All the grace and Finesse of a charging Rhinoceros

I study her for a moment....something distasteful to a man's passion...I raise my hands, focusing, layering magic over magic, changing the way light hit her body and shaping the air about her. I sit back, closing my eyes wearily for a moment, before looking over my work. I nod. "There. That should do."
Lily now appears to be a wizened old woman with a large bald spot, wrapped in a baggy sweater and pants. When she opens her mouth, it appears that she has very few teeth. I smile. "No man will be that desperate. You're safe from his interest."

"I don't know ignacy might be, look at his last almost date" I chuckle

Lily smiles, gap toothed and shuffles over to Ignacy. "What do you say, sugar? Want to have some fun?" She runs a wizened finger down his forearm and peers up into his face...

I can't help it; my knees buckle and I hit the floor laughing.

"Now that was a low blow." I say, amused.

i look at her dryly "well youve already touched my sword i mean how much more intimate can we get?" and then i point at her add as a second thought "and for the record i would hit that so hard the man who pulled me out would be proclaimed the next king of england".

She leans closer, mustering as much repugnance as she can. "Come now, that butter knife? I'm sure you could do better..."

I glance from Liam to Djhuety, my brows raised. "Butterknife?" Djhuety murmurs. "Uh-oh..." I say, watching the two with the expression usually reserved for lit fuses that are beginning to burn down.

i look at her and reply with sarcasm "i suddenly realize why i carry so big guns it is obviously to compensate for my small genitalia" then i lean in and whisper in her ear "you know regeneration wasnt the only thing given to me"

She steps back, a look of disdain on her face, "Your no fun, not like Lambkin!" She steps back and snuggles into my shoulder, causing me to turn flush as I tense at the contact.

I roll my eyes. "Enough, children. Let's be going."
As we pass through the streets of the Nightside, Djhuety and I speak quietly of the story we're going to have to tell. We skirt a treapannation studio where somebody with a hole shaped like male genetalia in the center of his head was demanding his money back, with a watching crowd. Everyone loves street theater in the Nightside. We take a detour around a pack of werewolves who are actually crazy enough to try chasing traffic; I wince at the sound of squealing brakes and the laughter of watching passerbys. Soon the traffic becomes sleeker, and the crowds less rowdy. Only their eyes give away their appetites. This is uptown, where the neon gleams and the come-ons are sleek, subtle, and all the more dangerous for it.Then the clubs are replaced by mansions with brightly lit fronts; the homes of the wealthy and the unspeakable.
Soon we're at the right address. We step up to the door. Out of the deep black marble of the walls, two great shapes step. Vaugely humanoid, they have no faces, but they stare down anyway. Nice doormen.
"We must speak to your master." I say, putting into my voice all the pride and gravitas of the greatest of my kind, "We have a thing he will wish to know of."

i add "we have unsettled debts with marty the hutt"

Shaking my head, I call up memories of quiet, pleasant afternoons of mindless talk with friends, and sing a long series of notes, wrapping the song around Ignacy. I glance at Djhuety, who looks horrified. "Don't worry. For a good while, anything he says will sound pleasant and sensible to those we face." I glance at Ignacy. "Since there's no way I can trust you to watch your tongue."
In front of us, the doormen bow, and pull open the black and gold doors, allowing us entry.

oblivious to whats going on i say "hans you filthy shithead get me another tank of flamethrower fuel!" in german of course.

"Hans, dear boy, would you be so kind as to fetch me more fuel for my weapon?"

Ignacy's normally dower countenance furrows with confusion at the sound of his words in perfectly accented English. Lily leans up against one of doormen cackling as I try to bury a smile. The doorman glances down its featureless face at Ignacy, then to Liv and me, it's brow furrowed in question. Shrugging I point to Ignacy and Liam respectively; "When one buys and sells in my partner and I's line of work, one must take appropriate measures to protect one's self and property. I'm sure your employer can appreciate that despite their idiosyncratic, these are two of the best men in the city." I nod in Lily's direction. "As for the crone, she's mad, but serves us well."

The brute's brow fails to unfurrow, but it nods anyway, and signals for us to follow it up the steps through a gold caked front door, into a foyer lined with vaguely humanoid casts in various positions, some seemingly agonizing, others peacefully reposed. I swallow hard as I recognize several on their pedestals fashioned from porous volcanic stone from history books. Mirrors alternated with gold panels, striped purple with enamels, cover the walls, both jarring the eyes and causing the room to appear infinite.

The doorman stops and indicates that we are to wait in a row of plush, purple suede couches that run the center length of the room and disappears through a door at the far end.

