasn't met before. Khosa is also big and powerful-looking, and Sarra's cheeks redden slightly. She smiles though and offers a hand to Khosa. "Hello! I do not believe we have met properly. I am Princess Sarracenia Sundew."
Petra Soroka "Are hillbillys normally...--or are those two unrelated qualities?"

    "No, no, they totally are. It's a thing." Petra, sociopolitical expert, insists to Angela while crouched against the wall in the alley, hiding from Cinder, Rose, and the Dawg-man. "So, you know, obviously, they're gonna be-- you know. It's just a word for poor people from the South. US. I mean, like, rural people."

    "Ughhhhh, I won't *leave*, it'd be *stupid* to-- it's just--" Petra heaves a breath in and out, refocusing, though it's distinctly different from 'calming down'. Her following calm tone feels more like the dread certainty of someone prepared to march up to the gallows, a duelist preparing herself for a final standoff, a gladiator minutes away from bleeding out into the sand. "No, I've got this. This is normal. I'm at war with the whole entire Earth, now and forever, because, like, that's the side I chose. Whatever they do, there's a trillion others of them, and I'm not worth shit if I die to the gravity of a backwater dump like this."

"I could too, if you ask nice."

    Petra blinks slowly at the bartender, adrenaline battle-fugue sending her thoughts into a rush that simultaneously feels as if time slows around her, and all her responses are sluggish. What does she mean by this? Petra must have missed a critical step in bar etiquette. She was too rude to the bartender; she just walked up and demanded a drink without any kind of small talk or courtesy. Of course, how could she make that kind of misstep the moment she walked in? Now everyone will know she doesn't belong here; not in this bar, not in what's left of this state, and frankly she's lost her place among the living a long time ago.

    "Oh, right, yeah. Please?"

"That your girl there? She's awful lucky,"

    Petra's eyes widen like a deer in headlights. "Who? Cinder? She's a girl? Mine, I mean? I don't know about-- I don't think I said anything-- o-or did anything? What did I do? She's my normal, coworker. She's kind of lucky, maybe? A lot of her coworkers had just died when we met."

    Petra is handed a beer. Remembering her earlier revelation, she abruptly stops stammering and smiles politely. "Thanks, have a good day."

"Did you get those from the Quicknest stuff? Those squirrels have some claws."

    Petra, stiffly leaning against the wall and staring blankly out at the crowd like she's having Vietnam flashbacks, slowly tilts her head at Madeleine and wobbles a pointer finger around in the air at herself until confusedly confirming that Madeleine means the bite marks around her collar with Lilian's symbol dangling from it. "Huh? Quicknest? Oh, that was ages ago. I didn't get touched by any squirrels. You know, I kicked eight heroes' asses at once; Proudpick never stood a chance."
Petra Soroka     "No, uh," Petra answers the implicit follow-up question automatically, about 'If not Quicknest, then where *are* they from?' Unfortunately, she does so in the most thorough way possible, like she's giving a step by step report while vaguely shellshocked. "This one's from that night on the ship after I won that game of cards against Dieck's guys and got too smug about it. This one and this one were from the first night after I spent hours scrubbing the deck for no reason. These were from right before those pirates attacked, and these were right after--"

"Elibe?"

    Offhandedly, she explains to Angela, "The continent that Roy and everyone's on."

"But, luckily for you, this is the sort of place that celebrates or at least tolerates freaks."

    "Oh, god, that's *so much worse*." Petra blurts out to Sarracenia before realizing it's her, and then wheels around to glare at her in a way that seems more shocked and defensive than angry. She tries to clench her fists, which reminds her that there's a glass in one of them, and she just stares at it for a moment before suddenly downing the entire thing.

    She closes her eyes, winces, and then holds that position for ten full seconds before re-opening them.

"Nice to meet y'all!"

    Twice in two days, Petra is presented with nice moms, so after her weird little meditative exercise, she shakes Gina's hand. "Hey, nice to meet you, I'm Petra. I'm pretty active in the Sector, so I guess your son might be running into me a lot if he'll be running with us."

    There are bisexual demons flanking Calvin, which Petra can't quite process at the moment. She might need another few glasses before she can. She just dimly acknowledges them with a wave, eyes darting around to see if anyone's looking at them.

"As of today, the Southeast Assembly's gunning for a place in the Commonwealth."

    "Oh, sic-- uh, I mean, hell yeah, brother..." Petra catches on to the chorus slow, and trails off rapidly when she ends up being the last one still cheering. She taps on her glass, face feeling a little warm already, and then hops up onto a bar seat near where Cinder's standing. Elbow propped on the bar, "You know, I actually was pretty close to joining the Paladins, at one point. I didn't, but they're pretty-- well, you better keep your shit in line around Lilian, though."

"Beer before liquor, never been sicker. Y'all got some catching up to do, y'hear?"

    Petra squints at her empty glass of beer, as if attempting to divine secrets from the remaining droplets. "Shit... did I fuck up already?"
Ivy Carrow     When the Warprunners finally step out of their side of the warpgate--with Ivy offering the gangly redhead a lazy salute, smile and a wink--the party's already well under way. "You've worked hard," she said, to the gaggle of accompanying runners. "Drinks are on me!"

    She throws the doors open to the Last Resort with abandon, her steps carrying her with an energetic bounce. She and the rest of the runners break up, still wearing the offical jackets and scarves that mark them apart from the pack. Luz approaches the billiards table, with a slow smile that wouldn't be out of place on a shark, as she steps in by Khosa. "Got room for one more?" She asked, leaning over the table.

    "A pleasure to meet you all." Ivy offered Gandharva, Apsaras and Mama and grandoise bow, throwing back her cloak before turning to Calvin. "Ossabaw made the right choice," she promised, "And I intend to prove it."

    "Please forgive our late arrival, marshal Calvin. We were occupied with--"

    "--Oh, don't be so stiff!" Ivy slapped her hand on the willowy vice-captain's back so hard he staggered forward. "It's a party! You already did the work! Unwind for once!"

