In the Belly of the Beast

Nature Red is situated in Uptown, where all the best scum goes to make merry. This is where the glitz and the glamour, the class and the come-ons are brighter, subtler, and more enticing than ever. The small red neon sign that reads ‘Nature Red’, topped with a glowing white fang in hot neon, is down a slightly cramped side street, as if it doesn’t want to be seen…or as if it’s waiting for prey to approach and doesn’t want to be spotted before it’s in striking distance. I push open the door, very much wishing that I hadn’t thought that.
The bar is lit with gas fixtures that give a flickering light that never quite reaches into all the shadows. For a bar, the place is quiet; its denizens lean low over their drinks and speak in murmurs. For a moment, heads raise and the background murmur falls quiet; all around us, I can feel eyes watching, as if I’d stepped up to a pool where predators were drinking. A watering hole for all of mankind’s hunters. We walk casually through the bar. I keep up a running murmur under my breath.
“She’s an Apsara. If she asks you for a dance, a drink, a chat, don’t take it. That’s a Glancour. Don’t look him in the eye. Stay away from both of them. There are claws under those gloves.”

"thanks for the warning Girlie." I say, "Though i suppose someone with high iron in their blood might be ok right?"

"Don't bet on it." I say dubiously, "Most of the people in here live on human flesh." I motion for the lads to take a seat at one of the tables. “In here, you have to keep yourself under control.” I say softly, “Even if you’re angry, even if you’re threatened, don’t react. Don’t challenge. These are the predators of humanity. To them, you are prey. Don’t encourage them to attack. Djhuety, walk beside me.” Then, affecting a relaxed pose, I stride over to the bar. I do my best to look about without appearing to do so. Here, a satyr and a taglio share a drink, their boot-black hooves clicking against the chair legs. There, a group of fassueroles and larvae are sharing a plate of something that I don’t look at too long. I wrinkle my nose. I hate being around larvae; they’re foul creatures, feeding on human fear and guilt and taking their shape from human terrors. And the fassueroles aren’t much better; the ugly old hags are the hyenas of the Kindred. They kill anything weak enough for them to take down.
I step up to the bar, avoiding two streghs, who are happily carving up a couple of hearts on a plate, their doglike faces set in wide grins, their crumpled wings wrapped around them like cloaks. The hearts look human.
The barkeep is tall, tall and slender, with skin like ebony and hair slicked back in a long black pony tail. Even in this gloom, he’s wearing a pair of dark sunglasses. Overall, he looks like he ought to play snaky jazz tunes on a saxophone.
“And what can I do for you?” he asks, in a voice like bitter chocolate, leaning forward over the bar with a wide, slow smile. “Whiskey.” I say stiffly. He nods, and reaches below the bar. As he bows his head, his glasses slip, giving me a glimpse of slanted eyes whirling with the colors of a sunset. A phouka then: only phouka have eyes like that. He sets the drink in front of me with a wide smile. “There you go. Enjoy.”
“Thanks.” I say shortly, and take a sip. “And I’m looking for someone to drink with as well. Is the Puck in tonight?”
The barman raises a brow. “You real sure you want to talk to the Puck, little lady?”
“Very sure.” I say coolly. He shrugs, and tips his head to one side. “Down there. Middle of the bar.”
“Thanks.” I say breezily, and step down the bar. A slow, heavy, exotic music begins, all rhythm and drums. Up on the stage at the other end of the bar, three nagas take the floor, slender, dark haired and eyed, preternaturally beautiful. The swords they carry gleam in the low light. Each naga balances the sword on her head, and they begin to dance, weaving in and out in a sensually slow routine. They move as if boneless, and their grey midriff tops gleam as if they’d been oiled. The women bend and move in and out of each other’s dancing space in a dance as intimate as a caress, their blades flashing, sometimes inches from another dancer’s exposed flesh. At times two dancers will come so close to one another, face to face, that they’re nearly touching, and then they smile and hiss slowly, and their fangs glimmer in the light, forked tongues flashing like red lightning.

It isn’t hard to recognize the Puck. He sits sipping a glass of Angel Tears, his gold eyes heavy-lidded. What strikes me first, though, is his hair. Black hair,with grey in it. No elf I’ve ever seen before showed any sign of aging, but this one, this one has grey in his hair. Odd. He’s tall, at least six and a half feet, and like all the elves he is pale and beautiful. But, unlike the other Elves, he is not perfect. His shoulder on one side is twisted, a misformed hump, and the arm on that side is foreshortened and withered. His chest is bare, perfect and white, and he wears only a shaggy pair of sheepskin trousers, though perhaps they’re not trousers…I can’t be completely sure. From his high brow, two small goat horns curl. There’s a quiet, low laugh.
“Well, speak of the devil and she doth appear.”
With a start, I realize that the Puck’s drinking partner is a Siren, thin and androgynous in a long white wrap and white leggings. I don’t think it’s the same one we dealt with before, but it is a little unnerving. It looks at me with dead black shark eyes, smiling very slightly.
The Puck turns, his eyes looking over me slowly, eyes the color of brandy.
“Ah. So I see. The little Bard who can sing down the Elders. Yes…Dratsie features. But blue eyes, such a nice touch in that pale face. A very nice touch indeed. Well met, young cousin. Well met indeed. We were just speaking of you.”
I give a deep nod that is almost a bow. “Well met, oh Puck of the Courts of the Bright.”
He chuckles, his voice rich and deep. “And manners too. Well, well. Another proof that we halfbreeds are not completely useless, aye?” He chuckles again. Then he glances at Djhuety. “Hello, boy.” He says slowly.

