Description: Another chance meeting between the priest and widow happens. Though, the meeting in a bar happens later in the story.
Another late night, another mission for Walter Bardsley. He's been tracking down a group of zombie gangsters who have recently taken to devouring the poor, /and/ tagging Church property. In the worst parts of the European city he's found himself in, it's been a taxing mission. With something of a reputation as the Church's pet dog, Walter has encountered resistance and pure spite from the local community such as it is.
In an epic battle against the gang, he's destroyed all but the leader after an attempted drive-by of his hotel room. A bit battered, clothes ripped and torn, and cloak missing his draconic traits are all /too/ easy to see even in the darkness of the alleyway he's found himself in. Huffing, puffing, he finally slides to a halt. Dropping his weapon case, he shakes his head.
"Walter, old boy, you /really/ need to take up some bloody endurance training. This is pathetic." A flap of his wings, and a finger rises as he lights a bit of chi upon it. Golden light fills the area like some sort of martial-arts flashlight.
Dark alleys are prime locations for the dark-aligned folk to spend their time in privacy, especially when away from home. Be the Father's presence known to the pair already in the alley, there seems to be two women against the wall in shadows. And while one is dressed as average, the other is mostly concealed by black garb, save for snow-pale hands and face and is quite hands-on with the other.
To an outside observer, this probably might appear to be a make out session. Craned heads, heavy breathing, grabby hands, probably all seems like a very typical display of affection. If it weren't that the hands of the darkly dressed woman are, at this point, holding their 'partner' upright and preventing them from escaping. A glimpse or two of reflective, yellow eyes may hint that said dark-clad lady is a bit more than she seems. Or has a great pair of contacts for cosplay.
By now, the exhausted preacher half expects the noises he hears to be his quarry. Though the lack of screaming is suspicious. Even so, his silver spear is drawn, a strange tussle of fox-fur wrapped about its head as he draws upon some wellspring of strength and steps out to peer at the 'zombie' and their victim. That weapon gets pointed! With a valiant pose, cross gleaming in the moonlight, Walter starts a dramatic speech.
"Sebastion Blake, you shall harm no other innocent victims! Your compatriots are ended, and your villainy ends..."
By now trudging closer, he spies that A. These two aren't zombies and B. they're both too female. The dragon-priest pauses, goes utterly scarlet.
"Er...erm! OH God my deepest apologies Ladies I shall make myself scarce!" He's about to turn around with those big wings of his and scamper off in humiliation before he notes just how the woman is being held down. A spin, and that weapon is pointed at the vampiress.
"I /trust/ this is...erm...something the Lady desires, miss?" Sharp draconic eyes note the pair in better detail. Seems he doesn't yet recognize the feeder! Soon glowing with golden chi, he tries to hide his wings. Utterly impossible of course.
Marilda, busy trying to get her fill from the woman she'd lured in by song, gives a whine when a weapon is drawn and a voice is raised. Enough that she draws her head back and reigns in her hands, pulling her hood up once her 'partner' is safely propped up against the wall.
"Why is a man of cloth raising a weapon to a pair of women?" Marilda asks. At this point, there's no disguising herself. "My fan here was certainly willing, I'll have you know."
The preacher stands his ground at first. /Glaring/ at Marilda as she turns about. Behind him, his tail sways violently, the warrior of God steadfast and sure of his rightness. Then she pulls back that hood. There's a little moment of uncertainty followed by shock as recognition slowly dawns. A bar. A widow. The weapon lowers slightly. Wariness is in every muscle, ready to spring. Even then, his gaze occasionally glances about. After one drive-by, you get paranoid.
"Dark alleyway, late at night, holding down a woman by her wrists...do forgive me if it is a bit suspicious Miss Barbat! It is my duty to protect innocent people, and..." A glance again to her partner. Frown. She looks okay despite the circumstances. The self-righteousness drains, and he turns away shame faced.
"Oh God save me! Alright, alright, she looks fine. Who the bloody hell am I to judge your tastes, my Lady? Sorry, I..." The preacher, with his shredded vestments and even some blood at his collarbone, just collapses against the wall.
"Listen. In the past twenty-four hours, I have been nearly bitten, shot, stabbed, and thoroughly beaten by a group of murderous gang members. And about twenty minutes ago, had the 'enjoyable' experience of an american-style drive-by shooting! I may be a bit on edge, if you'll forgive me!" Laments the Father, head in his hands. Cue reaching for a hip flask.
"I'm sorry. Both of you. Probably killed the bloody mood too."
