There were places like this everywhere. Places where the different came. There was a place called the Briers in London, underground and full of werewolves, for the most part. There were dark dens in Paris and in Rome, there were those in Delhi carefully warded to escape the judgement of the gods. China was dotted with them, and he could name at least three in Tokyo alone (apparently the demons there didn't like to mix with anyone else after hours). And even the new world had them.
New York was not a city he spent much time in. There were a lot of monsters there- human for the most part- and if he started trying to tidy up, he'd never actually finish. New evils would creep in, as they always did in cities, and he'd never get to leave again. But sometimes a little sight-seeing trip was well worth the effort of dragging himself away from small-town America.
He'd heard of The Devil's Nest. It wasn't a very original name, but it fit, so Gabriel supposed the owner could be forgiven. Not that he'd ever met the man. And he used that term loosey. Still, when in New York, The Devil's Nest was the place to visit. If only because you heard news there, and since his so-called death, Gabriel had been desperate for news. He's had a little, form time to time, enough to drop in once or twice on the Brochesters and little Cassandra, who seemed to be fucking things up well by themselves.
Of course, Gabriel couldn't exactly make himself obvious anymore, which meant all his tricks had been drastically down-scaled. And that meant he was bored. B. O. R. E. D. Bored.
So maybe, he guessed, hanging out in a place like The Nest would be good for him. And even if he didn't find any new projects to keep him entertained, there would be gossip. And even if there wasn't gossip (and what sort of bar didn't have gossip?) then he was sure he could entertain himself some other way. He did enjoy watching fights start, after all.
It was already busy when he arrived. It was an old fashioned sort of place, more like a Tavern than a bar, even by New York bar standards- but he supposed this place had no reason to follow human fashions and trends. So Gabriel shifted his way through the knot of other patrons, and found himself a seat at the bar, off to one side. Unlikely to be bothered by drunks and more importantly with a great view of the rest of the bar, perfect for eavesdropping.
Though despite the rumors, whoever was manning the bar? Seemed to be missing upon Gabriel's arrival. The crowd was no-less packed than any other night; a few lingered in the recesses, their yellowing eyes and sour teeth glinting with disapproval once the angel arrived. Whether they knew what he was or not, it was hard to tell. More likely than not, it was the feeling. Of a bigger and badder fish entering a quickly-filling pond.
A small strum of music beat on, the tune tinning through the aged speakers. The words and the tune drifted in and out of muddled conversations, though a few lines crept in once in a while. Weaving between the hollers and whispers, it came: "You have admired, every man desires. Everyone is king when there's no one left to pawn-"
And as if right on cue, a shout drowned it out. A loud crack run right through. As one of the patrons came crashing onto the bar top, his arms flailing uselessly over the edge. He was decked in the typical biker motif - leather vest, bandanna wrapped snug around his shaved-bald skull. The man sputtered, reaching to his belt to pull at a switch blade.
But he was promptly stopped and finally, a voice came crawling from behind the bar. "Oi, oi, oi - " The tone was baritone thick, low. Drumming through a set of vocal chords as the sickly-yellow light illuminated the source. It was like he came out of now where - with a sinister-cat grin and sunglasses that gave the look of hollowed-out sockets. Greed leered over the face of his bar, practically oozing forward as he held the offender's hand by the wrist. Nails dug into the flesh, gesturing the grip away from the preferred weapon. "-now, that's not very nice. Pulling something like that."
The homunculus leaned over the man, meeting him eye to eye. It was enough to have the other release his grip and the weapon hit the floor of the bar with a deafening click. Greed pressed in closer, uncomfortably so. "Leave your money and go - I'm not interested in the trouble." Which seemed to be enough for the man in question. He snarled once at the Sin, but second-guessed himself a minute later. A few back-treading clicks of the heels sent him off, the front door banging on its hinges as he went.