    "Ha..." The smile that crawled over their face was warm, in a rare way. "...Maybe you're right."

    "Of COURSE I'm right~"

    Nina, meanwhile, had wandered over by the band, grinning stupidly wide, her shoulders bouncing faintly with the beat of the song. "W-wow..."
Calvin Nash Haven't been waiting for us long, have you?

    Calvin grins. "Well, like I said, Ms. Futaba," he explains, holding his hand up, thumb and forefinger pressed together in a 'little bit' gesture. "You got just a bit of catchin' up to do."

    "He's been here thirty minutes and didn't hardly wait five 'fore he started drinkin'," Gina asides.

    "That's okay though," says Gandharva, smiling coyly at Calvin. "If he overdoes it we'll take good care of him. And maybe even if he doesn't."

    "Oh, well thanks, Gandharva," says Calvin obliviously. "That's real nice of you two."

    Apsaras giggles, palm covering her mouth. "You're too much."

Oh. Can I get your... What's your most unpopular thing that tastes bad? I want one of those, aaand something good to follow it up with.

    "You're an odd duck, aren't you, sweetheart?" The bartender regards Futaba with a disbelieving smile, hands on her hips. "That'd be the Skull." She points up to a comically large bottle of cheap vodka labeled 'SKULL' in clumsily hand-painted letters. "Good vodka's not s'posed to taste like anything at all. That shit tastes like paint thinner. Glenn found it out with... who was it... J.M. Those two are obsessed with lootin', like anything worthwhile's gonna last. You shoulda seen their faces when they brought it back--like they had liquid gold."

    "Then they brought it in front of Charlene here tried it just to show off," Gina reminisces along with her, laughter already building in her eyes and the corners of her mouth before it erupts between the next sentence. "And they did the fastest damn 180 I ever seen. J.M. looked like she swallowed a toad!"

    "And Glenn looked like he frenched a power line. Good times," says the bartender, now known to be Charlene, chuckling as she pours Futaba a shot. Yep! It's paint thinner. Burns going down and leaves an awful, bitter aftertaste. She then makes a much more palatable cocktail, consisting of much better vodka, a little peach schnapps and freshly squeezed orange juice.

Oh. You got any big big BIG sandwiches? I haven't had lunch yet.

    "They don't serve food here, but I got you," says Calvin. He taps a few buttons on his COMP and a little pouch appears on the bar counter. He slides it down. It's a trail mix full of stuff that keeps for road trips; raisins, nuts, a few edible roots, roasted berries. It's not 'big big sandwich' filling but it's better than drinking on an empty stomach!
Calvin Nash Oh...ah...w-well, I do not really drink alcohol. But, this is a celebration so I will follow your lead!

    "That's what I like to HEAR, now! Hooo-WHEE!" Calvin claps uproariously.

    "Maybe you better follow mine or Gandharva's, sweetie. My son goes a little overboard sometimes," Gina says quietly. Apsaras and Gandharva nod in agreement. "Let's start you off with a sex-on-the-beach like Futaba there's got, give it thirty minutes and see how y'feel, okay?"

    Charlene makes a duplicate of Futaba's cocktail and slides it down to Sarra.

    "I like them boots, Princess," Calvin says amiably, bobbing his head to the music. "Interesting design you got there. That mean someting?"

Petra! I love this bartender!
Thanks, have a good day.

    This woman is unstoppable. She bulldozes through Petra's stammering--clearly, she heard the bit about Cinder's coworkers dying. But like a shark that's scented blood, she just keeps coming. "Well, you're sure welcome, Petra! Y'all just come on back any time and I'll treat you ~both right~," Charlene sinks her teeth into those last two words. Apsaras giggles musically at Charlene's overtures. "I never mind more pretty faces in my bar." Turning her attention back to Cinder, "How 'bout you, Cinder? Can I get *you* something too, sweetie?"

I've a drink to get, and someone to meet. But maybe if there's a spot for a fifth I'll play later... and if there's not, I'm going to come back and chat, at least.

    Khosa gets the idea she'll be warmly received by the demons and the two marshals--Frank and Demarie, in the case of the latter, the hobgoblin and cait sith inform her that they may be called Robin and Liam for her convenience; Demarie explains that demons of the fairy family don't often give their real names.

I'll be fine with either order.

    "Hey, same here!" Calvin is eager to push this narrative, despite his mention of the 'rule'. Gandharva smilingly shakes his head, and Charlene hides a snort.

I actually was pretty close to joining the Paladins, at one point. I didn't, but they're pretty-- well, you better keep your shit in line around Lilian, though.

    Calvin nods fervently. "Yes--yep," he says, stopping himself from ma'am-ing her as she'd asked once on the radio. "I believe it. And if that's the first thing you tell me about her, me and her's gonna be thick as thieves. When I'm off," he says, gesturing to his casual outfit, "I'm off. And you gonna see that. But when I'm on the clock, I work hard as I play. You gonna see that, too, I guarantee ya."
Calvin Nash Shit... did I fuck up already?

"It's an old wives' tale, sweetie," says Charlene. "Or at least, it mostly is. Liquor'll do the trick faster'n beer, so the idea is a few beers after a shot is less to deal with than a few shots after a beer. But long as you pace yourself, don't overdo it and drink some water every now 'n then, you'll be fine tonight and better tomorrow."

Drinks are on me!

    "Captain Carrow," says Calvin amiably but firmly. "I know you ain't spendin' your dime for your folks to get shit-faced when you could be spendin' mine. How 'bout y'all find the bottom of a glass real quick and let my macca do the talking?"

Madeleine: Wave Calvin over.

    Calvin taps the bar. "Hey, Charlene, lemme get a vodka on the rocks with some lime juice, a little ginger and that mint shit."