With that, after draining his drink, he'll start to walk away. Still easily stopped by Marilda, however!
Marilda was slightly preoccupied ensuring her snack stays upright against the wall. After that, she turns to give attention to the worrisome Walter, eyes locked unto him. Her gaze, unadorned by sunglasses, is rather predatory. An almost constant stare that remains on his eyes. But that is probably manners and maintaining eye contact. "The only 'mood' that there had been, was me enjoying a brief snack." she murmurs, taking a few steps closer to politely lessen their distance.
"If you're being attacked, it may be better to stay near a friend. More senses, less reason to be worried." she offers, moving in to interrupt his drink, by placing her hand over his and tugging at that flask. "Let's keep your head low and stick to the shade."
Walter's eyes narrow a bit. Focusing, the exhausted man stops his drink as his hand is grabbed. Looking into those predatory eyes, he frowns. Then, sighs deeply.
"You are right. I /have/ been a touch too obvious about this whole thing anyway." Cue his stick being placed back in its weapon case. A glance to the other woman, then Marilda. A raised brow, and he whispers.
"You're not human, are you? Well, I suppose you have the same idea of myself. She /will/ be alright, yes?" A hardening gaze there, but it softens.
"If you're sure about this. My target is a murdering, sneaky bastard. But if you're willing to help me regroup, I can hardly turn it down. After you, oh Lady of the Dark! Bloody terrible at stealth. Last saw the bastard a block away. Any ideas?" He asks, trying to stick to the shade indeed. Those wings make it hard though. Should she lead on? He'll follow and imitate. Probably poorly.
Marilda offers a smile to him. "I told you, I suffer from a very strange illness, Father. But yes, she'll be fine. Tired, but unharmed." she gives a glance to the obviously groggy stranger.
"Well, you've already seen me with my hood and glasses removed, and my hands bared. Leading you to the room I am staying at to recover, or helping you find your mark are lesser evils certainly." she adds. With the intention of leaving the alley, she turns back to procure her leather case and adjusts her hood. "Now, let's move. An alley is nowhere you want to be cornered by a firearm. Stay to the shade." but it's uncertain what she might mean by shade, being the middle of the night.
There's visible relief. "Mmm, good. Too few of us who /care/ about humans. Partly why this whole damn conflict between our kind even started...right, no time for philosophy. Time to not get shot." There's suddenly an extra frock around said groggy lady. It might lend to uncomfortable questions later, but this wyrm is a gentleman.
Then the man is following along, slinking in a serpentine pattern that comes all too easily. There's certainly areas of darkness in the maze of alleyways that make up the bad section of the city. He considers. There's gunshots in the distance. Not uncommon, really.
"Hmm. Let's hide out in your place. I need to rest, get patched up, and figure out a plan. Besides, it seems the residents are getting a bit heated. They will take bloody forever, but, I have had enough troubles with the law to know they will not take kindly to my appearance." Tail swaying for balance, off he follows towards Marilda's hideout!
"Something of a musician?" He quips quietly as they travel.
Marilda's ear is lended, paying attention as Walter speaks to her, as passive as it may be. Now with two outer garments about her, it's a little warmer than she may have considered. "You flatter me with your gestures, Father. Are you sure you aren't married? I cannot imagine a gentleman as you hasn't a woman of his own to hold at home." she muses.
Her stride is confident and fluid, staying close to the wall nearest the moon to stay in the largest of shadows. "It isn't too far, I promise."
Walter laughs aloud, and waves his empty hands! Then he suddenly clams up. Right /sneaking/ Walter. Blushing momentarily, he smiles.
"Quite single. Let us just say my particular occupation leaves little time to pursue a wife. Too much good to be done, world to be saved, et cetera!" A wink!
Following along, he tries to match those fluid strides. Mostly it's a lost cause. His wyrmkin roots are just too proud, too arrogant to /sneak/. Whereas Marilda is a fluid, graceful shadow, the wyrm is a confident creature of Light. He manages to be somewhat concealed, but a keen eye could well spot him.
"After you my dear. Could use some wine and a warm fireplace after this!" Smile!
Marilda wasn't leading the preacher too far from the alley. A few blocks of skirting in the shadows, and then takes a quick exit fromm the alleyways. A quick crossing of the street and into an unmarked building, she mentions her return at the door. It opens and reveals a nice speakeasy, which she ignores and strides through.
Into the parlor of the vampiress Walter goes! As he passes the threshold, there's an audible sigh of relief. Closing the door, and locking it as well, the paranoid Father turns about to take in the old speakeasy. His eyes go wide a bit.
