Not My Concern

March 29, 2017:

Tattoo goes to the Silver Oak with questions and only find Darkedge, which answers (barely) enough.

Silveroak Inn and Tavern

An Inn and Tavern


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Rune, Angel


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

With the directions provided by Rune, Darkedge finds himself just outside the door of the Silver Oak. Here the elf pauses for a moment, steadying himself for the kind of light levels he's assuming there will be. He doesn't know. Steady, the darkelf opens the door and steps through into …home? Surprise registers on his face for a half heartbeat before he schools his features and scowls at the light that assaults his eyes as he makes his way into the tavern.

Kida likely left anyone waiting quite a bit. She had Warren to tend to, and watch like a sentinel as he mended post-potion. Her tongue still tingled, but it was magics not her own. Unknown.

Needless to say she still did not trust so when she shows up at this hidden Tavern bearing a normal facade she stops at the door, sweeping pale gaze out along the street behind her, eyeing routes, openings, paths - the door, the windows, the lanterns, nostrils flaring. She saw the Psiborgs, heard them, felt them… And left Warren without his answers as now she is full of her own questions.

"How", being the main one. They should not be here, let alone knocking on Oblivion's door. It has been over a year…

The shop shirt is still cinched at her waist, low where the makeshift bandanna belt holds them aloft on hips bearing both ink and scarification of ages and times/places past. But now oh so real.

Kida… Tattoo will not be able to keep quiet to Warren much longer, or anyone for that matter. Shoulders almost hunch but then chin tilts up and she hits the door to the SilverOak, stepping within.

There are a few here, in the realm of the fae, who have heard of the Queen's Blade. A few other still who have seen him. The two here that have whisper to their friends, who turn to whisper to their friends, and so on until, by the time Darkedge has reached the barkeep, he's quickly setting down what rumors have been told is the only thing the assassin drinks: hot herbal tea.

Not that this place has the best tea. But that an attempt is made speaks volumes.

They could have handed him wine or ale or mead. But there was a rumor that the last barkeep to give the Queen's Blade such a drink, died a horrible horrible death.

At the bar, Darkedge is sipping the warm drink, gloved fingers wrapped about the non-iron vessel, just as Kida steps in. The dark elf slowly turns to look, to see. A brow quirks.

She is recalled.

Considering it has been les then 24 hours… Tattoo should be recalled. The incident still a thing leaving part of Brooklyn streets inoutline of chalk and tape.

…and she is still biting her tongue for feeling occasionally..

But when eyes cast upon her in the Tavern her body goes visibly rigid. Not known here the strangeness of it all makes her uneased, as well as the lack of escape routes she has gathered from the inside. From periphery she keeps what is noted in line as she slides into a stool and when asked what she wanted her lips draw into a thin line.

"Water." To which gets her another look from barkeep as a glass of ice-filled water is slid before her. But she doesn't drink of it, just stares at it as fingers paint lines through condensation in the slow spin, hair let loose of the typical braids falls along her tanned profile in silent wisps of a slow descent, unlike human hair.

Darkedge regards Kida for a long moment, before setting his tea down and moving to her side. The bar holds its collective breath as the dark elf, the assassin, the enforcer of the Queen's Will, the dark elf with no heart that would as soon kill as look at you, walks toward this odd stranger in their midst.

"Follow," Darkedge says. His voice is soft, a whisper but not. It's rough and horse, as if the last time he had said anything aloud was months ago, or years ago.

With that one word of entreatance, Darkedge turns and heads to a small table in the far corner. It's darker there than the rest of the bar. Quieter, and the three who had been sitting there quickly vacant the seats and wipe the table for the approaching elf.

A barmaid rushes to get his tea set down before he makes it there.

Kida, Tattoo… Knows nothing of the fae, elven, their mists or veil. She knows of Dimensions, Planes, Earths, and only because she was sent through them to safety… And here she sits. She much preferred to be of little to no regard, hence why her residence has been taken where it has. The Slums define her more then just the life she knew. It was all she knew. Survival, ignorance, hiding, shadows…

Shadows this elf used to approach and see in order to lay out one simple word. At least he did that much for her. Left it simple so she could understand. Though parsing language has become easier as of late unless under pressure. The pride in her though, pauses at his tone and single word, straightening her spine to watch as he moves, and the ender beats him there for his pleasure in tea and life alone. Don't ask Kida, she will never understand servitude or supplication, let alone definitions.

Eventually she grabs her water, making her way to the relented table, skimming back towards exits, an taking her seat, whether uncomfortably close to arkedge or not, she had vantage and escape there.

Glass set down she eyes it, but in reflection she can see who she sharres the space with, turning the glass just so.

"Not just me, then?" Cut to it and through it.

"No." Darkedge replies after Kida has settled herself. He's put himself in the deepest shadow he could manage and swept his gaze about the bar. The denizens turn back to their drinks, back to their conversations in slow starts and stops, until the din is a meager half of what it was before his arrival.

"Human world." Darkedge pauses, eyes sliding to Kida.