    Charlene smirks. "On the rocks? You got the magnetite for Jack? And the *patience* for 'im?"

    "You better believe it, sister," says Calvin.

    "Isn't that breaking the 'golden rule,' Calvin darling?" teases Apsaras, squeezing Calvin's bicep.

    "I can handle it," says Calvin.

    Gina rolls her eyes and shakes her head, lighting up a cigarette.

    "Hee ho! If you puke on the front steps again I'll cut you, ho!" comes a voice from down below the bar, as ice clinks into a cup. A purple vapor swirls upwards from Calvin and disappears behind the bar.

    "I done told you that was an accident, you little peckerwood. I seem to remember you was egging me on, too."

    "'How about another, puss-hee?'" repeats Apsaras.

    "'I bet you won't, ho,'" Gandharva amusedly echoes.

    "Mhm," says Charlene, agreeing with Calvin, Gandharva and Apsaras. "That's how come I told you to clean it up, Jack."

    "Enjoy-hee your ice, chum!" A chill wind blows a metal cup onto the counter for Charlene to work with.

    The mixed drink served, Calvin offers a "Be back in a bit, y'all," to Gandharva and Apsaras, who relinquish him with some lingering hesitance but thankfully for Madeleine, don't follow. "Ms. Madeleine!" announces Calvin, pleased to see her. A hand is lifted in greeting, and he sips his mixed drink. "How you doin'? You get here alright?" He's starting to get a little toasted--and when he gets toasted, he gets wild.

     "Race me to chug the cocktails or I'll set this off," he says to Madeleine, taking a blackened fire hose off the wall. The mental legend-of-zelda battle music probably cuts off for her once she realizes it's purely decorative. He drops it on the floor and takes an inadvisable gulp of his Moscow mule. "What's on your mind?" he asks good-naturedly.
Khosa Khosa gives a little two-fingered gesture at the pool players that approximates a salute with a flourish. Very approximates. She'll be back, never fear. The lack of real names doesn't bother her - she's used to people being a bit sparing with their identity.

But at the bar, Khosa is trying not to laugh at the way Apsaras is clearly acting around Calvin with him either not noticing or doing a much better job of pretending than she would be in a similar circumstance.

"Brave," she says, when Futaba is given the skull vodka. At least it's probably not death vodka, even if it makes your tongue feel that way. Khosa does *not* take any of that stuff, because she's had some pretty nasty rotgut in her time and is not interested in doing it again; she'll stick to other things and isn't very picky what they are. The summoning of the ice is curious enough to get her to watch - and listen. She doesn't laugh at Jack. Or Calvin. This time. She does, however, file away that term for later use. "Hey, if he can handle his drink... it'll be fine. Even if he is breaking the rule."

On Lilian: "She's one of the first I heard of, too. She kind of sticks in the memory," Khosa says, and leaves it at that, because Calvin is off duty and if they're joining the Commonwealth, which means he might be a Paladins associate, she's not going to bother him with *work*. Instead, she adds to Petra, "You'll be fine as long as you pace yourself and don't try to drink a whole jug yourself. Split it. It's more fun that way anyway."

Instead, when Sarracenia comes over, Khosa looks up. She doesn't know Sarracenia yet, aside from some gossip, and she wouldn't have recognized her. She gives a more restrained smile as she considers the noble, glancing her outfit over once before settling on her face. "Khosa," she says, by way of introduction. "*Not* a princess. Nice to meet you. Nice hat." She flicks up near her own head, where the brim of a cowboy hat would be, if she was wearing any hat.

She picks up her own drink and considers Luz and her smile. "You know what? I'm up for that," she says, pushing herself upright again. Khosa has never played billiards before, but she remembers what she was told, at least. Hopefully it was complete enough to keep up!
Futaba Nuki "Usually when someone stretches to see it is not quite this literally."

"Hmm? Oh, you ain't seen nothing yet. I can stretch all... Sorts of parts." Futaba responds to Sarracenia with a mischievous grin and a waggle of her eyebrows, emphasizing the eyebrow movement so much that it looks like they'er actually coming off her body for a second there. They don't actually come off, though, so much as she's just warping her face for yet another sight gag.

<J-IC-Scene> Futaba Nuki snickers "Leave the bravery to me. Gotta know what the bad stuff is to really appreciate the good stuff, right?"
<J-IC-Scene> Khosa says, "I've had enough bad in the past to know I'd rather stick with good."

"I'll get there one day, I bet! Just not today." Futaba laughs again at Khosa's response as she takes a shot glass of Skull from Charlene. "Wouldn't be the first time I've been called that! Heh.  The Skull, huh...?" She asks while peering inquisitively at the liquid inside while listening to her describe it, eyes slowly growing wider with anticipation. "Whoa... That sounds like liquid crap, alright! Now I'm real curious..." She murmurs with a snicker at Gina and Charlene, taking a moment to breathe in the aroma of the shot glass and recoiling less than a second later. "Oh, you weren't kidding... But if it's got that many stories attached to it, it can't be that bad!"

And then, after shrinking her face and neck back to their normal size along with eating a handful of trail mix to prep her stomach, Futaba actually drinks it! The comparison between the trail mix and the Skull couldn't be more stark, and it shows on her face almost immediately. Like with that recoil earlier, it takes less than a second for her face to go from expecting something funny bad to just tasting something foul bad. Futaba's hand shakes a bit while her mind battles with her heart, the former trying to force her to put it down while the latter is in too much shock from how foul it is to even register that she can put anything down.

The snacks and cocktail, in comparison, are like an oasis in a sea of (her own) shit taste. Futaba gobbles down another handful of that trail mix as a palate cleanser, then takes a deep breath of the cocktail to wash out the scent of that awful vodka first. "Oh, you... Agh. You weren't kidding!" She chokes out with a laugh, shivering for a moment before taking another sniff of the sex-on-the-beach. "This one's way better already... I should be taking it slow, too, huh? Unless..."

