Scene #8051: Now I'm Mad! And You've Gotta Deal With It!

Owner	Pose
Sylvi	Sylvi bursts into Happy Rebel, the bar that Bercilak had brought his squad to for a big post-mission party located on Rubi-Ka in the city of Tir. Expecting Phreak, and the other people (Ravanda) Sylvi didn't bother learning or remembering the names of to simply be there at her pleasure, she lets the door clatter behind her and advances on the counter. Her memory of the place was foggy, because she was far, far too busy playing Melty with the squad to remember finer details - except an exceptional burger. That was her story, at least - and with no Liza around in the kitchen, an unlikely one. She grunts, shouldering into the bar, and planting her fists on the counter hard enough to rattle the floor. The bartop is fine, because Bercilak drinks here, and so the place is rated for at least a Level 9 Cyber Asshole to cop an attitude at the bar. Rating 10, A, S, and SS class Cyber Assholes were, of course, still dangerous, but currently there was only one 'class SS' threat in the area. And she was pissed off. "Hey, Phreak! Shit, did his stupid friends put joining the revolution into his head? Jolly Green!" Her bellowing quiets as she glares at the barkeep. "Just give me the strongest... whatever it is you have here." At this point she would down a pitcher of evil nanotech if it'd give her a buzz.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	"Oh, goodness, the strongest? Okay!" Revanda's grey hands are a blur as she searches through spirits beneath the counter. She grabs the neck of something, giving Sylvi a measuring glance. "No, definitely this one," she says with certainty. A mixed drink is made, combining two fingers of some purple spirit boasting an onerous ABV, a shot of vodka, and a small can of something called 'Rubirango,' which looks like an energy drink. It's at this point that Bercilak pokes his head around the corner. "Ah, verily we didst," he proudly says, stepping fully into the bar. No armor--why would there be? Just the usual biker-themed ensemble; tight jeans and tee, motorcycle boots, and to round it all off, a 'vest' that was very likely once the upper part of a flightsuit. He takes a seat beside her with a grin, evidently pleased to see her. "Wherefore dost thou ofaxe?"
Sylvi	"Yeah yeah." Sylvi grumbles, pulling a squeeze-weight out of a pocket and starting to creak at it irritatedly. The little band is made out of a dark matte metal with a streaks of verdisgris fingered through it and complains as she works her palm at it. creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeak Sylvi holds the piece 'fully closed', tension starting to glow in the band. Her eyes follow, smoothy transitioning, as an energy drink is added to the final concoction. The respect meter rises one subtle tic. Snatching the drink with her free hand, she takes a generous gulp and gargles, then swallows, then swallows again, canting her head forward. Alcohol fumes out her nose visibly altering the air about her face in a barely-visible wave. Bercilak enters and just straight asks her why she's mad, and the friction of her angry snort lights the fume-moustache into two coils of blue-white alcohol flames. "Fucking genius thinks he can play god and out-vote a whole planet. I was having a -great- time kicked back watching a show, and Ishirou, Staren, and some whoever meddles it up. Just garbage. Can't let things just rage until they're played out? Have to take action?" "Presumptious, for a gnat." She spits, sour.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	"Bahahaha! Thire is liti unrighte with acten," he says. "Ak, I am toknoue what thou imene. Som-whanne, acten is..." He growls a contemplative noise. "Comfort, mo thanne answere." "And with Staren, 'tis most al-wais comfort." Ther'es a commiserating sigh, a nod, and a tap of his fingers on the counter. A 'usual' is mixed up for him. The equivalent of a Jaegerbomb, it seems--cheap, cheerful, somewhat boorish and plenty strong. "Nothing may rage, if hit wouldst quell feres oth questiouns aboute oneself, to quell swich a ragen."
Sylvi	"They could just move! I wouldn't even care. Sure, peel them all from the jaws of a world. Snatch the rabbit from the wolf's teeth and cure its anxieties and heal the wounds and find a wonderful patch of grass to set your little ball of-" Sylvi places a sarcastic palm on her cheek and flutters her eyes, adopting a saccharine tone. "-'aww, so kyoot!'" "The actual, real answer for those people? It's to leave. They're no stronger. They're no harder. They're no better for it, they're just restored because a 'god' decided to." Sylvi slugs back the rest of her absurd-strength drink, swallows, swallows again from her reaction to the paint thinner tickling the back of her throat, and the grins. "Makes me sick."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	Bercilak nods in a decidedly relaxed way, lifting his drink towards Sylvi. "Wes heil," he toasts, before downing it in one go. "You're not supposed to drink the shot glass. That's bad for you," notes Revanda with a frown from behind the bar. In the soft glow of the warm overhead lights, Bercilak's smirk is cast. "Ne'er thou iminde," he says. "I am dight differentli." Glancing back to Sylvi, he speaks his thoughts. "And I trow thy next awening shalt be, 'Shalt he thanne assist theim everi-whanne thei shalt ofaxe, for everi liti thing?'" He quirks a brow at her, sliding the stein back towards the bartender. The music changes; a quiet, but up-tempo jazz piece. Bercilak shrugs his broad shoulders, frowning, brow raised. "Per happes 'tis a fair awening. Sikerli," he says, conceding, "Thei didst not sauf theimselves. Ak..." His eyes gleam. "To use thy strength to hold a star togeder, wouldst biseme a mo sportful usage of strength, thanne to simpli loke upon a star tobrest." "Bisideforth, smalnesse anau is not smalnesse forevermo. Thei didst not greu todai--but ne'er shalt thire be an othere 'todai.' Tomorwe shalt be differenced." He smiles, his hand gently brushes against hers, laid overtop.