Where there was silence, the crowd filled back in. A bit quieter now with the excitement come and gone. Greed oozed backwards, his hands slipping under the bar as he took grip of a bottle between the spaces of his knuckles. He lifted his chin, noting the other at the end of the table. Not a face he recognized, but that wasn't all too surprising.
Still, there was something. A feeling that sung out to his tune-rotten core and called for one thing only:
Power and oh, wasn't he just wanton for it. "New in town, or just passing by?" The homunculus hummed, his nonchalance present with each ease and sag of his shoulder. The fur at his collar bristled as he moved; fanning across the back of his neck like some sort of bird in plume. "Guess it doesn't really matter, right?"
Two bottles came to the top of the bar and he pried them open with his knuckles, sending the caps chiming off the surface. He pushed the pair forward with a toss of the fingers, letting them slide on the collected sweat. "Sorry you had to see that, friend. Some people just don't know when to quit." Faceless hands pressed cash in exchange and he took it without hesitation; moving seamlessly over to roll and pinch the cold-hard coin into tight rolls. They, too, disappeared - shoved and pressed into the back-pocket of his leathers.
"So - " He started in, his voice trailing off. A slump forward had him chasing the length of the bar. Until he was close enough to saddle near Gabriel, his hip checking into the back-face of the bar.
Gabriel has been watching for the possibility of a fight hopefully. Bar fights are never really all that distracting- once you’ve seen one people spill his or her drink on someone else, and the person behind get accidently punched it all it becomes something of a farce. He’s watched people crash into pianos, into the bottles behind the bar, jesus into the bar itself or any mirrors available. People have tumbled through railings and had chairs smacked down on their heads. Even if it is repetitive, you can at least enjoy the finesse of a seasoned brawler and watch the newbies be put through their respective paces. That was what he was hoping for.
It’s only when a big dumb lug starts pulling out the knives that Gabriel normally leaves. Knives aren’t fun. Well, not in this sort of situation. But he has to admit that there is something about the way the man behind the bar deals with the scene that is impressive. No threat, no violence only the deep voice and the hint of disappointment. It makes Gabriel smirk, watching the grasp on the wrist. People talked about barely controlled power. This was the opposite. This was strength, not caged and muzzled, but so deeply combined into being that it was almost comparable with his own Grace.
His elbow rested on the wood of the bar, chin in his hand as the ugly oaf left, tail firmly between his legs. In Gabriel’s honest opinion, the man had got away lightly. He’d seen the muscle flex in the arm of the barman, and there was no doubt that bone could have so easily been broken. But maybe it was a waste of effort on someone so insignificant. And as the man had said, he didn’t want trouble.
Gabriel was still staring after the would-be-fighter as that self-same voice addressed him. He turned his attention back, properly looking at the barman now. The dark spiked hair, the sunglasses (in a dark bar? At night?) and the vest. The muscles he’d already noticed, but they seemed pretty obvious all over. Huh.
“Neither.” He replies, shifting on the stool. He wasn’t passing through, and he wasn’t new in town. He’d been here before, many times over the last couple of hundred years. Not on the way to anywhere, but just because the place existed, and there were humans there. But he smiles slightly as the man continues, “I’m guessing you get a lot of patrons that don’t fancy telling you exactly why they are here or how long they are staying.” It was often safer not to for many unusual people, after all.
The barman’s eyes remained on him, studying, and Gabriel wondered if he was being sized up and pigeon-holed. He didn’t look like much, perhaps. But he had a feeling that the man in front of him wasn’t human- well, he knew that. He couldn’t get a handle on his soul, for one. Creatures other than humans were tricky, even for an arch-angel. He moved closer, and Gabriel dropped his arm, sitting a little straighter. “I’ve seen worse, and so have you. What’s a bar without the occasional scuffle?” He said with a shrug. He’d seen nothing terrible, nothing that would make anyone wince and certainly nothing that would concern him.
The offer of a drink makes him smile though. “I guess you have rum?”