"he grew" I remark as the door man leaves "too bad he didn't carry his grandfathers knack for necromancy he could have been fun to work with" my lip curls "what?" I chuckle as Kaija gives me an odd look "it was that or be a bouncer and believe me some of the clubs even being dead doesn't help"

Lily, rather then sit, explores the room as I watch her carefully. She weaves in and out of the pedestals before ending up in front of one of what appears to be four sleeping individuals; "What artist would make something like this?" she murmers, tilting her head to a side. She reaches out to touch it, but I intercept her hand before it touches, silently shaking my head, a look somewhere between sadness and illness written on my face. "Wha..." she begins.

"the kind that go off in a moment and make a city quake or die. show some respect for the dead in this gaudy, gods awful morgue" my smirk returns "then again maybe it is better little jimmy didn't follow in grandads foot steps"

Lily retracts her hand, disgust plain on her face. "Why would ANYone want these?" She stomps back to the couches and flops into a seat as I trail in her footsteps.

"some to honor dead Pompii, some to study, Marty to have more gold in his collection" I keep licking my lips as if i am trying to get a taste out of my mouth, which i am, rage will serve no purpose here "now come sit grandmother, your old bones must be getting tired"

"I once got into a wyrm's lair." I murmur dryly, looking around the room. "I thought I'd never see anything more tastless. Now, I officially have."
Just then, a door creaks open. Two large men in immaculate suits come walking in.
"Mr Devor will see you now." one of them grunts.

"enunciate boys you are not apes in suits" I say standing "or has his standard of protocol changed so much that he has let that go to save money?"

We are led into another room, all black leather and gilt, with prints of big cats on the walls. If the man behind the desk thinks he's like these big cats, he's wrong. Thin, dark-haired and with a pale, pointed face, he looks more like a stoat than a cat. Or a rat. A gutter rat.
I smile very slightly. Now I know what he's compensating for.
"My doormen tell me you have something on offer." He says, affecting a wellbred british accent. It doesn't work. "Sit down, and explain."
We take seats, some in chairs, some on the floor. I cast a glance at the men standing around the room. I'll have to include them in the working.

"Sir, with all due respect," I struggle to keep myself from wincing at my own words, "It would be far easier if my partner and I were to show you the breadth of the treasures that we have secured and the tales of their recovery; you were the first to spring to our minds when we were selecting buyers, and we pray that we might not regret our choice." I force a smile.

The man in the great chair giggles. "Show and tell. I like that. All right, Sunshine. Give. But bear in mind, I've got no time for playing silly buggers. And if you waste my time..." he smiles. "Well, just don't waste my time."
Jumped up little leg breaker, I think, staring at him. But I need to think about the work, not the man.

I start small, searching the room for an object; my eyes light on a heave gold lighter weighing down a stack of papers on the desk. Smiling to myself, I begin, speaking more to the lighter then to DeVore. It twists under the weight of my words, bulging up from its base and spitting forth a small spout and a curled tail that fuses to make a handle; it blackens as age descends upon it like a cloud and evil spirits captured and sealed from the corners of the earth awake to find themselves entombed alive, causing the lamp to rattle on the table and the lights to dim...

DeVore swallows, eyes on the lamp, listening intently as I describe it, when Liv cuts in through the background, a low song that rises in volume and intensity. Her words both shadow and circumvent mine, weaving into the events and subtly adding life to the story and changing my own words even as I rewrite the room. It becomes long and dark, lined with torches and glittering in their light, where once books, paintings and tapestries set on the walls, massive piles of gold and surround us... and at the center, the once desk now towers tens of feet high, its flat peak unseen from the ground.

Liv's song calls to one of the Devore's thugs, and he steps forward, eyes out of focus with the room, entranced on the pedestal and lamp. My description's alter his face, his body; his cloths seem to fall away until all that remains is a toga of striking similarity to the former carpet that once graced the floor. Crouching low, tense and catlike, he climbs to the peak and claims his prize, lifting his voice toward the vaulted ceiling.

A sound behind him causes him to turn quickly, and he lunges from the path of an on coming spear, followed quickly by a second and third. The fourth catches him through the thigh, causing him to stumble and fall. A brutal looking man in dark clothing, flanked by a small contingent of tribal men, each carrying the short spears that brought down the savage, strides forward and plucks the lamp from his grip. Unheard words pass between the two and the brutal man laughs and kicks the fallen man before walking out, tossing a final rejoinder over his shoulder as he leaves.

The savage slumps as the poisoned tips finish there work.

Breathless, I finish, taking care to undo my words, leaving the lamp tantalizingly close to Devore's hand before causing it too, to return to its proper form. The guard nurses his leg in a corner, his cloths once again whole, though the pain of the wound will stay with him for some time, I surmise. The others that took roles without realizing it shake their heads, as if waking from a dream. I smile at Liv. "Not bad for a first showing." I whisper. "They behaved perfectly!"

Devore watches his chamber return to normal, staring dubiously at the formerly transfigured lighter and swallows hard.