She gestures at Calvin with another laugh. "Unless we need to catch up, yeah. Sounds like a real party already, though!" Futaba adds while taking a slower sip of her cocktail, already expecting and treating it like something she doesn't have to down in one shot. Just as well, too, since this one doesn't fuck her up nearly as badly on a flavor level.

It's actually pretty pleasant, even if/especially because it doesn't taste like the stuff from home.   It's new and exciting, and it fits the new and exciting experience of hearing and seeing so many new people in Calvin's neck of the woods. Gina, Apsaras, and Gandharva teasing Calvin about whatever happened before doesn't go missed, and she raises her glass to Calvin before addressing his mother and the pair.

"So I've been hearing something about macca this, magnetite that, and..." She taps on her wrist, then transforms a crude approximation of a COMP onto it. "I've been seeing these around plenty, but not on everyone. Are these some kind of fashion thing, or a work thing?"
Angela "Ah, right." Angela says. "So like the Backstreets." Honestly she isn't entirely sure she understands what's bothering Petra. She never seemed to be worried about poor people before. Is this because she was given a ludicrous amount of money? Because they are racist? They don't seem racist. Honestly it seems a little ridiculous to be racist in a scenario where there's like 70 different demon types milling about and also angels and patriot zombies and the end times and the like. It feels like there's bigger issues at hand here--but she supposes that hasn't stopped anybody on her world (probably?).

She shoots Charlene a sympathetic look just in case coincidentally as she starts flirting with both Petra and Cinder.

''And I'll treat you both right~''

"Oh okay..." Cinder exhales as her soul leaves her body. "Wehhhp..."

"Cinder, you're Hodding." Rose mutters.

Cinder recovers but only partly which makes it worse. "I mean uh, I mean, um. I'm Cinder. And we ... haven't even um, with each other yet?? I mean we held hands and kissed and oh fuck I mean uh I mean if she wants I'm a supportive girlfriend?? Drinks are good I could use a drink Rose is underage for America though--"

Angela quietly watches Petra explains where she gets her neck wounds.

"Oh I thought you spontaneously generated them." Angela says as she is mentally going back and thinking about Petra's maneuvering around the times she was present for.
Sarracenia      Sarra enjoys it when one of her jabs results in anger. When someone actually looks shocked and defensive instead of angry though...she ends up feeling bad herself. People don't usually take her seriously enough to actually be hurt by what she says. She ends up with a confused and at least slightly apologetic look when Petra ends up looking more hurt than angry. Seems Petra is not the only one messing up tonight, but at least Petra's mess ups haven't really been mess ups. She starts to say something like she might apologize, but thanks to pride a short "...Uh..." is all she says to Petra then very hurriedly makes a break for it. "...right...do not want this turning out like the beach party..." she murmurs to herself.

     Ivy enters, and Sarra gasps in delight. "Captain Carrow! It is so nice to see you and your officers again!" Ivy is just a good time (and also doesn't seem to hate Sarra). Not to mention that cool claw!

     'Let's start you off with a sex-on-the-beach like Futaba there's got, give it thirty minutes and see how y'feel, okay?'

     The 'Hooo-WHEE' startles Sarra a bit, but the clapping makes her giggle happily. When told she should start slowly Sarra seems a bit perturbed but does not argue. "I suppose you are right." she tells Gina and the demon duo. But, as the drink is sent her way and her cheeks turn a bit red. "I-it...is called..." She can barely bring herself to say the word. "...s-sex..." she finally says, but speaking quietly like it is a scandalous secret or something. "...on the beach?" She says the rest in a more normal tone.

     That does not stop her from trying the drink, albeit timidly. She finds a straw to sip through and takes a few short draws. She rolls the liquid around in her mouth a few moments before swallowing, then blinks in surprise and starts sipping happily.

     'I like them boots, Princess. Interesting design you got there. That mean something?'

     Sarra lights up at the compliment to her boots, and turns in her seat to lift a leg and show the black Bullet Bill boots off a bit. "Thank you! They are of my own design, actually~ They are modeled after a Bullet Bill, one of my favorite types of ammunition!" she says, holding her drink and continuing to sip. She then crosses that lifted leg over the other and smiles.

     When Madeleine is challenged to a drinking competition of sorts, Sarracenia watches with some excitement. She has rarely been in a bar setting. This is really only her second time! So, seeing such a spectacle would be interesting! It looks like it might be just Calvin breaking the ice and helping people relax though, which is also good.

     That purple vapor is curious, and Sarra watches it while listening to the banter. Her cheeks redden again at the word Apsaras repeats, but Sarra doesn't say anything. For now she is just soaking it all in.

     And before she realizes it she has already finished her drink! She looks over at the bartender and holds up her glass. "Could I have another?" she asks.

     '*Not* a princess. Nice to meet you. Nice hat.'

     The restrained smile does not go unnoticed, but the compliment on the hat is enough to keep Sarra from focusing on the implications. "Oh! That is nice of you to say!" She giggles. "It is alright, though. It is terrible. A crown makes for a poor accompaniment to a country outfit. But, I tried to make it work." she says.

     'Hmm? Oh, you ain't seen nothing yet. I can stretch all... sorts of parts.'

     Futaba's reply makes Sarra laugh and blush a bit at the same time, and the eyebrow waggle just makes both worse. "I see! Tanuki must be quite fun in all sorts of situations!" she says, not really thinking of the implications after that reply.
Khosa "Hmm? Oh, you ain't seen nothing yet. I can stretch all... Sorts of parts."

Khosa can't help herself. She bursts out laughing. It takes her a moment to recover. "Same," she says, sounding like she's trying to be deadly serious and failing. She doesn't bother to demonstrate any psychometabolism, though, but instead shoots back about half her drink.
Madeleine Cadrasteia     "Elibe?"