Sylvi	"Don't put things in glasses you don't want drunk." Sylvi shoots back, automatically responding to challenges with shows of '''dominance'''. That it's Bercilak's foolishness does not change her course in the slightest. "Nah. Wasn't that." Sylvi decides, stretching back at the bar and bringing her hands back to the base of her spine. A pop, and series of like cracks and snaps works up from base to stem and she turns left and right to complete the simple stretch, releasing her spinal tension and creaking out a groan. "Not exactly. The Paladins will keep those people afloat forever. I'm over it. I didn't really care that much about the people. I don't think about the fuzz on the peach, B." Sylvi puts her hands back down on the bar, and Bercilak follows her, to an amused snort. Leaning over the bar half-way while leaving her held hand on the bar, the green-eyed girl raises a white eyebrow. "I was annoyed at that gaggle of 'geniuses' trying to play godling. Knowing better than a world when it was time to die. Demanding a candle burn forever, adding wick and trim, morbidly, forever. They can feel great about helping every runt they like, but it just means they chose harder than a whole world." "Like I said. Presumptuous, for gnats." Her bartop hand clenches. "And I'll crush some new god if they'll take something from between my teeth. Apparently he has plenty of friends, but..." A fangy smirk follows. "I didn't stutter: Presumptive." The smirk widens to a knife-edge grin. "For gnats."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	"Wherefore art thou so fucking hot?" Bercilak growls, at the second utterance of 'presumptive.' He grins, squeezing her hand back, knowing full well how much harder she can squeeze. A chuckle escapes him not long after. "Rememor thee this--withoute the berd, 'tis not a pech, but verily, som fucked-up other-wight." His free hand waves dismissively. "I knoue not. Swich shit at-scapes me." He's not the best at metaphors after shots. "Hm... per happes I shouldst fraist him," the Green Knight ponders. "Him didst bisaie he wouldst bicome gret ynogh to overspeke the stars. Doth thou not enjoie batail?" He nudges her conspiratorially with an elbow. "Hit wouldst be oversportful, wert he abled to be so gret. The boy spake that he wouldst greu--and per happes he shalt. And if he shalt, and if he bicomes gret ynogh to batail thee, what shalt thy awening be?" Just purely hypothetically, his excited hand gestures say. "Shalt a nat be a nat for evermo? Ofsounds dul."
Sylvi	"Try to say you don't shave without saying you don't shave. A fuzzless peach is still a peach, even if it's apple-smooth and shiny the waxed surface of a leaf." Sylvi snorts and drops to reasoning, her shark-grin lifting to an air of affected 'dispassion'. "I'll remember that well, because, I already knew you suck at shaving." Sidling up out of her seat, Sylvi lifts Bercilak's hand and rotates the Jolly Green giant about by the limb as she works towards the door in a full rotation of the enormous man. "Maybe you should fight him. Fighting's fun, but my heart's barely in it with genius. The annoying girl, I can get mad about just because she sucks, being part of the same gang or not, but genius? It's barely sporting if I beat him up for trying to grow." Her fingers slip free as she saunters to the door, turning her head to look past the white mane falling down her back. "Like running him over at the gym before he picks anything up. Sure, he might be worthy -after-, I was asking him and everything. But who's going to make -me- whole? All that growing for him, where's -my- dinner? I already had to give up what I wanted." "So: If you want me to be happy about this, bring back something worth forgetting about what he took from me."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	Bercilak follows Sylvi, naturally, happily. "'Fraist' imenes ifightinge onli som-whanne," he offers. But, who's he kidding--it'll probably be a fight. Or involve one. "But fuck al that," he says. "And fuck her! Verily, she doth insuke," he asides with a vehement wag of his index finger. Bercilak grins, then steps closer to Sylvi, hands on her waist. "I like liti mo thanne to espy a smile upon thy countenance--forthy shalt I bisaie unto thee: I shalt hath thy dine agredy upon thy return," he offers with a quiet chuckle. Leaning close, Bercilak plants a chaste kiss upon her forehead. "Hit must simpli be ihunted, ifirst," he adds with that familiar, bright gleam in his red irised-eyes, and a small, confident smile.