"Wouldn't be much of a place, though I'm not really keen on letting it get too messy," Greed replied, even as his hands idly went to work. A small glint of the teeth ignited up his jaw and his knuckles wrapped soundless around the neck of a rum bottle. It was hidden underneath, lodged deep inside the bar for safe keeping. "And no, I don't. But sometimes, people will surprise you. But you wouldn't be here if you didn't already know - this isn't exactly a place for the normal sort."
The rum bottle removed was old and definitely not from the current century. The faded label on the side painted a picture of a well-worn mermaid coiled around a barely-legible anchor. Greed flicked out an index and the tip coaxed to a smooth, black sheen. Where a nail used to a be, a crooked-talon shivered to a point. He twisted his wrist, slicing the metal clasp in one, quick motion. The butt of his palm pressed into the tinny cap, nudging it free with a sullen pop.
"Speaking from experience?" The homunculus collected the remnants of the clasp, bringing up and into his palm as the coating on his skin receded away. It crawled like oil, slipping down until it was only flesh and blood left. With his other hand, Greed flipped a glass out from underneath. The lip of it spun through his fingers, righting itself until he sat it down on the bar with a hollow thunk. "Not that I care - not about to deny anyone. Wouldn't really be me if I did."
From the bottle, a rich liquid flowed. Hefty, dark and spicy with age. It was probably bottled somewhere closer to the turn of the century. Before two wars split the world and a new order sprung forth. It still stood, a gift from the past. Greed filled the portion out to the brim, running his thumb across the edge of the glass to make it sing in a humming dissonance. "Ah, right - that's a little rude."
Greed sat the bottle down, cleaning off his hand with a swipe at his thigh. He touched his collarbone gingerly, bending a bit to make a mockery of a bow. And all the while, his grin spread; his eyebrows pressed. As the tips of his fingers scissored off his bones:
Gabriel smirked- his host was right on that point. This wasn't a place for normal people, of course normal was sort of a misnomer, because there really was no such thing. Still, there were people even more removed from the status quo that others. "That's what I heard. And I thought I might come find out for myself."
He watches the talon scratch, the pointed tip not only lifting the cap without any trouble at all, but leaving the smallest nick in the glass itself- no small feat and Gabriel is quietly impressed. Werewolf? No. He's meet enough of those to know the aura they radiate, and despite the coiled spring of power in the barman's muscles, there is too much control...
He shrugs at the question of experience. He knows he doesn't have to answer- not out of secrecy, but because he has the vague feeling that the man-shaped creature across from him is old enough to have seen some of the world, and be able to answer his own question. Once you get to a certain age, there aren't many surprises left and you know how things work.
Gabriel smirks at the bow, and gestures for Greed to come and join him. He briefly wonders if it's a nickname, a descriptive, but he doesn't ask. And for the moment, he doesn't provide a name himself. There's not need, for the moment, for him to be anything other than an anonymous patron.
"That looks like the good stuff. Join me for a glass." He offers. "And you can tell me know long this place has been here." Because that is something Gabriel is interested to find out. This bar seems timeless, like it sits outside of the current fashions and trends of New York and the wider world, but likewise, he's sure that it wasn't here the last time he was here. Then again, there were a lot of things that weren't here last time.
Greed's eyebrow raised when Gabriel avoided the question, but he didn't need to press the issue. Everyone in the 'Nest had a story and sometimes, it was better not to ask too many questions. Instead, he shrugged - sending one shoulder up lazily in a silent answer. He didn't need to know; wouldn't have to know. Whether or not the other man become a frequenter or not, secrets were secrets.
And secrets never came cheap.
However, his smile split as soon as the other coaxed him on. A flash of teeth riding up one side of his jaw, the twist of it more akin to an angler grinning in the deep, deep depths. He sent one hand up, his fingers twisting to beckon someone on cue. A woman came to his call, her lips thick and budding. She regarded Gabriel with a faint look of suspicion, then decided against it. The Boss knew what he was doing.