    "Yeah, the..." Madeleine makes a vague circular gesture, as if that explains anything at all. "With Lord Roy and stuff? Dragon summoner lady? That whole deal, they call their world Elibe. Why do so many people there have such colorful hair..." Her lamentation trails off aimlessly. "What do you think of all that, anyway? The pirates were your first personal impression, right?"

    Petra catalogues her wounds.

    Madeleine's eyes follow Petra's pointing, slowly widening with realization. "Oh, those are... Oh. You and... I see. Over a game of cards, really?"

    "How you doin'? You get here alright?"

    Madeleine offers Calvin a weary smile. "Yeah, I uh..." Now is not the time or place to explain the ins and outs of a lethal curst. "Got here fine. Having one of those days where bad luck follows me just anywhere though, you know? Like someone spun the wheel of dharma and it landed on 'lose a turn'." That doesn't make *any* sense. "I'm actually here on business, if you'll believe it."

    "Race me to chug the cocktails or I'll set this off."

    This elicits from Madeleine a look of pure caution. For a moment she's like a stunned animal, before shakily raising her glass to her lips. "Maybe for the next round...?" she mumbles. "A-anyway." Sitting up as tall as she can manage and doing her best to regain composure, Madeleine explains why she showed up tonight. "As I may have mentioned before, I work with the Multiverse Cryptozoology Research Division. We're under the Concord umbrella, but we do work across Commonwealth worlds when we can get the paperwork sorted. Don't worry, I haven't got anything for you and yours to sign right now, I'm just the messenger. See, you've got a world crawling with all sorts of quasi-natural beings, native and otherwise. What's more, you've already established an effective coexistence with many of those species of being."

    "I know it may be a little soon to talk to the Assembly again, but the MCRD wants me to inquire about doing some population surveys, learning a little more about the scope and distribution of the monsters in this world. Thought I'd give you friendly early notice before showing up at your desk with a stack of paperwork," she says, before finishing her drink. "You're here to celebrate tonight, so I know this isn't the time for politics. You can sleep on it and give me a call in the morning."
Petra Soroka "I believe it. And if that's the first thing you tell me about her, me and her's gonna be thick as thieves."

    Petra pouts at Calvin, actually approving of his attitude but full to the brim with things to complain about anyways. Leaning her forearm on the bar and gradually sinking more and more weight into it, glossed nails tapping on her glass, she starts off brattily. "Okay, well, there's a fucking billion things I could tell you about her. And, you know, she's not some stuck-up stickler for, authority and punishing people who 'step out of line', or whatever, so don't get that in your head. Just, half the Paladins are *liabilities* to her, you know, and the first thing you've gotta be is *not* that, before you deserve to know anything else at all. So that's just step one."

    "That's good though. You seem like you'll be alright." Petra traces out circles in the bar with her finger, briefly entranced by her nail getting caught on the wood grain.

"Liquor'll do the trick faster'n beer, so the idea is a few beers after a shot is less to deal with than a few shots after a beer."

    "Ohhh, ahah. I think I might just be a lightweight?" She definitey *sounds* like she is one. She leans in conspiratorially across the bar to Charlene, lowering her voice. "I don't really drink often, like, at all, really. But this is a special, special occasion, like. Because my brain gets abnormal sometimes."

"Y'all just come on back any time and I'll treat you ~both right~,"

    Petra takes a few long seconds to process that, visibly piecing together the conversational sections that had gotten disjointed in her head. Finally putting them all in order, she looks down at her empty glass, then up at Charlene, a wobbly-nervous smile wiggling its way onto her face.

    "Ah, eheh... weh? Er-- that-- that's-- that's normal? Allowed? H-here? That's, a-ahh...." Petra helplessly turns her gaze over to Cinder, only to find her just as debilitated, as well as directly clearing up for Charlene that Petra is regularly sleeping with women other than her girlfriend. Impulsively, Petra reaches out and grabs onto Cinder's hand-- not as a supportive or comforting motion, but as though hurricane-force winds threaten to toss them both around like ragdolls.

    With her other hand floating defensively in front of her, wobbling around like she's trying to shield herself from something, Petra gets caught up in Cinder's pacing and starts babbling a bit too. "I mean, you know, like, obviously she's pretty; I-I'm-- pretty, too? I'm-- w-well, I-- y-you know, maybe you're right, I think, maybe, actually, there's not *enough* alcohol? For me-- me too, ahaha? I've got a lot of thoughts, which is usually a bad thing, and, you know, whatever gets my brain to stop working, right?"

    Dimly in her alcohol-and-confusion haze, Petra remembers something she decided on earlier, and after a beat, suggests, "P-please?"
Lilian Rook     'I never mind more pretty faces in my bar.'

    'Bet', says God, offscreen.

    "Christ almighty that took forever." says Lilian to nobody in particular, in the way of someone who has been Talked At for the past three hours and had no real opportunity to say anything back. Dragging herself through the front door of the Last Resort, dressed up to show off now that she knows the local vibe, then immediately exhausted by the Paladins debrief of the Commonwealth application running an hour and a half over time due to something that Totally Wasn't Her Fault, she doesn't quite have the energy to look passively offended by her surroundings in a reversal of how it's actually supposed to work for every single other person ever.

    Still in 'vacation mode' from the ship ride to the Western Isles from Etruria, Lilian is wearing one of her backup outfits that never saw use from the suitcase, being slightly more of a splash hazard to wear more than two steps from beach wear aboard a ship. She wouldn't wear anything off-shoulder anywhere this American otherwise. She's only openly armed on one thigh, and only just, given a half-decent outdoors skirt length and Elibe-friendly belt pockets. Evidently, she knows about bugspray, even if she doesn't smell of it, with that much bare arm and back.

    "Congratulations, first." she says, half-trudging through the bar at a more confident pace than the first time. "It's been a while since I've seen a community Unify with this much confidence put behind the wise decision. I'd say that I underestimated Ossabaw, but I honestly didn't know what to make of it from just one look." Lilian directs mostly Calvinward as she approaches the end of her trip, and then stops to start putting two and two together between him and Gina, only to be cut short at three.

