A Night in Oblivion, Pt. I

May 01, 2016:

Enchantress visits the Oblivion Bar and finds the enticing Lichbane to be an interesting conversationalist, and perhaps more.

The Oblivion Bar

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Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: None.


Fade In…


So! It's been a few months since Enchantress managed to convince June to move from New Haven to New York, and she is loving every moment she spends in it—when she isn't unintentionally aware of June partaking of her boring hobbies, that is. So much lifeforce in the city, the air just thrumming with the power of it all, and Enchantress soaks it all in as she walks leisurely, but purposefully toward a very special doorway that leads to a very exclusive place. She has no purse, nor phone, nor anything that most people away from their homes need. She's dressed in very expensive fashion, wearing expensive jewelry, and she's unaccompanied, but any would-be pickpockets and ne'erdowells take one look at her and move right along.

Sweeping into the Oblivion, a breeze follows her, artfully swirling her hair before it settles fashionably around her face when the door closes. She walks in as though she's as familiar with the surroundings as she is with her own home, and as comfortable. The bartender appears to recognize her, and immediately begins preparing some complex concoction that…isn't your average bar fare. She settles on a seat at the bar and smiles gratefully to the bartender, "Ahhh, perfect. I've been looking forward to this all day." Her drink, served in fine crystal, is lightly smoking, and a black-purplish color with sparkling lights swirling around. It's almost like she's drinking the cosmos. Perhaps she is. She pulls her glass to her lips and takes a sip before allowing her icy blue eyes to flit around the bar in relaxation and casual interest.


Seated at the bar is a distinguished gentleman, who looks like he stepped from the pages of a late 19th century novel or play. Dressed in an immaculate suit and shirt, the bearded fellow nurses a glass of brandy in one hand.

A crooked staff with an obsidian head in the likeness of a 'Sha' (a hare-eared jackal) leans against the bar near his other hand. Both hands are gloved, and occasionally when he moves, a glint of silver can be seen around his wrists.

As soon as Moone sweeps into the room, there is movement in the gentleman's coat… that appears to be caused by a large-ish, brown-furred rat. It pokes its head out, sniffs at the air and then scampers onto the man's shoulder — staring at Enchantress.

Then, in a very human gesture, the rat's jaw falls open.

"Boss…"

"Not now, Crotchet," the man replies in a refined British accent.

"I fink I'm in luv, Boss," says the rat in a Londoner, 'Cheswick' accent.

"No you're not," the man scolds. "Don't stare; it's rude."

"Just look, Boss."

"No."

"Look!"

The man looks over at Enchantress, and blinks.

"See?" says the rat, all too smugly. Then the rat wolf-whistles to get the woman's attention.


Her drink settles down on the surface of the bar as she takes note of Walker Beck, whose name is — as yet — unknown to her. An elegant dark brow arches and a slinky half-smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, "Well, good evening." Her voice is effortlessly seductive, a rich, feminine sound that has served her well for thousands upon thousands of years. "I don't think I've seen you around here, though I know certainly don't get out as often as I'd like. My name is Enchantress. A pleasure to meet you," she smiles almost wolfishly, offering her hand—not to shake, but palm down, to kiss.


In the presence of great power, the hairs on the back of Beck's neck stand up… and so does he. Calmly brushing his Familiar /off/ his shoulder, the necromancer gracefully takes the Enchantress' hand and bestows a chaste kiss upon it.

The rat, meanwhile, mutters as it scampers up its masters' leg and into his coat again. "Fine. Be that way. Cor, but she's a looker, in't she?"

"Doctor Walker Beck, at your service," the necromancer replies — completely ignoring the rat. He radiates death, as any practitioner of his craft would, but smiles warmly. "May I purchase you a beverage of your preference from this establishment, Enchantress?" he asks.

Something whispers… a voice, low and sibilant, in ancient Egyptian. Another greeting, formal and cold as ice.


Enchantress's smile curls ever deeper, her eyes narrowing in pleasure, similar in tone to that of a cat that finally ate the canary, at the kiss to her hand, just below her knuckles. "What a beautiful name, Walker Beck. And, a doctor?" she replies, withdrawing her hand as it's released. "I would like that very much, yes," she replies in response to Beck's request. "My favorite drink—" she gestures to her glass, "that's only made here. It's called a Galaxy."