"My God you hav class my dear." Spurts out the rather tired priest. All but wobbling over to a barstool, he collapses upon it, head thumping on the bartop. Wings and tail droop, and he just sits there for a long moment. Adrenaline crashes, breathing hikes, and he /shudders/ as he lets all of the fear, excitement and rage of combat spill out in deep breaths.
"Sometimes I hate my job."
Marilda reclines onto a red, leathery sofa with a sigh, letting her hood down. "Sometimes you hear about nice rooms from the locals. Speaking of, mine's the door at the left end." and she motions to an open archway that leads into a split hall. "And I'm sure you'd hate your job less if you had a friend around to help once in awhile." she muses, setting her case to the side.
She tugs on the zipper of the case and procures her cithara, made of ivory with ebony inlays for a unique design. With a quiet tune in mind she tunes the strings, and leans into a comfortable position, holding her instrument on her lap.
Walter's ears perk up as the sound of an instrument being tuned fills the air. With quite some effort, he shoves himself away and stumbles over to a convenient comfy chair. Flump! Leeeaning back with eyes half-closed, he gazes upon the woman before him curiously.
"Mmm...left. Will take the right, then." He's not about to kick her out of her own bed, after all! Smiling a little wider, he nods.
"Are you /really/ sure you want to say that? My dear, I save humanity from /us/. That means being a right bastard sometimes. And you receive nothing for it. Trust me, a woman such as you aught have a peaceful life. It is a road leading to death for the sake of us all." A martyr's path, full of blood and death. A classic case of the righteous.
"How long have you been a musician?"
Marilda turns her head to Walter's movement, eyes locking unto him as he repositions. "I was offering for you to stay in it. I won't be retiring 'til morn." she replies. "I think, however, in light of your description, it might be best if you have a friend stay close to keep you safe in resting." she corrects herself. "As for music, it was a way to cope with grieving over my husband."
Walter's own meet Marilda's. His face goes scarlet suddenly, even if his tail sways! "I...I simply could not /think/ of taking your bed my dear! Why, it would be.." But then she speaks, and the knightly Father considers. Looking down, at his ruined frock, and just how /tired/ he looks, the man relents with a soft smile.
"Well, let us not stand on tradition. Yes, after today's little romp I think I would be quite vulnerable. My Lady, I place myself in your care until I am rested and able, with my eternal thanks."
There's a formal seated bow. He frowns lightly.
A crossing of his chest, but he says no more on the matter. He'll not bring up something so painful.
"Play me a song, hmm?" Then he's off, rustling up said wine and glasses. While not certain if his host can even drink the stuff, he's a gentleman. Pouring her glass first, then his, he once more tosses aside ceremony by downing the glass.
"To being alive, faithful, and without bullet holes in us!"
Marilda seems to be neutral about his refusing the room, and nods when Walter accepts. "I think it would be wise. Bullets are apparently nothing to sneeze at.. unless you happen to have a cold." that might be a joke, but probably isn't.
When asked to play, Marilda's fingers quickly get to action, plucking out a slow series of notes. The resulting melody is warm and relaxed.
"Oh, trust me. Scales or not, they /hurt/. Endeavor to not find out." Then, relaxing with the matter settled, he kicks back and enjoys the music. There's even a little chuckle at her 'joke'. Wine flows easily for the dragon-priest with his liver of steel, and soon he's comfortable and happy.
"Thank you. I did not think this day would end so pleasantly." He mutters. A small yawn, and the man's barely awake. Curled up in the chair like a very big scaley puppy, a half lidded eye watches the vampiress in her leather playing. A smile comes to him, soft and warm, as he basks in music and the presence of a new friend.
Marilda's attention shifts into her playing, losing focus on her surroundings for the most part. The music is expressive, and the tempo drops into a more calm and soothing blend of notes, to better foster the atmosphere of rest.
Soothing music, warmth, and a comfy chair finally do the exhausted Padre in. With a shiver, he falls asleep, gently hiss-snoring. Mumbling happily in his sleep, the wyrm looks content to have found a friend and musician at once as he quite simply succumbs to his long day. Luckily he's not entirely /too/ heavy should the vampiress decide to haul him into a proper bed, sleeping like the dead indeed.
Marilda's plan is, more or less, that. Dragging him into the bedroom, literally, and seating him. At that point, she quietly plays a soothing lull to keep him sleeping soundly, while she sits away from the bed. There's plenty of night for her to spend before she has to awaken him.
Log created on 11:56:50 02/17/2015 by Marilda, and last modified on 21:34:41 02/17/2015.