genessia | Action for Genessia|Fayren|Everglade, but not Attleton y'all boring

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★ szelhamos

Action for Genessia|Fayren|Everglade, but not Attleton y'all boring

[Now, normally, seeing this asshole around means someone is about to have a shitty day, probably one filled with pulling food particles out of their hair or having to listen to catty, sarcastic, bitchy insults from someone who looks like he could set fire to a stack of twenties and use it to light a cigar without batting an eye.

Today, however, seems different.]

[DAY]

[He's at a few open air cafes throughout the day, rather quietly, almost politely minding his own damn business. There's always food there, of course. Always, fucking always food. He needs some kind of excuse to leave the house, may as well do it for the food. The animal at his side seems to switch up depending on the area though.

Everglade will see a fat, pumpkin colored corgi in an offensively pink sweater, bouncing happily along beside him.

Fayren gets a sleek, pitch black cat with golden eyes the size of saucers.

And Genessia earns itself a fat, lazy looking owl, those same brilliant gold eyes half lidded and sleepy looking, perched on Szel's shoulder quite comfortably.

He never does quite pick a table with only one chair, though he seems to have made a point to push all of them away from the table. Not to other tables, mind, but obnoxiously into other peoples paths. Look, he's blind, maybe he has no idea you don't know.]

[NIGHT]

[Genessia City. He's not at Velvet Lust, for once, his usual haunt. Rather, he's become a little more bold as the sun has gone down. With that same fat owl on his shoulder, he's wandered into bars through town, and while he never really appears to be at all drunk, that is certainly a great goddamn deal of alcohol he keeps buying. The darker it gets, the more the demon seems at home, the scent of opium, menthol and cloves constantly following him. Passing under street lamps, or sitting close to the dim lights in a bar would cast into faint relief the halo of smoke that circled his head, despite the obvious lack of a cigarette.

He'd smell like expensive cigars, of packed opium pipes and heady, dark wine.

He'd smell like a Bad Decision. An expensive one, but a bad one.

And he certainly looks far more comfortable now than he did midday, apparently bars after midnight are far more relaxing to him.]

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There's music on the darkened streets of Fayren. Soothing, and fitting for the setting, the time drifts on the night air, curling around those who stray into range of it. It calls the listeners, with a fascinating pull, towards the figure sitting off on the grass. Four small orbs of light hover over her head, like will o'wisps in pastel colors.

The light is more for others than for her. She can see fine, even in the low light. But if people were to wander over, she certainly wouldn't want them tripping over a wayward stone in the dark.

[Sometimes, it's fun to simply observe people. Openly staring always manages to get people's attention, setting off some extra sense that even the most adamantly against the idea of there being more than five senses don't just brush off and ignore.

So Phibrizzo has a book. A thick book, clearly not written for children. Undead Rights: A Comprehensive History.

It's not the way this being is dressed that catches Phibrizzo's attention. No, it's the overwhelming amount of negative emotion and pain emanating from him. So he pushes one of the chairs left haphazardly around the table right in.]

Hi, mister! Mind if I join you? The cafe's getting a little full.

Honestly, what draws him over isn't actually the music. He likes music just fine, don't get him wrong, but nothing can quite compare to heaven.

No, chances are, he'd only been passing by, probably on his way to Genessia, honestly, having still not quite made up his mind about what bar he was actually going to. Old habits died hard, especially for him.

Midge, however, had managed to catch sight of who was actually playing, and he hesitated for a moment, cocking his head towards her.

No, he's not going to say anything, though it certainly seems like he's considering something.

[It's Midge, the corgi, that snaps his head towards Phibrizzo the moment he's even in the area. There's a whisper in the air, a mixture of what sounds like the rustling of feathers, and the delicate, chime-like sound of glass bottles rattling, as the demon stiffens imperceptibly.

That felt familiar.

He'd never had an issue with Astaroth before, but then, he'd have no reason to. Both of them generally minded their own damn business, and Szel saw no point to openly antagonizing one of the second most powerful demons in Hell.

Still, better safe than sorry. He was just about to get up and move when, of course-]

When did we get on a name basis of 'mister'?

[Okay, a bit sharpish a tone, but for the moment, gut instinct overruled everything else, and he couldn't help but be a bit irate that any demon would try and pull the 'I'm just a dumb weak human' song and dance on him. That's offensive, he's not dumb.]