At least he did most of the time. "Take over lovely, got business to take care of," Greed charmed back in, his voice sickly-sweet and deadly. A purr held in his throat, riding on a long string of R(s) that stretched on for a few lingering minutes. He slipped past her, grazing the small of her back with his elbow. A warning, a gesture, a conversation:
Keep an eye out for trouble.
The bottle came with him, the neck of it swept up in the thick of his knuckles. He exited along the side, pushing the door ajar with a prod of his hip. A few sharp clicks of his heel and a sauntering walk had him at Gabriel quicker than expected and Greed took the seat closest. He saddled his heel into one of the rungs, reaching blinded behind him for a glass. "Hmn?" He perked, one eyebrow cocked above the frames of his shades. His lower lip sagged before he belted out a quick, hard laugh. It hissed from his jaws, as noxious as the smoke that lingered in thinning shreds overhead. "Longer than most," an answer, but vague.
The bottle tipped into the glass, the opening burping as liquor sloshed and slapped the inside of the glass. Filled to the brim, he sat the rest back down with a heavy thud. "-but if you really have to know, it's been about a hundred years."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Re: ➥ HUNTING MONSTERS | closed to gabriel
New York was not a city he spent much time in. There were a lot of monsters there- human for the most part- and if he started trying to tidy up, he'd never actually finish. New evils would creep in, as they always did in cities, and he'd never get to leave again. But sometimes a little sight-seeing trip was well worth the effort of dragging himself away from small-town America.
He'd heard of The Devil's Nest. It wasn't a very original name, but it fit, so Gabriel supposed the owner could be forgiven. Not that he'd ever met the man. And he used that term loosey. Still, when in New York, The Devil's Nest was the place to visit. If only because you heard news there, and since his so-called death, Gabriel had been desperate for news. He's had a little, form time to time, enough to drop in once or twice on the Brochesters and little Cassandra, who seemed to be fucking things up well by themselves.
Of course, Gabriel couldn't exactly make himself obvious anymore, which meant all his tricks had been drastically down-scaled. And that meant he was bored. B. O. R. E. D. Bored.
So maybe, he guessed, hanging out in a place like The Nest would be good for him. And even if he didn't find any new projects to keep him entertained, there would be gossip. And even if there wasn't gossip (and what sort of bar didn't have gossip?) then he was sure he could entertain himself some other way. He did enjoy watching fights start, after all.
It was already busy when he arrived. It was an old fashioned sort of place, more like a Tavern than a bar, even by New York bar standards- but he supposed this place had no reason to follow human fashions and trends. So Gabriel shifted his way through the knot of other patrons, and found himself a seat at the bar, off to one side. Unlikely to be bothered by drunks and more importantly with a great view of the rest of the bar, perfect for eavesdropping.
no subject
A small strum of music beat on, the tune tinning through the aged speakers. The words and the tune drifted in and out of muddled conversations, though a few lines crept in once in a while. Weaving between the hollers and whispers, it came: "You have admired, every man desires. Everyone is king when there's no one left to pawn-"
And as if right on cue, a shout drowned it out. A loud crack run right through. As one of the patrons came crashing onto the bar top, his arms flailing uselessly over the edge. He was decked in the typical biker motif - leather vest, bandanna wrapped snug around his shaved-bald skull. The man sputtered, reaching to his belt to pull at a switch blade.
But he was promptly stopped and finally, a voice came crawling from behind the bar. "Oi, oi, oi - " The tone was baritone thick, low. Drumming through a set of vocal chords as the sickly-yellow light illuminated the source. It was like he came out of now where - with a sinister-cat grin and sunglasses that gave the look of hollowed-out sockets. Greed leered over the face of his bar, practically oozing forward as he held the offender's hand by the wrist. Nails dug into the flesh, gesturing the grip away from the preferred weapon. "-now, that's not very nice. Pulling something like that."