At the Egyptian, Enchantress' eyes flit over Walker's person more intently, analyzing and assessing. Greetings, old one, comes her calm, ready response to the unexpected greeting, in the ancient tongue and sounding as fluid and natural as her English. "My, but you have some interesting secrets and mysteries, Dr. Beck," she smiles wickedly. "That is so delightful."

Looking down to Crotchet, she offers a kind-enough smile, "Good evening to you, as well."


The bartender immediately turns aside to prepare the requested drink.

Meanwhile… To be greeted by such a mesmerising beauty, Crotchet the necromancer's Familiar, had never felt such elation. The little fellow sticks his head out of his 'pocket' again, his whiskers all aquiver with delight…

…until he realises something.

And from the ashen expression upon Beck's face, the rat's master has realised it, too.

The Enchantress just spoke directly to Him. Both master and Familiar know what that means, and the rat swallows audibly. "Seeya! Nice boobs!" he exclaims in two quick bursts of speech, and then hightails it for the nearest exit.

Beck, meanwhile, struggles to find his voice, although his eyes never leave those of the Enchantress. "Aye, secrets, my dear Enchantress, some of which are best left… alone."

So long it has been since a voice addressed me with such… elegance, the ancient voice whispers again, audible to both Beck and the enigmatic woman with him.

"Be. Silent." Beck's face darkens, and suddenly he looks old — less old than the spirit locked away in the silver bands he wears around his forearms, but still older than he generally appears. "How…?" he asks Enchantress.


Enchantress hasn't finished her previous drink, but the eagerness to please her is charming and adorable, and she smiles in response to it. This evening is starting out with such /promise./ At the ashen look coming over Walker's face, Enchantress cants her head to one side, her silky black locks sliding with the gravity shift. She keeps words to herself, allowing things to play out to a natural pause—gathering information and making connections before responding.

At the question, she smiles lightly, "I know practically every language known to man and then some. Eh, that is to say, I've never come across one that I haven't known." She pauses a moment, realizing that explaining exactly would really show her years. "Let's just say I've got a lot of experience in certain broad areas, and language is one of those areas," she concludes with a flutter of lashes that might have been a wink.

"I take it your…alliance?…is an uneasy one. Out of respect to you, I won't address them further. Especially since it seems to vex you so," she tuts softly, a concerned expression on her lovely face. She strokes Beck's cheek with the back of her hand. "You should have this Galaxy. It'll put the color back in your cheeks," she smiles.


Words shall pass between us again, as surely as the sands… run… dry…

The voice of Timat fades.

Notwithstanding, Beck looks stricken — more stricken than he has felt in many years. If it were not for 'current events' he would have more composure, and this he tells himself mentally… over and over. It is NOT that Timat is slowly gaining strength. It is NOT… He just needs…

A drink.

Gratefully, the necromancer reaches for the Galaxy and swallows a decent mouthful in one go. For someone who sups on 'extradimensional cuisine' regularly, it still makes his eyes go wide, but he relaxes visibly in moments.

"I have not seen you in the Oblivion either, my lady," he tells her when he has his voice back. "I do think I should remember such an occasion. Dare I ask — from which corner of the cosmos have you come? Earth, perhaps? The Tri-Cities?"


Enchantress' eyes watch as Walker takes the drink and downs a gulp, and a large smile plays her lips at the response. "Ohhh, for all intents and purposes, Earth, yes. To explain exactly from whence I originated would be very difficult to explain in terms grasped by mortal consciousness. …Not to sound pedantic, of course," she replies, her tone matter-of-fact and not the least bit patronizing. "Let's just say I've been to many places and seen many things. So much so that only that which I find interesting holds my attention for very long," she laughs, crossing her legs in the direction of Dr. Beck.

"Lately, I've moved to New York with my sweet June, the light to my dark. I finally convinced her to move away from the cramped confines of that old library in New Haven, and she found a spot in a much larger library to hide in," Enchantress grins. "She's such a shy one, poor little thing. But, I look after her, as I always have. Whereabouts do you call home, then?"


The necromancer's eyes light up at the mention of New York and he follows through with a nod of his head. He lifts his drink to his lips once more and drains the glass of another mouthful — appearing quite pleased with the taste.

"My home is in Gotham," he replies after a pause. "Although I do find business will bring me to New York rather often." A faint grimace crosses his features — aging him briefly — and the fingers of his free hand twitch spasmodically.