[While Phibrizzo is never especially worried about annoying people - and in fact actively seeks to do so semi-regularly so that he can enjoy a snack, he's sincerely confused by this response. He can tell this person isn't human. He feels vaguely mazoku-like, but not exactly.

What Phibrizzo does know is that he's never met him in person before. Which makes this reaction all the more puzzling.]

Well, I don't know your name, and "hey you" is rude, so...

[And in turn, the reaction Szel gets for this is puzzling.

Any high ranking demon at home would have dropped the act in an instant after being called out. Everyone he knew, knew him back, it was hard not to know of Beelzebub's favorite pet spider.

So enjoy that sudden shot of confusion, which kicks off a wonderful cascade of annoyance and frustration. Guess who hates not knowing shit!]

... Okay, who the hell are you?

She feels the attention, before looking up. But when she does, a smile blooms on her face.

"Szelhamos! Midge!" Yes she's waving as she stands up, the harp set down without care about it being unattended. The light is coming with her however, the little orbs bobbing along in the air.

"Well don't you look fine in your feathers, my friend!" Yes that's for Midge. He's become her most favorite demon ever. Sorry Szel. But number 2 isn't so bad, right?

"Nice to see you both, even if it's so late."

The owl ruffles his feathers, giant golden eyes locked on her dutifully as Syeria heads over to them. The compliment is just answered with a throaty "hoo", no words today it seems.

Szel, to his credit, fully expects the shifted bug to get attention before he does, he doesn't even argue. If there's one person in the world that he doesn't mind taking second to, it's Midge.

"Well the good bars don't open until the sun goes down, I'm not spending my evening sipping a virgin Shirley Temple. Why aren't you asleep?"

It's good he doesn't mind, because she absolutely adores Midge. He's hard to ignore. But since the little friend isn't being terribly talkative tonight, well she'll just let him be. Maybe he's tired.

Speaking of.

"Restless." Better than saying she has insomnia and nightmares a lot. "You seem like you've been having a night."

"Insomnia, huh?" That's what he took from this. This and that conversation they had that she doesn't even know they had. It's really complicating being a total asshole as usual right now.

It's problematic and he doesn't like it.

"A night, is a way to put it, yes.

Are you just going to stay up all night busking?"

You could open up to her, Szel. Have a conversation. It's an option.

"Being a bard was my intended profession. This isn't the first place I've been able to just do that. Not much mercenary work around here, really."

So... Yes maybe. Not that there's anyone send to toss coin her way, at this hour.

What's this 'open up' shit you're suggesting?

Sounds fake.

"There are always the bounties." But honestly, actually getting a job while being a bounty hunter here seemed to be next to impossible, so-

"Have you even made any money tonight?"

"Are there? I haven't seen any boards around."

Because what's a newspaper?

She gives him a little shrug. Which is a clear 'no'. The streets are quiet, and she's pretty out of the way.

"No reason not to play."

"... That is the saddest thing I've heard all day, you're just sitting out here, playing to no one.

I get that you hail from a time before livestreams, but you know how to use the video feed, come on. Make an audience.

God. Okay, you know what? I can't actually walk away from you being this openly pathetic, come on.

We're going to a bar."

There is so much to respond to there.

"What's live stream?"

That's the most important thing. And also she's not going to argue with him about taking her to a bar. He's openly offering her something and not by throwing it at her face. Something is up. She's not sure what. Maybe he's just drunk.

"It's pretty much the video function on your phone. The moving pictures thing.

Only broadcasted to everyone."

He gestures, apparently heading down this street. Seems like they're gunning for Hanger Queen, since Velvet vanished.

She's just following along beside him, because she's never been into any of these places. It's not smart to go into a tavern without coin to spend, generally.

"Interesting name for it."

Yes, that instrument she had? She's just leaving it behind! Just a harp hanging out on the grass.

"You know, you'd think that gold would spend anywhere. I don't understand what's so valuable about red paper cloth."

"'Live' means that it's happening in real time, instead of a recording. A stream is just a form of watching content. I'd get into it, but you stumble over words like 'video', so I'm not even going to try."

Why for you leave this thing WHY

"It's a promissory note relating to gold. You can spend gold here, but there's no way for them to break it down for you.

A single gold coin is worth far more than one promissory note, and the exchange of gold to paper is sort of tricky and requires a scale and a lot of math.

Paper is easier."

Don't worry about it. It's fine.

"Who needs to do the math? Because things would be drastically easier if I could get some conversion done."