The homunculus leaned over the man, meeting him eye to eye. It was enough to have the other release his grip and the weapon hit the floor of the bar with a deafening click. Greed pressed in closer, uncomfortably so. "Leave your money and go - I'm not interested in the trouble." Which seemed to be enough for the man in question. He snarled once at the Sin, but second-guessed himself a minute later. A few back-treading clicks of the heels sent him off, the front door banging on its hinges as he went.
Where there was silence, the crowd filled back in. A bit quieter now with the excitement come and gone. Greed oozed backwards, his hands slipping under the bar as he took grip of a bottle between the spaces of his knuckles. He lifted his chin, noting the other at the end of the table. Not a face he recognized, but that wasn't all too surprising.
Still, there was something. A feeling that sung out to his tune-rotten core and called for one thing only:
Power and oh, wasn't he just wanton for it. "New in town, or just passing by?" The homunculus hummed, his nonchalance present with each ease and sag of his shoulder. The fur at his collar bristled as he moved; fanning across the back of his neck like some sort of bird in plume. "Guess it doesn't really matter, right?"
Two bottles came to the top of the bar and he pried them open with his knuckles, sending the caps chiming off the surface. He pushed the pair forward with a toss of the fingers, letting them slide on the collected sweat. "Sorry you had to see that, friend. Some people just don't know when to quit." Faceless hands pressed cash in exchange and he took it without hesitation; moving seamlessly over to roll and pinch the cold-hard coin into tight rolls. They, too, disappeared - shoved and pressed into the back-pocket of his leathers.
"So - " He started in, his voice trailing off. A slump forward had him chasing the length of the bar. Until he was close enough to saddle near Gabriel, his hip checking into the back-face of the bar.
"-what can I do for you?"
no subject
It’s only when a big dumb lug starts pulling out the knives that Gabriel normally leaves. Knives aren’t fun. Well, not in this sort of situation. But he has to admit that there is something about the way the man behind the bar deals with the scene that is impressive. No threat, no violence only the deep voice and the hint of disappointment. It makes Gabriel smirk, watching the grasp on the wrist. People talked about barely controlled power. This was the opposite. This was strength, not caged and muzzled, but so deeply combined into being that it was almost comparable with his own Grace.
His elbow rested on the wood of the bar, chin in his hand as the ugly oaf left, tail firmly between his legs. In Gabriel’s honest opinion, the man had got away lightly. He’d seen the muscle flex in the arm of the barman, and there was no doubt that bone could have so easily been broken. But maybe it was a waste of effort on someone so insignificant. And as the man had said, he didn’t want trouble.
Gabriel was still staring after the would-be-fighter as that self-same voice addressed him. He turned his attention back, properly looking at the barman now. The dark spiked hair, the sunglasses (in a dark bar? At night?) and the vest. The muscles he’d already noticed, but they seemed pretty obvious all over. Huh.
“Neither.” He replies, shifting on the stool. He wasn’t passing through, and he wasn’t new in town. He’d been here before, many times over the last couple of hundred years. Not on the way to anywhere, but just because the place existed, and there were humans there. But he smiles slightly as the man continues, “I’m guessing you get a lot of patrons that don’t fancy telling you exactly why they are here or how long they are staying.” It was often safer not to for many unusual people, after all.
The barman’s eyes remained on him, studying, and Gabriel wondered if he was being sized up and pigeon-holed. He didn’t look like much, perhaps. But he had a feeling that the man in front of him wasn’t human- well, he knew that. He couldn’t get a handle on his soul, for one. Creatures other than humans were tricky, even for an arch-angel.
He moved closer, and Gabriel dropped his arm, sitting a little straighter. “I’ve seen worse, and so have you. What’s a bar without the occasional scuffle?” He said with a shrug. He’d seen nothing terrible, nothing that would make anyone wince and certainly nothing that would concern him.
The offer of a drink makes him smile though. “I guess you have rum?”
no subject
The rum bottle removed was old and definitely not from the current century. The faded label on the side painted a picture of a well-worn mermaid coiled around a barely-legible anchor. Greed flicked out an index and the tip coaxed to a smooth, black sheen. Where a nail used to a be, a crooked-talon shivered to a point. He twisted his wrist, slicing the metal clasp in one, quick motion. The butt of his palm pressed into the tinny cap, nudging it free with a sullen pop.