    'This one's from that night on the ship after I won that game of cards against Dieck's guys and got too smug about it. This one and this one were from the first night after I spent hours scrubbing the deck for no reason. These were from right before those pirates attacked, and these were right after--'

    Lilian ceases to perceive Calvin, Cinder, Madeleine, or Khosa, as all of her focus is rerouted into Petra; at best, even Angela is a fuzzy existence on the boundary, as the entire world shrinks down to just one girl, floating in dark space, pointing out her injuries one by one.

    The sound of clattering dice is near-synaesthetically audible. A metaphysical '[Challenging] - Success!' glows in the wrong colours.

    'I've got a lot of thoughts, which is usually a bad thing, and, you know, whatever gets my brain to stop working, right? P-please?'

    Lilian appears before several other women, doesn't acknowledge them, has her fingers in Petra's hair, and lead-step swivels towards the bar where she smashes Petra's face into the counter with the followthrough. Her opposite hand snatches her throat in the next blink, and Lilian begins dragging Petra away with a deliriously unthinking "Pardon me." on her lips, fingertips bruising skin purple. From behind, one can just barely see the barrel of her gun subtly jammed into Petra's ribs.
Angela ''What do you think of all that, anyway?''

Angela doesn't look back to Madeleine, instead watching Lilian dragging Petra away.

"...Mm?" Angela asks. "...I am sorry, Madeleine. I did not hear your question."

She turns back to her and says, "I suddenly had a story idea and I hyperfocused onto that. Something about hair? ... I am unaware of any hair-pulling being involved. You'll have to ask them."
Calvin Nash That's good though. You seem like you'll be alright.

    "If there's one thing I hate, Miss Petra, it's goin' back and doing a job a second time on account of the first person half-assed it. Me, I want my work to speak for itself. There's a pride you feel in doin' a job right. Y'know? I'm not trying to be a liability to nobody," he says. Then, flashing a grin, "Except liable to have a good time on my off days," Calvin adds, finger-gunning at her with his free hand.

I'd say that I underestimated Ossabaw, but I honestly didn't know what to make of it from just one look.

    "Ms. Lilian! We was just talkin' 'bout you," says Calvin with good-natured excitement. "Miss Petra here was just tellin' me 'bout how serious you take your job and how good you are at it. Glad to have you here!" He smiles wide. "Go on, getchaself a drink."

    After a pause, "I think it was an easy decision for most've us, on account of we believe in the same things. Research, progress, that's all fine and good, and we do like it--but you take a look around, you'll see all kindsa different people in the Assembly. Lots of 'em wouldn'ta been treated real good, before the war, and some of our older folks're old enough to remember *bein'* treated that way. Takin' care of our own, makin' a world better than the one we got left, that's what's important to us." He nods. Then takes another sip.
Calvin Nash      Khosa is given (this world's take on) a Moscow mule like Calvin's, at his insistence towards Charlene. Khosa herself might have to crane her neck to see Jack--and doing so makes the demon's evident foul language and threats of violence rather surprising given his cute and frankly marketable appearance. It's cool, sweet, and the interplay between the mint and ginger flavors plus the actually good vodka stepping out of the way for them makes it a drink that's very easy to forget is alcoholic.

    At the billiards table, Luz and Khosa find that Demarie, the portly, square-faced fellow with taupe brown skin in jeans and a black tee, is the one to beat, followed by Liam the cait sith, who evidently learned from him. Demarie's habit of pressing his index to the start of his sideburns when thinking is teasingly pointed out by Liam. Frank isn't bad, and is a decent opponent to learn the game against. Robin's just glad to be here.

    "That would have been so cool if it worked" is said by Robin so often that the others join him in unison when he says it, to rounds of laughter from everyone including him, his broad hand (big enough to cover Liam's face wholly) pressed to the belly of his leather cuirass as hearty laughs erupt therefrom.

    "Where ya from, Khosa?" asks Liam. "You related to Sven, by chance?"

    "How 'bout you, Luz?" asks Demarie. "Feel like I seen y'all back and forth all week, but you been so busy I didn't get the chance to talk at you none."

Oh, you... Agh. You weren't kidding!

    "Paint thinner is as paint thinner does," grins Charlene. "That there'll do you right," she says, motioning with a glass she's cleaning towards the actually good cocktail. "Sweet and tart and just enough oomph to take you someplace nice. Just like me," she adds with a wink.
Calvin Nash I-it...is called... s-sex... on the beach?

    "Sure is," Charlene says. "Good name, ain't it?" She wrinkles her nose playfully. "Usually you go for cranberries, not oranges, or so my auntie said. But not even Canaan has them no more. Something about needin' a lotta water." She shrugs. "Anyway, I'm glad you like it! Never had a princess 'round here before. Leastwise, not the kind you are."

So I've been hearing something about macca this, magnetite that, and... I've been seeing these around plenty, but not on everyone. Are these some kind of fashion thing, or a work thing?

    Gina gasps and claps her hands in applause at the approximation of a COMP. "I never seen anything like that," she says. "That's amazing."

    "You probably picked the best person to tell you about any of that," Apsaras says glowingly of Gina.

    Gina makes an 'oh, you' gesture with her hand, but smiles. "Well... where to start? Charlene, can you get me one of Glenn's pilsners, pretty please?"