A moment later, the hand /rotates/ at the wrist in a most inhuman fashion, until it is palm up (or backwards, rather) and points a finger back at Beck. He glares at the hand, and pointedly shifts his attention back to Enchantress.

"I should be intrigued to see more of you around town," he says, clearly distracted by his animated hand. "And this… June. Is that the name of your Familiar?"


Enchantress, for her part, also finishes her drink, sipping it calmly and enjoying the magickal buzz that comes along with it. It's definitely the kind of drink a magic user can appreciate, having a range of effects that help to soothe nerves, relax muscles, and generally calm the mind, helping with scattered thoughts and frazzled brains. She leaves her empty goblet to sit and watches with interest as Walker's hand does something strange. Her brow arches as it spins around in a way it shouldn't. That can't feel good.

Again, as elegant and tactful as one could hope for, she doesn't address the hand-situation as Walker returns his attention to her. She smiles warmly at the mention of June and laughs at the idea of her being a familiar. "Oh, goodness, me," she laughs, shaking her head. "I can understand the confusion, but no. She's very dear to me. You see, without June, I have no physical form, technically. So, she graciously hosts and I help her with whatever she might need assistance with," she says, completely unselfconscious about the whole ordeal. "I 'sleep' while she's awake and using her body… And, vice versa, though we can be aware of each other, if we wish and are willing," she smiles. "I tend to respect her privacy and she mine. It's only polite, after all," she grins kittenishly.


Beck stares at the Enchantress with unconcealed intrigue. The archaeologist in him, the necromancer in him — even the evil lich in him — all find this mysterious creature before him so very, very… fascinating. Having now heard the nature of the sorceress' relationship with this 'June' explained, Beck lifts his chin and then lowers his head in a single, slow nod.

"I understand," says he, in that tone of voice reserved for someone who truly /does/ understand. "And this… is truly an amicable alliance?" he further inquires, finishing his drink — only to nod to the bartender for another.

The whispering returns, but so low and indistinct as to be incoherent. Timat, however, is paying very. Close. Attention.

"Forgive me," Beck adds after a slight hesitation. "I have… many questions, but it would be imprudent of me to ask them all at once — especially in our first rendezvous. Might I inquire upon you again, sometime? How should I reach you, Enchantress?"


Enchantress can sense the interest and smiles indulgently, bathing in the attention. She, herself, seems equally interested in the doctor, her body language all reading very strongly in the affirmative. The fact that he understands her situation is even better, and the sparkling in her eyes intensifies. On the subject of June, she nods, "Thankfully, nowadays, we're in agreement. Though, it's similar to the way night and day interact, after all. She's pretty much my opposite in all respects. She's very shy and finds the occult fascinating — from a scholarly perspective. That's probably why she puts up with my much grander ideas of what life and living should be," she chuckles.

"As for reaching me…" she trails off and raises her hand in an intricate series of gestures — and a card appears in her hand. "This is a useful little trick. It will give you, if you give it a bit of yourself, access to mental communication with me — for a time. It's very warded and minimal, considering the uses to which it could be put, if it falls into the wrong hands… But, it's handy enough, since I don't carry a phone," she smiles.


"The wrong hands…" Beck murmurs in reply as he takes the card, turning it over in his fingers. The hand holding it does the 'rotating' thing again, then promptly detaches from his wrist (glove and all) and floats toward his jacket to place the card within.

Then it floats back.

"It will be well-guarded, I can assure you, Enchantress," he tells her a moment later. A smile graces his features, contrasting with the increasing weariness in his eyes.

"The dead feel your footsteps, Enchantress," he murmurs — almost as if he were speaking to himself, and not to her. "The Unquiet… whisper. I can hear them — so far away, but not beyond reach. They wonder… how many will join their chorus after your footprints pass them by?"

He closes his eyes as if in a trance.


Enchantress doesn't appear to mind the hand detaching and moving around unaided. She smiles and picks up her glass — which was refilled unobtrusively during the conversation — to begin sipping at it, again. The cosmos swirls inside the goblet as she listens to Walker's murmurings, her head tilting ever so slightly. Whatever the words mean, truly, she isn't sure. "I only wish I could answer their question with any certainty. But, such magicks tend to reveal answers to questions we wish we'd left unasked, and I respect that too greatly to use it with any regularity," she replies, reaching forward to brush a non-existent speck from Beck's lapel, smiling softy.


[To be continued…]

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