"The creature; you attacked." Is there a hint of question in his inhuman cadence and tone?

Tattoo just remains with spine arched enough to keep her hunched over the table like a child with poor posture.

But that is exactly what she wants anyone to think. Child. Ignorant. Defenseless.

If anyone knows what to look for, they will know better.

"He was just like me," A gesture to appearance, her accent deeper then normal, showing the stress, the fluster. "Eyes, banging, the walls quaked…. We fled." The gesture of one hand leaves the other to her water where the ice *clinks* against the glass in the shudder.

"They are coming…" Tattoo whispers as lips lower to the glass.

"He did nothing wrong, but he saw it, too." A glance to Darkedge then and she focuses those pale eyes rimmed in dark lining of lashes.

"How long have you lived?"

The creature was like her? Darkedge's head tilts, eyes narrowing faintly as he focuses his gaze more fully on his table mate. The information she provides he files away, not sure what to make of it yet, what questions to ask to follow up. Normally, just him asking about a single event was enough that his reputation here had people offering more information than he needed so he left with no questions unanswered even though he only really asked the one.

How long have you lived?…

"No words for time. Many winters have chilled me," replies the elf softly.

Tattoo draws small depictions upon the condensation of her glass, tally marks follow as it spins in her grasp, and yet the imprints from the turns do not appear. Like her… Not from here. But not is realm or void, dimension or plane…

Tiny beads clatter in meet as her head lowers but those eyes set upon Darkedge. "Many? So more then 15?" A straightening of spine then. "As have I. 10 more past." And they way her stance righted in that booth, she seems proud of that quarter century, despite the consequences and duress it brought her people to keep her hidden for that long.

"Kida." Where a hand would extend, none did, she just introduces and lets it be at that with a nod of affirmation.

Darkedge watches her turn her glass, the strange markings she leaves int he beads of drink-sweat. Is she doing that thing that humans do? make markings for their speech? His head tilts ever so faintly.

"Many…" Darkedge pauses, holding up a hand. "One hand …of hands of hands… and a hands of hands more.. and…" He holds up three fingers. And then he rolls a shoulder. "Mayhap."

A pause. He does not extend a hand either, nor seems to have even realize that social custom required it.


"…Or… Tattoo…" It is what the people of the Slums called her, and even Dana… Rune? Brows furrow as this world seems to unload on her and the name Darkedge just as faux as Tattoo, but like Flash, like Spoiler, Sunspot, Cypher…. How many more? They seemed more depictions then those of true names. Kida does not have to get it, but she 'gets it'.

Darkedge watches as a thumb sweeps over the sweat, erasing one path to spin and accumulate another side unpainted, where a face is made crudely, of a lining akin to Haida art where his eyes are marked by a star-sigil, detailed by broken thumb nail that is embedded in grit and oil. Angel has told her of ways to fix that, but she refuses, if for anything but to try and "remain". Even for feet!
….Ew. NO touchy!…

Boots slide beneath the bench in their own reproach, grinding out as she looks to him.

"Then not akin… In my world you would have been…" And over the star-eyes she painted of him X.X's overbear by pinky-pad. Small but truthful. No many live past their 40's in her world, and if you lived past 21 you were lucky and the Spirits favored you… Or your family…

Hence why she did not touch, his eyes a mechanical hue it is apparent she still bears unsuretyo Darkedge, even in the way she is positioned or leans.

"How did that make you feel?" Let's bury down to it, the true question.

"Which preferred?" asks the elf, silver eyes watching her continue to mark in the water drops. The picture meant nothing so the Xs mean nothing, and a curious brow is quirked her way for her question. It's a wordless question: How did *what* make him feel? Well. She needs words so: "I feel mothing."

Kida paused at his question, lips drawing thin as everything she had done on the glass is wiped away by her clutch before she sips of the water and debated. "Tattoo…"

Given and earned, correct for here and now, it seems.

But despite her in-direct attention Darkedge gets enough so that she gets it, his look. "So you felt nothing to the Sobeken and his pain, nor anything else…" A nod and the glass is set down, Kida is sliding away and out of the booth.

If the Elf felt nothing then the business does not pertain to him and her questions are done. Her "call-sign" will be left for Rune at the bar if she makes it that far..

"I felt Veil tear, felt danger to Avalon; home. Pain of others, not my concern," replies the elf, not making a move to stop Kida if she chooses to go.

Tattoo pauses in her departure, glancing back over her shoulder laden in tattered tank-top straps, but a drop of hands has her slowly gathering the garage-collared top that rested looped around her exposed waist marked in tattoos and scars.

"Same here. But if my home comes here… We're…" A pause and her head leans back, showing the light strain to search for the correct word.

"Fucked." A count of fingers, they splay and dance like in a 'jazz', but it's been long enough? Kun-gw?" End.

"Not… My… Concern?" Those words ones that fall heavy and show as brows dip down and strain is only in her façade.

"Do well." Not Be Well. Live Well. Just Do.

Maybe it needs a Nike swoosh, but either way… Same intent!

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