    "Yes ma'am, Ms. Gina!" Charlene is like a force of nature behind the bar. There's the sense that she's been doing it for a very long time--and that she clearly looks up to Gina. As she pours, Gina explains.]
Calvin Nash      "Thank you, dear. Well, 'that thing' is a COMP. And a COMP's short for Computer or Compendium, 'cause it's both. It's what lets us humans talk to and contract with and summon demons, plus some other stuff." Hers looks a good deal more bulky and primitive than the others, but she wears it well and with a touch of pride. "A long time ago, before some of y'all were even thought of," she says, fondly, "This island here was just a gaggle of survivors with a hope and a prayer. Me and Bud--my late husband--had took some of our neighbors that'd lived through the radiation and the worst of the aftermath, across the river. The hogs lived through it, 'cause this place used to be a wildlife reserve. And we needed 'em," she says, gravely. "Them, the deer, lots of it--'cause back in those days, there was an awful lot more ash in the atmosphere," she says, pointing up. "It was colder, and harder to grow stuff to get by with. Anyway..."

    "One day," she says, her wrinkled brow furrowed, "We had a visitor we wouldn't never have expected in a million years. He was clean, which wasn't impossible," she says, wobbling a hand before taking up her beer. "But it was... hard, let's say, to be *that* clean. He had nice clothes, too--not just 'nice, before the war.' 'Nice, in spite of it.' Now, Georgia wasn't the most wheelchair friendly place at the best of times, but this fella wasn't just in a wheelchair, he was in a real fancy one, motorized, sleek, shiny, that looked like it didn't have a scratch on it. His name was Stephen, and he gave us the blueprints for how to make the COMPs and the Terminals--which you might say is our local version of them Warpgates Captain Carrow's people taught us about. He was busy, that fella; got all the way over to Oklahoma, Nevada and Utah too."

    Her blue eyes are alive with recollection, her free hand gesturing with the lit cigarette as she sips her beer. A mysterious expression settles in, as like reflecting on an encounter with an alien. "Just as quiet as he come, he left. Nobody's seen 'im or heard from 'im in decades. But what he gave us was like a *floodgate,*" she says, pantomiming the forceful opening of a door with her free hand. "All of a sudden we wasn't on the back foot surrounded by monsters; we was learnin' 'bout new neighbors, talkin' with 'em. And eventually, workin' with 'em."

    "Magnetite is what makes demons--and a lot of the technology we been able to put together--tick. Not the normal kind, mind. Stephen had a name for it: psycho-ferrous-ferric oxide. You might say it's... human emotion, formed up into a supernatural mineral. All of us naturally have some," she says, placing the cigarette in her mouth and opening her COMP to show Futaba the green-black interface, reminiscent of old, old computers. The screen has a minor crack in one place, and the metal portions have a few dings and dents, too. A status readout shows Gina's level of magnetite; the display is either bugged or she has so much that it's causing the digits to overflow. Either way: "But y'can't mine for it like you would the regular kind. If what you got on you ain't enough, or you need to draw from something that ain't you, you gotta either get it from demons, which..." She chuckles. "Has its own problems, or, go looking for it in old places like stadiums and nightclubs and suchlike. Which *also* has its own problems."
Calvin Nash      "As for macca, Saturn makes that. God of commerce and some other stuff," she says, waving a hand. "That's him on the bills," she says, pointing to the bills Calvin left to cover everyone. "Prints it off from his mint in the Expanse. Demon world. Everybody uses it 'cause it's a damn sight easier than opening up and running a mint in the human world." She shrugs, and takes a pull on her cigarette.

Cinder: Aggressively drop spaghetti as if in competition with Petra
P-please?

     "*Please?*" Charlene teasingly, exultingly repeats the word back at Petra, her eyes flicking between Petra and Cinder. She makes the word sinful; like a sweet eaten after dark, a cookie stolen furtively, a passing, all-too-ephemeral delight. She bats her eyelashes, perhaps a prelude to more, before...

Pardon me.

     Charlene giggles wickedly. "Y'all come back soon, you hear? All *three of you.*"

    "Girl's makin' out like a one-armed bandit," Gina chuckles.

     "Don't I know it," says Charlene, waving after Lilian and Petra.
Calvin Nash They are modeled after a Bullet Bill, one of my favorite types of ammunition!

    "Oh I didn't know you liked t'shoot," Calvin enthuses. "We ought to hit up the range sometime!" He is unaware. Unaware of what 'ammunition' refers to, but also blisteringly unaware of what just happened with Lilian, Petra and Charlene. "Nice ladies," he comments cluelessly.

You can sleep on it and give me a call in the morning.

    Calvin claps Madeleine heartily on the shoulder. "Ms. Madeleine, I reckon I know a dozen people over in Oklahoma who'd be chompin' at the bit to work with the MCRD. Not the least of which, that ol' fart Chinnumbee."

    "Well, gee, thanks, Calvin. I *ain't* that much younger than him, y'know" Gina teases from the bar.

    "Sorry, Momma," adds Calvin with sheepish amusement, clearing his throat. "You give me some time to make some calls over in my neck of the woods," he continues towards Madeleine, "And that call I give you'll be mighty short." He points a reassuring index at her as his punctuation, before another inadvisably sized chug of his cocktail.

    "Hey, Ms. Charleeeene," he calls, looking over his shoulder with a wide grin.

    "Hey, Mr. Calvinnnn."

    "Could I get me another one of these?"

    "You surely could. Coming right up!"

    "Damn, that tastes better than *pussy,*" Calvin thoughtlessly blurts out, after returning to Madeleine with it.

    "CALVIN!" Gina throws her pack of cigarettes at him, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "If I'd have known your daddy saying that all them years ago woulda stuck to you like a beggar weed, I'd'a kilt him myself. At least *he* didn't say it louder than skeletons fuckin' on a tin roof."

    Apsaras, Charlene and Gandharva form the worst kind of snickering peanut gallery for keeping Calvin in line. "You dropped your cigarettes," he says, trying to keep a straight face.

    "No. I *threw* 'em at you so I didn't knock the fire out of you. Now give 'em here." She makes a motion for him to toss them, which he does. She's a good catch. "I better head to bed. Don't get too rambunctious, now."
Calvin Nash      Calvin is a night owl on his days off--and as was prophesied, a real party animal. After Gina heads back to her house, he proves her words of caution to be utterly correct.