"Speaking from experience?" The homunculus collected the remnants of the clasp, bringing up and into his palm as the coating on his skin receded away. It crawled like oil, slipping down until it was only flesh and blood left. With his other hand, Greed flipped a glass out from underneath. The lip of it spun through his fingers, righting itself until he sat it down on the bar with a hollow thunk. "Not that I care - not about to deny anyone. Wouldn't really be me if I did."
From the bottle, a rich liquid flowed. Hefty, dark and spicy with age. It was probably bottled somewhere closer to the turn of the century. Before two wars split the world and a new order sprung forth. It still stood, a gift from the past. Greed filled the portion out to the brim, running his thumb across the edge of the glass to make it sing in a humming dissonance. "Ah, right - that's a little rude."
Greed sat the bottle down, cleaning off his hand with a swipe at his thigh. He touched his collarbone gingerly, bending a bit to make a mockery of a bow. And all the while, his grin spread; his eyebrows pressed. As the tips of his fingers scissored off his bones:
"The name's Greed - it's a pleasure."
no subject
He watches the talon scratch, the pointed tip not only lifting the cap without any trouble at all, but leaving the smallest nick in the glass itself- no small feat and Gabriel is quietly impressed. Werewolf? No. He's meet enough of those to know the aura they radiate, and despite the coiled spring of power in the barman's muscles, there is too much control...
He shrugs at the question of experience. He knows he doesn't have to answer- not out of secrecy, but because he has the vague feeling that the man-shaped creature across from him is old enough to have seen some of the world, and be able to answer his own question. Once you get to a certain age, there aren't many surprises left and you know how things work.
Gabriel smirks at the bow, and gestures for Greed to come and join him. He briefly wonders if it's a nickname, a descriptive, but he doesn't ask. And for the moment, he doesn't provide a name himself. There's not need, for the moment, for him to be anything other than an anonymous patron.
"That looks like the good stuff. Join me for a glass." He offers. "And you can tell me know long this place has been here." Because that is something Gabriel is interested to find out. This bar seems timeless, like it sits outside of the current fashions and trends of New York and the wider world, but likewise, he's sure that it wasn't here the last time he was here. Then again, there were a lot of things that weren't here last time.
no subject
And secrets never came cheap.
However, his smile split as soon as the other coaxed him on. A flash of teeth riding up one side of his jaw, the twist of it more akin to an angler grinning in the deep, deep depths. He sent one hand up, his fingers twisting to beckon someone on cue. A woman came to his call, her lips thick and budding. She regarded Gabriel with a faint look of suspicion, then decided against it. The Boss knew what he was doing.
At least he did most of the time. "Take over lovely, got business to take care of," Greed charmed back in, his voice sickly-sweet and deadly. A purr held in his throat, riding on a long string of R(s) that stretched on for a few lingering minutes. He slipped past her, grazing the small of her back with his elbow. A warning, a gesture, a conversation:
Keep an eye out for trouble.
The bottle came with him, the neck of it swept up in the thick of his knuckles. He exited along the side, pushing the door ajar with a prod of his hip. A few sharp clicks of his heel and a sauntering walk had him at Gabriel quicker than expected and Greed took the seat closest. He saddled his heel into one of the rungs, reaching blinded behind him for a glass. "Hmn?" He perked, one eyebrow cocked above the frames of his shades. His lower lip sagged before he belted out a quick, hard laugh. It hissed from his jaws, as noxious as the smoke that lingered in thinning shreds overhead. "Longer than most," an answer, but vague.
The bottle tipped into the glass, the opening burping as liquor sloshed and slapped the inside of the glass. Filled to the brim, he sat the rest back down with a heavy thud. "-but if you really have to know, it's been about a hundred years."