I put on a false limp and say "yarr me hearties were here to Parrrlay!".

I smile, a hint of gold behind my eyes as I quote.
"Either I mistake your shape and making quite,
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite
Call'd Robin Goodfellow: are not you he
That frights the maidens of the villagery;
Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern
And bootless make the breathless housewife churn;
And sometime make the drink to bear no barm;
Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?
Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck,
You do their work, and they shall have good luck:
Are not you he?"
I pause a breath. "You recognize me." I choose to add and under tone of power to my words.

i drool a blank stare in my eyes and say in a zombie like voice "i recognize you".

Thoughtfully, the Puck studies Djhuety. “Yes, I recognize you, boy, and you don't need to use your gift to make it so. Well well, the Bard’s other line. And still quoting your sire’s work too. Well, I won’t say it wasn’t good. Yes, I remember hearing of you, some time ago...”
The music changes to a flirty Egyptian song, still exotic and middle eastern in nature but lighter than before. Two female visulas take the floor in tiny top hats, red lace dresses that have been pinned up in the front to display their high Victorian boots and the white underskirts that barely reach their knees, and long white gloves. Each of them carries a small parasol, and together, they begin to perform a burlesque routine. Their sharp teeth show every time they smile with their bright, red lips. The Puck smiles, and takes another sip of his drink. "Sit." he says, and I feel my legs nearly fold before I grab a barstool.

I pull a stool next to Liv, never taking my kaleidoscopic eyes from Puck's golden orbs. "You know of my lineage then." I force my voice to stay level, "You know of my surviving kin?"

The Puck's lips twitch in a sardonic smile. "Boy, I know everyone. Every kin is known to me. I am that merry wanderer of the night, as you so well recall. Loved by all, though trusted by none of course."

uninterested in the conversation going on i go to the bar and up to a naga and say "wanna go back to my place? il let you touch my other sword" promptly getting slapped in the process.

"I know you neither enough to fear nor love you, but as you say, you are not to be trusted; yet even in that knowledge, I sit here to beg your discretion." I lean forward, maintaining the eye contact.

hearing Dejhuty's wording I have to refrain from wincing. It is like looking back in time and seeing my own mistake unfold all over again. then seeing ignacy and hearing his comment to the Naga... and I thought I was Crazy. trying to keep my attention everywhere is proving interesting, now if only I had my spear. . . where the hell did I leave that any way?

The Puck crosses his arms, his smile widening. "Ah. It's been a great long while since I had one of the high and lordly Sidhe beg my audience. Human blood must have given you humility as well."

going to what i think is a woman while shes turning towards me i say "hey thats not my gun you se-" i stop abruptly noticing the adams apple "youre sooooo not my type" i say as i turn away.

"Aw come on luv." the creature says, wrapping its arms around Ignacy, "Don't you want a good time?" It grins, licks its lips, and digs claws in, making Ignacy yelp and jump away.

I straighten. "It is not beyond the realm of possibility," My voice takes a cold edge before softening, "but until I have the knowledge of my heritage it is only conjecture. This is the problem I was hoping we could address this eve."

i kick it in the crotch and say "sorry luv" and start pacing away from the creature.

"Ah. Your heritage." The Puck looks moodily into his glass. "And what have I from you in return for such knowledge?"

I smile and come up to Ignacy and the being "Darling you really need to work on your makeup more, less showmanship more allure. use a softer blue to offset your complexion rather then going so monocrom" I sigh "i see the look you were going for, you clearly missed, give me your makeup kit and let me fix it"

i smile at him sarcastically and pick up a bottle from the bartable as the creature walks up on me again with murderous intent in its eyes, still looking on liam i take a swig from the bottle and say "welcome to the carribian luv" as i smack it over the head with the bottle, i throw the bartender a decently sized roll of cash.

The bartender smiles widely. "Much obliged." he says, barely looking at the creature on the floor as it dissolves into smoke and drifts out the door.

"I dare not promise more then I can deliver, and it is not in your interest to ask more then is in my power to provide. What value I do have I would offer you, but I have no assurance of the quality nor quantity of your provision." I flash a slight smile, "I believe the school yard dictate is 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours.'"

several of the creature's friends gang up on me and a bald black man with a wig and a dress say "Well that wasnt too nice".

I drop a few bill on the bar " tankard of proper Mead?" before sitting down on the bar stool "I need a drink before fishing for the german"

i turn to liam and say "and this is why i dont get laid, somehow it always turns into barfights" as the black man takes a swing at me.