Where is she housing gold on her person? She doesn't even jingle. That blue pouch on her belt looks really empty, doesn't it?

"Not that sleeping on the ground is new to me, but a bed would not be amiss." It's the most light hearted complaint. But no really, access to hot water would be amazing too.

"Have you tried a bank?" He's not heard a jingle, but then... Well he's not heard money jingle outside of a store or a vending machine for a long time. Midge hadn't caught sight of anything other than the pouch, but at the mention of coins, that golden gaze had flicked down to it for a moment.

"You're going to need that money too, winter's just around the corner." And as nice as he's acting now, he's not offering a place in his fortress.

Half because it's his fortress fuck off, and half because... well it's Hell. She'd be living in literal Hell.

She's not going to ask, so it works out. She never wants to be a burden.

Also, sorry Midge. That pouch looks very deflated.

"A bank? Like a temple?" The temples to Waukeen we're usually good for that kind of thing. But if course, she hadn't seen anything around like that. But then she'd be looking in the wrong place.

Don't mind that less than owlish 'chirrup' from Midge. He might actually be vaguely confused here.

"I mean I guess it's kind of a temple for some people, but those guys usually tend to end up in the forth circle of Hell an awful lot."

Bar! In he goes, not actually bothering to get the door for her. He's being nice enough offering her a drink, thanks.

She would explain if you asked, Midge!

"Really? You don't have a goddess of commerce looking out for people?"

She can get her own door? Why would she expect him to get it for her? She's got arms and they work.

Well not right NOW, master is in the middle of a conversation.

"As far as humanity knows, God likes poor people. That's not really what we said, but that's what the rich folks who wrote all the books back then wanted you to believe, so no.

We don't.

We just have the one."

He takes a seat, his cane rapping against the bar to get the obviously annoyed bartenders attention.

"If he liked them, wouldn't they not be poor?"

Because being poor often meant, you know, starving. And other things, but generally steering was the central theme of being poor.

"God doesn't really care too much about how much money you make, inasmuch as He cares about what you do with it, and how you act about it.

You know, like everything else on earth. Pretty sure the two major rules were 'everything in moderation', and 'don't be an asshole', but humans learned they could control each other if they convincingly acted like they had special information gifted to them from Heaven."

"Sounds familiar."

Every religion really came off like that. Even the nice ones like Lathander's still have a sense of 'trust us, because the gods talk to us', when really, the gods talk to no one, unless it served they're immediate needs.

"Why is it only the humans that behave that way on Earth?"

"Because everyone else knows better." He ordered his drink, some stupidly expensive thing with clear glints of gold in the beverage.

"If you're not an angel, you're descended from them. Demons and fairies all have celestial breeding."

She asks for ale. Because that's what she knows, aside from wine.

"So why aren't they being educated? Your think if they were the only ones acting that way, it would at least become obvious to some percentage, that they're doing it all wrong."

"Because they're terrible listeners. We keep sending people over to talk to them.

But they don't really react too well when you tell them they're all doing it wrong.

Tends to get your more mortal, squishy envoys murdered horribly."

"That's an extreme reaction." What are they all followers of Cyric? Jeez.

"Wait, you 'send people over'? They're separated from the other races?"

That could explain a lot.

"I'm going to assume you talk to people, so I'm genuinely surprised at your surprise over hearing that humans take being called incorrect or wrong rather badly."

He takes a sip of his drink. Or rather, he sucks it down in one go without a single flinch. May as well have been orange juice.

"Not every race, just heaven and hell. Technically, these locations don't actually exist on the same plane as earth, it's not really easy for them to just wander on up and have a conversation with one of us whenever they want."

"Unless they're all Thayvian, humans are no more or less reasonable than any other race."

She will not drink hers so fast.

"Well I suppose that explains a lot, about their mentality. If you isolate people from others, they tend to become xenophobic."

And all sorts of other unpleasant things too.

Hellmaster Phibrizzo.

[Considering their proximity and what he's picking up on from this fellow, Phibrizzo drops the human act, but not his form. Since the other is mazoku-like but different, there's no guarantee he'd even be able to communicate that way. Besides that, they're in a public place.]

Just call me Phibrizzo, though. There's no need for formal titles here. After all, I'm just here to read and have a snack.

[Which Szel is providing rather amply, whether he realizes it or not.]

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Action for Genessia|Fayren|Everglade, but not Attleton y'all boring

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