     First, Calvin indulges in an inadvised third Moscow mule and starts chanting "FIRE IT UP" and pumping his fists in the air, left-right-left-right. Finding out what 'IT' is comes only after a confused chorus of other drunks joins in: he means the mechanical bull. And despite all the eating-shit flags, it's not the bull that does him in. In fact, he rides it and is dismounted with a kind of preternatural grace that only the very unsober can muster along a specific band of unsoberness.

     After repeatedly incoherent challenges towards Madeleine and Khosa to race him at shotgunning shots, he drunkenly haggles with Charlene for an old emergency flaregun she has on display behind the bar and (after being pushed outside by Robin) succeeds in setting his foot on fire with it, 'extinguishing' himself with an ice spell (Gandharva laughs his ass off thawing Calvin's leg out), falling down the stairs due to the aforementioned frozen leg and falling asleep on the spot.

     Gandharva and Apsaras carry Calvin home, and pass along their well wishes to all of you.
Khosa Once Khosa has recovered, she speaks more normally to Futaba, "Neat trick, though. Remind me to show you some of mine sometime." She's still not doing any right now. She has billiards to play! And a mule to drink. Her eyes widen at that. "That's good," she decides. It *is* easy to forget it's alcoholic, especially given she's used to local equivalents to mezcal and pulque.

Also, a princess to talk to, apparently. "I can't say I'd bring a crown somewhere like this," Khosa agrees, "but I guess I'm not a noble." Khosa still sounds polite, even friendly, despite the words. "But hey, if you're willing to come to a bar like this, you at least don't think you're too good for people like us. Have a good drink, huh? Maybe I'll see you around later, too."

She really does want to play billards, but Khosa doesn't get all the way back to meet up with Luz before Lilian arrives, walks to the bar, and slams someone into it. Having been facing away as she headed back to the pool tables, and not expecting Lilian of all people to pull something, she is caught off guard by the sound of impact; she whirls, though as she cannot see the gun from her angle, and the locals seem to think this is more funny than anything else, she turns back a moment later with a slightly raised... well, not eyebrow, because she doesn't have one, but close enough.

Khosa takes some feeling-out to get the hang of making shots, having clearly never played the game or anything similar, but she only makes a given mistake once or twice; she's very good at controlling her body, and so once she figures out how to do something she can generally repeat it. She *is* a novice, though. Just a quick learner. "I don't know if I'm related to his sort of dwarf," Khosa says, "but I am half-dwarf, yeah. The other half's human. The ones at home are a little taller, and wider." She holds her hand about four feet off the ground, and presumably means 'built like her' - broad at shoulder and hip and across her ribs, thick limbs with a solidly muscular frame, a heavy brow with obvious eye ridges.

As for later...

Khosa takes a while to get rowdy, but once she loses the professionalism she has been *trying* to present as a member of the Paladins, her actual personality shines through. And that's a lot closer to Calvin's then the way she normally presents herself. She will shotgun shots, she doesn't even cheat by clearing her head; she will even try the bull, though it's mostly drunkenness that gets her off it.. She ends up laughing uproariously at both the flare gun and the ice.

She does not go home tonight either.
Sarracenia      Sarracenia has no love for Petra. She would probably enjoy smashing Petra's face into something...but not randomly for no apparent reason and with such ferocity. "Wh-what in the...?!" Of course, as usual no one else seems to blink when Lilian does something violent. Sarracenia mmphs in annoyance with a deadpan expression and just watches Petra be dragged out. She shakes her head, then starts to sip at her drink again. She smiles at Charlene as she explains about the drink. "Cranberries are quite easy to import, though! I could arrange for a shipment to be sent here, if you would like." she says, then pauses. "...and what kind am I?"

     'But hey, if you're willing to come to a bar like this, you at least don't think you're too good for people like us. Have a good drink, huh? Maybe I'll see you around later, too.'

     "Well, of course I do not think that~ A hero can come from anywhere and a princess is supposed to care about all people. It would be silly if I were prejudiced against the working class. One of the most famous heroes from my world is a plumber, after all!" She waves to Khosa as she goes off to play pool. The princess is starting in on her second drink when...

     'Damn, that tastes better than *pussy,*'

     Sarra actually spits her drink out and coughs, her eyes wide and her face red. Those that are familiar with her might be surprised she even knows the word. She stares at Calvin for a few moments, then turns to look toward the shelves behind he bar and just blushingly sips her drink. She will eventually sneak out once her face returns to normal, but for now she is frozen in place trying not to freak out about the use of such a word and phrase in the presence of a princess. And also trying not to look like the sheltered virgin she is at the still very young age shutup of 28.
Lilian Rook     'Y'all come back soon, you hear? All *three of you.*'

    Lilian pauses on her way out sheerly from dissociated call-and-response behaviour. Someone is speaking to her directly, so she has to acknowledge them directly, and the tone isn't angry, scandalized, entitled, or otherwise shitty, so she has to stop and process the words instead of metaphorically or literally opening fire. She halts, looks back over her shoulder, blinks twice, and absentmindedly pops a finger into her mouth, licking Petra's blood off her lip without thinking.

    "I'll teach her some manners before then." Lilian says, put on the spot and saying the first thing that occurs to her as suitable for the occasion; which it isn't. Trying to be gracious, Lilian reaches further for a closer, polite excuse, and ameliorating promise, and badly underexplains. "She doesn't take long. Have a sour waiting for me."

    Lilian's wandering gaze nearly starts to process that Angela and Cinder are like, right there, and Madeleine was too, and especially Cinder is watching her viciously manhandle her girlfriend, even though Lilian thinks it's kind of baffling she even is Petra's girlfiend at all, and before the lights can turn back on, she turns her head and finishes hauling Petra outside.

    She will, in fact, be back in five or ten minutes, like nothing ever happened, and start asking more important questions.